“Because he was with his girlfriend, my sister Donna. They were on a sailboat out on Pontchartrain.”
“If he has an alibi, then why is he still in jail?” Eddie asked.
“Bruno’s old lady. She don’t know he’s got a girlfriend. He’s more afraid of her than going to prison.”
“How do you know that?” Tony asked.
“Like I said, he’s been going with my sister Donna for more than a year now. He bought her a new Lincoln and an expensive condo over by the river. Not much I don’t know about Bruno, including his underwear size.”
“And his wife don’t know?” Tony asked.
“If she does, she hasn’t let on,” Louis said. “Bruno sure ain’t gonna tell her.”
“What about Lonzo Galvez, Anderson’s bodyguard. Was he here?”
“He’s never far away from Mr. Anderson. He usually waits in the kitchen. The cook and the girls feed him, and I take him drinks.”
“Did he leave with Anderson?” Tony asked.
“Always does,” Louis said. “He don’t ever get too far away from his boss.”
Tony handed him another hundred. “Bring us one more round and then clear our tab,” he said. “We gotta get outa here.” Louis was walking away when he added, “And add a fresh bottle of Monkey Shoulder to the tab. We’ll take it with us.”
***
Eddie had closed his eyes as soon as his rear end touched the front seat of Tony’s Mustang. They were halfway across the Causeway before he opened them again. The fog was rising up off the water and starting to pour over the road.
“Sorry,” Eddie said. “I didn’t realize how tired I was until I closed my eyes.”
Tony didn’t take his eyes off the narrow road in front of them. “Been a long day already, and barely even ten yet.”
“And we still need to talk with Frankie and Josie when we get back to the farm. Hope I don’t fall asleep while we’re getting the third degree.”
“Or in bed with that pretty daughter of his.”
Eddie laughed. “Not much chance of that. Like I said, she told me last night she doesn’t believe in sex outside of marriage.”
“That can’t be good for you,” Tony said. “You don’t believe in sex inside of marriage.”
“Funny. I believe in marriage. I’m just not ready for it yet. Maybe I’ll be when I’m forty-something.”
“By then, your hair will be thinning and your gut thickening. Young, pretty women won’t give you a second look. Just something to think about.”
“Whatever,” Eddie said. “If I married Josie, I’d probably have to quit my job. Too much of a conflict of interest.”
“If you marry Josie, you won’t need your job. Frankie will see you, and her have everything you ever need.”
“I hope you don’t run out of hundreds. No wonder you’re such a crack investigator,” Eddie said.
“Like I told you earlier, Frankie gives me a big retainer whenever I start a new job for him. I convert about two grand of it into hundreds. Money buys everything, Frankie says. Tell me if you need more. Just don’t let a nickel hold up a dollar.”
“Be nice if all clients were like that,” Eddie said.
“Most of them are. They hire me because I get them results. That’s the bottom line.”
“And Frankie?”
“My best client. If I’d had an endless supply of bennies when I was a homicide detective, I could have solved the city’s murder problem for them.”
“I feel your pain,” Eddie said. “What now?”
“We did good today, and I’m pretty sure we got most of the puzzle pieces covered. Right now, we just don’t know how they all fit.”
“At least one piece is still missing.”
“Which one?” Tony asked.
“If Anderson had Contrado killed because of a horse, how does that little tidbit of information jibe with our investigation?”
“Was wondering about that myself. Maybe they were arguing about Lightning Bolt,” Tony said.
Eddie shook his head. “Not according to Louis. He said it was over a horse Contrado had sold to Anderson. That precludes the possibility that they were talking about Lightning Bolt.”
“We both know that the big stallion is somehow involved,” Tony said.
“And that whoever killed Contrado has obviously paid off the police,” Eddie said.
“Anderson is the mayor’s first cousin. Who better to orchestrate a cover-up?”
“And use his media empire to skew the news to confuse the public and the police as to what’s really happening. I think we have our killer. Baresi’s just the fall guy.”
Tony nodded. “Frankie’s lawyers will get Bruno off the hook, though it sounds like he won’t have such an easy time explaining to his old lady about his girlfriend.”
“Something else we don’t have an answer to,” Eddie said.
“Only one?”
“Let’s just say for giggles and grins that Anderson did steal Lightning Bolt. What does he intend to do with him? He can’t race him, and he doesn’t seem like the sentimental type.”
“He can’t breed him, either,” Tony said. “Unless he plans to use him to fill in for another horse.”
“Not likely. He couldn’t get the kind of stud fee a horse of Lightning Bolt’s caliber would command, even if there weren't the matter of DNA. I also doubt he has a grandson to give him to.”
It was too cool for the air conditioner and too hot for the heater. Humidity was high both outside and inside the car. Tony flipped on the defroster and turned up the fan to clear the haze on the inside of the window.
“Anderson has wanted Lightning Bolt since he was a foal,” he said. “Maybe bad enough to kill for him.”
“Not his style,” Eddie said. “We know his motive for killing Contrado could have been his horse sale gone bad.”
“And he was pissed at Frankie for fixing a race he thought he’d already fixed.”
“But why did he steal Lightning Bolt?” Eddie said.
By now, visibility on the Causeway was greatly reduced. Tony adjusted the brightness of his fog lights and slowed the car to a crawl.
“Guess that’s the sixty-four dollar question,” he said.
No one was asleep, not even Jojo, when they reached Frankie’s horse farm. Not only was everyone still awake, but they were also waiting in a group on the front porch. When Eddie stepped out of the car, Jojo ran over and hugged him. Eddie ruffled his dark mop of hair.
“How you doing, Tiger?” he said. “Don’t you think it’s a little past your bedtime?”
“Mama and Papaw said I could stay up till you got home.”
Eddie squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “I’m glad you did.”
Josie was right behind Jojo, smiling as she gave Eddie a sensual kiss. Almost too sensual. He glanced at Adele and Frankie to gauge their reaction, surprised to see that they were both smiling.
He, Josie and JoJo strolled to the porch, arm-in-arm. When they reached it, Josie gave Jojo’s bottom a friendly swat.
“Eddie’s home now and it’s bedtime for you,” she said.
“Goodnight, Eddie,” Jojo said with a wave as he followed his mother into the house.
Frankie continued to smile as he glanced at his expensive gold Rolex.
“I was beginning to wonder if you two were going to make it back tonight. I came close to sending out some boys to look for you. Everything okay?”
After Lil and Tony had exchanged a kiss and hug, Tony handed the bottle of Monkey Shoulder, wrapped in a brown paper bag, to Frankie.
“Everything’s fine. Eddie and I brought you something,” he said.
“What is it?” Frankie asked as he pulled the bottle out of the bag.
“Some damn good scotch,” Tony said. “How you doing, Adele?”
Like Frankie and Lil, Adele had a drink in her hand. It didn’t stop her from hugging both Tony and Eddie.
“Great. Are you two hungry?”
Sensing Adele had cooked up something especially for them, Tony didn’t tell her about the sandwiches they’d eaten at Pinky’s.
“I can always find room for anything you cook. You know that, Adele. Whatcha got?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs. Pancho’s secret recipe,” she said. “Haven’t made it in a while and Frankie’s been after me to do it.”
“Thank you, Adele, and thank you, Frankie,” Tony said.
“How about you, Eddie?” Adele asked. “You hungry?”
“You kidding? I’m always ready for the best Italian spaghetti and meatballs in New Orleans,” he said.
“Great,” Adele said.
“If I could find a woman that cooks like you, I’d have been married years ago. You know what they say; the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
Adele’s smile quickly disappeared, and so did Frankie’s.
“Good. It’s waiting on the stove,” Adele said before he had a chance to ask if he’d said something wrong.
Tony also noticed the reaction to Eddie’s comment and tried to bail him out.
“I’m betting Josie can cook with the best of them,” he said.
“Adele’s giving her a few lessons,” Frankie said.
“Hey, there’s more to a good relationship than just good cooking,” Eddie said.
“That’s a fact,” Frankie said, slapping his shoulder as his smile returned.
Eddie wondered about Frankie and Adele’s reaction at the mention of cooking. He forgot about it when they entered the ranch-style kitchen and smelled the wonderful aroma of Adele’s famous spaghetti sauce.
Josie joined them, returning from Jojo’s bedroom. Wrapping an arm around Eddie’s waist, she gave him another hug and kiss. As before, Adele and Frankie just kept smiling.
“The girls opened two bottles of Chianti. Myself, I want to try this scotch with the weird name,” Frankie said.
Adele punched his arm. “I already know you’re going to have some of both,” she said. “You always do.”
“You know me too well, don’t you?” he said. “Maybe that’s why I love you so much.”
“Just one of the many reasons,” she said. “I also give a mean back massage.”
“The best. Everyone grab a chair. I’m anxious to hear what Eddie and Tony learned after making me go to the house.”
“You were welcome to come along,” Tony said.
“I know,” Frankie said. “I enjoy watching you boys work, and I almost did. The little lady here always wants me to come home at a decent hour.”
“You know you love it,” she said.
“Baby, you bet I do,” he said, giving her bottom a friendly pinch. “As much as I want to hear what happened, there’ll be no discussing business while we eat. After dinner, we’ll sit on the porch, and you two can catch me up on what you learned today.”
Between bites of pasta, Lil reached over and squeezed Tony’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re not a cop anymore,” she said. “You were never home early. Always more like four in the morning.”
“We were both younger then,” Tony said. “I hope I never have to leave home in the middle of the night again to oversee a homicide investigation. Those days are behind me.”
“What about the other night?”
“A once in a blue moon event. Tommy needed my help, and I was happy to give it to him. Where’s Patchy?”
“I swear you care more about that dog than you do me.”
Tony got tomato sauce on her face when he leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“You know that ain’t true,” he said.
“Patch and Silky are asleep at the bungalow. There’s a doggie door, and they both love the place. I wish you weren’t working so you could enjoy it with us.”
Tony bent his head closer to her and held his voice down so that Frankie wouldn’t hear him talking about business.
“Eddie and me are close on this one. Might even have an answer for Frankie as early as tomorrow. Then we’ll have plenty of time to enjoy this place together. Frankie’s already told me that he and Adele expect us to stay another week after I solve the case for him.”
“Good because I just love it here. Adele and I rode horses today, played tennis, and then went swimming in the heated pool. We even had a massage from a professional masseur. I’m so tired, I’ll probably fall asleep the minute my head hits the pillow.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said.
Slightly tipsy after two glasses of Chianti, Lil didn’t even try to stifle a giggle.
Frankie’s good mood continued, bolstered by Adele’s pasta and the bottle of Monkey Shoulder. He didn’t let the bottle get far away, and he carried it with him when they sauntered out to the partially covered deck.
The night was cool, and the fog gone for the moment, wafted away by a gentle breeze. Someone had lit the large fire pit, and they found places to sit on the couches and chairs that circled around it. Tony closed his eyes, almost nodding off when he and Lil sank into one of the comfortable porch couches.
“Oh no you don’t,” Frankie said, topping up his scotch. “No one goes to sleep until I hear your report. What you got for me?”
“Let me get Eddie over here, and we’ll tell you,” Tony said.
Eddie was paying no attention to Frankie or anyone else except Josie. He was sprawled in a big recliner, Josie draped across his lap and playing with his hair.
“Hey, break it up you two,” Frankie said, grinning. “You two ain’t married yet, and we need Eddie’s input over here.”
Josie bounded out of Eddie’s lap, sat in her dad’s and gave him a hug.
“Spoilsport,” she said.
Before Josie could return to the recliner, Eddie moved over to the couch, sandwiching Lil between him and Tony as the word yet reverberated in his head.
“Does anyone need me to top up their scotch or wine before we get started?” Frankie asked.
Not waiting for an answer, he began topping up all their drinks. When the bottle of Chianti ran dry, he opened another.
“Now,” he said. “If everyone’s situated on drinks, I want to hear about your trip to Pinky’s.”
“Pinky wasn’t around,” Tony said. “Didn’t make any difference because our bartender was plenty talkative. We learned a bunch.”
“Tell me,” Frankie said.
“First thing we found out was Angus Anderson, and Diego Contrado had drinks at the bar the night Contrado was murdered.”
“Makes sense,” Frankie said. “They was together at the track bar the night of the race.”
“Apparently, everything wasn’t so hunky dory with them. They had an argument at Pinky’s that made the bartender very uncomfortable. Anderson got so mad, he stomped out of the restaurant. He left Contrado alone at the bar, mumbling under his breath, according to the bartender.”
“What were they arguing about?” Frankie asked. “Did he know?”
Tony sipped his scotch and leaned forward, out of the grasp of the comfortable couch.
“Something about a horse Contrado had sold to Anderson,” he said. “Supposedly, the deal went bad, and Contrado refused to give Anderson his money back. The bartender didn’t know any of the details.”
“Figures,” Frankie said. “Those two are always at the track together. Makes sense that they had dealings in the horse business.”
“Any ideas on the horse they were arguing about?” Tony asked.
“Those two love quarter horses. I only keep up with thoroughbreds. Josie may know something.”
She was already searching the internet using her cell phone.
“If there’s something on the net about it, I’ll find it,” she said.
“What else?” Frankie asked.
“The bartender gave us an alibi for Bruno Baresi,” Tony said.
“Like what? My five-hundred dollar per hour lawyers haven’t found anything yet.”
“Figures,” Eddie said.
“What’s your problem with expensive lawyers?”
“Maybe I just wish I was one,” Eddie said, grinning.”
“That’s not your only reason,” Frankie said. “Tell me why you really feel that way.”
“In my experience, white-collar law firms have little reason to solve their client’s problem only to get off the sugar tit. They usually keep sucking until you finally have to wrench them loose.”
“If what you say is true, then what should I do about it?” Frankie asked.
“If it were my money, I’d fire them and hire a couple of hungry hundred-dollar per hour lawyers.”
“All lawyers are supposed to act professionally. Especially those in the law firms I hire.”
“No matter how much they charge an hour, they’re all human. In your case, I say they haven’t even tried to do you a good job.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“Because it took Tony and me less than two hours to learn Bruno wasn’t at Pinky’s the night Contrado was killed.”
“Impossible. Bruno would have said something by now, not to mention the cops found his pistol near the murder scene.”
“Planted,” Tony said.
“You’d better explain,” Frankie said.
“Crooked cops conducted the investigation, and it was a farce,” Eddie said. “The only person they interviewed was Pinky. Louis, the bartender, says Bruno was on a sailboat on Pontchartrain with his girlfriend.”
“How would he know that?” Frankie asked.
“Bruno’s girlfriend is his sister. According to him, he even knows the size of Bruno’s underwear,” Tony said.
“Then who’s side is Pinky on, and why hasn’t Bruno told this to the lawyers?”
“Don’t know who’s side Pinky is on other than it’s not yours,” Eddie said.
Frankie’s smile had disappeared. “I’ll worry about Pinky later. Tell me about Bruno.”
Bruno’s more afraid of his old lady, according to Louis than a charge of first-degree murder,” Eddie said. “Want me to have a come to Jesus talk with your fancy lawyers for you? We’ll have Bruno out of jail tomorrow.”
