The Devil's Daughter Complete Box Set, page 76
part #1 of The Devil's Daughter Series
“Not this time.” She kept her body low against the seat as she scrunched back to the command position. The Blackbird squirreled side to side across the runway but came back to its upright attack once it saw she was in charge.
“So much for first gear.” She pulled in the clutch and gave the foot lever a good quick lift with the toe of her combat boot. When she let go of the handle, the rear tire squealed against the blacktop. “Damn, you’re fast.” She held on better this time, but if it weren’t for the wide expanse of roadway, she feared she’d have gone over the edge.
Third gear brought the bike’s speed even with the hurricane. Freedom from the constant pounding of the weather gave Doodlebug a feeling of invincibility. Even the storm bowed down to the girl on the motorcycle. “Is that all you’ve got, Agnes? I’m not done with you yet.” She shifted again to chase down the rainsquall ahead. The defenseless drops smashed against her oncoming goggles.
She had just shifted into fifth when the white lines on the runway announced she’d need to slow down—or lift off the ground, which seemed entirely possible. Not wanting to dissipate, or worse, trash her new love, Doodlebug reluctantly let off the gas and pulled in the clutch. Cornering wasn’t nearly as fun as jetting off in a straight line, and turning into the mouth of the storm made her wonder about the wisdom of taunting the tempest earlier.
She lined the bike up directly into the oncoming dagger droplets and turned the motorcycle loose. With its knifelike front cowling, the Blackbird slipped through the wind like a newly sharpened sword through tender flesh. Between her wraparound goggles and the beast-machine’s low-profile windshield, Doodlebug was able to tell, more or less, where she was headed. At a combined thrust of over two hundred miles per hour, the rain pellets tore at her clothing and the flesh it was meant to protect.
She hunched her legs tighter against the cowling. The position made her feel one with the machine. “So that’s how it’s done.” At the far end of the runway, she swung the bike around for another run. “No pussyfooting around this time.”
She didn’t wait on the storm. It was no longer a concern. The rain had done its worst and failed to unseat her. The moment the bike started moving forward, she tucked her legs into the indentations of the gas tank, lowered her chest until her eyes were even with the windshield, and twisted the throttle as far as it would go. The front tire lurched off the pavement, but she held on firmly and didn’t ease off of the gas. Leaning even farther forward, she convinced the Blackbird to remain on the ground in spite of its obvious desire to live up to its name.
The moment the acceleration leveled off she hit the gearshift. “If I’m going to make it through all six gears, I can’t take time enjoying the ride.” In second gear, she sliced through the wall of water. Before she’d made it halfway down the runway, she shifted yet again. By fourth gear, the wind against her helmet had shifted from behind to ahead. “I am the master of the storm.” No one in hell had ever surpassed the speed of the hurricane. Even the Cormorant was at the mercy of the wind.
After a half-dozen runs up and back on the airport runway, Doodlebug felt she’d gained enough of an understanding of the Blackbird to use it without crashing. She pulled in close to the terminal gate and parked next to the extended ramp. Only her bomber jacket had survived the run unscathed. The loose-fitting jeans that had seen countless battles had been reduced to shredded cutoffs by the storm. Her legs were so lined with bloody lacerations that she looked like a demented zebra. Adrenaline from the ride would only keep her going for so long before she passed out for her normal regeneration.
Removing the skullcap helmet wasn’t nearly as easy as putting it on had been. It was as if her head had expanded to fill the small void. She reached into the satchel between her breasts, pulled out the terry-cloth headband, and scrunched it over her flattened hair.
“What nightmare did you get into now, bitch?” Dooly never was one for polite greetings.
The easiest thing was to simply ignore the gutter princess, but after the gift from Sere, Doodlebug was feeling less hostile toward reality than usual. “Nothing’s broken, so this speed healing shouldn’t take long. Just put your head down and rest your pretty little eyes for a moment.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I might have a life of my own? Between you sucking my life force like a vampire from hell and Kendell dragging me off the street in front of my friends like an overly protective mother hen, I’m beginning to wonder if this whole adventure has been worth it.”
