Some vices are universal. Living, undead. Taste or no taste. With a bit of time to let my mind settle after everything with Rosa and Judas, and all the vexing shit in this forsaken city, I had clarity—I needed a fucking drink.

  I went to the one place nobody would think I was dumb enough to enter. Storyville. Rain had started to patter while we were in the cathedral, so it didn’t even look weird, me dipping the brim of my hat to hide my identity.

  Ignoring the whispers and flirtation from more women and men of the night than I could count, I found a saloon across the tram tracks and canal from the Arlington with a clear view of it through the window. And, it didn’t have any infernal Jazz playing.

  I marched right up to the counter and ordered a whiskey. Chapelwaite joined me but didn’t say a word. Congrats to him on being able to read a goddamn room.

  The barkeep clanked a glass and filled it with that familiar amber liquid. I shot it back, slammed the table, and tossed down three more. The taste was a hint to my tongue, but the memory remained—that hard bite that made you shiver from the inside out.

  “You had a rough day, cowboy?” the barkeep asked, bringing me one more.

  A fraction of anger rose at him calling me that, a reminder of Roo’s taunts. I shoved it aside.

  “Having a rough couple of decades,” I grunted.

  He laughed. “Ain’t we all. Another? On the house.”

  “Something that lasts a bit longer.” I thought for a moment. “How’s about a Sazerac.”

  I remembered that was Rosa’s favorite drink back when she used to imbibe. Not sure I’d ever tasted one, but I might as well have a private, silent cheers to her before I made sure I left her life for good.

  “Is this helping?” Chapelwaite finally spoke up.

  “It ain’t not helping.” But that was a lie. Heaven had stolen my ability to enjoy drunkenness. I downed the last bit of whiskey and exhaled slowly. Man, did I wish I could get truly shitcanned.

  “So, what’s the plan?” I asked.

  “That’s your job,” Chapelwaite said, rimming the edge of his glass with a fingertip.

  “Damn. Thought maybe you’d come along with one. No good help these days, I reckon. What about the rest of your compadres?”

  “The other marshals?” he clarified. “Dead outside of Madame Laveau’s. Destined for the ground soon.”

  “Didn’t mean them.” I was careful not to get specific. Did I completely understand how much or little Shar paid attention to me? No. But I wasn’t in the presence of a vampire lord anymore, which apparently meant she could hear. I glanced up at the mirror behind the bar, the one near the back exit, and the plethora of other reflective surfaces within the tavern. She could be lurking behind any one of them—or all.

  “Just us, I’m afraid,” Chapelwaite admitted.

  I clicked my tongue. Just then, the barkeep set a copper cup in front of me. I tipped my hat in appreciation. Once the man left, I asked, “Is this a job or a job interview?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know, for…” I didn’t dare say it.

  Chapelwaite nodded in understanding. “You can speak freely, Crowley. At least with me.”

  “If only that were true.”

  “It is.” He reached into his shirt and showed me his upside-down cross. It seemed unassuming. Plain, gold, sharp edges. I also noticed Chapelwaite’s neck and two sets of fang marks on either side, like a vampire had taken turns drinking from each spot. I kept my mouth shut about it.

  “I may not be one of his children,” Chapelwaite said, “but there’s a remnant of him in these. To shroud us in our service.”

  My eyes widened. I extended my hand out of reflex to touch it, and he didn’t stop me. I’m unsure why I moved slow, timid, but I did. My fingers grazed the very bottom, and in an instant, I felt that burn in the mark on my chest like there was a Nephilim sitting on top of me. I recoiled.

  “Protects him from anyone witnessing our meetings with him,” Chapelwaite said.

  I rubbed my fingers together, reminded of when I touched that cursed harmonica back near Revelation. Unnatural.

  “Of course, it’s for him,” I said. “Nice perk, though. When we’re through, I may have to kill you and take it myself.”

  “When we’re through, you won’t have to.” His gaze flitted through my torn shirt, to where the Black Badge mark scarred my chest, then back to my eyes. “If you make the right choice.”

  Picking up my drink, I swirled it around. “Right. Wrong. Who decides. If your master is who he claims, it’s just another side claiming their stake in being right.”

  “Fair.” Chapelwaite nodded and took a swig.

  “You ain’t gonna defend him?”

  “I don’t have to. I have the honor of knowing him.”

  He said it as I sipped my drink, and my scoff caused me to spit some out. “Oh, please. I saw the scars on your neck. I think you just like the pain.”

