creatures frothing from the Underworld. It isn’t even something that used to be human. Yshotha is a Greater Demon, bred of Hell and borne of Lilith. You don’t just banish it back to its mistress and hope it doesn’t show up again for a millennium or two.”
“Liam’s right.” Chase limped over and set his empty glass on the table as they stared at him in surprise. “This is a living, breathing demon. There must be a weakness—there’s always a weakness.”
Donal waved his hand at the unorganized pile of books he’d been buried in. “I’ve been through everything. We’re out of options. New Orleans is under the protection of the Loa, not the Tuatha . Eva couldn’t ascend. Neither could Callie. Without ascension, she’s mortal. Brighid can’t touch her here.”
Callied drummed her fingers on the table, gaze distant. We were invited here.”
“Trapped,” Donal corrected.
“Led,” Callie compromised. “The Baron let us in for a reason. Liam was brought here for a reason too. Hell, he’s been Marked. Brighid has no power here, but Brigitte does.” If Brighid had a Loa counterpart, it would be Maman Brigitte. Callie’s own words came back to her in a rush. “Everything is linked.”
Liam drummed his fingers on the table. “The Baron did tell me ‘one of the ladies’ might be involved.”
“What are you thinking, Callie?” Chase asked, watching her closely.
“Everything I know, everything I’m trained for, doesn’t work here.” Callie straightened. “I need to see the Baron. Alone.”
Chapter Five
Callie had been to New Orleans twice before. Both times were demon-related, both memorable.
1933: Two women found dead not far from where she walked now, on two separate nights, their blood drained. Amid rumors of vampires, she pursued a loup-garou through three back alleys, two courtyards and a cemetery. It was one of her first hunts, and it got away.
That was when she met Eva.
Keepers rarely met, as a rule. Circumstances occasionally provided opportunity and when Brighid’s call to arms came, Keepers were supposed to bring the wealth of their experience to the battle to end all battles. Nineteen Keepers. Fifty-four contingents.
Callie had been woefully unprepared for the challenge of a centuries-old loup-garou . Eva had been amazing. She’d used Callie, unbeknownst to her, to lure it. Silver and fire to trap it. And her sword to take its head. And just like that, Callie was hooked on the hunt.
“Never fails,” was Eva’s only comment over oysters and local beer, smoky jazz serenading their victory. “They give you a sword, show you how to swing it, and neglect the most important weapon in your arsenal—your brain.”
Then came 1984: Another loup-garou establishing territory, and this one brought friends. Nine dead, five before Eva called her in, the sixth the day she’d arrived. The hunt had been brutal and satisfying. Callie had claw rents across her ribs on the right, and her left knee still popped.
They went to the same oyster place, and drank the same beer. The music had changed to raunchy blues interspersed with eighties one-hit wonders.
“Not bad.” Eva toasted her over a forest of empties and a pile of oysters. “In fact, you’ve gotten rather good. But you don’t have to do it alone, you know.”
“You do,” Callie pointed out.
“True.” She cocked her head, sipping her beer. “Maybe what I should have said is that you shouldn’t do it alone. It’s a lonely thing, Callie-girl. Take it from me.”
And so she’d let Donal in, and then Chase. It had been nice, having a team. Belonging.
And now there was Liam.
She exhaled, and not just due to the overwhelming miasma of stale booze, slightly less stale vomit and polluted river. Ah, Bourbon Street. It was a smell you never forgot, no matter how many years between visits.
Bloody hell. What was she going to do about Liam?
Fact of the matter was there was no escaping him. Surrounded by the uncertainty of
“Liam’s right.” Chase limped over and set his empty glass on the table as they stared at him in surprise. “This is a living, breathing demon. There must be a weakness—there’s always a weakness.”
Donal waved his hand at the unorganized pile of books he’d been buried in. “I’ve been through everything. We’re out of options. New Orleans is under the protection of the Loa, not the Tuatha . Eva couldn’t ascend. Neither could Callie. Without ascension, she’s mortal. Brighid can’t touch her here.”
Callied drummed her fingers on the table, gaze distant. We were invited here.”
“Trapped,” Donal corrected.
“Led,” Callie compromised. “The Baron let us in for a reason. Liam was brought here for a reason too. Hell, he’s been Marked. Brighid has no power here, but Brigitte does.” If Brighid had a Loa counterpart, it would be Maman Brigitte. Callie’s own words came back to her in a rush. “Everything is linked.”
Liam drummed his fingers on the table. “The Baron did tell me ‘one of the ladies’ might be involved.”
“What are you thinking, Callie?” Chase asked, watching her closely.
“Everything I know, everything I’m trained for, doesn’t work here.” Callie straightened. “I need to see the Baron. Alone.”
Chapter Five
Callie had been to New Orleans twice before. Both times were demon-related, both memorable.
1933: Two women found dead not far from where she walked now, on two separate nights, their blood drained. Amid rumors of vampires, she pursued a loup-garou through three back alleys, two courtyards and a cemetery. It was one of her first hunts, and it got away.
That was when she met Eva.
Keepers rarely met, as a rule. Circumstances occasionally provided opportunity and when Brighid’s call to arms came, Keepers were supposed to bring the wealth of their experience to the battle to end all battles. Nineteen Keepers. Fifty-four contingents.
Callie had been woefully unprepared for the challenge of a centuries-old loup-garou . Eva had been amazing. She’d used Callie, unbeknownst to her, to lure it. Silver and fire to trap it. And her sword to take its head. And just like that, Callie was hooked on the hunt.
“Never fails,” was Eva’s only comment over oysters and local beer, smoky jazz serenading their victory. “They give you a sword, show you how to swing it, and neglect the most important weapon in your arsenal—your brain.”
Then came 1984: Another loup-garou establishing territory, and this one brought friends. Nine dead, five before Eva called her in, the sixth the day she’d arrived. The hunt had been brutal and satisfying. Callie had claw rents across her ribs on the right, and her left knee still popped.
They went to the same oyster place, and drank the same beer. The music had changed to raunchy blues interspersed with eighties one-hit wonders.
“Not bad.” Eva toasted her over a forest of empties and a pile of oysters. “In fact, you’ve gotten rather good. But you don’t have to do it alone, you know.”
“You do,” Callie pointed out.
“True.” She cocked her head, sipping her beer. “Maybe what I should have said is that you shouldn’t do it alone. It’s a lonely thing, Callie-girl. Take it from me.”
And so she’d let Donal in, and then Chase. It had been nice, having a team. Belonging.
And now there was Liam.
She exhaled, and not just due to the overwhelming miasma of stale booze, slightly less stale vomit and polluted river. Ah, Bourbon Street. It was a smell you never forgot, no matter how many years between visits.
Bloody hell. What was she going to do about Liam?
Fact of the matter was there was no escaping him. Surrounded by the uncertainty of
Similar Books
