The Devil's Daughter Complete Box Set, page 79
part #1 of The Devil's Daughter Series
With the newly added layer of mud inside the water-logged sneaker, her foot slid around even more than usual. Instead of sticking to the deer path that cut through the brush, she headed toward higher ground in hopes of not falling on her ass.
“Looking for me?” At the top of the incline, a woman stood under the limbs of a massive oak tree. Her clean and dry green dress sparkled like it had been coated with glitter.
“Were you the one who sent the dragon to kidnap me?”
The ethereal woman stepped away from the protective tree branches. “I strongly doubt anyone makes you do anything you don’t want to. The handle of your katana is still sticking out over your shoulder. If you’d wanted to leave, either you’d have lost it in battle, or you’d be covered in dragon blood.”
Doodlebug felt over her neck to the sword handle. “Maybe I just didn’t want to fall to my death. Besides, your lizard had me pretty tightly in his grasp.” The rain passed right through the woman in the green dress as if she were a ghost. “I know you. You were present when Jennifer’s soul left hell and was returned to her body in life.”
“I’m Chloe Aberrant, swamp witch, friend to Sanguine Delarosa, and guardian of what her grandmother, Agnes Delarosa, created.”
“Hell’s version of Mother Nature. I’ve heard the stories.” Doodlebug wasn’t impressed with the title. Knowing who forged the bars of the prison cell didn’t make much difference to the rival gangs locked inside. As for Sanguine Delarosa, hell’s only angel was more myth than fact even if Sere had tasked Doodlebug with finding her. “Did we really have to meet out here?”
“I can’t exactly show myself in the Crown Astoria. Even swamp witches have limitations. Come back to my cabin, and I’ll answer all of the questions I can.” Chloe headed into the forest.
Doodlebug followed the woman, whose feet glided over the marshy ground. For every step Chloe took, Doodlebug left a two-inch-deep sloppy impression. Under a section of woven branches so thick even the rain couldn’t penetrate, the witch stopped beside a pair of tree trunks. Doodlebug didn’t see the door in the thin gap until Chloe opened it and stepped inside.
She followed the swamp witch into a room that smelled of incense and mold. Witch farts, Dooly joked.
Doodlebug had to stifle her laugh at the shared mental quip. “You could have found a less abductive way of talking to me. Anything would have beat being flown out to the swamp by a winged bat-lizard.”
“Other methods would have risked being noticed by your enemies, and I’m not sure how far to trust those around Sere.” The witch’s green eyes were as intoxicating as absinthe.
Doodlebug looked around the cabin as an excuse to break eye contact. “We have that in common. At least in hell, I only have to deal with ghosts and goblins, harvesters and freaks. Liars and cheats are a whole other-world type of demons.”
The woman shimmered in the candlelight. “I suppose the hell nursery rhyme is as good a place to start as any. As one of the few doppelgänger freaks pursuing harvesters, you already understand the second part of the saying.” Chloe spread her arms, letting the light pass through her. “I guess as a member of one of the ghost communities, I can offer you a bit of an explanation regarding the spectral beings. I used to mentally project into hell to talk to Sanguine while she raised Sere. I still do to keep an eye on things, but I wasn’t the only apparition. Kendell and her gang used seven gates between life and hell to keep tabs on the devil Malveaux that they’d cast to this dimension. Being spotted was always a concern. Stories have a way of taking on lives of their own.”
Doodlebug wondered how Jennifer floating through the Quarter might have affected the old nursery rhyme, but that wasn’t something Chloe, as a resident of life, was likely to know. “Goblins, then.”
Chloe settled into a chair covered with a crocheted blanket. “Drugs do weird things to people. The professor hadn’t expected to snag individuals in the tenement buildings that neighbored the French Quarter as blueprints for his mannequins. A doppelgänger in hell is as much a projection of how a person sees himself as their physical appearance. Take a crazy man who keeps talking to himself in life, hop him up on cocaine, and you get a three-headed gargoyle in hell constantly at war with himself.”
