by E. A. Copen
“I’ll explain on the way. Mind if we take your car? I don’t think I should be behind the wheel as tired as I am.”
He seemed wary but nodded once and walked me to the old Cadillac and opened the door for me.
“How bad is it?” I asked, buckling in while he started the car.
Detective Moses shook his head. “All they found so far is bones. It’s hittin’ Emma hard. People are starting to ask questions. Some folks even calling in with conspiracy theories. Whispers are that there might be something in the water or that they ain’t really murder-suicides, but all murders.”
Technically, that was correct. Ikelos was behind all the deaths, making them murders. I could never go on record saying that, though, which made me feel even worse. No matter what I did to stop the Titan, the world would always remember good men like Tim as monsters who murdered their families.
Moses eased the car out onto the road and waited for the officer at the end of the street to move the barricade so he could drive through. He smiled and waved to the officer as we passed. Had them all fooled, didn’t he?
“There’s a Titan behind this.” I watched Moses’ face for a reaction, but his features remained still as stone. “You already knew.”
“I suspected. As soon as you said Holzgrief might not have been at fault, I went digging. Didn’t find much, but I had a gut feeling.”
“Samedi confirmed it,” I continued. “Someone named Ikelos.”
The car jerked hard to the right and into oncoming traffic. Horns blared, and we almost hit a Jeep before Moses veered back into his lane. “Don’t say that name,” he hissed.
“It’s too late. He’s already onto me.”
Moses sighed and shook his head. “I knew something was wrong when I was called to your doorstep and commanded to reveal myself and what little I knew. You don’t get that kind of order if things are going well. A Horseman at the mercy of a Titan? You do need my help.”
I shifted in my seat. “I wouldn’t say I’m at his mercy. I have a lead that might help. Someone named Drew Littlefox, an inmate up at Angola. My father’s diary said he might know something that can help. Samedi is also supposed to be setting up a meeting with someone called the Sandman. Do you know anything about him?”
Moses shook his head. “Not a thing. You’re in this way deeper than me. My job is to watch and report, not to fight.”
He was scared, I realized. An angel scared of a Titan. He did say it was one of the few things that could kill him.
Not if I kill it first. “Get me in to see Littlefox and you won’t have to fight.”
He turned to look at me. “You really think you can take on a Titan? Samedi tell you what it took last time?”
“He told me,” I confirmed with a nod. “But the gods didn’t have my charm and wit.”
“We’re doomed,” he said dryly and stepped on the gas.
We made the two-hour drive in an hour and a half. For an old man, Moses could really step on it. Traffic outside the city wasn’t too bad, and the further away from New Orleans we drove, the better it got. Once we got north of Baton Rouge, there was practically no one on the road at that hour except for trucks, which we avoided by staying in the left lane.
Angola was known as The Farm for a reason. Prisoners there spent their days performing mandatory work. Since Angola was a largely self-sufficient compound, that meant growing their own food. Prisoners worked the fields, ran the kitchens, and did most of the menial labor around the prison. I guess the theory was that it kept them busy.
The workers were just reporting to the field when we arrived. I watched a line of them file into the dead ground with buckets, rakes, and shovels. There wasn’t anything growing there that time of year, but the officers still made them go out to clean the land and pull weeds. Correctional officers with rifles rode down the rows on horseback. They could probably drop an inmate at a hundred yards easy.
We parked outside the administrative building where the warden would’ve had his office. It was too early to go through normal visitors’ procedures, which meant we had to have special permission from someone higher up. Who better than the warden himself to get us through to see Littlefox?
