Hounacier (Valducan Book 2) (12 page)

Malcolm's jaw tightened, anger boiling in his gut. "If you don't believe in them," he growled, "you should ask the loa about them."

"The loa talk in riddles, Malcolm. Symbols. You know that as any of us do."

"Not on this. They're real."

Earl shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry you believe that."

Malcolm chewed his lip.
Damn fool.
He drew a breath. Held it. "Well, thank you, Earl. I assumed wrong. My apologies."

Earl looked at him, as if unsure Malcolm was insulting him or not.

"You have nothing to worry about." Malcolm shouldered Hounacier's bag and turned. He slipped a five into the donation box beside the door. "I really do like what you've done here." He pulled open the oaken doors and stepped out, leaving Earl standing at the altar.

#

"Malcolm!" Tasha exclaimed, putting a hand to her lip. "What happened?"

"Can I come in?"

"Of course." She opened the apartment door. Tasha wore a curve-hugging, green dress, likely from the morning's mass.

Malcolm glanced back, searching for his tails. Not seeing them, he stepped inside. Dark wood furniture, too large for her modest place, dominated the apartment. Tattered paperbacks, ranging from theological to cheap spy thrillers, packed a single bookcase. Antique cameras and framed photos filled the cherry shelves on the opposite wall. Two of the pictures were of Malcolm: an artistic black and white of him, long hair framing a crooked smile, and another with his arm around Tasha's shoulder, their faces frozen in laughter after one of her performances. A tangle of various plants surrounded the one large, barred window. It smelled earthy, tinged with her perfume and a faint burnt odor, maybe two days old. Tasha had never been a skilled chef.

She closed and locked the door and reached for his bandaged nose. "Who did this?"

"Incubus." Malcolm tugged at his unbuttoned collar, allowing some of the air-conditioned air to flow under his shirt.

"Incubus?"

"Yeah." He brushed away her concerned hand. "Big bastard. Like a bodybuilder on PCP."

"Did you…kill it?"

He nodded.

Tasha picked her guitar off of a wine-colored couch and placed it on a black stand. "Sit down. You want something to drink?"

"Yes please." He grunted, stiffly lowering himself into the seat. "Found him over in Bywater behind some warehouses. There was a succubus too." He pressed a palm against his side. Somehow, the pressure made it feel better despite the pain. "It got away."

"So…are you all right?"

Malcolm sighed. "I don't know. Succubi usually don't retaliate. At least not directly. Might charm a victim to do it for her. But…" He shook his head.

"What?" She offered him a tinkling glass of tea and sat down beside him.

"I think it was mated. When I found them, they were…
occupied
with one another. Demon packs are common, but sex…never heard of it between them."

"Why not?"

"They don't reproduce." Malcolm sipped the cold tea.

Tasha shot him a little smirk. "We weren't trying to reproduce."

He chuckled then winced. "Yeah…you got me there. It's just that the incubus, it tried to protect her." Malcolm pursed his lips. "That doesn't happen."

"It was protecting its mate from the big bad bokor." She winked.

"But they don't mate."

Tasha shrugged. "Obviously,
they
did."

Demons mating?
The idea of it was ludicrous. Still…the way the incubus had thrown its arm across her. The archives told that cambions, half-breed children of succubi and humans, were possible. But if they could breed with each other? What would that union beget?

Malcolm gulped his tea, the blocky ice cubes clacking. He set the glass on the table and met Tasha's golden eyes. "There's more. Your dad tell you about the guys that were following me?"

She nodded.

"They saw me kill that demon last night. Probably saw the succubus too. Ran away when I spotted them, but," he shook his head, "I was standing over a headless corpse at the time, Hounacier in hand."

Tasha nodded as if to herself then swallowed. "Well, means they're not cops."

"It does. Probably not reporters either. Evidently, someone moved the body after I left."

She cocked her head back. "What?"

"Paid a visit to Earl Warren this morning. Maybe see if those men were his. He said they weren't."

Tasha snorted, her full lips curling into a smirk. "He'd say that if they were."

"True. But he also asked me about a murder down there last night. Said someone burned the body up in a dumpster."

"But…you didn't?" she asked.

Malcolm shook his head. "I left it in an alley. Some of my blood in it. Once I saw those two run away, I just got out of there."

"So you think they moved it?"

"Don't know. Swinging by the crime scene wouldn't be a good idea right now. Not if it's still there. And especially if Earl suspects me. No telling how many cops he knows." Malcolm ran a finger along his jaw. "But if you could give me a ride, we could drive past, casual, let me get a peek to see if the police are around."

Tasha's brow furrowed into a glare. "So you want us
both
to go by a crime scene that you
just said
the police might be watching out for you?"

"Yeah, but we'll be in a car. I'll keep low. Better than walking down the street with the murder weapon on me."

Her glare didn't waver. "Uh huh. Speaking of which, if I were to do this, which I'm not saying I will, Hounacier stays here."

Malcolm opened his mouth, but her finger shot up, silencing him.

"No. I'm not getting pulled over by the police with a suspect and a murder weapon inside my car. Period."

Malcolm closed his mouth and nodded slowly. "Agreed."

#

Chartress Street looked even shittier during the daylight hours than it had at night. Boarded and broken windows peered out from a quarter of the building. Neglect and decay had consumed the rest. Many so afflicted with peeling paint, crumbling brickwork, and unkempt vegetation, Malcolm preferred to think of it as some grand, intentional art piece rather than the sad and rotting truth. The big exception was the two steel warehouses, immaculate and the color of freshly fallen snow, safely walled off behind high chain-link topped with coiled razor wire.

