David ed. - Face Off (2014) Anthology

Jules Chastain whirled, then relaxed. Even in the meager light he recognized Madame de Medici. He had found a vantage point fifty yards from his family mausoleum and had settled in to see if the seeds he had planted bore violent fruit. How had she found him?

“Not quite. And why are you here?”

“As an involved party, I have a right, yes?”

He had been trying to place her accent in the years since she’d appeared in New Orleans, but it remained elusive.

“You recommended the New York mercenary, nothing more.”

She said she’d heard of a so-called Repairman Jack who hired himself out to “fix” situations. She had assured Jules he was real and reliable, though known to have a violent streak. She’d even passed along his number. Jules had liked the violent-streak aspect, and had hired Michael Quinn as cannon fodder—everyone in New Orleans knew not to mess with Quinn. The two made for a combustible combination.

She focused her amber gaze on him. “But I have an interest in the Cidsev Nelesso as well. After all, I used to own it.”

Those eyes. One could almost fall into them. Could almost believe she really had lived for millennia.

But Jules chose to humor her rather than challenge her. The Cidsev Nelesso had been found in Heracleion, which had sunk in the third century BC. The idea of Madame de Medici once having owned that bracelet was beyond delusional. More like psychotic.

So, never challenge a psycho.

“I hope you’re not thinking of trying anything sneaky here.”

“Dear Jules, the idea never crossed my mind. I will be quite happy to see it on your wrist. I lost it in a civil upheaval. Where it lands after that is up to fate.”

Whatever happened to the Cidsev Nelesso, dear lady, it landed with me.

He had made up that story for Jack about stealing it from her. Quite clever, he thought. But he had bought it fair and square on the black market. It was his .

God, she was beautiful. She’d emigrated from Cairo during the so-called Arab Spring and wound up in New Orleans with a trove of antiquities. She tended to dress in gauzy fabrics that covered everything and hid nothing. He’d asked her to dinner a hundred times but she’d refused. I’m not looking for a relationship, was her eternal excuse.

Neither am I, dear lady. I wish only one night with you.

He jumped at the sound of gunfire echoing from the mausoleum.

“Ah,” he said. “ Now I am happy.”

“It should be activated now,” she said, turning and sauntering away. “Don’t forget: put it on right away or it will lose power.”

He bit back a laugh. So convincing.

He made himself comfortable and waited until the police and the ambulance arrived. He watched the EMTs carry “Just Jack” out on a stretcher with Michael Quinn walking behind. Both alive? Quel dommage. He hoped death wasn’t required to trigger the bracelet.

When all the intruders were gone, Jules made his way to the mausoleum and slipped through the still-open front gates. He headed to the rear of the altar and pried up the tile. A little digging and there it was: the Cidsev Nelesso.

He noted with glee that its stone had turned from green to red, confirmation that the bracelet’s power had been ignited.

He sighed. “You are such a genius, Jules.”

He slipped it over his left hand and was taken aback when it tightened itself around his wrist. But not too tight. Okay, not a problem. Custom fit wasn’t a bad thing. And he had no intention of taking it off anyway. If this trinket lived up to only a fraction of its advance publicity, the world would be his oyster.

As he stepped out into the night he heard a voice.

Two bucks, two bucks, need a dollar more to get a bottle, small bottle but better’n nothin’.

He looked around and saw a wino stumbling past the Boudreaux vault. His first thought was to drive out the trespasser, but then he realized the bum wasn’t talking. Jules was hearing him in his head. Hearing his thoughts !

Dear God, it worked. It worked !

Other thoughts streamed in.

Another drink and she’ll be ready.

Oh, I hope I don’t hurl, I’ll totally die if I hurl.

A young couple out for the night? He wondered where they were. But further speculation was cut off by more voices in his head.

Shout it was over Jim greatly alarmed me from the deepest reproach as it were soon all the other company I never thought he would my convict Do you mean that? but that it was in tomorrow but this style I had best endeavors let to see him next day when living had a but he had had no time after and apparently out old chap found the file still in—

He pressed his hands to his ears but couldn’t stop the voices, the thoughts from other heads streaming in from all over the city. The state. The county. The world. Mixing and interweaving into a mad torrent that ran straight into his consciousness.

“Stop!” he screamed.

But it didn’t stop. It thickened and quickened and ran more furiously into his brain.

Turns of yours this question mais ce style que j’ai eu mieux s’efforce de laisser burns that dread serious subcutaneous sickness of musze lub powiedzieĆ Że wiemy, Że nie ma chwili us and arms make coil must grunt Wir wurde mit einem guten Namen sicher glücklich cutaneous forthy takes the good wasn’t myself might have a life and the muscle to heartache if a—

He clawed at the bracelet but it wouldn’t fit over his hand. He pushed at it, digging its edge into his skin, drawing blood, but it was too tight to remove, too tight ! He had to get it off!

Jules Chastain ran screaming through the night in search of help.

THE AMBULANCE PULLED UP IN front of the emergency entrance at Tulane Medical Center.

Jack sat up and looked at the EMT at his side. “Thanks for the lift.”

“Hey, no worries,” the young man told him. “Quinn called, that’s enough for me.”

Good guy to know, this Michael Quinn.

As Jack exited the vehicle, a car pulled up behind it. Quinn sat behind the wheel. Jack nodded as he slipped into the passenger’s seat.

Quinn rubbed his jaw before driving out into traffic. “That’s one mean right hook you have.”

Jack said, “You’re no slouch yourself. My ribs are bruised to shit.”

Quinn laughed. “I’m glad I saw that green stone turn red when it did. It’s going to be hard enough explaining. Well, hell, I think we’re both beat up enough.”

“Seemed the right thing to do—letting Chastain get in there and take the bracelet after we ‘activated’ it,” Jack said. “If there really is a curse, then, the man deserved to have it.”

Quinn offered him a grim smile. “I hope you’re right about this—right about the way the curse will work.”

Jack’s own experience with an Infernal had come to a tragic end, but it could have been so much worse. They weren’t called Infernals for nothing.

“I’m just guessing,” he said. “ No one can hide their thoughts from the wearer could also read Everyone’s thoughts are revealed to the wearer . And hearing literally everyone’s thoughts would definitely be a curse.”

“Nice touch,” Quinn told him. “I mean, firing your Glock into the floor after our fight. And reburying that bracelet so that Chastain could find it once we were out.”

“Not a bad deal that you’re friends with half the cops and emergency techs in the city, too.”

Quinn shrugged. “Well, like I told you, I was a cop once. Still work with them—with one great cop, an old partner, Larue. He doesn’t want me to explain things like curses and Infernals—he just wants me to take care of them.”