“Likely soon to be divorced Bruno, or maybe even murdered by his old lady,” Tony said.
Still focusing his attention on Eddie, Frankie ignored Tony’s comment.
“You’d talk to the lawyers for me?” he asked.
“Sure I will,” Eddie said. “Sounds like they need to be taken down a notch or two and I’m just the man to do it for you.”
“You’re on,” Frankie said. “If Bruno didn’t pull the trigger, then who killed Contrado?”
“Lonzo Galvez,” Eddie said. “Angus Anderson’s bodyguard. The same person that took your trophy from Wyatt and me. The same trophy found at the murder scene of your trainer and jockey.”
“Angus is politically connected. I doubt he’d ever be charged, much less convicted of murder. At least not in Orleans Parish.”
“We’re working on the political corruption aspect of New Orleans at the Federal D.A.’s office,” Eddie said. “Problem is there are so many crooks in city hall, we’re having a hard time figuring out where to start.”
“Nobody knows that better than me,” Frankie said. “Around here, you just gotta play the game. You want to do something about it, you got to start at the top and work your way down.”
“That’s what we’re figuring out,” Eddie said.
“What about Lightning Bolt?”
“Eddie and I think he’s probably at Anderson’s horse farm. Just a gut feeling because we have no proof.”
“Even if Lightning Bolt is still alive, we wonder why he would want the horse,” Eddie said. “Unless Anderson needs a pet because he can’t race or breed him.”
Josie wasn’t paying attention to the conversation as she worked the digits on her cell phone, searching the web.
“I found something you’re just not going to believe,” she said.
A damp breeze had begun blowing up from the south, the fog beginning to disappear. It was soon replaced by gentle rain, its fine mist dampening the edges of the covered deck. Lil leaned closer to the fire pit to warm her hands. Adele hurried inside, returning with sweaters for herself, Josie and Lil.
“Baby, don’t keep us in suspense,” Frankie said.
“Maybe this is what we’re looking for. Baja Racing sold a champion quarter horse to Angus Anderson three months ago for almost six million dollars.”
“You got to be kidding. How much did you say he paid?” Tony asked.
“Just under six million bucks,” Josie said.
“Who is Baja Racing?” Eddie asked.
“Just a sec and I’ll find out.” After another quick search, she said, “A corporation, though it looks like Diego Contrado is the primary stockholder.”
“Bingo,” Tony said. “Good work, Josie.”
“The horse’s name is Lightning in a Bottle,” she said. “And listen to this.”
“What?” Tony and Eddie said at the same time.
“I checked the pedigree section of the quarter horse association’s website. The horse Angus Anderson bought from Baja Racing is a full brother—same sire, same dam—to Lightning Bolt.”
“So what?” Frankie asked. “Those two buy and sell horses every day. It might not mean anything.”
“Maybe not,” Eddie said. “It’s still one hell of a coincidence that the two horses are full brothers.”
“Maybe he likes the bloodline,” Frankie said.
Something about the tone of Frankie’s voice made them both reluctant to answer his questions. Josie wasn’t afraid of her father and asked something of her own.
“Then why did Anderson want Contrado to return his money?” Josie asked.
“Baby, I don’t have a clue,” Frankie said.
“Anderson’s horse farm is no more than five miles from here,” she said. “Let’s take a look at his stables. Now’s a perfect time.”
“Probably not a bad idea,” Tony said.
“I’m in,” Eddie said.
Josie was beaming. “We’ll need dark clothing. We have black sweatsuits with hoods at the spa.”
“Baby, you’re not going anywhere,” Frankie said.
“And why may I ask not?”
“Too dangerous. The cartel has men out there, even at this hour. That’s not to mention you could get shot trespassing on Anderson’s property.”
“I’m the only one that knows the way to Anderson’s farm. Since I was the real estate agent that sold it to him, I know the location of every barn, stable and house on the place, and I also know what Lightning Bolt looks like.”
Frankie downed his glass of scotch in one swallow. “What do you intend to do if Lightning Bolt is there; steal him and then ride him home?”
“Sounds like a perfect plan to me,” she said.
“Not a bad idea,” Eddie said. “I’ll ride him.”
“Bullshit!” Frankie said. “You’ve never even been on a horse and you damn sure ain’t starting out on a crazy dangerous stallion like Lightning Bolt.”
“Don’t look at me,” Tony said. “I never been on a horse, either.”
“Good, then no one is going tonight. I’ll take some boys over tomorrow and get the horse myself.”
“No you won’t,” Josie said. “Anderson’s place is probably an armed camp right about now; same as Murky Bayou is. They’ll stop you at the front gate. If you ever manage to get in, the horse will be gone when you reach the stable. Then, what will you tell Jojo?”
“Speaking of that, I got something I need to fess up to.”
“What?”
“I didn’t really buy Lightning Bolt, I borrowed him from someone I know. If we get him back, then I need to return him to his rightful owner.”
Her dad’s answer confused her, and she took a moment to say, “Can’t you just explain the situation and then buy Lightning Bolt from him?”
“Baby, you don’t understand. The man who owns him is one of the few people on earth that has more money than me; lots more money than me, and Lightning Bolt is one of his prized possessions.”
She thought for a minute and then said, “You’re good at fixing things. You always did when I was growing up. Can’t you fix this for me and Jojo?”
“I’m sorry, Baby. I wish I could,” Frankie said.
“Let’s get the horse and then worry about it,” Eddie said. “I have an idea that might work.”
Josie clutched Eddie’s hand. “If you can manage that, you’ll be my hero, and Jojo and I will love you forever.”
***
Josie was having none of her dad’s warnings. Dressed like ninja warriors, she, Eddie, and Tony were soon on their way to Angus Anderson’s farm. The rain had stopped and the ground fog was rapidly returning.
The area was hilly and all but the main road to the horse ranch constructed of dirt. Josie knew every backroad in the parish and directed Tony to a hill overlooking the large farm.
“Kill your lights before you reach the top of the hill,” she said.
“How am I supposed to know when to stop?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you.”
Before reaching the top of the rise, they began to see the lights of the horse farm. Josie pointed at a large building down the hill.
“The one with all the lights is the security building,” she said. “That’s where they view their security cameras and dispatch people to patrol the place. There’s only one guard at the front gate.”
“You sure?” Tony asked.
“I told you, I was the real estate agent that brokered the sale. I had the farm on the market for almost a year and visited it more times than I can count. Believe me when I tell you that I know it like the back of my hand.”
“How do you intend to enter the property without being seen?” Tony asked.
“A dirt road that doubles as a firebreak circles the farm. There are no lights or security cameras in the open fields in the back portion of the farm. You stay here. Eddie and I will hike in.”
“More power to you,” he said. “My knees are repaired, but I’m not ready to test them with a hike like you’re talking about.”
“I don’t know about Eddie. I jog almost every day. For me, it’ll be a piece of cake.”
Eddie wasn’t so sure. “I’d feel better about it if I hadn’t drunk half a bottle of Monkey Shoulder. At least I’m loose. Wish we had a flashlight.”
Tony reached into his glove box, found a small flashlight and handed it to Eddie.
“I never go anywhere without it,” he said.
Eddie slipped it into the pouch of his black sweatshirt. He and Josie had darkened their faces. When they pulled the hoods over their heads, they looked like Special Forces troops. Eddie’s head was throbbing, and he didn’t feel much like an elite soldier.
“Either of you have an aspirin?” he asked.
Tony handed him a bottle from his glovebox and gave him his flask of scotch to wash it down.
“Maybe I just need a little hair of the dog instead of these aspirins. How about lending me your flask?” he said.
“Your ass,” Tony said. “You had a chance to bring some of your own. Here, take a good belt. Don’t forget to leave some for me.”
Eddie drank until he started coughing, and liquor dribbled down his neck. Josie just shook her head.
“Don’t take all night.” When Eddie belched, she said, “Maybe you better forget about what I said about loving you forever.”
Ignoring Josie’s rebuke, Eddie returned the flask to Tony. “I’m good now. Let’s do it.”
Damp fog washed over them as they left the warmth of Tony’s car and started down the hill toward the dirt road that encircled Anderson’s horse farm. Visibility was almost nil and the going slow. When Josie bumped into the fence, she knew that they were where they needed to be.
“The back pasture is on the other side of the fence, the stable area just beyond a practice track. It’s about a half mile to the barns. You up for it?”
“How are we going to stay on course. I can barely see you, much less a half mile in the distance.”
“There’s a fence that divides this area into two pastures. One is for the stallions, the other for mares and their colts. It goes all the way to the railing on the practice track. We’ll follow the outside fence until we reach it.”
Eddie and Josie climbed over the fence and began following it. The inside dividing fence they were looking for was farther away than Josie had thought. The ten minutes it took them to reach it seemed like an hour.
“Here it is,” she said.
“I was starting to get worried.”
“Don’t. I know where I’m going.”
“At least we don’t have to worry about someone spotting us,” he said. “the only problem is, how are we going to get Lightning Bolt out of here, even if we find him?”
“We’ll lead him out the same way we came in,” she said.
“How will we get through the fence with him?”
“There’s a back gate.” She dangled a large keychain in front of him, close enough so that he could see. “Farms like this often have multiple locks so all the different people that require access can enter when they want. Unless they removed my lock, and I doubt they did, I still have a key.”
“Slick,” Eddie said. “You real estate people are on the ball.”
“And don’t you forget it,” she said, stopping to give him a kiss.
Their embrace lasted longer than either of them had expected. Josie didn’t even try to stop him when his hand wandered a little too far down her back. Finally, she shoved him away.
“Enough,” she said. “We have a job to finish.”
“Sorry,” he said. “My mind was wandering.”
“So was mine. We’ll have time to take care of other business when we complete the task we’re working on now.”
Eddie didn’t ask her what she meant by her comment, his imagination working overtime as he followed her through the thick soup. They soon reached the railing of the exercise track, and Josie crawled through. With some difficulty, Eddie followed after her.
“The railing will lead us to the stable area,” she said.
“Then what?”
“They keep all the horses stalled in the main barn at night. The studs have their own area and are isolated from the rest of the horses. That’s where we’ll look.”
“What about security cameras?” he asked.
“I know where they are. We’ll be okay, as long as we don’t bump into a security guard.”
It wasn’t far from the main entrance of the practice track to the barn. A red light began blinking when they opened the door and entered. Josie began punching numbers on the flashing keypad.
“Hope they haven’t changed the code,” she said.
There was a single beep, and then the light on the pad returned to green.
“Damn!” Eddie said. “Glad you have a good memory.”
“I don’t,” she said. “I programmed it with the same code I use on all my listings. Anderson’s people apparently never changed it.”
“Sniggling little oversight,” he said. “Sounds like Anderson needs to fire his security force and start over.”
“It’s not just Anderson,” she said. “Most people never reprogram the keypad that opens their garage. Bet I can get into half the garages in New Orleans by punching in 1-2-3-4.”
The interior of the large barn was dimly lit. It didn’t matter because the visibility was ten times better than outside the barn. Eddie marveled at the craftsmanship that had gone into the structure and could only guess how much it had originally cost to build. He didn’t have long to wonder as they departed one portion of the barn and entered another.
“This is where they keep the stallions standing stud,” Josie said.
A gold plaque bore the name of each stallion occupying a stall. There were also pictures of the horses, either racing or else in the winner’s circle. A short bio gave the horse’s lineage, race record, and lifetime winnings. As they moved from stall to stall, looking for Lightning Bolt, Eddie could see that Anderson had acquired an impressive stable of champion studs that he apparently charged an equally impressive stud fee for.
“I found something,” Josie said.
“Lightning Bolt?”
“His brother’s stall.”
“Lightning in a Bottle?”
“Yes, let’s check it out.”
They entered the spacious room that housed the horse. The big stallion munching on oats raised his head when Josie and Eddie walked up to the railing on his stall. The first thing they saw was the distinctive blaze on his face.
“Good God, it’s Lightning Bolt,” Josie said.
“What’s he doing in Lightning in a Bottle’s stall?”
“We can worry about the answer to that question later,” she said. “Right now, we need to get a rein on him and then get the hell out of here.”
Eddie found a rein on the wall and was watching her slip it over the horse’s head when a big hand grabbed his shoulder. Even in the dim light of the stall, he could see the skull and crossbones tattoos on the knuckles of the hand.
When someone said, “Looking for something?” he didn’t have to see the man’s face to know who it was.
Eddie flinched when he saw Lonzo Galvez’s hand resting on his shoulder, and then heard his voice. He had little time to react as Anderson’s big Latino bodyguard wheeled him around and backhanded him, the blow knocking him back against the railing of the stall. Galvez didn’t wait to see if the blow had knocked him out as he opened the door to Lightning Bolt’s stall and went after Josie.
Suddenly wide-awake, the big stallion became animated and began bucking and kicking. Thinking Galvez was after him, he kicked the man in the shoulder with his dangerous hind hooves.
Galvez recovered quickly and began circling the periphery of the stall, trying to stay away from the hooves of the bucking stallion. Josie could see Eddie lying comatose on the hay-strewn floor. Seeing something hanging on the wall that she recognized, she grabbed it, hiding it behind her back.
Lightning Bolt continued raising havoc, wildly whirling in circles, bent on kicking something or someone. Josie managed to keep the horse between her and Galvez as she maneuvered her way to the stall door. Galvez wasn’t far behind her.
Eddie was lying on the ground, one leg beneath him and his head canted at an odd angle. Josie barely had time to touch his scalp when Galvez exited Lightning Bolt’s stall. His fists clenched, a scowl contorted his face as he charged toward them. When he got there, he quickly got a surprise.
Josie had grabbed an electric prod, a device for helping to control the dangerous stallions when they became unruly. When Galvez reached her, she stuck the prod between his legs and pulled the trigger.
Lonzo Galvez was big, strong, and mean. It didn’t matter. When Josie shocked him with the electric prod, he dropped to his knees like a sack of cement. He wanted to get to his feet but couldn’t. His legs and his entire body had turned to the consistency of jelly. Not waiting for the shock to wear off, Josie broke the prod on his head, and then began trying to beat him senseless with what remained. Eddie grabbed her arm and stopped her.
“Don’t kill him,” he said. “He’s out like a light.”
Sirens were sounding, and security lamps were flashing all through the barn.
“We don’t have much time,” he said. “Let’s get Lightning Bolt and get the hell out of here.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Just a sore jaw and a little whiplash. At least I’m better off than he is.”
Josie tossed what was left of the electric prod to the stable floor. “Those things should be banned, though I’m glad for that particular one,” she said. “How can we calm down Lightning Bolt? He’s going crazy in there.”
Eddie didn’t answer, entering the big horse’s stall and approaching him with caution.
“It’s okay, boy. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Something in Eddie’s voice calmed the big stallion. After grabbing the reins, Eddie patted the side of Lightning Bolt’s head and led him out the open door of the stall. Josie jumped on his back, not waiting to ask.
“Hop on,” she said.
“Not yet. Someone needs to open the front door.”
“Then hurry. We don’t have much time.”
