2 Brooklyn James by Brooklyn James

yet…your transformation. How do you propose to handle mine? Or Manny Briggs’?” She flings her hands out to her sides letting them fall, frustrated, slapping against her thighs.
    “Teach me.”
    “There’s not enough time.”
    “I’m a quick study, DeLuca.” He winks. “And by the way, Manny Briggs is now Hell Hound,” he chuckles with the moniker, attempting to lighten the severity of the title.
    “Oh, dear God, you’ve been talking with Dr. Godfrey.” She shakes her head. “Hell Hound?” she contemplates before curtly dismissing, “I’ll believe it when he grows three heads.”
    “Huh?”
    “Cerberus…the famous hell hound…he had three heads,” she reasons, seeing Tony is not following, obviously Greek mythology not his strong suit. “Oh, forget it.”
    Tony tilts his head to the side in thought. “Maybe he does…have three heads. How else could he make you believe he was your dead…” He stops abruptly.
    “Go ahead,” she encourages harshly. “You can say it. How could he make me believe he was my dead husband?” She pushes off the fireplace, walking past him.
    “DeLuca,” he summons.
    “You stay. I’ll leave.” She disappears into the night.
    Tony remains seated in the rubble and ash, eyeing the place in all its dark, spooky dreariness. A screech owl screams causing him to wince, sending goosebumps dancing over his skin. He shudders his body, an attempt to loosen it up. “Fine. I’ll stay,” he talks to himself, the distant peepers sounding off a soothing song. “That’s nice,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I just gotta warm up to the place.”
    Digging through the debris, he pulls his hand back abruptly at its contact with something metal and scorching. “Shit!” he sputters sucking air through his teeth, loosely shaking his hand back and forth at its wrist joint attempting to cool the burning sensation. Grabbing his flashlight from the side of his duty belt, he uses its end to poke around in the soot, exposing a shiny silver crucifix. He grimaces deep in thought with the familiarity of the pendant. He flashes back to the hospital—Vanguard General Hospital. ‘What’s that?’ Gina asked of the crucifix hanging above her hospital bed. ‘Dr. Godfrey hung it there,’ he answered.
    He reaches for the necklace, jerking his hand back before even making contact, an autonomic response to the fierce radiating heat. He closes his eyes, shaking his head, as the crucifix appears to glow a hungry red hue. “Get it together, Gronkowski,” he coaches, peering through first one eye then the other. He wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, sweeping from it a collection of sweat beads. The ash below him in close proximity to the pendant begins to snap and pop, its heat quickly invading his space. “DeLuca!” he yells back-pedaling from the demolished residence.

CHAPTER 7
    “E xcuse me. Sorry. Ooh, pardon us,” Aubrey Raines begs, her body like a pinball bouncing off patrons of the crowded lounge in the New Orleans Gulf District.
    “Hey, watch it,” a woman warns, as Emily Truly leads them forcefully through the crowd, the woman’s drink wobbling in her hand.
    “Sorry,” Aubrey winces.
    “Quit apologizing,” Emily orders, securing two seats at the bar. The large, rectangular reflective surface staring back at her causes her to shake her head and roll her eyes. A regular Odd Couple, Aubrey maintaining full vampirette hair, makeup and extravagant wardrobe. Emily in her usual formfitting black attire, her long coal-black hair slicked into a taut ponytail, her dark skin flawless without a stitch of makeup. She waves her hand impatiently at the bartender. “Sambuca. Two.”
    “Please,” Aubrey adds. “What’s Sambuca?” she questions to Emily, the S-sound exaggerated through her clip-on fangs.
    “Tastes like black licorice.” Emily looks at her, half-annoyed, half-amused. “If you expect me to take you seriously, you’re going to have to get rid of the