Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 02 - Dark Carnival (7 page)

I gazed at it curiously,
wondering how any of those things could make me sleep better.  I shrugged, tied
the bag closed and put it back under my pillow.  It took me nearly an hour to
fall asleep.  I slept with the lamp on the whole night and woke up refreshed,
wondering how I could ever have doubted Cee Cee’s power.

When I arrived at Miles’, I saw Ruby’s car parked
in the driveway.  After the long day I had with Miles yesterday, seeing both he
and Ruby today was not something I was exactly happy about.  I rolled my eyes
but forced a happy face as I got out my car and knocked on the front door.

When the door opened,
Miles was on the other side with Ruby behind him in the foyer.  They stepped
outside with me, and Miles closed the door behind him.  She had a sour look on
her face.

“There’s been a change of
plans today,” he said to me.  “Instead of going to the convent to train, I need
you to help Ruby look for the mask today.”  I glanced at Ruby.  She was staring
off into the distance, clearly displeased with Miles’ request.

 “Are you sure you don’t
want me to go to the convent?  I need a lot more training.  Besides, you don’t
really need two people to go to an antique store.  I mean not that I minded
going with Nadia yesterday—”

“Your training can wait a
day.  The mask is more important right now.  I would prefer you to go in
pairs.”  His tone indicated that was the end of the conversation.  “Now if
you’ll excuse me, ladies, I have to get going.”  He left in his car, and I
awkwardly stood with Ruby in the driveway, waiting for her to tell me what we
were doing.

“We’re taking my car.  Get
in,” she said, unlocking the doors, taking special care not to look at me. 

She took us to Highway 90
and drove us across the bridge leading to New Orleans’ West Bank and into
Algiers, a neighborhood that felt like a small, working-class town with
warehouses and rail tracks and older generation locals who spoke with a New
York, Brooklynese accent, most often leaving the “r” off the end of a word.  Algiers
was not without its appeal, including the old courthouse, a hulking Romanesque
structure on Morgan Street.  Most of the charm, however, resided with the
Algerines themselves.

Ruby came to a stop in
front of three-story apartment building that looked like it was built in the
‘70’s, but also looked well-maintained.  She parked on the street, not
bothering to feed the parking meter.  A few people waved at Ruby from the
porches of their small, weather-beaten homes.  She returned their waves, and
they eyed me a little suspiciously.

Ruby and I walked up to
the front door of the building, and she punched in some numbers on the dented
call box.  After a few moments of Ruby looking aggravated with the wait and the
awkward silence between us, the voice of a young woman came on the intercom.

“Yeah?” she said with a
light Brooklynese accent.

“It’s me,” said Ruby.

“A’ight.”

A buzzer sounded, and Ruby
opened the now unlocked door.  We entered and walked up to the third floor
because the tiny elevator was out of order.  Once on the third floor, we
continued down a barren hallway with old carpeting that was worn thin in a few
places, but otherwise looked clean.  We stopped at apartment 318, and I could
hear a baby crying on the other side of the door.  The door was ajar, and Ruby
walked right in and set her bag on a little table next to the door.  I
followed, closing the door behind me.

“Hey, girl,” said the
woman inside.  She was short, about five feet, five inches tall, with curvy
hips and streaks of dark red in her jet black hair.  She was pretty, maybe
twenty-seven years old.  She was in the kitchen running some water in a skillet
that had remnants of scrambled eggs.  Beside her, in a high chair, was a
crying, adorable baby boy who looked to be about a year old.

When Ruby saw the baby,
she did something that shocked me: she smiled.  And then she softly squealed
and walked up to him with her arms out.

“He just finished eating.
 He just started fussin’ a minute ago,” said the woman as she dried her hands
on a dish towel draped over the back of the high chair.

Ruby gently lifted the
baby boy into her arms and held him up, looking him in his eyes.  “What’s the
matter? Did you miss me?  Did you miss me?”  His cry died down to a whimper,
and Ruby laughed at him.  He grinned at her and immediately started to pull at
her Tiger’s eye pendant around her neck.  She cradled him against her hip and
held the pendant up for him to see.  “Yes!  That’s Auntie’s necklace!  You
can’t have that right now.  No, you can’t,” she said sweetly to him, still
smiling. 

“How ya doin’?  I’m
Tonya,” said the woman, extending her hand.

