Books 1–4

by Nancy A. Collins

  He reached down and caressed the handle of his machete. The weapon leaned against the right side of the chair, balanced on its edge so it was within easy grasp. The handle was of finest mahogany and had been presented to him in a special ceremony by Papa Doc himself. It was Obeah’s most prized possession.

  He checked his watch and frowned. It was time for him to check on the bitch. He tried to lever himself out of the easy chair with the length of rebar he was using as a staff, but the pain that shot up his leg made him cry out and drop back in his seat. Fuck it. The bitch wasn’t going anywhere.

  Suddenly there came a knock on the door. Obeah grimaced. It was nearly sunrise, so whatever was on the other side probably was human. Grimacing in pain, he pulled himself out of the chair, doing his best to keep from losing his balance or blacking out. The makeshift splint did little to help his mobility. He hobbled toward the door as the pounding grew louder, his machete clutched in one hand.

  “I’m coming! Keep your shirt on!” he grumbled as he put his eye to the spy-hole set in the door. He grunted in surprise. The visitor was the new vampire bitch—the one with the sunglasses. Esher rarely sent vampires to the safe house, since it was like posting bears to guard the honeycomb.

  Scowling in suspicion, Obeah threw back the five deadbolts and opened the door, leaving on the two-inch-thick security chain. “Whatchoo want?” he growled

  “Esher sent me. It’s an emergency!” She held up a gym bag at eye level.

  “I’m supposed to give her some elixir he whipped up that’ll wipe all memory of that brat of hers from her memory. She has to receive it before the dawn.”

  “How come he didn’t call me about it first?” “Your cell phone got trashed in the crash—remember?”

  “Oh, yeah—that’s right,” he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement. Satisfied by her explanation, Obeah removed the chain and let Sonja into the apartment.

  “Where’s Nikola?” She asked as she glanced around the front parlor and kitchen as Obeah relocked the door.

  “Asleep in her bedroom,” Obeah grunted, pointing at the door at the far end of the parlor.

  “They find a replacement for Webb yet?” she asked as she moved ahead of him into the apartment.

  “Not yet.”

  “That’s a shame. You really need a partner on a detail like this.”

  There was a way her body moved as she spoke those words that triggered a memory deep within Obeah’s brain. He was back on the street, sprawled among the busted safety glass. There was blood in his face, blood in his mouth, blood in his eyes. As he lay there, balanced on the razor’s edge between conscious and unconsciousness, he looked up through a scrim of red pain—and saw something hovering over him. The impression he had, before the darkness claimed him, was that the thing looking down at him had eyes of mirrored glass.

  “You! It was you!” he bellowed as he swung the machete.

  Sonja was on him in less than a heartbeat, raising her left hand to block the coming blow. Growling like an angry panther, she used the gym bag to knock the length of rebar he was using as a cane out of his hand. Obeah screamed in pain as he fell to the floor, his injured leg pinned under him. Sonja planted a boot on the bokor’s throat, the heel resting on his larynx. She plucked the 9mm from his waistband and checked the clip, then slapped it back into place.

  She glanced down at Obeah, who was struggling to both breathe and pray to his gods at the same time. She was tempted to drain him—it had been a long time since she’d fed—but she didn’t want to leave any evidence of a vampire being involved in the kill. It was better for Esher to think it was the handiwork of a Black Spoons hit team.

  She lifted her foot from Obeah’s neck and flipped him over onto his belly with a single kick. Although the pain must have been immense, all he could manage was a despairing moan. Obeah’s years on a death squad told him what would happen next. His last thought before the bullet from his own gun entered the back of his skull was that he wished he could tell his mother he was sorry.

  Having disposed of the guard, Sonja walked to the door of the bedroom. She tried the knob and found it was unlocked. “Nikola?”

  No answer.

  She entered cautiously. The interior of the room was utterly dark, as the windows were painted over and all the light-fixtures had been removed. Apparently Esher wanted his new bride-to-be accustomed to her forthcoming exile from the sun. The utter darkness meant nothing to her, however, since she could see as clearly as if it were high noon, even with her shades on.

