by E. A. Copen
“And maybe a shower,” I added. “If that’s okay.”
“I think that’s probably a good idea.” Emma laced her arm around me and helped haul me to my feet.
I was a little wobbly, but not bad considering I’d just been dead. Still, I was leaning heavier on her than I would’ve liked.
“Hey, Emma?” I said as we limped through the greenhouse door.
“If you’re going to say anything at all about my ass—”
“I was going to ask about your workout routine. Kinda scary how strong you are.”
She stopped walking and shifted my arm to study my face. She was probably deciding if what I’d said was an insult, a compliment, or a thinly veiled comment about her ass. “Pilates,” she said and hauled my ass toward the house.
Chapter Fourteen
The water pressure in Emma’s shower was high enough to feel like bee stings on my skin but hot enough it didn’t matter. I could’ve spent an eternity in there with the side of my face planted against the tile wall, but I smelled sausage and coffee.
Point of fact, sausage is superior to bacon in every way that counts. It’s hard to screw up, comes in links or patties. Best of all, you can squish it between two pancakes without it crumbling to bits. That’s exactly what I did with the plate of pancakes and sausage Emma set in front of me before dousing the whole thing in enough syrup I was sure my pancreas would hate me later.
“You always make orgasmic moaning sounds when you eat?” Emma asked pushing a mug at me. The mug bore a picture of a cartoonish squad car and read in Comic Sans: Bitch, please. I’m a cop.
I swallowed the steaming mouthful of food and pointed my fork at her. “You make good pancakes. Where’d you learn to cook?”
“Happens when you live alone and don’t like eating out of cans and boxes.” She sipped her coffee out of a plain black mug.
Cans, boxes, and take-out were normally good enough for me, but a guy could get used to having a home-cooked meal every once in a while. Odette had never been much of a cook, probably because she’d had servants to do it for her being a faerie princess and all. I grabbed the coffee to rinse the bitter taste from my mouth that thinking of her had left behind. “I’m going to have to come over more often. You’ve got a nice place.”
Emma’s home was small, but by no means crowded. The ceilings were high enough to prevent that effect, the complete lack of clutter and firm order of everything probably helped too. There wasn’t a dish out of place. Even the spices were arranged in alphabetical order. Emma was either suffering from some serious OCD or spent her off-duty time really bored.
Of course, I knew that wasn’t true. She liked flowers. Why else would she have a greenhouse in her backyard? It probably took a lot of her time to maintain that. I was more willing to bet the place was so clean because she didn’t spend much time there herself.
I shoved another forkful of pancake and sausage into my mouth to keep myself from saying what I was thinking, this time pointedly avoiding making any noise as I chewed. “So, no Mr. Knight?”
She frowned at me. “I don’t do relationships.”
“Yes, you do. Everybody does. Even I do. I might be bad at it, but you don’t just swear off something ’cause you’re bad at it.”
“I didn’t say I swore off anything.” Emma shrugged. “But dating? Hell no. Been there, done that. Not my thing. I’ll leave romance to the people who can still look other folks in the eye and not wonder what they’ll look like when they turn up dead.”
Damn, that was harsh. The job had really beaten her down. I dealt with ghosts, spirits, and ghouls all day. Hell, I was the freaking Pale Horseman, and I still couldn’t look at people and see them as empty husks waiting to die or be killed.
The subject felt too heavy for breakfast, though, especially in light of how the night had gone, so I left it alone and tucked into my food. Emma watched me over her coffee cup but didn’t say much of anything. She seemed to enjoy the silence just about as much as I hated it.
I was about to shove the very last bite of breakfast in my mouth when I felt a weird tingle on my right side. It scared me enough I froze with my mouth open. Emma was busy reading the morning paper, one knee pulled up. She hadn’t seemed to notice anything was off. The tingling feeling intensified, so I put down my fork and tried to trace the source. After about a minute of searching, I realized the rolled-up catalog Seth Emits had given me was still tucked into the inside pocket of my jacket on the right. That turned out to be the source of the weird feeling, a feeling that had definitely not been there when I first took the catalog.