Security personnel was entering the front of the barn as Josie, Eddie, and Lightning Bolt exited the rear door. Grabbing Eddie’s hand, she helped him up behind her on the horse. Lightning Bolt recoiled when he walked out into the rolling fog bank. Though they had no saddle, they somehow managed to stay on the big animal’s back when he raised up on his hind legs.
The gate to the practice track was open, and Josie raced Lightning Bolt through it. A late October wind had picked up and was beginning to blow away the fog. Through the still hazy darkness, they could see the railing on the far side of the track. There was no exit other than the one they’d entered. The shouts of angry men echoed behind them.
“What are you going to do?” Eddie asked when they reached the railing.
Josie didn’t answer, turning the horse and running back a hundred feet or so before stopping. Wind was whistling through the railing, the rolling fog mostly gone. She and Eddie could clearly see the dozen or so men running toward them.
“Hang on,” Josie said, giving Lightning Bolt’s rear a swat.
Eddie grabbed hold, his arms latched around Josie’s waist as they raced toward the railing. He’d seen quarter horses run many times but had never, until that very moment, had any earthly idea just how fast they were.
As the railing approached, he closed his eyes. They both held on as the big stallion went airborne, clearing the railing with room to spare. She didn’t slow him down until they’d reached the back gate.
“Damn!” he said. “I didn’t know quarter horses could jump like that.”
“Me either,” she said.
She slid off the horse, opened the gate, and waited until Eddie had trotted Lightning Bolt through it. He gave her a hand, and she jumped up behind him.
“You drive,” she said. “I have a call to make.”
Tony answered his cell phone on the first ring. “What’s up?”
“Eddie and I have Lightning Bolt. We’re heading toward the farm. Anderson’s bodyguard recognized us. From the lights and the shouting coming from Anderson’s place, I’d say there’s a small army heading toward Murky Bayou.”
“What do you want me to do?” Tony asked.
“Call Dad and tell him to alert the cavalry. And Tony, tell him to please hurry.”
When they reached the edge of Frankie’s farm, Eddie raced the big stallion through the phalanx of Black Tahoes lining the dirt road bordering the entrance. Josie jumped off into the arms of her dad.
“You okay, Baby?” Frankie asked.
“Just barely. Look behind you.”
An armada of white Suburbans came racing up the road behind them. Seeing the wall of Tahoes, the drivers of the vehicles began falling in line beside one another in an empty field across the way. Angus Anderson exited a Suburban. Shielded behind one of the vehicles, he began talking through a bullhorn.
“Frankie Castellano, you wop horse thief. Give me back my stallion.”
Frankie had his own bullhorn. “Or what?”
“Spend some hard time in prison. You know who my cousin is.”
“Probably better than you do.”
“Unless you give my horse back right now, you’re going to soon find out, not to mention that pretty daughter of yours is in deep shit.”
“What about my daughter?” Frankie said.
“She almost killed one of my men with a horse prod. Give me the horse, and I won’t press charges.”
Before Frankie had a chance to reply, a row of Black Navigators began driving up and parking beside the Suburbans. Soon, there was a semicircle of expensive SUVs across the road from the entrance to Frankie’s farm.
Men armed with shotguns and automatic weapons began filing out. A Latino man with his own bullhorn exited one of the vehicles and started talking. It was Chuy Delgado, headman of the Mexican crime cartel.
“Castellano, you and me got a score to settle. Now, you’re gonna pay for killing my son-in-law.”
“I didn’t kill nobody. Until last night, I thought it was you that killed my jockey and trainer. Now I know you didn’t do it and I know who did. The same person that killed Diego.”
Chuy Delgado didn’t immediately respond. “Who?” he finally said.
“Your good buddy Angus Anderson.”
“You’re a lying sack of shit,” Delgado said. “Anderson didn’t kill nobody.”
“Then why did he have my horse? His newspapers reported it was killed, along with my two men. I’ll bet he told you the same thing.”
“He’s a liar,” Anderson said on his bullhorn.
“Am I? My daughter just found the horse at Anderson’s ranch and rode him home. What do you think Anderson and all his men are doing here?”
“Show me the horse,” Delgado said.
When Frankie grabbed Lightning Bolt’s reins, Josie stopped him.
“You’re not going out there. They’ll kill you the minute they see you. They won’t kill me. I’ll show them the horse.”
“No you won’t,” Eddie said, snatching the reins out of Frankie’s hands.
Before they could react, he sprang up on Lightning Bolt and rode him into the circle of headlights. He didn’t stop until he was directly in front of Delgado’s car.
“There’s not another horse in the entire world that looks like this one. Recognize him?”
Delgado walked out of the shadows, straight up to where Eddie and the horse waited and touched the bolt on his forehead.
“Where did he come from?” he asked.
“Like Frankie said, Josie and I just liberated him from Anderson’s farm.”
“What was he doing there?”
“The name on the stall we found him in was Lightning in a Bottle. As you probably know, that horse is Lightning Bolt’s full brother.”
“So what?”
“Same DNA, that’s what. Since you and your son-in-law sold Lightning in a Bottle to Mr. Anderson, my guess is you knew he was shooting blanks. When Contrado refused to give Anderson his six million bucks back that he’d paid for the horse, he had him killed. Then he had Frankie’s trainer, and jockey killed and stole Lightning Bolt. He faked the horse’s death and replaced Lightning in a Bottle with Lightning Bolt. As you can see, he was hoping like hell you and Frankie would cancel each other out.”
“How do I know you speak the truth?” Delgado said.
“Have the dead horse’s body exhumed. This, as you can clearly see, is Lightning Bolt. The dead horse is his brother, Lightning in a Bottle. Anderson killed your son-in-law, Frankie’s jockey and trainer, and his own horse to get even with you and Frankie.”
“I want to take the horse just to make sure what you say is true.”
“No way,” Eddie said. “This horse is state’s evidence. He stays with Mr. Castellano. You got a problem with that?”
Angus Anderson was standing in clear view of Chuy Delgado. Delgado gave him a burn-in-hell look before returning to the back seat of the lead Navigator. He peeled off down the road followed by a caravan of similar-looking vehicles. Eddie rode over to where Anderson was waiting.
“In case you don’t already know, I’m a Federal D.A. I’m filing Federal murder charges against you tomorrow. Your cousin and all of your influential relatives will be powerless to help you. If I were you, I’d pack my bags before then and go someplace where they can’t extradite you.”
Anderson’s Suburbans were driving away, Frankie’s men cheering when he rode back to where they waited. Frankie was the first to shake his hand when he dismounted the horse.
“Like I said before, you got a set of balls on you.”
Josie had her arms clamped around Eddie’s waist. “I am so proud of you,” she said. “How did you know the dead horse was Lightning in a Bottle?”
“I don’t, at least for sure. Tony and I talked about it, and we decided he wanted Lightning Bolt long before he bought Lightning in a Bottle. Wendell Swanson likely sealed his own fate when he took a bribe instead of buying the horse at auction like Anderson had wanted him to.”
“What’ll I do now?” Frankie said. “Return the horse to Conrad Finston, or give him to Jojo?”
“Neither,” Eddie said. “Like I told Anderson, Lightning Bolt is state’s evidence. Tomorrow, when Jojo wakes up, there’ll be a pony waiting for him. His own pony.”
“But I told him he could have Lightning Bolt,” Frankie said.
Eddie held up a hand and shook his head. “We don’t always get everything we want. Jojo’s an intelligent young man. Take him aside and explain to him why he can’t have Lightning Bolt. He’ll understand. I promise you that he will.”
“You seem pretty sure about that,” Frankie said.
Eddie looked him straight in the eye and said, “Trust me on this.”
Frankie’s big smile returned, and he slapped Eddie’s shoulder. “Then let’s go to the house and celebrate.”
Through the conversation, Josie’s arms had remained wrapped around Eddie’s waist.
“The only place this man is going right now is to bed with me,” she said. “And don’t even think about trying to wake us up early tomorrow because we’re not answering the door.”
J.P. waited on the trail until we’d joined him. The path had led us to a small clearing in the hardwood forest, in front of us the strangest house imaginable.
A lifelong resident of New Orleans, I’d seen many large live oaks. There were several such trees in City Park, their drooping branches covered with Spanish moss and resurrection fern. They were ancient, maybe centuries old. The tree in front of us was even larger, older, and stranger.
The tree pierced a ramshackle, wood-framed house. Trunk and branches skewered the wooden structure, the resultant symbiosis somehow breathing life into the walls, roof, shuttered windows, and doors of the house. In short, the tree and the house were one.
The cobblestone path ended at the red front door, the old paint job flaking around the edges. The shutters were yellow, the walls light blue, reminding me of the many color schemes in the French Quarter.
The colors of the house weren’t the only things that caught my eye. Everywhere I looked, the greens were greener, browns browner, and so on. The colors of everything around prompted me to think that maybe someone had slipped me some LSD. The others were equally awed.
“What in the living hell!” J.P. said.
Around the house and tree grew a wild garden of vines, creepers, and so many colorful nightshades and other wild blooms that their perfume was almost intoxicating. Foxes, rabbits, squirrels and other animals played on the grass in front of the house, and birds of vivid colors flew in the blue sky above us. Nothing seemed normal.
“It’s like a fairyland cartoon,” Abba said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if an elf scurried across the path in front of us. What is this place?”
“We’ve crossed over,” Rory said.
“You mean we’re dead?” Abba asked.
Rory didn’t answer.
“We ain’t dead,” J.P. said. “At least I’m not.”
“It does seem like we’re in another world,” Abba said. “What do we do?”
“Knock on the door,” I said.
Without waiting for the others to follow me, I walked up the path and knocked. A pale little man with a pencil mustache and smarmy smile opened the door. A French accent flavored the words pouring from his mouth.
“Please come in. We have been expecting you.”
I motioned the others to join me before following him. We entered a room far larger than the outside of the house implied. A very large black woman clad in a yellow floor-length dress that seemed from another era stood behind a table, her palms flat on its surface.
On her head, she wore a matching tignon, a turban-like headcover free women of color were required to wear during the Pre-Civil War Era in New Orleans. It was soon apparent that she wore the tignon because she liked it and not because someone required her to. When we’d entered the room, she glanced up from what she’d been doing.
“I’m Tubah Jones,” she said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“You knew we were coming?” I asked.
“From the moment you pulled Exethelon from the wizard’s heart and started the fire.”
I glanced at J.P. to gauge his reaction to her remark. I could tell by his inquisitive glance that it had caught his detective’s attention.
“Yes, I pulled the dagger from Father Fred’s heart, the fire already burning.”
“Exethelon, as you now know, is magical. You were destined to pull it from someone’s dead heart. It became yours the moment you entered the room.”
“Even so . . .”
She stopped me with a wave of her hand. “You thought it would be better for you if the building and everything in it burned to the ground.”
“I’ll admit the thought crossed my mind. Doesn’t matter because I never would have done it.”
“Exethelon senses your every wish and reacts accordingly. Though you didn’t know you started the fire, the simple truth is that you did.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself. Realizing I could never prove or disprove to anyone what my thoughts were at a particular time, I simply closed it and shook my head.
“You didn’t know about the dagger’s power when you first touched it. Now that you do, I fully expect you will act accordingly.”
“Of one thing I’m pretty sure,” J.P. said. “Wyatt didn’t kill Father Fred or the two guards.”
“No he didn’t,” she said. “They were killed by a dark spell I cast on them.”
“You admit to murdering them?”
“Do you intend to take me into custody and then charge me with casting a spell?”
“You either murdered them, or you didn’t,” J.P. said.
“When you were young, did you ever tell your mother you wished she were dead?”
“If I did, I didn’t mean it,” he said.
“What if she had died? Would you have been responsible?”
J.P. thought a moment before answering. “There’s a difference between saying something in a moment of anger and casting a spell that kills somebody.”
“If I admitted that I killed someone by casting upon them a magical death spell, do you believe a judge and jury would find me guilty?”
“Probably not,” he said.
“The man you call Father Fred and his two guards were evil. They committed more atrocities than you’d ever believe, and were the embodiment of pure malevolence. I didn’t kill them. I simply cast a spell that resulted in their deaths. Trust me when I tell you that the world is a far better place now that they’re gone.”
“What happened to the prisoners they kept at the old orphanage?” I asked.
“Released and transported to safety,” she said.
“Transported?”
Her nod was the only answer to my question.
“Wyatt and I met a man who was a victim of Father Fred,” Abba said. “He told us the false priest was a slaver and a cannibal. We haven’t talked to J.P. about it. He doesn’t know how evil Father Fred was. Wyatt and I do.”
“But you’re not here because of Father Fred.”
“We’re looking for a young woman. Rory told us you might know where we can find her,” Abba said.
Rory nodded when Tubah Jones said, “I’m very impressed with your craftsmanship. I’m over two hundred years old, and I’ve known many sword makers during my lifetime. You are the best of them all.” She returned her gaze to Abba. “I know of the young woman of whom you speak. I also know where she is.”
“Will you share that information with us?” I said.
“You are here because I need your help. I have a problem I cannot solve alone.”
“Then please tell us,” I said.
“In due time. Are you hungry?”
“Starved,” Abba said. “All we’ve had for awhile is trail mix and jerky.”
“Good,” Tubah Jones said. “The table is ready in the kitchen.”
She led us through the house that seemed to have endless rooms. Much like her dress, the kitchen reminded me of one from Antebellum New Orleans. The table was large and could easily have accommodated twenty or more people. Made of wood, it looked as if it were an antique or a replica of an antique.
Bowls of steaming food waited for us on the table; potatoes, carrots, and practically every vegetable dish imaginable. There was no meat. Tubah Jones explained.
“We who live in this house are all vegetarians. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Everything smells wonderful,” Abba said. “Who else lives here?”
“My husband Boris and I have many children. You saw some of them playing in the front yard when you arrived.”
“We saw no children,” Abba said.
As if on cue, a boy and a girl, clowning and having a good time, entered the kitchen. When the girl pushed the boy, he transformed before our eyes into a cocker spaniel puppy and began barking at her.
The girl transformed into a kitten, cuffed the cocker with a paw, and then ran out of the kitchen, the puppy chasing after her. I blinked, not believing what I had seen. J.P., Abba, and Rory could only stare at the door through which they had disappeared.
“Boris, the children and I are shifters,” she said.
She laughed when J.P. said, “You mean like a werewolf?”
“If we wanted to be,” she said. “It’s dark outside and the night’s cold. Let’s go in by the fire.”
“It can’t be dark yet,” Abba said.
Tubah pulled back a curtain so that we could see outside.
“Oh, but it is,” she said.
The room had thick rugs on the floor, overstuffed chairs and couches, and a fireplace nearby with a crackling fire warming the air. We gathered around Tubah who was apparently intent on telling us something.
“You are here because you are seeking a young woman. She is alive, at least bodily, though just barely.”
“Please tell us where to find her,” I said.
“She is with Sister Gertrude in the convent known as Sisters of the Mist. Desire, like all the other prisoners, kept there, is in grave danger.”
“Desire is a prisoner?” Abba asked.
