The Bloody Faithful Chapter Five Tourniquet free porn video

Chapter Five Tourniquet I'd never been upstairs. I'd been too busy acclimating my self to my new body to worry about the second floor. I did know there was an office, additional bedrooms and a second bath. Rick had mentioned those, but I hadn't been interested enough to climb the stairs to see any of it for myself. That was until Jesse found the ledger. That set me thinking there might be other things in the office I might find helpful. I decided while I was in the house alone, this would be a good time to check it out. I stopped in the kitchen first to fix myself a cocktail. I could sip on it while I explored the upper floor. I was shocked to see how much my blood supply had dwindled. Jesse and I had done a job on it. I'd need to do something about that soon. I left the kitchen hoping one of the things I'd find upstairs would be a note from Rick explaining how that was done. Otherwise.... I didn't want to think about otherwise. I'd wait until after I'd checked the office and then I'd worry. The staircase was elegant, its expansive base tapering in a gentle curve as it rose upward. The risers and handrail were constructed of dark polished hardwood, accented by a scarlet runner that covered the center portion of the stairs. As I made my way to the second floor, my progress muffled by thick red carpet, I wondered how many others had climbed these stairs? How many secrets had they carried with them to the second floor. At the top of the stairs the runner continued down the hall, a blood red stripe splitting the hall in half, with three rooms on each side. All the doors were closed and the house seemed eerily quiet. Something brushed my ankle. I looked down and saw Salem had followed me up the stairs. "What are you doing here?" I said, bending down to stroke the kitten's soft black coat. He nudged against me then looked up as if to say, "let's get on with this so I can eat." Jesse found the ledger in the office. More than likely, I would find anything else of value there. But which room was the office? I decided to check them all. It couldn't hurt and besides I'd never seen this part of the house. The first room was a bedroom. Similar to the bedrooms downstairs, this one was furnished with a large canopy bed, a dresser, and a small ornate table that held a water pitcher and basin. A massive oil painting hung next to the bed. The painting was old, a family portrait. the paint darkened and cracked. Though I guessed the painting dated back at least two centuries, the images were still vivid. A stern faced man sat in a red arm chair that looked curiously like the one in the living room downstairs. He was dressed in a gray top coat with wide lapels edged in a black. Dark gray pants were tucked neatly into tall leather boots polished to a high sheen. He stared out of the painting, stern and judgmental. This was a man that would demand strict obedience from his family and would tolerate no mistakes or idleness from his employees. Standing to his right was a tall woman in a rich gown of royal blue, her hands clasped in front of her. A string of pearls encircled the delicate pale skin of her neck. Her cheeks had been rouged and her lips reddened to give her face a little color. Her eyes were lowered. Her lips hinted at a smile. Though the man in the painting believed he ruled his kingdom with an iron hand, it was she that guided his decisions, the power behind the throne. Three children stood to the left of the man. A boy of about ten, a younger boy and girl. Both boys had sandy hair and were dressed similar to their father. The older boy flashed a wicked grin as if he'd been up to some mischief and not gotten caught. The younger boy looked bored. But it was the girl that caught my eye. There was no denying the long dark hair and dark eyes that framed the doll like face. The girl in the portrait was Faith Goodeblood. She was dressed in a pale green gown and appeared to be somewhere around six or seven years old. She looked secretive and brooding. I studied the portrait a few moments more and then I closed the door and went on to the next room, another bedroom. This one was a little smaller and the four poster bed had no canopy. All the other furnishings were the same, a dresser and a small table holding a water pitcher and a basin. Instead of a portrait, the painting that adorned this bedroom's wall was of an Indian village. I suspected this room must have belonged to the boys I'd seen in the portrait. It wouldn't have been unusual a century ago for both boys to have shared a bed. The final room on this side of the hall was the bathroom. It was a simple affair, an old fashion toilet equipped with a pull cord for flushing and a small sink. Someone had removed the mirror from the medicine cabinet mounted over the sink, exposing a rusty metal back. The room across from the bathroom, on the other side of the hall, was another bedroom. It was the last one on this floor and the one that fascinated me the most. It was a corner room so instead of one set of windows it had two. One set faced east and I imagined the early rays of the sun bathing the room each morning, flooding it with with golden light. The other two windows faced north. I tried to recall what my Art professor told my class about northern light? Was it something about its purity? I couldn't remember other than painters preferred it to get their colors right. I turned away from the windows to focus on the sizable canvas hanging by the bed. There was no mistaking the girl in the portrait. It was Faith Goodeblood, at around eleven or twelve. She was standing alone in the same room as the family in the last portrait. She wore a forest green dress that ended just below her knees, exposing thick, gray wool stockings and high-top shoes that buttoned on the side. A small cross hung from a gold chain around her neck. Her arms were lowered in front of her and she clutched a porcelain doll in her hands. Her dark eyes stared out of the painting as if she were looking past me at something in the distance. Even at this early age she seemed remote and unknowable. I gazed at the portrait for a long time. In how many ways did I share her life now. I lived in her house, I was called by her name, yet I knew next to nothing about her. Finally, forcing my eyes away, I broke the painting's spell, shifting my attention back to the room. There wasn't much to see here other than a few personal items. A doll, I was sure was the same one in the painting, rested on the bed, its head on the pillow. A child's pair of silver slippers peeked from beneath a small vanity with carved arms, the oval frame between them missing the mirror. Two thin books, one atop the other, lay pushed to the side, as if to make room for some task. I walked over to check their titles and noticed the tiny cross and chain hanging off one of the vanity's ornate arms. Its gold finish gleamed enticingly, almost hypnotically, under the ceiling lights. I picked it up. It felt cool and oddly familiar in my hand. Unable to resist the urge, I slipped it on and fastened the clasp. The was something comforting about the cross. I decided to keep it. I found the office next to the linen closet. Peering in from the doorway, it was small and probably once belonged to a live-in butler or maid. The single window looked out over the