The Devil's Daughter Complete Box Set, page 89
part #1 of The Devil's Daughter Series
“So I can enter so long as I’m wearing my headband? What about the part of hell that’s supposed to be under your care?”
“You mean what Agnes Delarosa created? Animals aren’t smart enough to find the vault on their own, but the Cormorant could get inside where she’d be able to direct her birds. That tower is making more and more sense as the hiding place of the vault.”
“And Sanguine?” Doodlebug didn’t see much point in searching for the vault only to realize there wasn’t anything she could do with it. “Assuming I can get into the tower, find the vault, and figure out how to open it, I’d just as soon not fry her to a crisp.”
“Good point. That building was designed to keep magical objects out of the human dimension. Before you go busting into the vault, you’d better check with Kendell and her gang. I know they spent some time in the tower dealing with the devil, though that was before the reactor went critical.”
Doodlebug wondered how many weapons she could reasonably carry into the building. “Too bad the Cormorant is the only one able to direct hell’s animals. Not only will I be going in there alone, I’ll have to face whatever birds she sends against me along with your sister witch’s lightning bolts.”
“Don’t forget about Smoke.”
Back on the path from Chloe’s cabin to the clearing, Doodlebug toyed with the headband against her chest. With Chloe and Smoke pleading innocent to pilfering the diary, she saw no other choice than to confront Dooly. There was always the chance that the girl had stashed the book in her backpack and forgotten to tell Doodlebug. “It would be just like that little gutter punk.” She pulled out the band of fabric and adjusted it around her forehead. “Have you been out to the cemetery lately? Our book is missing.”
“You lost our diary?”
Anger made Doodlebug stand stone still. “I didn’t lose anything,” she said between clenched teeth. “The book is on your side. All I can do is record information in it. I’m not even sure what would happen if I took it beyond the cemetery’s walls. Maybe someone has been watching you sneak onto the grounds and assumed the book might be worth something. Did you even think of that?”
From the way the girl’s eyes refused to fully focus, Doodlebug assumed Dooly had been tying one on—not that she blamed the gutter punk after literally staring death in the face and being allowed to walk away. “Don’t get snippy with me. I’m the one lending you my life force in case you get into trouble.” No matter what danger Doodlebug was facing, Dooly always managed to make it about her and her cushy life. “This is bad. You wrote down all kinds of stuff that you’ve done in hell. If the wrong people get their hands on it, you could be in real trouble.”
“Trust me, there are no right people in hell.” Doodlebug had to face the worst-case scenario. “If Marjory Laroque has it, she would know that I beheaded Andy. That could explain why she sent Aloysius’s soul to hell. If she’s had the book for that long, she’s had plenty of time to figure out what I’ve been up to. She must have known we were at the party. In which case, she’s been playing me like your cheap fiddle. You also went into considerable detail about my meeting with Nocturne, so she’ll know the Cormorant is using me to cover her ass as well.”
“I only put down what you told me to write.” The girl’s whining was getting on Doodlebug’s nerves.
“I’m trying to lay out the problems so you can warn the others. Without our book, I need you to take a message directly to the professor. Now shut up and listen. I think the baron’s old vault is inside the World Trade Center.”
“What does that mean?” With their connection, Doodlebug knew the girl wasn’t asking for the obvious answer regarding the box’s location.
“First of all, it means Sere was right about Sanguine raising a hurricane-sized hissy fit. But that’s not the worst result of her being locked up there. As hell’s natural guardian, her temper tantrum could be weakening the divide between dimensions.” She needed to be sure Dooly fully understood. “She’s the one that’s been widening the hellmouth.”
Dooly dropped her bottle as she stood up from the sidewalk. “If Sanguine is the one who’s been letting the demons escape, we have to tell the others.”
Her impassioned voice made Doodlebug’s head hurt. She leaned against a tree on the path back out to the meadow. “So they can do what—tell me I have to break into the paranormal reactor, find the vault, free the angel, and convince her to close the gate? What part of that don’t I already know?” Doodlebug wondered how Dooly could be so dense at times.
“Maybe they can help. At least if they know what’s happening, they’ll know where to focus their attention.”
“Do what you think you have to but tell them not to bother me.” She slid off the headband before Dooly offered more unwanted advice.
Doodlebug continued on her walk out of the forest, feeling more alone than ever. She stopped short of the clearing. Between the trees, she could see Smoke facing the storm like the wind and pelting rain were nothing more than an invigorating shower massage. Though he had his annoying moments, she had to admit that the big dragon had pulled her out of some dicey predicaments. “But what good are you going to be against the World Trade Center?” Short of landing on the roof—which had to be the most dangerous spot on the tower—he wouldn’t even be able to get close. Actually getting inside, where he might be able to do some good, would be impossible. As she hunted for the vault, all he could do was fly around the building, peeking in windows and pointing his fiery snout at her location. Even the Cormorant wasn’t so stupid as to not notice. “I’m sorry, but I have to face this danger on my own.”
She turned away from the clearing. If Smoke knew what she was up to, he would just start arguing with her. Faced with the impossible task of entering the structure, she didn’t really need the big, fat flamehead to tell her how foolish she was being for even making the attempt.
