Night brought little relief from the stuffy heat; the air was warm and wet as breath.

Sebastian stole through the shadows between the sodium lamps, sleek black against the deep green darkness. The streets seemed hushed, as if the sounds of the city were filtering through from a faraway radio station.

There. Clear and sharp as glass against velvet was an unnatural darkness, a flash of silver. In an instant, Sebastian was behind her, coiling around her silently. One hand around her waist, pinning her arms down, the other around her throat. He pressed his lips to her ear. "Fancy meeting you here."

She snarled and elbowed him roughly, struggling against the suddenly iron grip around her. "Let go of me, pervert."

"Not until you listen to what I have to say."

"I should have killed you when I had the chance," she hissed. Her teeth had become fangs, and her eyes blazed murderously.

Sebastian squeezed her throat roughly, and she coughed hard. "Listen to me. I didn't come here to fight you." He released her and she staggered back a step, crouching warily, her hands flying to the hilt of her sword.

He continued. "Actually, I need a favor."

Hannah relaxed, straightening and crossing her arms. "Right. Why should I do you a favor?"

"Because." Sebastian smiled grimly. "I have information that could save your life."

She curled her lip in obvious disbelief.

"You're drawing too much attention to yourself. Quite a few people are very invested in stopping you."

"Get to the point, then," she said impatiently.

Sebastian lifted his hand. "In exchange, I need two things."

"I thought you said you needed a favor."

He ignored her. "Did any of your girls wear silver bracelets?"

Hannah frowned. "You didn't know?"

Excitement spiked within Sebastian; his instincts had been correct. "They were all members of the same voudou sect?"

She tilted her head to the side. "If you can call it that. Their only belief is hatred, and their only higher power their own superiority."

"Where do they meet?"

"Is that your second request?"

Sebastian's face twisted into a frown. "Don't be withholding. Isn't the price of your life worth a few minutes of your time?"

She fiddled with her long braid; it shone liquid in the moonlight. "Is that your second request?"

"Fine, then, three requests."

Hannah dropped her hair and looked at him sharply. "I'm not playing that game with you, Sebastian. Tell me what you want and then tell me whatever it is that's so important."

"Fine, fine. I came here as a friend." He grew still and serious. "I heard you spared a human recently."

She furrowed her brow. "Did I?"

"The exorcist Bravat. Purplish hair, sees spirits, probably said something stupid. Him?"

Hannah resumed the inspection of her hair, and said breezily, "You want me to kill him for you? You've gone soft, Sebastian."

"No." He paused until she looked up and met his eye. "I need you to promise me you won't hurt him."

"Why would I? He hasn't done anything wrong."

His gaze was cold iron. "Promise me."

"I promise. That's all?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat and abruptly changed the subject. "Now then. It should interest you to know that there's a demon hunter in Marigny, and she's almost certainly on your trail."

Hannah raised an eyebrow. "You were being a little melodramatic earlier when you said you had information that could save my life."

"You might not remember the Middle Ages, but I do. Her kind are bloodthirsty and resourceful, bent on destroying us. You do not wish to cross a demon hunter, especially not unprepared."

She didn't look impressed; Sebastian went on. "Go home, Hannah. Give up on whatever it is you're trying to do."

She cocked her head to the side. "No."

Sebastian let out a little noise of irritation. "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you."

She chuckled softly. "You fancy yourself so cold, so devoid of emotions. So above all of them." She looked dreamily up at the moon. "But you can't leave this world any more easily than I, can you?"

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Finally, Sebastian bade her a curt good night. Then: "Remember what we talked about."

She nodded, not looking down from the sky. As he left, she melted into the darkness.


"No way," Bravat said through a mouthful of pancakes, freezing mid-chew. He swallowed loudly, took a large sip of orange juice.

"Indeed. It seems all the victims were members of this new voudou sect that wears silver bracelets." Sebastian had been careful to omit the source of this information.

"That's great! Not only do I not have to hand over an arm and a leg to Madame Gauthier, but that means I can go to Nina!"

