Beneath a Blood Red Moon Read online

Page 44

 

  “You butchered them!”

  “Ah, well, it looks bad, but I strangled the lasses first. Eased them gently from life— then I chopped them a bit to confuse the police. I mean, I wouldn‘t have gifted any of them with this life.

  They were human refuse before I killed them, nothing more. ”

  “You didn’t even kill them out of hunger!” she said.

  He smiled. And then she knew.

  “I killed them because I am a beast. As you are,” he told her.

  “You killed them to make Peter think that he was a murderer, losing his mind. You lured him away, hypnotized him, and made him think that . . . Oh, my God, I don’t care what they do to me!

  I will kill you!”

  He never had time to react. She was upon him with a blind rage unlike anything she had ever known. She ripped with her nails and teeth, battered, tore . . .

  And he screamed And she realized her own savagery. She had nearly committed the greatest sin of her own kind, the only infraction that could bring about her own execution: She had nearly severed his head from his body.

  She didn‘t care.

  She would kill him.

  At this moment, she would more than gladly die herself.

  Arms were suddenly around her, pulling her away.

  Lucian. Taking her away.

  She felt a rush of darkness and light, time and shadow. Heard his words. “Don’t do it, don’t do it!

  He is badly injured, it could take him centuries to heal. ” She closed her eyes. Life was an abyss. She didn’t care. She despised this life. She couldn‘t bear it. . .

  She heard an evil, cackling laughter.

  Aaron Carter. He was threatening her . . .

  The cackling, like time, faded away . . .

  CHAPTER 13

  Mamie didn’t think a thing about leaving work. She didn’t care what Sean or Maggie thought. The killer was no fool. He wasn’t coming back where she could recognize him.

  And though Mamie knew that everything in the world wasn’t always exactly what it seemed, she wasn’t sure just how much gris-gris there was in the world, either. She didn’t know what she thought about the fantastic story Maggie Montgomery had told her.

  She considered herself safe, even in the underbelly of New Orleans. She’d taken several steps into that underbelly, and she was a part of it. There was nothing to scare her there. She’d seen what was frightening in life, and that was poverty. She’d grown up in a four-room apartment with seven brothers and sisters; she’d eaten rice until she’d thought it would grow back out of her head, and she’d heard babies cry all night because they were hungry. No, only one thing could scare Mamie, and that was the possibility of not knowing the underbelly of New Orleans. She had connections. No one would mess with her.

  Yet, it was late, really late, when she left work. And amazingly, in a city that seldom slept, the streets were absurdly quiet.

  People are afraid of the murderer, she thought. All of them staying in. The jazz clubs would be in trouble.

  And the sex clubs and strip joints. She hoped someone would catch the damned killer soon.

  Strange night. Moon riding high in the sky behind shimmery clouds. Gave the place a look of being encased in mist-shrouded gaslight.

  She shivered, and walked faster. Heard footsteps. Behind her.

  She stopped, turned around. Nothing. No one. She told herself that she had the heebie-jeebies, and that was that. She started walking again.

  But just to be safe . . .

  If she turned into the alley, she knew a shortcut through one of the old tenement buildings. No one could follow her through it. She happened to know the way because the building had been there when she was a kid.

  She turned . . .

  And heard the footsteps again.

  She remembered her watch, and pressed hard on the face of it. She kept walking fast.

  She paused, swinging around, looking back.

  She turned again, and froze.

  She blinked. She shouldn’t have been surprised to see him. Tall, sleek, handsome in black silk shirt and neatly creased trousers. His face was pale; didn’t match the darkness of his hair. Dye job? she wondered.

  Then she wondered what it mattered. He’d come to kill her.

  “Hello, Mamie. ”

  “Hi,” she said smoothly. She started walking again. Time. If she could kill time, maybe . . .

  “Whoa, Mamie!”

  He caught her arm. Pulled her back, irrevocably. Incredible strength.

  She opened her mouth to scream.

  His hand fit over her mouth before she could inhale.

  “You sold me out, Mamie!” he said softly. He laughed, and licked her cheek with the fullness of his tongue. “Umm. Sweet, like milk chocolate. I’m going to enjoy eating you all up, Mamie. ” She felt his teeth just graze along her throat. “Sweeter than candy. Yeah, lady. You sold me out. Gave the cops a picture right when I was starting to have a really good time, just like the invisible man. ” He smiled at her.

  “Yum!” he said softly, still grinning.

  And Mamie knew that she was going to die.

