by G A Chase
“Just because Miss Fleur refused delivery, that didn’t mean the box wasn’t included in her list of possessions at her death. This is a very large compound. Our storage rooms would rival a good-sized warehouse.”
Kendell knew she’d imposed enough on the nun’s patience. “I can imagine. There’s no need to go digging for her possessions. The objects are probably best left in your care.”
“I appreciate your consideration. I only wish Mr. Lance had felt the same way about her documents.”
* * *
A faint blue haze drifted out the top of Madam de Galpion’s shop door as Kendell and Myles entered. The smell of tannins and fresh-baked bread made Kendell remember childhood Christmas dinners. “Why do you think he wanted to meet here?”
Myles rubbed his eyes. “Maybe he wanted to poison us with this smoke.”
“My apologies for the intensity.” Madam de Galpion emerged from the back room wearing a long, flowing dress printed in geometric shapes that reminded Kendell of Africa. “The incenses are of my making. They will help keep everyone calm, truthful, and hopefully cooperative.”
Kendell gripped the pipe tool in her pocket and felt its power radiate to her soul. She still wasn’t convinced the meeting was a good idea. “How do you know Lance Laroque?”
Madam de Galpion lit another candle on her desk. “Generations of his family have been customers of my people. He has a passion to understand the paranormal. Unlike many, he’s mostly interested in preventing harm. I wouldn’t trust him if I were you, but you have more in common than you might suspect.”
The way Lance held his chin almost perpendicular to his neck as he entered the shop made it appear that he was looking down on everyone. “I’m not on your side. This is a business meeting and nothing else. You have information that I want. You are also in possession of the baron’s pipe tool.”
Kendell seethed in her chair. “So that’s it. You’re after the cursed object.”
“Don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t dare touch that thing. I don’t even like being in the same room with it. But just because I find its use repugnant doesn’t mean the same is true for other members of my family.”
Myles exchanged a look of confusion with Kendell. “Then what do you want?”
Lance shook his head in apparent disgust. “You think it’s so easy, don’t you? I’m a Laroque. Wealth, power, and success just fall from the heavens and into my arms. Such bullshit. We’re like the lion pride living among the animals of the savanna. You all think we’re just preying on you, but none of you have any idea what it’s like to be in the family. The elders are constantly pitting us against each other to search out the strongest and most ambitious. Those lucky few that are deemed worthy are given the keys to the kingdom, sent to the best schools, married to the most prominent families, and groomed for greatness. But what do you think happens to those of us who don’t measure up?”
While in school, Kendell had wondered why Lance was the only Laroque at Southeastern Louisiana State, but it wasn’t a contemplation that occupied much of her attention. “You seem to be doing all right.”
“What you call all right, I call purgatory. But you’re missing my point. We’re bred to be competitive and to win at all costs. I’m no different. What strengthens the family is all that matters. But using curses and killing our opposition within the family are signs of weakness. Such actions are beneath us.”
As Kendell held the tool in her pocket, she could feel its hatred for every one of the Laroque family. “You expect us to help you weed out whoever killed Marilyn?”
“Not without compensation. I know you have questions about my family. I won’t give any answers that will harm our future, but I can direct you toward information about the past.”
Myles kept his hand on the satchel with the copies of Samantha’s family tree. “It might surprise you to know we’re not all that interested in the Laroque family. Not everyone is enamored with you people.”
For all of Lance’s bravado, his ability to keep his anger in check impressed Kendell. “No, but you are interested in the Malveaux curse.” He pulled out a small black notebook and tossed it on the table. Written across the front in gold lettering was the name Fleurentine Laurette.
As Myles reached for the notebook, Lance slammed his fist onto the cover. “Not so fast. I’ll take the Laurette family history first if you don’t mind.”
Myles put the canvas bag on the table. “They’re copies. We edited out anything that would lead directly to Samantha’s grandfather as the compiler. If any harm comes to her, we’ll see that you’re the prime suspect.”
Lance let out a dismissive single-syllable laugh. “My uncle is the chief of police. Your threats are pathetic.”
Madam de Galpion had remained quietly at her desk until the transfer had been complete. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, I’d suggest you all conduct your research here then hand back the documents. Even photocopies can be incriminating. I only vouch for the exchange of information, not possessions.”
Kendell handled the diary as if it were in the Historic New Orleans Collection’s library. From the brittleness of the pages, she suspected it hadn’t been handled in many years. “I wish I had some cotton gloves. This thing should really be preserved.”
Lance was in the process of covering every available surface with pages from the family tree. “A couple of pages fell out while I was looking at it. Other than a lot of motherly sentimentality, I thought the woman had lost her mind. Just a bunch of semicoherent ramblings in my opinion.”
At least Myles had the good sense to keep his hands off the document. The journal was written less like a daily diary than a summation of her life. “She was only fifteen when she married Archibald Baptiste Malveaux. Her description of their courtship sounds less like falling madly in love than being emotionally manipulated.”
Myles made notes as she talked. “How old was the baron?”