"Not quite. We still can't prove that they are responsible for the zombies."

Bravat pushed away his plate, leaving a sticky trail of syrup along the table. Sebastian wiped it up automatically."Come on, you know it can't be a coincidence. It has to be them!"

"We should sneak into one of their meetings. See if we can figure out how they're doing it, and why."

"You're right," Bravat sighed, leaning back in his chair. "We'll have to figure out where they meet, and when, and how to get in. Shit. As soon as we solve one problem, it creates a million more."

He stood, and Sebastian immediately began tidying as if by compulsion. Bravat paced through the kitchen, too excited to sit down. "Okay. Okay. So we start by asking around, seeing who else has the silver bracelet. We start in the victims' neighborhoods, see if anyone else there is in the cult."

Sebastian didn't respond, but frowned softly at the bowl he was scrubbing in the sink. Bravat halted in his pacing. "Something on your mind?"

He looked up, as if he hadn't realized Bravat was still in the room. "Nothing."

Bravat sighed; he supposed he would have to accept some measure of dishonesty from the demon. He didn't press the point and continued. "Right. Well then, this afternoon I'll go see Nina. Tell her what we've figured out, see what she's got."

Sebastian nodded absently. A disappointing reaction; Bravat had rather enjoyed Sebastian's possessiveness when he'd last mentioned Nina.

Oh, well. No time to get a caught up wondering why he was being such a pill. Matters were afoot.

Nina's shop had been a whirlwind of chaos when it was empty and silent; during business hours, it was a veritable riot. Assistants fluttered through streams of fabric and tangles of thread as Nina shouted orders, all to the mad background hum of sewing machines.

"Meg! Get me the measurements for those bridesmaid's dresses! Augusta, call Mrs. Ratignolle and tell her that a satin lining will be an extra $30 for the whole order, I don't think she knows what she's talking about. And where are my glasses?!"

Bravat approached her and gingerly lifted her glasses from where they were perched atop her head and lowered them onto her nose. She looked up from the bolt of fabric she was squinting at and halted her machine. "Oh, it's you."

"Nice to see you too, Nina."

She set her lips sourly and jutted a thumb towards the back office.

It was as quiet and still as the eye of a storm. The redhead, Mey-Rin, was sitting calmly at the desk, shuffling through paperwork. The din of the shop was muted through the heavy wood door, and Bravat's voice felt oddly loud.

"I think I know where the zombies are coming from," he announced, looking at the women expectantly.

Nina surveyed him coolly. "And?"

She reminded Bravat of a teacher he'd had as a kid; she could give him those same looks that made him feel chastened and foolish. "There's a new voodoo sect in town, with silver bracelets. They're the ones making the zombies. And," he said proudly, "all of the demon's victims were in it."

Nina and Mey-Rin looked at each other meaningfully in a silent exchange. Bravat cleared his throat. "So? Can you do anything about the demon?"

Nina frowned. "We've been out every night searching for her, but no luck. We'll need some help finding her."

"I'm...I don't think that's a good idea," Bravat said, looking away. "Isn't there a way to send her back to oblivion or whatever, or make her stop killing people?"

"Sure, we'll just ask her nicely," Nina said sarcastically. "Maybe, if we knew her true name, and spent about twenty more years devoting ourselves to study, maybe we could banish her. But not only do we not have those things, who's to say she wouldn't come right back to our realm?"

He was starting to feel a little panicky. "I really don't think attacking her is a good idea. She's very powerful, and she has this huge crazy sword..." He remembered his strange encounter with her. "But well, mostly, I don't think she's...bad."

Both women looked revolted at this. "Demons are masters of manipulation," Mey-Rin said. "Beings of darkness. They feel nothing; they exist only to prey on humans."

"I don't think they're all like that," Bravat mumbled.

"Don't be stupid," Nina said sharply. Mey-Rin gave her a stern glance, and she softened a bit. "Demons are predators. They want to hurt you. You have to protect yourself."

