Jesse’s chest felt tight; for a moment, she couldn’t take a breath. Her jaw tightened.
I have to follow through
, she warned herself. “Let’s do it.”
With Sam in the lead, they headed for the crypt, their steps slow and muscles taut. When they were within a few yards of the doors, Sam made a motion with his hand.
Squinting in the gloom, Jesse followed his signal. Sure enough, some sort of light was visible through the hairline cracks above and beneath the intricately carved door of the marble structure.
Sam leaned in. “I think someone’s beat us here,” he whispered.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she whispered back. Now that they were within arm’s reach of the building, she could see the door was sealed with a medieval sliding bolt-and-ring system. The bolt was drawn back. The crypt was unlocked.
Sam indicated his holstered weapon. “Get ready to draw. I don’t think what we’re going to find inside there is going to be friendly, or family.”
Jaw tightening, Jesse nodded. Even though she’d practiced with the weapon, she hadn’t actually pointed it at anyone and pulled the trigger. She wanted to make sure what she was aiming at wasn’t a family member who’d come to grieve in private. “Okay.”
Her heart lodged in her throat as Sam eased the door open. A camping lamp sat beside a stone viewing dais in the center of the crypt. A brand-new coffin had been placed on top of its smooth surface. As was tradition, the coffin of the recently deceased would occupy that place for a year and one day after death. After that time, the remains would be taken out of the coffin and interred in one of the drawerlike spaces honeycombing the rear wall. The coffin, presumably, would be destroyed. Though somewhat gruesome, the practice allowed several members of the same family to occupy the limited space.
The lamp’s amber glow magnified the eeriness of the tomb. It also lit the figures within. A man was bent over the figure of a young girl, slumped on the floor. The girl’s wrist was pressed against his mouth. She was semiconscious, and a low moan of pain emanated from deep inside her throat.
Sam Chen went into instant attack mode. Drawing his weapon, he pointed it at the man. “Get off her!” he demanded.
Barreling in behind him, Jesse drew her own weapon.
Jumping to its feet, the undead turned to face the menace from behind. Its features were contorted by an ugly scowl. Its mouth gaped open to reveal two sharp teeth. Pupil-less silver eyes scanned the intruders. Sharp nails began to protrude through the tips of its fingers as its hand contorted into a claw. A gurgling hiss escaped from the depths of its throat. The misshapen claw flexed at its side—open, shut; open, shut.
“Stay back!” Sam warned, motioning Jesse to stay behind him. “This can be a clean kill. I’ll take them both out.”
Jesse froze. Dressed in the clothing of an average teenager, the girl didn’t look like much of a threat. “Don’t hurt her!”
The sound of her voice set the undead into motion. Snarling, the thing lunged at Sam. Its raspy breathing was forced, mucus running out of its nose and into its mouth. Razorlike teeth gnashed as it hissed in rage.
Jesse’s mouth went dry. Her heart pounded, making a hollow sound inside her chest. Her entire body felt numb, boneless. She was barely aware of the gun in her hand. It never occurred to her to lift it and aim. The shock of seeing the girl on the floor had immobilized her. She was frozen, absolutely and completely.
Sam didn’t flinch. He immediately pulled the trigger, firing three shots into the demon’s chest. Fatally struck, the creature screeched. A viscous stream of stinking blood gushed from the bullet holes, black and fetid.
Arms flailing, the undead beast kept on coming. Another horrid screech, the wail of the dying, broke from its lips.
Sam avoided the razor-sharp claws by a hairbreadth. “You’re making this hard, you son of a bitch,” he snapped, and fired again. “Now, die, damn it!” His aim was unerring. Three more bullets found their mark.
Struck in the face, the undead beast dropped to the floor. Kicking and writhing, it gurgled, choking on the river of liquid fire that erupted from the wounds. The flames zipped across its body, consuming every inch of flesh and bone. Stinking coils of black smoke filled the crypt as its limbs beat the ground in convulsions. Seconds later it collapsed, leaving nothing behind but a pile of smoldering ashes.
A foul stench worse than smoldering flesh assailed the chamber, and the billowing smoke assumed the demon’s true form, something akin to a rat-headed, winged snake.