courtyard behind the house. There were no antiques in the room, they had been moved out, replaced with Walmart quality stuff. The desk that held the computer, the bookcases, even the swivel chair were all cheap-modern. The computer's green power light, flashing on and off, caught my eye. Apparently Jesse had done more than nose around in the book case. She'd poked into Faith's computer, not even bothered to shut it down when she was done. I strode into the room, furious she'd dared invade Faith's and now my privacy that way. I banged the space bar with an angry finger to wake it up. I wanted to see what in the hell she found. The screen lit up: a wall paper of Jackson Square hosting a weekend fair. A myriad of booths, stands and tables were set up in the square, offering paintings of local sites and other souvenirs to the tourist scattered about, many with cameras. A fortune teller read the cards of two teenage girls. A set of parents with three children, all of them linking hands, hurried toward a street performer dressed as a clown. He was twisting balloons into animal shapes. In the distance, a gaggle of nuns exited the St. Louis cathedral, its facade sparkling in the sun's brilliant rays. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the day and I felt a twinge of envy that this was something I was denied. How I missed the day. I shook off my melancholy and hit the enter key to call up the desktop icons. The wall paper screen blinked off then came back up. In the center was a white rectangle. A cursor blinked on the far left side. It wanted a password. Damn! I hadn't expected this but I had to smile. Jesse had hit the same road block. "That's what you get for trying to pry into other peoples beeswax, bitch," I said, pulling out the chair from under the desk. I sat down to figure out the password. Most people used something simple: words or phrases easy to remember, or something meaningful to them. I typed Black Salt. INVALID. PLEASE RETYPE PASSWORD. Vamper. Same message as before. After a half dozen attempts: Songstress. Steinway. Music. Blood. I began to accept the fact I wasn't going to unlock Faith's computer tonight. That was a tragedy. I really needed to see what was in there. If I could just get lucky, once. There was the now familiar brush against my leg. I looked down. Salem stared up at me with those large kitten eyes. He seemed to say, "hurry up with this nonsense and feed me already." "Just a minute buddy," I said, reaching down to scratch behind his ear. "Let me shut down." I steered the cursor to the power icon at the far bottom right of the screen then paused. There was something about this wall paper. I could almost put my finger on it. What was it? The sunlight! That was it. Faith had chosen this scene because sunlight was such a predominate element. I hoovered my cursor over the password window and typed : sunlight. INVALID. PLEASE RETYPE PASWWORD. Sunshine. The password window disappeared replaced with the words WELCOME FAITH. I was in! When the the desk top icons appeared. I steered the cursor over the file folder icon and clicked. I scanned the list of sub folders that came up, most of them housekeeping- to-do-list stuff: concert dates, demographic information, travel notes of how to get to the venues. Two folders contained lyrics to songs. I began skipping over all of that. Then I hit something interesting. This folder was labeled, "The Black Book of Faheed Nan-Sadyth, the Mad Arab. A Grimoire of Forbidden Artes" Salem hissed and I froze. Something had disturbed him. The kitten was facing the door, the fur on the back of his neck standing erect. A low growl rumbled from deep within his chest. I listened. Then I heard it too, bare feet padding across concrete. Someone was in the basement. I shut down the computer and hurried down the stairs. I hesitated at the bottom. Should I get the pistol from the safe room? The intruder could be anyone. I had vamper speed and strength but so might who ever was in the basement. All out equipment was down there which made me think this was a burglary. If I was being robbed there was probably more than one of them. Best to get the gun. The pistol felt heavy in my hand and the thought I might have to use it weighed it down even more. As I left the safe room I struggled to remember the instructions Rick had given me : hold the pistol with both hands, aim at the largest area of target, slowly squeeze the trigger, don't pull. Gathering as much resolve as I could, knowing I might have to use force when I confronted the intruder, I crept through the house. The door leading to the basement was standing open. Muddy foot prints on the floor led to the kitchen. That was a relief. Apparently, who ever had been in the basement had left by the back door. I'd need to lock it back. Then I'd check the basement to see if anything was missing or damaged. The rouge sprang at me just as I entered the kitchen. The attack was so fast it was little more than a blur. I barley had time to dodge as it swept by, so close I felt wind across my cheek. It landed in a crouch, its bare feet striking the floor with a soft thud. Then it twisted to face me again. It was a female. Her gown, once elegant, now hung in tatters, much of it stained and muddy. Her hair was a tangle of matted knots. Her long, bony fingers were tipped with curved, claw-like, nails. They looked wickedly sharp. The monster shook her head and roared, barring a mouth full of wicked, pointed teeth. If those teeth closed on my throat it would be the end of me. I healed with amazing speed but I doubted my recuperative powers would be enough to survive that much damage. One thing was for sure, I didn't want to test them. I raised the pistol, gripping it two handed like Rick had shown me, and fired. The rouge leaped to the side and then rushed me. Slapping the weapon from my hand, she swept me up in her arms, slamming my back against the wall. I felt the laths behind the plaster splinter from the impact, leaving me dazed. The only thing keeping me upright was the rouge's grip on me. I struggled to push her back as her teeth sought my neck, but she was too strong and I was beginning to tire. I wouldn't be able to fend her off very much longer. I needed to reach the pistol but it had skidded to the other side of the room. She opened her mouth, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. I closed my eyes waiting for her teeth to severe my jugular, when she screamed. I looked and saw something small and dark covering the left side of her face. It was Salem. His claws raked her cheek and she howled again turning me loose. Free of the rogue, I staggered toward the pistol. Snatching it off the floor I spun around to face the crazed vamper. She had her hands around Salem who still clung to her. There was a sicking tear as she ripped the kitten away from her. Long bloody claw marks marked the area where Salem had done his work. Her eyes had gone solid black. She clutched the kitten in one hand as the other began to close around his head. She meant to crush his skull. I raised the pistol, searching for a place I could shoot the thing without hitting Salem but the kitten had had ideas of its own. He dug into the rouges wrists with his back claws slicing away more skin. The rogue screamed. Salem dropped to the floor and I fired. This time I hit my mark. A hole appeared