I had to talk to him anyway about making arrangements for my father, which I hadn’t actually done yet. He would press me to decide one way or another, but I just wasn’t ready. Part of me still wanted to let the prison handle his remains. I didn’t have the cash to take care of him anyway, but that was the part of me that still considered Bill Kerrigan my father. The necromancer and Pale Horseman knew that every body not handled with care could become a ghost or vengeful spirit. I didn’t need dear old Dad haunting me for the next decade. It would be safer to give him a proper burial, though I didn’t know how I’d swing it. I’d already borrowed heavily from Emma just to get by, and my stipend from Samedi wasn’t due to come in for another week. Maybe I could get an advance. He’d owe me for dealing with Ikelos.
Warden Kane came out of the administrative offices as we got out of Moses’ car. He tucked his meaty hands into his pockets and watched us with sharp eyes. “Mister Kerrigan,” he said with a nod. “I was going to call you later today. You make a decision about your father?”
“Haven’t had time to make arrangements,” I lied. “I’ll call today and let you know who’ll be coming to get him.”
“You’ll be taking possession of the body then?” He almost seemed disappointed.
“I will.” Moses and I stopped at the bottom stair leading into the offices. I gestured to him. “Warden Kane, meet Detective Moses. The reason I’ve been so busy of late.”
Moses stepped forward and offered his hand. “Warden.”
“Detective,” said the warden, giving Moses’ hand a curt shake. “You’re not a local.”
“No, sir. I’m from down New Orleans way. Got a case that Lazarus is helping consult on. Led us to one of your inmates who might know a thing or two. A Drew Littlefox. You know him?”
Moses’ voice and face were all smiles, but something about him felt tense, uneasy. I studied his face and tried to figure out what it was but came up empty.
Kane nodded. “I know Littlefox. Lifer. Likes telling idjits around here he scalped a man to get his sentence, but he’s really in for a robbery gone wrong. Shot off a man’s dick, if you can believe it. Mean sumbitch. You sure he’s involved in your…what kind of case did you say it was again?”
Moses’ smile tightened. “I didn’t. I’m not really supposed to comment on an ongoing investigation. I know how word gets ’round the prison yard. Wouldn’t want Littlefox knowin’ we were coming in there. Best to catch them a little off guard.”
Warden Kane grunted and stared at Moses. There seemed to be a secondary conversation going on between them that I wasn’t picking up on. I’d have to ask Moses about it later.
“Well,” said the warden in the long, drawn-out way Southerners spoke when they didn’t want to do something, “guess I ought to show you to a room and get somebody to bring Littlefox up. Come on, then.”
Unlike a lot of prisons, Angola’s cell blocks were all different buildings connected via underground walkways and fenced-in sidewalks topped with razor wire. The only way for a prisoner to get from one building to another was to walk through a narrow space with a correctional officer on either end, sometimes two. With such a sprawling compound, getting around meant either going for lots of long walks, getting on a horse, or riding around in a golf cart.
The warden opted for the golf cart.
He called another officer to drive us to Cellblock D, which was on the other side of the compound. The little golf cart zipped along with the warden and his driver tucked into the front two seats, and me and Moses in the back, hanging on for dear life.
“Must be some case for you to come all the way up here,” the warden called back to us.
“Pretty big,” Moses agreed. “Really hoping your guy can throw us a bone. If not, we got other leads, but it’d be best for everyone if
he cooperates.”
“You authorized to offer him any kind of deal?” Warden Kane twisted in his seat to look back at us, one arm resting on his headrest. “They always ask for deals in exchange for information. My advice? If you have that power, don’t use it. Littlefox is not a good person. People like him, they don’t belong out in society. Believe you me, whole world’s safer with him locked up.”
“I don’t have that authority.” Moses kept his gaze straight ahead and didn’t turn to meet the warden’s scrutinizing eyes. “Guess I’ll just have to appeal to his sense of decency.”
The warden snorted and turned around. “This is a prison, Detective. Ain’t nobody here got a sense of decency no more.”
Our golf cart stopped outside a squat brick building with the letter D spray-painted in red on the outside. The cart shifted as the warden got off. If we’d tried to climb down at the same time, I imagined the whole thing tipping over.
