Royal Street (17 page)
M
y hands shook as I rechecked the wards on every door and window. They were strong wards. Neither Samedi nor Jean Lafitte should be able to enter. But just in case, I took the lantern upstairs and locked myself in my library.
y hands shook as I rechecked the wards on every door and window. They were strong wards. Neither Samedi nor Jean Lafitte should be able to enter. But just in case, I took the lantern upstairs and locked myself in my library.
I considered calling the Elders, but what could I tell them? That I saw a voodoo god dancing on the sidewalk in front of Marinello’s Pizza? That Jean Lafitte maybe had an affair with Marie Laveau a couple of centuries ago, therefore they were now in the midst of some nebulous anti-wizard conspiracy? That, somehow, all this might be related to Gerry’s disappearance?
No contacting the Elders—not yet, anyway.
I knew Alex would come back if I called him, and that realization stunned me. Our relationship had gone through some changes in the last week. Something to ponder later.
The shrill blare of a car horn outside made me want to fly out of my skin, and the crunch of metal-on-metal sent me running to the window. I pulled the curtain aside and looked out at a pair of soldiers standing beside their respective Jeeps, arguing.
Light rain reflected in their headlights—the only lights on the darkening street. I pulled the curtain back more and looked a little farther, toward Marinello’s. Nothing but shadows and rain.
Light rain reflected in their headlights—the only lights on the darkening street. I pulled the curtain back more and looked a little farther, toward Marinello’s. Nothing but shadows and rain.
I paced around the room awhile, thinking about Gerry and Marie Laveau and Baron Samedi, the puzzle of it gnawing at me. And was Jean Lafitte involved with them, or was he an isolated problem?
Scanning the bookshelves, I retrieved the volume on the first Marie Laveau, the one who might have dallied with Lafitte when she was very young. I hadn’t been able to summon Gerry, and I didn’t have the guts to summon Jean Lafitte or Baron Samedi. But maybe I could talk to the voodoo queen.
To do the summoning, I needed four items related to her. I cut out an illustration of her from a book of local history, then read for other ideas. She loved jewelry, so I unlocked the library door and pulled a pair of gold bracelets from my jewelry box in the bedroom. Next, I ran downstairs and got the bottle of rum Lafitte had drunk from, and added to it dried red peppers from the spice rack—a ritual offering for voodoo ceremonies. Finally, I locked myself back in the library and chose red and gold candles to appeal to her power.
Moving an area rug aside, I carefully drew a summoning circle in chalk not far from my Elder transport, and covered it again in sea salt for extra strength. I looked at the setup a moment, wondering what I should ask her and whether she’d tell me what I needed to know. Most pretes were bound by the blood of summoning magic to answer questions truthfully. The historical undead could lie through their immortal teeth.
Scanning my supply shelves, I pulled out a plastic case divided into small compartments originally meant to hold nails and bolts. I kept magically infused gemstones in it. Most truth amulets contained red agate, so I chose one from the box and set it inside the circle. Then I placed the summoning items at
the four compass points, and pricked my left thumb with my silver knife. As the blood hit the circle, I called her. “I summon Marie Glapion, also known as Marie Laveau.”
the four compass points, and pricked my left thumb with my silver knife. As the blood hit the circle, I called her. “I summon Marie Glapion, also known as Marie Laveau.”
Almost immediately, I felt the power spring up, forming an invisible containment cylinder. I backed away, knelt on a cushion, and waited. It took a couple of minutes. I was about to give up when a mist formed inside and gradually took on a feminine shape.
The historical undead always came back at their most powerful age, or the time they’d been at their most famous. Jean Lafitte looked to be in his early thirties; Marie Laveau was a bit older, maybe forty. She was at least a head taller than me, with skin the color of caramel. Gold hoop earrings caught the light as she swept a strand of thick, dark hair over her shoulder and knelt inside the circle to get a better look at me, dark eyes flashing. I thought about hiding. This idea was making my morgue visit seem sane.
