Jazz Funeral (Revenant Files Book 3) Read online

  Jazz Funeral

  Revenant Files™ Book Three

  D'Artagnan Rey

  Michael Anderle

  The Jazz Funeral Team

  Thanks to our Beta Team:

  Kelly O’Donnell, Larry Omans, John Ashmore

  Thanks to our JIT Team:

  Wendy L Bonell

  Dave Hicks

  Dorothy Lloyd

  Zacc Pelter

  Angel LaVey

  If we’ve missed anyone, please let us know!

  Editor

  SkyHunter Editing Team

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2021 LMBPN Publishing

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  Michael Anderle Production

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  Version 1.00, November 2021

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-68500-567-2

  Print ISBN: 978-1-68500-568-9

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Books By D'Artagnan Rey

  Books By Michael Anderle

  Connect with Michael

  Chapter One

  The sky was a purple hue, the color of royalty. He had grown to loathe it. The now-former keeper sat on a throne that was not his and looked at a valuable treasure he had hidden away. He had bought himself some time, but he knew it would not last. His brother would come at some point or send his new pets after him, but he would be prepared.

  He looked at his hands. The red glow was much lighter than before and his powers were fading fast. He balled them into fists, fell to his knees, and pounded them onto the floor. Dark figures erupted from the shadows and flew out of the throne room and through the temple. The flames were extinguished as more left and raced into the jungle outside.

  Kriminel closed his eyes and tried to reach out to his pet, but the Axman would not respond. He couldn’t even feel him. Was that cocky fool already dead? For all his grandstanding and time wasted on complex plans, he was nothing without his benefactor’s power. But where did that leave the loa? He no longer had his keeper status and he knew what his fate would be once he was caught.

  With a growl, he pushed to his feet and approached the totem that hovered above him. The shield that protected and trapped it cost him most of his remaining power. It seemed he found himself awaiting the end—was that his reality? Had his grand design been undone by the meddling of his brother and some freaks who fancied themselves detectives?

  Frustration gnawed at him as he marched to the throne room and collapsed into the chair, his dark creations flanking his sides. Here, he could still believe himself king—what he believed he should have been instead of wasting his potential on the trite duties of a keeper. They could be so much more but settled for an existence as glorified ferrymen for the dead. It seemed he was the only one who still dared to dream.

  He looked at the totem, his one saving grace. If he could take it for himself, he would have his powers back. He could get his minion in line again and this could all be saved. That hope was what kept him going. He wasn’t only doing this for himself but the fears of others held him back. This pointless cycle needed to end. It would not be Armageddon but would be life born anew.

  But for now, he waited. Someone would come, he was sure of it. He would be ready and prepared this time. He knew that he only needed a little more time and nothing could stop him. At least that was what the loa told himself. He needed to believe that and the cold voice that mocked him in his mind had to be silenced.

  And yet he could not stop his hands from shaking. Something was coming.

  “This is Agent Donovan,” the man said crisply as he reported in. “I’m here at the Axman’s theater hideout with a team of over a dozen agents and the fire department. We are still clearing the rubble from the fire, but we have not found any clues to where the Axman may be hiding now nor any sign of Annie Maggio. I’ll let you know if anything more develops.”

  He sighed in annoyance as he looked at the evening sky. The sun was almost gone now. After their run-in with Kriminel and the injury of one of his teammates, the team leader had been forced to drop him off with the medics and return immediately after he received word of the Axman’s disappearance and the kidnapping of his prey.

  Their current efforts felt pointless. Of course the Axman would not simply revisit his already discovered hideaway. The only reason why his Agency team was there was to potentially find any secret rooms or hovels they might have missed when they were forced out and to deal with the bodies left from the killer’s massacre.

  Where he should have been was with Valerie and the others, dealing with the bastard instead of now playing catch-up. He knew they had no way of knowing where and when the Axman would appear, which had been their main problem all along. But he knew about the murderer’s obsession with Annie. If he felt pressured, he would only double his efforts to prevent them from rescuing her. The agent wished he knew why he wanted her so badly. It had something to do with tearing the veil down, but how would he accomplish that and what was her part to play?

  “Agent Donovan!” Anderson shouted. He snapped his head to look at her and she pointed frantically at the sky. “Something is going on.”

  Along with almost everyone around him, he gasped in shock and disbelief. A large portal appeared over the city of New Orleans like a white tear across the sky. Several bodies fell through but he was not able to identify them from there. What followed them, however, was more terrifying than that.

