Priest saw the man searching the church residence. He recognized him as Bryn’s consort, the policeman from London. It seemed better to leave his room to take care of itself. He had plans for the evening anyway. When his watchdogs failed in their mission, he decided accosting the intruder and possibly having to fight him would cause too much notice. Even the tired priests might awaken and see things better left unseen.
He materialized in the alley and walked to Jackson Square. It was too late to hail a hack so he decided to steal the gentleman’s horse. It was tied in the square. The horse shied when he untied its reins, but Priest soon settled it. He knew horses mistrusted him. He smelled of snake.
Mounted, he urged the gelding into a trot and set off for the waterfront. His needs were growing more and more urgent. His desire for Bryn had him on edge. No matter how many women he violated and killed, he was still unsatisfied. He wouldn’t find peace until he had humiliated her beneath him. The thought of her writhing in agony while he thrust himself into her body filled him with uncontrollable lust. He would sate it now.
Once on the waterfront, he found a whore selling herself in front of a bar. The bar was one frequented by sailors and other rough sorts. The woman would not expect a gentleman. He dismounted and tied his horse to a hitching rack in front of the bar. The woman spotted him and lifted her skirts. He had a good look in the light from the bar window of white thighs and dark pubic hair.
He approached her and offered her a silver dollar. She shook her head. “Non, monsieur, cinq dollars.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Cinq? Por voux?”
She dropped her skirt. “Si, vraiment.”
He pulled four more dollars out of his pocket and dropped them into her open palm one at a time. When she had stowed them in a string bag dangling from her belt, he grabbed her arm and dragged her into the dark alley. She cursed him long and with remarkable fluidity in French, but went with him. When he had her in the dark, he turned her roughly around and hoisted her skirts. Her pale buttocks beckoned. He opened his cassock, took out his flaccid organ and cursed it. Only moments before when he had been thinking about Bryn it had been more than ready.
He spun the whore around and pushed her to her knees. She saw the problem immediately and took him into her mouth. He told her to pull her breasts out of her blouse which she did. The white globes gleamed in the dark alley. He closed his eyes and thought of Bryn as he stroked her breasts, but nothing worked. His organ remained flaccid and unresponsive though the whore sucked, licked and applied every artifice at her disposal.
When it became apparent that his inflamed mind had no effect on his cock, he wrapped a silver rosary around her neck and began choking her. She fought like a wildcat, her breasts bare, her black hair flying. He pushed her in front of him with his knee and snatched the rosary tighter. There was no cross on this one. The beads cut into her flesh and she collapsed at his feet. He knelt beside her, crammed his organ back under his robes and gave her extreme unction. As he used holy water to draw a cross on her forehead, she kicked once, and died. He placed a communion wafer in her gaping mouth and stood up seething with frustration, hacked off her breasts and threw them into the alley. He pushed up her skirts and stared at her sex. When his flesh hardened, he cursed again. He would not fuck a dead woman. Even he had some scruples. He covered her face with her skirt and stalked out of the alley to find the horse missing. Someone had stolen it.
Priest growled, raised his arms and turned into a black dragon. After flexing his huge segmented wings, he took off for St. Louis Cathedral with his black thoughts swirling. He would have Bryn Sahir. Until he did, he was cursed with impotence and a burning desire he could not gratify.
* * * *
Quinn had to find a late night hack to take him home. His horse was missing. He smiled at the thought of someone stealing Blackjack. The minute the horse got free, he would return to the Garden District and his warm stall. Blackjack was like a homing pigeon. No matter where he went, he always knew how to find his stall and the hay that waited there.
The hack driver was leery of Quinn, but finally accepted double the fare to take him home. He was not surprised to find his horse walking up the drive with the reins dangling. “Came home, did you?” Quinn picked up the dragging reins and led the horse to the mews. “Knew right where you lived.”
The horse nickered and accepted a handful of grain as Quinn unsaddled him and put him up for the night. Tomlinson was waiting for him in the basement laboratory. “Did you find anything?” he asked eagerly.
Quinn began stripping off his leather vest, gauntlet and neck piece. “Here,” he tossed the pouch to his assistant. “I found a queer stone and a rosary. Can you tell if there is blood on the rosary?”
“Of course. I have a special mixture I use made of hydrogen peroxide and a powder I invented. When the two are mixed, the blood glows with yellow luminescence.”
