The Devil's Daughter Complete Box Set, page 84
part #1 of The Devil's Daughter Series
Sanguine’s feathers quivered. “And as the Cormorant, Jenna has made it clear she considers Sere’s body her own. If she has both of your souls locked in this cage, where you can’t fight back, Jenna could pretty much take whatever she wants, including fulfilling her claim of being an immortal power.”
“Right.” Sere stood up and put her hands on the sides of the vault. “Between the three of us, we should be able to detect which dimension we’re in. If Jenna does manage to drag us under, we need to send as much energy into these walls as we can muster. It may be our only chance at keeping the bird deity out of our business.” She looked at Jennifer, half wishing the woman had been smart enough to stay on her side of the dimensional line, and half grateful she’d accepted Bart’s harebrained scheme of connecting her to hell. “If you were crazy enough to try to rescue me, you can bet Bart will be moving heaven and earth to retrieve this box.” She just hoped he wouldn’t be doing it alone. “We just need to ward off any attempt at opening the door until help arrives.”
76
Chapter 7
Doodlebug came to, lying on the water-saturated mattress of her dimly lit hotel room. “At least I made it home before getting re-sucked into the bridge. Aloysius must be throwing a hissy fit.”
“And Baron Samedi let us go,” Dooly said over their headband connection.
Doodlebug forgot she was still wearing it. “Where did you end up?”
“I’m in Myles and Kendell’s condo. To contact Baron Samedi, Myles needed his magic loa of the dead cane.”
Doodlebug rubbed at the headband. “I’m not sensing Sere.”
Dooly curled her body into a tight ball on the couch. “She’s still comatose in Fisher’s offices. No one knows what to do. Bart brought in Jennifer, but now she’s unresponsive as well. You don’t think Baron Samedi would have claimed both souls, do you?”
Doodlebug couldn’t imagine not having Sere as her mentor and savior. If the devil’s own daughter could be defeated, what chance did a sixteen-year-old doppelgänger have against the forces of hell? And without her Get Out of Hell card, Doodlebug wondered if any future act against either Marjory or the Cormorant made any sense. She latched on to one of her remaining straws of hope. “What does Myles say? He was the one to call in the loa of the dead.”
“According to him, Baron Samedi let her go, but Myles only has me as concrete proof that the baron did what he said. If Sere is gone, what do you want to do? The Laroque party is tonight.”
Doodlebug stared through the blown-out window. “If I’m stuck forever in this hell, I need to know whose side to join. We should continue with the plan.”
“Marjory sounded seriously pissed that her connection to hell had been destroyed.”
Doodlebug was still dizzy but able to sit upright. “That’s an understatement. Fortunately, she doesn’t know what we look like. To her, I was just a spark in her electrical line. As far as she knows, I was just another dead doppelgänger whose energy was locked in her malware and now haunts the professor’s offices. She’ll need to keep her desperation in check to negotiate with the Cormorant. Though with Marjory’s human ability to lie and the Cormorant being unfamiliar with deception, the whole event should be quiet entertaining. I’ll need to get my emotions in check or suffer the consequences of being pointed out should things turn ugly.”
“How do you want to handle our attendance?” Dooly asked. “You said you wanted me to take point, but I’ll only take over to the extent that you want me to.” The girl actually sounded downright concerned.
Between being a conduit for Aloysius’s soul and getting stuck with Sere in Baron Samedi’s office, Doodlebug hadn’t given the party a great deal of thought. “I guess I’ll want my motorcycle close by so I can get out of there if something goes wrong. That would also give me a place to stash my weapons as I’m sure I won’t be able to walk in armed. My transfer to your actions will have to be after I’ve secured my belongings.”
“My band landed the gig without any fuss,” Dooly said. “We’re marching with the performers in a second line from the Bywater to the Garden District. I don’t imagine you’d want to make the switch while marching, but it would give us a chance to sync up our movements. The band has been told to come to the mansion’s back entrance.”
