The Devil's Daughter Complete Box Set, page 70
part #1 of The Devil's Daughter Series
Jennifer nodded toward the door. “Come on. I used to date a guy who lived in one of these remodeled slave quarters. There’s a staircase from the porch to the patio. From there, we can escape out the carriageway of the main townhouse.”
Sere tripped over a drunk passed out in the middle of the narrow living room. Jennifer reached for the door, but her hand went straight through it. “I got it,” Sere said.
Outside, the back of the townhouse loomed over the compound like the master’s quarters it had once been. She raced down the stairs, feeling like a slave escaping captivity, and stopped in the dark access designed for horse and carriage that ran from the courtyard to the street. Music and laughter oozed from the main house. At the front of the compound, Sere pushed against the large wrought-iron gate and squeezed through.
“Now what?” Jennifer asked.
They were still a block from Jackson Square. “We’ll stick close to the cathedral. I want to put as much space as possible between us and the horse-drawn carriages on Decatur. I already had one of those beasts try to chew off an ear as a child.” She looked to the sky, wishing she had some way to tell time. Anyone in life who planned to provide help would need a lot more information about where she was and what she was doing, but Lefty had a way of seeking her out no matter how desperate her situation—he just needed time to find her. “Any guess on how long we’ve been in hell?”
“Forever?” Jennifer said.
“Sounds about right.” The street buskers eyed Sere as she and Jennifer snuck through the crowd of onlookers in front of the church. Soaked and windblown, each person they passed looked thoroughly miserable, but none of them raised a hand against the pair. Even so, she and Jennifer were far too exposed for Sere’s tastes. If a harvester spotted them, they weren’t likely to find support from the random people in the square. “We need to head back toward the river.”
The artwork that hung from the old wrought-iron fence alongside Jackson Square was covered with images of decapitations, severed limbs, and anguished faces. In what should have been the tranquil garden-like refuge from the city’s hustle and bustle, doppelgängers missing parts howled in pain. “That must be where the harvesters’ victims go in hope of treatment,” Jennifer said. “Those poor souls.”
“They aren’t souls, but I wouldn’t wish that level anguish on a sewer rat.” Back at Decatur, Sere pointed to the tattered black-and-gray remains of what had been the festive Café Du Monde fabric overhangs. “If we can get back across the street, we can get up to the levee. That will at least put us clear of these damn cars and buses.”
“They can’t hurt me,” Jennifer said in such a soft voice that Sere suspected she was talking to herself.
“Now.” Sere ran through the water and between the jammed traffic. Cars plowed into the back of the one in front as she passed their bumpers. She didn’t slow down until they were on the incline leading up to the levee and out of the lake that had taken over the Quarter’s streets. “The wind is going to be worse up here, close to the river, but at least we’ll be able to run easier on the dry ground. If we can just get past Governor Nicholls wharf, we’ll be clear of the Quarter.” She took off at a jog along the brick-covered path.
“And home free?” Jennifer’s quivering voice made Sere suspect the question was far more optimistic than she felt.
“I’m not sure why the harvesters stick to the Quarter. The real problem, though, is actually getting past the wharf. Once we get there, we’ll have to duck down off the levee again, right along the French Market.”
Jennifer came to a full stop. Though the woman didn’t have mass—other than through the psychic connection they shared—she also didn’t need to respond to Sere’s momentum. Like a boat having its anchor chain suddenly caught on a pier piling, Sere felt her arm nearly pulled out of its socket at the sudden unyielding stop.
“I can’t go down there,” Jennifer whined, “not after what Doodlebug described. The place must be teaming with harvesters.”
“Even those bastards know better than to hunt where their customers shop. We’ll skirt the off-loading side road. No one pays much attention to the goings-on of laborers.”
Jennifer kept her feet planted like a little girl not moving any closer to a snake. “I just can’t.”
