by G A Chase
Designed as a multilane thoroughfare, the tunnel wasn’t hard to find. Sneaking past the valets took only a bit of stealth. The door to the World Trade Center had been sealed shut for decades, and Myles was certain Mr. Noire had done his best to retain the nonoperational look of the heavy metal hatch just as he had the building itself. Fortunately, that was all an illusion. As they approached, the door opened without a sound, though Myles was certain an alarm was going off in the portly man’s office to confirm what the cameras were capturing.
Lieutenant Cazenave ushered them in and checked the empty makeshift parking garage to make sure they hadn’t been observed. “Head past the pump station. There’s an elevator on the other side.”
For being in a building with supposedly only one tenant, the basement machinery was actively keeping the tower’s environment well controlled.
The maintenance elevator easily accommodated all nine people.
Lieutenant Cazenave pulled the heavy gate down with a loud slam. “From here on, it’d be best if you just called me Joe. I can’t risk having any ties to the police department.” With his discreetly muscular build and precise movements, though, he’d never be mistaken as anything other than law enforcement, military, or spy.
The elevator’s control panel had been removed, leaving only a cluster of bare wires. The cage ascended on its own. Myles expected it to stop on the twenty-fourth floor and Luther’s office, but as it continued upward, he felt a little like Charlie in the chocolate factory, wondering if the lift was ever going to stop. He looked up through the nonexistent ceiling of the freight elevator at the top of the building. “Where are we meeting Luther?”
Joe’s look of unconcern didn’t ease Myles’s apprehension. The man probably wouldn’t show fear in the middle of a hurricane. “With a group this large, Luther likes conducting meetings in the old restaurant on the top floor. It has a wonderful three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the city.”
Myles knew fear could be infectious, and the last thing he needed was the women getting jittery.
Kendell snuggled to his side and took his hand. “I suspect this feeling I have is from all the magical artifacts stashed away in this building, but coming here gives me the creeps.”
He squeezed her hand as his way of appreciating her understanding. “I’m sure we’re fine. Luther wants whatever we find. Joe may not work for him, but they clearly have a business arrangement. But I know what you mean. I’d have preferred to have this meeting in your apartment.”
“I don’t think Cheesecake would have appreciated so many people invading her space.”
The elevator came to a halt with a bounce that nearly made Myles lose his balance. His earlier irrational fear had diminished slightly, but as the doors opened, four men in black combat fatigues appeared outside.
“What the hell?” Myles said.
Joe lifted the elevator gate. “Don’t worry. These are my men. Whatever plan we come up with today will likely require some form of security. I trust these guys with my life and have had that trust confirmed on many occasions.”
The circular room perched atop the thirty-three-story building had been cleared of all furniture except a lone conference table and chairs. The band members, including Kendell, headed for the windows encompassing the room.
“Can you imagine what this place must have been like?” she asked.
Polly leaned back against a window with a view of the river and pointed toward the stage. “That’s the gig I’d have liked—rich old guys bringing their classy wives up here for an elegant meal while we jammed out some Runaways’ classics. In our punk attire, we’d look like the snotty couples’ illegitimate daughters. I can just see it.”
Looking like a gentleman that might fit Polly’s description, Luther came out of the kitchen wearing his seersucker suit. Behind him, his young secretary carried a plate of sandwiches.
“I’m afraid all I’ve got are muffulettas and cola,” Luther said. “Please help yourself.”
Lynn Seed turned away from the window with a perplexed look as she stared at her phone. “How is it possible that there’s no cell service up here? I wanted to send a picture of the view to Lars.”
Luther helped his secretary arrange the table. “Not only won’t you get any signal from outside this building, any pictures you take or recordings of any kind will automatically delete when you leave. That’s why I set pads of paper and pens at every seat around the table. To keep all our little precious objects from doing harm, this building operates on a totally different energy wavelength.”
