by Devyn Quinn
Jesse couldn’t help thinking of Maddox. Did he long to cross that threshold, too?
The rest of the ride continued in silence. The minutes ticked by with excruciating finality. When they reached their destination, Sam parked across the street from the cemetery. “Are you sure you’re able to handle this?”
“Yeah. I think so.” Drawing back her shoulders, she opened the car door and stepped out onto the curb. “Let’s go kick some vampire ass.”
“I can kill her,” Reyen said as they strolled through the Metairie Cemetery. “You won’t even have to know what happened. She’ll just be gone.” The big Indian snapped his fingers. “Like that.”
Hardly able to believe his ears, Maddox stopped dead in his tracks. “You’re really a sick son of a bitch, you know that? By the Enlightened One’s grace, she still has a soul.”
Reyen shrugged. “So do the Kindred, and I don’t see you hesitating to put a knife through their ribs when you catch them out alone.” He picked up his pace and walked away before the conversation could continue.
Maddox shook his head. Reyen should know this wasn’t a fair comparison. But he didn’t have the time or inclination to try to convince Reyen to come over to Jesse’s side. For now, he’d just have to deal with the pain in the ass.
Cursing under his breath, Maddox set off in Reyen’s wake. The sun was beginning to dim as it sank behind the western horizon. Recent rains had ratcheted up the humidity, making the days almost too hot to tolerate. People welcomed the night and the cooler, more moderate temperature.
The Metairie Cemetery was one he knew as well as the back of his hand. He quickly passed the grave of the former Candace Ackerman, giving the site only a cursory glance as he walked on by. Recent rains had cleared the remains of the tarry ash the demon had left behind. Grass was beginning to sprout over the newly turned earth. There was no sign of the terrible struggle that had taken place after the fledgling had emerged from its grave.
Like most New Orleans cemeteries, Metairie was composed of an assortment of above- and belowground burial options. One common misconception about the city was that people had to be entombed above the ground because of the high water level and flooding that often plagued the area. But that was only part of the reason for the switch to aboveground entombment. As New Orleans was primarily composed of a French and Spanish population during its early settlement, the newcomers naturally followed the styles and fashion of their mother countries, even in death. New Orleans cemeteries resembled many cemeteries in France to the present day, which was part of the reason why the city had always felt like home to Maddox.
To that end, the tradition of aboveground burial was still a common practice. Even the newer cemeteries had a majority of aboveground tombs. Many of them resembled settlements of the dead, as the tombs were laid out much like a city neighborhood, with named streets and intersections. As tombs were opened on a regular basis to admit more recent deaths, they were fairly easy to break into.
Catching up with Reyen, he quickly scanned the area for the grave they sought.
Reyen pointed. “There.”
Maddox confirmed the name. “Kristine McClain.”
The body in question was just the sort Maddox hated to see disinterred. In this case the victim was a twenty-five-year-old woman. According to the paper, she’d disappeared on her way home from her younger brother’s basketball game at the local high school. A few days later, she’d been located mere blocks away from her own home, stuffed into a trash bin. From the bruising and wounds on her body, police suspected she’d been assaulted and strangled.
Maddox shook his head. It wasn’t right or fair that the innocent should be victimized in such a way.
Girls like Kristine were just the kind the Telave liked to go after—young, bright, and beautiful. Evil, it appeared, had aesthetic tastes. It was rare for them to take anyone over the age of thirty.
“I hate this,” he muttered.
Reyen shot him a glance. “Me, too,” he said in a low voice. “It’s why you can’t be weak and cut these things any slack. We have to take out as many as we can.”
Maddox felt the heat behind his friend’s stare. In the back of his mind he knew why Reyen had insisted on coming with him for what should be a relatively simple hunt. He doesn’t trust me, he thought.
“I know,” he said. “I won’t fall again.”
Reyen grunted. “Good. Now let’s get to work.” A muttered curse followed. “Damn, I hate box tombs. They’re such a pain in the ass to open.”
