Hell Away from Home (The Devil's Daughter Book 5) Read online

  A block ahead, she heard the procession of performers heading home to the Bywater. In the shadows, a gang of snobby-rich thugs kept pace with the newly affluent buskers. She pulled out her sickle and turned its sharp edge toward the kids as she asked herself, “Dismember them or simply knock them to their knees?” Though the Laroque family may have double-crossed the hired help, turning their children to dust would only worsen relations between the classes—even if the kids did regenerate back in their rooms where they belonged. The Cormorant and Marjory didn’t need an obvious reason to renege on their agreement to save average doppelgängers. Hearing of the Doppel Avenger chopping off heads in the Garden District wouldn’t calm tensions. She flipped the curved sword around and gunned the motorcycle’s engine.

  Though modified for nearly silent running, the angry huffing that sounded like a rabbit in attack mode made the entitled runts turn away from those they hunted. She swung the dull edge at the nearest entitled prick, clocking him on the chin and sending him tumbling into the hedges. The noise was enough to command the attention of the buskers. The street kids from the Bywater never shied away from a good fight. They were on the rich brats like rats on freshly discarded expensive cheese. “Watch your backs,” she yelled. “They’re after your coins.”

  As she passed the melee, she opened up the throttle. If the medallions were lures, the puppets in the Quarter needed to be warned about the hooks hidden inside. Anyone holding one of the coins would be a marked doppelgänger, and if they earned the disk of gold by visiting a harvester collection site, missing a body part would make them easy prey. “I’ll bet anything this whole coin charade was designed to toughen up Marjory’s young heirs by turning loose their killer instincts. Those soft pansies in hell would make lousy demons in life.”

  The never-ending lightning from the World Trade Center made her hunch low over the gas tank. Sparks of electricity zapped out of the walls at every moving creature. “If I avoid the streets and keep to the walking path on the levee, I should avoid most of the war zone on Decatur. No point in advertising my presence before entering the heart of the action.”

  At the ferry terminal, she skipped the motorcycle over the streetcar tracks and headed up to the wide, seldom-used promenade. Wind whipped off the river, causing her to lean the motorcycle, but on the high ground, she didn’t have to contend with the city’s usual two feet of water. At a wide break in the storm wall, she eased the superbike into a deserted parking lot. Bordering the other side was Decatur Street. Black capes flapped like sheets hung on a line, blocking the view of the shops and the doppelgänger-harvester battle.

  “It’s a bad one over there.” Arnaud lay against the concrete wall with blood gushing from his elbow. Fortunately, the rest of his arm was still attached, if only barely. In time, he would heal.

  Showing sympathy for the wounded, even one of her contingents, never helped win a war. “Any new gossip on the streets?” She didn’t want to start any rumors by inadvertently hinting at anything that had happened at the high-class soiree.

  “Desperation is the fertilizer that feeds hope in a doppelgänger’s soul.”

  She shook her head in irritation. “Your real must be one horribly drunk poet. What have you heard?”

  “I was just trying to give our doppelbrethren the benefit of insanity.” He tried to stand but failed. “Promises of peace, golden tickets of safety, escapes from hell—you know the drill.”

  “And the harvesters?”

  He held his arm like that was going to do any good. “Same old story. Give in, let them take just a little finger, and all will be golden. The flip side is that anyone seen with a guard contingent will be treated as prime targets.”

  “So join or suffer the consequences.” Doodlebug wondered how much worse her situation could get. “Tell our people to keep an eye on what the harvesters are doing. If the Cormorant is serious about peace—which I strongly doubt—we need to know what her harvesters will be up to if not hunting down victims. My bet is she has plans for them elsewhere. Also, the rumor about golden coins keeping doppelgängers safe from harvesters is exactly as fishy as it sounds. Holding on to one of the doubloons will only attract trouble.”

  “I’ll let everyone know. What about you?” His concern for her was as uncomfortable as stepping into a floating ball of fire ants.

  “I need a new place to hole up. The hotel on Canal is getting a little too well noticed.”

  He nodded toward the lower Quarter. “There’s the old Mint. It’s built like a fortress.”

