Hounacier (Valducan Book 2) (23 page)

"You know I've been here a few times before," Matt said maybe two rooms away. "Used to sell antiques."

"That so?" Jim asked.

"Yeah. My, uh, stepdad and I used to swing through at least once a year. There was an older gentleman here. They used to spend hours talking shop about coins."

"My father-in-law," Jim said.

"Really?" Matt asked around a mouthful of something.

"He's staying at a friend's right now. Doesn't want to be here with…"

"You want to see him?" Tasha asked. "Pawpaw might like the company."

"I'd love to," Matt said. "Maybe after…"

The waist chain dug into Malcolm's side beneath him and he rolled to stare up at the ceiling, his eyes following the two chains suspended on either side. How much had he been in control in the last few days if the demon could manipulate him without his knowledge?

"
You never had control
," it purred through his mind.

Malcolm tried to ignore it. He had to have had some control. It fought him when he came here.

"
You only thought that because I let you. You're nothing. Just a body.
"

But that couldn't be true. It had said it resisted coming to Alpuente's. If it had resisted, then Malcolm had beaten it. It wasn't—

Without warning, Malcolm's hand slid down and grabbed his balls. Blinding pain shot up into his stomach, but he didn't react. He remained stone-faced, wishing he could scream but instead only grinned. The grip tightened, his testicles feeling like they might crush under the pressure. "
You have no control. If I wanted, you would pluck out your own eyes and eat them without protest. Then smile at your future killer when he walks in, blood pouring from your empty sockets.
" His hand released.

The demon's reins loosened, allowing Malcolm to groan in pain. Tears welled in his eyes, but he still couldn't scream.

"
You're nothing but meat.
"

Malcolm clenched his teeth, biting until they hurt. The demon could hear his thoughts. There was no place safe.

Eventually, footsteps clomped down the wood-floored hall and stopped at the door.

"Are you sure about this?" Jim whispered.

"I don't really see a choice," Matt answered.

Malcolm turned his head as the door groaned open. Dämoren in hand, Matt walked inside. He'd shaved and changed clothes. The waft of his musky cologne wrinkled Malcolm's nose.

A sickened knot roiled in Malcolm's gut, seeing Tasha follow him in, mask clutched to her chest. Bastard promised she wouldn't see this.

Jim came in last, dwarfing the other two. He clutched a key ring in his fist.

"Time to get up," Matt said. "We have work to do."

The knot tightened. This was worse than Tasha witnessing his execution. He crawled to his knees. "And the Order is okay with this?"

"Haven't told them."

"Why not?" Malcolm asked.

Matt's brow arched. "You think they'd agree to it?"

Malcolm didn't answer.

"Consider this limited freedom," Matt said. "You do what I say, when I say. You'll sleep in chains, and that collar stays on at all times. If you do
anything
that risks anyone, I'll do it. Understood?"

Idiot!
"Understood."

"Good. Let's get you out of here." Matt stepped to the side, securing a clear line of fire as Jim slowly approached, keys in hand.

The stink of Jim's aftershave and coffee breath made Malcolm look away. He lifted his hands, allowing the priest to unlock the cuffs then the chains.

"So what's the plan?" Malcolm asked.

"First, we'll get you showered and cleaned up," Matt said. "Then a drive past Atabei's. Then, we'll see."

"You going to watch me shower?"

"That a problem?"

Malcolm grinned. "Hope you like the show." He turned his head, allowing Jim access to the chains at his collar. Metal rattled as their weight fell away. "Thank you, Jim."

Jim grunted then backed away as Malcolm pushed himself up to his feet, his joints aching at the long-missed movement.

Stretching his arms, Malcolm rolled his wrists. He pulled at his oily and sweat-ripened shirt, the dead man's shirt from the house. "So about that shower?"