Professor Yates took a seat near the head of the table, where Luther had set his notepad and lunch. “Fascinating. So that’s what all the equipment was about in the basement?”
“A conversation for another time. I’m sure we’d have a lot to teach each other about strange energy signatures.” Luther spread his hands, indicating everyone should take a seat. “Let’s start off with what we know.”
Kendell sat close to Myles. Clearly, she wasn’t going to let the most obvious omission go without a fight. “Why isn’t Delphine de Galpion here?”
“She’s not here because I don’t trust her,” Luther said.
Myles wondered if being alone in such a large building had a way of reducing Luther’s tact, or if it was the other way around.
“That’s hardly a reason,” Kendell said. “Without her help, I never would have saved Myles from Baron Malveaux. She knows more about Marie Laveau and her curses than anyone. We need her help.”
A fight was brewing, and they hadn’t even gotten around to laying out the problem. Myles didn’t trust Madam de Galpion any more than Luther, but calming Kendell was more important. Besides, she had a point.
“Madam de Galpion might be better approached in private,” he said. “Once we know what we’re doing, you can meet with her and figure out where she fits into the plan.”
At least Kendell didn’t turn her frustration on him. “I still don’t like it. She has a right to defend herself.”
“No one’s made any accusations. In fact, no one’s said anything. Maybe we should start with the problem at hand.”
She settled back in her chair. “You’re right. You met with Papa Ghede, so you should start.”
“Lincoln Laroque and Baron Malveaux are now one person. He’s calling himself Colin Malveaux, and he’s after that walking cane he had when you guys saved me. When he had possession of me, I remember him being obsessed with that stick. It was never out of his reach. But I don’t know what happened to it when you abducted me.”
Minerva Wax looked up and down the table at everyone present. “Are you kidding me? We’re all here to talk about some stupid cane?”
Even though the drummer for Polly Urethane and the Strippers wasn’t the most militant feminist of the group, Kendell still had better rapport with her bandmate than Myles did. “The cane belonged to Baron Samedi. It was the source of Baron Malveaux’s power in Guinee. We can’t leave it loose on the streets.”
Luther put down his sandwich. “That cane has a long history. Its power isn’t isolated to the afterlife, but something prevented it from doing much damage in our reality. If Colin lays his hands on it, his next obsession will be to utilize its full potential. So the first question is what happened to it?”
Myles had woken Kendell up from numerous nightmares involving that day. He knew every moment of his kidnapping was indelibly imprinted in her memories.
“The homeless were keeping an eye on Myles while he was under the baron’s possession,” she said. “They did the kidnapping and delivered him to Whit, who brought Myles and Delphine across the river. The cane wasn’t in the boat when Whit delivered Myles to the other side. I’d bet my guitar on it.”
Polly nodded as if she’d hit on the answer. “So that means someone from the homeless community has it.”
Myles could tell from the way Kendell tensed up that Polly had struck a nerve. “The homeless respect my family on the Westbank. They’ve been looking out for me. I can’
t believe they’d steal something.”
“Maybe they considered it payment for abducting Myles. It’s worth checking out.” Polly was never very good at reading other’s irritations.
Professor Yates scratched at the gray stubble on his chin. “Supposing that someone from the homeless community did get sticky fingers, it’s not like them to hold onto something valuable. Being so commonplace, it would be a long shot for it to show up in one of the antique galleries on Royal, but I’ll check with my contacts. I might also be able to modify my equipment to read the energy of something so powerful. If I can and I do pick up something, it’ll take some triangulation to figure out the precise location. I guess my gypsy carnival trailer is going to start looking like a mobile CIA-inspired listening laboratory.”
“We could check the junk shops along Decatur,” Lynn said. “They’re always on the lookout for cool steampunk-type items. I usually hit a couple of them a week just looking for new outfits. No one would notice a bunch of girls pawing through the new arrivals.”