“What do you want, wizard?” Her voice rose and dipped in a musical patois that made me think of palm trees and hot West Indies winds. Her long red skirt brushed the sides of the circle, and she reached her hands toward me, palms flat against the cylinder.
“I want to ask you questions, and you are bound by my stone to answer truthfully.” I struggled to keep my voice even and calm. Something about her made me want to go blubbering behind the sofa.
Marie stood and looked around till she found the agate next to her feet, and gave me a calculating look, a half smile on her face. “Clever. I repeat, wizard. What do you want?”
I took a deep breath. “Why is the vévé of Baron Samedi marking the homes of wizards?”
She smiled coyly, and knelt again. “Most wizards are enemies of those in the Beyond. We all want to know where our enemies live.”
Obtuse. Try again. “When you say ‘we,’ do you mean the followers of voodoo?”
“No.”
“Are you speaking of only yourself?”
“No.”
Grrr. Avoid yes-or-no questions. “Who considers the wizards his enemy and wants to know where they live?”
“All of us, wizard, from Vampyre to the City of the Gods. We are all your enemy.”
That was scary, not to mention unhelpful.
“Are you leading a revolt?”
“I am but a follower, wizard. You would do well to stay in your nice little home and not meddle with things too large for you.”
Okay. She didn’t deny a revolt, even implied it. “Is Baron Samedi on this side of the Beyond?”
“Samedi is the god of death and life. He is everywhere.”
Useless. “Are you working with a wizard?” God, Gerry. I’m sorry I even had to ask that question.
“No.”
Rephrase. “Has anyone in the Beyond been working with a wizard since the storm?”
“I have to answer truthfully, as you say. But only if I answer at all. I tire of your questions.” She clamped her jaws shut and stood again, looking down her nose at me.
I stood and paced around the circle. “You and Jean Lafitte,” I said. “I hear you had quite the romance.”
The comment took her by surprise, and she turned to watch me as I walked. “I did not know the pirate in my human life. But …” Her voice rose in astonishment. “You must be the one I heard about, the one who got the better of him. Yes, I see it on your face … . Ayeee.” She began to laugh, a rich and musical sound punctuated by the tinkle of bracelets on her arms. “The
pirate Lafitte is not happy with you, little one, but he will tell you that himself soon enough.”
pirate Lafitte is not happy with you, little one, but he will tell you that himself soon enough.”
Uh-oh. “What do you mean?”
She continued to laugh.
“What does he have planned?”
A smile. “I will talk no more, wizard. Keep me here as long as you like, but you cannot make me answer.”
I pelted her with a dozen questions more, and continued to be met with silence. For a while she remained standing, silent, bright-eyed, amused. I plopped down on my cushion and thought about leaving her there all night just for spite, but the smile on her face gradually grew harder, and her expression angry.
She knelt, created her own circle within mine, and began chanting in a rhythmic lilt: “Madame Brigitte, behold the lash which this wizard has cut to strike you with. I bring it to you that you may teach her the lesson she deserves.” She took two small sticks from a pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt and placed them in an X on the side closest to me.
It was damned creepy, whether you believed in it or not. “Here is the woman I pray you to torment,” she chanted, and I felt my magical containment falter. It needed more blood to keep her from tearing it down and coming after me. It wasn’t like she was telling me anything useful. She was just giving me plenty of material for future nightmares.
I grabbed my silver knife, sliced across my thumb, and dropped blood on the circle again. “Marie Laveau, I release you back into the Beyond.” I hoped my pronouncement didn’t sound as rushed and freaked-out as it felt from my end. She smirked at me as her image faded.
Once I was sure nothing was left in the circle, I broke the binding and collapsed in an armchair. My head pounded and I felt like I’d been hit by the two Jeeps down in the street. I’d sliced my thumb too deeply, and blood coated my left hand.
I picked up the elven staff, which had moved itself into the library sometime during the day, and it seemed to make the headache better. Even the soft steady light of the fluorescent lantern hurt my eyes, so I turned it off, letting the darkness wrap around me like a blanket. I held on to the staff and curled up on the love seat to think, trying not to bleed on the upholstery.