  Despite the darkness, the bedroom itself was decorated completely in white—white plush rugs, white curtains, white vanity table, white dresser and wardrobe. Nikola lay curled in the middle of the circular king-size bed, wrapped in white satin sheets like a butterfly in its cocoon. Sonja set her gym bag down and nudged the mound under the sheets. The lump under the covers made a noise and squirmed slightly, as if trying to crawl away, then went still. Sonja grabbed the edge of the mattress and tilted it, rolling the dancer out of the bed and onto the floor, where she lay, naked save for a white lace thong, her head lolling like a ragdoll’s.

  “Time t’dance awreddddy?” Nikola moaned, peering groggily through sleep-swollen eyes.

  Sonja grabbed the dancer by the wrist and dragged her to her feet. “It’s time to go! I’m busting you out of here!”

  She strode to the wardrobe, pulling the drugged woman behind her like a toy on a string, and began tossing clothes onto the floor. She then opened the gym bag, removing the dozen black roses, and tossed the bouquet atop the crumpled bedclothes. She stuffed a few pieces of Nikola’s wardrobe into the empty bag, then turned to speak to the dancer—only to find her curled into a fetal position on the floor. She grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her vigorously.

  “Wake up, damn it! You can do better than this! You’ve got to it you want to see Ryan again.”

  “Ryan?” Nikola’s eyelids flickered and she weakly raised her head. “Is Ryan here?”

  “No, but if you want to be with him, you have to do as I say. Do you want to be with your son?”

  “Yesss.”

  “Then prove it to me: get dressed.”

  The dancer struggled to her feet. She was wobbly, but seemed far more focused than before. She pulled a one-piece white satin dress with a plunging neckline over her head, then stepped into a pair of white stiletto heels. Once Nikola was clothed, Sonja took her by the hand and led her into the parlor. Nikola blinked at the sunlight flooding the room through the windows and raised a pale hand to her face. The skin around her eyes was puffy and purplish-pink, and tears streamed down her cheeks. It was the first time she’d seen daylight in months.

  Sonja steered her around Obeah’s body and toward the door. If Nikola noticed her former bodyguard’s corpse, she didn’t respond. Nor did she show any emotion upon spotting the half-dozen Pointers sprawled dead on the sidewalk and stairs outside the safe house.

  “Where’s Ryan?” she asked, looking up and down the street for signs of her son.

  “He’s waiting for you at a friend’s house.”

  “Jesus,” Eddie whispered as he opened the door. He quickly stepped aside to allow Sonja tow Nikola into the apartment. “You actually pulled it off.”

  “Mama!” Ryan squealed as he scampered out from under the kitchen sink. The boy launched himself into his mother’s arms, and it was all Nikola could do not to stagger and fall as she returned his hug.

  “Eddie! This is my mom!” Ryan exclaimed excitedly as he held onto Nikola’s hand while reaching out to his friend with the other.

  Eddie smiled and stepped forward. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Ryan’s done nothing but talk about you since I met him. My name’s Edward McLeod.”

  “You’re the one looking after my boy?” she asked.

  “When he lets me.”

  Nikola smiled then, and somet
hing of the woman she used to be glimmered in her eyes. She took the old hippie’s hand and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for taking such good care of him. How can I repay you for what you’ve done?”

  “You don’t have to, ma’am,” he replied, blushing to his receding roots. “I just did what needed to be done. Karma, y’know?”

  “Look, I hate to break up the happy reunion, but there’s not much time left,” Sonja said firmly. “If we’re going to smuggle you two out of Deadtown, it has to be when the vampires are down for the day and their human minions aren’t up and about. Which means we’ve only got a couple hours at the most. Where’s that money I left with you for safekeeping?”

  Cloudy disappeared among the haphazard stacks of old books and returned a moment later, lugging a massive single-volume Oxford English Dictionary. He flipped open the cover to reveal a hollowed interior with the money stashed inside. “I always figured thieves would never think of looking in a book,” he grinned.