“I’ve noticed some strange-looking beasts around the cemetery. You’re saying those goblins are actually deranged doppelgängers? Why aren’t those monsters all over the city?”
Chloe shrugged. “They have short lifespans. Demented doppelgängers lose their way in hell, so they miss their body’s updates. A running program is only as good as the software behind it. Unlike a regular doppelgänger, who might become a harvester, if a goblin doesn’t get periodic updates, it risks getting shut down and the spirit released as a ghost. Even if they do follow their real’s lives, druggies among the living have a tendency to sober up or take something new. The chemically induced change in their real affects the goblin in fundamental ways that aren’t always compatible with their previous image. The tortured beasts can only handle so many modifications before they end their existence one way or another.”
Doodlebug took a seat on the sagging couch. “I still don’t understand why there’s a divide.”
“Ah, the mysterious coma in the nursery rhyme. Before you entered the cemetery, you had to jump some streetcar tracks—overhead-run electric lines. That power comes straight from the World Trade Center. A doppelgänger is powered from the professor’s equipment, which allows them to wander anywhere in the city—at least until they need an update from their real’s projection. Since the harvesters and goblins can’t rely on the professor’s equipment, they need a more direct power connection to keep them going. Those power lines feed the monsters, but they also work like an electric security fence.”
Doodlebug pulled out her sword. “So the big question is can I kill a goblin?” She aimed the tip at Chloe. “Or a ghost?”
The swamp witch passed her hand through the sharp blade. “If you’re talking about a mental projection like me, no. But you already figured that out when Jennifer was here. As for a conventional goblin-originating ghost, being disconnected from a body and without the professor’s computer to run home to, the lost spirits eventually dissipate like morning fog.”
Wandering through the cemetery hadn’t felt like passing benign spirits. “Then why do I feel like someone’s trying to steal my spirit when I walk through the cemetery?”
“If they can tap into your projection, your energy will keep them going for a while longer. By making you afraid, they expose the emotional faucet of your soul. If they manage to band together, their shared hunger could disrupt the projection that makes you possible. As basic components of Agnes’s hell that are immune from the professor’s doppelgänger projections, cemeteries are some of the few places where ghosts can congregate. Once they do dissolve into thin air, their randomly dispersed energy is like static electricity, which is what makes cemeteries feel so creepy.”
Though ghosts made Doodlebug’s skin crawl, they weren’t her biggest concern. “Tell me more about goblins. Can I kill them?”
“They can be disseminated in the usual ways. The big difference between goblin and doppelgänger is that once the fiends are created, they aren’t connected to the professor’s equipment, so they’re not very well monitored.”
“Thanks to the professor’s specific modifications, Sere is free from having to follow Jennifer for her body’s regeneration, as am I with Dooly. From what I know, we’re the only two with this freedom. One of my mandates is to investigate what Marjory Laroque is up to in hell. Even among the rich, the nursery rhyme is well-known, so her family’s doppelgängers know of the existence of their distorted goblin cousins. What if Marjory learned what you just told me?”
“Now you know why I wanted to talk where our conversation would remain a secret. During my checking in on hell, I saw the small dragons in the Treme. After doing a little investigating in life, I found that there’s a new drug on the streets. It makes the user feel invincible, like they could fly. As with the most druggies, so far no one has taken only that drug, so the dragons that are created in hell aren’t stable. Word is, Marjory rounded up a group of indigents and force-fed them her concoction. All she ended up with was a basement full of dragons in her hell mansion that won’t leave the house, but she’s not the type to let one failed experiment stop her.”
“At least one batch did get out.” Doodlebug said. “Which brings us to the topic of your pet dragon.”
“Smoke is a friend, not a pet. We—and by we, I mean you—need to get ahead of the Cormorant and Madam Laroque. You can’t do it alone, so I created Smoke to help you.”
“You said Marjory used a designer drug for her little flappers. If that monster out in the swamp is similarly drugged up, how can I trust him?”