Blah, blah, blah. Doodlebug wondered if the girl ever changed her tune. “Be nice, and I’ll take the headband off once my cuts are healed. Keep being a little brat, and I’ll leave it on.”
“Fine,” Dooly said in a passive-aggressive tone that would have been obvious even to a complete stranger.
The truth was, Doodlebug would have been just as happy to take the headband off as Dooly—and the girl probably knew it—but they both owed too much to the paranormal Scooby gang to stay out of contact for long. “I’m headed inside,” Doodlebug said. “Without the storm beating on me, maybe this won’t take as long.”
Though Dooly didn’t respond, Doodlebug could feel the girl’s huff of displeasure. She scaled the maintenance ladder to the enclosed ramp meant to make flyers feel safe and secure. The thin-walled hallway swayed and buckled in the storm. She had to brace herself against the handrails as she hustled through the gangway.
At ten feet tall and with a cape large enough for him to sail on the winds, the harvester at the TSA checkpoint took up the entire space. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Doppel Avenger. That human you serve won’t bat an eye when you dissipate.”
As far as Doodlebug was concerned, harvesters didn’t deserve names. Any doppelgänger stupid enough to wander off from their projection for days on end gave up the right to use the real person’s name. But to every rule there was an exception, and being the head harvester meant not many rules applied to Nocturne. “Look who’s talking. When has that big bird you worship ever lifted a feather for you?”
He pulled out his six-foot-long sickle from inside his cape and crossed it over whatever was left of his heart. “I exist to serve the Cormorant.”
Barf. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than a demon zealot. “You idiots really need a better mantra.”
“At least the Cormorant is loyal. I dare you to say the same thing about your little pet human.” He searched the ramp behind her. “Where is your little plaything anyway?”
“Why? So you can run back to your winged mistress and get a pat on the head for being a good little ghoul for having spotted her?”
He held out his sickle like a curved metal erection. “The only reason I don’t kill you now is so that I can watch you as you’re betrayed. Humans lie. That’s a characteristic you’ll never understand, and it will be your undoing.”
“Sere is not like that. Only her spirit is human. The rest of her is just like me.”
“And yet all she sent you to aid in your quest was a pair of wheels?” He waved his sickle at her like the pervert that he was. “I would have asked for something more useful.”
She spread her arms to give him an easy target. “You want a piece of me, big bad? Try it!”
His blade quivered in front of her in apparent desire. “You shouldn’t tempt me. An arm or leg from you would fetch a good amount in the market. You’re going to need all of your bits and pieces for the fight that’s coming your way. Forces are against you, Doppel Avenger. You and your doppelgänger army of street urchins will be no match for the contingent the rich and powerful are manifesting—especially if the one you believe in is nowhere to be found. Once they descend on you, even that little motor scooter won’t be fast enough to get you clear of the city.”
Her palm itched to pull the flintlock from her back and blast the fucker. “Giving out warnings now? That’s not like you.”
“I came to offer you a solution. Bow down to the Cormorant, and we can fight as one. Think about it. You’d be saving not only yourself but also those you seek to protect. She’ll be expecting an answer.” He forced his way past her and headed down the gangway. His great cape filled the small hallway.
Doodlebug adjusted her headband to get Dooly’s attention. “Speak one word of my meeting with Nocturne to anyone on that side, and I’ll come to your dimension and take over your life.”
“Fine. I’ll just add it to your diary of secrets.”
Hell Away from Home
Hell Away from Home
All Doodlebug wanted was to get out of hell unscathed. Having paid the price for killing Sere’s mentor by beheading countless harvesters, demons, and all manner of monsters, she really thought she’d earned passage through the hellmouth. But that was before her savior went missing.
With a contingent of demon-riding dragons, a new devil on the rise, and her primary adversary on the sidelines, Marjory Laroque is no longer content with simply conducting mischief in life. In hell, there are far fewer forces to overcome.