#

Malcolm stayed in the water until the hot began to fade out. He turned it off and just stood there dripping, his dark skin reddened from heat and scrubbing. Reaching past the half-drawn curtain, he grabbed a towel, momentarily meeting Matt's bored eyes though the mist of steam. The hunter leaned against the counter by the door, his hands crossed in front. Malcolm glanced to the twin wolf heads protruding from the shoulder holster. Seething hatred boiled behind his smile. "Can't tell you how good that felt."

"I'm sure."

After a quick dry, Malcolm wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the antique tub. Matt moved aside to allow access to the sink.

"So what exactly is the game plan? Just drive around Atabei's all night?" Malcolm wiped a hand cloth over the foggy mirror. He scratched the thick, black whiskers along his neck, his eyes studying the silver collar. Twin globs of solder fused both sides of the scalloped, twisting hoop, one for the hinge and the other the latch. Malcolm picked up a can of shaving gel and squirted a thick glob into his palm.

"I'd like to get an initial look," Matt said. "I have two of the wireless cameras. Maybe we could hide them somewhere for surveillance. You said you went inside the house?"

"Twice," Malcolm said, lathering his face in over-scented menthol. "Didn't see much of it. Only a few rooms on the first floor, back yard."

Matt shrugged, his features lost in the wet mirror. "It's a start. We'll draw a map, figure out any weak spots so we can slip inside. Then recover Hounacier, grab the mask, and get her out of there without her followers coming down on us."

"We'll need to prepare a place for the ceremony." Malcolm removed the razor from his bag and ran it under the sink.

"You're in charge on that detail," Matt said. "How long does it take?"

"She took just a couple minutes last time." Lifting his chin to shave, Malcolm continued his inspection of the collar. The two solder points appeared smooth, solidly fused. Jim's decades of jewelry repair had taught him well. "Hard part will be getting her to do it. That might take some time. She spent years plotting her revenge."

"I'm sure we can motivate her."

"Whatever you promise her, Matt, I'm still killing her once this is done."

"I wasn't planning on stopping you."

Once Malcolm was cleaned and dressed, Matt slid Dämoren into a soft-sided laptop bag. From the other side of the padded divider, he drew a Mac-10 Ingram and racked in a magazine of silver hollow points.

"No gun for me?" Malcolm asked with a little smile.

"No." Matt slipped the machine pistol back into the bag, positioned so he could reach through the slit in the side and grab and fire either gun, then clicked the top flap shut. He pulled it over his shoulder, right hand near the slit, and picked the blood compass up off the counter. "Let's go. You lead."

Downstairs, Tasha and Jim were in the hall, moving furniture and boxes back into the storeroom. Seeing them, Jim nodded and led them to the door.

Malcolm smiled to Tasha as he passed, the fantasy of eating her heart flashing though his mind.

She glanced away, fear or shame darkening her eyes. "Be careful."

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll be back."

They entered the showroom as Jim was draping a cloth over the remounted ghoul mask facing the entrance. "Let me know if something happens or you need anything."

"We will," Matt said.

Jim's lips tightened. "You call before coming back here. Just a little warning."

"Understood."

Jim unlocked the front door and stepped aside.

"Thank you, Jim," Malcolm said.

The big priest only nodded.

Sticky, warm air greeted them as they stepped out into the early evening. Malcolm had never expected to smell the city's stink again, and he breathed deep, part of him savoring it, the other part, his part, horrified that he was free. Tourists and the bar crowd shuffled down the French Quarter's streets, the voices melding into a single noise, accented by music from a dozen different places.

The lock clicked behind him.

Malcolm scanned the crowd and parked cars, searching. "So where's your rental?"

Matt motioned to the left. "This way."

Malcolm's eyes continued their search. There! Issach stood on the opposite corner, partially concealed behind a T-shirt display. Green light from a nearby sign glinted off his round glasses, hiding his eyes. Without reacting, Malcolm turned left as Matt had told him and began to walk.

They made their way through the sea of bodies, many already drunk or racing to it. Malcolm stole a quick glance back. Issach was on a phone, keeping pace.