“He wasn’t a baron at that time. She says he was ten years her senior, so twenty-five years old.”
Myles tapped his pen on his notebook. “Does she say anything about him becoming baron? From what we heard about his banking career, it sounded like he already had the title.”
She lifted the front and back cover to carefully advance a handful of pages into the history. As she read, she let go of the book to keep from damaging it accidentally. “It wasn’t an English title. According to Fleurentine, he considered himself to be the heir of Baron Samedi, a Haitian voodoo loa of the dead.”
Madam de Galpion lit her pipe and added the smell of exotic tobacco to the haze of incense. “Baron Samedi is a powerful figure in voodoo culture. He’s known for his debauchery, rude language, and fondness for women. If Archibald Malveaux followed Samedi’s example so closely he convinced the good people of New Orleans to refer to him as baron, he would have been an intimidating presence.”
“How did Fleurentine take to his self-proclaimed title?” Myles asked.
Kendell carefully scanned a few pages seeking answers. “They’d been married a couple of years. She was entering her late teens. She makes him sound very debonair but also arrogant to the point of social recklessness. There’s a lot of talk about parties, observations about the powerful people around them, and social connections the new baron wanted to make. It all sounds very calculated.”
Lance looked up from his studies. “Of course it was. Look at the family now. Where do you think we got the drive to succeed?”
She really didn’t want to engage him only to hear the merits of greed and selfishness. “Fleurentine talks about some of the sheer dresses he bought for her, imported from France. He insisted she forgo the usual undergarments in order to titillate those he hoped to impress. It doesn’t sound like she minded the attention.”
“I would guess that changed when she started having kids.”
Kendell only had to skip one page. “She wasn’t even twenty when Antoine was born. Most of the next few pages are about him growing up.
There’s hardly any mention of her husband. It’s almost as if she didn’t want to know what he was up to. If she did find out, she didn’t write about it.”
“Does she write much about Serephine?”
Kendell kept reading but with an eye for any further mention of the baron. “Her description of their family life makes it sound like it consisted of a single mother and her two children. There’s a nanny, of course, but Fleurentine talks about her children as if they’re her whole life.”
She turned the page to see a black border had been drawn around the two pages. Myles made a note about it. “What do you suppose that’s about?”
“It’s the death of Serephine. The handwriting is really jagged and hard to read. You don’t suppose that’s when she had her mental breakdown?”
Lance piled a bunch of the pages to make room for his next stack. “Keep reading. I don’t want to spoil the story.”
Kendell did what she could to make out the writing. “She talks about the curse. I think that’s Marie Laveau, but the letters are nearly on top of each other.” She turned the page to see hellish images of demons surrounding what she recognized as the pipe tool. “I can’t read any more. You take it—just be careful.”
Myles looked nearly in shock as she passed the journal to him. “Are you sure?”
“It’s like those demons aren’t just on the page. I can almost feel them.” Kendell knew it was silly to imagine drawings from over a hundred years ago coming to life. But then, she did share a family bond with Fleurentine.
Myles read in silence for a few pages. “She spends some time talking about Antoine after Serephine’s death. He met with Marie Laveau. Either he didn’t get much information or didn’t want to tell his mother what he’d learned. There are some references to the Cursed Devil. She writes the word with the same flourishes she used for ‘baron,’ so I’d guess she’s talking about her husband.”
“Does she say when she entered Our Lady of Mercy?”
Kendell smiled at how carefully Myles handled the book. “About six months after Serephine died. Just before Antoine joined the Confederate army. From her weakening handwriting, I’d guess losing her only son was the last straw for her sanity.”
Kendell had trouble writing the notes as she envisioned the poor woman being left so completely alone. “She couldn’t have been older than her midthirties. Does she mention receiving Antoine’s letters from the war?”
“Yep. She confirms Antoine and Anthony are the same person. She writes that he told her once the war was over, he was going to devote himself to making right his father’s sins while still protecting the family. I’m afraid there’s not much of any use after that. She writes a lot about the flowers in the garden, how nice the nuns are to her, and how she hopes she never has to face life outside the convent walls again.”
Kendell tossed her notebook on the table. “Great. Another interesting historic tidbit with no new information.”
Lance stacked the remaining pages of the Laurette family tree. “I didn’t say it’d be useful.”
As always, she wanted to smack the smug look off his face. “Did you find anything useful in what we provided?”
“I didn’t say anything about sharing what I’ve discovered. But if it puts your mind at ease, I think I now know what I’m up against. There’s a faction of my family that would like to take control before it’s too late. Once the current power base gets one of their members elected to national office, there won’t be a way to stop them.”
Kendell again held the tool in her pocket. “What did Marilyn have to do with it?”
Lance folded up his notes. “She trusted the wrong friend. I told you before, questioning the Laroques can get you killed even if you’re not making accusations. Since I am not among the powerful or power hungry, I’ll offer you this one piece of advice. Get rid of that pipe tool you’ve got in your pocket. You thought I didn’t know you had it with you? If you keep it, someone in my family will use you like a pawn, just like they did Marilyn. They got the information they wanted from her. Then they disposed of her so she wouldn’t talk.”