The demon lingered as if scorched into the air. Then, with a flick of its rattled tail, it vanished.
Poof
.
For an indefinite time, they both stared at the scant remains. There seemed to be no air in the crypt—only coldness; stark, frightening coldness.
Wiping his brow, Sam staggered, then leaned against the empty coffin. “Shit, that was intense.”
Slipping her weapon back into its holster, Jesse nodded in agreement. “Yeah.” At the vital moment, she’d choked. There was no way she could have pulled the trigger.
I blew it
, she silently remonstrated herself. When push came to shove, she’d lost her nerve.
She hurried to the downed victim, kneeling beside her. Blood still trickled from the girl’s arm, though the wound wasn’t deep enough to be fatal. Scenting the rich, warm liquid of life, the demon inside her raised its head—hungry. It was hungry.
Jesse fought to keep herself from thinking about the blood, although her demon’s need twisted her stomach into a thousand little knots. She drew in a breath. “I think she’ll be all right. Now, what do we do with her?”
Maddox scratched his chin as he looked over Kristine McClain’s grave. Box tombs were built with a ceiling and walls but no floor. They appeared to be a box on the ground; however, they were really about five feet deep, built to fool grave robbers into thinking that the body was inside the box, when they were actually deep inside the ground.
As Kristine had been laid to rest in the last afternoon, cemetery workers hadn’t yet had time to add the finishing touches to her final resting place, which would include the pouring of white marble gravel on top.
At this point, only the heavy stone slab covering the grave was in place. It would take a little tricky maneuvering to accomplish getting inside, but it was doable.
Reyen sighed as he slipped off his heavy backpack. “Damn, I hate the way your people dispose of the dead.”
Maddox slipped off his own heavy pack. “My people?” he questioned. “I think McClain would be Irish.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he groused. “I’m talking about the way they dress the bodies up in fancy clothes and stick ’em in an expensive box, then put them in another bigger, fancier box.”
Maddox unzipped his pack, digging for the small crowbar he often carried to pry open tombs. “I think it’s a lot better than what your people do. Placing them on a platform for carrion to pick the body clean is gruesome. Then carrying the bones around in a pack as you travel isn’t exactly my idea of a way to keep the family together.”
Reyen pulled out his own crowbar. “We only do that when we’re taking the bones to the
Nanih Waiya
, the sacred mound.”
Maddox knelt at one corner of the grave, forcing his bar under the heavy stone slab. Though it wasn’t the ideal way to lift one—cemetery workers usually had a crane to do the heavy lifting—it would work in a pinch. Normally it would take more than two men to lift the slab, but he and Reyen had the advantage of superhuman strength.
Reyen took a place at the other end, fitting his own crowbar under the heavy stone. “Ready?”
Maddox nodded. “Let’s go.”
The two men strained, throwing their backs behind the task. A few seconds later, the slab began to lift from its place.
Maddox worked his fingers under the edge, getting a better grip on the square edge. Reyen worked his end, helping lift the massive slab higher until it tilted at an angle wide enough for one of them to slip inside the depth.
“You going in?”
Reyen shook his head. “You know I hate those deep spaces. Since you’re on everyone’s shit list, the honor is all yours tonight.”
“I knew you were going to find a way to fuck me over,” Maddox muttered under his breath.
“You’re taller, man,” Reyen said reasonably. “And skinnier. It’s easier for you to get through those narrow spaces.”
“You got that thing balanced?” Maddox asked before daring to remove his hands from the slab. The last thing he wanted was for Reyen to drop it, possibly smashing a hand or, worse, his skull.
“I’ve got it,” Reyen said. “Slip in, do the job, and slip out. Should be pretty easy. The Kindred usually don’t show up until after midnight, so we can get in and out without being seen.”
That made sense. The faster they did the job, the sooner they could get the hell out of this place. Hanging around a cemetery was the last thing he wanted to be doing tonight. He couldn’t help it, but something nagged at the back of his mind, a bad feeling he just couldn’t shake. The cult seemed to have redoubled its efforts to increase its numbers. Even in the wake of Katrina, there hadn’t been this many dead bodies to follow up on.