  A stream of spirits poured out of the portal although he couldn’t tell what kind, but not all simply fell to the earth. Some began to fly and dozens headed toward his team and the wreckage of the theater. “Agents! Arm yourselves!” he ordered and retrieved his ether rifle as the spirits not only disappeared into the remains of the building but flew into the vans around them.

  Why would they do that? They didn’t hold any people or even interesting tech at the moment. They were merely shuttles for the—shit, the bodies. Low moans began around them and filled the air like a swarm of locusts. Burned wood from the theater was pushed aside as bodies, mangled and singed, rose from within. Screams issued from the fire fighters and paramedics as zombies lumbered out of the vans and began to grasp and claw at them as the agents opened fire.

  “This is Agent Donovan!
We’re being attacked by zombies,” he reported, blasted one through the head, and nodded when the body tumbled as the spirit erupted. “We need backup. Can anyone assist?”

  “I got some guys close by,” a high-pitched, accented voice replied. “I’ll send them over.”

  “Who is this?” Donovan asked, kicked one of the zombies back, and shot it through the head.

  “The name is Don Pesci. You’d best remember it, Agent.”

  He almost dropped his rifle. “Don Pesci? From the ghost mafia?”

  “Yeah, got a problem with that?” the don asked as the car he was in swerved into the left lane. “Anyway, they’ll hopefully be enough because we got our own problems over here.” A loud shriek burst the windows of their spectral rides. “A banshee? Are you serious?” he grumbled as he hung up and reached for his shotgun. “Keep it steady! I’ll take the bitch out.”

  The mob boss leaned out of the window as a dark-blue female figure flew above them. She was dressed in a tattered gown and an opaque veil obscured her features, with the exception of her wide, gaping maw. A bright light filled her lungs and he fired before she could utter another screech. The banshee rolled out of the way and wailed, and windows all around them shattered and the road beneath them broke apart.

  Pesci scowled as the phantasma on his skin was torn from his ghostly form. He cursed, fired again, and caught the creature in her shoulder. The supernatural terror hissed as she fell back several car lengths.

  “Yeah, how do you like that, loudmouth?” he taunted as he racked the shotgun. “Someone, take her out before—what the hell? Where did she go?” It seemed like she had disappeared over the horizon but he knew banshees were tenacious, especially when you shot them. No way would she back out now.

  He squinted and tried to see if she had perhaps flown higher but was distracted by a shimmering light that illuminated the interior of his limo. He looked back and his gaze located the banshee, who was warming another cry. Quickly, he turned and prepared to fire but a loud shot preempted him and the top half of her head was blown off. She managed a stunned gasp before her body dissipated.

  “You gotta be more careful, Don!” Big Daddy laughed from the car behind them and held his shotgun up. “It looked like she wanted to give you the VIP treatment.”

  Pesci grimaced and held his weapon up. “It don’t matter. I had her grand finale right here.”

  “You’re welcome!” the gig dealer exclaimed as he withdrew his head into the car.

  The don rolled his eyes behind his shades, leaned back, and shook his head. “First the Axman gets away and now a hole in the sky is spitting out ghosts—and angry ghosts at that.” He leaned his head on his fist. “What the hell is going on in this city? And where’s that kid?”

  Chapter Two

  Johnny Despereaux was used to people referring to him as “kid.” He and his ghost partner detective Vic Kane stared at the massive portal in bewilderment. What had happened? They had fought Kriminel, his brother the loa Baron Samedi had appeared and captured him, and everything looked hunky-dory. Suddenly the giant skeleton body the nefarious keeper had been creating to rule both the realm of the living and the dead had exploded, and the partners fell through the supernatural gateway and landed in New Orleans.

  He then realized that playing it back in his head had the sound of the ramblings of a meth head talking about the apocalypse, but it seemed to be his life at the moment.

  “So…what do we do now?” he asked and looked at his partner.

  “Probably get out of the way,” the ghost answered. The young detective was unsure what he was talking about until he followed his gaze to a large figure that barreled down at them.

  “Shit!” They both leapt to the side as the ghost landed on the roof and shook the foundation. “What? He hit the roof?” Johnny asked in bewilderment as the dust settled. “That should be only a ghost, right?”

  Vic shook his head. “He’s anything but ‘only’ a ghost kid.” The lead hunter of the Wild Hunt stirred and grunted as he flattened a hand on the rooftop and pushed up.

  He looked at them as a crack on his helm widened and it fell off to reveal translucent yellow skin beneath. “You—the revenant,” he muttered as he stood. “What happened?”

