See No Evil

Chapter One

Chapter One

Pere Mal

Dominic “Pere Mal” Malveaux leaned his elbows on the flimsy rooftop railing on the Hotel Monteleone. He squinted against the glare of the mid-morning spring sun as he scanned the New Orleans skyline. Anytime he needed to think, he left his lavish set of rooms on the Monteleone’s topmost floor and came up to the pool deck. It afforded him peace and quiet, away from his many underlings and their ceaseless ineptitude. It also afforded a stunning view of the rest of the city and the Mississippi river.

Today the view was spectacular as ever, but his enjoyment was dampened by an unfamiliar sensation. Uncertainty, perhaps. He was so close to unraveling the age-old secret that voodoo priest Baron Samedi left behind. A riddle, of a sort, meant to reveal the secret of the Seven Gates. The quickest way to peel away the Veil, that thin barrier between this world and the next. The shortest route to the realm of the spirits, and a place that Pere Mal very much needed to access.

Combining his own illustrious power with that of the spirits of his fearsome ancestors would be a coup. Pere Mal was strong now, but once he destroyed the Veil and brought the two worlds together, he would be unstoppable. Le Medcin, that nosy, menacing bastard, would crumble at Pere Mal’s feet. People were naive, thinking Le Medcin’s lies about representing some greater force were true. Pere Mal had believed that too, once.

Now, though… Pere Mal knew that Le Medcin was a lying snake. Pere Mal would bring him down, hard. Right after he brought that would-be priestess to her knees.

Pere Mal’s fists clenched at the very thought of Mere Marie, as she styled herself these days. That uppity b***h. She was nothing when Pere Mal first found her, blindly following the principles of voodoo with no true understanding, no appreciation for the art of balancing light and dark magic. Without “Uncle Dominic” showing her the way, where would little Marie be now?

“Boss.”

Pere Mal turned to see his right-hand man Landry striding across the pristine patio, looking annoyed. Landry was Pere Mal’s physical opposite, making them an interesting pair. Landry was short, under five and a half feet. His skin had a unique pallor, so that despite his obvious African American heritage, he was nearly pale as a sheet. He also wore ill-fitting, boxy suits; if Pere Mal didn’t demand his work attire be appropriate, no doubt Landry would only ever wear basketball shorts and sneakers with a ratty Saints jersey. Next to tall, caramel skinned, tuxedoed Pere Mal’s old-world grace, Landry looked like exactly what he was: a weaselly subordinate who handled the dirty work, jumping to meet Pere Mal’s commands.

“Landry,” Pere Mal said, giving his employee a scathing glance that slowed Landry’s steps from rushed to hesitant. “I thought we had an understanding about what happens when I’m up here on the roof.”

Landry’s lips tugged downward, but he advanced anyway.

“Yes, Monsieur,” Landry said, his French butchered by his low-class American accent. Of course, Pere Mal supposed that not everyone could speak in Haitian-Creole accents such as Pere Mal and his once-protégée Mere Marie did.

“And yet,” Pere Mal said, glancing down at Landry over the broad bridge of his nose, “here you are.”

“We found the witch. Maybe. I think,” Landry said, stopping a few feet away from where Pere Mal leaned against the railing. Landry shifted in place a few times, fidgeting under Pere Mal’s gaze. “I figured you’d want to know right away.”

“Let’s go inside,” Pere Mal said, pushing off the railing and striding inside. “I don’t want to start a precedent, have you thinking you can intrude on my thoughts whenever you like.”

“Sir,” Landry said with a relieved nod.

They traced Landry’s path back inside, Pere Mal leading the way to set of plush sofas tucked away in a tiny bar area. On weekends, the wood-paneled, high-end bar was bustling and loud; just now, it was silent and empty. Perfect for the conversation to come.

“Alright. Tell me what you’ve found,” Pere Mal said, settling himself on the largest couch. Landry took the love seat next to it, nervously fiddling with the hideous green tie he wore.

“Hang on a second,” Landry said. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he bellowed, “Amos! Amos, bring the girl!”

