“Overdose”

She is cinnamon.

Sweet, Natural…

Suitable, in the smallest of doses,

An addiction of the sugared variety,

Not the healthiest of habits, is she;

Mi Amor – My Amelia.

–

Ripe peaches. Bursting with juices that linger, for a second not long enough, on the tip of the tongue- tempting, teasing, trying for another taste. To deny a coveted appeal for desire, is an abominable crime; governed by the temptress that holds this secret- this method of madness in controlling what she claims.

A nip- just a tiny nip of that buttered milk warm body.

Dragging myself out of the room, leaving behind a singular clue of my presence, forming into a violet, speckle shaped mark- my mark- upon the derriere of my darling Amelia.

I heaved a sigh of relief to be out of there… And a lingering desire to run back inside and smother myself, in the bosom of false comfort and unreliable promises.

All it took was an itch; to pull me away from my yearning and satiate my appetite with a memory of red curls. A single stroke of the white promise line, etched from thumb to little finger; a scar of another drug:

–

A caffeinated addiction,

A burst of sunlight and electricity,

A testing adventure;

Pinning sins against sanity,

Mi Amante- My Mal

–

She’s my perfect little rush of adrenaline- unlike Amelia; a double dose of morphine in the cloudy haze of an angels’ body.

I fucking hate that woman.

There’s just something about her though, that I can’t quite put my finger on… she pulls me back in, however hard I try to fight it. I become a product of affliction; cursed with the shakes and fevered night terrors as I attempt to wean myself off of her. Just as I come close- fingertips brushing the tattered edge of an escape from this turmoil- I dive back in. There’s just something about her…

I’m a God damn junkie for that woman.

Mal, though- Mal-Mother-Fucking-Coffee; she’s the healthiest kind of addiction. She’s the type of fix that betters you; in body and soul.

My Amante, my lover- my Mal.

It’s a damn shame that I never loved her… and never will.

Enough about those crazy broads, or one of them at least, I’ve got some business to attend to.

_

“Who do you think it was that first decided pigeons were vermin?”

“What?”

“Pigeons, why do people consider them to be vermin? Who was the first person to actually call a pigeon, a vermin?”

“Shut the fuck up Tommy.”

I strode into the laboratory to find our in-house scientist, Dr Jackson ‘Tommy’ Thomas and my partner in crime Tammie Lennox, leaning over one of the dozen stainless steel tables- in this white paradise of chrome and cleanliness- inspecting a dead pigeon.

“What have you got for me Tommy?”

“Hello to you too, Jackass” Tammie thumped my arm- she hit lightly but I could still feel a dull ache seconds later.

“Do you consider pigeons to be vermin?” Tommy asked me with the upmost seriousness.

Now that I think about it, he kind of resembled a pigeon himself; small, brittle, unkempt and dressed in that ugly feathered grey jumper of his that I promised to one day burn, if he ever left it unattended in my presence.

“No, actually, I do not consider pigeons to be vermin.”

Tammie rolled her eyes at my bemused expression as Tommy oozed smugness from every pore.

“See, told you he would agree with me.”

“Why the debate?” I asked.

“Tammie got pissed-“

“You dragged me out of bed for a fucking disease infested flying rat.” Tammie cut him off.

“I woke you up five minutes before your alarm- or might I add- your fourth alarm.” Tommy countered.

“Well some of us aren’t fucking morning people who can wake up all fresh and fucking daisy on the first fucking bleep of a 5.00AM fucking bell.”

“You’re cute when you’re cranky” Tommy bumped her with his hip.

“Go get me my fucking coffee.”

“Seven fucks given before 7.00AM; must be your personal best Tammie” I interjected before the couple started pile driving on the desk.

Tammie and Tommy were the physical manifestation of the saying ‘Opposites Attract’. An ebony beauty in the body only a Goddess could envy; Tommy was really punching above his belt with this one. Then again Tammie has always had a soft spot for pale, wiry British blokes- something she admitted to me three years ago after a drunken one night stand. I wanted to take things further, but she was never interested.