A few cars travelled the narrow street. Malcolm sat low in the seat beside Tasha, searching for any sign of police, finding none. "Up here." He motioned to the row of small warehouses beside the empty lot. "Keep slow. Not too much though."

He peered at the alley entrance where the demons had been. No yellow police tape. No officers or reporters. Nothing. Malcolm tried to twist for a better look as they passed but hissed, the sharp pain in his ribs stopping him.

"You all right?" Tasha's death-grip on the wheel revealed just how much she truly hated bringing him here.

Malcolm sniffed, forcing away the pain. "I'm fine."

"You gone to a doctor?"

"No. Picked up some ibuprofen this morning, but…"

Tasha laughed. "Jesus, Mal. You're thick sometimes. You know that?"

"Doctors ask questions. Turn around up here. Give it one more pass."

She pulled into the tiny parking lot for an abandoned eatery, and wheeled the little hatchback around. Malcolm studied the alley as they neared, seeing the black hole where the incubus had punched through the metal wall. The corpse was gone.
Son of a bitch. Who moved it?
He strummed the gray armrest.
And why?

"That it?" Tasha asked after another block.

Malcolm nodded. "That's all I needed. Thank you."

"Good. Now let's get your fool ass something for the pain."

"No hospitals," Malcolm said, desperate to get back to Hounacier. They'd left her hidden in Tasha's apartment, locked in an old armoire. What if someone broke in? She needed protection.

Tasha shot him a sidelong glance. "Who said anything about a hospital?"

"What?"

She blew out an exasperated breath. "Seriously, Mal, have you forgotten where we are?"

#

"Tasha," Maggie said, opening the door. "How are you doing?"

"Good," Tasha said, hugging the voodoo queen. "How are you?"

"Irritated. Guest comin' tonight. Louis insisted on cookin' for it. Kicked me out of my own kitchen." Maggie looked at Malcolm standing on the porch behind Tasha. "Boo, what happened?"

"You know…" He plucked a dead leaf off a hanging plant. "Fighting."

She nodded, a knowing look on the old woman's face.

"He won't go to a doctor," Tasha said. "I was wondering if you could help him out."

"Of course, baby. You know I will." Maggie's gaze lowered to Malcolm's empty hands. "Just the two of you, I see," a subtle smile to her voice. "Come on inside; we're lettin' the cold out."

Malcolm followed Tasha inside. A pair of women sat on the couch, talking to a bald man with a thick, gold hoop dangling from one ear. A trio of kids, Malcolm guessed between the ages of five and nine, sat on the floor, watching cartoons. The smell of sautéing onions awoke his empty stomach. Through the open kitchen doorway, he saw a hefty, olive-skinned man in an apron working above a sizzling skillet.

"Come back this way," Maggie said, closing the front door.

Malcolm smiled hello to the seated strangers, their faces familiar but names forgotten, and followed the old woman through the hallway.

"Here we are," Maggie said, opening a bedroom door. "Little privacy. Sit on the bed there."

Malcolm did as he was told. He scanned the collection of old photographs and decades of shadowboxed Mardi Gras memorabilia.

"Okay now," Maggie said, pulling a wooden chair up before him. "Let's see what we got. Open your shirt up."

Malcolm gave a surprised look.

"I saw the way you walked in here. Been doin' this since before you was born." She stabbed a slender finger toward him and twirled it around. "Open it up."

Tasha frowned as Malcolm peeled open his shirt, revealing the hideous purple bruise. Maggie's expression remained neutral. "Fightin'? Looks like you were on the losin' side." Her fingers traced along his ribs, earning a pained wince. "Don't feel broke. That's a blessin'. So Malcolm, you spend some time in Bywater last night?"

"Rumors get around fast," Malcolm said.

Maggie shrugged. "People tell me things. It's my job to know where all my kids are. Tasha, could you go to my bedroom closet and bring me back the red first aid kit? Also the little box under my nightstand. You know the one."

Tasha hurried off, and Maggie started removing the bandage from Malcolm's nose.

"Earl Warren came by this mornin'. Checks in on me every Sunday. Said you was at his church today."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Isn't that a nice place? Very proud of him."

"It is," he said.

Tasha came back in carrying a huge, plastic first aid kit, nearly the size of a small suitcase, in both hands. A carved, wooden box sat atop it. She pushed the door shut with her foot and set them down on the bed beside Malcolm.

"Thank you, sweetie." Maggie popped open one of the clear side doors and rummaged through the kit. "Earl's got his eye on you. Best be careful with him."

"I will be."

"He can be a strong friend if you make him. But you got a long way to go for that."

"Is he the only one who told you about Bywater?" Malcolm asked.

"Mm-hmm. Said you denied it but don't believe you."

"I wonder who else he's told."

Maggie fished an amber prescription bottle out from the case, its contents scrawled on a strip of masking tape. "He's only gonna tell people he trusts. He won't go blabbin' to everybody. Makes us all look bad." She snapped the lid shut and opened the wood box packed with various charms and pouches. "But…folks are gonna ask me about it. So tell me, Malcolm. What happened last night?"

"Nothing," Malcolm said. "Just went to a bar. Had a disagreement."

The old woman gave him a flat stare. "Don't you lie to me, Malcolm Romero. I know what you do. Ulises shared more than a fair share of his stories in this very room. Now…is that your story? Or is there more to it?"

Malcolm glanced away from Maggie's brown eyes, ashamed.
Grandma magic.
She was right. She already knew about Hounacier, about the monsters. Life with the Valducans had made him forget that unlike the other weapons, Hounacier was known. Celebrated. Feared.

"No," he said finally. "There's more."

She set a delicate hand on his knee and patted softly. "Tell me about it. What happened?"

#

"Christ, Malcolm." Tasha turned the hatchback into the motel's tiny lot. "This is where you're living?"