Quinn sighed with fatigue. “Well, do whatever you feel is necessary. I’m off to my bed and some well-deserved rest.”
Tomlinson picked up the stone. “This is rainbow obsidian. I believe it to be quite harmless. The stone is used to heighten awareness specifically during meditation and it’s supposed to protect the bearer against negativity. You should probably carry it. Negativity seems to love you.”
Quinn accepted the stone from Tomlinson and dropped it into his pocket. “If you say so.”
* * * *
“Miss Fenix, I have a message for you,” Fingle said. He held a sealed letter out to her. She rose from the settee where she had been mending a flounce on one of her dresses and took the letter. It was sealed with black wax. She stared at it for several moments before breaking the seal and opening it. The letter was from Emile. He had managed to steal the stone. Fenix was overjoyed. He wished to see her, give her the stone and collect his reward. She knew the message was really from Emile when he mentioned his desire to finish what they had started. She smiled. He would collect that and more.
For two days Bryn had been haunting the residence of Marie LeVeque to no avail. Bryn thought the woman may have checked out of the hotel. This message gave Fenix a new perspective. Perhaps she was dead. Maybe Emile had taken care of her or maybe when Emile stole the stone the witch left town. Fenix didn’t know or care which supposition was true. She only knew Emile had done what Bryn could not do. He’d stolen the stone!
Fenix hummed a Zydeco tune as she changed into a walking dress with an amber velvet jacket and a skirt of white muslin with gold flowers and a lace flounce. She slipped into gold sandals and examined her hair in the mirror. She pulled it into a knot on the top of her head, fluffed curls around her face and then tied a straw bonnet with a high poke and gold ribbons over her curls. After finishing her toilet, she grabbed a parasol to shield her fair skin from the summer sun and left the house. Fingle bowed her out the front door with a frown on his long face. “Miss is going out?”
“Yes, Fingle, I have an errand to perform.”
“And where would you be going? Miss Bryn will wish to know, I am sure.”
Fenix tilted her head. “I don’t believe I must answer to Bryn, but you may tell her my project has prospered and I go to collect my bounty.”
Fingle’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed, and Miss Bryn will know what this means?”
Fenix stepped onto the sidewalk. “Yes, I believe she will.”
Fenix hailed a hack at the corner and told the driver to take her to the waterfront. She had a moment of remorse as she gave him the address of Emile’s lodging. She’d promised Bryn she would not go anywhere alone. She’d promised to include her sister in her plans. But Bryn was resting from two nights of fruitless efforts. It would be unkind to rouse her. And besides, Emile was waiting. He had a reward to collect and Fenix was very hot to deliver it.
She sat back on the bench and waited for the driver to whip up his cob, but instead he pulled the horse up. “Sorry, Miss, I don’t go down there ever and neither should a pretty young lady like yourself.”
Fenix closed her eyes. Everyone wanted to tell her what to do. It was extremely vexing. She spoke in a soft hypnotic voice. “You do want to take me there, Chartres Street and Piety, the corner.”
The driver’s eyelids drooped. “Chartres and Piety, yes Miss.” He clucked to the thin brown gelding pulling the hack and they took off at a trot. Fenix leaned back and let her anticipation build. She would ride Emile like the great horse that he was.
When they reached the corner, Fenix climbed down, paid the driver and walked briskly toward the rundown building where she’d met and danced with Emile. It was dark and the faded brown door was locked. She opened her parasol to protect her skin from the blazing sun and looked up and down the street with a puzzled expression on her face. This was where Emile had said to meet him. She turned and tried the door to the club again. It was still locked. No lights and no music issued from within.
She was just about to leave and try to find another hack when she spotted a carriage coming down the street drawn by a team of four fine gray horses. The driver was dressed in a black suit, wore a top hat and carried his whip at a jaunty angle. Fenix’s spirits lifted when the carriage pulled to a stop beside her. The driver tied his reins around the brake, jumped down and doffed his hat. “Miss Fenix Sahir?”
Fenix smiled delighted at his manners. “Yes, that is me.”
He opened the carriage door and pulled down a set of steps. “Please get in. Mr. Emile sent me to fetch you.”
Fenix giggled. “Mr. Emile? Why, I’m charmed.”
She lifted her skirts to climb into the carriage, felt a sudden blow to the back of her head and darkness claimed her.