Warden Kane instructed the driver to wait, adjusted his shirt, and strolled to the door where he swiped a keycard over a magnetic lock. The door buzzed, clicked, and swung open. “After you, gentlemen.”
On the other side of the door, we went through the standard search procedure and had to sign a waiver before they’d let us past the reception area. Well, it was more of a tiny square of entry space. The guards sat in a little security room off to the left, where they monitored twenty-four-hour video feeds from various places in the cell block. The door was reinforced steel coated in plexiglass. Riot gear hung on the walls inside the office within easy reach, enough to arm half a dozen officers, yet only two manned the station. There were probably only a handful of officers inside the cell block. One correctional officer for every six inmates would be on the grounds, but most wouldn’t be in the cell block itself. They were out in the fields or in the kitchens with the inmates, escorting them from one place to another. Inside a cell block, that ratio was much larger. Maybe one officer for every fifty inmates. Odds weren’t on the correctional officers’ side if that riot gear was actually needed.
After signing the waiver and getting our visitor passes, the warden showed us to a small conference room just through the next door. It wasn’t a nice, corporate conference room like you’d see on television either. There was a single table with four uncomfortable metal chairs. A one-way mirror sat off to one side while a camera in the corner recorded our every move.
“Just have a seat in here,” said the warden, holding the door open. “They should be bringing him in anytime. You need anything, there’ll be an officer right outside this door.”
I nodded my thanks and waited for the door to close behind him. It clicked into place, locking us in the room. Or was it locking out any unexpected visitors? Either way, it felt ominous enough that the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
“Something’s off,” Moses muttered, pulling out a chair.
“What do you mean?”
“Just got a bad feelin’ is all. Could be I’m wrong. I’ve been wrong before.” Moses eased into the chair and stretched out his leg, rubbing his knee.
I frowned and nodded. “Thought that was all an act.”
Moses flashed me a wide grin. “This body’s old. Been through a lot. I might be an immortal angel, but this body’s still plenty mortal with old bones. I play it up from time to time, but the fact is there’s no avoiding pain when you get to be as old as he is.”
I pulled out the chair at the end of the table, furthest from the door and sat with my back to a wall. “Who was he before you hopped in there and took over?”
“A devout man.” Moses flipped his hands over and examined his palms. “A struggling man. No kids. No wife. Just a young man with hope and a prayer.”
“He still in there?” I didn’t know what I’d do if he was. Personally, I didn’t like the idea of anyone—angels included—taking over a human body, even if it was for a good purpose.
“He’s here.” Moses waved a hand. “I’m here. We’ve been together so long, ain’t no good way to separate us now. I’m part of who he is, and he’s a part of me.”
“So, there’s no way to speak to Moses Moses the man? Just Moses Moses the angel?”
Moses sighed and folded his hands on top of the table. “You speak to one, both hear. I don’t suppress him. We’re the same person anymore. He and I are butter and milk, not oil and water.”
I still didn’t fully understand what he was trying to say, but it sounded better than what Archons did to a body they possessed. They usually pushed the soul out once they jumped in, which was why Jean Lafitte was now a disembodied soul, neither dead nor living. Nikki had gotten lucky when Morningstar took over her body. He’d left her alive in there, tucked away. I might argue that wasn’t so lucky, especially since she was aware the entire time and helpless to stop him.
The door clicked, and a correctional officer pushed it open. Chains rattled. The man who shuffled into the room was a giant, tall enough he almost had to duck to get through the door. Littlefox was broad-shouldered, with big arms and a hard face with sharp features and dark eyes. Jet black hair hung in patchy strips that extended just over the tops of his ears. Puffy, dark eyelids told me the story of a man who hadn’t slept well in some time.
His intimidating presence was impressive, but not nearly as striking as the power that followed him into the room. Magic swept out from Littlefox like a cool wind over water, testing the energy of the room. I held my breath as it brushed against me, waiting for something to happen. Whenever I extended my senses like that, I was looking for something.