Myles handed Fleurentine’s journal back to Lance. “You got all that just from looking at the genealogical chart?”
“It was the last piece of the puzzle.” Lance held up the black book. “This journal isn’t the only family archive out there. Most of my family is trying to conquer the future, but some of us are still wielding the past.”
Back out on the street, Kendell hugged Myles’s arm as they walked toward the river. “They’re holding all the cards, aren’t they?”
“What do you mean?”
“The baron handed his ledgers down through the Laroque family, thus giving them the money and influence to achieve their goals to this day. Antoine probably handed what information he had about his father and the curse to another of his children in an attempt to keep the Laroques in check. Then he buried the cursed items in the walls of the homes he built to keep them from causing harm. Even if we did have some evidence Marilyn was murdered, what would we do with it? Go up against the New Orleans chief of police? Notify the FBI? We couldn’t even use it for political purposes without being laughed at. We’ve lost. All we have is this stupid pipe tool, and if we hang onto it, we’ll just be in more danger.”
He took her hand. “What were we trying to win? We proved I can read an object’s energy. That’s huge, in my opinion, even if it’s just the two of us who know it. I finally have someone who believes in me. We’ve got a pretty good idea of where you fit into the families of New Orleans. We may not have proof of anything that’s going on, but that’s not a bad thing. People who know too much end up in danger. We have some connections to the paranormal world. And though I don’t like the guy, Lance gave us one emergency card. Whether or not the items Fleurentine left at the convent are cursed, the Laroque family knows we have access to them. Hopefully, that threat will be enough to keep them off our backs.”
“Or they could force us to retrieve them.”
Myles pointed at the imposing modern structure next to the ferry terminal. “I think it’s time we got rid of the pipe tool and secured what little support may be available. From what Lieutenant Cazenave said, whatever agency resides in the abandoned World Trade Center may be the only official entity in New Orleans willing to listen.”
Kendell stared at the ground. He knew she was avoiding eye contact, and that was never a good thing. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you. Ever since we shared our spirits, I’ve had this rush of energy when I’m around the cursed tool. Something happened to me that day. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you thinking you’d somehow damaged me. It wasn’t your fault.”
Her explanation sound too much like the familiar It’s not you, it’s me brush-off he’d heard from past girlfriends. “Then why do I suddenly feel like it is my doing?”
She pulled his hand into the pocket of her coat, though whether the move was for warmth or to have him physically close, he couldn’t tell. He felt the pipe tool nestled in the bottom. “I only have one metaphor for what I’m feeling, but please don’t read too much into it. When a girl loses her virginity, assuming the act is consensual, she doesn’t blame the boy. This energy I feel reminds me of that first time. Suddenly, I felt connected to everyone around me like a barrier had been lowered. What you did for me was open me up to all this life force that’s constantly around all of us.”
He was beginning to understand. “And that tool is filled with a dark energy you can no longer prevent from consuming you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I can’t control it. That frightens me. But that power also excites the hell out of me. You saw me that night on stage. That rush could too easily become an addiction. I know we have to get rid of it. Just like a drunk knows he needs to pour the bottle of whisky down the drain.”
19
Myles stared up at the thirty-three-story abandoned World Trade Center. “We’re doing the right thing. Aren’t we?” The
traffic and pedestrians at the foot of Canal Street made the empty building look all the more ominous in its neglected 1960s glory.
“It’s too dangerous for either of us to keep the pipe tool. Lieutenant Cazenave said it would be safe here.”
He hated the idea of her having the cursed item in her apartment. Someone would always be after it. “You realize his boss’s boss is Chief of Police Laroque. We may be giving that family exactly what they want.”
“If the chief knew about it, I don’t think we would have made it out of the police station. I think Lieutenant Cazenave uses the lack of respect he gets from his fellow officers to conduct his real work in private. After all, he had us bring the pipe tool here and not to the police station.”
Myles didn’t like anything about the situation. Walking into an abandoned building carrying a cursed object that the most powerful family in New Orleans wanted and likely used for killing didn’t seem like a smart move. But then, holding onto the damn thing wasn’t any better. “I would say I should go alone. There’s no point in both of us walking into danger. But you’d just tell me to stuff it, so I won’t.”
She took his hand and started walking across the grass that separated the sidewalk from the front entrance. “Nice to see you’re learning. I let Polly and the girls know what we’re up to just in case something goes wrong.”
The floor-to-ceiling glass windows were covered with aging drapes. Only the front entry had been left open. After the buzzer proved useless, it took a couple of hard knocks to get the security guard to look up from his novel. Myles suspected he might have been sleeping, though he couldn’t imagine who would care about how the elderly man in the blue uniform filled his time. Even from outside, Myles could hear the man’s hard-soled shoes scuffing along the dusty tile floor. The old guard didn’t seem in any hurry. Once he’d traversed the distance from the desk to the door, he fumbled through the keys on his belt to finally unlock the door. “We’re not open.”