Sam reached for his backpack, which was stuffed with the items they’d need for the night’s work. “It’s show-time, babe.”
Around the cemetery, the faces of chubby cupids and serene angels looked down from their eternal domain on high stone pedestals, their sunken eyes gazing sightlessly, mindlessly. Sam led the way. They were looking for the grave of Patrick Newland, age twenty-nine.
Jesse rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. Everywhere she looked, stone eyes watched her—cold eyes, envious of the living? “Shit, this is creepy.”
Sam paused midstep. “You going to get through this?”
Forcing herself to swallow her fear, she nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
Since joining the crew, she’d gotten a crash course in how Maddox and the others determined who might be a potential victim of the Telave, and who was just a regular victim of foul play.
It was safe to discount people who died from the obvious causes—gunshot, stabbing, traffic accident. Also passed over were the elderly or those known to have suffered a longtime illness. The victims they took a closer look at were people who’d briefly disappeared before turning up with signs of rabieslike symptoms, or those found dead for no apparent reason, with very few signs of physical trauma. Some suicides were also suspect unless a violent and disfiguring method had been chosen.
Tonight there were four potential victims to check out who’d recently been laid to rest.
A shiver crawled up Jesse’s spine as she mentally reviewed the list of victims. Reyen and Maddox had taken Kristine McClain, mostly because Jesse doubted she could crack the lid on the coffin of a girl who’d been her same exact age when she was taken. The similarities between the two abductions were too close for comfort.
She and Sam had taken the males, among whom was Patrick, who was celebrating a recent promotion at work. He’d gotten a little too drunk and had taken off with a woman his friends didn’t know. He was later found slumped over the wheel of his car, dead to the world. He had torn fingernails, bruises on his face and throat, and several small ragged puncture wounds on his arms and chest.
“He’s a definite,” Sam told her as they approached the Newland family tomb. He smiled when he saw the man’s final resting place. “And this is going to be an easy slam dunk for us. I love tombs like these.”
Jesse squinted through the fading light at the massive behemoth that was Patrick’s final destination. It was impressive, to say the least. Surrounded by a short stubby fence, perhaps two feet tall, the great gray stone gothic structure looked more like a church than a tomb, with a high steeple rising imperiously into the air and a door composed of stained glass and black steel. Gallic-style crosses flanked the walkway through the fence, while two angels, standing with swords at the ready, guarded the entrance. The tomb was as much a work of art as it was a place to house the deceased.
“Holy shit,” she muttered. “It looks as big as a freaking house.”
“Some of these mausoleums hold entire generations,” Sam told her.
“Talk about together forever.” Jesse wiped a hand across her face. “That’s way too heavy for me.”
The final rays of the sun disappeared, plunging the cemetery into absolute darkness. All at once, the place wasn’t so peaceful or calm. The temperature dropped significantly as a wind snaked through the yard, whistling among the grave sites and rustling the leaves of the trees surrounding the area.
Jesse knew her fears were producing the sounds of harsh
whisperings, but it didn’t help to quiet her burgeoning hysteria. The demon was alert. It recognized that one of its own was nearby.
A whimper escaped her, and she glanced furtively about. “Do you hear that?” she asked Sam.
He cocked his head, listening. “Just the wind.” He glanced toward the sky. “Maybe a storm’s moving in.”
Jesse shook her head. “It’s more than that—” she started to say. A flicker of light caught her attention. She squinted to better gauge the distance to their destination. A sliver of illumination was visible beneath the massive door—a light from within.
She gulped to keep the contents of her stomach from rising into her throat. “I don’t think we’re alone, Sam,” she warned.
Sam Chen’s face broke into a wide smile. “Kindred,” he said, speaking in a low tone. “Apparently the Telave are onto us, and they’re moving in early to get the fledglings. They can’t raise them until after the sun’s gone down and they start to awaken. Looks like we’re going to have a double kill here tonight.”
Sam’s voice sounded strangely disconnected from her ears, as if the wind were attempting to keep his words from being heard.