I knew it was a dream as soon as it began. One of those weird, lucid dreams, where you don’t really get scared because you’re aware on some level the monster in the closet is only a dream monster, only in this case it was a dream Gerry.
I walked through a long, downward-sloping corridor. The floor was dark cobblestone, worn smooth as if by centuries of footsteps. Flickering gas lanterns cast geometric shadows on the slate-gray masonry walls. I could touch the sides of the narrow passageway on either side of me as I walked. Above, I saw the night sky peppered with bright stars, yet the thick, musty air didn’t feel like it was outside.
In the dream I wore a red tank top and jeans, the same thing I’d worn all day. My skin pimpled with cold, and I wished I could dream up a sweater.
At the end of the corridor, I reached a heavy door of gleaming dark wood with an ornate brass knob and key plate.
A circular stone room lit by two gas lanterns lay on the other side of the door, its only furnishings two facing chairs like ancient thrones, with tall backs and silk-covered seats. One chair was empty. Gerry sat in the other, waiting for me.
I wanted to run to him, throw my arms around him like I did when I was little, but he looked somber. The last time I’d seen that look, he’d just caught me doing hydromancy. He’d lectured me with passion about the laws of magic and why they were important.
He looked distinguished, aristocratic, his silver hair pulled
back in a short ponytail, his green silk shirt—a gift from me—rustling as he shifted in his chair.
back in a short ponytail, his green silk shirt—a gift from me—rustling as he shifted in his chair.
“Sit down, Drusilla. We have to talk.” He rarely called me Drusilla, always said it was an old-fashioned, sentimental name that didn’t fit me. If he called me Drusilla, I was usually in trouble.
“You should not have summoned Marie Laveau,” he said. “I can’t protect you if you prove yourself too strong. You mustn’t call attention to yourself.”
My fingers dug into the arms of my chair. “Gerry, where are you? I’ve been looking for you. The Elders are looking for you.”
A hint of his old smile. “Yes, I imagine they are. I don’t have much time, so listen to me. Drop the search for me. If you act as if you believe I’m dead, the Elders will too. They’re taking their cues from you.”
“But I don’t think you’re dead. I’d feel it if you were gone. I’m working to find you—just tell me what happened. Tell me how to help.”
He smiled at me, finally. “Trust me enough to do what I say, and let me go.”
I didn’t know how to answer.
He looked behind him as if someone outside my field of vision had spoken. “Have you been to my house?” he said, turning back to me. “You need to find the journal and the staff. You—”
“DJ!’
A pounding noise brought me to my feet, and I was back in my library, my breath coming in gasps. A dream. It had been a dream.
“Are you in there? Open up!” Alex pounded again.
I stumbled to the door, groggy, and turned the dead bolt latch, stepping aside to let him in. He smelled of rain and sandalwood.
“DJ?” He sounded uncertain, and flipped the light switch out of habit. It surprised both of us when the overheads came on.
“I’m okay. Just a bad dream.”
“Why were you here in the dark with the door locked?” He saw the throw rug tossed in the corner and walked to the circle. “What have you done?”
“You aren’t going to like it.”
“Obviously.”
I looked at my watch—nine fifteen. “Have you eaten dinner? I haven’t. Come downstairs and I’ll tell you.” I wanted to process what I’d seen and heard before I talked about it. Part of me still felt caught in the dream.
He caught my arm as we left the library. “Are you hurt?” He turned my hand over, inspecting it. The blood had dried, the cut closed up.
“No, let me wash it off. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
We heated MREs out of habit and sat at the table, eating in silence. He watched me take every bite, waiting to pounce.
“How are things in Houma?” I asked, pushing my plate aside.
“Fine. No more stalling. Who did you summon?”
I filled him in on seeing Baron Samedi in the rain, then the frustrating interview with Marie Laveau.
When I finished, he propped his elbows on the table, fingers steepled in front of him. I waited for him to start the barrage of name-calling, but he was buried in thought.
“You realize the implications of this?” He slumped back in his seat.
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