The antique chair springs squeaked in response as he rose. J.T. crossed to the pile of clothes he’d left on the bench. Yanking on his shirt and shoving into his jeans, he surveyed the room once more. He had to get out. It was still daylight. Okay, he would explore the rest of the mansion’s rooms. Maybe he had missed something in yesterday’s search. Since the walls were secret paths about the mansion, J.T. checked for panels which opened into the dank interior of those paths. Mentally marking each entrance, he discovered, J.T. covered most of the house before returning to the ballroom where Logan and Aubrie had exited the house once before through a long trek down a difficult inner passageway. The path flanked the outside wall of the mansion, running the length of the east side. With the sun setting in the west, he could leave shortly.
The sunset cast the room in a gloomy shroud. The walls were a pale hue of blush. Figuring the color enhanced the pallor of Victorian ladies, J.T. surmised the room had once been a staging area for matchmaking, a common practice during the period. Dating was a group effort of the time and socials were a perfect avenue. He slowed to examine the interior more carefully.
Heavily carved frames holding silvered glass mirrors broke the series of faces staring out at the smooth parquet flooring. Having no reflection, J.T. ignored the mirrors. His interest lay in what was behind each hanging. Stepping inside the narrow corridor against the outside wall, he noted an interesting phenomenon. An intricate network of small holes cut in the walls matched up with the hollowed-out iris’ of the honoree’s eyes displayed in the portraits hanging on the ballroom walls. A wire held in place by brackets within the wall guided a viewer from picture to picture. As he peered through one of the holes, J.T. noted the mirrors cast the reflections of visitors back to the voyeur’s positions. An added view for the spy, he mused. “Clever creep,” he murmured. Locating the small light emitted from an opening at the far end of the corridor, he listened for the sounds of birds chirping in the trees. His heightened sense of hearing picked up a frog sloshing water in a nearby bayou. Logan had reminded him the ledge at the end of the corridor fell over the soft ferns below. The bayou met the bank of those shade-loving plants. “He uses this as his entry and exit to the mansion,” he murmured. “No worry about being caught watching. What a lowlife?”
The last shards of daylight filtered past the opening at the passageway’s end. “Time to explore outside,” he muttered bitterly. Lighting below in the ferns, J.T. survived the trees as thick as a jungle around him. Using his extended vision, he examined the interior of the thick lower canopy. Small animals, as well as a horde of insects, made their homes in the thicket. Vines and briars grew with abandon here. Lush bushes acted as supports for the invasive tangle of vines and briars. Grateful for the strength as part of his powers, J.T. slashed his way into the center of the maze.
The light was leaving as he came upon a laborer working in a sugarcane field. The man’s skin, the color of rich mocha glistened with a sheen of sweat. His torso was made up of broad muscle. The fellow labored in pants cut off at the knees. With his back to J.T., the laborer did not hear his approach.
The tap on the shoulder had the man jumping back. Eyes the color of midnight popped wide. When he found no one there, the man hesitated before returning to his task.
Unsure of the man’s loyalties, J.T. remained invisible. “I see you have a hard job.”
The fellow dropped his sling blade before vaulting into the thicket.
Materializing next to the man, J.T. laid a hand on his arm in restraint.
Shock registered on the man’s face but rather than fight, he submitted under the other’s examination.
“What’s your name?” J.T. asked in a level tone.
The man withdrew further into himself. Frozen to the spot, the only thing moving on him was his eyes which darted like a frightened bird searching for a means of escape.
“I asked you your name.”
“Thomas.” The words held a French slur like that of a Cajun. Driven from their homes, centuries before the French-Canadian refugees had settled in Louisiana’s endless swamps, making them their homes. Chances were, he was a descendant.
“Are you afraid of me or your master finding you talking to a stranger?”
“Both.” Thomas’ Adam’s apple bobbed like a cork in his throat. “Are you going to kill me?”
Positive he heard the man correctly, J.T. tilted his head carefully. “No, why would I do that? We just met.”