Jesse’s chest felt tight; for a moment, she couldn’t take a breath. Her jaw tightened. I have to follow through, she warned herself. “Let’s do it.”
With Sam in the lead, they headed for the crypt, their steps slow and muscles taut. When they were within a few yards of the doors, Sam made a motion with his hand.
Squinting in the gloom, Jesse followed his signal. Sure enough, some sort of light was visible through the hairline cracks above and beneath the intricately carved door of the marble structure.
Sam leaned in. “I think someone’s beat us here,” he whispered.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she whispered back. Now that they were within arm’s reach of the building, she could see the door was sealed with a medieval sliding bolt-and-ring system. The bolt was drawn back. The crypt was unlocked.
Sam indicated his holstered weapon. “Get ready to draw. I don’t think what we’re going to find inside there is going to be friendly, or family.”
Jaw tightening, Jesse nodded. Even though she’d practiced with the weapon, she hadn’t actually pointed it at anyone and pulled the trigger. She wanted to make sure what she was aiming at wasn’t a family member who’d come to grieve in private. “Okay.”
Her heart lodged in her throat as Sam eased the door open. A camping lamp sat beside a stone viewing dais in the center of the crypt. A brand-new coffin had been placed on top of its smooth surface. As was tradition, the coffin of the recently deceased would occupy that place for a year and one day after death. After that time, the remains would be taken out of the coffin and interred in one of the drawerlike spaces honeycombing the rear wall. The coffin, presumably, would be destroyed. Though somewhat gruesome, the practice allowed several members of the same family to occupy the limited space.
The lamp’s amber glow magnified the eeriness of the tomb. It also lit the figures within. A man was bent over the figure of a young girl, slumped on the floor. The girl’s wrist was pressed against his mouth. She was semiconscious, and a low moan of pain emanated from deep inside her throat.
Sam Chen went into instant attack mode. Drawing his weapon, he pointed it at the man. “Get off her!” he demanded.
Barreling in behind him, Jesse drew her own weapon.
Jumping to its feet, the undead turned to face the menace from behind. Its features were contorted by an ugly scowl. Its mouth gaped open to reveal two sharp teeth. Pupil-less silver eyes scanned the intruders. Sharp nails began to protrude through the tips of its fingers as its hand contorted into a claw. A gurgling hiss escaped from the depths of its throat. The misshapen claw flexed at its side—open, shut; open, shut.
“Stay back!” Sam warned, motioning Jesse to stay behind him. “This can be a clean kill. I’ll take them both out.”
Jesse froze. Dressed in the clothing of an average teenager, the girl didn’t look like much of a threat. “Don’t hurt her!”
The sound of her voice set the undead into motion. Snarling, the thing lunged at Sam. Its raspy breathing was forced, mucus running out of its nose and into its mouth. Razorlike teeth gnashed as it hissed in rage.
Jesse’s mouth went dry. Her heart pounded, making a hollow sound inside her chest. Her entire body felt numb, boneless. She was barely aware of the gun in her hand. It never occurred to her to lift it and aim. The shock of seeing the girl on the floor had immobilized her. She was frozen, absolutely and completely.
Sam didn’t flinch. He immediately pulled the trigger, firing three shots into the demon’s chest. Fatally struck, the creature screeched. A viscous stream of stinking blood gushed from the bullet holes, black and fetid.
Arms flailing, the undead beast kept on coming. Another horrid screech, the wail of the dying, broke from its lips.
Sam avoided the razor-sharp claws by a hairbreadth. “You’re making this hard, you son of a bitch,” he snapped, and fired again. “Now, die, damn it!” His aim was unerring. Three more bullets found their mark.
Struck in the face, the undead beast dropped to the floor. Kicking and writhing, it gurgled, choking on the river of liquid fire that erupted from the wounds. The flames zipped across its body, consuming every inch of flesh and bone. Stinking coils of black smoke filled the crypt as its limbs beat the ground in convulsions. Seconds later it collapsed, leaving nothing behind but a pile of smoldering ashes.