  Being at the edge of the Quarter had its advantages, but she would be too low to keep an eye on the river. “I’d like something with more of a bird’s-eye view if you get my drift.”

  “There are a couple of old warehouses in the Bywater that are used as artists’ lofts. They can get a bit busy, though.” Clearly, Arnaud didn’t have any more insight that she did.

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  He pointed back the way she’d come. “If you want tall and empty…”

  She looked at the monstrously huge tower. “That wound must be deeper than I thought because you’re clearly out of your mind.”

  “No, not that. I meant the casino. No one ever goes in there, and it has a commanding view of the river.”

  Each time she’d snuck past the World Trade Center, the dangers emitted from the structure had blocked the garish out-of-place casino from her thoughts. “You might have an idea there.”

  Doodlebug zoomed her motorcycle up the marble ramp toward the grand entrance of the Palladium Casino. Hurricane-proof glass doors parted like the gates to heaven. Without a single doppelgänger in sight, she held the throttle wide open—leaving muddy tire tracks down the wave-patterned carpet. Every neon bulb, from the gaming machines to the wall art, glowed from the energy field put off by the nearby World Trade Center.

  At the wood-framed mirrored doors of the tower’s elegant elevator, she skidded to a stop. “I wonder how much of this casino is functional.” She pressed the up button, not really expecting a response. The door slid open as silently and smoothly as the entrance to the Batcave.

  She wheeled the bike inside and turned it in the overly abundant space to face the door. A double row of lit buttons announced her choices. She played her fingers over the display. “I need something high enough to see what’s going on, but I don’t want to feel like a bird displayed in her cage.” She settled on the glowing number thirteen, feeling like she’d just placed a bet rather than choosing a temporary residence.

  When the elevator opened, she wondered if she’d hit the penthouse button by mistake. Instead of a hallway filled with nondescript hotel doors, she faced a set of double doors wide enough to wheel in a grand piano. She pushed the bike halfway out of the lift and set it on its kickstand to keep the automatic door from closing. “This place is too nice to just be sitting empty, waiting for tourists. If some member of the Laroque clan is using this as their pied-a-terre, I’m going to need a quick exit.”

  She pulled a sickle from her belt and eased it between the two doors. With a firm twist, she silently defeated the lock. As she stepped into the dark suite, a bird flapped off of the balcony railing outside of the sliding glass doors at the far end of the room. “Yeah, go tell your mistress where I am. It’s about time we had a talk.”

  She flipped on the switch to the chandelier hanging from the center of the multilayered ceiling. Unlike her previous accommodations at the Crown Astoria, the carpets didn’t squish under her feet, the air wasn’t so thick with mold that it burned her nose, and there were no dark corners for unseen dangers to lurk. “Not bad digs for a girl from the street. I’m going to have to watch that I don’t get too soft living in luxury.”

  She edged the blade through the bedroom door before easing it open. Reaching out with the sickle, she tapped the wall switch. Discreetly hidden lights came on over the king-sized bed. “I suppose it could be some lothario’s seldom-used secret lair.”

  She snuck into a
bathroom bigger than her previous apartment, half-expecting to see a line of cologne bottles on the counter. To both her relief and frustration, the area had only the essentials, neatly organized as if expecting a new guest. Though she doubted that anyone who had gone to all the trouble of setting the trap so artfully would bother hiding in the closet, she leaned her back against the door and turned the knob as gently as she could. Once again, she slipped the sword in and used it for switching on the light before entering, and once again, she found everything inside the walk-in closet exactly as it should be.

  “I’m letting my paranoia get the better of me.” She stashed the weapon back in her belt and headed for the front door to retrieve her motorcycle. “The only two people powerful enough to set a trap this luxurious would be Madam Laroque or the Cormorant. Of the two, my money would be on the big bird, and since I need to see her anyway, there’s no point in hiding.” She wheeled the bike into the grand bathroom away from any windows and removed her weapons. Like gambling, fighting involved acting without considering how many resources remained. Once safe and alone, however, she needed to inventory what she had left and make sure everything was in combat condition.