Chloe got up and headed to a small table lined with bottles that was nestled into a corner of the room. She half-filled a tumbler with absinthe. “I call this drink Dragon’s Breath. It’s not for the lightweight drinker.” She set a slotted spoon with a sugar cube on top of the glass. “The sugar is laced with LSD, over which I pour Fireball liqueur.” The clear green alcohol in the glass turned cloudy as it fought with the red intruder like green fairies staving off an attack of fire ants. “This is where I take things to the next level.” She dispensed a few drops from a bottle of witch bitters into the concoction and swirled the glass. “A shot of this by Bernie will keep his dragon doppelgänger Smoke going for hours. But too much, and Bernie blacks out. If that happens, you won’t be able to reason with Smoke. He’ll go full demonic dragon.”
“And if Bernie doesn’t get his routine dosage?”
Chloe set down the glass filled with turbulent alcohols. “Smoke will turn back into a regular doppelgänger. Unlike the destitute people Marjory uses as the foundations for her dragons, Bernie isn’t some drugged-out street kid. He’s been studying under me to become a spellcaster. He volunteered to help.”
Doodlebug had been in hell long enough to know that harvesters were nothing more than doppelgängers who’d missed too many of their real’s computer updates. “And when the dragon needs his next bodily projection? I don’t need some flying bat going all bony on me in midair.”
“As I said, you’re not the only one who doesn’t trust the professor’s equipment. There’s a tattooed rune behind Bernie’s left ear that sends his projection directly to Smoke. It works similar to your headband, but the two of them can’t talk to each other the way you and Dooly do. Your dragon won’t have to follow his real’s life. He has all the limitations and freedoms you have without the technological tether to the professor’s computers. One of the reasons I wanted you to come out here was so you’d know where to find me in case there’s a problem.”
“How am I supposed to convince a forty-foot-tall dragon to follow me out to the swamp if he gets too much hallucinogen?”
“Bernie stays out here with me. No matter Smoke’s mental state, he’ll gravitate back toward his real.”
Doodlebug could just see the giant dragon’s real as some goth, nerdy loner kid who had never fit in and wandered out to the swamp, seeking some method of getting back at his peers. “So that somehow means I’m supposed to trust him? Sounds to me like you’ve done all of Marjory’s work for her. If she captures that brute, she’ll figure out what you’ve done. Then we’ll all be screwed.”
Chloe crossed her arms. “I can only offer you my assistance.”
“I don’t trust you any more than I do that dragon. The only one I believe in life is Sere, but that’s because she’s part doppelgänger. Seeing her take on a harvester in hell and offering me a way out of my situation—and knowing that she’s good for it—bought my trust. As a member of the group who claims to be helping her, however, you’ve gotta give me something more than conjuring a dragon. How do I know you’re not secretly Marjory’s alchemist?”
“As you said, I would have already done all of the work for her. If I’d given her the information, she would have already loaded up a group of demons on monster-sized dragons and had them fly out of hell. If I were involved, you would have a much harder time containing the creations.”
Doodlebug never trusted people in life. They all knew how to lie. “That is, assuming you didn’t have me drug out here as a distraction while Marjory did exactly as you’ve just described.”
“The hellmouth hasn’t yet opened today. If you want, Smoke can fly you out there so you can see for yourself.”
73
Chapter 4
Doodlebug waited until she was out of sight of the cabin before focusing on Dooly. “I suppose I have to trust him. I can feel the opening of the hellmouth in my gut. If Marjory has a group of demons headed toward the gate, it’s already too late for me to intercept them on the freeway. My only option is to let the brute fly me out to find them.”
Dooly was busy collecting the change from her violin case. “You’re going to show him where the hellmouth is?”
“Don’t be daft. I don’t need those little flamers homing in on Smoke like a gigantic beacon. I’ll have him fly me out to Joe’s cabin. Even flying on dragons, the demons would have to pass the old shack before working their way over the bayou. It’s one of the path markers. We can make our stand there.”
