by G A Chase
“We’ll provide you cover, but only if you work with us instead of doing as you please. Do we have a deal?”
He couldn’t imagine not taking his trips into the unknown as that connection to all life had gotten him through some hard times. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Good. Because I have a job for you. Somewhere in New Orleans is a black walking stick that belonged to Archibald Malveaux. It originally belonged to Baron Samedi and was the source of Malveaux’s power over the seventh gate of Guinee. I’d like the cane returned.”
Myles did his best to focus on Papa Ghede in the hopes that his mind might follow his eyes’ lead. “How did Malveaux steal an item from Guinee?”
The old man squirmed in the chair. “Well, that’s not one of our prouder moments. But as you’re our assistant and confidant, knowing the story might help in your search. On February 24, 1857, New Orleans had its first Mardi Gras parade. Baron Samedi thought the loas of the dead should be represented at such an auspicious event. Archibald Malveaux was already the city’s most powerful banker. So of course, he financed much of the celebration.”
Myles could almost envision the scene. “And of course, a baron of Guinee would expect to ride on the main float, as would the one putting up the money.”
“How Malveaux managed to steal the cane isn’t clear, but you can at least see how the two came into contact. Ever since that first parade, by law, every member of every float must wear a mask. This was instituted by Malveaux to prevent Samedi from finding him. The beads tossed from the floats were Samedi’s response. They’re meant to be offerings from the dead to the living for the return of the walking stick.”
Myles wanted another drink, but he needed what few faculties he had left. “So that’s how Baron Malveaux maintained his control over the seventh gate, but we imprisoned that asshole.”
“Exactly. While Malveaux was a baron of Guinee, we didn’t dare make a move against him. He’d stashed the cane somewhere in the New Orleans Bank and Trust as his symbol of control. Now that he’s gone from Guinee, his walking stick is missing.”
No wonder that pain in the ass kept hold of that damn stick. “After Baron Malveaux took possession of me, the head of the bank handed him the cane. It was never farther away than he could reach. I thought he just used it to intimidate people.”
“Do you remember what happened to it?”
“No, but I have some ideas on where to start.”
* * *
Myles woke up the next day, slumped over the small table, the empty bottle of Captain Morgan lying near his head. Couldn’t you have at least prevented the hangover? He figured Papa Ghede had better things to do than look after his newly hired lackey, though.
The sound of the Keurig spitting out hot coffee made him raise his head toward the kitchen. Even in his haze, he could make out Kendell in her work attire. “Hey.” The word exhausted his ability to force air through his voice box.
“Charlie warned me you’d headed home from the bar with a bottle in hand last night. I thought you might need some coffee and maybe a friendly face to wake up to.” She replaced the empty bottle with the steaming cup. “Feel like talking about what’s going on? I know I pushed you awfully hard to introduce me to Robert Johnson, but I’ve never seen you turn to alcohol after a psychometric trip.”
“It’s not that.” He couldn’t be completely sure that the last journey hadn’t pushed the loas over the edge, though. “Escorting the recently dead to the gates of Guinee has become something of a second job. Last night, Papa Ghede finally turned up to answer some questions. Guess I’ve been promoted from guide to servant for the loas of the dead.”
She stared into her coffee. “You know, to anyone else, that would sound really strange. I’ve been messing around with voodoo too. I’m no assistant loa of the dead, not even a voodoo queen, but I’d like to help. We’ve always made pretty good partners.”
Her working with him might keep him in the loop of what she had planned, at least. Anything would beat having to rush to her aid without a clue about the nature of the danger.
“No argument there,” he said. “I could use the help. He’s already given me my first assignment. I need to find that walking cane Baron Malveaux had with him. Apparently, it’s how he maintained his position as guardian of the seventh gate. He stole it from Baron Samedi. When your homeless friends kidnapped me, him, whatever… the cane got lost in the scuffle.”
“So we’ve got another magical object loose on the streets. Where should we start?”
That question had dominated every halfway sober waking moment of the previous restless night. “Even with you as the guardian angel of the homeless, approaching them directly seems like a way of broadcasting our search to every nefarious fortune hunter in the city. If they did take it—and we’re lucky—the cane will probably pop up in one of the expensive pawn shops. If someone is holding onto it, it’d be worth talking to Lieutenant Cazenave. He’d be the one to hear of any street brawl involving a malevolent walking cane. Beyond that, I can only come up with Madam de Galpion. I can’t see her taking it, but maybe she can explain how Archibald Malveaux learned about the cane in the first place.”
“You think Marie Laveau somehow helped Malveaux steal the cane?”
Myles didn’t know what to think. “It’s not like Malveaux would have known where to find Baron Samedi. Even when the two did meet, I can’t see how a human could steal a loa of the dead’s possession without some paranormal help. I know you consider Delphine a friend, but she shares her ancestor’s peculiar ideas about loyalty.”
Bringing up Delphine often resulted in a disagreement. Kendell looked back at the empty bottle before responding. “Fair enough, but give me a logical argument about why you think Marie Laveau was working for Archibald Malveaux—not just your suspicions. She did cast the curse against him.”