Littlefox’s eyes snapped to me and held while the officers put him in the chair at the other end of the table and secured his chains to the chair so he couldn’t get up.
The officers reminded us to call them at the first sign of trouble and left.
“You’re Bill Kerrigan’s boy,” Littlefox said. His voice was deep and somehow conjured the image of pine trees swaying in a heavy wind. Littlefox’s eyes shifted to Moses briefly before snapping back to me. “We won’t get much time. How much do you know already?”
Straight and to the point. Finally, someone I didn’t have to explain things to.
I rested my hands on the table, palms flat. “I know his name. I know he’s a Titan, and I know he’s trying to bridge the gap between his reality and ours. Allowing him to do that would be cataclysmic. This place, Angola? It’s the only common denominator between all his chosen victims. I figure it’s his base of power. If he comes through, Angola will be ground zero.”
“Then you know more than me. All I know is its face.” His jaw flexed. “My grandmother told me stories of the time Grandfather Sun refused to shine. Darkness ruled the world and monstrous beasts roamed the land, feeding on the old magic. She would call them terrors or just monsters, depending on how badly she wanted to scare us. The old spider woman, Asibikaashi, wove a web to catch the sun and banish the darkness. I told your father this story and urged him to build his own dreamcatcher, but in here it’s not easy.”
I tapped a finger on the table and averted my eyes. “My father hanged himself with a pencil and a bedsheet. Why?”
“Because I told him he must not let the Terror feed on his magic. The more it eats, the more powerful it becomes. At the time, I believed he could be starved with enough time and willpower. Now…” Littlefox shook his head, making the chains around his wrists rattle. “I don’t know if it can be stopped now. The best anyone can do is look after himself. Weave yourself a dream catcher. It’ll protect you from the nightmares. And when the sun rises and strikes the hope woven within, you can wake free of its influence as I’ve done.”
“You said we wouldn’t have much time,” Moses said. “Why would you think that?”
Littlefox’s eyes shifted to the camera in the corner and stayed there. “Because they turned the camera off almost as soon as I sat down. The Terror is strong here. It’s been trying to get to me since your father died. Putting you in the same room with me will only
make it easy for the Terror to eliminate us both at the same time.”
I exchanged a glance with Moses. Maybe Littlefox was paranoid. We were inside a locked room deep in the heart of a prison compound with armed guards outside, and it was the middle of the day. Nobody should be sleeping in prison during the day. What was this Titan going to do to us here and now?
Shouldn’t tempt fate, I guess. Better cut this short. “You said the dream catchers will break his influence. Does that mean if he’s hunting me, all I have to do is sleep under one of those things?”
Littlefox shook his head. “No, first you must weave it yourself. Weave into it something of great value, something that gives you hope. Place it above you as you sleep. That night will be filled with the worst nightmares imaginable. If you survive to the daylight, and the sun passes through the web and onto your face, then the Terror’s hold will be broken.”
That almost sounded too simple. But then, nothing prevented it from coming after me again once I was free. He’d also neglected to mention a way to stop it. “My father mentioned something about dream warriors as a possible way to stop this thing. He said I should ask you.”
“I’ll tell you what I told him. It takes a great deal of magic to enter a waking dream, and it isn’t something easily done. You would need a list of ingredients and preparations that go beyond what I know of magic.” His chains clinked as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But, if you managed it, in theory, you could confront the Terror where it lived. It wouldn’t be easy. You would find yourself in a reality the Terror can shape to its will. Even if you get there, I know of no weapon that can kill it. You called it a Titan. I read a book about Greek mythology once. The Titans were never killed, only imprisoned, and it took the full might of the gods and a decade of war to do it. You don’t have that kind of power.”
I glanced over at Moses, an idea forming in my head. “The surest way to get me to do something is to tell me it can’t be done. I killed the Devil a few weeks ago. Pretty sure I can take this thing on.”