  Sean held the awkward electronic tracking instrument out in front of him. He’d called in for back-up and he knew that Jack and others would quickly be on their way, but he knew as well—gut instinct—that time meant everything right now.

  He jerked his car to a halt on the sidewalk and sped out of it into the alley.

  He rushed down into the dimly lit street, shouting her name.

  “Mamie!”

  Restlessness and fear had drawn Maggie back to Le Bon Marche. She sat at the bar, sipping the red wine that Sam, the handsome young ebony bartender, had just placed before her.

  “It’s nice to see you back, but I’m assuming you’re looking for Mamie, would that be right, Miss Montgomery?”

  “I . . . yes, I guess. ”

  “I’m afraid she left a few minutes ago. ”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, too,” Maggie said, disappointed. Then she realized that her restlessness had been caused by an inexplicable, jagged edge of fear now knotting in her stomach. She slid off her bar stool, drawing bills from her handbag to lay on the bar for her wine. “I think I’ll try to catch her. ”

  “Wait, Miss Montgomery!” Sam called.

  She paused briefly.

  He shook his head. “Mamie’s safe in this neighborhood, you know? I’m not sure . . . ” His voice trailed.

  Maggie smiled. “You’re saying that Mamie is black and can take care of herself and I’m white and look like a powderpuff?”

  “I. . . well . . . I . . . no . . . yes!” Sam said frankly.

  “I’ll be okay, I’ll be careful. ” Before he could protest further, she was hurrying for the door.

  “Damn!” she heard Sam swear. “Wait, now, bad things have been happening. ” Maggie couldn’t wait. She rushed out the door, and down the street.

  Sam started after her. As he neared the door, a tall, dark-haired man stopped him.

  “It’s all right, I’ll go after her,” he assured Sam.

  Sam studied the man. “No offense, sir, but—”

  “I’ll go after her,” the man said, studying Sam intently.

  Sam walked back to the bar, suddenly confused. He couldn’t remember why he’d been running out to begin with.

  “Do you know who I am, Mamie?” the killer whispered softly. He’d forced her back against a wall in the corner of two buildings. They were completely eclipsed by shadow. His one hand remained over her mouth. The thumb of his other hand was upon her carotid artery; he seemed to enjoy feeling the terrified thud of her pulse beat. His fingers rounded her throat.

  He continued to lick her face. Graze her throat with his teeth. They were sharp. Needle sharp. Like little knives. Her knees were weak. She’d believed; she hadn’t believed.


  Now, she’d never known such terror.

  “Strange, isn’t it? The Ripper has come down throughout time, famous for blood and the mutilations he cast upon his victims! But death itself was never so hard for the ladies— good old Jack! He asphyxiated his victims, half strangled them. He was so careful, he played, he enjoyed . . . but in his way, he was so merciful. Do you know who I am, Mamie?”

  She nodded.

  Then she heard her name shouted. Lieutenant Canady. She recognized his voice right away, recognized the thunder of his shout.

  Naturally, the killer heard Canady as well. He started to smile, his grip upon her throat tightening.

  “They never heard anyone scream, Mamie . . . ” he hissed, his lips close to her face.

  But Mamie was desperate—and she liked life. She bit the hand on her mouth and kneed the bastard in the groin, all in one shot.

  The hand slipped away while her attacker swore at her. “Bitch—whore!” Didn’t matter. Maybe none of his other victims had ever screamed, but maybe none of them was quite as good at scrounging the streets as she was. She let out a scream that could have curled the hair on a warthog’s back.

  He had her again, instantly. And he was powerful. So powerful that she began to see black the minute his hands were on her throat. Just as her vision began to fade, she saw his knife, wielded high above her face. Six inches long, jagged-edged, catching the thin stream of lamplight that hovered just over her head in the shadow-laced corner.

  Right when she thought the knife would fall and she would be hurtled into a pit of darkness as the blade pierced her flesh, she heard a harsh command.

  “Drop it!”

  The knife hovered.

  “Drop it!”

  The knife started to fall.

  A warning shot was fired.

  The knife kept coming.

  Another shot was fired, catching the killer in the wrist. It seemed like no more than a bee sting. The knife kept falling.

  Another shot was fired. Another.

  She heard a roar of anger as the knife kept coming, coming, corning . . .

  But then, her killer was wrenched away, a split second before the blade tore into flesh.

  Gasping for breath, Mamie staggered against the wall. Dizzy, she inhaled, rubbing her throat, trying to gather her senses.

  Then she saw them.

  Lieutenant Sean Canady, and her black-clad attacker.