Being as discreet as I could, I pulled the catalog out and unrolled it on the table. In place of the hand-drawn basket full of leaves and berries that had been on the cover was a grid-like pattern with a blinking red dot. Magic had obscured the original cover, a glamour maybe? Whatever it was, it had dissolved into a tracking spell, or rather, an incomplete tracking spell. If I was reading it right, whatever object I was supposed to be looking for hadn’t appeared on the map yet. That meant either I was too far away, or something was blocking the signal.
One thing was for sure. I was supposed to go somewhere. The only places Seth Emits would direct me toward were either a trap or the auction I’d asked about.
“Something wrong?”
I rolled the catalog back up. “No.” I must’ve said it too quickly because Emma gave me a concerned frown. “Thanks for breakfast,” I said, pushing the plate away. “And the shower. And keeping me alive. But I’ve got a thing. It’s for a client. Well, two clients, actually.”
“What about our case? You know, missing organs? Shadowy gods? Bunch of dead cops?” She sounded accusing. As if I could forget about that.
I pushed the chair in. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered. I’ve got a few people I need to talk to about it anyway, and I’ll get with them just as soon as I finish this thing.”
Emma gave me a suspicious look. “And you’ll call me if you find out anything?”
“I’ll call you.” I nodded and turned toward the front door.
As I did, I remembered I hadn’t driven myself to Emma’s. She’d brought me in her car, which meant I didn’t have a ride to wherever it was I was supposed to go. I could bum a ride from her, but then she’d eventually figure out what I was up to, and I didn’t want her involved in this auction. Emma was a good cop. Like a good cop, she’d shut the whole thing down and arrest everyone inside up to anything illegal, and all my leads would go straight out the window as soon as she did.
Or, I could call a cab, but I’d have to use Emma’s phone to do it since mine was dead. I’d also have to borrow the cash to pay for it since I was dead broke, and my pride didn’t like the idea of asking the detective for money to cover a cab fare.
“Need a ride?” Emma asked smugly. Dammit, she must know I was up to something.
“Actually, I was thinking of taking a walk,” I lied.
“All the way across town?”
Good point. That’d take hours, and I’d already implied I was in a hurry. Plus, only a masochist would willingly take a long walk in Louisiana humidity on a warm day.
“Laz, what is going on? Where are you going you don’t want me to know about?”
Damn. I had to come up with a believable cover story and fast. Hard to do when I couldn’t lie to Emma.
I let my shoulders slump forward, and turned around, rubbing the back of my neck. “My ex is in town.”
Emma put her coffee down, eyes widening. “Odette is back?”
“No, different ex. Thing is, I was supposed to meet her this morning, but if I show up with you dropping me off…” I trailed off, hoping that would be enough.
Her face dropped, and one eyebrow shot up. “And let me guess, you’re broke.”
“I have money coming in,” I assured her. “I can pay you back.”
Without a word, Emma stood and fetched a black purse with fringe from the counter, rifling through it. She came back with a handful
of neatly folded bills and held them out to me. “No payback necessary. Consider it an advance on your retainer from the department for your help on the case.”
I didn’t want to bum money from Emma, but an advance I could live with. I took the money and tucked it into my back pocket. “Thanks, Emma. You’re the best. Just one more thing. Can I use your phone?”
***
“Turn left.”
The cab driver glanced into the rearview mirror, giving me a skeptical look. “Are you sure you know where you’re going, buddy?”
I looked up from the catalog I was staring at. As soon as I’d left Emma’s apartment, another light appeared on the grid, this one stationary and blue. Without any further information, I had to assume this was my destination. Maybe Seth Emits had given me directions to the Black Bazaar after all. I just hadn’t realized it because the spell didn’t activate immediately. The problem was, his tracking spell didn’t take into account roads, buildings, or other obstacles. That meant I spent the last fifteen minutes in a cab with the driver I was pretty sure he thought I was crazy.
