“I understand,” Mose said coolly. “I understand exactly what you’re saying.”
“I don’t know what you’re using,” the coach said. “Laveau roots, steam-powered implants, possession by Jesus Christ hisself. Whatever it is, I’m going to find out. And I’ll tell you this—I can’t risk the reputation of the team, the Sports Department or Southern College. I’ve built this team for over twenty years and I can’t risk one bad apple ruining its reputation. So I’m going to suspend you, Mose, until I know you’re clean. I’ll give you some time then we’ll bring in a Mambo and run some tests. Once I know you’re clean, you can run again. You understand?”
Mose felt his rage building as he listened to the coach’s words. He approached the desk, putting his fists down and leaning over it toward the coach. “Oh, I understand all right. But it seems you don’t. I’m already clean. I’ve never use roots and you ain’t never seen steam rising outta my ass. What you see is natural, but you’re too much of a goddamn fool to recognize it. So you can test me and I’ll pass all your tests, just like I intend to win every race.”
The coach shook his head. “I know you’re angry, son, but like I said, a few months off racing will be good for you and good for the team. Now go home and I’ll tell you when it’s time to come back.”
Mose smashed his fist on the desk. He wished he could transform into rat form at will, to show the old man his true nature. But even in human form he had the power to destroy. “No,” he raged, “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. This team needs new blood. People like me. You’re from the old world. Soon, people like you will be gone, and the world will belong to me and those like me.” He swept his hand across the desk, hurling papers and pencils to the floor. “You’re a lucky old man, Coach. You’re going to be one of the first to see.”
Milton pushed his chair away from the desk, his eyes uncertain, thinly disguised fear on his face. “See what?”
“This!” Mose shouted. He crossed the desk and the space beyond in a single leap, watching as the coach’s eyes went wide with surprise. Mose landed on his feet, grasping Milton’s shoulders with fingers of steel, burrowing claw-like nails into his flesh. The coach gasped with pain and terror.
Before Milton could move, Mose pushed his head to the man’s throat, opening his mouth wide, and clamping down hard. The coach gurgled and began to scream, but Mose crushed his windpipe quickly, killing the scream almost as soon as it had started. He sucked blood from the wound then withdrew. Too much anger surged through his veins for him to feed.
He drew back his right hand and struck the coach’s dead features with his fist, enjoying the crack as Milton’s nose flattened beneath Mose’s terrible force. He lifted his fist and struck again and again, tearing skin and pulverizing bone with each new strike.
Some wild instinct had taken over and he lost track of how long he beat the man, and how many bites, blows and kicks he gave him. When the bloodlust finally burned itself away, the body of the coach was unrecognizable.
Mose stood, drawing himself to his full height, gazing down at the broken man with contempt and loathing. He bared his teeth once more and turned away from his work.
The age of the rat-kin is here now, he thought. Anyone who stands in its way will be destroyed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Audubon High School, New Orleans, quarter moon.
Something was up. Anton Sardis was sure of it. It had started with Mr. Celestin, the Earth Sciences teacher, and now it was spreading. Some kind of mystery illness was going around the school, but nobody knew what it was. Several of the teachers had been off sick. Students, too. When they came back—if they did—they seemed different. They were cold and distant, even hostile.
Anton’s friend, Greg Hamilton, had been off sick for three weeks. When he returned to school, he refused to tell Anton why he’d been away. In fact he’d barely spoken a word to Anton since he got back. There was something wrong about him. His features were pale and drawn. His eyes glittered yellow. The way Greg looked at him made Anton afraid.
But it wasn’t just that. Children had gone missing.
Precious Dumas and Bobo Lanier had been given detention for failing to hand in their English essay the previous week, but they had never shown up. No one had seen them since, and the school had alerted the constables.
Steven Smallwood had gotten into trouble for flooding the boys’ toilets and was sent to the Principal’s office. He was never seen again.