in the rogues left shoulder, smoke drifting from the wound. What were these bullets made of wondered as I steadied myself to fire again. Before I could, she turned and ran. She slammed into the back door knocking it open. Seconds later she had crossed the court yard and with a leap cleared the privacy fence and was gone. I checked the damage to the back door. The door frame was splintered and the door hung at a slant, supported by a single hinge. Salem came up to me and rubbed against my leg. "Are you okay buddy?" I asked, reaching down to stroke his back. He purred. "I guess I owe you one for saving my life." Salem looked up at me and meowed as if to say "dinner would be a nice thank you." I was out of milk and too shaken to leave the house to go to the all night corner store. Besides, I had no money. It was ironic that Faith was possibly a multi-millionaire and yet I couldn't afford a can of cat food. I checked the pantry to see if there was anything left from the last time Rick bought groceries. I found a couple of cans of tomato soup, a can of chili, no beans and one small can of tuna. I opened the tuna and dumped it into a bowl and then placed it on the floor. Salem sniffed the offering. He rubbed against my leg signaling his approval, then he began eat. While he fed, I wrestled the broken door back into its frame, securing it enough I thought it would hold until I could get it repaired. Then I went into the living room to wait out the last of the night. I made sure to keep the pistol in my hand. I was still shaken when I went to bed at sunrise. I made a pallet for Salem, locked the door to the safe room and then tucked the pistol under my pillow. Too weary to fight the effects of the sun, it swept over me like a rushing tide and I succumbed to that eerily dreamless sleep peculiar to Vampers. I didn't think about how odd the muddy tracks were until the next night. I forgot about the grimoire on Faith's computer all together. I woke shortly after sunset. Remembering Rambo had scheduled a practice for tonight, I dressed and went into the kitchen to make a cocktail. I needed to feed before the rest of the band arrived. The kitchen was a mess. There was a huge hole in the plaster where I'd been tossed by the rogue and the kitchen door looked like shit. Bits of plaster mixed with pieces of a kitchen chair, that must have gotten smashed during my tussle, littered the floor. I could sweep up the plaster and the chair parts but there was no way to hide the hole or the odd way the door fit in its frame. If the band saw this mess they would ask questions. And when they found out about the rogue, Jesse would try to get protective. That would cause problems. I had to keep them out of the kitchen. As I mixed my cocktail, I mulled over how the rogue got into the house to begin with. The doors and windows had all been locked. I'd first heard her in the basement. Was that where she'd gotten in? That was the place Luther Poole had vanished. Rick and I had scoured the room trying to find how he'd done it but never turned up a thing, no trap door, no hidden panel, just brick and concrete. We'd decided he must have run up the stairs. That had been the only way he could have gotten out. Now, I wasn't so sure. I'd always thought it odd that access to the basement was through the dining room. This was the most elegant room in the house with its with expensive china and crystal chandelier. Why had they marred it with an ugly doorway that opened on to an unpainted stairway? And why a basement to begin with? New Orleans normally didn't have basements. Because the city was below sea level, they tended to flood. Now I thought I might have the answer. Faith's family must have know what she was and they would have sought to protect her. So they created a "hiding place", where she could sleep safe from the sunlight. And to ensure no one would discover the room, they did two things, they built it underneath the dining room, the most unlikely place anyone would look, and hid the entrance behind some type of buffet or false wall. Then as a precaution they added a second way in and out, in case there were people in the house that didn't or couldn't know Faith's secret. Over time, the false wall in the dining room was replaced with a regular door way. However the secret door in the basement stayed hidden. Poole must have known about this second way in and used it to escape. So why hadn't Rick and I found it? It had to be there. I thought for a moment. I hadn't been able to find it but there was someone who had, the rogue. I could follow her footprints from last night in reverse and see where they began. That would be where I would find the secret door. The foot prints across the dining room floor had dried to a fine gray powder, some had faded altogether. Fortunately those on the stairs were still visible thanks to the basement's damper air. It was plain there was only one set and they led up from below. Further proof the rogue had gained entrance into the house from down there. At the bottom of the stairs my heart sank. I'd expected something like a straight line to the spot but there wasn't anything close to one. Footprints were everywhere, crisscrossing each other in a muddy tangle. The rogue must have been confused or felt trapped, searching for the way she got in but that didn't help me now. I sat down on the bottom step to think. I needed to approach this in a different way. I studied the prints again searching for a pattern. The foot prints were scattered across most of the basement but there did seem to be more near the wall by the staircase than anywhere else. It was like the rogue had circled the room several times, always returning back to the stairs. I got to my feet and walked to the far corner of the room, checking each print as I worked my way back toward the bottom steps. After repeating this several times I thought I found the spot I was looking for, a partial print of the rogue's right foot. Only the toes and the ball of the foot were visible the rest of the footprint was hidden behind the wall and baseboard. Baseboard? I'd never thought about it but why would a basement, as rough as this one, need baseboard? It seemed a little extravagant in a room with exposed pipes and naked ceiling beams. There was even a gap between the baseboard and the floor. The gap was small. You might not notice it looking down from above, but from where I knelt it was glaring. Curious, I thrust my fingers underneath the gap and a section of board flipped up to reveal a slot in the brick behind it. Slipping my hand into the slot, a small section of wall swung up, creating a doorway size an opening. A nasty odor, stinking of rot and swamp, rushed out at me, assaulting my nose. Voices drifted down from above. The band was here. They must have let themselves in. Vampers have to ask permission to cross a threshold the first time they enter a home; but only once. Then they can enter anytime they want. I swung the panel closed and quick scanned the room. Our equipment was exactly where we'd left it, all of it undamaged. There was the problem of the footprints but no time to clean up. I scuffed up what few I could, with my shoe, on my way back upstairs. "Hello Luv," Rambo said, greeting me as I stepped into the living room. He was standing next to the Steinway, eyeing the music I'd written. I'd forgotten