“Just turn left up here,” I said, turning back to the catalog.
As the cab pulled into the Quarter, I tried to calculate how far we were from my destination. The blue dot looked like it was a few streets over, in the middle of the block, right in the middle of Jackson Square. That’s where the ghoul said it had buried the sour body. Could be a connection. Then again, I’d assumed I was being given directions to the Black Bazaar. What if I was being led into a trap instead?
Even if it was a trap, I couldn’t afford not to check it out, not if I wanted to get this box for Nyx. Speaking of, I’m surprised I haven’t run into Osric yet. Guess I should count my blessings. I was still plenty sore from my fight with him the day before, though I couldn’t be too upset. He had shown up to help with the flying gator.
I relayed the directions to the cabbie and shifted my feet over the staff I’d wedged into the floorboards. Thankfully, Emma had brought it with her the night before. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had time to run back to the morgue to get it. The blinking lights on the catalog dimmed a little bit every few minutes, making it clear that whatever I was being led to was a limited-time offer.
The cab pulled up to Jackson Square, and the driver announced his fare, but I didn’t move. I was too busy peering out at the mostly empty park. It was Sunday morning, and humid as hell out. Gray storm clouds threatened, and a heavy wind beat the flag against its metal pole, but none of that was out of the ordinary for a spring day in New Orleans. The weather could change at the drop of the hat, so you just learned to be prepared. I expected attendance to be low, but there was always someone wandering around the park. Sightseers, tourists, couples, dog walkers even frequented the place, but it was totally empty when we pulled up to the entrance.
I had an unobstructed view of the brassy monument of Andrew Jackson that stood at the center of the square, and the cathedral that rose up behind it, making the square look like a Renaissance garden. Green boughs swayed back and forth in the wind. It would’ve been a peaceful scene if I didn’t have a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was watching me back.
“Hey, buddy.” The cabbie put an arm behind the passenger seat and turned around. “You going to pay and get out or what?”
“Uh-huh.” I shoved the twenty Emma had given me at him. I wouldn’t have the cash for a return trip, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
The air felt wrong when I stepped out of the cab. Heavy, almost electrified, as if I’d stepped into a graveyard instead of a public square. Had the body the ghoul had mentioned still been buried there, I would have chalked it up to that, but I didn’t feel any corpses clawing at my mental shields. A few steps into the square though did reveal a cordoned off area with lots of overturned dirt and heavy footprints. A couple of sawhorses and yellow tape were all that kept the general public from disturbing the crime scene, so the police must’ve made quick work processing it. They usually did when bodies were found in the public sphere.
I’d meant to ask about the body the night before, but with the ritual and all the confusion, I’d forgotten. I made a note to check in with Emma and find out more about the body that had been buried in the square.
Catalog in hand, I marched toward the center of the square, which seemed to be where the blue dot was located. I approached the statue and glanced up at it. Andrew Jackson sat atop a rearing horse, his hat removed as if he were a cowboy and not a racist douchebag. His firm and cool demeanor may have earned him the nickname “Stonewall Jackson” and he might be hailed as a president, but the guy was a prick. I’d never understood the need to memorialize dead presidents, particularly the guy responsible for the Trail of Tears. As such, I’d never spent a lot of time in Jackson Square. That, and it was usually too crowded for my taste.
I lowered my head, focusing on the catalog. The grid pattern had changed, the spell zooming in on the immediate area. I was practically on top of the solid blue dot. Just to make sure, I walked a full circle around the statue, watching the red dot circle the blue. Yep, I was definitely supposed to be at the statue of Andrew Jackson in Jackson Square, but why?
As I completed my circle, staring down at the magical map in my hands, I must’ve miscalculated my steps because I slammed face first into an immovable wall. Except the wall wasn’t made of concrete, it was made of flesh. I bounced off what must’ve been solid muscle and blinked up at a face not even a mother could love.
