The Devil's Daughter Complete Box Set, page 8
part #1 of The Devil's Daughter Series
Even as a young child living in the 1800s, Sere had never cared for visiting the Quarter, where her father conducted his business. Once Sere had been resurrected into Jennifer’s bodily projection—and after the explosion that leveled the bank—Sanguine had told her horror stories about what might happen if she ventured into the shattered projection. The warnings ended up being the foundation of her nightmares. Each doppelgänger in the Quarter who survived the blast is like a puzzle that has had some of its pieces exchanged with its neighbor. In your reproduction body, there’s no telling what would happen to you if you crossed Canal Street. Other human puppets might steal your pretty hair or innocent eyes.
“The blast was years ago,” Sere said. “Professor Yates assured me the virtual-reality projection in the French Quarter was stabilized long ago.”
“Yeah, I heard that too.” Joe kept looking through the folder as if searching for an answer.
“You don’t believe him?” Sere never could fully reconcile the ghost stories Sanguine told her with Professor Yates’s assurances of the Quarter’s safety. Her nightmares wouldn’t let her.
Joe frowned and pushed the folder across the workbench as if it were a puck on an air-hockey table. “I don’t know what to believe. Humans—at least as I experience them—use other people to help define our reality. But listening to you, I think it sounds like doppelgängers aren’t fully self-aware beyond what’s projected into them. These mixed projections might be getting a glimpse of something external to themselves. The question is, what would that show them about their true natures?”
While in hell, Sere had never given much thought to her real. The parallel girl in life was like an unloved doll that she kept locked in the closet. “What would you do if you found out you were just the mirror image of someone else?”
“I suppose I would try to disprove the idea,” Joe said.
Sere looked away from the folder and massaged her leg as if it had been six months in a cast. “Now imagine that your thoughts aren’t based on logic—just pure impulse.”
Joe opened the backpack and pulled out one of the boxes. “If I truly believed it was my life and some imposter was filling my shoes, I’d kill the guy and take my rightful place. Is that what you feel?”
Jennifer Ellen… Sere put her palm to her forehead and pressed hard. Shut up! “This brain doesn’t remember anything before my father put my soul in this body.”
“Fine, don’t tell me.” He pulled a shell from the box. “But if one of your doppelgänger half brothers has wandered out of hell, you’re going to have to stop him before he shows up at work in the Quarter—or at his house—and causes a ruckus. Because if he does kill his real, and the loas of the dead get wind that there’s a hole between hell and life…”
“You don’t have to remind me.” Those fuckers won’t ever leave me alone. She pulled matching shotgun shells from the box. Killing monsters or decapitating puppets in hell was one thing, but the line between virtual-reality game and real-life murder was growing awfully thin. “So I just wander along the edge of the swamp, looking for a monster that actually looks like a man. It might have been nice if someone had told Andy so he could have told me. If we’re right about his objective, Monty Boy could have hitched a ride into New Orleans while I rode right past him. He could be killing his real as we speak.”
“We’re all doing the best we can,” Joe said. “The professor has been busy checking every projection, trying to figure out who or what wandered out of hell. Not every creature in that dimension is his responsibility. And as you pointed out, we believed the human copies weren’t capable of figuring out how to escape on their own. Professor Yates just sent me the file this morning.”
If that doppelgänger learned to survive independent of his projections, someone in hell must have helped him. She continued looking at the plastic cylinder with the stone pellets inside it. “You do realize there’s a difference between training me to be a psychopath and encouraging me to actually become one.”
“I trained you to take care of yourself.”
You only did what Sanguine asked. Is this the danger she saw with her future vision? “So what kind of a gun will I need for these cartridges?”
“I’ve got everything from a long-barreled single shot to a double-barreled sawed-off blaster. Though after seeing you shoot, I’d recommend four barrels. It’ll look a little odd and waste a lot of ammunition, but it will give you the most coverage.”
Sere had never cared much for target practice. “So what if I prefer my fighting hand-to-hand at close range instead of using a sniper rifle from some hidden blind? You were the one who trained me to fight.”
“All I’m saying is, you’ve got shit for aim.” He pulled a section of metal tubes that had been welded together off the rack above his desk.
“Fine. Considering my poor marksmanship, why didn’t Professor Yates use rifle shells instead of buckshot? That way, I could load more than one round.”
Joe test fitted one of the shells in the barrel tube. “Blasting a single hole through a doppelgänger won’t do much good. The goal is to disrupt the carrier signal that makes his body physical. To do that, you’ll need as much coverage as possible. The more pellets that mess with his energy, the better. Have you thought about where you plan on hiding the weapon?”
“In my bedroll. That way it’ll be under the headlight of my bike, where I can grab it even when I’m riding.”
He marked off a section of the multibarrel tubing and clamped it with a table vise. “If we get lucky and your prey is a swamp monster, you’ve got time to find it, but if you are hunting a human copy, you’ll have to assume he is as devious as the real thing. Where do you plan on starting your search?”