Bravat frowned; even though he had nothing to offer Sebastian, the demon had stayed with him. He didn't voice this thought aloud. Instead, he said, "Whatever. But trust me when I say, if you try to fight her, it won't be pretty."

The women exchanged glances again; their faces were set gravely. Mey-Rin gave a small nod.

"Alright. We'll be careful. But we still need your help finding her. Just so we can keep an eye on her."

Bravat briefly described her appearance and where he'd run into her. "It seems like she's targeting people with the silver bracelets. I'm gonna try to sneak into one of their meetings; that's probably our best bet for finding the demon."

Nina looked him up and down pointedly. "Maybe put on something nicer before you do."

"I like this outfit."

She snorted impatiently. "I mean, all the women who were killed so far were upper-class. You'll want to put on something to blend in with them."

Bravat grunted. "Good point." He stood to leave. "I'll keep you posted."

Without Nina at the helm, the shop was much more subdued; he was able to hear the bell on the door tinkle as he left. She watched him solemnly. I hope you keep your word, he thought as he turned and started down the sidewalk. For your sake.


Bravat tugged at his shirtsleeves uncomfortably; he'd been fidgety all evening, ill-at-ease in his scratchy formalwear. Worse yet, Sebastian had managed to slick his hair back and stick him in a black wool fedora.

"Stop squirming," Sebastian ordered.

"These shoes pinch my toes," Bravat complained.

"They wouldn't, if you ever bothered to put on proper shoes."

The restaurant was close enough to be within walking distance, but far enough that the walk was long and miserable. Bravat was slicked with sweat, and had been complaining steadily every step of the way.

Sebastian, by contrasted, looked poised and dapper in his charcoal grey suit and hat. He walked with a natural grace that Bravat, slouching along next to him, couldn't seem to imitate. The demon was also, unfairly, unaffected by the weather.

"I still don't see why we couldn't have called a cab," Bravat grumbled, wiping his forehead.

"It's a nice evening."

"It's a horrible evening, and you're horrible."

Sebastian continued as if Bravat hadn't spoken. "Remember, we're business partners. Try to keep the conversation light and casual, just in case we're overheard."

"I know. I'm the one who told you that, remember?"

Still feigning deafness, Sebastian said, "We'll scope the place out for people wearing bracelets; then we'll find a way to tail them, maybe see if we can get them to tell us something about the sect."

"Stop telling me my plan!"

Sebastian glanced back at Bravat. "Shh. We're almost there."

Bravat spluttered angrily, reaching up a hand to muss his hair out of habit, when Sebastian's hand locked around his wrist and froze its trajectory. "And don't mess up your hair," he said sternly. "You look nice."

"Stupid flattering demon," he muttered, but the compliment had met its mark. He settled for rubbing his wrist. He was wearing a heavy old watch that he'd inherited from his grandfather. Well, a grandfather.

He pursed his lips in distaste as they entered the restaurant; the decor was heavy-handed French colonial, all damask paper and washed silk cushions. The tables were enormous, ornate pieces flaked with gilt; they might have even been real antiques.

Bravat had either lost his taste for decadence early on, or he'd never developed one. As a child, it had seemed like they were always tightening their belts, scraping by, or just making ends meet. By the time he was sailing away from New York, he'd become a connoisseur of thrift, scrounging and scavenging with the honed eye and delicate touch of an experienced collector.

He and Sebastian made sure to pointedly discuss "business" as they waited to be seated; the maitre d had eyed them unpleasantly as they'd entered, and Bravat didn't want to get stiffed on a table.

Luck was on their side; not only were they close to an air conditioning vent (Bravat could admit to himself that the shellac of sweat he'd entered with might have contributed to the maitre d's upturned nose), but they were seated in the center of the restaurant, with a 360 view of the other diners.

The heavy rugs and overstuffed upholstery muted the clinking of silverware and murmur of conversation; he knew it was all in his head, but Bravat imagined he could hear the tinkle of silver bracelets. He scanned the room eagerly.