“Leigh.  Nice to meet
you,” I replied, shaking her hand.

“Can I get y’all
something to eat?”

“No, I’m good, but
thanks,” I said.

“Already had breakfast,”
said Ruby, still smiling at the baby.  She grabbed the dish towel, draped it
over her shoulder, walked off with him to the living room and sat in a rocking
chair.

“You have a beautiful
baby.  How old is he?” I asked.

She beamed.  “Thank you!  Devon’s
fourteen months.”  She gestured toward the living room.  “Let’s go sit.”

I followed her into the
other room, and we sat on the sofa.  The living room was very lived-in with
baby toys scattered across the floor and a neatly folded pile of laundry in a
basket waiting to be put away, sitting on another chair.  Behind me, draped
across the top of the sofa, was a lovely hand-made quilt.

Ruby had Devon leaning
against her with his head over the dish towel.  She gently patted his back,
softly humming a song in his ear as she rocked.  He soon belched, and Ruby
grinned.  “There you go!” she said, pulling him back up and wiping his mouth
with his bib.  He giggled at her, and she started to bounce him on her knee.  This
had him laughing hysterically.

“He’s usually a nightmare
for me, but as soon as she gets here, he lights up like a Christmas tree,” said
Tonya, shaking her head.  “I think she put a spell on him on something.”  She
laughed.

“No spell,” said Ruby.  “He
just loves his Auntie Ruby, don’t you, Devon?”  Devon replied by giggling
loudly.  Then he motioned that he wanted to be put down.  She set him down on
the carpet, and he started playing with some of his toys.

Maybe I was wrong about
Ruby.  
Maybe
.

Ruby got up and grabbed
her bag by the door.  She came back to the living room and pulled out a little
brown satchel tied with string.  “Here,” she said to Tonya, handing it to her.

She took it.  “Thanks.”  Tonya
noticed my interested glance at the satchel.  “Love potion,” she said, a little
embarrassed.  “Devon’s daddy’s long gone, so I’ve been eyeing this guy I work
with.”

“Oh,” I said, smiling
politely.  “Does it work?”

“It did for Devon’s
daddy,” she laughed.  “But it’s just for attraction.  It’s not guaranteed to
keep ‘em.”

“Make sure to follow my
directions,” said Ruby.  “That’s the last bit of it I have.  I can’t make any
more ‘till September.”

“Yes, ma’am,” teased
Tonya.

“So,” said Ruby, “What
you got for me?”

“Oh!”  Tonya set the
little satchel on the coffee table and leaned back on the sofa.  “So anyway, me
and Carter were sitting out at that new café I was telling you about.  There
was this white man that come up to this woman next to us.  He starts talking to
her and asking her about what she wants out of life and things like that.”

A grinning Devon went up
to Ruby and proudly showed her a toy lion.  “Oh, look at him!” she said to him.
 “You like that mean ol’ lion?”  Devon laughed and went back to his toys.  Ruby
motioned for Tonya to continue.

“Anyway, I couldn’t help
hearing what they were saying, so he keeps talking to her about how her life
could be better by joining his Mardi Gras krewe.  The Krewe of—what was it I
told you?”

“Grigori,” said Ruby.  I
arched an eyebrow, but Ruby paid me no attention.  The Grigori, these Watcher
Angels that Nadia was telling me about, had a Mardi Gras krewe.  That still
seemed a little comical to me that these ancient, powerful beings have an
organization of people who ride floats in Mardi Gras parades.

“Yeah.  That’s it.  The
Krewe of Grigori,” said Tonya.  “So, he’s telling her how everything in her
life would be better if she joined him.  I mean, he didn’t say it exactly like
that, but that’s what he was getting at, you know.  Now I never heard of a
Mardi Gras krewe recruiting people like that.”

“What else did he say?”

“She sounded interested.  He
told her that they were going to have a Mardi Gras ball at their house and then
gave her directions.”

“You know where the
Grigori House is?” asked Ruby.

“Pontchartrain Beach.  The
old fairgrounds.”

“U.N.O. has a research
center out there with the Navy.”

“Not the whole area.  Keep
going down that road a few miles and you’ll see a big house with a lot of land
that expands away from the original fairgrounds and continues along the beach.”

“Anything else?”