Tubah nodded. “The convent is a place of evil, the young women taken there under false pretenses. Desire, like the others, thought she was joining a sisterhood to serve Christ as a cloistered nun. Now, those women are prostitutes and nuns of the Devil. Desire’s situation is even worse.”
“The convent is a whorehouse?” J.P. asked.
“Run by Sister Gertrude; the other Sisters of the Mist vampires.”
“You have to be kidding,” Abba said.
“I’m not.”
“How is Desire’s situation worse than being forced into prostitution?” I asked.
“She is also a host to the vampires. They feed on her blood. She has been slowly slipping away since she arrived at the convent. Her mind has all but left her, and that is quite possibly her only salvation at this point.”
“You have to help us save her,” I said.
Tubah shook her head. “No, you have to help me. That is why I summoned you here. The convent is as large as a castle and even surrounded by a large moat. It resists even my darkest magic and is all but impenetrable.”
“Why is this castle so important to you?” Abba asked.
“As I said, the convent is a place of pure evil. It’s built atop the gate to hell, and the entrance to hell itself lies in the dark basement of the castle.”
“I’m having a hard time believing this,” Abba said.
“Believe it. A boulder blocks the gateway and keeps the demons of darkness in the netherworld. Every one-hundred-sixty years, on the night of All Saint’s Eve, this changes.”
“What happens?” I asked.
“If no one blocks the boulder from being moved, demons are released and havoc ensues. This country has yet to fully recover from the harm caused the last time this happened.”
“The Civil War?” I said.
“It could have been averted peacefully. It resulted in the most American deaths ever for a single war; almost as many as all the other wars combined.”
“And if the demons are released tomorrow night?”
“I can only imagine,” she said. “Will you help?”
“I’m in,” I said.
“Me too,” J.P. said.
“As am I,” Rory said.
“Count me in,” Abba said.
“If the castle is impenetrable, then how will we get in?” J.P. asked.
Instead of answering his question, she asked, “Do you believe in destiny?”
“Sure,” he said.
“As Rory told you before you left New Orleans, this is a quest. Each of you has a purpose, and each must make a vital decision before All Saints Eve ends tomorrow at midnight.”
The window was partially open. Something was howling in the swamp beyond the house.
“What creature is making that noise?” Abba asked.
“One of the People. Would you like to see?” Tubah said.
“Is it dangerous?” Abba asked.
“Not if I accompany you.”
She led us outside, into the darkness. There was neither fog nor rain, only the golden light of the fullest moon I’d ever seen. Hundreds of white, saucer-sized moonflowers had bloomed, their perfume filling the air. The howling stopped, though something was rustling in the bushes beyond the house.
“Barzoom,” Tubah said. “Show yourself.”
None of us was prepared for the creature that exited the bushes.
“Oh my dear God!” Abba said, taking a step backward as her hand went to her mouth.
When the creature stepped from the bushes, my own eyes probably grew as large as J.P. and Rory’s did. Like Abba, we all backed up a step.
“Do not be afraid,” Tubah said. “He won’t hurt you.”
The big fellow stood every inch of eight feet tall, stooped, lanky, and muscular. A thatch of brownish-gray hair sprouted from the rear portion of his large head and draped down his hairy back. His fingers and toes were human-like and featured long nails. His big eyes were yellow and accentuated a mouth filled with fangs and highlighted bone structure causing him to look permanently angry.
Though he was anything but human, his legs and torso were human-like, and thinly covered with hair. Almost no hair covered his extra-long arms, and the bare skin accentuated his bulging muscles. The creature called Barzoom was quite naked, and it was obvious he was a male. He dropped to one knee in front of Tubah, bowed his head in respect, and touched her hand.
“These are the brave souls I’m entrusting you to protect,” she said.
After rolling his big yellow eyes, he gave us a glance and nodded. When he opened his immense jaws, a high-pitched wail emanated from deep in his barrel chest.
“Rise, and return to your people,” she said. These warriors leave at dawn for the castle of the Sisters of the Mist.”
Without a sound, he melded into the darkness. After he’d returned to the underbrush surrounding Tubah’s house, he began the unnatural howl we’d heard in the swamp. Others like him joined in the chorus. Though I’d seen the creature up close that was making the sound, its eerie howls caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end.
A moment passed, and then J.P. asked, “Is he the Swamp Monster?”
His question brought a smile to Tubah’s mouth. “You are one of only a handful of individuals that has ever seen one of the People up close. But don’t worry; no one will ever believe you.”
“Hell,” J.P. said. “I wasn’t six feet away from him, and I’m still not sure I believe my own eyes. One thing, though.”
“You have a question?”
“Every report I ever heard about the Swamp Monster said they smelled to high heavens,” J.P. said.
“Much like skunks, they have scent glands,” Tubah said. “The foul odor is emitted when they feel they are in imminent danger. You do not want to be anywhere near when that happens.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” J.P. said.
“Let’s return to the fire, and I’ll brief you on what you need to do to save Desire, and to stop the incursion of demons from hell.”
Late fall weather outside Tubah’s house had chilled me to the bone. The crackling fire felt like heaven as I sank into an overstuffed chair. J.P. and Rory shared a couch, and Abba sat on the stone ledge in front of the fire, warming her hands. Rory broke out the flask of Southern Comfort.
“Mind if I have a nip?” he asked.
“Only if you don’t plan to share,” she said.
The whiskey flask was soon changing hands. Tubah didn’t speak until everyone, including her, had drunk from it. Finally, she handed it to me.
“No thanks,” I said. “I’m an alcoholic, and don’t drink anymore.”
“Because of my magic, tonight is different. We have many important things to discuss, and it’s best done if everyone is intoxicated. But do not worry. I promise you will suffer no lasting effects from the alcohol.”
I took the flask and had a drink, the whiskey soothing my nerves like a dear old friend as it warmed my throat. I was quickly in an almost forgotten state of euphoria as I returned the flask to Rory.
“You each have a specific task to perform,” Tubah said. “If you fail, the mission will fail. Fate will call upon each of you to make an important and tortuous decision. How you resolve the problem will affect you as a person forever.”
Abba said, “It all sounds so ominous. What exactly do you mean?”
“You’ll each know what it means when it happens.”
“Then tell us what each of us needs to do,” J.P. said.
“You, Jean Pierre, have an important role to play. You won’t be accompanying the others to the castle.”
“But they need me,” he said.
“The task you perform will either result in a successful mission or doom it to failure. Are you ready to hear what it is we need you to do?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said.
“The Convent of the Sisters of the Mist is located so deep in the swamp that no man can ever find it. On Halloween night all that changes.”
“Tell me,” he said.
“Though vampires populate the castle, Sister Gertrude is human. Well, at least almost human. As was Father Fred, she is also involved in slavery, the sex trade, and every evil aspect of human trafficking.”
“And the castle?” I said.
“Little more than a brothel. Like Desire, Sister Gertrude forces her victims to help act out her clients’ perverse fantasies. Some of them, like Desire, provide sustenance for the vampires.”
“But she’s still alive?” I said.
“She has suffered dearly, her body in an advanced state of decline. She has changed so drastically that you may have a difficult time recognizing her. She is, however, very much alive.”
J.P. could see how much Tubah’s description of Desire’s condition was upsetting me and thankfully changed the subject.
“How do her clients find their way to the castle?” he asked.
“Sister Gertrude owns an exclusive gentlemen’s club on Bourbon Street that caters to much more than the viewing of naked ladies. An interspatial portal connects the club and the castle.”
“What does it have to do with Halloween night?” Abba asked.
“Every year, Sister Gertrude hosts the Vampire Ball on the night of All Saint’s Eve. The ball takes place at the castle, and the guests are transported there.”
“And you want me to be one of the gentlemen transported through the portal,” J.P. said.
“All of Sister Gertrude’s regular clients attend the ball. Management also invites certain high rollers who happen to be in the club. It is up to you to make sure that you are invited.”
“Hell, this sounds more like fun than a job,” J.P. said.
“Believe me when I tell you that the monsters you will be dealing with are deadly serious,” Tubah said. “If Sister Gertrude’s people think you are a plant, they will kill you.”
“Got it,” J.P. said, his smile disappearing.
“The ball is a masquerade affair befitting of Halloween. You will be in costume. I will see that you get to the club. Getting an invitation to the Vampire’s Ball is dependent on your acting ability. It is one of the reasons you were chosen, and I have no doubt that you will succeed.”
“What happens when I reach the castle?” he asked.
“The party will be in progress, every conceivable act of sexual debauchery on full display.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ve always been a fan of sexual debauchery.”
Tubah grinned as she said, “Your reputation precedes you. You must battle your primal urges and ignore the revelry taking place around you for the good of the mission.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said.
“Amid the confusion and pandemonium, you should be able to make your way to the front gate. Open it, and then lower the drawbridge over the moat.”
“Sounds easy enough to me,” J.P. said.
“Not so easy. Like the Vatican, Sister Gertrude has her own version of a Swiss Army, hers comprised of rogue mercenaries, killers, and half-human trolls. They don’t partake in the festivities and will be on the lookout for intruders. If you are discovered, they will kill you.”
“How much time will I have?” he asked.
“Very little,” Tubah said. “At midnight, the gateway to hell will open, and demons will begin pouring out. You’ll have less than an hour to accomplish your task.”
“Say I’m successful opening the door and lowering the drawbridge. Then what?”
“Rory,” Tubah said. “You have perhaps the most important job.”
“Tell me,” he said.
“You must channel your inner-Scottish warlord because you will be leading the People tomorrow night. I am not exaggerating when I say that only you and they can save the world an untold measure of hardship and death. Are you up to the task?”
“My broadsword Aila and I will do our best,” he said.
“That is all I can ask. You and the People will be waiting. When the gate is open, and the drawbridge crosses the moat, you will likely have to fight your way into the castle. You’ll find the soldiers of the Swiss Guard are fierce fighters. As fierce as they are, they are nothing compared to what you will encounter when you reach the basement.”
“What about Abba and me?” I asked.
“You will enter the castle with Rory and the People. When you find where they keep Desire, you must rescue her and then lead her to safety.”
“I’m not much of a fighter,” I said.
“We shall see,” she said. “Amid the bedlam of the masked revelry, perversion, and battle, you should be able to spirit her out of the castle.”
“What about the other victims?” I asked.
“That is part of the question that only you can answer,” Tubah said.
“What else?” J.P. asked.
“Sleep, if you’re able to. Tomorrow, you leave at dawn.”
***
It was still dark when Tubah and Boris awoke us. It was the first time in my life that I’d ever woken up from a night of drinking without having a hangover. A good thing I didn’t know Tubah’s secret and wasn’t tempted to return to my former alcoholic ways. Tubah fed us breakfast while she gave us last minute instructions. Slick and Lucky were wagging their tails, perhaps in anticipation of what they sensed was about to happen. J.P. gave Lucky a head rub.
“You will require a costume, Jean Pierre,” Tubah said.
The moment the words were out of her mouth, J.P.’s camos magically changed into a tuxedo, complete with a green, feathered mask. He reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a diamond-studded money clip.
“Damn!” he said. “There are thousands of dollars in this wad of cash.”
“Only an illusion,” Tubah said. “But not to worry. Sister Gertrude’s minions will only see what they think is real money.”
“Will I need all of this?” he asked.
“Maybe even more,” she said. “If you do, it will appear.”
“Hey, I already like this gig,” he said. “I can do some damage flashing around this kind of money.”
“Exactly what you do not need to do. Tonight, you will see things you won’t believe and be tempted to join in the revelry. Resist your temptation, or the mission will fail, and innocent people will die.”
“I’m hip,” he said.
Tubah nodded. “Boris will show you the entrance to the portal.”
“You won’t need me for the next eight to ten hours. What will I do until then?”
“Wait patiently beside the fire. Drink coffee. Take a nap. You will be in grave danger from the moment you set foot in Sister Gertrude’s club, so prepare yourself mentally for the trials that await you.”
Before Boris could lead him away, I shook J.P.’s hand. “Good luck,” I said.
Rory also shook his hand. Abba hugged him and began crying, her tears dampening his shoulder.
“We’ll all get through this just fine,” he said, kissing her forehead. “And don’t forget about our date.” He scratched Lucky’s ears. “You take care of these people until I join you.”
Once J.P. was gone, Abba wiped her eyes.
Seeing the smile on my face, she said, “What?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Tubah interrupted us, probably saving me from more of a reprimand.
“Boris will lead you to the castle. It’s not that far away from here, though you would never make it without his help. It is time, and you must go now.”
We were dressed in our camos the same as when we had arrived at Tubah’s house. Rory wasn’t happy about it.
“If I’m going into battle, I’d prefer doing it in my own Scottish battle garb,” he said.
“Before you enter the castle, I will make it so,” she said.
“What about Abba and me?” I asked.
“I will change your hiking clothes into costumes. Until then, the clothes you have on will be better suited for a trek through the swamp.”
“Then I guess we should leave now,” I said.
“Yes. Once you are gone from here, I will no longer be able to provide much assistance. From this point on, everything relies on your instincts, a certain amount of good luck, and destiny.”
“You said that with an ominous tone,” Abba said. “Is there something you aren’t telling us?”
“Just this: if you are destined to fail, you will. If you are destined to succeed, you will, but . . .”
“But what?” Abba said.
“Sometimes, we sculpt our own destinies.”
Dressed in camo, combat boots, and jungle hats, Abba, Rory, and I left the house of the sorceress. Boris led the way, though not as the little man with the smarmy smile we knew. He’d transformed into a large gray wolf, and his menacing presence proved somewhat disconcerting.
Though his appearance bothered us, it wasn’t as bad as Lucky and Slick’s reaction when he transformed in front of them. They began growling, preparing to fight when Tubah worked some magic on them. Though they sniffed noses with Boris, their body language indicated they weren’t happy about having him around.
Long before we’d gone a mile, morning sun had begun rising over the hardwood trees behind us. The brightness didn’t last long. Ground fog, starting first as wispy strands of vapor, began forming clouds that turned our trail into a ghostly pathway.
Slogging through the fog proved a slow process. Rory learned as much when he banged headfirst into a tree branch and almost knocked himself out. The muddy ground made our trek even more treacherous, Abba and I both slipping and falling on our rears.
Lucky and Slick had finally grown used to Boris and followed closely behind him as he hurried through the thick soup. When gentle rain began dissipating the curtain of cottony moisture, we were once again able to see. Abba wasn’t happy about the rain dripping down her neck.
“Tired?” I asked.
“Aren’t you? Sloshing around in this muck is wearing me out.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one that it’s bothering?” I said. “You okay, Rory?”
“Aye, though I am probably the first Scotsman that has ever gone on a quest through a Louisiana swamp.”
His comment caused Abba to smile. “At least you’re not wearing your kilt.”
Our banter had caused us to slow even more. Boris soon doubled back to find us, howling to voice his disapproval of the rate at which we were moving. Rory took a drink of Southern Comfort and then tossed the flask to Abba.
“Not much left,” she said. “Want the last swig?”
“Not me,” I said. “Tubah’s not here, and I’m taking no chances that her spell has worn off.”
