Royal Street

by Suzanne Johnson

  I squished around and got depressed at the talk of studs and drywall and mold penetration. Finally, I went out back, stripped off my crud gear, and sat on the deck, its wood dry and fragile—at least the half that hadn’t already caved in. Eventually, it would rot like everything else. The houses on either side of Gerry’s were deserted, windows broken out. Heck, every single house in Lakeview was deserted. Two square miles empty and ten thousand people homeless just in this one neighborhood. Then multiply it by dozens more neighborhoods.

  There wasn’t much left of Gerry here anymore except the upstairs furniture. Nothing from the first floor could be saved. I had taken all the books already and boxed up his personal stuff—clothes, shoes, even a few small furnishings—and stacked them up to take home with me a little at a time. When he came back, he could stay with me till his house was habitable again. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

  Rick’s heavy boots echoed through the open door as he tromped up the stairs to continue his inspection. Jake came out back, stripped off his mask, and stomped as much muck as he could off his boots. He eased himself to the deck beside me, favoring his right leg, and massaged his hand over the muscle just above the knee.

  “It still hurts you, doesn’t it?”

  “Aw, no. I just use it to get girls to feel sorry for me.” He bumped his shoulder against mine and smiled. “Is it working?”

  I laughed and shook my head, thinking Jake Warin had to be the kindest, bravest man I’d ever met. After all he’d been through, all the pain he lived with every day, he was trying to cheer me up.

  His smile faded. “Do you need help taking anything out of the house—you know, furniture or bigger boxes? I still have my dad’s old Dodge.” I’d thought the Dakota with the Jaguar hood ornament was his.

  I sighed. I didn’t want Gerry’s furniture to end up on the curb with the piles of limbs and moldy Sheetrock—that hurt to think about. But I didn’t have room for it, either. I wondered if he’d want it after losing the rest of the house, and figured the answer would be no. Gerry loved antiques but he wasn’t sentimental about stuff in general.

  “I’d like Gerry’s desk eventually, I guess.” He’d want that saved. Nothing from the bedroom. I still hadn’t broken the ash transport circle and triangle there, but had pulled a rug over it. I’d do it after Jake and Rick left.

  Jake looked around, his tawny eyes reflecting gold in the midafternoon sun. “This is a nice property. You could rebuild, you know. It’s more land than you have in town, and once they get the floodwalls rebuilt it’ll be safer. No way the Army engineers are gonna let this happen again.”

  I tried to see it from his viewpoint, but all I could think about was loss. It hadn’t even occurred to me that if Gerry was truly gone, I’d probably inherit this. Or maybe Tish, unless he had some family members hidden away somewhere. It didn’t matter.

  “I don’t want to live here again. I don’t think I could.”

  Jake wound his fingers through mine. Holding hands felt nice. I could read his affection and concern and protectiveness. No overriding urge to lock lips next to the breadbox. I leaned my head on his shoulder and we watched a pair of gulls sitting on the buckled floodwall, impervious to either us or the racket of the Army helicopters that still hovered over Lakeview.

  He raised my hand and kissed the back of my knuckles, then released it and stood as Rick walked out the back door, clipboard in hand, mask around his neck. The rotting deck groaned under the weight of the contractor in his heavy boots, and a black trail of sludgy footprints followed him out the door. Back to reality.

  “What do you think?” Jake asked.

  I struggled to wrench my mind from Jake and focus on Rick. Rick was simple. Rick just wanted to fix Gerry’s house. Rick wasn’t interested in a relationship more complicated than wielding a hammer and collecting a paycheck.

  He cleared his throat and looked at his clipboard. “Ms. Jaco, I know you hoped we’d be able to leave the upstairs like it was, but I’d really advise you to let us gut the whole thing.” His light blue eyes radiated sympathy. I wondered how often he’d given this speech in the last couple of weeks.

  “The mold has gotten into the upstairs walls, and I just don’t think you want to risk not getting it all. The roof’s okay, so we can strip it back to the studs, get rid of the mold and moisture, and then you can decide later what you want to do with it.”