Landry had a bit of a smirk on his lips as one of his lookalike underlings dragged a scrawny teenaged girl in the room. The girl’s skin was caramel cream, a perfect Creole mix, and she wore a skintight electric blue dress that made her honey-colored eyes stand out. Currently those eyes were filled with tears, her long hair mussed, her face showing fear and fury in equal measure.

Pere Mal found her beauty compelling, but her tears repulsed him. If he wanted humanity, he would never have become a voodoo priest of such stature, never have learned all the ancient secrets, never recited the words that left his human self behind and immortalized his soul. The farther he got from his mortal beginnings, the more humans and their petty emotions disgusted him. The girl’s tears, the self-satisfied gleam in Landry’s eyes… Pere Mal repressed a bored sigh.

“Found her dancing at at a club on Bourbon street. She’s got a big mouth, telling me how she can read energies, how her mother runs a booth at Le Marché,” Amos grunted. He turned his gaze to the girl, giving her a sharp shake. “Tell him about the lady your mom sees at Le Marché.”

“I ain’t helping you,” the girl sneered. “You been dragging me all over the city. I don’t think you’re even gonna pay for all them private dances.”

Landry cleared his throat.

“Right this second, my guys are putting your ma in the back of a van,” he told the young woman. “You and your ma are gonna help us find this witch, or I’ll kill you both.”

The young woman’s mouth opened and closed several times, gawping like a fish out of water.

“Andrea,” Amos said, jerking her arm again. “Start talking.”

“S-she… My momma said this white girl comes into her shop all the time, looking for stuff to, like… make her magic less strong or whatever. The lady sees ghosts, I guess. My momma said the lady passed on a message from my uncle, once.”

“Can she do anything else?” Pere Mal asked, curious.

“I dunno,” Andrea said, her lip curling. “I wasn’t even there. Momma just said that the lady is a fool to be walking around unprotected like that. She’s real powerful and shit.”

“What’s the woman’s name?” Pere Mal asked, ignoring the girl’s attitude.

“Echo something. Echo…” Andrea screwed up her face, thinking. “Cabba-something. I can’t remember, exactly. Caballero?”

“And how does she dampen her power?” Pere Mal pressed.

“Witch’s Cloak,” Amos cut in, seeming confident. “You make a tea, it’s real nasty. But it works. Kills your power, makes you invisible to other Kith.”

Pere Mal narrowed his gaze, wondering how this flunky knew about herbalism. He let it go, not interested enough to ask.

“Alright. Go on,” he said, waving a hand at the girl.

“What about my momma?” she asked, her voice rising.

“You’ll have her back in a few hours, unharmed. She’s going to help us find the witch,” Pere Mal sighed.

“Medium,” Amos corrected. Pere Mal gave him a startled glance that quickly turned to an angry glare, and Amos beat feet, dragging the girl with him.

Pere Mal paced to a large window and studied the skyline as he pieced together his plan.

“Have the mother scry for the witch,” Pere Mal ordered. “Get her name, too. Track her down and follow her until she’s somewhere quiet. I want her by sundown tomorrow.”

“Where should I take her?” Landry asked.

None of Pere Mal’s business was conducted here at the Hotel Monteleone. He considered the Hotel his home away from home, and wouldn’t risk the comfort of his personal suite, even over something as important as finding the girl. Just thinking of being face-to-face with the first of the Three Lights made Pere Mal’s lips curl up in the semblance of a smile.

After a moment of consideration, Pere Mal replied, “The Prytania House. Make sure one of the witches wards the room to dampen the girl’s presence and keep her from escaping.”

“Yes, Monsieur,” Landry agreed. He started to turn away.

“Landry,” Pere Mal said, making Landry pause.

“Yes, sir?”

Pere Mal rooted Landry with a heavy gaze.

“This is important. Do it personally. There can be no mistakes,” Pere Mal told him.

Landry visibly swallowed, then gave a jerky nod.

“Yes, sir.”

Pere Mal turned away, dismissing Landry. His heart filled with something strangely close to joy. In only a handful of hours, he’d have the witch in his possession. She was the first key to discovering Baron Samedi’s secrets, to tearing the Veil asunder.

Pere Mal couldn’t help rubbing his hands together with gleeful anticipation.

Soon.