Sere looked along the levee path in desperation. If Jennifer wouldn’t go forward, their only option, other than diving into the Mississippi, was to cut back into the heart of the Quarter. “We can’t fly, and I’m not willing to try swimming with our hands linked together. So do you really want to face the harvester gauntlet again?”
Jennifer pointed at the wide-open door of the loading dock. “Can’t we cut through the warehouse?”
Operational buildings in hell were great places to be ambushed by all sorts of demons, but Sere didn’t have time to explain that. “I can assure you, you’d find the French Market far less scary, but we can’t stand around here all day waiting for our enemies to catch up.” Reluctantly, Sere took a jogging start toward the chain-link fence that surrounded the complex. “It will probably be quicker if you just walk straight through the gate while I climb over. Remember, you’re just a ghost.”
“You can stop saying that now.” Jennifer increased her pace until she was in the lead.
Sere had jumped enough fences in hell for the process to become second nature. With a good firm hop, she scaled the chain-link fence halfway. Even with having to leave one arm limp at her side to accommodate Jennifer, she was over the top in only slightly more time than it would have taken to walk the same distance. As she vaulted past the barrier, she dragged Jennifer through the thick wire mesh.
“Okay, this was your idea. Straight through the warehouse with its machinery of death, or along the loading bays lined with tractor trailers hammering away at anything that gets between them and the building?”
“Well, when you put it that way, I think I’d choose to be out of the rain for our next battle.”
“Whatever the lady wishes.” Sere took off at a full run toward the raised foundation. At the open bay, she vaulted up to the loading dock with Jennifer copying her every move. “I don’t know what’s in here, and I don’t want to. Just run at full speed until we’re out the other side. Don’t get distracted.”
The sounds of solid metal bashing against solid metal reverberated around the corrugated walls like torments in the pits of hell. Male doppelgängers that looked like they’d stepped directly out of a 1930s WPA poster put their full weight into the machinery’s levers. Between the ear-splitting noise, acrid smells of diesel and sweat, and sonic booming that penetrated to Sere’s bones, she wondered how she’d maintain her direction.
“I’ve never seen anyone actually suffering the tortures of the damned,” Jennifer said.
“Stay focused.” Sere uttered the words as much to herself as her companion. “If they see us, we’ll be as exposed as if we were walking naked through a male prison.” They ducked between rows of five-foot-tall canvas bags filled with brimstone.
“What is this place?” Jennifer seemed incapable of staying on track.
“Another of hell’s creations. I doubt either Agnes or the professor ever worked a day of manual labor in their lives. This version of damnation was probably the result of watching too many old movies.” Sere bolted toward an open door at the end of the massive workroom.
Though the connecting warehouse lacked the physical sensations and rows of testosterone-sweating workmen of the last, Sere found it no less terrifying. With the sides torn from its support beams, flocks of river birds glided around the great open space. Sere pulled Jennifer behind a pile of discarded wooden pallets. “This just gets better and better.”
Jennifer turned to Sere. “All right, out with it. What is it with you and birds, anyway?”
“Have you ever had a reoccurring nightmare—one that no matter how old you get, it always circles back, making you feel like a defenseless little girl? Mine involves me being a little fish struggling against the Mississippi’s current. A big black cormorant with demonic red eyes, razor-sharp yellow beak, and slicked-back black feathers dives into the water, seeking me out. There are other fish in the area—bigger fish, tastier fish. It doesn’t matter to my pursuer. No matter how hard I swim or how deep I go, that serrated beak always closes in around me, snipping off my fins until I’m nothing more than a squirming body.”
Jennifer gave her a half nod. “Okay. But it’s just a dream. When Bobby has nightmares, I tell him, ‘Next time, imagine you can change what’s going on. It’s one of the few places where you can take charge and there’s no one to stop you.’ It seems to help him.”
“You don’t get it.” Sere doubted anyone who hadn’t lived in hell would fully understand. “My dreams aren’t simply bits and pieces of unprocessed thoughts. I’m connected to hell. My subconscious is like a phone call that I can’t shut off. Somewhere in this reality, that cormorant means something, and it’s not good for me.”