She looked around the swamp for some indication of the way back to town. Lightning bolts lit up the horizon. “He’s flown me out here twice, so I know roughly how far I am from the nearest roads. All I have to do is head for the light. At least the walk will be shorter than the one I used to take out to Kenner to ward off the demons.”
81
Chapter 12
At the far side of the river, Doodlebug sat on the levee, watching the pyrotechnic display from the World Trade Center with a renewed awareness of her own stupidity. “I should have realized those bolts of electricity meant something.” Arcs of energy erupted from the ends of the gigantic, vertical X-shaped structure and ran along the arms up to the circular roof, which used to be a high-class restaurant. From there, bolts of lightning wider than Doodlebug’s body discharged in all directions. “If Sanguine is in there, she would have to be all the way at the top. Thirty-three floors of unknown terrors. I think I’d prefer dealing with the nursery rhyme’s monsters. Ghosts and goblins, harvesters and freaks are beings I understand.” She steeled herself for the job ahead. “One problem at a time. I haven’t even gotten inside yet, and it’s not like I can just pop the lock with my sword this time.”
A wave from the river crashed along the levee from the Crescent City Connection bridge. The height of the white mist thrown into the air dipped down at the tower, as if bowing to its power, then shot back up at the ferry terminal. She sat cross-legged, watching the water breach the levee wall. Over and over, each time a wave hit the landing, its energy seemed to be sapped at the World Trade Center. Without taking her eyes off the event, she pulled out her headband to contact Dooly. “Why would a wave diminish in the same spot each time?”
Dooly took off her fedora and rubbed the headband like she was about to pull it off. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”
“Look, this is important. Get off whatever milk crate you’re sitting on and go ask the professor. I need to know if it might indicate a way into the building. Do it now, Dooly.”
Doodlebug could feel the gutter punk struggle to her feet. “I didn’t think you wanted their input.”
“I don’t need to be told what to do, but neither of us are much good at science. I’m going to need more than magic to get into that building.”
Dooly looked up into the bright light. “Lucky for you, I’m not too far away. They weren’t crazy about your plan, by the way.”
Doodlebug could just imagine their criticisms. “Like they ever have a better idea. Sere was the only one who knew anything about hell. Without her, the others are just busybodies huddling in the offices and waiting for the apocalypse.”
“Maybe if you ever gave them a chance, they might surprise you,” Dooly snapped. “Once you’ve gotten what you want, you rip off the headband before they can offer any suggestions.”
Doodlebug didn’t really want to fight with her real again. “Sorry.” Though lying wasn’t something she did, being unfamiliar with the apologetic term meant all she was really doing was making the sound without any meaning attached.
Dooly pushed open the professor’s door without knocking. “She’s got a question about wave physics.”
“It’s about time she checked in,” the professor said.
Without Sere in the offices, Doodlebug was even less inclined to listen to the ramblings of the old man. “Tell him I’m not looking for advice or validation. I’m going to break into the World Trade Center and free Sanguine. I’m pretty sure she’s on the roof in that old restaurant. It’ll be hell getting up there, but right now I don’t even know how to get inside.” She told them what she’d seen from the levee.
As was often the case while talking to Sere’s support staff, Doodlebug had to wait until the message was relayed and an answer formulated. Fortunately, she could hear what Dooly heard so she didn’t need to rely on the message being garbled by the gutter punk.
“Sounds like a basement wall might have collapsed,” the professor said. “Though the levee should stand between the river and under the tower, a hurricane raging for that long against a weakened section would eventually wash away the ground. Once the void was created, each time a wave hits that spot on the river bank, water would shoot up into the tower instead of crashing into the levee. If you could swim under the dock, you should be able to get into the structure from below.”
“Got it,” she said to Dooly. “Do those geniuses have any thoughts on how the tower’s energy might affect Sanguine, assuming of course that I can find the vault and open the door?”
She watched another wave succumb to the tower’s influence as she waited for a response.
“Don’t open it,” Kendell said. “If you’re right about Sanguine shooting lightning bolts from the vault, opening the door could release a wave of energy that could rip through dimensions. You’d be releasing a paranormal feedback loop similar to what caused the meltdown in the first place.”
Doodlebug would have been frustrated by the response had it not been something similar to what she had already assumed. “So I have to move the damn thing.” Any action she came up with in hell seemed to invariably lead to another impossible task. “One problem at a time. I’ll probably be smashed to mud just jumping into the river. And if I do somehow get inside, climbing up the thirty-three floors of horrors should accomplish what the river couldn’t.” She stared at the tower, realizing the suicide mission couldn’t be avoided. “Don’t relay that information, Dooly. They might want to call in Chloe, though. According to her, I need to keep the headband on while I’m inside the tower, so don’t be surprised if your thoughts get jumbled from the strange energy.”
“What’s going to happen to me if Doodlebug wears our headband while in the Trade Center?” Dooly asked the people in the room.
“You probably won’t be able to talk to each other,” the professor said. “She’ll still be able to draw on your energy, though. Hopefully, the connection will hold her to hell’s dimension, though I wouldn’t count on it.”
