02 Awaken-The Soulkeepers (29 page)

I glance at Bailey. She smiles tentatively but seems eager to see what’s inside.
Always the curious little thing
.

We stop before the door, and the old man turns, giving us his full attention. I catch my breath. The guy is not only old but petrified. As in
made of freaking wood
. Those bulging veins on his head are gnarled roots trying to poke through. He is lopsided and slightly grotesque. His eyes are deep hollows and shrouded with gray weeds for eyebrows. Thin, cracked lips curl back to expose a jumbled mass of rotten teeth like gravestones. I wait for him to speak but he doesn’t. I’m afraid he expects Dante to offer me or Bailey as payment to enter.

I look up at Dante. His eyes are turning yellow and splitting into black diamonds; snake eyes. I’m gripped with panic. The last time I saw Dante bring his demon all the way to the surface was in the haunted mansion, right after Michael threw him across the room.

Persuasion slowly dilates Dante’s eyes like a visual calling card, and the old man flinches in recognition.

“My apology, sir,” he says in a deep, brittle voice. He is noticeably uncomfortable, and I hope this isn’t a bad thing. He bows stiffly “I did not … it is an honor to have a Demon Knight”—he glances erratically at Vaughn—“er,
two
Demon Knights, with us this evening. If I had only … well … I should’ve expected … it’s always a special occasion when Baron Samedi and his wife perform.”

“Your name,” Dante demands.

“I am PaPa Bois.”

Dante nods. “We will require an escort this evening.”

“But of course. Anything you ask. Right this way.” He swings the door open, giving us free access.

I take a deep breath and then step inside the private demon nightclub.

We enter the vestibule of La Croix where our escort, a demon named Kappas, greets us with a reverent bow. Kappas looks like he has walked straight from the rice paddies in southeast Asia. His conical hat, thin shirt, and short pants are forever dripping wet. He has webbed hands and feet, and smells of fish. His almond-shaped eyes are filled with water and float like buoys.

“Welcome, La Croix,” he says, bowing again. “Apologies, please, but no weapons.” He pulls a couple of repulsive tarantula-like spiders from his pockets and tosses them onto Vaughn’s shoulders. As Bailey and I recoil in fear, the spiders clack up and down Vaughn, checking him for weapons. They find something in his front pocket and emit a high squeal. It’s ear piercing and makes us flinch.

Vaughn whips out his knife and tosses it to Kappas. “I’m gonna need that back, and soon.” He grins and winks at Bailey. She blushes.

The spiders leap onto Dante and repeat the process. He is weapon free. Nobody seems bothered by this arachnid-pat-down, but Bail and I are not having it. We back away and shake our heads.

“They have no weapons,” Dante says, indicating that he won’t allow us to be searched.

Kappas bows in understanding. “If please.” He indicates that we are to open our coats and we do. Nothing to hide, and he is satisfied. “Very good. This way, if please,” Kappas throws open the doors to the private entrance, and we are immersed in a wild concoction of music, blazing fires, and writhing bodies. I’m startled by the chaos around us and grip Dante’s hand. He seems hardened to the hedonistic display, but I take it all in with a wide, nauseated gaze.

La Croix is everything I’d imagined and worse: dark, smoky, teeming with all manner of exotic demons. I feel like we’ve stepped into Hell’s basement. It’s a deep cave that appears to have been hollowed out by giant claws that carved rock into gray walls. We’re standing on the metal balcony that runs in a circle around the cavern with a view of the pit below. The barrel ceiling is close and oppressive just above our heads and lacks the old-world charm of the 666 platform. Torches blaze in iron sconces and cast the room
in a smoky red haze. Black iron cages hang throughout the room, packed with half-naked people. Their thin arms and legs reach through the bars, while their screams are drowned out by the music. Between the cages are long silk tethers of yellow or red or green, and some concoctions of man and ape swing up and down in Cirque du Soleil fashion. The creatures are naked but painted with neon colors, wild eclectic patterns that glow in the dim light. If a creature should slip in his acrobatic routine, the silk noose around his neck will catch his fall.

As we peer over the rail, images emerge in the dim light. The dance floor is thick with bodies, and a band grinds out music on a stage. Bailey points to the left, and I look. There on the wall is a display of metal gears of varying sizes. They are churning like the workings of a watch. A woman is mounted on the largest gear, spread eagle, with a black ball in her mouth. She is lucid and her eyes are wild with fright.