and left on the music stand. "We rang the bell but you didn't answer. When we found the door unlocked we invited ourselves in. Hope that was alright. You've written a song. Can we hear it? I'd love to know what you've got there." "It's a work in progress. I'm not ready to preform it, yet." This wasn't true. I'd finished the piece but decided the song was too personal to share with anyone, even Jesse. "Nonsense. If we're going to succeed as a band we'll need new material. We can't just cover the old Black Salt tunes. Tell you what. You can show us what you've written when we get downstairs, after we run through our play list." I started to protest but he raised a hand cutting me off. "Not taking no for an answer, Luv. This is no time to be shy about it, right." "About that," I said. "It's a little messy down there." Rambo flashed me a look like a parent losing patience with a stubborn child. "No more excuses, Faith. We're going to hear your song," He made a motion with his hand for us to move out. I wanted to ask how would he like my song up his ass but bit back the words. I led the group to the basement entrance then stepped to the side guarding the kitchen door while the others passed. "Where's Carrie?" I asked Shredder as he came up beside me. "Me and Rambo are gonna meet her later at the Chambre Rouge. She went to pick up that guy." "That guy?" Shredder was a genius on guitar but not so good with verbal skills. "The one that she told us about the other night. You know the band manager." He eased past me then stopped at the edge of the stairs. "You coming?" "Yeah," I said. "Right behind you." "Wow, somebody's been tracking mud," Jesse called from below. "What happened, Faith? Why were you running around outside barefoot?" "Salem got out," I said, catching up with her on the stairs. "I've been trying to keep him inside. Anyway when he did, I panicked and ran after him. I stepped in some mud, next door, at the vacant house. I guess I forgot to wipe my feet when I came back inside. I uh...cleaned upstairs but hadn't got to this yet." "That must have been one hell of a puddle," she said, flashing me her I-know-you're-bullshiting-me look. Rambo and Shredder appeared not to have heard or didn't care. Shredder had moved into a corner to tune his axe. Rambo was tightening the head on one of his tom-toms. He thumped it with a finger, frowned and then readjusted the tension keys. Jesse hoisted her bass, slipped the neck strap over her head and then sidled up to me. "I want the truth later," she said in a low voice, before striding over to Shredder to check her tuning, against his. I was left to myself. I carried my mike and stand over to the electronic keyboard and then busied myself connecting the cable jacks to the mixer, mulling over how to handle Jesse. She wasn't going to drop the issue of the footprints, until I offered her something she'd accept as truth. The question was, how much could I keep to myself and still take her into my confidence. I needed her help. The kitchen was in ruins. I was running out of blood and until I sealed off the passage I'd found, more nasty things could get into the house. Next time I might not survive. I was still tossing all of this around in my mind when Rambo made a couple of rapid passes across his drums, finishing with a shimmering roll on his cymbals. He raised his sticks and tapped them together four times and the basement came alive with the beginning bars of 'Twisted Passions". One of Black Salts more wicked songs, the tune was a discordant construct of misfit notes stitched together to create a Frankenstein result. The lyrics explored the darker side of the human condition, the loneliness of being different, sometimes fierce, sometimes fearful, the hunter but also the hunted. The first time I'd heard the song, I'd taken it for granted its purpose was its shock value. But I'd totally misunderstood what "Twisted Passions" was about. It was a testament of a Vamper's struggle to survive in a world dominated by humans. I tweaked the mic stand a final time and joined in on the keyboard. When it was time for the vocals, I sang them with a passion, drawing from my own recent experiences as a vamper. Jesse joined me in the chorus, our voices intertwining to create an eerily spectral harmony that magnified the song's darkly haunting refrain. The emotional blend sweep me up in its melodic current like at the Chambre Rouge. At that moment I felt a love for Jesse even stronger than the night we'd shared a bed. When it was time for Shredder's lead, I was so possessed by the music, I found myself countering his riffs with my own, our instruments crying out in a back and forth frenzy as we told the story of creatures cruely imprisoned in the night, forced to remain hidden from the world. Our exchanges got faster, neither of us relenting until we were working the band to death. Finally Jesse edged up beside me signaling desperately for us to bring the song to a close. I nodded to Shredder then backed off, letting his guitar take us back into a final chorus, bringing the song to a finish. "Bitching tune," Shredder said, slinging his guitar behind him, so it hung neck down across his back. "Considering 'Bo and I had to work our asses off," Jesse grumbled. "How 'bout a heads up next time before you two go off script." "Actually, mixing it up like that was a nice twist," Rambo said, from behind his drums. "I vote we should keep it. Shredder and Faith can improvise each time to change it up. Audiences eat up shit like that. It makes for a good show." I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. It was Carrie. "Otto's here," she said hoovering on the bottom step. She seemed nervous. "Keep him up there. Make him a fucking drink or something. Just don't let him down here," said Rambo, he sounded irritated. "We'll be up directly." Once Carrie was gone Rambo turned to Shredder.. "What the fuck is going on. The plan was to meet at the Chambre Rouge. Why in the hell is he here?" Shredder shrugged. "I didn't bring him. Take it up with Carrie." "Don't worry. I shall," said Rambo and then turned to me. "I think Shredder and I should have a go at the chap alone, to make sure he's on the up and up. If he proves to be a swizzer then the less he knows about us the better." What was Rambo talking about? Carrie said the guy was a big fan of Black Salt and might have the skills to manage the band? Was this Rambo's way of making the decision alone, cutting us out of the process? "Choosing a manager is a big decision," I said. "I think all of us should go up together, not just you and Shredder." "I'm not making any decisions, Luv," said Rambo patiently. "What I am doing is making sure this bloke is not a danger and saving your ass. We're dealing with a human, and one that didn't follow the script. I think all your years with Rick have made you too trusting. What if he's an agent for the opposition? He could out all of us if he sees us together. Look, I've dealt with that type in the past and what I've learned is they can appear to be angels of light with the purest of intentions. But you don't survive for one hundred ten years by trusting every wanker that passes by even the ones with wings and halos. I would think you of all people would be aware of that." "He's right, Faith," said Jesse. "He could be involved with "Scrub"." "Exactly," said Rambo grabbing