She stared at the picture of the slightly pudgy jovial face. “He doesn’t look like the type to be comfortable out in the swamp. If that’s where he left hell, he wouldn’t be staying out there any longer than necessary. I’d rather find him before he makes his way into the city.”
“We have to assume that, like you, he won’t be able to use a cellphone to Über a ride. He’ll have to rely on other people.”
But this professional prick probably wouldn’t turn to the bikers I’ve been dealing with. “His first challenge would be getting out of the bayou. That’s no easy feat for a citified businessman without a boat. Camo Boy Cody did hear of some city slicker wandering lost in the waterways, but he didn’t say anything about the dude walking into town. Cody wouldn’t have kept something like that a secret. Snakebites are more persuasive at getting answers than truth serum.”
“So you think fake Monty is still in the swamp?” Joe asked.
“I think he’s not smart enough to have figured out how to escape hell. But assuming you and Professor Yates are right, a nice well-fatted piece of meat like this guy would be awfully tempting to an alligator.” God, I hate agreeing with that asshole gator hunter.
Joe cut the tubing with a grinder. He scrunched up his face as if thinking through the noise and sparks. Once the excess metal hit the burn-marked wooden floor, he set the old nickel-plated tool back on the bench. “Again, we have to assume that he shares some of your attributes. Even if a gator had the balls to bite you, unless it took off your head, you’d simply regenerate whatever limb you lost—though without the professor’s help, it might take some time.”
“Perfect. Somewhere out in one of those bayou villages, a man half-eaten by gators is going to pull his mangled flesh out of the water. Of course, the rednecks will call in the local quack. Our good doctor will get to see the man miraculously heal. Then someone’s sure to call in the sheriff, and I’ll be fucked.”
Joe matched up a wooden stock to the four barrels. “Rule number one…”
“Don’t feel sorry for myself,” Sere finished. “It’s not like I was going to forget something you’ve been pounding into my head every day for the last nineteen years. I’m simply trying to map out the dangers.”
He pointed the rapidly forming shotgun toward a wall of shelving filled with what looked like shortwave radios. “So long as our foe doesn’t get past my cabin, I’ll be able to intercept any police alert meant to reach New Orleans. And if word does get past me, I have my ways of keeping the story contained.” Even after a decade of being off the New Orleans police force, Joe still had his contacts. “With me keeping an eye on what’s happening north of here, you could start your search in New Orleans and work your way up. If he has already snuck past us, the sooner we find out, the better.”
The city gave her the willies. “I’ll only head to New Orleans as a last resort.” Each person she saw there had a counterpart in hell—human puppets she’d known and played with. Though the threat of the devil absconding with human souls and transplanting them into the potentially immortal doppelgängers had passed, she couldn’t help seeing each person in life as having been a potential victim of her father. Jennifer Ell… “Stop it!”
“You okay?” Joe asked.
She yanked the cloth off her leg. “It’s nothing. Just a headache from the professor’s rejuvenation bandage.”
He checked the computer screen. “You suck at lying, but it looks like you’ve received enough energy to get back on your feet.”
“I’m not lying. I don’t do that.” Being strapped to Professor Yates’s equipment intensified her connection to her real for the rejuvenation process. Somewhere between Joe’s cabin and New Orleans was a woman who looked exactly like Sere—well, not exactly. The higher-class version had grown her hair long, enjoyed more meals, and dressed the part of a member of New Orleans’s upper crust.
“Right.” He loaded the shotgun with four shells from his desk, flipped the barrel closed, and handed it to her. “This is small enough that you can strap it to your thigh for effect or keep it hidden in your bedroll.”
She turned toward the open sliding-glass door, held the four-barreled weapon with both hands at hip level, and discharged the shells into a white sheet drying over the porch railing of the fishing cabin. The small holes that peppered the cotton fabric created a rounded-corner square three feet across. “Nice.”
He pulled a traditional sawed-off single-barrel shotgun from his wall of weapons and set it on the table. “Take this one along with you as well. It’s thin enough to fit on your back under your riding jacket. Just leave the neck of your leathers loose so you can access the stock. I’ll feel better knowing you’ve got a gun on you as well as the blaster on your bike.”
She looked at the gun in disdain. “Single shot? Why not give me a fucking musket?”
“If you get in a scrape that you can’t fight your way out of, one good shotgun blast—even if you don’t hit anything—will buy you enough time to get to your bike.”
“I suppose,” she said without enthusiasm. Though a very similar play had gotten her out of Bubba’s Bar, she hated relying on a weapon that would only provide half measures.
Joe pulled out a leather holster from under the table. “Even if you do manage to hit someone with one of these guns, neither will disable a human at any great distance, but they should give you time to escape danger. Just don’t hang around long. Most of those biker dudes will be after you before your wheels leave the parking lot.”
“Tell me about it.” The sunset over the bayou lit up the small cabin. “It’s getting late. I’d better get riding.”
“For fuck’s sake, Sere. Look at you. At least take a shower. There’s no reason to look like an escaped female captive from a sexploitation movie. There’s a bed in the other room. Even though you hardly sleep, a little catnap once in a while would do wonders for your mood.”