  His features twitched. “Blood of the living is the cost of his freedom. We count it a joy to sacrifice. Not all of his kind resort to murder and savagery to get their fill. Think of it like opium. The more they quaff, the more they need. The younger they are, the more prone to that addiction. There are no untamed vampires, only addicts and unworthy Makers.”

  I chuckled. “Like Tourmaline.”

  He nodded. “Judas is an ally to the living, whatever it may seem. So yes, I genuinely believe that removing her is objectively right.”

  “My friend, I’ve been alive a long time. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that there are two things that must never be needlessly spilled: blood and good whiskey. That’s the one part of the Good Book I can’t find fault with.”

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  “Yet I gather from the look of you that you’ve killed many.”

  “One out of two ain’t bad.” I raised my glass.

  I’ll be honest, I was just having fun with the guy at this point. Sometimes, I get downright sick of all the supernatural hoopla, and it’s nice to have a drink and tease a fellow into frustration like me and the boys used to back in the day. You gotta grow tough skin, running with outlaws.

  He didn’t seem irked in the least.

  The doors to the saloon swung open with enough force for me to reach for my Peacemakers and turn, ready for an attack. Instead, I saw a sweaty, inebriated businessman strutting in. His belly stretched the bottom of his pinstriped suit jacket.

  “The Arlington House, closed. Can you believe it?” he moaned to nobody in particular. “They got some nerve. Half the reason I come here.”

  All eyes fell upon him, and the band quieted. Where we were was not a venue for the upscale. Fishermen, shuckers, miners—the kind of salty men who liked some bite in their drinks.

  “You don’t understand,” he slurred. “They have a Messican girl there. She’s—” He kissed his fingers, then leaned on a table and nudged a hairy fisherman with arms like tree trunks. “This guy gets it. They taste better down south.”

  The towering fisherman stood, ready to knock his block off.

  “Alright, alright,” he slurred, stumbling back with his hands raised in surrender. “You’re missing out.” He made a V shape with his fingers over his lips and wagged his tongue like he was with a woman. Now I wanted to rip it out of his mouth—the creep.

  He staggered in my direction, but I think my glare nearly made him shit kittens, and he continued to the other end of the bar. As the man ordered, the barkeep raised his hand and snapped his fingers. A curly-haired broad in a corset strode down from upstairs to greet the businessman. Easy prey.

  “Do you know why my master turned his back on yours?” Chapelwaite asked, calmly earning back my attention.

  “Considering I didn’t know he existed, I think not,” I said.

  “After his first betrayal—”

  “Getting Jesus killed,” I filled in for him.

  “Yes… Guilt racked his brain, and the Almighty offered a chance at atonement. Jesus changed things, you see. Roused humans to Heaven and their enemies. And so, for his crimes, Judas was offered the chance to be the first Hand of God. An opportunity to guard these people against Hell.” He pointed at the drunk. “Men like him.”

  “Men like him ain’t the only ones,” I said.

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Way I see it, what I do is better than going to Hell.”

  “For a time,” he said. “After decades of loyal service, the angel Azrael attempted to invade the mortal realm by opening a Hellmouth. Only Judas stood in his way, and he stopped him, but the energy of closing the Hellmouth caused Mount Vesuvius to erupt. It was inevitable. Thousands below were suffocated by ash. Slaughtered.”

  “Wouldn’t that make Azrael a demon? Sorry, I just get confused when talking about myths.”

  “A fallen one. Yes. A demon. A war in the spiritual realm in which Judas was forced to be a soldier. He wasn’t warned. Wasn’t given the choice to stop Azrael differently. And so, he saw things for what they were and chose to take Azrael’s power and break free.”

  I downed the rest of my Sazerac and placed down the glass. “Quite a tale. Were you there?”

  “I’m not immortal.”

  “Right. You’re food.”

  His knuckles cracked underneath the lip of the bar. Finally, I’d gotten his mask of composure to crack.

  “I don’t know what he sees in you,” Chapelwaite said, low and almost in a growl.

  “All I’m saying is, if any of that is true—and let me remind you, you weren’t there—that don’t make him a hero. He may find more Black Badges to free and make them vamps, but then they make more, lose control, and their broods kill innocents.”

  “Your point?”

  “Don’t anoint heroes who aren’t ones.” I stuck my finger in his chest. “Choosing to live is selfish by nature. It’s human.” I took a beat. “And it’s the one part of all this that sounds honest.”

  His shoulders relaxed as he leaned over the bar. “Are you selfish, then, James Crowley?”

  “Haven’t decided yet.”

  “This country fought to end slavery. Yet, here you sit, a slave still to another power. Maybe you deserve it for your sins, but they removed choice from the equation. You woke up this way. That is all he seeks to bring you. Choice. Is there nothing you’d want to live for in this world, free of their endless war?”