The whole idea of giving up her self-will made Doodlebug even more queasy than she was from being a part of the bridge. “The back door is probably a concession to the mirror party in this dimension. There will have to be a coatroom for the rain slickers. Marjory wouldn’t want the hired help soiling her floors in either dimension. I can use the excuse of changing into my musician outfit to find a place to turn myself over to you.” Even saying the words felt like forfeiting her soul.
“Don’t worry,” Dooly said. “You’ll only have to be the observer for a few hours.”
“Just be careful. If you do anything stupid, I won’t be able to contain my reaction. I’ll contact you again during the march to the mansion.” Doodlebug pulled off the headband and rubbed her forehead. The intense connection had lasted longer than she’d bargained for, and she needed time to regain her personal thoughts before handing over her existence to Dooly again.
Doodlebug pulled out the weapons she would need from the bathroom and laid them on the seat of the Honda Blackbird parked next to her bed. With her motorcycle, change of clothing, and weapons, she would be set for before and after the party. How she looked and acted during the show would be Dooly’s responsibility. Getting to the second line and marching with the other performers, however, required festive attire that had never been a part of Doodlebug’s wardrobe. “Damn it.” She secured the katana to her back and slipped a sickle under her belt for her foray into the Quarter.
Shopping wasn’t a concept she embraced. Between collecting weapons off decapitated harvesters, receiving necessities as payments for protecting doppelgängers, and selectively keeping items projected from Dooly, Doodlebug couldn’t remember ever stepping into an actual store. Hiding inside the secure buildings gave the sales people a measure of safety from the harvesters. The trips to and from work, however, required the protection of Doodlebug’s small army of gutter punks and homeless street people, and that indebted the clerks to Doodlebug. She hoped that sense of obligation would be enough to get in the door.
She snuck out of the hotel and along the shop overhangs that lined Canal until she was north of Bourbon Street. The closest costume shop was only two blocks down Dauphine. Getting there without attracting harvester attention would be a cinch. Figuring out what to wear would be the real challenge. “One thing at a time.” She pulled out both swords and ran through the water that covered Canal Street.
When she got to the garment shop, she scrunched into the doorway and tapped on the glass with the tip of her sickle. “Let me in.” With both swords drawn, she kept watch of the street while the sales associate worked the lock.
The girl opened the door only far enough to speak through the crack. “What do you want?”
Gratitude for keeping the girl out of harm’s way only went so far, and apparently that consideration ended at the front door. “I need a costume.”
“You have to be fucking kidding me.” The girl pulled away from the opening and started closing the metal-framed door.
Doodlebug slipped the sickle through the crack and twisted it to trap the woman’s throat against the glass. “I’m deadly serious. Open the door, or you won’t find an escort for your trip home. You can sleep in the shop for all I care and wake up as a harvester or run home and show up in the morning missing limbs.”
The door opened wide enough for Doodlebug to squeeze in. “It wasn’t personal,” the girl said.
“Nothing in hell ever is. I need a costume complete with a black bird-beak mask and lots of feathers.”
The woman forced the door shut and turned the key to lock it. “You’re going to the masquerade ball?”
Doodlebug held the tip of her sword under the woman’s chin. “Tell anyone, and I’ll gut you. Now what do you have in the way of an upscale busker outfit?” Though she doubted either Marjory or the Cormorant had a clue as to who she was, their spies were sure to identify the Doppel Avenger. “I need to be unrecognizable.”
“You and everyone else. That’s pretty much the reason for throwing a masquerade ball. If you’ll put the sword down, I think we can get you fixed up.”
Reluctantly, Doodlebug stashed the two swords back in her belt and followed the sales clerk to the women’s costume section. The peasant blouse the woman pulled from the rack wouldn’t have been Doodlebug’s first choice for dealing with the hurricane, but then wearing something stupid was kind of the point. The short maid’s skirt and torn fishnet stockings looked equally ridiculous. “Is this the best you’ve got?”
