3. Virgil
VIRGIL
1 994 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'd tattooed 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 the symbols 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?
"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 something malicious, 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 aspects of 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."
He patted my back and left me in New Orleans, to battle yet another demon. A seventeen-year-old kid who didn't even know where he stood. Most young seminarians left after seeing the chilling truth. This one, against my good judgment, decided to stay.
"I don't think this is a good idea, Father." The demon was playing on the boy's doubts.
Hellsing was young and hadn't built up walls yet. I made a note to teach him how to make those boundaries unbreakable.
"Stop calling me that. I'm no one's father, kid."
"You're the closest one I know, at this point."
He wasn't wrong. His father had gone up and left him when he was five and he grew up with an extremely religious single mother. His childhood was filled with crosses and empty promises, and now priesthood had seemed like a good idea. But as I grew to know Peter, I knew he had not one religious bone in his body. If anything, he was using this calling to escape.
Being a priest came with burdens and secrets, lies you told yourself to keep going, and self-punishments that drove you mad.
This kid was going to suffer, all because he wanted his mother to be proud. A true manipulative woman, Abigail Hellsing turned out to be. Shame would soon find her son when he realized this wasn't a life he could live. And I had a weird premonition that he'd be following in my footsteps in just a few years time, which made me mad and helpless, because I didn't know how to protect him.
But Hellsing had one thing going for him, he was a stubborn idiot, who didn't take no for an answer. And somehow the church had given me an apprentice. One they needed more than anything.
I did far more good outside the smock than in it. According to my religion, a few Hail Marys and Our Fathers was enough to forgive a soul, including my own. If only I could forgive myself that easily.
"Hold the motherfucker down!" I yelled at Hellsing who now had the full weight of a knee fully pressed onto Mr. Robinson's chest. The man continued to flail and foam at the mouth as I flicked him with Holy Water.
Ancient trinkets and theories, but they worked nonetheless. Don't fix what ain't broken right.
"Come out and play you demonic shit!" I taunted it and Hellsing stared back at me.
"You think that's a good idea, Father?"
"I think you should keep your mouth shut," I flicked more holy water on both of them this time.
"Talk to me motherfucker, or are you just a coward who can't show his face."
The attempt wasn't to lure him out, I just wanted its damned name.
"Coward!" I yelled again, praying under my breath, and suddenly the room went very still. Hellsing looked down at the man who had stopped struggling and was now intent at staring at me.
I wasn't supposed to instigate these things. As an exorcist, I was supposed to subdue them. Unfortunately, I also had a short temper for bullshit, and demons were experts at playing that card.
The air around us grew thick, pressing down like a heavy weight. Mr. Robinson's eyes locked onto mine, unnervingly calm in contrast to his earlier thrashing. His pupils dilated, black spreading over the whites of his eyes, and I knew I had the bastard's attention now.
"Finally decided to show up, huh?" I sneered, tightening my grip on the crucifix. The metal was warm in my hand, humming with the prayers I'd muttered earlier. "Will you give me your name, or are we doing this the hard way?"
Hellsing grunted, struggling to keep Mr. Robinson pinned down as the man's body convulsed again. The sound that came from his mouth wasn't human—a guttural growl, low and wet, like something scraping from the pit of his stomach.
"We don't have all day," I said, flicking more holy water onto his forehead. The liquid sizzled on his skin, and a sharp hiss escaped his lips, but he still didn't break. Fine. If that's how it was going to be.
I pulled the rosary from my pocket, wrapping it around my hand as I pressed the crucifix against his chest, right over his heart. "By the power of Christ, I command you, demon, to leave this man and return to the shithole you crawled out of."
"That's not what the book says," Hellsing grunted, still struggling to hold the man down.
I shrugged. "Sometimes you improvise. I'm pretty sure they get the message."
The room pulsed, the temperature dropping by several degrees. I could see my breath in the cold air, feel the bite of frost at the edges of the room. It was the spirit's attempt to intimidate me, but I'd seen worse.
Mr. Robinson's head snapped to the side, his neck bending at an unnatural angle. His voice, deep and distorted, gurgled out, "You think your pitiful tricks scare me, priest?"
A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. "You're out of luck, man. Cause I'm no priest and no, my pitiful tricks are just that, tricks. But I'm sure this will."
I tightened the rosary around my hand, drove the crucifix harder into his chest, and began reciting the rite. The words flowed from my lips, old and powerful, pulling from a place within me that I didn't fully understand but had learned to trust. The demon inside Robinson roared, thrashing with renewed violence. His veins bulged, turning black beneath his skin, and his body jerked against Hellsing's weight.
"Hold him, dammit!" I shouted as Hellsing's grip slipped.
"I'm trying, Father!" Hellsing growled through gritted teeth, fighting to maintain control.