Not that we were able to
, he reminded himself. Jesse Burke had slipped right through their fingers. What was more, she’d managed to remain hidden even after she’d returned to New Orleans. And if one had eluded them, there were more.
Maddox sighed as he unzipped his backpack and pulled out a flashlight. “I won’t be more than ten minutes. Fewer, if possible.” Wriggling through the gap, he lowered himself into the grave.
Though deep, the grave was narrow. There was barely enough room for his legs to straddle the casket. Legs spread wide, he sat down, placing his backpack within easy reach. Flashlight in one hand, he groped along the edge, unclipping the latches that held the viewing lid in place. The move was automatic, something he’d done thousands of times.
He paused a moment to catch his breath, wiping a thin layer of sweat off his brow. The cramped airless space was beginning to wear on him.
Gathering his nerve, Maddox lifted the lid. As expected, a young woman lay encased inside the white velvet interior embroidered with a spray of delicate pink roses.
Maddox aimed his light on the face of the former Kristine McClain. Although her skin was white as wax, her hair and makeup were perfect. Hands crossed over her chest, she might have been asleep, a beauty awaiting the kiss of her fair prince to awaken her from slumber.
Unfortunately, this young beauty was dead. Kristine’s spirit had vacated her earthly shell. Something else had moved into her body—something wretched, dark, and utterly evil.
Without thinking about what he was doing, Maddox checked the girl’s throat. The mortician who’d done the work on her body was a skillful man, and he’d well concealed the damages to Kristine’s body. Her throat was heavily bruised. There were two sets of punctures at the base of her throat.
He lifted one of her arms, pushing up the sleeve. The insides of her forearm were also bruised. More punctures dotted her porcelain skin.
“Well?” Reyen called down into the depth.
Revulsion coiled tightly in Maddox’s gut. He let her arm drop. “This is a definite,” he answered. “She has all the marks.”
Reyen grunted. “Let’s get her done and get the hell out of here.” Another deep grunt followed. “This thing is gettin’ heavy.”
Maddox returned to his backpack, pulling out a leaded iron stake and a hammer with a huge, wide iron head. Jesse’s mistake wasn’t showing up with a stake. She’d simply had the wrong kind. Wood was no good against the Telave. Since the girl was in the grave and an easy mark, all he had to do was pin her down. One through the heart would do the job just fine. The consecrated silver core would poison the demon inside, effectively killing it within minutes. He used a sawed-off shotgun only when the vamps were up and around and he therefore needed a wider spread of shot to stop them dead in their tracks.
Balancing his light on the edge of the coffin, Maddox positioned the stake over the girl’s heart, pushing the tip into the rib cage. He wanted the strike to be clean and fast. “Let my hand not waver,” he prayed under his breath and lifted the hammer. By the time one of the Kindred showed up to dig it out, all they’d find was a dead body—one that wasn’t getting up again.
Ever.
The former Kristine McClain opened her eyes. And then she smiled. A nice set of fangs was very prominent, sharp and shiny.
Maddox found himself staring into the eyes of evil, and he read his own death in the newly animated vampire’s expression.
A sickly grin stretched the undead thing’s mouth wide. Its hands immediately shot up, closing around his wrists. Sharp nails tore into his skin.
Caught by surprise, Maddox tried to stand up. “Jesus Christ!” Jarred from its place, the flashlight disappeared, dropping down through the narrow opening between the wall and casket before striking the ground. Legs pinned on either side, he had his boots hung on the swing bars that allowed the coffin to be carried. His feet might as well have been nailed to the ground. He couldn’t move from the waist down.
Hammer in one hand, stake in the other, he tried to pull free of his attacker. “Get back, damn it!”
The vampire held on tight, its mouth open wide, and a screech tore from its throat.
“Holy shit, it’s up!” he heard his partner call from above.
Maddox didn’t have time to glance up. “You’re fucking right it is,” he shouted back.
“Somebody’s coming,” came the return reply. “I have to drop the slab.”
Maddox’s heart seized. “Don’t you dare—” He never got to finish the sentence. He barely had a second to crouch before Reyen let the slab above his head go. The heavy stone block scraped back into place. The five-foot-deep grave was suddenly several inches shorter.