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know.” The eye darting continued. “The master says strangers are out to kill us.”
J.T. mouth firmed over the information. “I see. Well, you master’s wrong. I merely want information.”
The man’s head bobbed in understanding, his eyes chasing light dancing on the ground from the tree’s gloomy shade above.
“Who is your master?” J.T. asked firmly.
The man’s face grew pale. He swallowed before opening his mouth. “The Sultan.”
“Good.” The growl was deep from within like that of a satisfied Panther nearing its prey. “Take me to him.”
Thomas shrunk back. His hands fisted tightly together. “Please, no. I can’t do what you ask. The Sultan will kill me.”
J.T. could see the man’s hands trembling in unison. “Your master has brought you to heel, has he?”
The feat took a moment, but a mutinous jut settled on Thomas’ lip. He inched closer to J.T. “I may be a slave, but I haven’t forgotten what it is like to be free. Someday…” he trailed off shaking his fist between them.
The pained expression reminded J.T. of a newborn vampire. How aggrieved they were after finding their existence altered so completely. Thankfully, you became immune to the idea of ever going back, or so he hoped. Blocking out memories of his life before becoming a bloodsucker helped. “Tell me where he is. I won’t let him hurt you.”
Flicking an agitated glance at J.T., Thomas rolled his shoulder. “You can’t stop him. He is all-powerful.” He lifted his eyes skyward as a bird took flight. Thomas mulled over the situation in silence for a moment.
J.T. could see the struggle it took for Thomas to make up his mind. “What if I took you with me? Away from this place, away from the Netherworld.”
Thomas’ shoulders relaxed a fraction. His brow lifted slightly. “You would do that?”
“Yes,” J.T. offered. “How many are here?”
Thomas glanced around. “A couple of hundred I would think. He keeps us secluded from each other in separate camps. I live beyond the cane field.” Pointing, he directed J.T. gaze to a small huddle of houses, mostly shacks really. “You live there? How many are with you?”
Thomas rolled his eyes up in consideration. “Close to fifty, I think.”
“Do you have any weapons such as bows, arrows, guns, powder?”
“No,” Thomas said shaking his dark brown hair. “The Sultan does not allow us the owning of a gun or blade. Some act as though they have weapons hidden. I have never seen any evidence.”
“Take me to the others,” J.T. ordered.
Trembling from head to toe, Thomas finally complied.
He had to admit, Thomas made him want to check behind every tree as well as under every stump. A victim of torture most likely, J.T. mused. Wondering at what cost rescue could happen for those affected by the Sultan, J.T. followed the man back to the huts.
Inside the circle of some twenty dwellings, Thomas rushed toward a solid man of roughly six feet five inches. He held the tattoos of a Haitian immigrant. The dark marks on his cheeks indicated he was a Voodoo disciple. With skin even darker than Thomas’, the giant waved a hand at J.T. to come forward. A leather vest hung open across his broad expanse of muscled chest. Shredded arms over thick thighs appeared from the meager clothing the man wore as almost an afterthought.
“Who are you?” the man’s authority fortified each word of his question.
“My name is J.T. Leighton. I come in peace.”
The man’s eyes ran
the length of J.T. with obvious distrust. Studying Thomas, he huffed out an irritated breath. “It is death to allow you to remain here. You ask for something we cannot provide.” The French accent grew heavy with his concern.
“I mean you no harm. I am here to save those who will return to my world with me.”
The sneer grew as the man eyed J.T. in contempt. “You insult us with your offer of rescue. I know what you’re after. Souls is the only commodity you deal in, is it not?”
Familiar with scorn as well as mistrust, J.T. opened his hands, palms up for the man’s benefit. “I come in peace. My offer is sincere. Your plight is one of slavery. It isn’t my purpose to swap one master for another. I too have been enslaved by your master. He made me what I am today.”
Muted whispers raced through the small crowd.
