Page 9 of Virgil's Demons

And just like that, he walked out, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding, wondering who the hell I'd just met and wanting more of that connection.

VIRGIL

1994 New Orleans, LA

Present Day…

"Just…hold him down."

"I don't know if this is a good idea," Hellsing stared back at me, his eyes wide with that concern etched on his young, teenage forehead.

"Do you want to learn or not?"

Hellsing was seventeen years old and he was my new apprentice. Turns out working for the Royal Bastards was just the beginning. A few weeks ago we had Spectre chaining Lucifer back down to the pits of hell, which released his minions to come after us. Every single demon I had exorcized in the last two weeks had made it clear they were there to kill a Bastard. Bulldog had been right, the Hellhounds were sniffing around and Lucifer was pissed. Even his precious Death Reapers over in Nevada had felt the Devil's wrath.

Spectre had recently disappeared leaving us with the knowledge of something powerful. A symbol that could hide us from any evil entity that wanted to harm his brothers. He'dtattooed those symbols on his forearm and we'd done the same. Except Bulldog had tattooed his over his heart. But the ink alone wasn't going to protect us, which is why I called in a favor to the only person I knew who was powerful enough to give us her blessing. A young Voodoo Priestess I had met once when I was tracking the demon. She had helped me expel it from the small boy I was trying to help. It was the only time I was able to exorcize a demon, a lower demon, but one who could cause harm if I didn't move fast. In the end, she told me that my doubts were hindering me. That I needed to stay strong and believe not in God, but in myself. He'd work through me in that way. She also said she owed me a life, so I took that favor to help my new brothers.

The air in New Orleans always felt thicker, like the humidity carried the weight of the spirits along with it. The city had a pulse, something ancient and alive in its bones. It was my second time down here, and this time, we weren't here for the party. We were here for her.

Madame Laveaux.

The Old Lady of Shadows, the one who whispered with death and danced with demons. The stories around her ran deep, darker than the bayou, but I trusted her which meant Bulldog trusted her, and with that followed the rest of the Bastards.

We traveled into the depths of the Bayou to meet with her. I think most of the men thought we'd gone crazy dragging them into this mess, but she was the only one I knew who could bless the markings and give them the power we needed. Voodoo wasn't something that should be trifled with, and getting a blessing meant something in these parts.

She was waiting for us out on the front porch of the old rickety house by the water. She welcomed us as if we were old friends and the brothers could only look at one another, uncertain of everything that surrounded them.

I leaned against the wall of the candle-lit parlor, the scent of burning sage and incense swirled around us as if it had a life of its own. Bulldog sat in front of her, her eyes, a stormy gray that could see into your soul, fixed on him like a predator sizing up its prey. A circle of runes, intricate and deadly, marked the floor beneath them.

I knew that look and Madame Laveaux had taken a particular interest in Bulldog from the moment we arrived. There was something about him that intrigued her. Maybe it was his presence—the weight of his past, the shadows that clung to him—but whatever it was, I had a feeling he was about to get a real awakening whether he wanted it or not.

She took his hands in hers, long, bony fingers curling around his rough, inked knuckles. "Bulldog," she purred, that deep Cajun drawl sliding out of her mouth like molasses, "you carry more dan just the weight o' your brothers on ya shoulders. You know dat, don't ya?"

He didn't respond right away, just gave her that hard, stoic look we'd all come to expect. But Madame Laveaux wasn't one to be unnerved. She tightened her grip, and her voice dropped an octave. "I see darkness in your future. Shadows movin', waitin'." She turned his hands over, tracing the lines on his palms as if she could see into the future through his skin. "You gon' face somethin' soon. Somethin' that wants to tear you apart, piece by piece."

I shifted my weight, feeling the tension in the air. Spectre stood to my right, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He felt it too.

Bulldog finally spoke. "Ain't nothin' new. I've dealt with shadows all my life."

Madame Laveaux smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Dis ain't like nothin' you've faced before, mon cher." She let go of his hands and reached for the deck of cards on the small table between them. The cards were old, worn at the edges, but thesymbols on them—dark, cryptic—were still clear. She shuffled them slowly, deliberately, before laying three cards down in front of him.

She flipped the first card. "The Tower," she whispered, her eyes narrowing. "Destruction. Change." Her fingers hovered over the second card, flipping it slowly. "The Devil." The air in the room seemed to grow colder. "Temptation. Chaos."

She paused before turning the final card. I held my breath, feeling my pulse quicken, and when she finally revealed it, the pit in my stomach dropped. "Death," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

But Bulldog didn't flinch.

"Dis death," she said, her gaze flickering over to me and then back to him. "It comes for you, Bulldog."

Bulldog's fists clenched on the table but he kept silent, waiting.

Madame Laveaux's eyes gleamed, a strange mix of sorrow and warning in her stare. "Your son," she said, her voice cold as steel. "Jameson."

For the first time, I saw Bulldog falter, if only for a second.

"How do you know about my son?" Bulldog said, but there was a roughness in his voice.

"He is a baby, no?

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