Cajun Gothic (Blood Haven) (17 page)

“I wouldn’t count on it, sir.” Magda bit her tongue but Samuels
looked pleased and gave a nod of approval.

“That’s fine. Just see to your little friend. If she can get us a
location…”

Rinj chuckled and motioned Catrina to lead him to their evening
snack. Samuels followed, but more slowly, something clearly on his mind.

Before exiting the bedroom he turned and smiled, sending a chill
down Magda’s spine. “Dress nicely for me,
pet
, I do love the way you…
accessorize.”

“Sir.”

Fuck you, sir.

A rich baritone voice echoed down the hall, “I heard that…”

CHAPTER FOUR

Trinity

Catrina towered over Rinj, yet the man dominated their space in
ways that defied reason. Even Samuels acknowledged an unspoken personal space
limit, according his oriental cohort an unusual degree of respect.

Trina seemed content to follow two steps behind Rinj, the distance
so exact she might have been psychically bonded. Or specifically tutored. Once
more, questions about Trina’s upbringing and training niggled at the back of
Magda’s mind.

For Magda, it was fear, pure and simple, that made her keep her
distance.

The man was a study in chilling menace, decked out in samurai
glory, the sword almost as long as he was tall.

The limo waited in the alley behind the house, motor running. Two
black SUVs, fore and aft, bracketed the space. The sun had dipped below the
houseline opposite, affording them some shade. Catrina was at greatest risk,
being the youngest, but Samuels and Rinj were old enough, strong enough, to
withstand limited exposure.

Rinj placed a foil survival blanket about Catrina’s shoulders, the
plasticized Mylar coating sufficient protection for the short run from the
house to the vehicle. Magda donned her homeless cape, much to Samuel’s
amusement, and trotted quickly to the vehicle. A human female held the door as
they dove inside and settled on the bench seats.

Samuels looked around and nodded to the half-dozen or so mercs
already occupying strategic positions within the transport. A stack of weapons
sat forward, just behind the driver and his compatriot riding shotgun, the
woman.

She spoke first. “Welcome, gentlemen, ladies. I’m Captain Reese,
your driver is Lance Corporal Walkens.” She rattled off the names of the men
impassively staring into space. Each nodded when his name was called but avoided
direct eye contact with the vamps lining the opposite side of the vehicle. Six
mercs, plus the driver and the woman who appeared to be in charge.

Samuels grinned and said, “Nice to see you again, Lacey. Have you
recovered…?”

The woman blushed and rushed to say, “Yes sir, fully… sir.” If her
men were in any way curious about the exchange they gave no indication. Reese
gathered her wits and pointed to the pile of weapons on the floor of the limo.
“Not as much ordnance as I’d like but it was the best we could do on such short
notice.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, Captain.” Samuels looked at the line of
vamps lounging with casual ease along the left side of the limo. They looked
like four rejects from the 3 ‘n’ G street gang wreaking havoc in the anarchy
that’d become the legacy of the poorest districts in the Big Easy.

Magda knew them to be an elite fighting unit, one of the deadliest
urban strike forces anywhere outside of Samuels’ home base in the Big Apple.
That Samuels had called in both groups spoke to his determination to squash the
insurrection in their ranks once and for all. The last thing they could afford
was to have Damien go on sabbatical, even though it was at Samuels’ bidding, leaving
the Trinity group free to undermine everything they’d accomplished.

There was far more than assets involved. Trinity threatened the
entire Gotham Council organization and the rule of law that functioned to
restrain and protect the interests of their species.

Damien might have been young and self-indulgent, but he, more than
anyone, bought into the philosophy of separate and more than just equal. It was
the sole reason they’d endured their prolonged exile with only the occasional
breach of manners for which he’d become notorious.

“So, my dear,” Samuels fingered the cape resting on Magda’s broad
shoulders, “this is quite the fashion statement. May I ask where you acquired
such a… useful garment?”

Magda flinched, desperately wishing to move out of Samuels’ reach
but there was nowhere to go. They were jammed, cheek-to-jowl, in a transport
designed for maximum carrying capacity rather than comfort.

“Some kid from up north, a design student, I guess… she made this
up for homeless people.” She shrugged. “Catrina found it on the internet,
thought it was cool. Kinda like wearing a sleeping bag but it’s that Mylar shit
and it works okay for daywear.”

Samuels snickered and looked around Magda to Catrina. The girl and
Rinj were in deep conversation, the mix and mingling of accents making for an
alphabet soup vibe to the discussion. He might have feigned disinterest in
Trina, but Magda knew the young woman had his undivided attention.

Rinj withdrew his sword with some difficulty, the cluttered space
and packed bodies cringing in unison as the blade skimmed through the air.

Samuels muttered, “Watch it,” but Rinj ignored the warning and
flicked his wrist counter-clockwise causing the steel to vibrate like a living
thing.

Both the mercs and the vamps looked on with interest as Rinj
explained the tempering process.

“Do you see the grain, how it undulates?” Those closest to the
blade peered intently at the length of steel and nodded. “It is tempered and
quenched in clay during the forging, very unique. He ran a thumb along the
razor sharp edge. “It will never go away, this marking, it’ll just become more
distinctive over time.” He smiled at Catrina and said with a smirk, “Like a
good woman.”

One of the mercs asked, “Is the tsuka traditional…”

“Ah, yes, you have a good eye. This is samegawa,” he paused for a
second, searching for the right words to explain the term, “…a special black
rope with a traditional twist. You see… here, and here, my family… uh, what is
the word?”

Catrina offered, “Crest?” and Rinj smiled broadly as if his most
promising student had performed exceptionally well at a difficult task.

He nodded and continued, “Yes, crest, thank you, my dear.”