on to Jesse's supposition. "And if he is working for Scrub we could all be marked for elimination." I didn't know what Scrub was but I had a pretty good idea it wasn't anything good. "So what do we do?" I asked. "He's here now." "First we don't know that he's not who Carrie says he is. And he hasn't seen any of our faces. Shredder and I will meet him upstairs, ask a few questions and if we think he can't be trusted we'll do a little scrubbing, ourselves," said Rambo. "We'll make him forget." "And me and Jesse?" I asked. "You'll stay here out of sight. He can't out someone he'd never seen." "But you and Shredder--" "Don't worry about us, Luv. We want him to remember us. Just not the way the way we really look or our real names." He grinned. I watched Rambo and Shredder disappear up the stairs, then I turned to Jesse. "So what is this 'Scrub'?" I asked. "Scrub is a group of crazies. Their only purpose is to wipe Vampers off the planet. It doesn't matter to them that we aren't a danger to anyone, most of us anyway. They want us gone. They have this crazy apocalyptic theory we're some kind of demon seed infecting mankind. There's not many of them. Maybe a couple of hundred tops, but their identities are secret, even from each other and that makes them dangerous. They work through intermediaries to keep it that way." She paused her eyes moist. "I've lost friends to them, Faith, people I was really close to. I... I need you to be careful who you let into your circle. I don't' want to lose you too." "Shit." I felt the strength go out of me and I sank to the floor. On top of everything else, now I had this to worry about. The guy knew where I lived. Crazy Carrie had brought him to my house. This was the reason Black Salt had been so inaccessible, avoiding cameras and interviews. It was too dangerous not too. Jesse squatted down so we were eye level with each other. She took my hands in hers, holding them gently. "Hey, it's not that bad. It's not like there's a member of Scrub behind every light pole. You could go centuries without a run in with one, maybe forever. Chances are this guy is just a guy. "But what if he's not," I asked. "I mean he came here instead of going to Chambre Rouge." "If he's not Then Rambo and Shredder will make him forget. Then they'll plant false memories in his head." "Can they do that, wipe out people's memories?" "Shredder can," Jesse said. "He's not much of a talker but don't let that fool you, he's good. Plus he's dealt with Scrub before." Releasing my hands she placed hers on my shoulders. "So," she said her mouth forming a half smile. "I answered your question now you're going to answer mine. What in the hell are all these muddy footprints about? And don't try to bullshit me with some made up story. There's not enough mud on this entire block to make a mess like this. I want the truth." I sucked in air, bracing for what I was about to say. "I was attacked by a rogue last night." Jesse's eyes widened. "What!" I put my finger to my lips, hoping no one upstairs had heard us. "Are you serious?" she said keeping her voice low. "The kitchen is a mess," I continued. "She threw me against the wall and then ripped the back door off its hinges when she ran." "She?" "It was a female," I said. "Are you okay? How did it... I mean she... get in? Didn't you lock up after we left." "I'm fine. Yes, I locked up. She got in through here." I raised myself off the floor and walked over to the secret panel. "Check this out." I dropped to one knee and lifted the section of baseboard triggering the release. The panel swung open. "Holy shit!" Jesse said. "Did you know about this before." I shook my head. She peered thorough the opening. "It's a tunnel and it looks really old, not to mention it stinks." "Well, that explains the mud," she said, facing me. "I"m going to check it out later, after the band leaves and find out where it leads," I said lowering the panel so it was hidden again. "Not without me," Jesse said. "You'll have to lose Rambo and Shredder. I don't want them to know. Not yet anyway." "Don't worry. If Rambo found out a rogue got in he'd have a shit fit. The last thing you want is a big brother watching over you all the time." I didn't tell Jesse but the idea of a big brother was kind of welcoming to me. I missed having Rick around to look after me. Still, I'd seen Rambo's version of protector and I wanted no part of that. I didn't know how Jesse put up with it. "Speaking of big brothers how are you going to get away from yours?" I asked. "He not too keen on us being together alone." "I have no idea," She said, flashing that grin that was pure Jesse. "But you'll figure something out. You always do." Just then Rambo bounded down the stairs. He was beaming. "I am happy to announce this Otto chap is on the level, a regular mate. It was Carrie's idea to come here. He was as confused as us about that. " he chimed merrily. "Oh and by the bye, he wants to meet you, Luv. He says he won't talk business until he does." Otto was sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs, his feet stretched out in front of him like the house belonged to him. Shredder was on the couch, as usual, with Carrie by his side. He had his arm over her shoulder. I took a seat on the piano bench and got my first good look at the Bloody Faithful's possible new manager. He was thin but where someone else might have been labeled skinny, his thinness fit his frame. His longish face ended with a skimpy beard, his hair was dark and tangled, thick eyebrows were set atop dark piercing eyes, straight nose and full lips. He smiled when he saw me, revealing even teeth. "Faith Goodeblood," he exclaimed, rising to his feet. "You don't know what a pleasure this is," He covered the distance between us in a couple of strides and reached for my hand. "I'm Otto Wagner. Possibly your biggest fan." We brushed fingertips for the briefest of moments and something seemed to pass just behind his eyes. "I understand you're looking for someone to handle the day to day affairs of the band you've formed," He paused to sweep the others in the room with his eyes. " I'm going to be direct here. Like I've already said to Mr. Thor, I want the job. As I'm sure you have reservations about me, we can negotiate the terms for my services after I've proved I can do the job." "Any particular reason why you want to be band manager?" I asked. Something about Otto felt wrong. "I shouldn't have to explain to you of all people Ms. Goodeblood. But I will." "You can explain it to me too," said Jesse, irritated by his condescension. Otto glanced Jesse's way. He seemed mildly annoyed. "Very well, Ms. Jones. Two words. Black Salt." "You'll need to do better than that," Jesse said evenly. Otto's eyes twinkled. The faintest of smiles formed on his lips, as if this was the reaction for which he hoped. "Perhaps I'm a silly romantic, Ms. Jones" he said. " But the band died before its time. I want to resurrect it even if Ms. Goodeblood is the only remaining member of the original group." "I think you should be made aware we're not Black Salt," I said. "Black Salt is history." Otto smiled. "Yes, Carrie told me you're calling yourself The Bloody Faithful now. Still, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Call yourself anything you want. It's the evolution of the music I care about. I want to be a part of it, even if