Sacrifice (Dylan Hart Odyssey of the Occult) (24 page)

Chapter Sixteen

We put the fire out with the garden
tools from the shed and tossed the flesh-ash around the trees that circled the
space we’d occupied for what seemed like years. I arranged the skulls and a few
bones that were left—only a few as the blood suckers burned up fairly
well—around Tatum as if they were part of the ceremony. I used a stick to draw
symbols in the dirt around her. Finishing them off the best I could recall from
Azelie’s tattoos and the shit she’d drawn on Marienne’s front walk.

The four of us stood in front of
Tatum’s slumped body. “You can’t make her a vampire?” I asked. Hearing how
stupid I sounded as I was saying it.

Cyrus rubbed my back, “It doesn’t work
like that.” His voice was sympathetic, but he obviously had bigger fish to fry.
Like being Primus.

“There’s nothing that can be done. She
is gone, Dylan,” Dominika said my name. My real name, not some bullshit she
made up in her head.

It was time to leave. We needed to
alert the police to complete our plan before we headed back to California, and
we couldn’t do that from the swampy ass of hell. The flight records would show
our flight back to New Orleans and we’d use that to our advantage. We’d make
sure the police had us at House of Porte searching for Tatum when it all went
down. I trusted Mike to keep us out of prison. I trusted him with almost
everything, and realized only then how stupid I was to think otherwise. Ever.

I didn’t want to leave Tatum there, but
Mike said if we moved her, we’d leave our DNA and all sorts of shit all over
her and us. So, I left her there. I wanted to hug her and kiss her, and let her
know I loved her, but he said no, not to touch her. He’d scoured her body for
hairs or any other visible sign of me or anyone else. Any minute fiber on her
body could easily be explained away by our recent contact. When she was still
alive, the last time I’d seen her. He promised she’d be home soon and we could
bury her properly. He also pointed out how she’d likely make headlines, and how
much she’d love that. It was sick, but true. If she had a choice of deaths, a
front pager would be her first choice.

The three of them walked away, leaving
me behind for one last moment with Tatum. I bit my cheek and held back the
insanity that threatened to crawl from my gut. “I cannot fathom the rest of my life
without you. I love you more than you ever knew. Thank you for…everything.
Thanks for being an asshole. Thanks for opening my eyes to my world, not just
now, but since the beginning. You’re a bitch and I fucking hate you for this.”
Tears began to form. “I hate myself so much more. I will spend the rest of my
life protecting those I love. Even if it kills me.” I turned from her; it was
time to go. “I hope it does.”

Dominika led the way out, back to civilization and a
vehicle. Surprisingly, we had been only yards away from a road on the overgrown
property of a home, likely belonging to the d’Entremonte tribe, located in the
middle of nowhere. The sun was peeking through the horizon, turning the sky a
muted shade of blue. I walked side-by-side with a vampire, or what society
would call a vampire I supposed, and watched the sun come up in the sky. Never
once did I assume Dominika would burst into flames. As Cyrus said, it didn’t
work like that. I knew that now. I knew more than I ever wanted to know. Me, the
curious cat. It didn’t kill me, just made me more fucked up than I already was.
Like a wise man once said, what didn’t kill you only made you
stranger.

Dominika drove. I sat in the back with Mike, and Cyrus sat
shotgun. A motley looking crew we were indeed. Cyrus’s makeshift dick coverings
and oversized stolen shoes, my crusty boobs, Mike’s partially cuffed hands. The
Hungarian was perfect, as you could imagine, not a hair out of place. A vampire
if I ever saw one.

After so many devastating events, the mundane portions that
followed seemed to pop through my haze in bursts of reality. I didn’t bother
trying to dissect the situation; it was all still too raw to poke at. It was
too agonizing to try to decipher. Ignoring things was far easier. Granted, one
could only ignore life for so long; but again, later, it would all come later.
And later, I’d be ready.

Shockingly, Dominika was kind enough to purchase us all new
threads at a nearby store. Nothing fancy, just enough to not be naked and
flashing cuffed wrists.

Mike kept me close to him on the ride. Never taking his hand
off me. Grounding me in a way. Reminding me, I had someone whose heart still
beat right here with me. It was exactly what I needed. All I needed in fact.