  Free of the gun and swords that reminded her of her situation, an irrational desire to run and jump on the oversized bed took hold of her legs. At the far corner of the mattress, she leapt into the air and spread out her arms. Landing on the thick cushion, she took one bounce and flipped onto her back.

  A loud flapping from the bedroom balcony had her back on her feet like a scalded cat. Damn it, Dooly, I’ve taken on too much of your girly foolishness.

  Standing outside of the heavy glass doors, the Cormorant looked down her long beak at Doodlebug like a visiting dignitary too important to bother knocking.

  Doodlebug reached for the sword handle that wasn’t there. If she wanted to kill me, it’s not like I could stop her even with a blade in my hand. She marched to the door and opened it to the storm. “I assume your little bird told you where to find me.”

  The Cormorant stood in the enclosed veranda and ruffled her feathers to clear off the raindrops. “I heard through my harvesters that you wanted to meet.” She pushed passed Doodlebug into the bedroom as if she owned the place. “Tell your ragtag street warriors to lay down their weapons and worship me. I promise they won’t be hurt. If you cooperate, I’ll even let them keep their limbs.”

  Not that Doodlebug expected niceties from the self-proclaimed goddess, but busting in and making demands was rude no matter the dimension. “Covering your bases? Word on the street is that you and Marjory Laroque had a productive meeting. I’m not sure I want to be a pawn in your little power play, and I’m certainly not unilaterally laying down my arms, literally or figuratively.”

  The feathers along the birdwoman’s neck and shoulders stood on end. “I’m not used to being questioned.”

  Doodlebug could just imagine how uncomfortable the private meeting had been between the two women. She turned away from the door to the balcony without closing it, hoping the Cormorant would take the hint that this wasn’t going to be a long conversation. “Well, I’m not bowing down to you. I could try to lie about it, but we both know doppelgängers aren’t very good at telling untruths.”

  The birdwoman lifted her wings but then lowered them as if having thought better of her plan of attack. “I don’t trust Madam Laroque any more than you do. Once she gets her hands on the devil’s daughter, I expect she’ll turn her back on hell and our agreement.”

  Though Doodlebug had heard the official version from the woman’s own beak in the mansion, she wondered what the Cormorant actually expected from the détente. Asking the question directly, however, might be seen as an insult. “And what do you hope to gain from my submission?”

  “A united hell,” the birdwoman squawked. “I’ve ruled over a divided society for too long. You understand the harvesters better than most. Each one of them started out as a doppelgänger, only wanting the freedom to do as they choose without mirroring their real—just as you do. Our sides are not that different. You and those you protect have just been luckier at timing their bodies’ updates. Only by consuming doppelgänger energy can my harvesters gain enough freedom to roam the city. Work with me to give the harvesters the same autonomy as the doppelgängers, and we can all live in peace.”

  “If followers who can explore the city is all you want, let me decapitate every member of your horde. They’ll regenerate in their original doppelgänger forms, and I’ll show them how far they can deviate from the projections of their reals without desiccating. With the harvesters gone, I’m certain the doppelgänger population will follow you even more than they do already. Wouldn’t it be better to lead by mercy than threat?”

  The birdwoman clicked her beak like she was grinding her teeth. “I’m not sacrificing my harvesters. I require every sentient life form bow down to me. Were I to turn my back on any group, they could too easily turn into an adversaries. You must see that an impasse between us only serves Madam Laroque.”

  Doodlebug leaned against the dresser, wishing she’d been smart enough to stash a weapon inside the drawer. “Determining who holds the weapons and who’s in charge in hell is merely a matter of politics. All that really matters is your vision for the future.”

  “Fine.” The birdwoman folded her wings behind her. “First, I want to be free of my mirror existence, and I want the same for my followers. It’s not enough to have to check in with our reals like some truant teenager calling his mother to assure her he isn’t creating mischief. Second, living in hell doesn’t have to be a constant curse. Once I have access to the computer controls, I’ll end this storm. With your help, I can turn this dimension into a paradise. And lastly, I want my body back. Sere Mal-Laurette has no right to it. She died long ago, and it’s far past time she accepted her fate.”