Bailey and I look at each other in horror. She grabs Vaughn’s arm, and I clutch the railing and grit my teeth. Rage boils inside me. This horrific display of evil is wrecking havoc on my nerves. I want to lash out at something. I want to rush in and help those that I know don’t belong here.

But I have to remind myself to stay calm. If I were to expose myself, I’d put Bailey at more risk than I already am. I realize now that this is far more dangerous for us than I thought. I’m here for a good reason and I’d damn well better try to fit in.

From this angle we can see the band, which consists of the repulsive and bizarre. Some members have shrunken heads, gnarled and dented heads, liquid- or smoke-filled heads, or no heads at all. Some are half-man, half-goat; some with mouths stitched shut; and others with alligator skin. The lead singer has the face of a Picasso painting, with both eyes on the same side and giant, perverted lips. Despite their fantastical appearance, the band appears quite gifted and plays a wildly rambunctious song that I don’t recognize. The dance floor is packed with lesser demon types and an occasional human with a manacle, chain, and black ball in their mouths. A quick survey tells me that it’s the hired help who are hellish, not the demons in civilian clothes like Dante and Vaughn. The abhorrent clearly stand out.

Across from the stage is the bar. It takes up the entire wall and consists of a series of conjoined coffins with glass tops where pale bodies lay interred, eyes closed with a penny on each. The more sophisticated demons hover there, chatting and sipping drinks as though this were any other private underground club in New York. I imagine Teriza partying here and find it even more disgusting.

“Drink from bar?” Kappas yells over the blaring music. “Rum and hot pepper! House favorite!”

Bailey looks at me and I shake my head saying,
No way in Hell’s basement are we drinking anything
. Dante tells him we are here to see a friend.

“High Alice!” I holler, and Kappas flinches like I’ve startled him. He cocks his head, and water dribbles from his ear. His expression pulls at a vague memory; the gargoyles at the haunted mansion acted very similar and gave me the willies.

“It speaks!” he shouts to Dante, who quickly shoves him in the chest.

“She is my guest!” he yells, abruptly furious. His eyes are flaring and making the man cower.

“Forgive! Forgive! Not usually permitted to speak! Only the one she speak
of
!”

“High Alice?” Dante shouts to be heard over the music. Kappas nods. “Where is she?”

The song we’ve been trying to outmatch dies out and the low rumble of applause takes its place.

“She special,” Kappas says. “Kept in back. No one see her unless Baron Samedi say so.”

“And where is Baron?”

“Prepare to entertain. Love to entertain.” He points to the stage where band members are rearranging the set for something big. “We speak after show. In meantime, escort to table?” He gestures toward a balcony above the bar. It’s for the elite demons; the private club within the private club; no manacled humans allowed. The furniture is a conglomeration of modern meets Baroque, lavish red velvet high-backed L-shaped sofas, and chairs with backs that rise five feet high and come to a point. The low tables are rectangular glass filled with swirling red or green or yellow smoke. Several people lounge on the sofas while others mingle in groups of five or six. A few are seated at gaming tables, and further back is a craps table lined with men and women in formal tuxes and expensive furs. It looks rather normal and elegant, until I realize the fur wraps are alive, and the mink and fox heads are looking for someone to bite.

As we follow Kappas around the steel walkway, he points out people that Dante and Vaughn may know.

“Marquis Naberius. You want, I take you there. Him with guests.” The marquis, seated on the sofa, has black hair that is slicked back like Dracula’s and an ominous widow’s peak. He wears a black cape and holds and elegant black cane. When he laughs at something his companion says, his face seems to vibrate, and for a moment I think he has the head of a raven. But it happens all too quickly and I can’t be sure.

“And there, Count Halphas with Knight Furcas.” Kappas indicates two men standing at the rail. The count resembles a stork in a coat and bow tie, and the knight is
smoking a pipe that is half of a jawbone with teeth still intact. He is educating the bird man on something important, and every time he takes a puff on his pipe, flames shoot out of the molars.