While Dominika was inside, Mike used a payphone – I hadn’t
seen one in years either, but there it was – to call the police and tip them
off to the body out in the middle of nowhere. They could do the rest. They
would figure out it was Azelie and
Zorin
, and
rightfully so. Mike could use it to his advantage to secretly close a few cases
back home too. We would never be able to link those two to the hookers publicly
though, that was insider information we couldn’t bring to light without
incriminating ourselves. Sadly, those women would go on, unsolved, and
unwanted. Dead for no other reason than greed and vanity. I supposed most
people died for those exact reasons though. I had used
Dominika’s
cell to call in Tatum as missing. My voice was small and not like me at all. It
worked well for the situation. I told them I needed to get back home and they
suggested maybe she had gone back and was already there waiting for me. I knew
better, but pretended to be relieved and left it at that. When they found
Tatum, my description would be there to help them identify her. Mike said it
wouldn’t take long.

There was no way in hell any airport personnel in their
right mind would allow us on a plane. But no one gave a shit about who gets on
a train. Mike flashed his badge and told the clerk he was escorting Cyrus and
me back to California for a court hearing. She bought it. It might have helped
that Cyrus was in the background smiling and winking at her. Besides, Cyrus and
I looked like we had just crawled out of the nearest crack den to make the
appearance. We gave no room for disbelief. Dominika chose to catch a plane
home, because, well, it was Dominika. I didn’t really expect anything less from
her.

There were too many things to take care of when I got home
to count, let alone allow to seep into my thoughts, or lack thereof. I kept my
head on the surface, focusing on each step I took. The people in the lobby of
the train station. My portrayal of a druggie informant to the Los Angeles
police department. Or whatever I was supposed to be. Anything but Tatum. Anything
but death, blood and magic.

I shot up a little prayer to whatever was listening to get
us home safely. Surely if there was a God, like folks said there was, Tatum
would be alive. As of the moment, she was dead. The moment I killed her, God
lost his spot as top dog. Two days on a train, with two of the three people on
this planet who knew really what kind of monster I’d become, wasn’t exactly the
most calming situation. I wanted nothing more than to sleep. Well, drink, and
then sleep. And I would do both, in that order. Over and over and over again
until I didn’t care about anything anymore.

“A little something for you,” Cyrus smiled and handed me a
small bottle of booze he’d fetched at the club car.

My eyes widened and a weird little
smile tickled my cheeks.
"Well,
I'll be damned, alcohol. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Come here you sexy
thing." I snatched up the bottle of sugary brown booze and cradled it in
my arms like a child. In that moment, there was nothing else on this planet
that could replace the exquisite burn of liquor making its way down my gullet.
Well, maybe an expertly rolled joint and a pair of yoga pants. But almost-dead
bitches couldn’t be choosers.
Wait,
that’s not right
.

“I thought
you might need it.” He thought right.

Dominika had
paid for our passage on the train, but she wasn’t too generous. Even to her
precious Primus. We sat coach with the rest of the peons.

“You know,”
I started, weak and broken, “you owe me a shit ton of explanations.” Mike
scoffed and rubbed his hand over his head. He agreed and it was his jerky way
of saying it.

“I do,”
Cyrus nodded.

“Primus,” I
smiled. It seemed weird. Malcolm was gone. I hated him, sure, but I’d take him
on as a fucking brother-in-law if it meant bringing Tatum back. I cleared my
throat and tried to keep my grief from hitting my eyes. A breakdown was coming,
but not now. Not here. Later.

He nodded
again. “As I told you, another day; and now you know you have another day,” he
smiled reassuringly.

Sadly, I
did. I had more days.
More sad
, grief-stricken days.
More days for me to recall how my actions led to the death of my best friend.
More days to think about all the things I could have done differently. All the
things I fucked up.

I sniffed snot back into my nose and forced my thoughts to
the bottle in my hand. Temporary salvation. I flipped the cap off and let it
hit the carpeted floor. Cyrus picked it up and handed it back to me. I was too
busy guzzling spicy whiskey to acknowledge him.

“She won’t need it,” Mike said. He was right, I wouldn’t.
The tiny bottle would be gone in no time.

I felt the burn instantly that sweet and hot sensation of
alcohol settling in my body. My liver would hate me in an hour, but not as much
as I hated myself at that moment. With the bottle empty, I leaned my head
against the window and let the numbness takeover. I watched the scenery whiz
by. Buildings, trees, cars, and people, none of which made any sense in the
fashion in which I saw them. Just basic shapes and outlines. My brain filled in
the rest, as brains tended to do.