"It's really dim in here," he muttered, disappointed. It was difficult to make any of the customers out clearly.

"There are at least three of them in the dining room," Sebastian responded, keeping his voice low.

"Oh yeah, demons are allergic to silver!" Bravat whispered.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Every table has a candle. They glint in the light. And, for the record, you're thinking of vampires."

As the waiter approached, Bravat waved a hand, and spoke at full volume. "You're full of it, Sebastian. You'd be lucky if the merger passes, with the way the board's been voting lately."

Sebastian's eyes flickered minutely, but he picked up the charade. "We'll discuss this later." He listened patiently to the waiters wine recommendations, then ordered two glasses of what Bravat assumed was very expensive scotch.

He glared at Sebastian, who shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

After a quick, furtive glance around them, Bravat whispered, "So who has the bracelets?"

Sebastian darted his eyes to a table behind Bravat's left shoulder. "A couple behind you, and a woman to my left."

Bravat made a pouty expression. "Real specific."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure we leave here with a bracelet-wearer. You don't even have to help me tail them, really."

Bravat's frown deepened. "So you just brought me here as a prop?! No way. This was my plan, and I'm coming with you."

Sebastian sighed, resigned. "Fine. But at least permit me to take the lead, as, forgive me, I am more experienced in these matters."

"Yeah, yeah." Bravat began to study the menu with a dispassionate eye when a thought struck him. "Hey, wait a minute. You're a demon," he whispered. "How can you eat food?"

Sebastian looked at him oddly. "I can eat food. My sense of taste is different, but it won't hurt me to eat or drink anything."

Bravat was a little embarrassed. "Oh."

"You don't really know anything about demons, do you?" Sebastian leaned back in his chair, amused.

"Well, why would I?" Bravat said defensively. "Besides, you still don't know that much about humans."

"I know enough," Sebastian said smugly.

"Like what? That you're so much better than us? Give me a break. I—" Bravat swallowed the end of his sentence hastily as the waiter placed two little glasses of liquor in front of them.

"Would you gentlemen care to hear our dinner specials?" The waiter spoke with a posh accent that was most certainly false. It made Bravat want to be boorish out of spite.

"No." He downed his scotch in a single dread swallow, barely masking a full shudder. "But we will have another round."

The waiter didn't flinch, and whisked away the empty glass. "Certainly." Bravat half expected him to bow.

Sebastian looked bored. "If you're trying to embarrass me, it won't work."

"Not everything is about you. What's the situation with the bracelet wearers?"

"We still have a few minutes."

Bravat took a sip of scotch and grimaced hugely. "It's too bad that manly types drink poison."

Sebastian shot him a sharp look before he resumed his surveillance of the dining room. "You do realize that I'm trying to keep you from being thrown in jail, or worse, right?"

Bravat looked down into his drink sheepishly, resisting the temptation to rumple his hair.

Suddenly, Sebastian stood, the movement as quick and graceful as a darting snake. "Time to go." He tossed a $50 bill onto the table, probably making that stupid waiter's night, as Bravat fumbled out of his chair.

Sebastian's gaze was fixed on a nondescript couple, maybe in their 50s or 60s, strolling arm and arm through the door and drifting down the sidewalk. The man helped the woman, resplendent in a bottle-green dress, into a shiny car at the curb.

Sebastian muttered something under his breath; Bravat caught a few choice swear words in Latin (the first things he'd looked up, naturally). His laughter was cut short when Sebastian scooped him up, bridal-style, and tore down the street after the car.

His protests were lost as the wind tore the words from his lips and stung at his eyes; he could have sworn, however, that he heard a smug little laugh.


A/N: A note on geography: Marigny is a neighborhood in southeastern New Orleans, east of the French Quarter on the Mississippi. The story is primarily set along the river, roughly between the Lower Ninth and the French Quarter and a few of the neighborhoods to the north. A quick glance at a map of the 73 official neighborhoods might give a better idea of the setting.