Jennifer looked back at the door they’d used to escape the pounding. “Well, then, what are our options?”
“I don’t think we have any.” Sere steeled herself for the run through the pecking, screeching, diving, airborne wraiths of the night. She felt her makeshift halter top. Between the running, tumbling, and swordplay, the bullet hole was oozing blood again. “Once we get to the far end of this warehouse, we won’t be too far from the professor’s lab. Keep your eyes open for Doodlebug. With all of this blood loss, I’m starting to run out of energy.”
Jennifer’s hand quivered in Sere’s. “What happens if you pass out?”
“Other than being overrun by demons? I don’t know. Our connection kind of depends on both of us being present.”
“Right.” Jennifer edged close to the side of the pallets. “Then there’s no point in dillydallying.”
Sere sprinted out of their protective nook. The hurricane-driven wind off the river brought with it walls of stinging water droplets. She held both Jennifer’s hand and the sword, making it impossible to cover her face. Feeling like a warrior goddess, she raised the sword at the flock of birds and swung it wildly as she ran. “Come and get me, you flock of feathered fuckers.”
From the way they swooped in screeching from all four corners of the warehouse, they clearly didn’t need the invitation. Sere swung so hard at the first aerial combatant that her feet lifted off the ground. The bird tumbled, wounded, to the concrete floor.
“One down, about a thousand to go.”
“Stay focused, and run,” Jennifer said. “That’s what you keep telling me.”
She was right. Sere put her head down and pumped her legs with all the energy she could muster. Fighting off the airborne wraiths would only delay them, and they needed to get across the warehouse. A bird dove at Sere’s face, forcing her to duck away from Jennifer before a much larger bird split between them, its wings spread wide.
“Ouch! Fuck,” Jennifer yelled as she grabbed her arm with her free hand, still grasping Sere with the other. She must have imagined she’d hurt her shoulder from having her arm stretch while hanging onto Sere.
“It’s all in your head,” Sere said.
Jennifer turned her arm to display a six-inch gash. “That doesn’t look like it’s my imagination.”
Soaked to the bone, drained of energy, and running on nothing more than adrenaline, Sere could feel the cold tendrils of fear run across her arm like she was holding the hand of death. The gash on Jennifer’s arm mirrored itself on Sere’s. “We don’t have time to worry about this now. Just keep running. But if that fucking feathered fiend makes another pass, yell out, and we’ll hit the deck.”
Each stride forward seemed to be accompanied by another aerial attack. Sere continued swinging her sword like a windshield wiper clearing bugs. Jennifer kept low. “Big bird coming in from our right,” she warned.
Sere pulled Jennifer’s arm hard across her stomach then rolled back-to-back over the woman while swinging the sword up toward the monster. “Eat steel!” She drove the katana at the menacing three-foot-long yellow beak. Instead of diving into Sere’s blade, however, the bird spread its wings wide and sailed over the pair as if it were sizing them up for a future attack. Sere turned back toward the exit. “We’re almost there.”
Sere burst out of the open warehouse and fell back against the corrugated-steel wall of the line of shipping offices.
Jennifer turned her arm to inspect the deep cut. “How was this even possible?”
“I don’t know,” Sere conceded. “But we need to get you out of here before anything else happens that doesn’t make any sense.” She aimed her sword down the row of buildings that looked about to slide off the damaged dock and into the river. “We’re headed for that one on the end—can’t be more than a block away. Hang in there, Jennifer. We’re almost home.”
The rain-slick, crumbling concrete pier with its exposed shafts of rebar made it hard to walk along the river. It was the most direct route, however. Sere hoped they’d be clear of any stray harvesters that hadn’t gotten caught up in Doodlebug’s diversion. Between the river and the buildings, there wasn’t much space to hide or fight.
Jennifer raised her free arm and ducked at every flying piece of debris. “You’re not worried about those birds coming after us?”