The guy standing in front of me was wider than most doorways, with pink, wrinkly skin and tall, furless cat-like ears. He had a cat-like nose to match and big, pale blue eyes. The rest of him was covered in a silk suit, but when he extended a hand to me, it turned out it wasn’t much of a hand, but a paw. It took me a minute to realize the guy was indeed some sort of cat shifter, except he looked like he’d taken after one of those ugly hairless cats.
Teeth flashed in a feral grin. “Invitation, please.”
“Invitation?” I tried not to let my unease show in my voice. Cats were predators, and if this guy was part cat, that meant he was too.
He pointed a claw at the catalog in my hands. “Invitation.”
I held out the catalog, and he took it, tossing it on top of a pile that I hadn’t noticed next to him. Hands gripped my shoulders from behind, and I spun to find another hairless cat shifter, this one female, behind me. She wore the same suit as her male counterpart, though she was considerably smaller and made up of harsh angles.
Her hands moved to my arms, and she pulled them away from my sides to down my ribs, hips, and the inside and outside of my legs. When her eyes darted to the staff in my hand, I knew what was coming.
“No weapons,” she said and grabbed for the staff.
On instinct, I jerked it away, and she let out an actual hiss through all-too-feline looking canines. The claws came out, and I was left with a decision. I could fight the two door goons and try to figure out how to get in on my own for what limited time I’d have, or I could give up the staff and actually make some headway.
But instead of handing it to Ugly Catwoman, I turned and held it out to Thundercat behind me. He quirked up an eyebrow at my offer, so I explained, “I don’t trust a lady with claws to handle my stick. You understand, don’tcha, pal?”
His eyes flicked to the woman behind me, who I could practically feel scowling, and then back to me before he wrapped his paws around the stick and took it. A second later, he offered me a square of cardboard attached to a wooden stick. “Your claim check.”
I took the item he was calling a claim check and flipped it over, smiling at the big number thirteen written there. “Guess it’s my lucky day.”
“And your glasses, sir.” He held out a pair of cheap-looking sunglasses.
“No thanks,” I said, lifting mine from my collar where I’d left them hanging. “I brought my own.”
Thundercat gave a huff and placed a hand on one of the horse’s
hooves. The statue tilted sideways, revealing stairs that went down a few feet into a stone tunnel. The tunnel shot across the square toward the St. Louis Cathedral.
I stepped inside and descended the stairs slowly. The tunnel was narrow with a low ceiling, low enough I had to hunch my shoulders to keep my head from scraping the ceiling. Orange emergency lights under plastic coverings lined the walls.
“Enjoy the auction, Mr. Kerrigan,” said Catwoman.
The stone groaned as the statue flipped back into place, sealing me below the city.
Chapter Fifteen
There was a pounding sound in the tunnel I was pretty sure wasn’t just in my head. The further I went, the louder it got. Once I reached the stone door at the end of the long tunnel, it was loud enough that I could tell it was the bass of music; it would’ve disturbed the neighborhood’s peace on an early Sunday morning had the tunnel been well and truly in New Orleans. But I’d passed through a thick magical bubble a few feet into the tunnel, similar to the one that had guarded Vesta’s sanctuary.
I’d guessed such bubbles separated small pockets of other dimensions from the one I normally spent time in. Pocket dimensions, I think they were called, and even if they weren’t, that’s what I’d been calling them. This was the second such pocket dimension I’d run into, and though I wasn’t familiar with how they worked, I did know they weren’t places vanilla mortal humans tended to hang out in. Whatever waited beyond that door would be supernatural in nature.
Here goes, I thought and flipped down the lever next to the door.
The door slid up noisily and the music I’d been hearing flooded the hallway, a dark but melodic sound fed through speakers in the corner walls of a much larger room. Sandstone walls encompassed the huge room with alcove recesses every few feet. In those recesses sat colored pillows behind a thick layer of glass, an item resting on each pillow.