  I stared out the window at the people passing by. Men and women of all sorts, but one stuck out to me. A posh woman in a puffy dress, pushing a buggy with a baby inside, her husband keeping pace right beside her.

  A classic family like that wasn’t in the cards for me. Never had been. Though I couldn’t deny it. Walking side by side with a woman I loved was quite the dream. Quite the reverie to get lost in. Quite a reason to betray my service and be selfish.

  “That’s too big a question to answer in a saloon,” I said. “We ain’t friends yet, Chapelwaite. Just temporary partners. The way I see it, killing Tourmaline gets me back in front of your boss. Who knows what might happen then.”

  “I suppose us killing you is another path to freedom.”

  I grinned. “You mortals think you could take me?”

  He sent the expression right back. “Judas wouldn’t even have to lift a finger.”

  We kept up appearances for a second or two, then I laughed. Couldn’t help it. “I like you.” I squeezed his shoulder, then waved for the barkeep and held up two fingers. “Whiskey.”

  “I don’t drink,” Chapelwaite proclaimed as if that’s something to be proud of. Easy for a city man to say. I waited for the barkeep to put down the glasses, then slid one across the bar.

  “Buck up and have one with me,” I said. “Make a toast to being human.”

  He slowly and gently gripped the glass.

  “Oh, it won’t bite,” I said. “You follow him because you think he’s special. But you’re mortal. I think the gods envy humans for that. You got a beginning and an end, the way all stories ought to be told.”

  He raised the glass toward his lips. I pushed on the bottom to get it all the way.

  “Down the hatch.” I took mine, watching sidelong as he did the same. His eyes squinched, and his lips pursed. For a moment, I got to live vicariously through his reaction and remember my first taste of that holy nectar. Then he coughed.

  “Good for you. Let it out.” I patted his back. “Enjoy the mortal things, Chapelwaite. Live free, and all that shit. Because look over there.” I pointed through the window to the Arlington House across the way. Unlike earlier, there were no prostitutes out on the brothel’s balcony. Just hardened-looking men with shaggy beards. Protection. “They’re ready for us. Odds are, you aren’t walking out alive—”

  “Hey, hey, you two!” the drunk businessman hollered over. The prostitute had her face in her palms, totally embarrassed. Working hard for her money, which I can respect. “You didn’t invite me? Let’s do another.”

  “Why don’t we go upstairs, honey,” the lady said, trying to turn him away. He wouldn’t.

  “No. I want to share a drink with my new friends first.”

  Before I could, Chapelwaite drew his revolver and aimed it at the man’s head. In many places, that sort of behavior could cause a riot. Here, not a peep. The man’s eyes crossed, trying to stare at the gun’s barrel. He tried to stifle a hiccup.

  “I do not share drinks with vermin,” Chapelwaite snapped. “Miss, come here.” Considering his gun was out, she obliged. I’ll admit, I was intrigued, so I kept my mouth shut and watched how a servant of Judas handled himself.

  “What is your fee?” he asked.

  I couldn’t hear her answer.

  Chapelwaite dug into his pocket with his free hand, pulled out a couple of greenbacks, and slid them into her hand. “Spare yourself his company tonight.”

  Her brow furrowed as she looked down at the cash and then at the drunk. Only took a second more thought before she stowed her riches and sauntered away to chat up someone else.

  “Hey, where are you going?” the businessman asked, completely forgetting he was at gunpoint. He fell off his stool as he turned. And when he hit the floor, all he could do was laugh.

  Chapelwaite flashed his badge to the barkeep and said, “Send him somewhere else.” Then he placed his hands on the bar and exhaled slowly. “Got a plan for Tourmaline, then, Black Badge?”

  Right back to the conversation. I liked his style. He’d spared a working woman a night to forget and, honestly, probably saved the drunk’s life. Acting like that in a place like this, he was bound to get his teeth knocked in. Can’t say he wouldn’t have deserved it, though.

  In the same spirit, I got right to business as well.

  “You’re really a marshal, then?” I asked. “Like, that ain’t just a costume?”

  “I am.”

  “Then yeah, I think I have an idea. Think you can stroll right into the city barracks and get something for me that I’ve always wanted to try?”

  A look of hard consternation came over him. “Depends on what it is.”

  My smile stretched from ear to ear. You spend a lot of lonely nights lying awake as a Black Badge. Often, I thought about old jobs and how they might have gone differently. Or future ones and what I might use.

  I’d always had an idea for a weapon. And let’s just say the Arlington House was in for an explosive surprise.