Page 10 of Virgil's Demons

"Ain't no way this shit's touchin' him," he shook his head and went to get up, but Madame Laveaux yanked him back down.

"You can't protect him from what's comin'," she replied, leaning in, her voice like a hiss in the darkness. "Dat boy is important. More dan you know. You need to bring him to me... as soon as he comes of age."

Bulldog's expression hardened. "For what?"

She smiled again, that same chilling grin. "To protect him from da darkness dat follows you, mon ami. And if you don't bring him to me, you'll lose him."

The silence in the room was deafening. I watched as Bulldog's jaw clenched, the weight of her words hitting him hard. He didn't show it, but I knew him well enough to see the war raging inside his head.

"And if I don't?" Bulldog asked, his voice low, dangerous.

"Den da darkness will take him," she said, her tone final as if the future was already set in stone. "It'll come for you first before it ever gets to him. It's already watchin'. Waitin'."

I straightened, tension thrumming through my veins. Bulldog's son was just a kid, but if Madame Laveaux was right, he wasn't safe. None of us were.

"We ain't waitin' for shit to happen," Bulldog growled, standing from the table, towering over her, but she didn't blink. "I'll bring him when I'm ready. But if you're wrong?—"

"I ain't wrong," she cut him off, standing and meeting his gaze head-on. "Bring him to me, Bulldog, or you'll regret it. And so will he."

Bulldog held her stare for a moment before turning away, his expression unreadable. But I could see the worry in his eyes, the way his fists tightened at his sides. He was thinking of Jameson, of the future, of what he might have to do.

As we headed out of the small, dim-lit room and into the warm New Orleans night, I felt the weight of Madame Laveaux's words pressing down on all of us.

"You believe her?" Spectre asked, breaking the silence as we walked down the narrow, cobblestone street.

Bulldog didn't answer right away, but when he did, his voice was low, resolute. "I don't know. But I ain't takin' any chances with my son."

"Boys," she called out, her tone sharp, commanding our attention. We all stopped in our tracks, turning to face her. She stood in the doorway, shadowed by the flickering candlelight from within, her eyes glazed over as if she were seeing somethingmalicious, something that made my skin crawl. "Watch ya backs. Every last one o' ya."

I exchanged a quick glance with Spectre, but her gaze locked onto Bulldog, who stood still as stone. "The runes I marked on your skin, dey'll help... but only so much."

She took a step forward, her long, thin fingers curling around the doorframe as if gripping some unseen force. "The devil's always watchin'. Always waitin' for his moment."

The air felt heavy, like the weight of her words pressed down on all of us. Bulldog's eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak.

"Y'all think you know the shadows," she continued, her voice dropping low, almost a whisper. "But dey know you better. Stay sharp, or you'll find y'selves lost in 'em."

Spectre let out a breath, one that sounded more like a growl. "You talkin' about somethin' specific?"

Madame Laveaux's lips curled into a slow, eerie smile. "I don't need to be specific. Death's always on the move. It's just waitin' to find da weak spot."

Bulldog gave her a curt nod, but as we turned away again, her last words followed us like a curse.

"Remember, boys—runes can protect da soul only for a little while. There is always a way in."

Her voice echoed softly as we walked back into the night, but none of us dared to look back.

Most of the brothers left that same night, my flight left the next morning. But I wasn't leaving that easily and I knew it. That's when Hellsing knocked on my hotel door. He found me by way of a local priest who'd heard I was in town and had sought me out.

I wasn't a friend of the church, but I had spent enough time in New Orleans to be recognized. Demons liked to lurk in the "Big Easy", it wasn't hard for them to do so when so much sin and death surrounded an area. Not to mention the dark aspectsof the Voodoo culture that lingered in its darkest corners. Those demons were a different kind altogether.

I had met the boy a long time ago, back then he was only ten years old. He had nowhere to go and when he found out what I did, he practically attached himself to me. He was too young and far too naive, but Father Dulaney, the local priest had asked me to watch out for him. He'd told me he was stronger than he looked, and unfortunately, I owed him a favor as well, one which I couldn't back out of.

Now, the kid had found me once again, and what made matters worse was that Bulldog didn't reject the idea. On the contrary, he welcomed it.

"It'll be good for you," he'd said.

"Might teach you some empathy and definitely some humility."

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