  Sonja unzipped the gym bag and began stuffing the cash inside it. “I got a half-million for the cocaine I ripped off from Esher, after he ripped it off from Sinjon. I’m giving you two hundred thousand. I figure that’s enough to get you as far from Deadtown as possible and set you up in a new life. One where you won’t have to worry about where your next paycheck’s coming from for a long time and you don’t have to work at night and leave Ryan by himself. I’m giving Eddie a hundred thousand for his trouble—that okay with you, man?” she asked as she handed him a fat stack of hundred dollar bills.

  “You hear me complaining?” he grinned.

  “The rest I’m keeping for myself. I don’t exactly do this shit for free, y’know.” With that Sonja turned and handed the gym bag to Nikola, who stared into its contents in disbelief. She seemed stunned, but it was hard to tell if it was a reaction to her change in fortune or the zombie dust still in her system.

  “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?” the dancer asked in a bewildered voice.

  “Maybe it’s because you remind me of someone I used to know,” Sonja replied quietly. “Someone who needed help once—and there was no one there to give it.”

  Nikola regarded her strange benefactor for a long moment, and then glanced at her son, smoothing his hair from his pale, wide brow. “I owe you the return of my life, my soul—and my son. May God bless you for all you’ve done.”

  Sonja’s smile was thin as a paper cut. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”

  “Jumpin’ Jesus! When did you do that?” Eddie suddenly blurted.

  Sonja glanced down at her left hand and noticed for the first time that she was missing her left pinkie. She splayed her fingers, studying the wound. She had to give Obeah credit—his machete was so sharp and his slice so quick, she never even realized he’d landed a blow.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” The old hippie asked as he grimaced in sympathy.

  “I have a very high pain threshold,” she replied calmly. “We don’t have the time to waste on something as minor as this,” she said with a dismissive wave of her maimed hand. “We need to get this show on the road.”

  “But you’re missing a finger—!” Eddie protested.

  “That’s not important. What matters, right now, is getting Nikola and Ryan out of Deadtown.” She turned to the dancer, who was still staring at the money. “Do you have a place where you can go?”

  “My sister lives in San Luis Obispo,” she replied.

  “Good. California it is.” Sonja turned to look at Eddie. “You should go with them. Deadtown won’t be safe for you. There’s a good chance it won’t even exist in a night or two.”

  “I can’t leave,” Eddie said firmly. “This is my home. I’m too old to start over somewhere else.”

  Ryan pulled away from his mother and grabbed one of Eddie’s big, callused hands. “You’re going to come live with us, aren’t you?”

  Eddie smiled sadly and knelt so that he and the boy were eye-to-eye. “I’m touched that you made the offer, kid. Really I am. But I can’t go with you. But maybe someday I’ll come out and visit you and your mom—would you like that?”

  Ryan threw his arms around the old hippie’s neck and hugged him as hard as a child has ever hugged a beloved toy. Eddie pulled the boy close, trying not to crush him as he returned the embrace.

  “We’re running out of time,” Sonja said, her voice soft but urgent.

  Eddie nodded his understanding and reluctantly stood up. “You better go, kid.” He wiped the heel of his palm under his eyes, struggling to keep smiling in front of the boy. “But before you do, there’s something I want you to have.” He turned and dipped into the jumble of books that surrounded them with the unerring grace of a heron pulling a fish from a pond, retrieving a much-thumbed copy of Make Way For Ducklings. “Something to read on the plane,” he said, handing the book to Ryan with a melancholy smile. Sniffling back his tears, the boy clutched the book to his narrow chest like a holy shield.

  Sonja stood by the door, anxiously tapping her foot, until Nikola and Ryan joined her. Then, with the simple turn of a deadbolt lock, they left Eddie’s squat and were out on the street.