Now, Mr. Gaston, the Life Sciences teacher, hadn’t arrived for the afternoon class, and he was always on time. After Earth Sciences, Life Sciences was the subject Anton enjoyed most. Mr. Gaston made it so interesting. Instead of droning on at the front of the class, Mr. Gaston always got them to use their hands and study things for themselves. He’d once gotten the class to build a model of a human heart so they could see for themselves how it worked. The big wood and papier-mâché organ still stood on the floor in the corner of the classroom. But there would be nothing to learn that afternoon. Mr. Gaston was nowhere to be seen. Fifteen minutes without supervision and his class had run amuck.
One of the loud girls, Rita Lambert, broke into a blues song, standing up on top of her desk.
My brains is cloudy, my soul is upside down.
My brains is cloudy, my soul is upside down.
When I get that lowdown feelin’, I know the blues must be somewhere close aroun’.
The blues is like a devil, it comes on you like a spell.
The blues is like the devil, comes on you just like a spell.
Blues ‘ll leave your heart full of trouble and your po’ mind full of hell.
The blues and the devil is your closest friends.
Blues and the devil is your two closest friends.
The blues will leave you with murder in your mind, that’s when the devil out of hell steps in.
Some of the other girls clapped and sang along. Anton hoped that would bring a teacher running, but the whole performance had gone unnoticed.
Two of the thick-headed children at the back got into a fight that had ended with one of them hurling a chair across the classroom, narrowly missing the papier-mâché heart. Even that had gone unnoticed.
Anton sat quietly at his desk near the front and hoped a teacher would come soon.
“Hey, Sardis,” came a voice from behind. It was Smokey Donaldson. Anton sat rigid, afraid to do the wrong thing.
“We’re talking to you,” another voice said. Marcel Jean-Baptiste came to lean against his desk. He jostled the desk, making Anton’s pencil roll onto the floor.
Anton didn’t dare stoop down to pick it up. “Get lost,” he said in a quiet voice. “Mr. Gaston will be here any moment.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Marcel said. “Know what I think? I reckon he’s been eaten!”
He jumped at Anton, his teeth bared, his fingers curled in imitation of a monster. Anton leapt out of his chair in fright. The girls behind him laughed raucously.
“Or maybe not,” Marcel continued, “Maybe he’s busy eating some children himself, right now. Yum, yum, tasty little negroes, all chewy and fat.”
“What do you want?” Anton demanded, trying to sound strong, trying to look Marcel in the eye.
A hand reached out from behind and grabbed hold of his school bag. “We want whatever you got in here,” Smokey said. “Let’s take a look.”
Anton turned and tried to grab hold of the bag, but Smokey dodged away. When Anton stood to go after him, Smokey tossed the bag over his head to Marcel.
Marcel unbuttoned it and emptied the contents onto the floor. “Just boring books in here,” he said, looking at the pile of school books that had spilled out. “Where do you keep your money? In your pocket, I suspect.”
“I don’t have any,” Anton said defiantly.
“Someone’s telling fibs,” Smokey said. “Come on, hand it over.”
“Or else we’ll beat the tar out’cha,” Marcel said.
“No!” Some
thing snapped in Anton. It was like Ava L’Esperance had said. If he didn’t make a stand now it would just get worse. He glanced across the classroom and saw Ava’s bright eyes watching him closely. She nodded at him encouragingly, her braids bouncing on her freckled forehead. Anton turned to face his tormentors. “No,” he said again.
“What did you say?” Smokey said, frowning.
Anton faced Smokey squarely. He realized that Smokey was suddenly afraid—afraid of losing face in front of the class. “I said no. You can’t have my money.”
Rita Lambert and some of the other girls laughed again. Anton wished they would shut up. He saw something change in Smokey’s expression. The girls’ laughter had put his reputation on the line. Smokey nodded at Marcel, his mouth straightening into a grim line of resolve.
Anton felt Marcel shove him from behind, and spun around to face him, raising his arm defensively. He looked Marcel in the eyes and said, “Stop that.”