The boys talked about something, but I wasn’t paying
attention. I heard their voices, not their words. Just the sound of them
talking was fine for me. It let me know they hadn’t left me. They were there.
They knew what I’d done and they hadn’t left. Shit, they helped me cover it up.
The two of them put their shit down to keep my ass out of trouble. I could deny
it. I could try to make it go away. I could tell myself I was not good enough,
but it was all a lie. I had two amazing human beings, sort of, who loved me
very much for all I was and all I was not. They also would like to have sex
with me, which most fat bitches with a bad attitude thought they couldn’t get.
Hell, I did. I had so much sitting right in front of me, yet I left it all
behind for stupid insecure causes. How could one person be so prideful and
insecure at the same time? I’d like to thank Gordon Hart for that. My dad.

A tear ran down my cheek and I swiped it away before anyone
caught it. There was no crying in the occult. Crying only let your enemies know
you were weak. Let them know you had something they could use against you.

I closed my eyes and listened to Mike talk. His words didn’t
matter as much as the inflections in his voice. The breaths he took between them.
He sounded sad, and rightfully so. Cyrus’s voice was new and not quite as
comforting, but not unwanted. He’d proven himself worthy of my time, regardless
if that meant naked time or not. His lack of
intel
, though annoying and possibly life changing, was
with the best of intentions and to save his own ass at one point. Knowing what
I did, I couldn’t turn around, and he knew that it would happen. There was no
going back to my old Dylan Hart journalist and bitch extraordinaire life. Only
forward from here. Forward through the occult and all that brought with it. I’d
need more than a metal trinket at my throat and a semi-automatic if I were to
keep my ass, and my friends’ asses, out of the thick of it. Monsters didn’t
care so much about guns and such.

Protection isn’t
enough. Power. I’ll need power.

Chapter Seventeen

I woke up only long enough to transfer trains; even then, I
think Mike practically carried me. The next time my eyes saw anything other than
the backs of my lids, we were in Los Angeles.

I let out a sigh after I breathed in the thick, filthy air.
Home sweet home. It’d never be the same.

“Can you just take me back to my mom’s? Please,” I mumbled
to Cyrus. “I want to let her know I’m alive and that…” I let it trail off. They
knew what I had to tell her. I couldn’t tell her everything, obviously. But she
was like Tatum’s second mother; she deserved to know.

So much needed to be said that wasn’t. I’d slept on and off
for nearly two days. Lord only knew what conversations I’d missed. In the car,
no one wanted to talk about anything that mattered, so we just didn’t talk at
all. Cyrus was right, another day. I’d spent my life talking and expecting
others to do the same. When and where I wanted them to. It was time to change
that. It needed to be discussed, but not today. Later.

The two got out of the car in front of my mom’s, but didn’t
follow me up. I hugged them both and tried not to cry when I did. We were
alive, back where we’d started, but we hadn’t completed anything. Nothing we’d
set out to do. In so many words, we’d failed. From the look of them, I wasn’t
the only one trying not to cry. I’d lick donkey balls if one of them shed a
tear in front of the other. It would happen just as soon as I shed one.

It was exhausting always being the strong one, trying to be
so many things at once. It was time to just be a daughter for a while.

I kissed them both and left them standing at the curb.

My mom opened the door before I got to the knob. The look on
her face was awful. Contorted and weathered. I heard the news playing in the
background. She knew. They found her.

“Mom,” my voice shook, “I didn’t get her,” I said so
quietly, I wasn’t sure I’d actually made the words or just thought them.

“I know.” Her red-rimmed eyes sparkled with the threat of
more tears.

“The body, a yet unidentified young woman, was discovered by
police early yesterday morning.” I heard the newscaster report from the
television behind Mom.

It took my breath right out of my lungs. The body. She was
now just
the body
. I couldn’t hold it
back any longer. “Mommy.” My chest bounced with the beginnings of a sob.

She pulled me through the entry and squeezed me tightly as
she shut the door. The one and only appropriate time to break down crying was
when your mom was there to pick you up when you were done. And that was exactly
what she’d do.

I had held it all in too long. Too many days spent sleeping,
not dreaming, not thinking, just dead to the world. It had all been there right
under the surface, promising it would come out in one long, ugly fucked-up
emotional meltdown. Sobs, coughing, gagging, snotty sobs rattled my lungs. I
cried so hard, my knees couldn’t function properly and buckled, taking me to
the floor. Mom let me go gently, lowering me softly to my knees in the
entryway. Horrendous sounds came from my throat as I wept, harder than I’d
bawled in my life. I recalled the night my dad died. I was so young, so
innocent. I cried for days,
weeks
maybe. But I came
back from that. Slowly but surely, it wasn’t so bad. Only difference, I wasn’t
the cause of his death.
I’d
done
this.
I’d
taken her life from her.
From all of us. Me and my lovely friend Azelie.