  In the early morning light, Deadtown looked no different from any other blighted inner-city neighborhood. The vampires who ruled its streets during the night were curled up in their various underground burrows, safely hidden from the sun, while their human servants slumbered in their squalid squats, leaving the streets, at least for a few brief hours, to those who had always called Deadtown home. Most of the residents were either very old or extremely poor, if not both, like the ancient woman in the shapeless raincoat and black babushka across the street, who was pushing a decrepit two-wheeled market-cart ahead of her like a doddering Sisyphus.

  Some were junkies or alcoholics, shivering in the thin daylight as they made their way to a rendezvous with their dealer or the nearest liquor store, like the rail-thin older man dressed in a filthy clerical collar standing on the street corner. As Sonja and her charges drew closer, the priest crossed himself and scurried to the other side of the street, clutching a paper sack under his arm.

  As the trio hurried along, the few citizens of Deadtown they happened across reacted in much the same way; at first surprised to see a child; then, upon spotting Sonja, they quickly averted their eyes, visibly shaken by the sight of a monster in broad daylight. Not that Sonja was enjoying her little morning stroll. Although she could walk in the sunlight without fear of bursting into flame, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. She was tired and her body cried out for the regeneration that came with sleep. The bright light was giving her a migraine and her skin felt as if it was covered in an army of fleas.

  The further they walked from the cancerous heart of Deadtown, the more people appeared on the street, the urban blight weakening with every passing block until, without warning, they turned a corner and found themselves on a busy downtown area, filled with bicycle messengers, honking cabs, and harried-looking men in suits and women dressed as secretaries.

  Nikola shivered and turned to look back the way they’d come. “Was it always that easy to leave?” she asked.

  “It’s always that easy—and nearly impossible—to escape places like Deadtown,” Sonja replied. “Come, you’re not safe yet—not until we’ve gotten you on a plane.” She stepped out into traffic and slammed her hands onto the hood of a passing taxi, bringing it to a full stop. The driver looked more spooked than angered, since he hadn’t put his foot on the brake.

  “Wh-where to, lady?” the cabbie stammered as they climbed into the back seat.

  Sonja scanned the bank of video screens in the main terminal until she spotted a flight into Los Angeles. She hung back and watched Nikola go to the ticket counter and talk to the booking agent. After a few minutes she came back, waving a pair of boarding passes. Although she was smiling, she still looked painfully wan, like Camille on a day-trip. />
  “I got first class tickets on the next flight out!”

  “You can afford it now,” Sonja said with a shrug. “I need to call my sister and tell her we’re coming. Can you watch Ryan for me while I try to find a payphone? Esher took my iPhone away from me a long time ago.” Sonja waited until Nikola was safely out of earshot before dropping down onto one knee and speaking directly to the boy. “Kid, you’re going to have to look after your mom. She’s been through a lot. She’s going to need you to help her try and get back to how she used to be—and that might take a long, long time.”

  “Is she gonna be okay?” Ryan asked anxiously.

  “I think so,” Sonja replied with a crooked smile. “But I want you to remember, no matter what happens to you and your mom in the future, that Esher couldn’t make her stop loving you. He did everything he could to scrub away her past and make her like him—but she wouldn’t give you up. That’s what kept her human, and that’s what brought her back to you.”

  “I know,” Ryan said, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the background noise of the terminal. He looked solemnly into her mirrored eyes. “Will I see you again?”

  Sonja shrugged as she stood up, patting the boy on the head. “Who knows, kid? I travel a lot. Maybe someday we’ll cross paths again.”

  Nikola returned, smiling even broader than before, her eyes gleaming with a manic sparkle. “I got hold of my sister. I gave her our flight information and she’ll be there to meet us at LAX! You’ve never met your Aunt Kate, have you, Ryan?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “She says we can live with her until we can get ourselves established. She’s got a son—your Cousin Jeremy—who’s a year older than you that you can play with. He’ll be your new friend.”

  “But Eddie’s my friend,” Ryan said, glancing down at the copy of Make Way For Ducklings he held clutched to his chest.

  “Well, Cousin Jeremy can be your new friend,” Nikola said, her smile suddenly brittle.