They have a chemistry that sparks and burns furiously; the type of fiery passion that could get a fellow into trouble, but luckily these two managed to find an equal in the bedroom. I know this, unfortunately, after stumbling, more than once, into their sexual escapades. All I can say is- they are firing through that list of places to bonk that most couples subconsciously create. It becomes a conscious list of sexual scores after the first couple of locations have been conquered; like the lab… or my office chair.

“Fuck you, Bastian” Tammie sneered. She managed a smile for her deficient husband though; after receiving a giant mug of black, sugared coffee.

“So what’s with the pigeon?” I turned my attention to the dead bird, soaking in its own blood, oozing out of a gaping bullet hole in its chest.

“I’m glad you asked Sebastian” Tommy skipped around the table, ready to present his findings to us. “This is not just any old pigeon, this-“, he brandished his hands toward the dead bird, “- this is a domestic pigeon.”

He was met with irritated silence.

I turned to Tammie, “deliver an extra fuck from me, will you; I’ve got some more important work to attend to.”

“Wait, wait!” Tommy panicked as I turned to leave. “This isn’t just any old pigeon.”

“I know what a domestic pigeon is Tommy.”

“Did you know that they were of significance importance in times of war-“

“Like Cher Ami?”

Tommy was stunned by my question.

“Who’s Cher Ami?” Tammie was starting to wake up a little more with each sip she took, and was genuinely curious.

“What?” I asked of Tommy’s confused expression, “I read pointless trivia on the internet when I can’t sleep.”

“Cher Ami” Tommy composed himself as he turned to answer Tammie, “was a hero of World War I.”

“And a homing pigeon” I added.

“Hold up” Tammie ordered us a pause with disbelief, “a disease infested rat, with wings, was labelled a hero during World War I?”

“Technically, a heroine.”

“She saved so many lives, it’s incredible to think that such a small thing like her could do so much good” Tommy gushed.

“She delivered a message” I explained to Tammie, “is that what this is about?” I asked Tommy.

“That is exactly what this is about” he rushed to his desk and brought back a file filled with black and white candid photos of flying pigeons. “Look, here, on the left wing” Tommy pointed to one of the photographs.

He had managed to capture a crystal clear shot of a pigeon in flight- he should, considering the amount of money that was spent on his equipment. On the inside of the left wing was a dark symbol painted onto the bird.

“Is that…” I turned the photo 90 degrees clockwise.

“The All Seeing Eye” Tommy was vibrating with excitement ready to burst through the roof.

“Oh fuck” Tammie pulled the photograph from my hands, rumpling the edges with clenched fists.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” I reached out towards the dead bird, lifting up its left wing to reveal the symbol.

“I’ve been watching it for weeks; it follows the same pattern of flight. It took me a few packs but this bird is no Cher Ami.”

“Show me the message.”

Tommy grinned and reached into his pants pocket, “I thought you’d never ask.”

–

Welcome to The Big Easy, the city that never sleeps- and the birthplace of the smoothest sound around- the First City of Jazz; New Orleans.

The place that has been my home for the last five years, after I discovered that I had family roots leading back here to the 1700’s, after France signed a treaty relinquishing Louisiana to Spain- that lasted around forty years. During the reign of Spain in the Great City of New Orleans, was the Great New Orleans fire of March, 1788; destroying hundreds out of the thousand structures that once stood proud in New Spain, Louisiana. That was the night they decided to take control, once and for all.

In 1803, after the Louisiana Purchase by the United States from the French, the Fellowship of the Craft was formed. The original members were do-gooders of the community of New Orleans who just wanted to do some good for the city they loved. They explored the very thing that most had grown to fear; the Craft. My Great, Great, Great, Great, Great, Great Grandmother, Alice Meriwether, was one of the original members. As were a few other family members after her, but halfway down the line ties were cut, and my ancestors somehow ended up across the country in Portland; where I was given away to foster care after I was born.

My mother died during childbirth and no one had a clue who my biological father was. Her parents, my grandparents, were already senile and knocking on deaths door before I could even talk. What little possessions they left behind helped me find my way back to my ancestral home.