“Then you finish it,” she said, returning the flask to Rory.
We continued along the trail, trying to ignore the rain soaking our clothes, and puddles of water dampening our socks and causing our toes to squish around inside our boots. It was hard not to notice that the trees were even larger than before, making me wonder if we were the first humans to trod this path.
Boris never slowed, and we had to hurry to keep him in sight. I was gawking instead of watching where I was going and almost bumped into him. He’d transformed back into human form, Lucky and Slick looking confused as they stood by his side.
“We are moving too slowly,” he said. “At this rate, we won’t make it to the castle in time.”
“I don’t see how we can go any faster,” Abba said. “I can barely see more than a foot or so in front of me, and I’ve already busted my ass twice.”
“Humans move far too slow. You need to be transformed,” he said.
“Into wolves?”
Boris nodded.
“Can you do that?” I asked.
“I cannot. Tubah can.”
“Tubah isn’t here,” Abba said. “How can she help us?”
“She is watching us at this very moment,” he said. “The dogs must also be transformed, or there will be problems.”
“What do we need to do?” I asked.
“Be aware that when your bodies change so will your minds. You will become wolves and not just humans in the bodies of wolves. Prepare yourself because for some, what you are about to experience can be a life-changing shock.”
Before I could ask another question, the hair on my arm began morphing into thick, gray fur. It wasn’t just the hair on my arms undergoing alteration. My bones began popping as the structure of my entire body began to change: hands and feet into paws, my mouth into a muzzle filled with dangerous fangs, and my human brain changing into the heart and soul of a feral wolf.
Abba squealed, and the dogs yelped as they began experiencing the same phenomena of transformation. When the alteration was finally complete, we circled each other, snarling and nipping. Boris dove into the middle of us.
We quickly learned that he was the alpha and the leader of the pack. It didn’t take him long to establish his authority. I yelped and backed away when he nipped my tail and sank his teeth into my rear end. When Rory and Abba charged to my assistance, Boris’ bared fangs and lunging growls quickly cowed them. Lucky and Slick already knew who was the boss and circled the fray, waiting for the inevitable results.
His authority established, Boris raced away into the underbrush. We howled and followed him. When he disappeared for a moment in a hanging mass of vines and creepers, we thought he’d abandoned us. Once we entered the arboreal tent, we saw that he was waiting.
Boris hadn’t lied when he told us that our transformation would be a life-changing experience. Reality as I had known it had suddenly disappeared. It started with my perspective of everything around me.
No longer was I six feet tall. Now, I was running on all fours, seeing the world around me from a vantage point of only three feet off the ground. The effect on my psyche was astonishing.
I could suddenly smell things I’d never smelled, hear things I’d never heard, and sense things that would have frightened the life out of me had I not also acquired the heart of a wolf. It didn’t dawn on me that no human had ever even imagined the path we were following.
Fairy-like phosphorescence, lighting the darkness of what seemed a well-worn animal path, sparkled like a Christmas tree. The roof of the vegetal tent barely topped our heads. If I’d been thinking like a human, I’m sure I would have wondered if the People had an alternate route to the castle that they were taking. Thinking like a wolf following a pack, the thought never crossed my mind.
The dirt floor of the arboreal pathway was wet, dozens of paw prints marking our course. The multitude of scents was almost overpowering, though we saw no other animals, bears, snakes, or otherwise. When we exited the tunnel, thick fog quickly enveloped us. Boris stopped, circled us once, and then howled. Abba, Rory, the dogs and I joined him.
We didn’t need to have Boris in our sight when he took off up the trail. We only had to follow his strong scent. If there were any animals in our way, they gave us a wide berth. It was raining again. I was running in a pack of wolves, and mere words can’t explain the visceral excitement, intensity, and breathless awe I was experiencing.
My heart continued to race as we followed Boris down creek beds, through almost invisible paths through bramble bushes, and every obscure shortcut that possibly only he knew to the castle of the Sisters of the Mist.
The forest grew thicker, the trees taller. He finally stopped in front of one of the largest trees I’d ever seen. It was hollow, and we followed him into its interior. The lighting was dim though it was no detriment to our elevated senses. As we watched, he began to transform from wolf to human.
All of us began reverting to our former selves, Abba, Rory and I human, Lucky and Slick back into canines. At least that’s what we thought at the moment. As we huddled in the darkness, we quickly realized we were all quite naked.
“Stop staring at me,” Abba said, covering her breasts with her arms.
“Sorry,” I said.
We weren’t naked long. Apparently still with us, Tubah restored our camo fatigues and boots. They were once again clean and dry. Boris was peering up at the inside of the hollow tree.
“I have never seen such a place,” Abba said. “Where are we?”
“Not far from our destination,” Boris said.
Abba was correct. The hollow tree had the look and feel of an enormous wooden cathedral. When my eyes adjusted, I could see the circular stairway that disappeared into the darkness as it ascended. Boris produced a torch, its flame providing eerie illumination as he began climbing the narrow stairway.
“We are no longer beasts of prey,” he said. “We must ascend this stairway or be in danger of being eaten by animals larger than us.”
“What animals are you speaking of?” Rory asked. “Only the Swamp Monster is bigger than me, and they’re on our side.”
Boris grinned though he didn’t answer Rory’s question.
“It’s huge inside here,” I said. “This tree must be gigantic.”
“Not so big,” Boris said. “Tubah has changed us into elves so that we can use this tree as a vantage until darkness comes.
“I am no elf,” Boris said.
“Neither am I,” Abba said. “I don’t feel small at all.”
“Your dogs think you are,” Boris said.
Lucky and Slick had begun their transformation outside of the hollow tree. Even ten feet below us, they looked enormous. When they saw us, they began barking.
“They no longer recognize us. They can rest in the hollow at the base of the tree and will be fine until we return. No more questions. We need to keep climbing.”
My legs grew weary as we followed Boris up the spiraling stairway. I was out of breath when he reached a ledge near the very top of the tall tree and finally drew to a halt. Through a hole, we could see a large clearing in the swamp and the spires of a majestic castle. The growing mist and cottony clouds failed to mask the impressive edifice.
“It’s so beautiful,” Abba said. “I can’t believe this place even exists. Is it . . . ?”
“The castle of the Sisters of the Mist,” Boris said. “It is about a hundred yards from here to the entrance. The drawbridge is the only way to cross the moat. We wait here until Jean Pierre lowers it.”
“Tubah has the power to transform us into wolves and elves,” I said. “Why does she need us to enter the castle? Can’t she just cast a spell and accomplish her purpose?”
“Though Tubah is a powerful sorceress, her powers end outside the castle walls,” Boris said. “There are guards in the turrets surrounding the castle, and that is why you must wait until after dark.”
“How much longer will that be?” Abba asked.
“We made excellent time once we transformed,” Boris said. “It won’t be dark enough for several more hours.”
“Will the darkness be enough to mask us when we cross the open area?” Rory asked.
“With the surrounding trees and thick mist, the swamp becomes almost pitch black after dark. Sometimes the guards set bonfires to light the castle’s perimeter. Tonight is All Saint’s Eve, and surveillance will be lax. With luck, you should be inside the gate before they know you are there.”
“And if not?” I asked.
“You’ll die in a hail of arrows before you reach the gate,” he said.
“That’s not a pleasant thought,” Abba said. “What’ll we do until it’s time to go?”
Boris produced a silver flask from the pocket of his jacket and handed it to Rory.
“We are not inside the castle walls, Tubah’s magic still strong. She sent something for you.”
Rory opened the flask and took a drink. “Hello, Southern Comfort,” he said. “I wondered if I’d ever taste your sweet lips again.”
“It is much more than whiskey,” Boris said. “It is imbued with magic and meant for all of you. Unlike alcohol, it will hone your senses, make you think more clearly, and assist you in completing your mission.”
I glanced at Boris when Rory passed me the flask. “Are you sure about this?” I asked.
“You have my word,” he said. “Now, you must rest and recuperate from our trek. Drink whiskey and wait until dark when Jean Pierre lowers the gate and allows you and the People to enter.”
“And you?”
“I will wait here for your return until shortly after midnight. If you are not here by then, I will assume the mission has failed, and that you are all dead.”
“What else?” I asked.
“Say a prayer for Jean Pierre. His life is in great danger, and it is very possible he will die before he’s ever able to open the gate and lower the drawbridge.”
J.P. had dozed off from boredom while waiting for darkness to fall. He awoke when Tubah shook his shoulder.
“Time has come,” she said. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“You’ll do just fine,” she said. “Just stay focused on what you are trying to accomplish, and don’t let any of the beautiful women you’re going to meet, influence your decisions.”
“I’ve never had an easy time with that one,” he said.
“Tonight is different. Many people are counting on you. One more thing,” she said.
“Yes?”
“The window of opportunity you will have to lower the drawbridge is small. You will be sorely tempted to try to do more. You must not.”
“Please explain.”
She shook her head. “I have told you more than I should have.”
Tubah refused to answer any more of his questions, leading him instead to the door of the interspatial portal, and then watching as he pulled the mask over his face. When the door shut, leaving him in total darkness, he became light-headed. For a fleeting moment, he thought he might have to throw up. He didn’t. When he opened the door, he was on Bourbon Street.
Mardi Gras in the French Quarter is wild, Halloween on Bourbon Street maybe even wilder. Hundreds of costumed revelers filled the festive thoroughfare, drinking, singing, and dancing. The revelry quickly caught up to J.P. The entrance to Sister Gertrude’s gentleman’s club was several blocks away as he pushed slowly through the crowd.
No city celebrates Halloween like New Orleans does, and there are none quite as imaginative at creating unusual costumes as natives of the city. A young woman dressed as a harem girl caught J.P.’s eyes. He also caught hers. Making a beeline to him through the crowd, she ripped off his mask and kissed him.
The male companion of the inebriated young woman grabbed her arm, pulling her away through the crowd. On any other night, J.P. would have been disappointed. Tonight, he simply shrugged and started away again through the mostly drunken crowd of costumed zombies, witches, and pirates.
High Rollers was the fitting name of Sister Gertrude’s club, the barker at the door letting everyone know beforehand that the cover charge to enter the establishment was a hundred bucks. J.P. paid the cover charge and tipped the door attendant another hundred. Sounds of loud music, the smell of strong alcohol, and the sight of near-naked women greeted him when he entered the club. A smiling waitress with a thick thatch of blond hair greeted him.
“I’m Opium,” she said.
“That’s a new name on me. Why do they call you that?” he asked.
“Maybe because I’m so addictive, and every man’s fantasy,” she said. “What can I get you to drink?”
Opium’s costume was little more than a pink nightie worn over a black G-string and mesh stockings, complete with red garters that matched her mask.
“Southern Comfort on the rocks,” he said. “And make it a double.”
“Never had a customer order one of those,” she said.
“Just started drinking it myself, and it’s kinda growing on me.”
“I’ll need a credit card,” she said.
“Never carry one when I’m out on the town. I got plenty of these,” he said, handing her a hundred dollar bill.
“Guess that’ll work,” she said. “I’ll ask my manager.”
“You do that, sweet thing. Tell him I got a thousand with his name all over it.”
“I’ll tell him,” she said.
He pinched her bottom when she turned toward the bar to order his drink.
“That’ll cost you extra,” she said.
“Then don’t worry. My money’s burning a hole in my pocket.”
After returning with J.P.’s drink, Opium rewarded him with a sensual kiss and flash of her breasts. Before she could walk away, he stuffed a handful of hundreds into her nightie.
Fittingly for Halloween night, the bar’s motif was the color red. Red, rotating spotlights cast a supernatural glow on the walls, ceiling, and floor of the establishment. A fog machine beneath the dance floor periodically shot clouds of mist around the naked dancers. Loud, head smashing, heavy metal music blasted from giant speakers.
J.P. elbowed his way past the men sitting around the raised stage and began tipping the two dancers with hundred dollar bills. A man in a pinstriped suit soon pushed through the crowd and tapped his shoulder.
“Hey, bud, we need to have a little talk,” he said.
“You bet,” J.P. said. “Just give me a second to give these pretty ladies a few more hundreds.”
The man in the suit had oiled hair, a pencil-thin mustache, and a broken front tooth. He wasn’t smiling as he led J.P. to a dimly-lit hallway, stopping by a fake potted plant.
“You can’t stay here unless you got a credit card,” the man said, his voice stern.
J.P. flashed his thick roll of cash. “You don’t take real money in this place?”
“We keep a running tab. Can’t do that without a credit card,” the man said.
J.P. just grinned and shook his head. “No problem,” he said. “I’ll just head down the street to Bootleggers. They and their girls don’t mind taking real money.”
When J.P. turned to leave, the oily man called to him.
“Wait just a second. Why the hell don’t you have a credit card?”
“Maybe you should ask Gertrude,” J.P. said.
“You know Sister Gertrude?”
J.P. nodded. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“I’ll just call her and see.”
“You do that,” J.P. said. “Tell her Jean Pierre Saucier will be spending his money at Bootlegger’s from now on.”
“Never heard of you,” the man said.
“And I bet you wouldn’t recognize Bill Gates if he walked up and shook your hand.”
“You ain’t Bill Gates,” the man said.
“Nope, I’m J.P. Saucier.”
Before J.P. could take a step for the door, the man grabbed his elbow.
“I hate to bother Sister Gertrude. She’s sort of busy tonight. Stick around. We’ll take your cash this time, though next time you come in, you’ll need a credit card.”
J.P. stuffed a hundred dollars into the oily man’s coat pocket. Opium was waiting nearby, watching the exchange. She smiled when the man gave her a nod. She was still smiling when she took J.P.’s hand.
“I was worried old prune face was gonna kick you out for not having a credit card,” she said. “Against club policy, you know. He gave me the high sign, so I’ll be taking care of you the rest of the night.”
“Great,” J.P. said.
“Follow me,” she said. “You’re special tonight. You’re gonna have your very own fantasy room.”
She led him to a second level overlooking the main bar. Wispy curtains of blue and purple silk formed the private room, a table, and couch the only furniture. J.P. sank into the couch, Opium piling into his lap. He was already well on his way to being sexually aroused when two scantily clad dancers joined them.
“This is Nightshade and Belladonna,” Opium said.
“They sound dangerous,” J.P. said.
“We are dangerous,” one of the women said. “Hope you have plenty of money on you because we’re the two best table dancers in town.”
J.P. reached for his roll of cash. “Prove it,” he said.
He soon had rotating dancers keeping him company whenever they weren’t on the dance floor. Though he had no watch and there was no clock on the wall, he was on his third Southern Comfort and knew he had been there awhile. He was starting to worry when a woman he hadn’t seen before arrived at the table.
The dancer sitting on the couch beside him got up and let the woman replace her, not saying goodbye as she slipped out of the silk curtains. The others quickly followed suit, leaving him alone with the attractive woman.
“I’m Batgirl,” she said.
“Hi, Batgirl, I’m J.P. I love your costume.”
Batgirl smiled, showing him her blood-red fingernails that matched the color of her lips when she used them to caress his wrist. Red hair highlighted her black latex bikini and calf-length, spiked heel boots, and splayed over her bare shoulders. Her eyes were a shade of green he’d never before seen and reminded him of a cat’s.