“Mom, what am I supposed to do without her?” I asked, so
pathetic I wanted to punch myself.

“You will do exactly as you always have. You will survive.
It’s what you do.” She knelt to the ground with me. “You’re like your father
that way.”

The thought of my dad brought new tears to the surface. In
all of this mess, he was strangely tangled up in it. Azelie, the cunt-faced
bitch, had dragged him into it. Just as she had Tatum, and, in some fucked way,
as she had me.

I felt so tiny. I wanted to climb in her hefty lap and let
her rub my head and tell me I’d be okay. Tell me I’d be fine. Tell me she loved
me and make life worth it again. She couldn’t do that this time. I couldn’t
accept that this time. It’d be a lie.

I looked in my mother’s aging eyes and knew I couldn’t let
anyone else go. I knew we were all at risk now. No one and nothing near me was
safe. I’d opened a floodgate of shit, and it was all about to come spewing down
on me, splattering any poor son of a bitch in its way.

I took a few deep breaths, in and out, to quell the sobs.
“Mom,” I cleared my throat, “I need to go take care of something.” She looked
at me like I was insane, as though she wasn’t going to let me go. “I just need
to get a few things from my place, and then I’ll be back. I’m staying here
tonight. For a while.” Alone didn’t sound appealing. Neither did two boys hell
bent on conquering my vagina. Mom was always the best option in monitoring
loneliness and depression.

“Dylan, I want everything good for you. It’s all I’ve ever
wanted.” She leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

“I know.” I stood with her. I felt awkward for walking right
back out the door I’d just brought all my baggage through, but I had to leave.
I had to take care of something. “I’ll be back,” I promised, pulling my spare
keys, new door key included, from the hook on the wall near the door.

“I love you.” Her shaking voice told me she would cry the
moment I shut the door. I should have stayed. I should have curled up with her
on the couch and cried it out with her. I didn’t. I couldn’t. The longer I
stayed there, the closer the evil came to her. The more vulnerable we both
became.

I was on my way out the door when I said, “I lost your
credit card. Sorry.” The last I let fade out as I shut the door. Surely, the
death of Tatum Price took precedence over credit.

My car, my trusty little piece-of-shit, used to belong to
Tatum. She sold it to me for a hundred bucks and a pair of Betsy Johnson
earrings when we were twenty. She didn’t want the money, but she knew my pride
wouldn’t accept anything for free. For all the shit she could toss out into the
world, she was a damn good friend to have.

I swallowed back all the ridiculous and pointless emotions
that were bubbling back up. No time for that shit now. I’d let some of it out.
I’d gotten my cry in. I needed an emotional break from reality. I started it up
and it purred like a pack-a-day kitten.

I needed clothes, things, weapons, all of which were at my
place and necessary, but I had a plan and it had nothing to do with home. I needed
a bitch, bigger and
badder
than me. I needed more
than this stupid bullshit I toted around my neck. I wanted it. All of it. For
me, for my friends, for my mother.

My apartment was dark and cold. Not wanting to catch a
glimpse of something dead or a reminder of my fight for survival, I spent as
little time there as possible. Grabbing clothes, a toothbrush, a picture from
my nightstand, and the gun I’d left sitting on my bed, I was in and out in
record time. I had no intention of going back anytime soon. Too much had
happened there. Good and bad.

I smiled when the door shut and locked without an issue.
After all these years, all it took was a gaggle of dead bitches busting the
damn thing in. Down the stairs, I bounded. Barking dog, unabashed tree limb,
bright California sun greeting me at the end of the steps. Fuck that place. I
stopped, smiled with insidious intent, and turned back up the steps. “Fuck this
place and fuck you.” With one strong hand, I snatched the lowest portion of
that Goddamn tree branch, and gave it a jerk. With a loud snap, it broke away.
I held it in my hand; a tiny victory swelled my confidence. I threw the fucking
thing at that stupid dog; it yelped and promptly shut the fuck up.

Back in the car, all the stuff I couldn’t live without in
hand, I made my way to the only place I knew could give me what I needed.