Sere stuck close to the abandoned buildings. “The larger the bird, the more room it needs to maneuver. They won’t be able to dive on us as long as we’re next to a wall with an overhang protecting us. But just because the birds and harvesters are less of a threat, that doesn’t mean there isn’t some other beasty out to get us. Keep your eyes open.”
“No wonder no one ever sleeps in hell. Everyone is too busy watching for threats.”
They scurried along the crumbling buildings like mice staying clear of predators. At the familiar cardboard-covered cracked-glass door, Sere pulled on the old handle. “Get in quick, before that winged nemesis sees where we were headed.”
Jennifer barely made it through the door before falling to the floor. “Something’s wrong. My skin feels like it’s on fire.”
“Shit,” Sere said as she swung in and closed the door behind her. “Must be the professor’s security system.”
“About time you two showed up,” Doodlebug said from the professor’s lounge chair.
Sere didn’t have time to celebrate the reunion. “Hurry, we need to get word to the professor about Jennifer so he can clear her for being here.”
Doodlebug toyed with the ancient computer on the desk. “Weird. I would have thought with you being her doppelgänger that she would have automatically been accepted.” The girl hit the keyboard hard, like she was trying to break the keys. “I can’t do it from here. We need to connect up.” She tossed Sere the familiar headband then put one on herself. “With you two sharing your energy already, if I can make contact with Dooly, we should be able to get word to the professor. With all three of us in hell and only Dooly in life, however, this is going to be a pretty weak signal.”
Once she had the headband in position, Sere felt like her brain had been flooded with static. “Jennifer is here with me. Turn off the damned office security system,” she yelled out loud in the hope that her message would penetrate the noise.
“Better,” Jennifer, still shaking, said from the floor.
63
Chapter 15
Sere fumbled with Doodlebug’s headband as she tried to secure her phone’s alligator clip to the terry cloth. The cracked screen proved that travel to hell wasn’t any easier on a technological object than it was on doppelgänger flesh. “I’m not even sure this is going to work. The connection from Doodlebug to Dooly Buell wasn’t meant to carry a cellular signal.”
Jennifer sat leaning against the wall. She looked like someone suffering a severe hangover. “It’s worth a shot.”
Doodlebug fixed another wire harness from the cell phone to the computer. “This should give us a bigger screen so we’re not crammed around that little cell phone.”
Sere pressed Kendell’s name on the phone.
“Thank God.” The woman’s worried face filled the computer screen. “We thought you’d dissipated. Myles was about to contact Papa Ghede to see if the loas had come for your soul.”
Sere had to think back to before she and Jennifer had been tossed into hell. Fighting her way out of Marjory’s captivity seemed like a lifetime ago. “Things got a little complicated.”
“Where’s my body?” Jennifer asked.
Kendell swung the camera around so it was pointed at Jennifer lying on the table, still in her bathrobe. “The guys snuck into your house and took your body before your family woke up. It was either snatch you or risk having Henry send you to the hospital. If the doctors determined you were in a coma, their drugs would make it hard to return your soul to your body.”
“How long have I been gone?”
In the corner of the screen, the professor could be seen running code on his computer. “It’s been thirteen hours since we lost Sere’s body on the steps of the bank.”
A flashing screen appeared on Sere’s phone. When the technologic pyrotechnics settled down, a clock displayed across the cracked plastic. “One thirty in the afternoon,” Sere said. “Damn. It feels like we’ve been here a week at least. Our first priority has to be to get Jennifer back in her body.”
Jennifer glared at Sere. “Aren’t you forgetting something? You still have a bullet in you. Running hell’s gauntlets has done a number on your abilities to fight and maneuver. We need to get the slug out so the professor can perform whatever magic makes you strong again.”
Polly leaned over the professor’s shoulder. “With you on the wrong side of the divide, we can only project Sere into hell as a loop the way we did Andy. Sere will be okay, but without you here with us to support her with your energy, the healing will take time.”