She trusted Joe more than anyone she’d ever known, but being indoors made her skin crawl. “I know. I just prefer to be on the move.”
“You’re like a wild animal. Put a roof over your head, and you feel like you’re in a cage. What do you want to do? Take a dip in the swamp?”
She tossed the shotgun onto the workbench and started peeling off the remnants of her jeans. “Race you to the other side of the river, old man.” She bolted for the back door in only her panties and tank top.
“You are a fucking cheat and always have been.” Even so, he had his overalls off and beat her to the dive from the porch, wearing only his boxer briefs.
Competition with Joe was no laughing matter. Once challenged, the man would fight to the death. He simply knew no other way. By the time Sere surfaced in the cold river, he was halfway across and swimming hard. With her head down and arms and legs pumping against the water, she heard his loud splash of victory. “Beat ya again!”
She eased off her determined swim. “I let you win.”
“Whatever.” He dove under the water like an alligator sneaking up on its prey. Insulting his achievement had insured that the competition wasn’t over.
Time to test that leg. She bent down hard and headed to the bottom of the river before he had a chance to get under her. Without weapons, it would be hand-to-hand underwater combat. Unlike food or sleep, Sere needed oxygen for her blood just as much as any other creature. She swung around on the muddy bottom, searching for where he would make his attack. Fuck, I’m giving him the advantage by playing defense. The water was flowing slowly downriver, preventing his movements from appearing as unexpected currents in otherwise calm water. He’ll be coming from upriver, swimming with the flow. She grabbed hold of a large boulder and pulled hard against it to propel her body toward the far riverbank without disturbing the silt and giving away her position. When she made it to the reeds, she surfaced for air.
She only got one gulp in before she felt his hands grasp her ankle like a bear trap. With a quick twist and pull, he had her once again in the murky water. He didn’t stop dragging her until she couldn’t make out any daylight under the thick leaves that covered the surface. When he finally turned her foot loose, he grasped her by the back of her tank top and guided her to the surface. Once she felt the leathery vegetation against her head, he let her go.
To keep her on her toes, Joe seldom announced the day’s activity, leaving it her to figure out what was going on. This isn’t combat—it’s stealth-attack training. She arched her back so only her face broke the surface under the large leaves. When she rolled over, she saw his steel-gray eyes only inches away.
As he stood, the water lilies covered him, making him look like a swamp commando rising for the attack. “Not bad using that rock for propulsion, but coming up under the reeds was a mistake. Anyone on the shore would have noticed your approach as you pushed the stalks aside. Look for vegetation that covers the surface but doesn’t require much in the way of underwater support.”
She was out of breath from being underwater for so long. “Are we done now? I’ve already had a tough day.”
From his determined squint, she suspected he was about to drag her back underwater for the combat she’d originally expected. “When you’re at your most vulnerable, you have to anticipate an attack.”
“I know. You’ve drilled it into me plenty of times. I’m just saying, right now while I’m on the hunt isn’t the best time for furthering my education. Just once, it’d be nice to lie out on the river on a sunny day with you and not have to worry that you were going to come at me with a knife.”
“Fine, we’ll take a break. I just want you to answer how it is you ended up with that hole in your leg.” He pushed off from the shore and lay on his back as he drifted out into the river.
The late-afternoon sun felt good on her face and chest as she floated after him in the cold water. “I was complacent. My adversary was incapacitated. I didn’t count on him having a cohort who was playing the long game. Riley didn’t make her attack until I was far enough away not to be a threat.”
“Sometimes losing a battle or sacrificing an ally is better than a quick win.”
Sere tried to play out the confrontation from Riley’s perspective. “She must have seen me enter the bar from the back room. That early in the day, I clearly wasn’t looking for a drink. I would guess my stance was her first warning that something wasn’t right. She didn’t make herself known, trusting that Camo Boy wouldn’t have any problem dealing with me. When I got the better of him, she let the scene play out, watching quietly from the window to determine what weapons I had instead of coming out right away with gun blazing.”
“And if she had?”
Sere had the short battle easily mapped out in her memory. “We were close to the front door. Had Riley made her move, my snakes would have taken her down.”
“What else did she learn?”
Fuck! “What I was after. She waited until I’d questioned Cody before showing up with the rifle. So she knows I’m looking for a swamp monster, and she heard Cody talk about a businessman found in the swamp.”
Joe’s gray chest hair caught the light like cottonwood fluff on the water. “It’s unlikely that our boy Monty will be stopping into Riley’s for a drink on his way to killing his real, but the danger of the two meeting can’t be ignored. It’s her agenda that’s more of a concern. The whole encounter could be completely innocent, of course.”
“Like you’d ever let me turn my back on something suspicious.”
“I’m just trying to get you to see the event from every angle,” he said. “If you’re determined to head north in pursuit of your demon, remember that he’s not the only one out to get you. That’s enough post-combat analysis. What’s the deal with Ruggedly Good-Looking?”
“That bartender? He nearly blew my head off with a shotgun.”
Joe’s laugh only further infuriated Sere’s sense of self-righteousness. “And what did you do to inspire such ardent desire?”