my part is insignificant compared to all of you." He looked at Rambo and then back at me. His eyebrow raised questioningly. I exchanged glances with Rambo. He motioned to let him take the lead. "If we should give you a chance," Rambo said, addressing Otto. "What do you figure would be a fair test of your abilities." "Depends," Otto said his voice easy. "When will you be ready for your primer performance?" " As we're all seasoned, we could take the stage tomorrow, no problem." "So if I were to book a first gig say for say the end of the month--" "What size?" Rambo cut in. "We're not interested in playing clubs, only the large stage." Otto nodded. "Understood. Large stage, ninety percent guaranteed sales of all tickets printed, hourly radio play of your music, with announcements of the venue at the end. Would that be enough?" "If you can do that, you got my vote," Shredder said. " How can you guarantee how many tickets will be sold?" Rambo asked. "That's my problem. I'm asking if that would be that be enough proof I can do what I say?" "If you can do that," said Rambo. "I'll kiss your bloody bare arse, if that's what you want." "I say go for it," Jesse said. "What have we got to lose?" "Faith? "Faith?" Rambo was repeating my name. Everyone was staring at me. I'd been so engrossed with Otto I'd blocked out the last few minutes. "Hey Faith, you okay?" Jesse asked searching my face with her eyes. "Uh...yeah. I got caught up in something for a moment. I kinda zoned out. Sorry." "Well, if you're back among the living," said Jesse. "How do you vote." "Uh...whatever the rest of you think is fine," I said. "In that case," said Rambo. " If this chap comes through, he has the job, agreed." "Agreed," we all chimed together. "Tell you what mate," Rambo said to Otto. "We're about to run through our play list. You're invited to attend. Think of it as a command performance for one." "Hey," Carrie cried. "What about me?" "Two then," Rambo laughed. "Next time," said Otto. rising up from the chair. " I really need to be going. You don't mind if Carrie runs me home." "No not at all," said Rambo. "We'll be in touch then." "Definitely," said Otto. "You can count on it." "That was kind of strange," said Jesse when they were gone. "You'd think he would have wanted to hear us play. We could suck for all he knows." "I'm sure he knows we don't," said Rambo. "He's too anxious to impress us. But enough of that. We have a rehearsal to finish." "Everything sounded tight," I said. "Guess we're done." We'd run through the playlist and I was ready to unplug my mike, pack away the keyboard and clear everybody out. I needed to get back to the important stuff, like how I could get the kitchen repaired and my blood supply restocked. There was also the issue of Jesse staying over. "Not yet, Luv," Rambo said, "we've not heard your song." "I told you. I'm not ready to share it," I reminded him. "And I told you," said Rambo in a tit for tat. "That's not an excuse. We're your mates." "Come on, Faith," Jesse pleaded. "Just do it so 'Bo will shut up and we can call it a night. I'm fucking bushed." I took a moment to shake off the the irritation I felt from being pushed into this. I'd written the song as a way to send Faith a message. By putting it to music she'd hear it when it got air play. However I hadn't planned on doing it with a band. It was meant to be performed solo, just me. The feelings I expressed in the song were too personal. "We're waiting, Luv," Rambo said, making it obvious he wasn't going to let this go. Suddenly, I had an idea. I'd make a trade. It would be worth it. "Fine, I'll play it," I said I circling back to the keyboard. Placing my hands on the keys I began to play softly. "This song is very personal to me," I told Rambo. "When I write something like this I don't usually share it. I'm making an exception because we're mates and mates trust each other. Right." "Of course," said Rambo. A victorious smile spread across his face. I was smiling too, inside. He was the fly and I was the spider, luring him closer to my web. "So if I were to ask a favor later you'd grant it because you trust me like I'm trusting you with my song. That right too?" Rambo began to look a little flustered. "I thought we established that already?" "I just wanted to be sure," I said. "Whatever, you say, Luv. Now are you going to let us hear the song or not?" With Rambo, the fly, snagged securely in my web, I began to sing: You were my hero, my idol, my love. I followed you blindly to partake of what I thought was a truly beautiful soul. But you were a con, a thief and a mole. You took my life and made it your own. You robbed me and raped me and then you were gone. But I've risen again, like a Phoenix from fire. And now I have triumphed where you hoped to aspire. I played your game, I swam through your mire, I've won in the end, you despicable liar. Rambo looked thoughtful when I was done. "The tunes great but the lyrics are a little brutal," he said. "Brutal's what we do, 'Bo," Jesse laughed. "I think you're getting soft in your old age. I liked it." "I'm not saying I didn't like it," Rambo conceded, "it just struck me as a little...uh... strange." "I say we go with it," Shredder seconded, giving me a nod. "Add it to the play list." "Faith?" Rambo asked. "Would you be willing to preform this one on stage." "Only if we do it exactly the way I did it tonight. No changes." Shredder and Jesse nodded. "Very well," said Rambo. "We'll add it to the play list." Rambo stood and stretched. "I think we should call it a night. It'll be dawn soon. You ready Jesse, Shredder?" "I want Jesse to stay here tonight," I said. Rambo cocked an eye at me. "Surely you're not serious," he said. He tried to grin but just looked goofy. "I'm very serious, Rambo," I said. Rambo's silly grin faded away. "So I see. May I ask why?" "Girl stuff 'Bo," said Jesse picking up on what I was doing. Rambo was not pleased. "Look Faith, we settled this last night." "No. You talked about it," I corrected. "And I let it go. But we didn't settle anything. It comes down to this. I trusted you with my song, now I expect you to trust me. I'm asking you to back off and let Jesse stay here tonight. There won't be any wild parties, or anything else. I need her help with something." "And you won't tell me what this 'something' is." I shook my head. "You're making this hard, Luv." "It doesn't have to be," I said softly. "Either we trust each other, Rambo, or we don't. You decide." "Fine. I'll conceded this time but I'm warning you now. If this becomes a habit--" "Thanks 'Bo," Jesse kissed Rambo on the cheek. "I'll be good. I promise." Rambo mumbled something, swiping at this cheek with a hand as if wiping the kiss away. "I suppose we need to go, Shredder," he said. "So these two can have their precious, bloody little tryst." "G'dnight," he quipped, brushing past. He marched up the stairs. Shredder looked over from where he was stashing his guitar in its case. "For a girl, you got a big pair of balls," he said jovially. He propped the guitar case in the corner and then angled for the stairs. "Ol' Thor is pissed," he said balancing on the bottom step. "It's gonna be one hell of a ride home." When Shredder had gone, Jesse glanced around the empty basement. I knew what she was about to say and I stopped her with a motion. I listened to front door close followed by the