The streets were filled with shuffling hobos and pregnant
teens dragging their toddlers behind them. Mothers, fathers and families were
roaming in and out of plain front stores. No more skeletons were dancing on
sticks. No more death celebrations. No more day of the dead. That had passed
and left in its wake a street filled with the harsh reality of humanity and all
its God-awful glory.

Unlike my other visits, I was alone, no back up to save me
if shit went sour. “Let them kill me,” I said aloud to an empty car and slid my
pistol into the back of my waistband.

The sign read open. It wouldn’t have mattered either way.
Nothing short of a bullet would stop me from getting what I needed.

I didn’t
stop at the counter and inquire. I didn’t peruse the shelves. What I needed was
squatting like a toad deep in the back. Back where the big dogs were. Barging
in without asking, I shoved past the wife beater and tattoos that tried to stop
me.

“I need
protection. And not this piece-of-shit,” I demanded and tossed the metal
Devil’s Trap to the concrete floor at her feet.

One eye
glared at me. “My spells are not good enough for you?” Lupe asked around her
cigar. A new one I assume.

“No.” Not
even close, bitch. I held my reserve. I didn’t plan to leave without what I’d
come for.

“You ask a
lot. What sort of protection are you searching for?”

“Fool
proof.”

“Well,
mija
, that will take more than a demand from the likes of
you. I will need a pay-“

“I gave you
the head of your grandson without blinking a fucking eye. In my book,
you
owe
me
.” If all else fails, blackmail.

She was
quiet, contemplating my ability to kick her ass, I hoped. She clucked her
tongue, which flicked specks of ash to her lap. My back pooled sweat under the
gun shoved in my waistband. I didn’t want to shoot the scary old lady, but if
it came down do it, I’d wave it around like a lunatic until she granted me the
protection I wanted. The power I needed to protect what was mine.

“You do not
know what you ask,” she shook her head and the waddle under her chin wiggled.

“Yes I do.
No more magic, no more curses, no more dead bitches at my door. I want the
power to stop it all. I need the control to protect what is mine.”

“Magic fills
your soul. It’s too late.” Her one eye closed, and it seemed she was actually
feeling sorry for me.

I swallowed
hard as her words hit home. My soul, whatever I had left in there, had been
tainted. Rubbed raw with the salt of magic and left to rot. “Then make it so
it’s worth something. I’m done being scared. I’m done running.”

“Madam
Azelie, she’s a very powerful priestess, are you sure you can get the
ingredients need-
“ I
cut her off again. I knew what
she wanted. I’d known, somewhere inside, I would need it. How she knew the name
of my opponent, how she knew any of the things she did, was something to be
uncovered. For now, I didn’t care. She had something I needed.

“Here.” I
tossed a wadded piece of white lace into her lap.

Her one good
brow lifted with intrigue. Old knobby fingers explored the cloth. Fiddled with
it. Peeled it open. It crackled with dried goo. Goo that had spent days in my
pocket drying around its contents. Her eye met the thing in her lap and a
sinister grin spread along her face, shifting the smoldering cigar, and
wrinkling her skin.

“This will
work just fine.” She lifted it to inspect it closer. “If you’ve slain Azelie
d’Entremonte, you will need more than protection, more than power. You will
need supremacy.” I nodded in agreement. She knew what I needed. She understood
now. “There will be many things coming for you now.” I nodded again, knowing
everything she was saying was likely true. No more skeptic, it wasn’t allowed.
No going back now…back to the lie of reality. She sucked her teeth. “An
excellent choice.” She turned it to face me. “Very well preserved.”

Still in
perfect condition, as if still alive outside of her body, unaffected by its
ride in my pocket. One crystalline blue eye stared at me from between two aged
fingers. Azelie’s perfect blue eyeball, my penance, my salvation. Her
sacrifice.

“Let’s do
this.” I knelt at her feet and gave myself over to her command. Any woman who
could sever her own grandson’s head without dropping her smoke was an ally to
have. There was no better way to acquire an ally than to offer your salvation
up on a silver platter. Whatever she had in store for me was better than
sitting around Mom’s living room waiting for the next dead bitch to come
barreling through the door. Azelie’s death only stopped
her
from coming for me. Marienne, and her pathetic quest for
perfection, was burned to ash along with whatever threat she presented. It
didn’t matter. Something in me, maybe it was that fancy intuition Cyrus
mentioned, knew it wasn’t over. I’d killed the
baddest
bitch in the south. Bad things didn’t like a challenger. I knew, just as I knew
I would never be the same, it wasn’t over.

This fat lady won’t be singing
anytime soon.