Marcel shoved him again. Anton repeated what he had said before. Marcel looked to Smokey for some support. The girls had stopped laughing and were watching intently.
“You’re going to give us your money right now, or else,” Smokey said.
“No,” Anton repeated. He wasn’t going to fall into the trap of asking what Smokey meant by else. The classroom had fallen completely silent.
“Well, then, we’re gonna have to take it from you.” Smokey made a grab for Anton’s jacket. Anton raised his arms defensively again, but this time Marcel punched him from behind. Anton felt a sharp jab of pain, but shrugged it off. He turned to face both boys and held his arms in front of his chest, blocking against any more blows. “Hit him again, Marcel!” Smokey shouted. But before Marcel could comply, the classroom door banged open and Mr. Pierre, the sports teacher, strode in.
“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.
Smokey and Marcel jumped clear of Anton like they’d been burned.
Mr. Pierre glared at the room of silent children. Nobody said a word. “I asked a question,” Mr. Pierre said.
“Please, Sir,” Loud Rita said, raising her hand. “Smokey and Marcel were fighting with Anton.”
“Is that true?”
“Yes, Sir,” Anton admitted. The other two scowled at him.
“Anton started it, Sir,” Marcel said in a high-pitched voice.
“I doubt that very much,” Mr. Pierre said. “Frankly, I don’t care. All three of you, come with me to the Principal’s office right now. You can explain who did what, not that he will care much either, I suspect.”
He marched them along the corridor and down the stairs to the Principal’s office, Smokey and Marcel giving Anton angry looks as they went. Anton felt humiliated. He had never been in trouble at school before. Mr. Pierre should have understood the situation. It ought to be Smokey and Marcel dragged before the Principal, not him, too. He couldn’t imagine what his parents would say when they found out.
Mr. Pierre rapped hard on the Principal’s door and stuck his head inside the office. He exchanged a few short words with Mr. Howard, the Principal, and then reappeared. “You first,” he said to Marcel. “You other two, wait outside quietly.”
The Principal was a tall man with a steel gray afro swept back from his high forehead. He wore a tan three-piece tweed suit and a brown bowtie. Anton found him a forbidding man, and had always been a little scared of him. He dropped his gaze to the floor now under Mr. Howard’s stern expression. The Principal’s Congress Gaiters were polished to a mirror-sheen.
Marcel showed no such trepidation. He smirked as the Principal led him inside his office.
The Principal’s eye held a strange yellow gleam. The door to his office closed behind him.
Mr. Pierre glared angrily one last time at Anton and Smokey then strode away down the corridor.
The two boys sat opposite each other on plastic chairs, Anton fiddling nervously with his hands, Smokey scowling at him. Anton had never been summoned to the Principal’s office before and he had no idea what might happen now. Detention, perhaps, or maybe worse. He might be suspended, or even expelled from the school. He felt sick with worry.
Raised voices came from within the office. Through the thin wall, he could hear the Principal, Mr. Howard, speaking angrily. Marcel said something inaudible in reply.
Opposite him, Smokey tried to look nonchalant, but his confidence was clearly draining away rapidly.
Anton breathed deeply to calm himself. Mr. Howard was known to be tough but fair-minded. He had lectured the school often enough about his zero-tolerance policy toward bullying. And Anton hadn’t done anything wrong. He just had to tell Mr. Howard exactly what had happened, and the Principal would surely take action against Smokey and Marcel. After all, Anton was the victim. Now that it had come to that, he realized that he should have gone to see the Principal sooner. In retrospect the solution appeared obvious.
A shout rang out from the other side of the office door followed by a loud crash.
“What was that?” Smokey asked, as if Anton knew. It had sounded like furniture being broken.
Another loud noise, like the splintering of wood, and a boy’s scream came from the other side of the door. A banging din erupted, and something crashed heavily against the wall.
Smokey shot to his feet. “What’s that? What’s happening? It sounds like Mr. Howard is attacking Marcel!”