The woman took a leather bird mask off the wall and placed it on Doodlebug’s face. “You wanted to hide your appearance. Trust me—no one is going to see you as the Doppel Avenger in this getup.” She started bagging up the costume. “My boyfriend will be telling fortunes outside the mansion, as if it’s all that difficult to predict a doppelgänger’s future in hell. He’ll be easy to spot. He likes walking on stilts while marching in a second line. I’ll have him pass the word to the other performers that you’re coming. You have lots of friends among the street buskers.”
Doodlebug curled up the plastic bag until it was water tight. “You’ll continue to have our protection,” she said as her means of payment before heading back out into the storm.
The otherwise empty Crown Astoria had served her well as a place to store her equipment and decompress after a hunt, but sticking to a routine for too long made her predictable. She knew once she was done with the party she’d need to figure out another hiding place since she assumed spies from both Marjory and the Cormorant would be on the lookout for her.
She pushed the bike past the grand cypress-paneled elevator. Though the lift was large enough to accommodate the motorcycle, it would be too conspicuous for her to jet out of the elegant entrance on the bike. A quick exit was good for engaging harvesters but lousy when it came to sneaking away unseen.
At an unassuming doorway at the end of the hallway, she pushed the Honda into an area designated for staff. A single bare lightbulb blazed above the service elevator. Having one working lift in a hotel was a luxury—two was unheard of. But being the Doppel Avenger had its perks. She pulled up the metal gate. The dingy metal box could accommodate a fleet of motorcycles. “I’m going to miss this place.”
Getting the hotel to her liking, however, had required too many workers. So long as they and their families relied on Doodlebug’s contingent of street people for their protection, her secret was relatively safe. But she’d always known the situation, like all conditions in hell, was strictly temporary.
At the ground floor, she fired up the engine. She had the rear tire spinning before the elevator door fully opened. The dumpsters and laundry carts that lined the loading bay disappeared in a flash as the motorcycle picked up speed. With a launch off the dock, she was back in the storm. Anyone watching for her escape would have to look fast to notice the figure in a black rain slicker on the black bike, zooming into the dark of night.
Using her secret passages to the freeway and to skirt around the Quarter, she navigated the side streets of the Central Business and Warehouse Districts without being noticed. As she passed under the freeway overpass into the Garden District, her stomach tensed into a knot. This was enemy territory controlled by the Laroque family. From there on, she would have to suspect every doppelgänger she passed as being bound to Madam Laroque.
By keeping her head down behind the small windshield and her speed slow enough not to call attention to the superbike, she hoped few would notice the passage of the girl on the speed demon. Each ornate mansion she passed had lights on in every window as if to proclaim that even in hell, wealth could overcome hardship. Three blocks into her mission, she finally found a dark, dilapidated estate too far gone for a cost-effective remodel. With a quick check around her to be sure no one was watching, she turned the motorcycle under the rusting wrought-iron gateway.
When not running, the Blackbird motorcycle wasn’t the easiest thing for a ninety-seven-pound teenage girl to maneuver. Doodlebug leaned all of her weight against the handlebars to get the tires to roll through the soggy grass.
Harvesters who’d desiccated outside of the Quarter tended to be less aggressive than their brethren out to make a buck off of severed limbs, but a monster still needed to eat. Having her gear nearby wouldn’t be of much use during the event, but knowing it was only a few blocks away gave her a hidden stash advantage for any post-party adventures.
She kicked in the door of a greenhouse hidden behind the mansion. Though most of the glass panes had been blown out by the storm, the potting shed against the stone wall at the back remained intact. She propped the motorcycle on its kickstand and laid out her weapons like a surgeon preparing for an especially violent operation. “Now comes the hard part.”