“What do you want me to do?” Dooly stashed her violin in its case and faced the far end of the Quarter as if her day had ended.
Doodlebug stood at the edge of the field, staring at the dinosaur-looking dragon. “I don’t think there’s much you can do. Whatever happens up in the air, I’ll be at his mercy. Leave your headband on. I’ll be in touch when I get out to the hellmouth.” She pulled the connecting piece of cloth off and stashed it in the leather pouch.
As she walked out into the open, Smoke lifted his wing like a giant umbrella. “What’s your decision?”
She stared up at him for a moment. “I guess you’re all right. Fly me out to the swamp.”
He arched his back, bringing his head to the treetops. “I’m not some donkey you can order around.”
“I thought you were supposed to help me.” She wasn’t in the mood for another helper like Dooly, who thought she had a say in what Doodlebug did simply because she offered assistance. Doodlebug balled her hands into fists and pressed them to the hips of her used army pants. “How is this supposed to work if you don’t do what I tell you to do?”
“It’s called a partnership. We each get a say.”
She stomped out from under his wing and headed across the soggy meadow. It would be a long walk back to the city. “I guess Sere will just have to put down the demons herself this time. Anyway, it’s not like I’m her fill-in so she can take a vacation.”
“Hang on a minute.” Smoke folded his giant wings. His webbed feet made the ground shake as he took a thundering step after her. “You need help, but that doesn’t mean I’m your slave. Why are you being so difficult?”
She turned toward him. With him only ten feet away, she had to arch her back and crane her neck as far as it would go to look up at his face. “I’m in charge.”
“Fine,” he bellowed. A burst of flame shot from his snout to the far side of the field. “But I’m not letting you get either of us turned to dust. If you propose a half-assed, ill-considered, death-assured plan, I’m going to fight you on it.”
She didn’t want to admit that he had a point. “Well, the hellmouth is about to open. Your creator back there said you’d take me out to the swamp so I can see that she isn’t turning over a bunch of dragons like you to Marjory Laroque. You’re her proof as much as she’s yours.”
“You could have said that to begin with instead of ordering me around.” He knelt down and laid his head next to her. “Climb on.”
Smoke’s snake-like body wasn’t much wider than Doodlebug was tall. The ridged scales along his neck and back extended into long, hard spikes that made for good handles. She knelt between the two rows at his shoulders like a jockey at the starting gate. “Joe’s cabin is north of the city. I’ve only been there by using the roads, so you’ll need to follow the highway that runs along the swamp for me to figure out where it is.”
“I know the place. There’s a shortcut along the river.” With two flaps of his massive wings, they were clear of the trees and high enough that none of the Cormorant’s bird spies would spot them.
She would have argued with him about their direction, but maintaining her balance while hanging on to his spikes like the handlebars of a motorcycle took most of her attention.
Smoke glided over the cabin nestled among the trees on the river’s edge. “I haven’t seen any of Marjory’s fiery flapping bats.”
“After hearing you how you roasted her little pigeons, she might have gone back to sending her minions in on foot. I’ll need to patrol the forest to make sure they don’t sneak by.” Doodlebug leaned over his side. “The forest is too dense for me to see the ground.”
He took a wide arcing turn over the swamp. “There’s no place big enough for me to land.”
Having spent all of her time in New Orleans, Doodlebug had never been fond of water. Usually, it either meant flooded streets or drowning in the river. “If you can fly low and slow over the water, I can dive in.” Looking at the wind-tossed trees below, she didn’t see much of an option.
Smoke’s nod undulated down his neck. “Sounds like a reasonable plan. That will leave me free to patrol the sky in case they’re planning an aerial attack.” He glided down low to the treetops before diving toward the water. His chin came so close to the river, Doodlebug was certain he was going to plunge in. As he spread his wings and arched his neck up, she skidded along his spine as if she were going down a water slide. He slapped the water with his webbed feet to get the main part of his body back up into the air. With his tail below the river’s surface, her splash barely created a ripple.