sound of feet clomping across the porch. "Okay, we can talk now," I said hearing the van pulling away. "So what's up?" she asked. "You didn't face off with 'Bo just so I could get a look at that tunnel thingy." "I need your help with some stuff," I said. "Stuff Rambo can't know about." "No problem," Jesse said, "but let's check out that tunnel first. That damn thing's been driving me crazy since you showed it to me. You can tell me about this other stuff while we see where it goes." "Actually I was hoping first we could--" "Please Faith. I promise I'll help you with whatever you need but let's do this." "Alright," I said giving in. The section of molding that worked the release fit so perfectly I had to feel around before I found it again. I swung it up and Jesse and I peered in to a narrow passage. The walls and arched ceiling were built of old of brick. Mud and standing water covered the floor. Jesse, never one to worry overmuch about caution, was the first inside. I followed after. A moment later the panel dropped back into place, cutting off the light from the basement casting the tunnel into stygian night. We stood in the blackness sniffing the air. Faint traces of the rouge's scent still lingered mixed with the odor of the river and the earthy smells of rot of dirt and mold. I brushed the brick wall with my hand feeling its time-worn smoothness. How long had it taken to build this? A year two years? Did it matter? I supposed not, still..." "You ready?" Jesse asked. I nodded. "Let's do this." Taking her hand we began our journey. Because there wasn't enough room for us to walk side by side, I followed behind Jesse, splashing through puddles of ground water as we trudged along. The overall construction of the tunnel appeared to be sound. But even with our ability to see in the dark it was gloomy, with areas of shadow so dense our night vision could barely penetrate. Our footfalls sounded hollow, adding to the eeriness, echoing far ahead, making stealth impossible. Anything lying in wait ahead would hear us long before we reached them. I was thankful I had Jesse with me. "That song you wrote," Jesse said as we sloshed through a sizable pool of liquid muck. "That was about the other Faith wasn't it? You were talking to her." "I wanted to send her a message," I said. "And I thought the best way to do it was in a song. That way when it got airplay, she would hear it." "Yeah, about that," said Jesse. "'Bo's getting a little nervous about this whole band thing. He likes to be in control. I mean it was what I wanted but it didn't help that you forced him to let me stay over tonight." "I thought we were suppose to be a team," I said. She shrugged. We pressed on, our conversation dwindling until the only sound was the squish of our shoes in mud. It wasn't like I didn't have things to talk about, while Jesse was never quiet. But there was something menacing about the tunnel, an expanding dread, as if the tunnel walls were reaching toward us with tendrils of raw terror that continued to build as we trudged along. There was something unholy here and I began to wish I was back in Faith's house locked in the safe room clutching my pistol. "How long is this fucking thing?" Jesse asked. "I don't do well in enclosed spaces." I heard a tremor in her voice and I knew she was picking up the same vibes as me. We had to get out of this thing soon. Otherwise, we would both crack from what was happening to our minds. This wasn't a normal tunnel. I was also starting to worry about the time. How long did we have before the sun rose. We'd been walking for an eternity and still hadn't reached the end. If the sunrise caught us down here, we would be safe from its deadly rays but we would still be lulled into a deep sleep making us easy prey for anything else that stumbled into the tunnel, like another rogue. Even if a rogue didn't get us, I doubted we would wake sane. We were barely hanging on to our sanity now. I'd been stupid to let Jesse push me into exploring the passage and even more stupid for not turning around when we realized something wasn't right down here. Now all we could do was to keep moving, hoping we reached the tunnel's end and a place to hide before sunrise. I was still cursing myself for doing this when I noticed the atmosphere changing from stale, dank and oppressive to something fresher. I could feel a draft of fresh air on my face then Jesse gave a whoop. Up ahead was solid brick with iron rungs leading up to an opening in the arched ceiling. We'd reached the end. Jesse scurried up through the hole and I mounted the rungs behind her, emerging into a small windowless room with a polished marble floor. A pair of open doors revealed a solemn landscape of above ground tombs stretching into the near distance. We were in a cemetery. "Well this explains the rogue," Jesse said, gazing out at the graves. "Rogues love these places. Cemeteries are like rogue mag-- What the fuck!" Something black sprang at us from the tunnel. Salem landed beside me. I scooped him up in my arms. He began to purr. "You scared the shit out of me kitty," Jesse laughed. "All you had to do was say you wanted to come along too." I noticed she didn't reach over to pet him. Salem rubbed against me and meowed. I scratched him in his favorite spot behind his ear. "How did you get in here? I asked," The distance from the tunnels floor to the opening was way too great for a kitten to leap through. "Hey Faith," Jesse said. "Check this out. A trap door," She levered up a thin square of marble and then tipped it so it dropped into the opening we'd crawled through. It fit so perfectly it was near invisible. "Cool huh?" I nodded and then turned my attention back to the open doors "How long you think these doors have been this way?" I asked Jesse. She shrugged. "My bet is ever since Luther Poole used the tunnel," I said. "He probably was in too much of a hurry to close them or lower the trap door. All he wanted was to get away from Rick. If that's true, this place has been an open invitation for anyone to find the tunnel for weeks." "Makes sense," Jesse agreed, coming up beside me. "What do you say for right now, we close up shop and take a cab home." "A cab." I couldn't believe she was for real. "Yeah like in tax-ieee," Jesse said, doubling down. "There is no way I'm not going back through that tunnel. That's for sure." "How are we going to find a cab at this hour? I asked "We don't even know where we are." Jesse grinned. "I do. This is the St. Louis cemetery on Basin Street. There's a cab stand a couple of streets over." I closed the doors to the mausoleum, and with Salem tucked under one arm, followed Jesse through the maze of tombs. When we reached the main gate, I passed Salem through the bars onto the sidewalk and scrambled over the low wall to drop down beside him. Jesse landed beside me. "Come on," she said striding off down the street. "Our ride's waiting for us." The cab was parked a block over on Rampart. The driver, a long haired guy with a ZZ Top style beard had the window down and one elbow poking out of it. The a thick cloud of smoke, along with the unmistakable smell of marijuana, wafted out from inside. The guy was too involved in getting high to notice us until Jesse had the rear door open and we were sliding into the back seat. "What the hell," he cried, whirling around, showering his shirt with