"I told you not to fucking call me that!" I shouted, pressing down on the crucifix.
The demon's voice slithered out again, mocking, "You're too late. He belongs to me now. They'll all belong to me when I'm done with you."
I leaned closer, bringing my face level with Mr. Robinson's. "Not today, he doesn't."
With one final, guttural shout, I finished the exorcism. A scream tore from Mr. Robinson's throat, so loud and raw that it felt like the walls themselves trembled. The demon's presence was ripped from his body in a sudden burst of energy, a black cloud dissipated into nothingness.
Mr. Robinson fell limp, his breathing shallow but steady. The room, once cold and oppressive, returned to its normal state. Hellsing, drenched in sweat, looked up at me, panting.
"Christ, Father... You always have to pick a fight, don't you?"
I wiped the sweat from my brow. "Old habits die hard. And you keep calling me Father, and you're next, kid."
The man was free now, but the demon had only dispersed, to chain it would be an entirely different ritual. One that Hellsing couldn't win, not yet anyway. Somewhere out there, another poor bastard would fall prey to whatever crawled out of these shadows.
"Let's go, kid."
"That's it?" He just stared at me blankly.
"You want more, you've got to learn to build those walls. Demons don't fuck around. You lose your focus just once, and it's over."
I grabbed my coat and my bag and headed out the door. "And I'm not willing to have more blood on my hands that way," I muttered as I went down the stairs and into the parlor where Father Delaney and Mr. Robinson's wife sat waiting for me.
"Is it done?" The wife stood up, looking up at me expectantly.
I nodded. "For now. He'll need rest, make sure to hydrate him, and then send him here." I gave her a card with the directions to Madame Laveaux's hounfours , her sacred space. There, the man would get what he needed for protection, just like we had.
I slowly rolled down my sleeve, the fresh ink still throbbing beneath the fabric. The symbol of protection, strength, whatever the hell I thought might keep me from slipping further into the dark, was still healing, the skin raw and tender. But that pain was nothing compared to the one twisting inside me, the one she had stirred awake.
Barythaya.
My thoughts went to the woman who had tattooed me. Beautiful, fierce, and tempting in ways that tore at my control. She knew how to wield a needle, how to draw out pain so sweetly that I craved it, like a sinner begging for penance. I wanted to see her again, wanted to feel that needle burn through my skin, to feel her hands on me like she could pull the demons right out of my bones.
But more than that, I wanted to mark her too. I wanted to carve myself into her flesh, taste the copper of her blood on her soft skin, and claim every piece of her in ways that terrified me. The thoughts were violent, raw, laced with hunger that had long lay hidden. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I shut my eyes against the images flashing through my mind. I couldn't go down that road. Not with her. Not with anyone.
Keeping myself away from her was the best thing I could do. I was poison, and anyone who got too close would end up as broken as I was. The darkness that lived inside me wasn't something I could control. It was something that fed on everything and everyone around me. And she deserved better than to be devoured by it. By me .
I needed to stay away, but damn if she wasn't already under my skin.
As I stepped outside, the warm air felt suffocating, I couldn't shake the thought of her. The way she looked at me like she could see through all the layers of bullshit and straight into the core of whatever I had left. I wasn't used to that. People usually took one look and kept their distance. But not her.
I paused for a second, wondering if they, the Royal Bastards, the shit I was tangled up in, were the reason my power had heightened. My senses today had been sharper, more intense, and I could feel them ever since the runes were etched into my skin.
But was it just the ink? Or was it something else? Something she had done to me?
Shaking off the thought, I headed down the steps and out to the road. Hellsing was on my heels as I got into the old beat-up truck that was left behind for me."Where are you going?"
"Home," I gave him a short answer because the kid didn't need more than that. He was the type to hunt me down and follow me.
"Where is home?" He asked expectantly.
"Far away from here, kid." I threw my back in the trunk and slammed it shut. I tried ignoring him as I slid into the driver's side. "Take Mr. Robinson to that address I gave them. Keep honing your skills and then look me up. And don't go off doing shit you're not supposed to. You hear of anything you call me."
"Yes, Sir," he nodded excitedly.
I left him with that sliver of hope that we'd see each other again, although I really wished the kid would change his mind. Madame Laveaux would know what to do with him, no doubt.
The roads were dark and quiet as I headed out of Louisiana and toward the airport. The city of New Orleans was bathed in a gray fog that made everything feel even more isolated. My thoughts drifted back to her, no matter how hard I tried to push them away.
The hunger inside me wasn't just for blood or violence—it was for her . And that scared the hell out of me. I needed to find a way to sever the connection, to stop this madness before it pulled me under. But deep down, I knew the truth.
I didn't want to stop.