“I hold a deep seeded contempt for his prison. Call me part of a rebellion against tyranny if you will. There are others like me.” He scanned the men before him. Some considered the possibility. “There is hope of freedom if you come with me.” Leaving it there, J.T. surmised the fellow would either consider his words as truth or shrink from him as so many had done before.
The Hattian turned to those behind him. A short conference ensued.
Pretending he couldn’t hear every word spoken, J.T. busied himself examining the shacks scattered around the clearing. No two were alike. Most were little more than a slanted roof shed. Small children huddled in the darkened corners of those hovels. A stray dog or two stalked close by in the meager light of a campfire. One young boy toddled out at the sight of a stranger. He reached out, allowing J.T. to scoop him up. A slender boy of probably two with dark curls rimming wide-set eyes the color of moss, the child grinned at him.
“Give him here.” The woman’s cry bordered on hysteria. “Give him to me, now.” Frantic fingers reached for the child.
J.T. considered tightening his grip on the boy. Knowing the interpretation of that move, he held the child out to his overwrought mother. Managing a polite, yet guarded smile, he offered a compliment. “You’re a very lucky parent. He’s a personable boy.”
The Haitian appeared once more. Giving the distraught mother over to others in the group, he turned before facing J.T. “My name is Rocco. I speak for these people. We will listen to your plan and take a vote. Diplomatic freedom within our group is all we possess.”
His tone spoke of sadness coupled with remorse for their plight, yet J.T. did not hear defeat in his tone. “Let’s sit down, shall we?” J.T. walked closer to the fire as the night air chilled. The move was more of a symbolic gesture of solidarity as he had no use for warmth and as a rule, shied away from flames. “I have friends.” He arched a brow as he shrugged his shoulder. “We comprise a team, a killing team. Our objective is the Sultan. He’s hurt all of us in some way, and it’s time for a reckoning.”
Rocco examined the newcomer with a narrowed gaze. “How can we trust you?”
J.T. glanced down at his feet before answering. The wry smile he possessed upon meeting the leader’s eyes again, he hoped displayed his confidence in his position as an insurgent. “Well, at this point, you’ll have to take my word on it. When we liberate your people, I guess then you’ll understand.” He leaned in close enough for only Rocco to hear. “In case you still don’t understand, let me spell it out for you. You’re going to have to trust me in the meantime.”
The Haitian’s dark eyes studied J.T. for a full ten seconds before he nodded. “We have lost everything. Our freedom, our homes, even our loved ones.” His eyes searched the group now hovering behind them. “This is the first time the group feels a spark of hope. Do not disappoint us, outsider. You won’t like our reaction.”
J.T. pursed his mouth. “Understood. Let me show you what we have planned.”
After about an hour of straightforward explanation followed by planning, J.T. sat back on the stump on which he rested. “There is one other question I have for you.”
Rocco turned to face him. “What?”
“There is a woman here in the Netherworld. She is tall, about five eight with dark hair. Her name is Jessie, Jessie Coulter. Do you know her?”
“No.” The one word uttered flatly proved his only response. “Perhaps another camp, but not here.”
J.T. observed the tension in the man’s features. He could hear Rocco’s heart rate increase. Something was off. Rather than spook him, J.T. let the matter rest. There would be a time for answers. Now was for preparing the troops. “Have your men organized and alert. I will be in touch. I have supplies stockpiled in the mansion beyond those fields. Don’t allow the men to search there or their actions will raise suspicion. Wait for me. Do you understand?”
Rocco nodded. “If I know, then the Sultan knows as well.” He leaned in over his elbows resting on his knees. “He is all powerful and sees everything. Be swift about returning. We are in jeopardy for helping you.”
J.T. could see the battle behind the man’s stony expression. “I will. I promise.” Standing, he squared his shoulders, clasping forearms with Rocco. “I have to go now.” He firmed his jaw. Solidarity was everything. “Remember what I said. You’ll see our sign in the sky upon our return. In the meantime, prepare. Be ready. I’ll contact you when we leave.”
Rocco nodded. The handshake was automatic. “Thank you.”