Another scream came from the room followed by a sickening moist thud. Then silence.
Anton remembered the yellow gleam he’d noticed in Mr. Howard’s eyes. It was the same inhuman gaze that had so terrified him in his friend Greg Hamilton. All the children and teachers who had returned to school after being sick had the same look. He thought again about Mr. Celestin trying to eat the little children on Halloween night. He remembered the students who had gone missing—Precious Dumas, Bobo Lanier and Steven Smallwood. All three of them had disappeared after being sent to the Principal’s office. Suddenly he understood.
Wet sounds came from inside the office, the sound of biting.
Smokey had turned as white as a ghost. “What was that noise? We have to go in and help Marcel.”
“No,” Anton said flatly. “Marcel is already dead. The Principal is eating him now.”
Smokey stared at him, rigid with horror. He slowly sank back to the chair. “I don’t understand. What’s happening?”
They sat in deathly silence, listening to the soft rending sounds coming from the office. Chewing, munching and slobbering noises followed. Smokey lurched forward and vomited onto his own shoes.
In that moment, Anton turned his back on fear. He no longer feared Mr. Howard, or the monster that Anton knew the Principal had become. He certainly did not fear what his parents would think when he told them what had happened. And as for the quivering boy sitting opposite him, he felt only pity. “There’s no time to explain,” he told Smokey. “Either we run now, or we die.”
“Okay,” Smokey said, casting one last glance over his shoulder at the closed door to the Principal’s office. “Where do we run?”
“Anywhere,” Anton said, and together they ran.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Marais Street, the Tremé, quarter moon.
Robert always did his best to be polite and make a good first impression. It cost nothing to smile, and get a new relationship off to a good start. But Mose Tompkins seemed to have different ideas.
“Who the hell is this?” he demanded, when Virginia brought Robert back to the house she shared with Mose and Mary. Mose was a tall and intimidating man. He wore a tight vest, showing off well-muscled arms and a broad frame. He seemed to fill the narrow entrance hall, blocking their way into the house.
Virginia didn’t seem to be bothered by Mose’s attitude. “This is Robert,” she said. “He’s a friend. He’s going to stay with me here for a while.”
Robert cleared his throat nervously. “Bonjour,” he said. “Virginia’s told me all about you.”
Mose ignored him. “
I don’t care what his name is, he can’t stay here.”
“Yes, he can,” Virginia said coolly. “He has nowhere else to go.”
“Not my problem, sis.”
“He’s not safe on the streets alone, so he’s coming to stay with me. Now step aside.”
Mose stayed exactly where he was. “We’re not a charity, Virginia. We don’t take in homeless rat-kin.”
“We look after our own kind,” Virginia insisted.
“Our kind ought to be strong enough to look after themselves.”
“He’s staying, Mose, and that’s the end of this discussion.”
Virginia pushed forward, and to Robert’s surprise, Mose backed off, letting them pass.
“Mary won’t be happy,” he said.
Virginia chuckled, allowing the rich, mellow sound to fill the hallway. “She never is.”
Mose eyed Robert coldly as he passed him and headed upstairs to Virginia’s room.
When they were inside, Virginia slammed the door shut and locked it. “Come here,” she said, giving Robert a quick kiss on the lips. She jumped onto the bed and stretched out languidly, her arms folded behind her head. “Don’t worry about Mose. He talks tougher than he actually is.”
Robert said nothing. He looked nervously around the room. It was about the same size as his bedroom back home. He wondered what his roommate was thinking. Leonard would have been so worried when he didn’t return home, especially when the young man heard about Reverend Clark. He wondered how long it would be before the constables or dispatches connected him with the murder.
Who am I kidding? He thought. They’ve already made the connection.
This was his home now. Those four walls, and the one bed.
Virginia seemed totally relaxed about everything. “And don’t worry about Mary, either,” she said. “At least, just keep out of her way for the time being. Once you’ve changed, she’ll welcome you to our little family. Mose too.”
Gunsmoke Blues Page 9