hot coals from his joint. "Fuckin' shit," he yipped, beating out the hot spots with his hand. When he was done he eyed us with an angry glare. "My shifts over ladies," he said. "I'm not taking any more fares tonigh--" "That's right," Jesse said, staring into the guy's eyes, "No more fares tonight because you're cutting off your meter so you can drive us home." "Drive you home?" "You remember," said Jesse, continuing to lock him in her gaze. "You saw two helpless girls walking alone, down a dark street, and offered us a ride. You said it wasn't safe for us to be on the street this late at night." "Yes," said the cabbie. "Too dangerous for girls on a dark street." The guy's face had gone slack and his voice was a monotone. A thin stream of drool ran from the corner of his mouth into his beard. "...cut the meter off... take you home." Jesse gave him the address then looked at me and grinned. "Don't you just love it," she whispered. I'd just gotten my first lesson in charming humans and she was right. I loved the fuck out of it. After the cabbie dropped us off, I carried Salem into the house to feed him, wincing when I remembered there was no more tuna in the cupboard. My situation was getting desperate. Not only was my blood supply dangerously low, I couldn't even feed my cat. I might be able to get Jesse to charm the guy that ran corner store out of a few cans of cat food but how long could I keep that up. Suddenly, I wasn't sure that even Jesse could help me. I'd let things slide too long. I should have taken care of everything while Rick was still around. Feeling more depressed than I could remember in my life, I sank into one of the kitchen chairs and buried my head in my hands. "Sorry buddy," I said to Salem when he meowed rubbing against my leg. "I really fucked up this time." "Oh snap!" Jesse said, popping in. "You weren't lying. This room is trashed." "I've got to get it repaired somehow," I said. "But I've got bigger issues. Salem needs food and I need to restock my blood supply. The problem is I don't have any money or credit cards." "Don't have money?" Jesse said. "You're fucking rich. I showed you the ledger." "All the money in the world doesn't do me any good if I can't access it, Jess," I replied. "Unless you know how to get it." "I don't but your fixer will. That's what they're for." "I've never met my fixer," I confessed. "I'm not sure how to even approach them." "You call them and tell them what you need. Hell, it's not like you're asking for a favor, you're paying for the service, that makes you their boss." "It's' not that easy, Jess. I don't even know this guy's name, or if it's even a guy." Jess threw up her hands and gawked at me. "All that stuff was in the ledger. Gawd Faith, sometimes you can be a piece of work. How did you think you restocked your blood supply?" Her admonition of my failures felt as if she'd slapped me across the face, leaving me embarrassed and ashamed. The weight of everything that had happened, waking to find myself in the body of someone else, Rick's saying he loved me then abandoning me, the rogue in the kitchen, my parents not knowing if I were alive or dead, came crashing down all at once. It was too much. Emotion swelled inside me like water rushing toward an already weakened damn. I began to tremble. I'd held in as long as I could trying to be the tough girl but my courage had run out. Before I could stop them, the damn busrt and tears poured out of my eyes. "I'm sorry Jess," I cried. "I tried to do things by myself but I don't know how. Now the kitchen is torn up and anything can wander inside, I'm running out of blood, I don't have anything to feed my cat. And I'm scared, Jess. I'm so fucking scared." "Thar settles it. I'm staying," said Jesse. ""Bo can bitch all he wants but I'm staying here with you until we get all this..." she waved her hands around looking for the word, "...settled." "Jesse, I don't know if that's such a good idea," I said thinking back on the night Rambo came charging in more angry than I'd ever seen him. He'd made it clear that Jesse was his charge. "You could get in trouble." Jesse snorted. "Oh, you don't know the half of it but I'll be damned if I leave you stranded the way Rick did. You won't last another month. If a rogue or Scrub doesn't get you, you'll end up going rogue yourself from the hunger. I could never forgive myself if that happened." I was too grateful to argue. Jesse had her faults but she was also a friend, one that was willing to put my interest above her own. There weren't many people willing to do that. "One thing though," she cautioned. "Yeah?" I said, wiping the last of the tears from my eyes. "We're going to have to tell 'Bo who you really are. I owe him that." "That means the end of the band doesn't it," I said, knowing it meant much more than that. All the work Rick and I had put in to luring Faith back to New Orleans would be for nothing. It wasn't going to happen. "Don't look so down," said Jesse. "'Bo's not a bad guy. He can be pushy and controlling but deep down he's got a good heart. He may want to keep things together. Maud's the one I worry about." "Who's Maud?" I asked. "Someone you don't want to know. But we can talk about that later." Salem meowed. He looked up at me with pleading eyes. "He's hungry," I said to Jesse. "And he doesn't understand why I haven't feed him." "Poor little thing," said Jesse. "Let me see if I can find him something. I'm pretty good and scrounging." "Come on buddy," she said to Salem. "Let's find you some supper." To my surprise, Salem followed her over to the pantry. I'd had enough of the kitchen. Rising to my feet, I drifted into the living room where I sank down onto the couch. Jesse was going to tell Rambo everything. She had to if she was going to help me and I needed her. I was an orphaned child of the night and without a guardian, a protector to watch over me chances I would survive were slim. "Here," Something nudged me. I looked up to see Jesse offering me a blood cocktail. "I don't know," I said reluctant to take it. "I'm pretty low on this stuff I don't need to wast--" "You need it," she cut in, thrusting the cocktail at me. "Now take it and drink. No arguments. We'll get more tomorrow and cat food." "Where's Salem?" I asked, sipping at the cocktail, welcoming the warmth it brought with each swallow. "He's in the kitchen having his supper," she said sounding like a proud mom. "I found a can of smoked sausage in the back of the pantry. The stuff looked gross but kitty is gobbling it down like it's a hundred dollar steak. I just needed to break the links into little pieces. You know, I think he's starting to warm up to me." Just then a pale spear of light eked across the floor, from where the sun had found a crack in the drapes. "Uh oh. Time to turn in," Jesse said, watching the thin yellow line inch across the rug. I nodded. "You think you might-" She hesitated, unsure. "You know... want company. It's okay if you...you don't." "Are you kidding," I said. "Just try go to bed without me." A shy smile formed on her lips. "Thanks," she whispered. As the sunrise did its thing, sapping away our energy, submerging our tangled bodies into the dreamless realm of non-existence, I realized what had seemed strange about Otto. He'd never met me yet he'd known I was the one that was Faith Goodeblood. And he had known Jesse's last name.