Kendell pulled the pad of paper from beside her plate and made some notes. “I’ll go across the river and talk to my family. They’d know for sure if the cane was in the boat or not. And if not, they’ve got contacts among the homeless. If they are responsible, Mary will know. She can also vouch for Whit. I don’t suspect that river rat. He’s too invested in documenting the stories of the societies that live on the river to betray one, but it’ll be good to cross him off the list.”
Myles hated what he was about to say, but all suspects had to be accounted for. “Whit and I weren’t the only people on that boat.”
Kendell snapped around at him so quickly he flinched. “Not Delphine again. She was there to help you.”
“I don’t want to fight. I’m just trying to look at all options. You want to clear Whit. We should make sure Delphine is cleared, too.”
Her voice softened slightly. “I’ll meet with her. She wouldn’t lie to me. Not about something so important as this.”
Luther pointed at the glasses in Kendell’s shirt pocket. “Bring those green lenses with you. They’ll let you see the truth.”
“Yes, sir.” Her stoic response showed she’d been pushed too far.
Myles had never been much good at alleviating her anger, but he could dilute it. “Then there are the people sitting around this table. I know I didn’t take it. Kendell wouldn’t have a reason for wanting it. The two of us can vouch for the band members. None of them would have been in a position to take it, anyway. And Professor Yates wasn’t involved in my capture. Though I doubt you’d personally perform the crime, Luther, an awful lot of paranormal objects end up in this building.”
Every eye turned to the man at the head of the table. “You have a valid point. I wouldn’t be hosting this meeting—and paying for Joe’s protection contingent—if I didn’t care what happened to that cane. It needs to be isolated from the living. No other artifact in my care comes close to being as potentially dangerous. But if I did have it, what reason would I have to deny it?”
Myles knew a potential conflict was brewing about who would eventually end up with the cane. “Your explanation still puts you on the list of those who’d like to end up with the magic stick.”
“Rightly so,” Luther said. “Let’s consider that list for a moment. Colin Malveaux, of course, heads the group. We all know why he wants it. With all due respect to Kendell, the cane would make a nice addition to Delphine de Galpion’s collection of books and things from Marie Laveau. Delphine’s motivation for helping has to be seen in the light of her desire to own the cane. I do want to see an artifact from Guinee in my vault. I won’t deny it. But ultimately, it isn’t mine to possess. As the person with the closest ties to Guinee, Myles, can we expect any help from Baron Samedi? Or is he just going to sit back and wait until you deliver him his walking stick?”
Myles had never been much good at demanding an employer pull their own weight. “The loas of the dead are pretty clear that what happens in life is our business. As far as they are concerned, someone from life stole it, so it’s up to the living to return it. Don’t get me started about the affairs of the gods.”
Polly kicked one high-heeled clear-plastic stripper shoe up to the lip of the table. “And what about you guys dressed in black? You just going to stand around looking menacing, or what?”
Joe spoke for his men. “There’s a lot of chatter on the dark web about a reward for the cane. We’ll chase down what we can and keep an eye on everyone performing physical searches. If you get into trouble, we’ll be there before you know it.”
Luther leaned forward conspiratorially. “We shouldn’t meet like this again—only in small groups from now on. Don’t trust anyone except those at this table. Even though Chief of Police Laroque might be sympathetic to our cause, you have to look on any cop as an adversary. Colin Malveaux and the Laroque family have enough money to hire an army of people to search this city, but a smart adversary would approach more as a friend than a foe.”
* * *
Riding the ferry across the river to the Westbank felt a little like visiting a favorite aunt that Kendell never quite found time to see. The outing made a good excuse to get Cheesecake out of the apartment. The pup pranced around the lower steel deck, allowing each passenger the privilege of patting her shaggy head.
As the boat churned across the Mississippi’s current, Kendell peered downriver toward the cottonwood grove. Somewhere below the tree limbs and cooled by the breeze off the river, her extended family had their encampment. They no longer had to fight for their land, thanks to her, but she wasn’t relying on their sense of obligation. They’d welcomed her into their hearts the moment Whit had brought her to their camp. She was one of them, and every member of the tribe looked out for each other unconditionally.