The coffee helped Myles focus on Kendell, who’d apparently stopped rocking side to side in the chair opposite him. “I keep coming back to Luther Noire’s hint that Marie had worked for Archibald. Casting the curse against Malveaux’s heirs was a drastic move for his business sins.”
He could see Kendell’s irritation building. She never responded well to her ancestor’s treatment of women.
“Not that what he did to women wasn’t evil,” Myles continued. “I’m just saying the curse wasn’t so much aimed at him as those who came after him. Delphine talks a lot about a spell needing balance. Maybe this one was Marie’s way of evening the situation for helping him take the cane. The cane gave Baron Malveaux power in the afterlife. The curse takes aim at his descendants who pass through his gate as a constant reminder of what he’d done.”
Kendell shivered in spite of the warm, humid morning. “We’re coming back around to that curse again. I really thought we’d finished with it.”
He knew she felt a familial responsibility. “You can’t escape your history. The baron Malveaux was every bit as much your ancestor as Louis Broussard, who commissioned the spell.”
“I feel like the little Dutch girl with her finger in the dike.”
He wondered if that made him the hydrological engineer who’d come to direct the flow in her metaphor. “Us being partners is as much about supporting each other as finding answers.”
She reached for his hand. “And lovers?”
In spite of his hangover, he leaned in and kissed her. “That transcends our earthly obligations.”
* * *
Myles finished wiping down the bar and ducked into the back room for the mop, to start working on the cement floor.
After the front door slammed shut, Charlie irately said, “We’re closed, officers.”
Papa Ghede had managed to convince the recently dead to give Myles a break, but unfortunately, his influence didn’t extend to the police.
“Is there a Myles Garrison that works here?” someone asked. “We’d like to have a word with him.”
Myles darted out of the utility closet and grabbed Charlie’s arm
before he did something stupid. “I’m Myles,” he told the two uniformed officers. “What can I do for you?”
“We need you to come down to the station and answer some questions.”
As lead bartender, Charlie never let Myles step into the line of fire alone. “What’s he being charged with?”
“Nothing as yet. We’d just like to have a chat.”
Myles didn’t like being hauled in to the police station in the dead of night, but going voluntarily meant Charlie wouldn’t do something so drastic that they’d both be looking for outside help. “It’s okay, Charlie. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Charlie didn’t turn his head away from the police even though he addressed Myles. “Do you want me to notify Kendell?”
“Not yet. If you don’t hear from me by morning, round up the troops.”
“I don’t like the idea of you going to the station alone. It’s awfully late for a chat.”
Myles untied the cleaning apron and handed it to Charlie. “I just hate making you finish up for me.”
Out on the street with the two silent, burly cops, Myles wasn’t quite so confident. “Can you at least tell me what this is about?”
“The chief will fill you in soon enough.”
He wondered if running would be such a bad idea. He hadn’t been charged with anything. Had Lieutenant Cazenave been the one wanting to talk, Myles would have gone happily, but Chief of Police Laroque wasn’t a person he had any interest in meeting—especially not at two in the morning in what was sure to be a mostly empty police station. “Charlie has a lot of contacts around the city, including a number of reporters.”
They turned off Bourbon Street toward the towering marble station. “You’re just being questioned. No need to get paranoid.”
Myles was having trouble not envisioning every negative outcome as he was escorted into the station occupied by only the night crew. His two companions obviously had no information regarding his plight. They didn’t seem the type someone in charge was likely to confide in. After the obligatory paperwork, he was left in an interrogation room that could have been used for a Hollywood location shoot. It looked straight out of some crime drama, with its lime-green tiled walls, one-way mirror, and corner surveillance cameras.
He sat at a metal table, more annoyed than concerned. From his time bingeing cop shows, he knew the time alone was supposed to make him feel vulnerable. With his connection to the loas of the dead, it did the opposite. Though he didn’t have a hip flask of rum to call one forth, in his isolation and intense emotional state, he could tell they weren’t far off.
In spite of his renewed bravado, he jerked in the chair when the heavy door opened. Chief of Police Gerald Laroque wasn’t a hard man to mistake, with his linebacker build, military-cut gray hair, and steely-blue eyes. “I’ll start by apologizing for the theatrics. I’m sure my men gave you a bit of a scare hauling you in so late at night. This is the only place in the city I knew we could talk without being overheard.”
Myles breathed a little more easily. Fear number one—of being roughed up in a room where no one would be watching—had been alleviated. That left only another hundred or so possibilities. “What’s this about?”
The big man sat in the chair opposite Myles. “I understand from Lieutenant Cazenave that you know my nephew, Lincoln. I believe you’ve also had some experience with my ancestor, Archibald Malveaux.”
Myles was not likely to forget one or the other. “I can’t say either has been an enjoyable encounter.”
“I would guess not. My nephew has done something rather foolish. He’s bonded with the spirit of our ancestor.”
Myles had to hand it to the chief. He had a way of dramatically presenting his situation with few words. Despite being sure they weren’t being overheard, Myles leaned across the table and nearly whispered, “He’s been possessed?”