"Down here," Matt said when they reached a side street. "Silver sedan."

The car's lights flashed as they neared it. Malcolm cursed Matt's trust—his trust in him, his trust in that damned compass. It was coming. He didn't know what, but he felt the demon's mounting excitement, the quickening heart, the dilating pupils. He stopped beside the passenger door and looked back. Issach was behind a yellow Ford, phone to his ear.

The man froze, realizing he'd been spotted.

Malcolm smiled and winked. "Matt!" he hissed and pointed. "Atabei's boy. Gun!"

Matt wheeled, keys falling from his hand as he shoved it into the bag. Issach dropped behind the car. Seizing the moment, Malcolm kicked Matt hard in the back. He pitched forward, and the compass flew away. His gun went off as he fell, blasting smoke and black nylon. Someone screamed. Malcolm closed in, ready to stomp the fallen hunter, when Issach popped around the Ford, revolver outstretched. He fired.

The car window beside him exploded, spraying glass cubes. Malcolm ducked as the second shot hit the wall behind him. Groaning, Matt rolled.

Seeing Dämoren swing his direction, Malcolm scrambled around the car and sprinted away. People were on the ground, hunkered behind cars or diving into buildings as Malcolm raced past with superhuman speed. Another shot echoed behind him, followed by more screams. He prayed to feel one hit his back, but it never came.

Head low, he turned at the first street. Panicked pedestrians looked around in confusion, mouths open. He leaped, running right across a rolling BMW's hood then wove between a pair of cars, horns blaring around him. Four blocks later, he slowed to a brisk walk. Blending into a herd of people, he crossed Canal. Three more blocks, then he ducked into a narrow alley and grinned.

Freedom.

Deep beneath the demon's exhilaration, Malcolm only hoped Matt wasn't hurt.

"
He's fine,
" the demon answered. "
Now, we hunt.
" Excitement shivered though his veins. He'd waited so long for this. Rajik's killer was here. But first… Malcolm gripped the cursed collar. It warmed beneath his fingers. He pulled and twisted, muscles swelling. His arms trembled under the strain, but the silver loop wouldn't give. Clenching his teeth, the demon yanked and yanked. Skin stretched as his arms and shoulders expanded to lend strength. The silver grew hot, burning where it touched his flesh, but it still held fast.

Defeated, the demon released it, and his swollen muscles deflated. He looked at his palms, examining the red, blistered line across his fingers. Frustrated, he balled his fists then winced.

Malcolm smiled inwardly. As long as Jim's solders held, he had a foothold.

Sirens blared in the distance. He needed to go. There was hunting and revenge to plan. The demon moved deeper into the narrow alley, knowing where it emptied. He knew this city, watched it grow, fall, and rise again. Its allure had drawn him back many times, and he loved it more than he fully understood. He was known here, a legend himself. He was the rougarou, and this city was his.

"Milky?" asked a high, crackly voice.

The demon spun to see a filthy, unkempt man crouched beside a gap in the wall. Yellowed eyes, their irises only dark slivers fluttering below sleep-dusted lashes.

"Milky, what's wrong with you?" His eyes rolled back forward and widened in dawning terror. "Oh no, Milky."

To Malcolm's horror, he lunged, grabbing the mounted man by the throat. The pitying eyes rolled as the loa fled, replaced by horror and pain. The man's arms flailed and latched onto Malcolm's wrist. His larynx crunched beneath the demon's grip, squelching off the sudden scream. He slammed the man's head into the wall, reared back, and slammed it again with a meaty
thwak
. The begger's grip loosened on Malcolm arms, but the demon held tight, squeezing until his fingers broke through the skin. Breath quickening, he watched the life fade from the man's eyes then released him.

The demon licked the blood from his fingers, savoring the sweet terror within it. The blisters faded from his burned fingers. Kneeling, he moved in, taking a bite of the still-warm flesh, but a sudden tingle prickled his neck, like someone was watching him.