The day after I graduated high school I took my Foster Fathers 4×4 land rover- with his permission of course- and made my way to Chicago to meet my second cousins; who I’d managed to find and contact when I was fifteen. Together we found some family roots in Nevada, Las Vegas. These clues took me back to Oregon, and from there we found our way through Colorado, Kansas, then finally; Louisiana, New Orleans.

My second cousin Jack; the youngest of my four other cousins from Chicago, stayed with me to the very end. I’ve got five years on his twenty, and since the day we met I’ve always thought of him as a little brother; the kind who likes to get into a lot of trouble.

It was there that we came across the De Ville twins, Beatrice and Theodore; my mothers’ aunt and uncle. They had severed ties with their older sister Alma; my crazy, dead grandmother, after she eloped with their mothers’ current boyfriend- my grandfather.

Very much like myself, they became curious about their family roots in their teenage years; and like Jack and I, they found themselves chasing clues that brought them all the way from Montana to New Orleans.

They took us in with open arms and introduced us to the Fellowship of the Craft. I was a wide eyed, naive, young man; just one shy year away from twenty when I arrived. My first day here I was introduced to the current members of the Fellowship, where I met Mal. Two days after that I came across Amelia sitting on a park bench reading The Alchemist.

She was only sixteen at the time, but she blew me away with her charisma, enlightening anecdotes and the air of maturity that laced the edges of her vibrant, youthful nature. The day she turned eighteen I asked her out on our first date. Now we are engaged to be married, and I hate her fucking guts; so much so that I’m still just as in love with her like the first day we met. Sometimes, when she thinks I’m not looking, I can see that old part of her; drowning beneath those cold eyes and cruel hands, pleading to be saved.

It’s not her fault she’s like this; if anything the blame lays solely on me, for failing her. I was confident and careless- and now she is cursed. I haven’t lost Amelia, I’ve just gained more of her; the worst parts of her. It’s been a long time mission of mine to find a way to take those parts away without destroying her in the process. For now, I will suffice.

–

“We’re lucky you caught this early, Tommy” Beatrice praised the young scientist.

“We need to act fast, any word from the scouts?” Sabine, the current reigning leader of The Fellowship, asked the table. Tammie and I were stood on guard just outside the doors, looking down into the courtyard, within earshot of the emergency meeting of the Seven.

The Seven are the chosen who make all the decisions for the fellowship; basically, they are the leaders of The Fellowship, but it is Sabine who makes the final decision at the end of the day. I’m what is classed as a field soldier, just like Tammie; we are given the orders and sent out to take names and kick ass. We are the highest rank of soldiers, just below the Seven. I like to think of the scouts as our minions.

The Seven is made up of those whose bloodline runs back to the original Seven. Beatrice is the current representative for my family bloodline; Theodore is too ill of health these days to have much involvement with The Fellowship. Tammie is the eldest daughter of Sabine, and the next in line for a place with the Seven. Then there is the other five; Gilbert, Ophelia, Remy, Virgil and last but not least, Mallory, my Mal.

I lifted my hand to my mouth and spoke into the microphone cufflink on my jacket, “Seven for Clover”.

I heard static in my ear piece before a woman responded, “Go for Clover.”

“What’s your 20?”

“Heading back to the French Quarters. Over.”

“Did you find any trace of a device? Over.”

“Negative” Clover paused for a second before carrying on, “There’s nothing out here Bastian, we’ve scanned every nook and cranny. It’s got to be in the Quarter. Over.”

“Copy” I looked back at the Seven who were patiently waiting for a report on my transmission. “Bring the team back to base. Out.”

“There’s nothing outside base, I’ll rally the team together and scour the building.”

“I told you we should have concentrated on the French Quarter” Remy cursed, spittle flying out of his weathered lips; for an eight year old Remy had an impressive ember burning in him, still, proving time and time again he truly had the blood of the originals flowing through his veins.

“We’ve got a second team down there now” Sabine scowled at the old man. “Tammie” she didn’t need to say anymore than that.

“Seven for Heart” Tammie also wore a neatly pressed suit similar to my own crisp, navy blue.

“Go for Heart” Jack, my cousin, responded into both of our earpieces.