“She said she would love
to go, and then he gave her a ticket and told her to bring a guest.”  Tonya
thought for a moment.  “You know it was funny because he just talked to her.  There
were about twelve people outside at the café, but he went straight for her.”

“Alright, thanks girl,”
said Ruby, leaning over in her chair and holding her arms out for Devon.  Devon
walked over to her as best he could and thrust himself into her arms.  She
scooped him up and hugged him, kissing his cheek.  “Alright, my little man.  I’ll
see you soon.”  She kissed him again and then set him down.

Tonya got up from the
sofa and I did the same.  I thanked her before we left.  When we closed the
door, I heard Devon start to cry again.

“So, why are the Grigori
doing this again?” I asked Ruby on the way back to the car.

“Because they’re tired of
being the outcasts of Heaven.  They’re bitter and want to take over, to be in
charge of the humans again.  Not that they ever were in charge.  They were here
to protect us, but that went sour and now they want their power back.  Paladins
have managed to kill many of them off, just like we fight all Dark Ones.  There
aren’t as many as there used to be, so they’re recruiting humans to help them.”

We made it back to her
car.  She shook her head and looked down the street.  “Miles has us busting our
asses looking for that mask, but they probably already have it.”   We got in
the car, and she drove us back across the bridge, exiting onto Claiborne
Avenue.

The farther down
Claiborne we traveled, the more distressed the buildings became; leaning
frames, rotted siding, decayed vines clinging to mildewed exteriors.  Some
homes looked to be in very good condition considering their neighbors.  I
hadn’t seen this part of New Orleans since Hurricane Katrina came through,
devastating the area.  I had seen the news reports about how it was being built
back up.  The Lower Ninth Ward was much worse, though, with overgrown weeds and
gutted houses.  Progress was being made, however.  Lots of good people,
including famous movie stars wanting to help.  But there was still a long way
to go.

Ruby turned down a couple
of side streets and eventually pulled into a secure parking garage in the
Marigny, an old, working-class neighborhood a couple of miles or so before you
cross the bridge to the historic Lower Ninth.  She got a parking pass and found
a space on the first level.  She said nothing as she got out the car and shut
the door.  I followed her out the garage and down the block.

“Where is this place?” I
asked, as we continued onto another block.

“Six streets that way and
two over to the right,” she said, nodding straight ahead of us.

“Six?  You couldn’t have
parked closer?”

“Not
in this part of the neighborhood,” she muttered.  The closer we got, the more I
understood what she meant.  The neighborhood got seedier and more unkempt in
this area.  It seemed the further we went, the denser the atmosphere got.  Eyes
watched us from porches of Katrina-damaged homes where the roofs were patched
and mold clung to the sides.  I noticed Ruby tighten up the belt of her red
coat and pull the collar a little closer to her neck.  Picking up on that cue,
I zipped up my jacket and kept my hands in my pockets.

“I didn’t think anyone
could live in those houses until they were repaired,” I said.

“They’re not supposed to.
 The real residents of those houses don’t live here anymore.  This neighborhood
was always full of poor folks, but they were good people who got run off by
Katrina.  There are still a lot of the good ones here in St. Roch, lots of
decent people who’d give you the shirt off their back.”

“I thought this was the
Marigny.”

“That’s South of
Claiborne.  This part here’s turned to shit with all the squatters and junkies
and dealers. And a few gang bangers are in the process of trying to make it
their turf, so keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

“I lived in L.A. for a
few years.  I can take care of myself,” I said, defensively.

“Well, this ain’t
Hollywood.  It’s the Dirty South and you
will
get jacked, so just follow
me and let me talk for you.”

We turned right after a
few blocks and entered a run-down shop district full of liquor stores, cheap
restaurants and a laundry mat.  Every building and the one lone mailbox on this
street were all tagged with gang symbols, but not with the kind I was used to
seeing in L.A.  These symbols were something else, something more mysterious.  It
looked like three images in a row.  The first seemed to be an arrow aiming
straight up, with a slightly diagonal line through the stick part of the arrow.
 Around the arrow head looked like a giant letter
C
.  And, written
across the arrow head were some strange symbols.  The next image was a hand
with a black small dot just above and just below.  Above the top dot were more
strange symbols. The final image looked like a horseshoe with a dot toward the
bottom and similar symbols above and below.