With nowhere else to turn, Doodlebug must take on what she’d always thought to be impossible: saving the hell’s angel that raised her mentor and heroine. To achieve her mission, Doodlebug will need to face her deepest fears—and hell’s most powerful forces—while accepting help from those she fundamentally mistrusts.
70
Chapter 1
Doodlebug hammered the throttle of the Honda Blackbird motorcycle. As the freeway traffic struggled to maintain traction and direction in the unrelenting hurricane, she shot the superbike through each gap like a sniper firing a bullet between obstacles at a far-off target. It wasn’t the cars and trucks, however, that made her heart beat as fast and hard as the metal pistons between her legs.
“Flippin’, flappin’ demons.” A half mile ahead and riding on the wind, nine dragons with demonic doppelgängers on their backs sailed over the freeway traffic. Unless she was able to get ahead of the pack and somehow entice them down to street level, they would curve away from civilization and out toward the hellmouth. If they escaped her dimension and entered the land of the living, her agreement with Sere Mal-Laurette would be in jeopardy. “You’re not revoking my Get Out of Hell card.”
She leaned low over the gas tank and snugged her legs into the motorcycle’s indentations before hitting the foot shifter. By not letting off the gas, she increased the force, thus bringing the front tire off the ground. The Honda felt as if it were attempting to fly up to do battle with the dragons, but even in hell, the motorcycle had limitations.
Doodlebug settled the bike back onto the pavement as the two trucks ahead of her bashed their trailers against each other. Instead of swerving to a side, she aimed the headlight at the spray of sparks. The two rigs separated in front of her like the Red Sea parting before Moses.
Once she cleared the two cabs, the last dragon in line was so close she could almost reach out and pull his tail. “Come down here and fight me, you scaly chicken.” She made a mental note to include a grappling hook in the arsenal of weapons she carried on the motorcycle.
She was so intent on the monster’s wedge-shaped tail that she almost missed the huge flying structure that blocked off the driving rain. Long ago she’d learned not to let distractions divide her attention from a fight. From the dragon’s abrupt change in direction, having something overhead must have spooked him.
Doodlebug took her hand off the handlebar and grabbed the sickle she kept sheathed behind the motorcycle cowling. She had to stand on the foot pegs to get her small sixteen-year-old body high enough to swing the blade into the snake-like tail. With one quick slice, the severed end hit her in the face as the monster screamed and fell back behind her. “Looks like that got your attention.” She dropped back onto the motorcycle seat to prevent the high-speed bike from getting away from her.
As though she were descended on by a cloud of bats, wings flapped all around her. She hit the brakes and skidded through traffic toward the median strip to avoid being bashed by the flying lizards.
Hopping off the motorcycle, she pulled a second harvester sickle from the side of the bike. A dragon so small its demon rider’s legs dangled below the wings screeched out a flame that barely reached her handlebars. Lunging in front of the bike, Doodlebug beheaded the creature with one side-armed swing to its neck as it passed overhead. The demon rider tumbled to the pavement far enough behind her that he didn’t warrant her immediate attention.
Two more dragons attempted a coordinated attack, one from each side. Being accustomed to fighting in hell’s unrelenting rain, she swung the blades with ease in the relative calm under the curious structure overhead, catching the beasts in the chest and wings. A tangled mass of dragon parts surrounded her as the overhead protection finally blew away. The remaining little flamers tumbled in its wake, their unskilled riders plunging to the asphalt.
Through the blood, wings, and scaly bodies scattered on the roadway, the demons advanced on Doodlebug’s position. “At least we’re down to a fight I understand.” Beheading doppelgängers intent on escaping hell wasn’t as risky as taking on harvesters in the city, but desperation and cunning could make even the normally harmless human doubles a threat to contend with. “All at once, or one at a time?”