Vaughn says, “Hey, look, there’s ol’ Chax. Didn’t know he was back on the surface.” He points out some guy covered in silver jewelry: necklaces, earrings, bracelets. He even has silver chains hanging out of his pockets. He’s talking earnestly to a woman with a green Mohawk and angry red eyes.

“Why all the silver?” Bailey asks.

“And why is he standing in the middle of that triangle?” I ask.

“He has a slight fetish for silver, and when he’s confined inside a triangle, Chax is forced to tell nothing but the truth.” About this time, the girl hauls back and punches Chax in the face, and Vaughn breaks out laughing.

“You like?” Kappas indicates a table for four by the rail, and Bailey and I hurry over. We want nothing to do with the freaks.

“At least the Mohawk girl seemed normal,” Bailey says from across the table. And then the girl walks by, and we notice that her head is divided down the middle with the left side facing forward and the right side facing backward. We’re tempted to crack a stupid joke about being two-faced, but we’re too scared.

Vaughn wants to order drinks but Dante won’t allow it. I’m grateful that he’s being careful with us.

“Thank you,” I say.

“For what?”

“Bringing us here. Protecting us.”

He wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him. “It’s for
us
, that I do this, yes? When we find the book and have the spell, we will be ourselves again. Just you and I, as we were before.”

I nod as my stomach twists with painful knots. I have to prolong the lie. “But it may take some time, Dante. You realize that? It probably won’t be all, abracadabra, and
poof
, I’ll remember.”

“And perhaps it will.”

“But if it doesn’t, you’ll be patient, right?” I say this like it’s a done deal, but Dante’s eyes narrow playfully.

“I have all the time in the world,
cara mia
. But perhaps we can prompt certain memories along? Hmm?” He caresses my cheek with the back of his fingers, letting them drift down my throat and across the top of my breast. I shiver at his scorching touch. I’m prepared to stop his wandering hand when it dips inside my top and Dante jerks back in
sudden anger, his fingers smoking.

“What?” I gasp and grab my chest. Something white-hot sparked against my skin.

“What do you have?” he demands, yanking my hands away. He starts to unbutton my blouse.

“Hey!” I yell and slap at him. He knocks my hands away and then forces my top open, exposing the gray stone necklace nestled in my cleavage.

Dante’s eyes widen in shock. Then he flings the blouse closed and looks around.

Vaughn leans over the table, whispering aggressively at Dante. “How the hell did she get in here with that?”

Dante has regained his composure and gestures toward the marquis and his guests. They are looking around as though sensing something odd all of a sudden.

“What’s the matter?” I whisper. “Rama gave me an
Aumakua
for added protection.”

Vaughn scowls. “You fucking kidding? And did he tell you that your lucky charm is magically delicious to most everything in here? You’d better keep your head down or you and Bailey are gonna be human shish kebabs before we leave.”

I clutch my shirt and gape at Dante. He doesn’t seem to get Vaughn’s reference but he does look upset. “I’m sorry, Dante. I … didn’t know.”

He forces a tight smile and pretends that nothing is wrong to anyone who might be watching. “I assume your Ascended Master did not have confidence that I would protect you as we agreed. But he was a fool to let you walk in here with a holy relic. Perhaps I should remind him of who you truly are and that your soul belongs to me, not him.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” I mumble. I catch Bailey giving me her
What dafuq you doing?
look, and I feel awful. I didn’t mean to put us at greater risk. “Why would anyone in here want a holy relic anyway? I’d think demons would despise them.” Dante and Vaughn look taken aback, like the answer is obvious.

Well not to me!

“They do not despise them but have more of a lurid fascination. Always trying to contain or control what they can’t be. Some even mimic the Forgiven as a desperate show of similarity, but nothing could be further from the truth.”

I glance around the balcony, noticing several demons sensitive to something strange in the air.
Please don’t let it be me!
Just when I think we might have to duck out, a loud gong reverberates throughout the cavern and attention shifts to the stage below.

The cages filled with the damned and the Cirque du So-losers are removed, and we suddenly have an open view of the stage below. We’re not close enough to get burned
by the flames that are now shooting from all four corners, but close enough to feel the scorching heat. The crowd doesn’t seem to mind; they’re shuffling closer, packed tightly in great anticipation. Dante explains that Baron Samedi and his wife, Maman Brigitte, are famous for their parties and entertainment. A very jovial couple that loves extravagant displays of showmanship.