She’s not yours, asshole, never will be… 

Samuels pinched Magda’s thigh hard enough to make her yelp, a
warning to watch her thoughts, though the man swallowed visibly, like he was
suppressing a chuckle.

Reese, from the front of the vehicle asked, “What’s the plan,
sir?”

Samuels inclined his head to the vamp sitting at the near end. “If
you please, Javier.”

Magda listened with interest as Javier explained how they’d used
satellite reconnaissance to track splinter group movements, a task made
particularly difficult because Mardi Gras was in full swing. Despite the
insurgents’ best efforts to randomize their meeting places, there were only so
many available locations within the city limits that afforded the kind of
protection and isolation vampires required. Damien’s people, under Samuels’
supervision, had narrowed the choices down to four, two near the Garden
district, one in Metairie and the other one out by the Chalmette Battlefield
and National Cemetery.

One of Reese’s people offered that the Chalmette site was too far
from major egress points, to which all agreed. Metairie was close to Interstate
10 and the Louis Armstrong International Airport, as well as the tourist
friendly Metairie Cemetery with its over-the-top architectural extravagance.
The one in the Garden district closest to Damien’s residence was deemed far too
obvious, but one of the SUVs would be dispatched to observe the location for
any unusual activity. The other SUV would stand watch at the old warehouse off
the Pontchartrain Expressway.

Catrina shyly apologized once more, eyes downcast, lips pinched.
She had tried several times to trace Gab through articles of clothing and
bric-a-brac from the man’s quarters but nothing popped.

“It’s fine, my dear,” Rinj patted her thigh, a fatherly gesture
and meant to comfort, though the subtext and tone of voice hinted at
possessiveness. “You did your best.”

Clearly Trina didn’t agree but Magda wasn’t going to fault the
girl. All abilities had limits and what that told them was that Gab probably
wasn’t in the Garden district, leaving them to concentrate resources in the
more distant locations.

No one was enthusiastic with mindlessly driving about the city
streets in the early evening hours dodging Mardi Gras revelers but until the
phone call came in, they had little recourse.

Whatever the outcome, Gabriel was as good as dead.

Magda fidgeted. Something was off, she could feel it. Most of the
Trinity group members were young bucks looking to score coups and make names
for themselves. Not a one originated from any of the old families, nor were
they steeped in the ancient culture of the city, her beauty, her juju or her
legends. They were all about swagger and the vamp equivalent of testosterone—no
more, no less than the street gangs making the Big Easy one of the most violent
cities in the country.

The Captain stared at Magda for a long moment, then said, “Ma’am?”

Samuels jerked out of whatever reverie he’d been in. He turned and
said, “Pet, is there something wrong?”

She had everyone’s attention. She wasn’t a betting person but
she’d lay odds that her gut was right.

“It doesn’t make sense, any of these locations,” she waved a hand
dismissively, “not with Mardi Gras in full swing.”

“Go on.” Samuels had twisted in his seat, eyes boring into hers.

“We can barely make headway against traffic and the crowds. So if
they need to make a getaway, they’re going to be in the same boat.”

“Unless they can fly.” That from one of the mercs seated near
Reese.

Rinj chuckled. “As much as I would love to list that little skill
set on my resume, I have to disappoint you.” He mumbled something to Catrina
then said, “Tell us, Magda.”

She rubbed a palm across her eyes, envisioning a mental map of the
city.

“We have two problems. One is that this is going to be too easy.”
She ignored the snorts of derision and continued, “They pull all of our best
fighters, leaving the one they damn near skewered like shrimp on the Barbie
virtually unprotected.”

Rinj interrupted with, “And they know this how?”

Samuels hissed, “We aren’t the only ones with human collaborators,
Rinj.” A chorus of ‘shits’ and ‘fucks’ echoed in the vehicle. “Exactly. The
house was, is, under surveillance. They’ll know who left, who stayed. Within
reason.”

When Samuels told the captain, “You know what to do,” she spoke
into a communit, instructing both SUVs to peel off and return to the Garden
District and Damien’s house, making best speed.

Javier swore, then said, “We’re almost forty minutes out. It might
be too late.”

Magda gave it a moment’s consideration but shook her head no. “The
call hasn’t come in yet.” She checked her watch to confirm the time. “Sunset’s
still twenty minutes or so away. They’re all young and vulnerable. They
have
to wait. That’s our edge. We’re already on route.”

One of the mercs asked, “But on route to where?”

“Does anyone have a map of the city?” Reese reached into the glove
compartment and extracted a handful of trifolds, handing them back to Magda.
She pawed through the stack, finding the one she needed and spread it out
across her and Samuels’ laps.

The group craned their necks trying to see where her finger traced
a path.

“It’s got to be south, below Chalmette. There’s a channel that
connects with the Dupre and Bashman Bayous.” She tapped a forefinger on a
section devoid of roads and structures. “Take route 39… that’s the East Judge
Perez Drive.”

Reese said, “Entering,” and tapped on the GPS unit.

Samuels asked, “So where does that take them? There’s only a
couple of road— Oh, I see.”

Javier elaborated, “They’ll have a boat, probably more than one,
mostly likely high speed, shallow draft.” Everyone nodded agreement although
one of the mercs asked about air boats.

That thought had occurred to Magda but she dismissed it. “You can
disappear in places like Mosquito Bayou but I really doubt those boys know
enough about that area. And I’m guessing gator rastling’s not on the to-do list
for this operation.” Ignoring the laughter, she ran her finger along the canal
to a short inlet accessing Lake Borgne. “They go out here and then it’s a
straight shot to Pass Christian, Gulfport or even Biloxi.”

Reese spoke up, “Hi-Land’s got direct access to water and a couple
of churches with cemeteries, one or two small warehouses. Might do.”