“The girls say you’re a big spender,” she said.
Just to show her she wasn’t mistaken, he stuffed a hundred into her bra.
“Shouldn’t Batgirl be wearing a mask and bat ears?” he asked.
“I have something better,” she said.
“Like what?”
“These,” she said, opening her mouth to show him a perfect set of vampire fangs.
“Those look real,” he said.
“Because they are, and so are these,” she said, pulling down her bra. “Ever had sex with a gorgeous, red-headed vampire?”
“Can’t say as I have, though I’d like to,” he said.
“How about having an orgy with ten beautiful vampires?”
J.P. removed his mask and grinned. “Baby, that sounds like heaven to me. Where is this party? I want to be there.”
“Not in heaven. I can promise you that. And there won’t be any angels hanging around either.”
“Sounds kinky,” he said. “Tell me more. I’m interested.”
“Thought so,” she said. “What’s your favorite perversion?”
“I’m Catholic,” he said. “I always thought it would be kinda cool to have sex with a nun. Not just any nun, but one as gorgeous as a movie star.”
Batgirl showed him her fangs when she smiled and nodded. “How would you like to have sex with the most beautiful nun in the world?”
“Now, you’re talking my language,” he said. “Where do I sign up?”
“The owner of this nightclub hosts the Vampire Ball at her castle every year on Halloween. Only the elite are invited to attend.”
“Who do I have to kill to get an invite?”
Batgirl grinned. “No one. You just need lots of money.”
“I got plenty of that,” J.P. said. “How much we talking about?”
Below them, the music had stopped briefly as one of the dancers finished her set to the applause of appreciative men sitting around the dance floor. After scooping the pile of wadded cash off the stage, the naked dancer grabbed her tiny outfit, took a bow, and strutted away behind a dark curtain.
“Ten grand, for starters,” Batgirl said. “That amount doesn’t include sex with the nun.”
“I’ve got a wad of hundreds here but not that much,” J.P. said.
“Maybe that’s why you need a credit card,” Batgirl said.
J.P. was glancing at the roll of hundreds in his hand when a flashy credit card appeared bearing the name J.P. King.
“I didn’t want to use this,” he said, handing her the card.
She took it and started away. “I’ll run this first. Hope you got a giant line of credit.”
“Me too,” he said as he watched her disappear behind the flowing curtain.
She returned with a smile on her face. “You’re golden, Mr. King. Your credit card is unlimited.”
“The only kind I have,” he said, stuffing several hundred-dollar bills into her bra. “Hell, if this party is everything you say it is, I hope it don’t catch fire and burn. Tell me more about this beautiful nun.”
“Her name is Desire. She was a supermodel, and I’ll bet you’ve seen her picture on a magazine cover.”
“You gotta be kidding,” he said.
“No, I’m not. She’s an honest-to-God nun. For the right price, she’ll do anything you want her to do.”
“How much?” he asked.
“She’s the most expensive piece of ass you’ve ever had, or will ever have again,” she said.
“You got me drooling just thinking about it, sweet thing. Tell me how much.”
“Twenty grand,” she said. “And that’s just for her.”
“Girl,” he said, “Put it on the card and give yourself a big tip. I can hardly wait. How do I find this beautiful nun?”
The heavy chain Batgirl slipped over his head had a golden doubloon attached. Stamped on the doubloon was the picture of a nun. Beneath the picture were the words Vampire Ball.
“She’s on the third floor of the castle where Sister Gertrude keeps her sex slaves.”
“Desire’s a slave?”
“Bought and paid for. Believe me when I tell you that no sane person would willingly perform the perverted sex acts some of the men require her to do. Unless they were frightened out of their minds that someone would punish them severely if they didn’t.”
“Guess that’s her problem and not mine,” he said.
“You just bought yourself the fantasy of a lifetime,” she said. “Keep the necklace around your neck. One of the attendants at the ball will see the doubloon and take you to Desire.”
“I got a big appetite,” J.P. said. “What else you got?”
“Desire’s your wildest wet dream,” Batgirl said. “There’s more, though, if you have any bullets left in your gun.”
“Will you be there?” he asked.
“Before the night is over,” she said. “When I arrive, I’ll find you.”
“How do I get to this party?”
She took his hand, led him through the noisy and crowded bar to the same hallway where he’d spoken with the manager. She pointed to the door at the end of the hallway.
“Through that door,” she said.
“Sure you’re not coming with me?”
“Like I said, I’ll be along after I get off work.”
“You sure?”
Drawing close to him, she kissed his neck. “I keep my promises,” she said opening the door for him.
As he had in Tubah’s interspatial portal, he grew light-headed when Batgirl shut the door behind him. The sensation lasted only a moment. Loud music and the cacophony of hundreds of revelers swept over him when he opened the portal door.
J.P. had a hard time believing his eyes when he exited the interspatial portal. He’d attended lavish parties held in Garden District mansions, and Mardi Gras balls hosted in giant ballrooms. Nothing prepared him for the outlandish theme party he’d stepped into.
The ballroom was enormous, the ceiling in places fully three stories above the stone floor. There was no electricity, only the flickering light of a dozen candle-powered chandeliers and crackling fire from several massive stone fireplaces.
Priceless Persian rugs covered the floor, expensive tapestries draping from the walls of stone. A smiling woman dressed as a serving wench met him at the door.
“Welcome, my lord. I see you are wearing a gold doubloon around your neck.”
“Yes,” he said. “I haven’t seen this many masqueraders since I was in college and snuck into the Rex Ball.”
“We have quite a turnout tonight,” she said. “I am Guinevere, your hostess. Your every wish is my command. And I truly mean every wish. The kinkier it is, the better I’ll like it.”
“Anything?”
“Whatever your heart desires.”
The long braids in Guinevere’s flaxen hair draped over her shoulders. The emerald green sheath she wore matched the color of her eyes, and was low cut and revealing. It barely covered her shapely derriere.
“Open your mouth,” he said.
She smiled, baring her teeth in a manner that clearly showed her vampire fangs.
“You like?” she asked.
“You bet I do,” he said. “Give me a quick tour, and then I’ll decide what my pleasure is.”
She pointed to a row of wooden benches brimming with an array of food befitting a feast. Serving wenches wandered around the tables, refilling pitchers of wine and food bowls. J.P. hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the aroma made his stomach growl.
“Sister Gertrude always prepares a magnificent feast for everyone to enjoy. Are you hungry?”
“Starved,” he said.
“Would you like for me to find you a seat at the table?”
“Wish I had time. I got other things on my mind right now.”
“I’ll bet you do,” she said, her smile showing her fangs. “There’s an empty couch by the fireplace. We could shed these clothes and get to know each other better.”
“In the middle of all these people?”
“Look around. We wouldn’t be the only ones partaking in a bit of sexual depravity.”
Even though shadows masked much of the castle’s large interior, J.P. could easily see to what Guinevere was alluding.
“Whoa!” he said. “I like my sex in private.”
“Then you’re not as kinky as I thought. Most everyone at this party enjoys viewing and being viewed.”
“And you?”
“Baby, you’ll never have sex as wild as you’re about to have with me.”
On a large stage, a magnificent orchestra was playing Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 3 in G major. Involved in gluttony or various acts of perversion, no one seemed to notice. There were also armed guards dressed like Spanish conquistadors, complete with body armor, helmets, spears, and swords, stationed at the doors and stairways.
“Sweet thing, you got me licking my chops. What’s with the soldiers?” he asked.
She clasped her long arms around her chest, her smile changing into a pout.
“I thought you had your mind on me and not a bunch of soldiers,” she said. “Did I forget to put on my perfume?”
Putting his arms around her waist, he kissed her neck. “No way,” he said. “I was just wondering if those ugly galoots are bouncers.”
“This castle is Sister Gertrude’s private Vatican, those men her Swiss Army,” she said.
“What the hell for?” he asked.
“Never know when a riot might break out.”
“Ugliest bunch of soldiers I ever seen,” he said. “They don’t even look human.”
“Because they’re not.”
“Then what the hell are they?” he asked.
“Mercenary trolls, giants, and ogres,” she said. “Don’t even look at those dudes sideways. They’re so mean they’d kill their own mothers.”
“How many are there?” he asked.
“Don’t know for sure. At least two dozen.”
Sister Gertrude’s guards did look dangerous. Though not as big as the Swamp Monsters, they all bore spears and swords and looked as if they knew how to use them. J.P. pinched Guinevere’s ass.
“Let’s go find that beautiful nun. You up for a threesome?”
“Now you’re speaking my language, baby,” she said. “You had me believing for a minute I’d drawn a dud for the biggest party of the year.”
“Don’t you worry sweet thing. I got big plans for you tonight.”
Guinevere and J.P. negotiated their way through the wild party. An armed troll stopped them at the base of the stairs. He let them pass when Guinevere showed him the doubloon.
Up the stairs, the giant chandeliers were missing, replaced by candles that left the halls in smoke, flickering shadows on the walls, general dimness, and the hallway chilly. Noise from the party below had died away before they reached the third floor of the castle.
“Sister Gertrude keeps all her sex slaves on this floor. Desire is her favorite. When customers aren’t drooling all over her, the old bat’s usually in her cell using and abusing the one she considers her prize possession.”
“I’ve never seen Sister Gertrude. What does she look like?
“Big, and I don’t mean fat. Probably seven feet tall.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, I’m not. The only thing short about Sister Gertrude is her temper. She backed down a troll once. Lifted him off the ground by the neck, and then squeezed his jugular till his eyes bulged.”
“She killed a troll?”
“Threw him against the wall and cracked his head open, though she stopped short of killing him.”
“Sounds pretty mean,” J.P. said.
“Mean, big, and ugly, though she pays well. No one that works for her ever wants to leave.” She giggled. “She’s also a witch, and a harpy, and would probably turn us into toads if we ever tried.”
“I thought she was a Catholic nun. I also have it on good authority that she’s human.”
“My ass! She’s no more human than the trolls and ogres, and no more a nun that I am. Nun of the Devil, maybe. She likes mocking the church. She’s not religious, I promise you.”
“What the hell’s a harpy?”
“You won’t believe me if I tell you,” she said.
“Try me.”
“When Sister Gertrude angers, she transforms into her real persona.”
“Which is?”
“A monster with the face of a woman and body of a raptor, with talons so sharp and deadly, she can claw you to pieces with them while she pecks out your eyes with her beak.”
“You’re shittin’ me!”
“Don’t ever piss her off, or you’ll find out for yourself.”
“I met Bat Girl at High Rollers,” he said, changing the subject.
“Bat Girl and I are besties. She’ll be at the party when she gets off work.”
“She told me,” J.P. said.
“Maybe we can all have a good time together.”
“Maybe.”
Guinevere stopped in front of a wooden door with a tiny viewing slot. “This is Desire’s room.”
“You got a key?” he asked.
She smiled and showed him the key to the cell on the gold chain she wore around her neck.
“Master key for all the cells,” she said. “Sister Gertrude and I are the only two people that have one.”
The heavy wooden door pushed open with a groan, light from a dozen candles scattered around the room greeting them when they entered. The only furniture was a bed and J.P. could see someone was in it. Touching her shoulder, he shook it gently.
“Desire, is that you?”
When she turned over and stared into his eyes, her appearance startled him. J.P. had never met the young woman, though had seen her picture many times on various magazine covers. She was widely considered one of the most beautiful women in the world.
He stepped back in shock, barely able to hear her when she asked, “Do I know you?”
“I’m J.P.,” he said. “A friend of Wyatt’s.”
“Wyatt?”
“Wyatt Thomas.”
Desire extended her hand. “Please come closer. I can’t see you.”
J.P. took her hand and bent close enough to her that she could see his face. As Wyatt had said, her hair had gone completely white. Her cheeks were gaunt, skin pale. There were vampire marks on her neck. Her bare arms were raw from recent bindings. Her voice was weak, and he had a hard time hearing her, even when he drew close. One of the candles in a holder on the wall sputtered and went out.
“Wyatt, is that you?” she asked.
“I’m J.P.,” he said.
She sank back into her pillow, tears appearing in her eyes.
“I thought for a moment . . .”
Guinevere was watching their exchange intently. J.P. stood and grabbed her hand.
“Change of plans,” he said. “You got me to thinking about you, me, Desire, and Bat Girl. Let’s wait till she gets here. All this smoke is getting to me, and right now, I need a breath of fresh air. Can you take me outside for a bit?”
“Guests aren’t allowed outside the castle walls,” Guinevere said.
“You told me my wish was your command. Nothing I’d like better right now than to get into that slinky little dress of yours right in front of the main gate and do it with a bunch of those ugly trolls and ogres watching us.”
Guinevere’s smile reappeared. “That does sound kinky. I’ve wanted to have sex with a troll since I arrived here.”
“Hell yeah,” he said. “If there’s a guard at the front gate, I’ll invite him to join us.” There was a cord, whips, and other sexual paraphernalia lying on the floor beside the bed. Grabbing a rope, he said, “Lead the way.”
“There’s a secret passage,” she said. “We can get to the front door through it without having to make our way back through the crowds. It’s dark so we’ll need candles.”
They grabbed burning candles, finding the secret passage behind a tapestry hanging on the wall in the hallway. A mouse scurried under their feet when they entered the darkened passageway.
“It’s narrow, damp, and slippery,” she said. “So watch your step. You’ll be no fun with a broken leg.”
The tunnel smelled of must, mold, and candle smoke. The air was stale. Something sounding like a high-pitched scream echoed through the dark passageway.
“What the hell was that?” he asked.
“Bats,” she said. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you.”
“I’ll bet you will,” he said, pinching her ass again.
“Better watch it,” she said. “Or I may have to have you right here in the dark on this damp stone floor.”
“If we don’t get to where we’re going pretty soon, I’ll take you up on it.”
The tunnel became steeper as it spiraled downward. At least there were steps. They finally reached level ground and Guinevere began searching for the exit.
“It’s been a while since the last time I took this tunnel. Can’t quite remember where the exit door lever is.”
J.P. was getting antsy when a door in the wall slid open. They were quickly outside the castle, and it was dark.
“We girls rarely come out here,” she said. “When we do, we usually go through the castle’s main entrance.”
“Where is that?” he asked.
“Around the corner. The barracks and mess hall for the soldiers are beyond the main entrance.”
“What time is it?” he asked.
“You taking medicine?”
“Just wondering how much longer before midnight.”
“Another hour or so,” she said. “You’ll know because there’s always a big fireworks display.”
“Then we better get on with it. Where are the guards located?”
“Those turrets on either side of the front gate to the castle,” she said.
“How many men?”
“Don’t know,” she said. “Why?”
“One of them is all we need. I don’t want to invite their whole crew.”
“Volmak, the officer in command, is a friend of mine,” she said. “He and I’ve been planning to get naked together for a while. I’ll see if he’ll send the others inside for a break.”
“You think he will?”
“Baby, he may not be human, but he’s definitely a male. If I can get him alone for a minute or so, I’ll have him eating out of my hands.”