For a big man, the Haitian had small hands. Unusual, J.T. mused. “I’ll be in touch soon.” With that, he took flight. The mere fact they needed time played against their chances of getting everyone out of The Netherworld. Time was running out. He sensed the urgency back there with Rocco and Thomas. Each man exhibited nerves at his mere presence. That was normal for meeting a vampire in your territory. Or, was it the fact, the Sultan would pay them a visit for their allowing such a meeting?
Considering their foe, J.T. decided they needed a better profile of the Sultan. Everyone with coordinated info. Duke and Logan could help with a compilation. Grateful for the help, J.T. shoved at the memories. Though he had been the blood demon’s number one henchman, he still didn’t know the complete DNA on their target. What made him tick, what were his triggers, where was his lair. Without the info, inside the Sultan’s head, they’d be going in blind as to his big plan. Shadow Company needed a way to block the Sultan’s omniscient power.
***
The people J.T. left behind at the camp stirred at the possibility of rescue. Thomas sought out Rocco for a council.
“But what if the Sultan comes back before this J.T. does?” Thomas’ irritation surfaced. “He could kill us all for doing nothing other than talking to this J.T.” The man raked his fingers through the braids atop his head, his ample muscles bulging with the effort. “What if he saw us talking to the man?”
“I’ll take care of it. All right?” The declaration came forth in a hiss of an answer. Rocco wheeled away without more to add. Studying the sunset in the distance, he sighed. Surely, they understood after all this time. He would take care of them. Provide for them as well as shield them from the one known as the Sultan. “I have to leave for a day or two. I want you in charge in my absence. Understood?” Sensing, rather than seeing the man’s nod, Rocco turned back slowly. “Keep the others calm. You know how. We need provisions. When the moon is full, I will leave the compound. Have all the children inside before dark. Don’t venture far and keep a close watch out for the Sultan. “Do I make myself clear.”
“Perfectly.” Slowly, Thomas stepped closer. “Take care of yourself.” Reaching out, he brushed a knuckle down Rocco’s cheek. “We’ve grown quite fond of you, you know?”
Rocco’s eyes filled with moisture. Coughing, the large man turned back to the window staring out at nothing. “Just take care of them while I’m gone.”
“As you wish.”
When Rocco turned once more, Thomas was gone. Standing for a minute looking at the small village lights coming from the huts forming a semicircle in the glade, he wondered if they could survive? The sigh was audible.
***
Since living in the open meant a person owned very little privacy, Rocco slipped into the darkness falling around the huts. The leaves were damp and cool as he stole into the night. In the darkened vegetation, he stopped. The December moon’s light grew dim with cloud cover. The time was upon him. Reaching for the amulet under his vest, he swallowed before closing his eyes.
Under the canopy of stars, Rocco shifted, each vertebra crackling as his joints, muscles, and tendons rearranged themselves. Gone were the hefty muscles of the larger man. His sinuous girth disappeared, giving way to slender bones and smoother skin. The flesh tone remained olive, and the eyes burned the same dark brown. The woman he became straightened with innate feminine grace. As a woman, Rocco became Jessie or more accurately, Jessie shifted back from the man known as Rocco. The transformation back to Jessie meant she could travel great distances with ease. Shoving at her long, dark hair, she turned in a circle. Her wary eyes saw everything. Each sound belonged to her. Plans put in place long ago were about to come to fruition.
Jessie brushed back the leaves that covered her clothing. Saying a small prayer of thanks for the cloud cover, she shoved into her jeans. Secrecy was imperative. With a robot-like movement, she tied up her combat boots before surveying her surroundings. She would need the shadows for cover as she left The Netherworld. The supplies she required were beyond the veil in the world she used to call home, her family’s home until catastrophe struck.
Flicking a glance over her shoulder for once more to make sure, Jessie bolted for the trees. Disappearing into the thicket, she darted and dodged, heedless of the thorns and cutting palmetto. All the time, she ran, gaining momentum. Finally, racing at speed faster than sound, she evaporated into thin air.
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