She stepped back out into the storm, feeling as vulnerable as the day she’d been projected on Esplanade’s neutral ground. Without her usual assortment of weapons, the rain slicker felt as lightweight as a harvester’s cape. She pulled the waterproof fabric tight around the peasant blouse and short maid’s dress to keep them from going translucent in the driving rain. With the leather-and-feather mask secured tightly to her face, she pulled the hood over her head. “Time to join the entertainment.”
With flambeaux carriers lighting the way and a brass band blasting out a dirge as if playing for a funeral, the second line of entertainers headed to the Laroque mansion wasn’t hard to find. Doodlebug waited for the line of musicians carrying instrument cases to pass before slipping through the spectators into the procession.
A stilt walker hopped down from his wooden leg extensions to march beside her. “We’ve been expecting you. How can we help?”
“It’d be great if none of the guests at the party knew my true identity.”
The man’s clown outfit was nearly as absurd as the sexy maid costume under her coat. “I’ll pass the word. Should we prepare for a bloodbath?”
“Not this time. I’m just seeking information.” She opened her trench coat. “I’m not even carrying.”
The dude shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Who’d have guessed the Doppel Avenger was so hot.”
She balled her hand into a fist. “I may not be armed, but I can still knock you on your ass.”
“That wouldn’t do much for your cover identity. Once you’re inside the mansion, stick close to the guitarist, and don’t worry about not having your instrument. A number of the musicians are waiting until they get into the mansion before manifesting what they need from the other side.”
“I’m indebted to you.” She pulled on the headband and checked that her mask was fully covering the upper half of her face.
“How are we doing from your side?” Dooly asked.
“Hopefully, right on track. Feel like marching for two?” Doodlebug hoped she’d given the question more of a lighthearted tone than she felt.
“I guess.”
She knew for the deception to work, every muscle in her body would have to mirror Dooly’s actions. She focused on her arm movements first. “This is so weird. I’ve never thought about how I walk before.”
“We don’t have to do this. You can simply turn over your body at the mansion.”
Doodlebug formed a fist then stretched out her fingers. “Nope. I could freak out and take back control too easily. I have to adjust to being you before we get on stage.” Though she had Dooly’s inherent ability to play the violin, practicing was another matter. If she started screeching the strings, any guest in attendance in both dimensions would notice the divergence.
“Any good New Orleans party is sure to run past midnight,” Dooly said. “What do you want to do about the nightly opening of the hellmouth?”
Doodlebug could only juggle so many problems, and her agreement to watch the hellmouth proved to be one too many. “I completely forgot, and I can’t afford to have you running off to warn the others about the swamp being unguarded. Besides, Sere is the only one who could have stopped the invasion. Without her, I guess the living are just going to have to take their chances.” Doodlebug rubbed her stomach. “The good news is I don’t have the usual feeling of impending doom prior to the dimensional opening. We did bust up Marjory’s power bridge. With the freed nineteen souls, the ghosting of their guardian demons, and Aloysius stuck in her vault with his spirit in hell, Marjory should be limited in what more she can handle. Hopefully, she has enough to focus on while hosting the party without trying to cross someone else over from hell.”
For the first two blocks, each time Doodlebug thought she was mastering being a marionette, a tingling in her limbs made her jump and shake out of the connection.
“Are you feeling okay?” the stilt walker asked. “You look like someone newly possessed.”
“You’re more right than you know,” she mumbled.
Doodlebug lagged behind the other musicians. As the last one inside, she sat unnoticed on the wooden bench in the mudroom at the back of the mansion. “Time to do this thing,” she said to Dooly before taking off the headband and stashing it in her rain slicker. As a mirror image of the girl, Doodlebug’s usual form of communication would not only be redundant, it might create a degree of separation. She took off the coat and laid it on the bench. Anything she had on her body would be exchanged for whatever Dooly was carrying.
Muscle by muscle, she willed her body into synchronization with her projection. Her breathing slowed to the Zen-like state Dooly sought prior to a gig. Her heart beat out of time with the girl in life as if refusing to accept the inevitable. I have to do this. The thought shared by both versions of herself crossed the gap between dimensions.