“What’s your-“

The line suddenly cut off and static shrilled, painfully, into each of our ears. I winced, pulling the piece from my ear and discarding it across the balcony.

“What the fuck!” Tammie inspected the screeching earpiece, which was so loud it could clearly be heard by the Seven and Tommy.

Tammie had managed to pull her piece out straight away, but mine had stayed a little too long in my ear. The first warning came in a trickle of blood, leaking from my nose and staining my white shirt. The second was a blanket of nausea, knocking me back onto my arse and into a startled Tommy who was rushing to my aid at the first drop of blood.

Tommy shuffled back to the main room, dragging a duffle bag out of the corner of the room. Tammie, with the help of the Seven, somehow managed to carry my screaming, writhing body onto the table in the middle of the room. Tommy came to my side with something that look like a small, silver stun gun. He aimed it at my temple and fired, just as the blood started to seep from my eye sockets.

The pain was #, but finally, I could hear again; the buzzing in my head had disappeared, along with the pain and nausea.

“What the hell was that?” I cried out.

“It appears as though you were hex-” Tommy started but I cut him off.

“I know what a fucking hex is, Tommy, I meant the thing you shot me with?!”

“Oh this” he grinned, proudly holding up the tiny, silver gun. “One of my newest creations, the Doppler; I started working on it after seeing the first signs of their return.”

“How- how was that even possible?” Virgil admired the mad scientists’ creation, timidly reaching out to touch it. “Where is the hex now?”

“Demolished” he smugly handed the gun over to a bemused Virgil. “I have a few other creations that have a similar affect on a hex; this one was specifically designed for shock waves. With every hex, there is a source; a root that carries it through on command. Think of it as a series of atoms, pieced together in a way that they can be transmitted through electricity, given a direction and carried to the receiver who is named in the hex; in this case- The Fellowship and our communication system. My Doppler released a series of pulses, aimed towards the area of attack; seeking out the root of the source- the hex- and shattering the sequence. Therefore disintegrating the source, failing to produce the shockwaves pulsating around Sebastian’s body, infecting him; eventually, demolishing the hex.”

Tommy was once again, as usual, met with silence.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I brought the first unrelated member into our fold.” Sabine beamed at a scowling Remy, who had originally been dead set against bringing Tommie into The Fellowship; claiming that only those with the blood of the True Origins should be gifted with a position in the fold.

“Would it be inappropriate to comment on how turned on I am right now?” Virgil shot a shy smile at Tommie, sharing a sneaky wink with me as he handed back the Doppler.

“Oh shit” Tammie grasped my arm, reaching into her pocket with the other to pull out her phone.

“No”, I took it from her. “It’s not safe right now to use these; go meet with Clover and scour the base, I’ll check up on Jack and Heart.”

“Will you be okay without us?” Tammie asked her mother.

“Go” she ordered us.

And we did.

Tommy handed the Doppler over to me, producing a second one out of his pack to give to Tammie. He re-enacted shooting me into the temple, and pointing out the trigger and safety clasp, before letting us go.

The Fellowships base was in the centre of the French Quarter, close to the St. Louis Cathedral, in a small, comfortable manor house. The cathedral was our base; specifically, the basement.

“Heart last checked in on the Woldenberg Riverfront Park, before then they were in the Spanish Plaza” Tammie informed me.

“How long ago?”

“Over twenty minutes ago” she checked her watch.

“I’ll take a detour down Decatur Street, towards the Docks; if they’re not there I’ll head straight to the Markets. Do not use the radios or phones; that’s an order.”

“Copy, stay safe” she patted my arm and took off down the street, back to base.

We were only a couple hours away from dawn, and the fatigue was starting to wear me down, but I powered through it; also, Tammie was kind enough to share the strong stuff with me. By that I mean coffee- hard drugs make the body weak and I needed to be in top form, always.

There were a couple stragglers, wide awake and in a drunken haze heading back to whatever hovel they came from after a long night of intoxicated bliss. I envied that. Thinking it over though, I wouldn’t give this life up for anything- not even the love of a good woman, not even for her, no matter how much she asks. The Fellowship comes first, always.