The aging ferry’s engine revved up to combat the swift current before docking with a loud thud against the splintered wooden beams of the terminal. She held Cheesecake back as throngs of tourists disembarked and headed for the nearest bar. They didn’t know what they were missing.
Up on the levee, a gentle breeze helped cool the oppressively hot and humid day. Despite Kendell having a mission, she enjoyed the leisurely walk. Mothers pushing strollers gave her cheerful greetings as they passed. Every child dropped to its knees to greet the dog on her own terms. Not only her extended family made the area feel inviting.
Something felt different about the neighborhood. The brass plaques embedded in the walkway to explain the area’s history had a renewed meaning for her. As far as she could see, that had been her ancestor’s property. The main body of New Orleans had been the domain of Baron Malveaux, but his quiet hamlet had originally been the plantation of another great-great-great-grandfather, Louis Broussard—the one who’d lost everything, including his family, and commissioned the curse.
Cheesecake tugged at her leash, directing Kendell to the water fountain which had thoughtfully been designed with a spigot at doggy level.
“I know it’s hot, girl.”
As the hundred-year-old military compound came into view, they turned off the path and skidded down a concrete embankment to the river’s batture. In the early afternoon, most of the conclave would be out panhandling on the streets, but the matriarch would be preparing lunch for any who hadn’t been able to secure a meal.
Weaving through the tree trunks toward the open-pit fire felt a little like walking into her father’s house after a year at college. She knew she was welcome but wondered if she should announce herself and the dog. The leaves rustled around them, and small twigs snapped under their feet. The noise was sufficient to rouse Mary from the pot of food she’d been hunched over.
“Kendell! My river angel, what are you doing here?” She rushed up and wrapped Kendell in her arms so tightly Kendell felt like a little girl being bear-hugged by her grandmother.
Cheesecake snuggled the older woman’s leg.
“I wish this were just a social visit,” Kendell sa
id. “I really need to get over here more often. What are you cooking? It smells amazing.”
Mary let her go and turned back to the pot on the fire. She ran her ladle through the thick broth, bringing up chunks of meat and roasted vegetables. Without asking, she layered two bowls of rice with the concoction and fished a meaty bone from the scraps for Cheesecake. “It’s my version of étouffée. I have to use whatever’s available, so it’s never the same dish twice. Now, sit and tell me what I can do for you.”
The food tasted every bit as good as it smelled.
“When Whit and Madam de Galpion brought Myles over in the skiff, did you happen to see a black walking cane with a silver skull handle?”
“No, but you’re not the first to ask about it. Whit said some shady-looking characters were lurking around the camp after you left. He said the way they kept hidden in the brush reminded him of his military sniper training. Every time we tried to flush them out, they crept away like sneaky gators, but about a week after the exorcism party, one showed up in camp.”
Kendell tried narrowing down the possibilities. If Baron Malveaux had had a security team, Myles would have known about it. The bank might have seen to the baron’s protection, but a well-armed team wouldn’t have sat back and let him be driven out of Myles. Chief of Police Laroque, however, might have been perfectly happy to see his ancestor contained and would have had the resources to know about the abduction. Finally, lurking in the shadows, was Luther Noire and his unending quest for paranormal items.
“What happened with your uninvited guest?”
“He threatened to start a legal battle over the deed you gave us if we didn’t tell him about the cane. The whole thing stank worse than the riverbank at low ebb. We didn’t know anything. I did, however, put feelers out to the homeless on both sides of the river—mostly for our protection. I like to know what’s going on in case one of my people doesn’t show up for dinner.”
Kendell knew filing a missing person’s report wouldn’t do much good for the homeless. Crimes in the city had a way of being prioritized by the victim’s economic status. The tribe had to fend for themselves. “Did you get any leads?”
