A crumpled telegram arrived at a dusty motel in the Arizona desert, its message brief but chilling: “Return to New Orleans. The shadows call for you.” The handwriting was unfamiliar, yet Jack felt a cold dread settle in his gut. It was a summons he couldn’t ignore.
The drive back to Louisiana was a blur of neon signs and endless highways. The further south he traveled, the stronger the pull of the shadows became, a siren song luring him back to the city he had vowed to leave behind.
New Orleans had changed in his absence. The speakeasies were quieter, the streets more deserted. A sense of unease hung in the air, a palpable tension that permeated every brick and cobblestone.
Jack headed straight for the French Quarter, his instincts guiding him through the familiar labyrinth of alleyways and courtyards. He stopped at a darkened voodoo shop, its windows boarded up, the door adorned with a wreath of withered herbs.
He knocked three times, a secret code he had learned from Lily. The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit interior filled with the familiar scent of incense and spices.
A figure emerged from the shadows, their face obscured by a veil. “Jack Malone,” a raspy voice said, “you’ve returned.”
“Who are you?” Jack asked, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun.
The figure chuckled, the sound like dry leaves rustling in the wind. “An old friend, you might say. One who knows the secrets of the shadows.”
The figure removed their veil, revealing the withered face of Professor Alistair Blackwood. But his eyes held a strange light, a spark of malevolence that Jack had never seen before.
“Professor?” Jack said, his voice filled with disbelief. “What’s happened to you?”
Blackwood smiled, a chilling expression that sent a shiver down Jack’s spine. “The shadows have shown me the truth, Jack. The truth about the Countess, about the Shadowblood Chalice, about you.”
He gestured for Jack to follow him, leading him into a hidden chamber behind the shop. The walls were covered in arcane symbols, and a pentagram glowed on the floor, its lines etched in blood.
“The Countess isn’t dead,” Blackwood said, his voice barely a whisper. “She survived the ritual, but her power is diminished. She’s hiding in the bayou, waiting for a chance to reclaim her strength.”
“And the chalice?” Jack asked, his heart pounding in his chest.
Blackwood’s smile widened. “It wasn’t destroyed, Jack. It was merely scattered. Its fragments are hidden throughout the city, waiting to be reunited.”
He turned to face Jack, his eyes burning with a feverish intensity. “You have the power to stop her, Jack. The shadows have chosen you. Embrace their power, and you can defeat the Countess once and for all.”
Jack hesitated, the weight of Blackwood’s words pressing down on him. He knew the risks, the dangers of succumbing to the shadows. But he also knew he couldn’t let the Countess rise again.
He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Blackwood’s. “I’ll do it,” he said, his voice resolute. “I’ll stop her.”
Blackwood nodded, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “Good,” he said. “Then let the hunt begin.”