“Unfortunately, no. Unlike what you endured, Lincoln has voluntarily joined his spirit with Archibald’s. They are no longer two separate individuals. He’s calling himself Colin Malveaux.”
Once the danger of having been summoned to the station passed, Myles noticed the deep lines around the chief’s eyes and across his forehead. “I was led to believe by Lieutenant Cazenave that you didn’t believe in the paranormal.”
“Joe is a good man. I hated firing him.”
Myles’s heart felt as if it had come to a full stop. “What?”
“It’s not what you think. I run law enforcement in the city, and my men respect me. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t spies in my department. My family excels at having secret tendrils even in our own organizations. With Colin attempting to gather all the reins in his hands, I needed to keep Joe’s activities out of the police protocol. I called you in here tonight in such a way that if anyone is watching, you’ll appear to be someone I distrust. Firing Joe gives him the freedom not to follow the department’s rules. I could have let him make contact with you on his own, but I wanted you to hear it from me first. Colin Malveaux is a threat to the peace and safety of this city and, I fear, to much more than that.”
Myles wasn’t sure how far to trust the police chief. “I’m just a bartender. What are you asking me to do?”
Gerald Laroque’s fingers looked like miniature boudin sausages as he slid a slip sealed envelope across the table. “You are one of the few people who’ve successfully stood up to Archibald Malveaux. Meet with Joe. That’s all I ask. From there, the less I know, the better.”
50
Myles was still on edge from meeting the police chief when he quietly entered Kendell’s apartment. At five in the morning, his previous day still hadn’t ended, but her day was about to start.
As he closed the door, Cheesecake stretched her front legs in greeting. At least she hadn’t barked.
“We’re making progress aren’t we, girl?” he asked.
The pup gave him a low growl as her answer. He might be welcome, but his timing was somewhat suspicious.
Though he sneaked into Kendell’s bedroom, hoping not to wake her, she was already propped up against the pillows. “You’re late. Out carousing with another dead woman?”
He sat next to her and pulled out the open envelope. “I wish. Chief of Police Laroque and I had a little chat.”
Her eyes opened so wide he suspected she wouldn’t need coffee to get her day started until after she got to work. “At least you’re not in jail. What did he want?”
He waved the folded page at her. “The baron is up to his old tricks. This time, though, he’s using the body of Lincoln Laroque. This letter is from Joe Cazenave. He’s asking for a meeting. I can bring whomever I want so long as they’re willing to delve into another adventure regarding the curse. His one exception is Delphine de Galpion.”
Kendell took the paper from him. “Why on earth would she be excluded?”
“He doesn’t say, but from the location of the meeting, I have to guess Luther Noire will be involved.”
The note wasn’t that long, but based on how Kendell studied it, he had to believe she was trying to read between the lines.
“Who should we bring?” she asked.
He smiled, realizing she’d immediately made herself a coconspirator. “I still think Professor Yates is more con man than scientist, but if we’re dealing with paranormal objects again, I’ll want his input.”
“He won you over with his little contraptions, didn’t he?”
The college class he’d shared with Kendell seemed like a lifetime ago. If not for the professor’s wild ideas, Myles might have been out scouring the desert for artifacts like any normal archeology grad student. “He helped save the band—and me.”
She bit her lip as she looked at him. “I’ll want Polly and the girls with me.”
Polly Urethane and the Strippers had been the first ones Myles had called when Kendell had put herself in danger. Their involvement led to their kidnapping. Putting the women at risk again conflicted with Myles’s inherent chivalry.
&nb
sp; “Don’t you think they’ve done enough already?” he asked.
“Polly would pull my amp wires if I don’t include her. At least let the band members come to the meeting and let them decide. I couldn’t have rescued you from the baron without them.”
Events had been pretty hazy while he was under the baron’s possession. He remembered the band playing on the improvised stage while he endured the exorcism, but beyond that, he didn’t know how much the girls knew about the paranormal activities of their lead guitarist. “With the four of them, Professor Yates, you, and me, that’ll be seven of us. Luther’s office isn’t that big.”
She wrapped her arms around him like a little girl who didn’t want to get up and go to school. “I trust my bandmates with my life and, more than that, with yours and Cheesecake’s. If they come along, then we won’t have to rehash the conversation to them only to have Polly ask us questions we should have thought of at the meeting. One way or another, you know they’re going to be involved.”
* * *
The parking garage under Harrah’s casino was easy enough to slip into undetected. Myles hoped the diverse group—the band members, Professor Yates, Kendell, and himself—would blend in well enough with the tourists searching for their cars.
Kendell kept hold of his hand. “Why couldn’t we just walk up to the front door like last time?”
He knew Luther Noire was getting a little prickly at all the activity around the supposedly abandoned World Trade Center. “There’s too many of us. It’d look suspicious. Lieutenant Cazenave says there’s an access down here to the building’s basement. Something about a tunnel that was meant as a way to divert traffic that got sealed off. He said Harrah’s has been using it for overflow parking.”