“You’re getting me excited thinking about you getting him excited,” J.P. said.
J.P. stayed in the shadows as she ascended the stairs to one of the turrets. He needed a weapon. The only thing he could find was an oak barrel stave. Like a baseball bat, he swung it once to gauge its heft. Satisfied that he could do some damage with it, he hid it behind his back.
Before many minutes had passed, four soldiers descended from the turrets. They didn’t see him in the shadows, pressed against the castle wall, as they disappeared around the corner. Guinevere soon exited the turret, leading Volmak, a big troll by the hand. He met them with a big smile.
“Pleased to meet you. You speak English?”
Volmak stood several inches taller than J.P. and looked as solid as the walls of the castle. His frowning expression never changed when he grunted and nodded that he understood.
“Good, since I’m the one paying for this fantasy, I want you to strip this pretty girl naked, tie her arms and legs with this rope, and then put her over your knees. Think you can handle it?”
Volmak grunted before ripping the emerald dress right off Guinevere’s body. She was ecstatic when he grabbed her braided hair, holding her with it as he secured the rope around her arms and legs.
“Stuff something in her mouth so she can’t squeal, and then give that pretty little bottom of hers a good spanking.”
Volmak grunted as he bent her over his knees and began spanking her. J.P. was behind them. Pulling the barrel stave from the shadows, he used it to take a full swing at the troll’s big head.
When J.P. crashed the barrel stave into the back of Volmak’s head, he quickly realized the blow had barely fazed him. He nailed him again when he turned, this time swinging with his legs set, and with the full weight of his body. When the troll didn’t fall, J.P. thought he was in trouble. He wasn’t.
Volmak’s eyes closed and he toppled over backward, onto the ground. Guinevere struggled as J.P. retrieved the key to Desire’s room from her neck, patting her bare butt as he did.
“Sweet thing, leaving you here is just about the hardest thing I ever done, though right now I got bigger fish to fry.”
After a quick look around to see if anyone had witnessed the incident, he left Guinevere bound on the ground as he sprinted to the front gate, found the big crank that opened it and began turning it furiously. When the drawbridge hit the ground on the other side of the moat with a thud, he ran across it, a candle in his hand, and began shouting.
“Rory, Barzoom, the gate’s open. Hurry up!”
As he gazed into the darkness, the clouds parted as a full, yellow, Halloween moon began illuminating the plain between the castle and the trees. Figures began to emerge from the shadows. It was Rory, and the Swamp Monsters followed closely by Wyatt, Abba, Slick, and Lucky.
Rory was in full Scottish battle regalia, Aila, his big broadsword, in his hand.
“Whoa,” he said. “They can’t go in there like that. Where are their weapons?”
“They fight with staffs,” Rory said
The Swamp Monsters were dancing up and down, pounding their wooden staffs into the dirt, and making high-pitched unearthly sounds as they stoked themselves for the ensuing battle.
“Sister Gertrude has her own army. I promise you they ain’t gonna drop their weapons and run,” J.P. said.
“Contain your fears, or they will fell you before the first blow is ever struck. I am ready to fight to the death, and so are these fine lads.”
“All right then,” J.P. said. “Let’s get across the moat before someone raises the drawbridge and closes the gate on us.”
The thundering herd followed J.P. into the castle’s courtyard.
“The entrance to the castle is around the corner,” J.P. said. “There’s a big costume party on the ground floor, most of the participants too drunk or drugged to put up any resistance. Sister Gertrude has about two dozen armed trolls and ogres that you’ll have to fight your way through before you can get into the basement.”
“How will we find it?” Rory asked.
“There’s a staircase that winds up to the upper floors, and down to the basement. There are guards at the stairs. You can’t miss it. What about the dogs?”
“Slick and Lucky will come with me,” Rory said. “I have a feeling deep in my soul that I will need them before midnight arrives.”
J.P. knelt down and gave Lucky a hug. Lucky licked him and wagged his tail when he said, “Take care of that big Scot, you hear?”
Rory shook his hand, and then turned to the Swamp Monsters, issuing a Scottish war cry. Barzoom and the others began their eerie wailing, and then followed Rory and the two dogs to the castle’s entrance.
“Do you know where to find Desire?” I asked.
“There’s a secret passage we can take to the cell where they keep her. Wyatt . . .”
“Yes,” I said.
“Don’t flip out because you ain’t gonna recognize her.”
“What have they done?” Abba asked.
“Everything except take her very soul,” J.P. said. “And I’m not so sure they haven’t accomplished that as well.”
“Can we get in once we get there?” Abba asked.
“I got a key to the door,” J.P. said. “We’ll have to find some candles first because the passageway is pitch dark.”
We found candles in holders on the wall in the hallway leading to the passage. A secret door cloaked behind a tapestry opened after J.P. had manipulated a hidden lever.
“There are bats and rats in this passageway. Try not to freak totally out,” J.P. said.
“I hear them,” Abba said. “This place is creepy as hell.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” J.P. said.
Abba’s assessment of the secret passageway was right on point. It was dark, dank, and musty. Bats flew past our heads, Abba’s hands held high to keep them from getting tangled in her hair.
“Thank God!” she said when we’d finally exited into the flickering light of the third-floor hallway.
She and J.P. entered after opening the door to Desire’s cell. I waited in the hallway, not knowing after hearing J.P.’s description if I could take seeing the woman that had once filled the large void in my heart. J.P. and Abba were at her bedside, and my feet finally began to move.
I wondered if Desire would recognize me. She sat up in bed, dispelling those doubts when she clasped her willowy arms around my neck. Like a frightened child embracing their mother, she held on, as if ending the grip would be her death.
When I stroked my hand through her wild hair, I wondered what horrors she’d endured, and if she would ever be the same again. That was assuming we would succeed in rescuing her. I had only a moment to ponder my thoughts as Sister Gertrude walked through the door.
The huge woman dressed in nun’s garb glared at me. When she pointed and spoke, I realized it was an expression of pure hatred.
“You!” she said. “Release my precious doll.”
As Desire tightened her grip, I felt every rib in her wasted body. She couldn’t stop trembling as her tears dampened my neck. Sister Gertrude’s face contorted into an even uglier frown. When she bowed her head and raised her arms, her habit disappeared in a puff of smoke. For only a moment, she stood naked until her human body began to transform.
Unable to believe their eyes, Abba and J.P. backed against the wall as Sister Gertrude’s arms became wings, her face, and body morphing into the beak and talons of a giant raptor. With Desire’s arms still clutching my neck, I could barely move as the giant bird with the face of a monstrous woman shrieked and attacked. I had but a split second to respond to the creature’s assault.
Out of nowhere, Exethelon appeared in my hand. As the enraged harpy charged toward Desire and me, the magic dagger flew from my grasp, burying itself deeply into her heart.
***
Sister Gertrude’s Swiss Army met Rory and the Swamp Monsters with instant resistance as they entered the castle. Guests began screaming, pulling on their clothes and trying to flee. The well-trained cadre of trolls, giants, and ogres had no such inclination, raising their weapons and attacking the intruders.
As the ballroom rapidly became a noisy battleground, the masquerade party dissolved into a chaotic scene of mass hysteria. It was quickly apparent the under-armed Swamp Monsters were at an extreme disadvantage.
After what seemed an eternity of intense combat, Rory, the dogs, and the Swamp Monsters were no closer to the entrance to the basement than when the battle had begun. Slick and Lucky crouched with their fangs bared, protecting Rory as he continued to swing his big sword.
Even armed with only broad staffs, the overmatched Swamp Monsters were holding their own against the fierce attack of trolls and ogres. Bodies lay bleeding on the castle floor, including two of the Swamp Monsters. It wasn’t going well when the second wave of Swiss Army soldiers came streaming through the front door of the castle. Barzoom had fought his way to Rory’s side.
“Holy Mother of Christ!” Rory said. “It is almost midnight, and I have to make it to the basement. Can you open a path for me?”
Barzoom nodded and began swinging his broad staff with redoubled intensity. Trolls and ogres dropped in his wake as he began clearing a path to the stairs leading to the basement. Rory was by his side, the two dogs guarding their rear. Against greater odds, they somehow made it to the stairs. Rory clutched Barzoom’s big wrist before descending the circular stairway into the castle’s basement.
“God save us, lad,” he said. “I’ll take it from here. Your men need you back upstairs.”
Sounds of battle died behind them as Rory, Slick, and Lucky raced down the narrow stairway. They found the door to the basement ajar, intense light radiating through the crack. Rory hit the door at a full run, tripping and tumbling down a short flight of stairs leading to a circular room.
A huge granite boulder sat in the center of the small room. Rory grabbed his sword and picked himself off the ground. The great stone was moving. Soon, arms, legs, and creepy tentacles began protruding from the base of the boulder. Using his weight and strength, he attempted to keep the stone plug over the hole. Slick and Lucky stood barking as he struggled to keep shut the door to hell.
Unspeakable fiends, evil spirits, and demons finally managed to push the boulder aside and began streaming up from the fiery depths below. Rory backed away toward the stairs, cutting down demons as they exited the hole. The two dogs stood beside them, ripping at flailing limbs of frenetic demons.
A stench of death pervaded the basement oozing with demon’s blood as Rory, Slick, and Lucky stood at the base of the stairs, blocking the onslaught pouring from the depths of hell. Not knowing if he could hold his position, he looked at the dogs, gave the basement door a glance, and then shook his head. After crossing himself, he began attacking the demons again with renewed passion.
***
An expression of horror and disbelief appeared on the face of the harpy when Exethelon pierced her heart. Clutching the hilt with both hands, she sank slowly to the floor. As life seeped from her body, she transformed back into a human. J.P. felt the dagger’s power surging up his arms when he pulled it out of her heart.
“Exethelon is yours now,” I said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
I wrapped Desire in a blanket, carrying her as I followed Abba and J.P. back into the hallway. We waited on him as he used the key to open all the doors on the floor.
“Sister Gertrude is dead,” he said. “We have to get out of here.”
Though all the former prisoners looked in better shape than Desire, they were in obvious shock as they exited their cells and joined us in the hall. J.P. took a moment to address them.
“There’s a battle waging downstairs. Let’s all stay together, and I’ll lead you through the fighting to the portal that will deliver you to safety.”
Abba stayed close to me, stroking Desire’s hair, trying to comfort her as we started down the stairs. Desire felt so light that I had no difficulty carrying her. Sounds of battle accosted our senses when we reached the ballroom. Screams and wails of dying and wounded fighters met us when we made it to the base of the stairs.
“That open door up ahead is the interspatial portal. It will take you to a strip joint that exits on Bourbon Street.”
“You must come with us,” Abba said, clutching his wrist.
“I don’t see Rory or the dogs. They must be in the pit. I’m going to rally the Swamp Monsters and lead them down there.”
“No, they may already be dead. If you go, they’ll kill you too,” she said.
Instead of answering, J.P. embraced her. Abba was crying when their kiss ended.
“Since that may be the first and last time I ever get to kiss you, I wanted to make it a good one.” He turned to walk away, stopping, as if he’d forgotten something. “Wyatt, take good care of those two girls.”
***
J.P. waded into the battle in the main ballroom. An experienced combat officer who’d seen plenty of action in Afghanistan, he quickly assessed the situation, realizing the Swamp Monsters were getting the worst of the exchange.
Guinevere had given him incorrect information. Sister Gertrude’s Swiss Army was much larger than she had told him. The Swamp Monsters were outnumbered at least four to one. While they were presently holding their own, he knew he had to do something to change the course of battle.
Barzoom turned when J.P. yelled his name. J.P. grabbed his nose and made a face.
“Stink ’em out!” he said above the din.
Barzoom understood instantly. The foulest odor J.P. had ever smelled soon began filling the room. Sister Gertrude’s Swiss Guard began gagging, rubbing their eyes, grabbing their throats and dropping their weapons.
Haze drifted in the air of the large ballroom, trolls, and ogres running for the door. In the military, J.P. had experienced gas attacks. Nothing prepared him for the horrible effects of the Swamp Monster’s foul odor. He was about to run for the front door himself when he saw one of the trolls hadn’t deserted the fight. He was standing behind Barzoom, preparing to lop off his head with his sword. Drawing upon some inner strength he didn’t know he had, he launched Exethelon at the troll.
Sister Gertrude’s warrior fell over dead as Exethelon found its mark. Barzoom wheeled around. When he saw the dagger, he grabbed the hilt and pulled it out of the dead troll. In an instant, a golden glow began emanating from the blade. J.P. lurched forward, joining him, wrenching the sword out of the fallen troll’s hand.
When J.P. raised the sword in a salute to Barzoom, and they touched blades, his eyes stopped burning. The weapon took on the same golden glow as Exethelon’s. Realizing what had just occurred, he began picking swords up off the floor and tossing them to the remaining Swamp Monsters. Forming a semi-circle around Barzoom, they extended their swords as he touched each one of them with Exethelon. All the blades were soon aglow. The Swamp Monsters began to dance and howl.
“Too early to celebrate,” J.P. said. “The magic dagger is yours now. Lead us to the basement. We have a world that needs saving, and it may already be too late to do it.”
J.P. and the Swamp Monsters raced down the stairs to the basement door. From the sounds of battle coming from behind it, they knew Rory, and the dogs were still holding the demons from hell at bay. When Barzoom burst through the door, Rory came tumbling out. He was bloodied and bruised but came up fighting.
Seeing that Rory was down, the demons from hell began pouring through the door. When they did, the Swamp Monsters attacked, and the fight was on. The big Scot’s eyes opened when Barzoom touched Aila with Exethelon. Bounding to his feet, he sprang into battle, his sword slashing with newfound strength.
“Help me, lads,” he said, calling to the Swamp Monsters.
The stairway down to the pit of hell was narrow, only allowing one person at a time to pass. Barzoom and Rory were leading the way, slowly pushing the demons back down the stairs.
“Find Slick and Lucky,” Rory called to J.P. “They’re hurt. Don’t let the demons drag them to hell.”
Rory’s words incited the Swamp Monsters, and they began fighting even harder. They had just driven the last demon into the pit when J.P. found Slick and Lucky.
Blood oozing from numerous lacerations covered their fur. They both looked dead. J.P. left them to help Rory and Barzoom lift the giant boulder and drop it on the gateway to hell. The circular basement grew suddenly quiet. Then a howl went up. The Swamp Monsters began dancing and pounding the floor. Rory was dancing with them until J.P. grabbed his arm.
“You did it, big fellow. The world is safe for hundred-sixty more years, and it’s all thanks to you and the dogs.”
J.P. shook his head when Rory said, “Where are Slick and Lucky?”
Abba was in tears as we loaded everyone into the portal and shut the door behind us. Several of the young women we’d just rescued grew light-headed and passed out. Dozens of patrons of Sister Gertrude’s gentlemen’s club looked at us in shock when we exited the portal.
“Get out of our way,” I said when an angry man in a pinstriped suit got in our faces.
When he didn’t immediately respond, I shoved him against the wall and kept walking, through the front door and into the madness of Halloween on Bourbon Street.