  Doodlebug knew enough to realize the birdwoman’s knowledge of hell was deeply flawed, but she had to admire the desire to be set free from an alien dimension’s interpretation of hell. The offer still felt like a trap, but a well-constructed one. “And the Laroque family?”

  “If Marjory wants to remove her people from our world, all the better. Any doppelgänger who wants to be united with their real for a life among the living is welcome to join her cause, but those of us left here don’t need to be forever tied to some long-passed attempt at containing the Malveaux devil.”

  As much as Doodlebug hated admitting it, the big bird’s demands were oddly reasonable. “And all you want from me is to convince my crew to follow you?”

  “That will do for a start, but to defeat Madam Laroque, I’ll need active participation. My harvesters can’t cross the streetcar tracks. Your people can. Both Madam Laroque and I are in a race to get into the professor’s laboratory. Whichever of us gets in first will have leverage over the other. She may want Sere Mal-Laurette’s knowledge, but I need the woman’s body. It rightly belongs to me. Hopefully, it’s still in the old man’s offices in hell. My fear, however, is that if the devil’s daughter is back among the living, once Marjory has control over her and the lab, she’ll have no need for me. At least if I’m in control of the equipment, she’ll have to acquiesce to my demands.”

  Doodlebug had to carefully watch what she said. Any hint that she could enter the lab or that she knew the fate of Sere could lead to a direct question from the Cormorant—one Doodlebug would be powerless to evade. And if the big bird found out that Marjory already had a soul-spy inside the professor’s computers, Doodlebug would lose one of the few cards she still held. “My crew are the mirrors of gutter punks, homeless drunks, and buskers. What makes you think they’d have a way of entering the professor’s lab?”

  “Incentive. Help me, and your people will live in paradise. Don’t, and I’ll have my harvesters chop them up to make my own airborne force of birdpeople.” She spread her wings. “I should be proof enough of what I can create. My flock would love to walk the streets as superior humans.”

 
“I’ll think about it,” Doodlebug said with icy disdain.

  Doodlebug watched the Cormorant fly off into the storm while she contemplated the clusterfuck of a situation she’d been handed. Lightning bolts lit up the sky around the big bird and the flock that attended her.

  Doodlebug knew she was being played. Birdbrain would have to know her street urchins couldn’t bust into the most secure offices in hell. Even if her crew did find a way into the professor’s lab, the crazy deity would be wildly disappointed to learn there was no lever labeled Make the Sun Rise. Getting into the building would only infuriate the Cormorant. What she wanted was pure fantasy, but the longer she pursued her quest, the better Doodlebug could prepare for the Cormorant’s inevitable disappointment. Gods had a bad way of overreacting to setbacks.

  “She doesn’t even understand the fundamentals of hell. Is she really so uneducated to not know the difference between Agnes Delarosa acting as hell’s Mother Nature and Professor Yates as some sort of god of the doppelgängers? Her birds don’t have doppelgänger spirits, and it’s those spirits that work like electromagnets to hold the bodies together. Without that core spark, the transplanted limbs would just dissipate to dust off of the bird bodies. She can’t glue a doll’s arm onto one of her pets and expect it to function.”

  But the Cormorant was right about Marjory Laroque. With Sere missing, Doodlebug and the Cormorant fighting against each other would leave the powerful woman to do as she pleased. “Each move seems to put that woman one step closer to raising her immortal. With Aloysius, she’s already picked her new attempt. According to Sere, now she needs to sneak the doppelgänger version of him through the hellmouth into life if she expects to use the vault in the bank basement. That’s going to be a challenge without her power cord. At least that gives me a doppelgänger to hunt down.” She walked laps around the living room as she thought. “Unless I’m right, and she is trying to find the devil’s old vault that contains Sanguine to do her dirty business in hell.” Doodlebug shook her head at the improbable notion. “No one’s been able to find the box. Even if the Cormorant does have it, the one thing our meeting proved is that she’s unlikely to turn it over without a fight.”