Doodlebug had heard more than enough. “Until I get into the building, I’m giving us both a break.” She ripped off the headband and stood up from the asphalt path.
A four-foot-tall chrome railing separated the raging river from the brick-tiled promenade that stretched along the convention center to the ferry terminal. Halfway along the path, the World Trade Center stood out like a giant dead thumb. Doodlebug stood at the edge of the river and timed the crashing waves. “This is it. Either I end up as fish food, or I’m swimming into the deep fryer.” She pulled on the headband like a diver adjusting her swim cap and took off at a full sprint before her self-doubt had a chance to fully set in. The wave at her back sent up a mist that ruffled her hair. When the force of the crest felt like the hand of death, she jumped the railing.
The trough between the waves ahead and behind her made the drop farther than she’d anticipated. Hitting the water felt like falling from a window onto a concrete sidewalk. I’m not dead, and I’ve got work to do.
She rolled toward the overhanging quay that supported the promenade. Creosote-coated posts loomed in the dark water like sentinels, each as unyielding as an anvil that the water was pounding against. She put the soles of her Keds against the nearest wooden trunk and jetted toward the gaping hole under the dock just as the wave caught up with her. Protecting her face with her arms, she shot from the tumult of the river into the enclosed pool of the World Trade Center’s basement.
She struggled toward the surface but was overwhelmed by the rush of water that carried her. The relief of fresh air seemed to be diminishing with each stroke. Just hang in there.
A steel beam pointed toward light above. More out of instinct than planning, she grabbed hold just as the river receded back out the hole. She desperately hung on as the water threatened to take her with it. Finally free from a watery grave, she gasped for air, but her reprieve would only last until the next wave struck. She searched the half-filled room for some escape. A red exit sign glowed against the far wall. I have to time this just right. As the water gets to me, I’ll need to push off and swim as hard as I can toward the stairwell.
As the water returned and pushed her off the beam, she flailed her arms and legs, trying to get across the room. Though she had never had the luxury of learning how to swim, the emotional and physical desperation brought forth early memories from Dooly of a calm pool and lots of children. Doodlebug’s muscles latched on to the early learning. Before the water started to recede again, she made it to the stairs’ railing and hung on tightly. Once the water had left, she scampered up the short flight before the river again tried to claim her.
She was so relieved to be at the top of the stairs that she opened the door without considering what might be lurking on the other side. A whirlwind of flames sucked her into the stairwell. Though there was no one to fight, she pulled her katana from her back out of habit. The cyclone of fire whipped and tugged at her hair, threating to pull the sword from her hands. Holding the middle of the blade, she turned the weapon sideways, so the flat slat lined up with her palm, and thrust the sword above her head. Like a toy helicopter, the blade spun her around in time with the maelstrom. Within the flames, she made out the individual fire wraiths as they lifted her off the floor. “Ghosts and goblins… As dead goblins, I can’t hurt you, and all you can do is scare me. I’m going up to the top of this building whether you like it or not.”
The column of flame twisted from the empty shaft between flights to explode against the stair treads. Doodlebug bashed headfirst into the metal steps and fell to the concrete landing. “This is not going well at all.” Encountering whatever ghosts haunted the building’s floors had to be better than dealing with their fiery stairwell cousins. While holding her head, she shouldered her way through the door to the fourteenth floor.
Though she was relieved to be out of the fire and water, Doodlebug had trouble figuring out what her eyes were seeing. Like having stepped into a theater halfway through a movie, nothing about the colonial town square made sense. She looked down at her feet, hoping to start with something familiar, but the black leather shoes with the garish brass buckles didn’t help with her feelings of having landed in an alien dimension. She kicked at the dusty street to make sure it was really her foot she was staring at. The billowy black dress and ludicrous head bonnet that blocked her peripheral vision had her turning back for the door that was no longer there. “What the hell?”
She let her surroundings come into focus. “It’s like I stepped into another time.”
The dust she’d kicked up swirled into the shape of a man holding a large journal under his arm. “You’re in the archives. This floor is dedicated to the late 1600s in Salem, Massachusetts.”
“Are you a ghost?”
His shrug sent orange-brown dust into the dry air. “More like a caretaker-librarian. When the devil unleashed the vaults that held our collections of magical artifacts, a search was begun to find what was lost.”
She ran her hand over the circularly laid bricks of a blacksmith’s forge. “It seems so real.”
“Oh, it is real. We are standing in Salem, Massachusetts in 1694—one year after the last witch trial.” The more he talked, the solider he became. “By walking through the door, you changed dimensions.”
“I don’t understand. I’m in hell, and though time doesn’t move, I know it’s not the 1600s.”
“You’re in the World Trade Center’s collection of magical artifacts. Time is far more complex than you think.” He waved around the town square. “Left on their own, these people will become even more puritanical, superstitious, and paranoid than they are now. That path leads to a very ugly future. Violent deaths like those suffered by the men and women convicted of witchcraft leave an energy imprint on the items they held close, so my associates are rounding up all of the magical possessions they can find. If the objects are left out here among these people, magic will become the dominant religion. The now you know depends on our efforts.”