  Vic pointed at the sky. “The short version is the skeleton exploded and tore a hole between the path and living world.”

  “Living world?” The hunter walked past them to the edge of the roof and looked down. “No, this should not be possible.” He looked skyward. “The spirits are coming back to this realm. Did you see any of my brethren among them?”

  Johnny scratched the back of his head. “I was kind of out of it after the blast.”

  “I saw a few,” the ghost detective confirmed and looked at the tops of the buildings around them. “I don’t know where they landed, though.”

  “What of the baron?” the hunter asked. “And Kriminel?”

  “I haven’t seen either of them,” Vic told him. “Hopefully, Samedi was able to use some of his keeper powers and get the hell out of there—preferably with his brother in tow. But I’ve come to learn that hoping for the best outcome is usually a fool’s errand.”

  Johnny stepped forward. “Listen…uh, did we ever get your name?”

  The ghost warrior cocked his head. “Call me Viking.”

  “Viking?” Vic studied him curiously. “Isn’t that more of a title or position? You certainly look the part but you were named Viking?”

  “No, but my birth name is of little consequence now. Even when I was alive I was not called a Viking but in modern times, most would know me as that, and that is more important to me.”

  “It’s kind of like how Axman’s real name is lost to time now, huh?” Johnny asked his partner, only to get a startled look from the ghost.

  “The Axman?” Viking looked at the young man with interest. “Who is this?”

  “A case we’re dealing with. Don’t worry about it,” Vic replied quickly and pointed to the portal. “That looks far more pressing now, doesn’t it?”

  The hunter nodded. “Indeed. We cannot know every ghost caught in that abomination. What could be pouring out of that portal now is—Dybbuk!”

  The partners instantly drew their guns as Viking brought his ax out. Above them were three ghosts who looked like they were wrapped in long cloaks with hoods and only a dark void for their faces. They reached toward them with long spindly arms and tentacle-like fingers.

  “Watch yourself, Johnny. They like living hosts the best,” Vic warned, but the revenant was already firing.

  “Take them out before they get down here and we don’t have to worry about it,” he chided and blasted the malevolent spirits, who flew easily around the shots. As they drew closer, Viking dashed out in front of the partners and with a roar, swiped his ax in a violent arc that cut down all three of the terrors with one swing.

  Johnny and Vic lowered their guns as the hunter placed his ax on his back.

  “Much appreciated,” the young detective told him.

  “It is my duty, and it appears that was only a small taste of what we can expect.” He scowled as he looked around. “I’m sure many of the ghosts who were trapped in that monstrosity were traumatized by their fate. If they were not already on their way to becoming terrors, then many will certainly start.”

  Vic tipped his hat lower. “Does that mean you’ll go on one of the Wild Hunt’s infamous warpaths?” he asked bluntly. Johnny questioned being so forthright with an actual hunter, but with this mess along with the Axman, they needed to know the game plan and if they could stop it.

  Viking seemed to think it over for a moment. “Our numbers aren’t strong enough to do so right now. I need to see how many of my comrades survived the fight and the blast. Most of the Hunt are still out on other missions, but if we cannot contain this chaos, it may come to that.”

  The ghost detective leaned closer to Johnny and whispered, “Fortunately, this guy doesn’t seem as phantasma thirsty as the W
ild Hunt are reputed to be but let’s not push it. While they deal with the runaways, we need to end the Axman situation pronto.”

  He nodded in agreement and walked closer to Viking. “Do you think you can do anything about that portal?”

  His expression regretful, the huntsman shook his head. “I am not a seer or oracle, although perhaps I can find one and see if they have any insight. But I would wager that a keeper would probably be our best hope to close it since it seems to be a tear in the path itself.” He looked at him as if he’d had an idea. “See if you can find the baron. He destroyed his brother’s crux, which means he should be the one to inherit Kriminel’s domain.”

  “Find him? How?”

  At a loud shriek in the distance, Viking drew his ax. “You seem to have some connection to him. I’ll leave it to you to find him. I have obligations as a huntsman and I need to find my comrades.” He spun and pointed his weapon at them. Johnny leaned away from the blade. “Can I trust you with this task?”

  He nodded and tried to move the ax away. “Yeah, we got it, sure. You don’t need to be so dramatic.” Vic coughed and he added quickly, “Sir.”

  The hunter nodded, flew away, and disappeared behind a building. It looked like he was about to engage a terror they could not see, but if he was available to engage it, they probably didn’t have to worry. They could focus on the several other things that swarmed in the back of their minds.