A demon stepped out from the pack. “I’ll take a shot.” As he stood in the middle of the freeway, the cars around him came to a stop as if wanting to watch the contest. “Best me, and the rest of my contingent will turn around and head home.”
She didn’t need to ask what would happen if she lost. Being beheaded only to be reincarnated as the scared little bunny of a girl back on Esplanade Avenue’s neutral ground was a threat she didn’t need spelled out. Twice was enough to realize death wasn’t really an escape from hell’s tortures. “Where did you dig up the dragons?”
“Explanations aren’t part of the agreement.” He held out his matching sickles like he’d expected the confrontation.
Not that she had much of a choice, but she wanted to hear him say the words one more time. “If I win, your demons go home.”
The demon swished the blades through the hurricane-driven rain. “You’ve been hanging around reals for too long, Doppel Avenger. Doppelgängers don’t lie.”
She stepped out from behind the concrete divider. “That’s not to say we can’t, simply that we don’t.”
“The Cormorant’s teachings are meant to free us from the sins of humanity.” His tone of religious reverence made her want to puke.
The edict to always tell the truth seemed designed to give the powerful birdwoman the upper hand. Having developed in hell without having practiced deception, however, made Doodlebug and every doppelgänger she knew terrible at delivering even the mildest fib. “Then let’s dance.”
The demon came at her with one curved blade slicing toward her neck while he spun the other like a baton in line with her shoulder. She’d seen the move enough times to recognize the harvester feint. Those brutes were never out to kill a doppelgänger. That would defeat the purpose of removing a limb. The instinctual reaction to counter the decapitation was meant to expose the shoulder to a clean slice. Instead of making the obvious move of countering the sword coming at her throat, Doodlebug swung one blade low toward his midsection and thrust the dull end of her defending counterstrike toward his face. Catching him around the waist with one sickle, she planted the kiss of steel hard to his nose.
Surprisingly, he maintained his hold on both weapons, resulting in a large gash to her side under the arm and another to the wrist of her embracing hand. She yanked hard at the sword to his back while spinning down and away from his cutting edges.
He managed to make the same escape while enduring only slightly worse wounds than she’d suffered. His next attack was far less subtle. Like a child throwing a temper tantrum, he swung both swords over his head and brought them crashing down like fists toward her on the ground.
Rolling backward, she avoided the strikes, which planted the tips of his blades hard into the asphalt.
Stop playing defense. She didn’t know if the thought was her own admonition or Dooly’s coming across from the headband that connected the mirrored pair.
“I know how to fight.” She popped up to her feet with blades at the ready. Being connected to Dooly helped the wounds on her side and wrist heal before her adversary freed his weapons.
Then why are you letting him take the lead?
The demon rushed at her, brandishing his blades like a wild man. Even if the dude had skills, he had little self-control. Once a demon was overcome by bloodlust, his actions were as unpredictable as a lightning strike.
“Who says I am?” Doodlebug crossed her arms then brought the sharp edges together like a pair of scissors snipping the arm off a paper doll. The demon spun away at the last moment, saving his limb from dismemberment, but he still lost his hand at the wrist.
She held her bloody sickles over the severed appendage. “You’re down a hand. You can’t beat me. Quit now, and I’ll let you all leave in peace.”
He held up the gory stump. Joint by joint, fingers emerged out of the mangled flesh until the whole hand had reformed. “You’re not the only one with superpowers.”
That much of an energy draw would have left me balled on the floor, crying until I passed out. Doodlebug knew that thought had originated with Dooly. Back in life, the girl had sat on the dirty sidewalk in the French Quarter, terrified that she might be called on for such a dramatic healing.
Doodlebug swished the blades through the air, casting raindrops of blood. “Marjory Laroque sent you.” Only Sere Mal-Laurette’s primary rival had the information needed to create a bond between real and doppelgänger that would be capable of that kind of rapid repair. “You must be another one of her nephews. She’s going to run out of heirs at the rate she’s going. Give me your name so I can let the others know about the next failed chosen one.”