A foul stench worse than smoldering flesh assailed the chamber, and the billowing smoke assumed the demon’s true form, something akin to a rat-headed, winged snake.
The demon lingered as if scorched into the air. Then, with a flick of its rattled tail, it vanished.
Poof.
For an indefinite time, they both stared at the scant remains. There seemed to be no air in the crypt—only coldness; stark, frightening coldness.
Wiping his brow, Sam staggered, then leaned against the empty coffin. “Shit, that was intense.”
Slipping her weapon back into its holster, Jesse nodded in agreement. “Yeah.” At the vital moment, she’d choked. There was no way she could have pulled the trigger. I blew it, she silently remonstrated herself. When push came to shove, she’d lost her nerve.
She hurried to the downed victim, kneeling beside her. Blood still trickled from the girl’s arm, though the wound wasn’t deep enough to be fatal. Scenting the rich, warm liquid of life, the demon inside her raised its head—hungry. It was hungry.
Jesse fought to keep herself from thinking about the blood, although her demon’s need twisted her stomach into a thousand little knots. She drew in a breath. “I think she’ll be all right. Now, what do we do with her?”
Maddox scratched his chin as he looked over Kristine McClain’s grave. Box tombs were built with a ceiling and walls but no floor. They appeared to be a box on the ground; however, they were really about five feet deep, built to fool grave robbers into thinking that the body was inside the box, when they were actually deep inside the ground.
As Kristine had been laid to rest in the last afternoon, cemetery workers hadn’t yet had time to add the finishing touches to her final resting place, which would include the pouring of white marble gravel on top.
At this point, only the heavy stone slab covering the grave was in place. It would take a little tricky maneuvering to accomplish getting inside, but it was doable.
Reyen sighed as he slipped off his heavy backpack. “Damn, I hate the way your people dispose of the dead.”
Maddox slipped off his own heavy pack. “My people?” he questioned. “I think McClain would be Irish.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he groused. “I’m talking about the way they dress the bodies up in fancy clothes and stick ’em in an expensive box, then put them in another bigger, fancier box.”
Maddox unzipped his pack, digging for the small crowbar he often carried to pry open tombs. “I think it’s a lot
better than what your people do. Placing them on a platform for carrion to pick the body clean is gruesome. Then carrying the bones around in a pack as you travel isn’t exactly my idea of a way to keep the family together.”
Reyen pulled out his own crowbar. “We only do that when we’re taking the bones to the Nanih Waiya, the sacred mound.”
Maddox knelt at one corner of the grave, forcing his bar under the heavy stone slab. Though it wasn’t the ideal way to lift one—cemetery workers usually had a crane to do the heavy lifting—it would work in a pinch. Normally it would take more than two men to lift the slab, but he and Reyen had the advantage of superhuman strength.
Reyen took a place at the other end, fitting his own crowbar under the heavy stone. “Ready?”
Maddox nodded. “Let’s go.”
The two men strained, throwing their backs behind the task. A few seconds later, the slab began to lift from its place.
Maddox worked his fingers under the edge, getting a better grip on the square edge. Reyen worked his end, helping lift the massive slab higher until it tilted at an angle wide enough for one of them to slip inside the depth.
“You going in?”
Reyen shook his head. “You know I hate those deep spaces. Since you’re on everyone’s shit list, the honor is all yours tonight.”
“I knew you were going to find a way to fuck me over,” Maddox muttered under his breath.
“You’re taller, man,” Reyen said reasonably. “And skinnier. It’s easier for you to get through those narrow spaces.”
“You got that thing balanced?” Maddox asked before daring to remove his hands from the slab. The last thing he wanted was for Reyen to drop it, possibly smashing a hand or, worse, his skull.
“I’ve got it,” Reyen said. “Slip in, do the job, and slip out. Should be pretty easy. The Kindred usually don’t show up until after midnight, so we can get in and out without being seen.”