Past midnight, we could clearly see the fireworks exploding in the sky over the river. For the first time in many days, the ground fog had disappeared. Sister Gertrude’s former sex slaves began clapping and cheering. One of the young women melted away into the crowd.
“Wait,” Abba said, calling to her. “Don’t run away. We can help you.”
Another soon followed her. Before long, they’d all disappeared into the cluster of masked insanity rampant on the world’s most famous street. Abba started to cry.
“They are survivors,” I said. “They’ll be okay. Right now, we have to get Desire to a doctor.”
“A doctor may restore her body. Nothing will ever restore what that horrible Sister Gertrude stole from her.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Her soul. Oh, Wyatt, what are we going to do?”
“Get her to a doctor first and worry about her soul later. We’re losing her. I can feel her slipping away.”
Abba jumped when someone touched her shoulder. When he spoke, his African accent was unmistakable.
“Thank God I’ve found you,” he said.
“Lando, is that you?” I asked.
It was Lando Impeke, the caretaker of St. Roch’s Chapel. We could see his snowy hair and broken tooth when he pulled the mask up over his head and smiled.
“Yes, I’ve been searching for you since darkness fell. Thank God you’re alive.”
“How did you know we’d be here?” I asked.
“I knew. Let me see the girl.”
I pulled back the blanket from Desire’s face, and Lando touched it with the stump of his right hand.
“She’s barely breathing,” I said. “We need to take her to a doctor.”
“Her body will survive,” he said. “It is her soul that needs saving. We must take her to St. Roch.”
“That’s crazy,” Abba said. “She needs a doctor, not your religious mumbo-jumbo.”
Lando gazed up at me. “My car is a few blocks away. I am here for a reason. Even if you do not believe me, take a leap of faith.”
We pushed through the masked crowd on Bourbon Street, happy revelers unaware of our plight. When we reached a quiet side street intersecting Bourbon, Lando led us into the darkness. As the noise behind us began to die away, Abba continued to sob and to grumble.
“This is insane,” she said. “There’s nothing to gain by going to St. Roch. You don’t believe this man’s malarkey, do you?”
“You’ve seen things over the past two days you would never have believed,” I said. “Now, I believe Lando was on Bourbon Street for a reason. If he thinks he can help Desire, then I’m going to let him try.”
Though her grumbling ceased, her tears did not. Even several blocks from Bourbon Street, we could still hear the crowd noise in the distance, and see colorful prisms of light exploding in the sky. After some difficulty piling into Lando’s shocking pink Volkswagen, we left the French Quarter on our way to the nearby St. Roch Cemetery.
Lando parked outside the locked gate, light from the full moon shining down on the entrance as we exited his old beater. Desire was lifeless in my arms as he unlocked the gate. When he did, they swung open, a metallic clang beckoning us to enter. The moon illuminated our path as we approached the statue of the little girl.
“Remove the blanket and lay her on the statue,” Lando said.
I didn’t know if Desire was still alive when I laid her atop the statue of the sick girl lying in bed. If she was still breathing, her breath was so faint as to be imperceptible. As she lay prone on the statue, Lando knelt beside it and began to pray. I watched, waiting for a miracle that didn’t occur. Undeterred, Lando glanced up at Abba.
“Help me,” he said.
“I can’t. I don’t believe what you’re attempting will do Desire a bit of good.”
Lando was short, barely reaching Abba’s shoulder. He stood and clutched her hand.
“This is as much about you as it is Desire. Can you explain the moon and stars?”
“I don’t need to explain them. I can see them and know they are there.”
“What about the places you cannot see? Do they not exist?”
“Of course they do,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“You’re just trying to confuse me,” she said.
“What is a shadow, or the reflection of a reflection? Where does a wisp of vapor go when it disappears in the blue of the sky?”
“Stop tormenting me. I don’t have all the answers.”
“Then quit trying to analyze what you do not understand. Allay your doubts and let faith flood into your soul. What you are about to witness has but a single explanation. Take my hand, my only hand; kneel with me and help me pray.”
I didn’t know if he’d convinced Abba, or if she were simply humoring him. Whichever, she took his left hand and knelt in front of the statue. Lando had begun reciting a short prayer, saying it repeatedly. Abba finally joined him, her voice low at first and then with greater intensity.
“Please, God, restore this woman’s soul.”
Raised a Catholic, I’d heard of miracles occurring all my life. I’d never witnessed a miracle and didn’t expect to witness one as I gazed at Desire draped across the statue in front of me. As Lando had said, it didn’t much matter what I believed.
As I watched, a golden light washed over the trio. Desire’s eyes popped open, and the color of her hair began to change. When she stared up and saw me, she began to smile.
“Wyatt, is that you?”
***
Lando dropped us off on the street in front of Bertram’s bar. We found the establishment filled with masked patrons. Bertram was working feverishly to fill the orders of beer, wine, and whiskey. He stopped when he saw us straggle through the front door.
“Good God almighty!” he said. “I was beginning to think you two was dead. Is this . . . ?”
“It’s me, Bertram,” Desire said, giving him a long hug.
“Baby, you look pretty as a picture. Where you been?”
“I have no idea,” she said. “The last thing I remember is leaving Mom’s house. Have you seen her?”
“She was in here last night,” he said.
“Is she . . . ?”
“Doing just fine, though worried as hell about you.”
“She shouldn’t worry. I’m with friends, now.”
“Anybody need a drink?” he asked.
“You have Southern Comfort?” Abba asked. “I’ve grown partial to it the past few days.”
“Honey babe, I got most any kinda alcohol you can think of. Let’s go to the bar. I’ll make some room for you.”
A couple of regulars sitting at the end of Bertram’s bar smiled when he comped their tabs and sent them home. We were soon on stools across from the Cajun bartender, Abba, between bites of gumbo and sips of Southern Comfort, recounting the all but unbelievable things we’d experienced the past few days.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Have some more whiskey.”
“We’re going up to my room and crash,” I said after a glass of Bertram’s lemonade and two bowls of his spicy gumbo.
“That mangy cat of yours must have known you were coming. I ain’t been able to get her to leave the room all day.”
“Good,” I said. “I’ve missed her.”
As we pushed through the ensuing Halloween party to the stairs, Abba began to sob.
“J.P., Rory, and the dogs are dead. I just know they are.”
“Bull shit!” I said.
Desire hugged her tightly and also began to cry. I hugged them both.
“Wyatt, I don’t think I can take this,” Abba said. “What’ll I do?”
Desire squeezed her hand and said, “Have faith.”
Abba continued to cry as we climbed the short flight of stairs to my room. Her phone began ringing when we reached the door.
“My phone’s working,” she said.
“Then answer it,” I said.
It was J.P. Abba wiped away her tears when she heard his voice.
“I’ve been so worried,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“Couldn’t be better. I’m sitting here at my camp with Rory.”
“Thank God!” she said.
“Rory’s as drunk as a skunk and singing bawdy Scottish songs. Hell, he may as well be, cause he smells worse than skunks. Guess maybe so do I.”
“What happened with the demons from hell?” she asked.
“Don’t know how they did it, but Rory and the dogs managed to keep them at bay in the basement till me, Barzoom and the other Swamp Monsters got there to help them. The Swiss Army dropped their swords and ran when the Swamp Monsters let loose their stink. Barzoom used Exethelon to give the fallen swords magical powers. Between their skunk odor, magic swords, and Rory, we managed to herd the demons back to hell, and then plugged the hole.”
“What about the dogs?”
“They were all but dead when I found them in the basement. Neither one of them opened their eyes the whole way back to Tubah’s house. Rory was crying like a baby, and maybe so was I.”
“Are they dead?”
“Why hell no they ain’t dead,” J.P. said. “You think Tubah Jones was gonna let two heroes die? She gave them some concoction that revived them. They’re bandaged up like a couple of accident victims, but their tails are wagging, and they are both going to make it.”
“Thank God!” she said. “I’ve been so worried.”
“The Swiss Army is gone. Last I seen of what was left of them, they was holding their noses and hightailing it through the swamp.”
“And the vampires?”
“Guinevere, the vampire girl that had the key to Desire’s cell, knew where Sister Gertrude kept all her ownership papers. She’s now the owner of High Rollers and is hiring all the other girls. Said the first thing she was going to do was fire the mouthy manager nobody likes.”
“Vampires on Bourbon Street?”
“Hell, girl, what else is new?”
“And the castle?”
“That’s the strange part,” he said. “As we was leaving, a thick cloud covered it. When it disappeared, the castle was gone.”
“You mean like it was never there?”
“Exactly what I mean. Barzoom took the dagger, and he and the Swamp Monsters disappeared back into the Honey Island Swamp. Now, it all seems like a dream to me.”
“Maybe it was,” she said.
“How are you, Wyatt and Desire?” he asked.
“We’re okay, Desire back to her old self.”
“How?” he asked.
“Long story,” she said. “I’ll tell it to you when we both have more time.”
“Good,” he said. “You haven’t forgotten about our date, have you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said.
When I opened the door to my room, Kisses jumped into my arms. I was as glad to see her, as she was to see me. Abba, Desire, and I were exhausted. We collapsed on the bed and fell asleep without bothering to undress. Kisses spent the night on my chest. She didn’t awaken me, I had no fitful dream, and we slept peacefully through the entire night.
***
Next morning, Bertram was polishing a glass behind the bar when Tony Nicosia came through the front door.
“What’s happening, Bro?” Bertram asked. “Survive Halloween okay?”
“Barely,” Tony said. “Got any scotch in this place?”
Bertram grabbed a bottle of Dalmore from beneath the bar. “Your favorite,” he said.
“Not anymore,” Tony said. “Got any Monkey Shoulder?”
Bertram removed his trapper’s cap and scratched his head. “What the hell is Monkey Shoulder?”
“Scotch,” Tony said.
“You’ll have to drink Dalmore till I get you some.”
“That’ll work,” Tony said. “Seen Wyatt?”
“He’s upstairs in bed with two pretty women and that cat of his.”
“Except for the cat, it sounds like they may be having fun,” Tony said.”
“Just sleeping. When I peeked in on them, they still had on all their clothes. Where’s Eddie?”
“We’ve all been staying at Frankie Castellano’s horse farm north of Covington while Eddie and me was trying to solve a little problem for him.”
“And?”
“Everything’s copacetic,” Tony said. “Frankie thinks me and Eddie set the moon. He and Adele are taking me and Lil to Italy with them next month.”
“And Eddie?”
“You hadn’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Eddie and Frankie’s daughter, Josie are a number now. Adele and Frankie are planning the biggest wedding this parish ever seen.”
“Oh?”
“Frankie’s going to make Eddie his chief counsel. He’ll be second in command of his whole operation. He’s also going to give him and Josie his horse farm as a wedding present.”
“What’s Eddie think of all this?”
“He left early this morning to run an errand and ain’t heard about it yet.”
Bertram poured himself a shot of Cuervo. “Eddie’s never gonna settle down with one woman. He ain’t wired that way.”
“He don’t have much choice,” Tony said. “Frankie will have him skinned alive if he trifles with Josie’s feelings. He’ll learn to love it. He just has to change his ways.”
It was growing dark as Eddie parked his black sedan in front of a tiny wood framed house about a block from the main street of Sallisaw, Oklahoma. As he got out of the car, he saw that a young woman was sitting alone on the front porch swing. She continued to swing as he walked up the broken sidewalk to the porch.
“Jessica Smith?” he said.
“Do I know you?”
“I’m Eddie Toledo. I met you a day or so ago.”
Her eyes grew wider when he walked out of the shadows, and she got a good look at his face. Bounding out of the swing, she stepped off the porch and clutched his hand.
“You’re the man that saved my life in the horse barn.”
“I could see you were in danger.”
“You’re a hero.”
“Anyone would have helped.”
“No they wouldn’t have,” she said. “Thank you so much, Eddie.”
“Just glad I was there when you needed me.”
“You thirsty? I got ice tea in the kitchen.”
“Sounds great,” he said. “Please don’t go to any trouble.”
“No trouble. Wait in the swing. I’ll be right back.”
Rusty chains supported the old wooden swing hanging from the ceiling of the porch, their metallic creaks harmonizing with traffic sounds on the nearby highway. Jessica returned with a pitcher of iced tea and two tumblers. After pouring them a glass of tea, she scooted beside him.
Her simple yellow dress didn’t cover her knees, the brown cotton sweater she wore her only concession to the night chill in the air. The swing being small, their bodies touched. Even in the dim light of a nearby streetlamp, he was close enough to see how pretty she was. She smiled when she noticed him noticing.
“Why are you here, Eddie?” she asked.
“I have something for you.”
Taking a slip of paper from his shirt pocket, he handed it to her.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A cashier’s check made out to you.”
“This can’t be mine,” she said. “No one owes me thirty-three thousand dollars.”
“I promise you, it’s yours,” he said.
“Where did it come from?”
“Your deceased husband, Kenny. He placed a bet on the last race he rode in. This is his winnings, and it belongs to you.”
Tears began forming in the corners of her eyes. “This can’t be. I must be dreaming.”
“It is, and you’re not,” Eddie said.
Jessica put her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“You drove all the way from New Orleans to give this to me?”
“I had the day off,” he said.
“Thank you, Eddie. You don’t know what this means.”
“I think I do.
“No, you don’t. I just broke into my piggy bank and found three dollars and seventy-five cents in quarters, nickels, and dimes. It’s all I have in the world. I didn’t know how I was going to feed my baby this week.”
“What’s your baby’s name?”
“Stevie Ray. Named him after a guitar player cause I’m hoping he grows up with talent enough to make him rich and famous.”
“You hungry?” he asked.
“I’ve been eating ramen noodles for a week now.”
“We could go someplace nice and get a steak.”
Jessica wiped her eyes and smiled. “Stevie Ray’s asleep. I can’t go anyplace.”
“I could get something and bring it back,” he said. “What are you hungry for?”
“When I have a few extra dollars, I get fried chicken they sell at the convenience store.”
Neon lights of the combination convenience store and filling station beckoned from across the street.
“I’ll walk over and get us some. Anything else you need?”
“Uh . . .”
“What?” he said. “Tell me what it is. I’ll get it for you.”
She giggled. “I’m almost out of baby formula. Little Stevie was breastfeeding until my tits dried up. Formula is so damn expensive, even the cheap kind.”
Jessica was smiling when he returned from the convenience store with two grocery bags in his arms.
“What in the world? Did you buy out the store?”
“Potato chips, chicken, beer, and baby formula. I'd go back if I missed something else that you need.”
They sat on the porch swing, eating chicken and potato chips, and drinking beer.
“It’s getting late,” he finally said. I better get going. It’s a long drive back to New Orleans.”
Jessica touched his wrist, gazed for a moment into his eyes, and then stole a quick kiss.
“Please, this is the best night I can remember for so long. I don’t want it to ever end. Can’t you come inside and stay for just a bit longer?”
As the front door shut behind them, Eddie heard the horn of a semi motoring past on the highway. It sounded far away, deep and mournful, like a jazz funeral marching through the French Quarter.
####
Excerpt – New Orleans Dangerous