  I wasn’t surprised, but it still felt like a knife in the gut. I looked down at the rotting deck and wondered what Gerry would want to do—that made the answer simple.

  “Go ahead and strip it down.” We set a date for late October, the earliest Rick’s demolition crew could get to it.

  As soon as the guys left, I pulled the mucky boots on again and got my backpack out of the Pathfinder. I walked slowly through the downstairs, opening my mind to feel any magical energy that might be there. All clear.

  Same thing upstairs. I ended in Gerry’s bedroom, unrolling the rug carefully to expose the ash transport. I’d been doing my bedtime reading on magic reconstruction. It was a complex ritual with iffy results, but I saw no reason not to try it—only wished I’d found out about it earlier.

  If the ritual worked, I would be able to see the last person to use the transport. It wouldn’t tell me where the person had gone, but at least I’d know if Gerry was the one who’d used it.

  I made sure the interlocking circle and triangle were still intact, smoothing out a couple of rough spots caused by moving the rug, then took out a small jar of ground ash roots and sprinkled them in a circle and triangle just inside the original. I shaped the new figures carefully with my fingers so they’d touch Gerry’s original symbol at all points. Inside that, I traced the shapes again with dried ground ivy. The work was tedious; each layer had to touch the layer next to it, but not overlap.

  Next, I took a vial of pomegranate juice and two small emeralds, and stepped inside the transport, sitting cross-legged. I spoke the words for invoking the magical reconstruction as I dragged a finger covered with the bright pink juice across my forehead. Finally, I took an emerald in each palm and made a fist, injecting small bits of magic into the memory stones.

  Then I concentrated and waited. When my mind wandered, I’d bring it back to the circle. The room grew hotter, the light outside my eyelids brighter, but I didn’t open them. Finally, I saw the room in my mind—not a memory but an image, as if I were viewing it from outside my body. I watched Gerry enter the transport. A tall black man stepped in next to him, a white skeleton painted on his skin. He wore a top hat and a tuxedo jacket.

  The Baron Samedi was transporting out with Gerry, and they were laughing.

  CHAPTER 28

  I drove home in a daze. Alex had been right all along, damn it. Gerry had struck a deal with Samedi, gone somewhere with him willingly, and his plans had obviously gone wrong. Samedi was Gerry’s mysterious visitor from the Beyond.

  I couldn’t deny Gerry’s complicity anymore. Whatever had happened to him at Samedi’s hand, Gerry had put himself in position for it to happen.

  I pulled into my drive at four thirty and saw Alex’s car already there. I sat in the Pathfinder a minute, taking deep breaths and fingering the mojo bag I’d hung around my neck with a cord. My chest felt tight, and I wanted to break something.

  Gerry had been stupid. There, I’d been disloyal and thought it. I doubted anyone in the Beyond could be truly trusted, but the god of a minor religion, barely kept alive by people’s fading beliefs? Gerry knew better, because he taught me better. I wasn’t sure how I could be so worried about Gerry, and still be so pissed off at him. Right now, I’d like to find him so I could wring his neck.

  Grabbing my backpack, I stomped to the back stoop, climbed the stairs, and stopped with my key halfway to the door. An ornate silver dagger protruded from the wood, where it was serving as a pushpin to hold an envelope in place.

  Alex opened the door. “Why are you just standing … What’s wrong?”

>   “Did you come in the back?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  I pulled the dagger from the door facing, handed it to Alex, and opened the envelope. Inside was a card signed J Laffite in an ornate, flowery script, along with a spent bullet. I wasn’t sure why history had changed the spelling of the pirate’s name to Lafitte but he’d apparently missed the memo.

  I laid the bullet in my palm. “This look familiar?”

  “Let’s go back inside.” As soon as we closed the door behind us and locked it, he took the bullet and examined it. “It’s a .45, military issue. Looks like the kind I used on Lafitte.”

  “It’s probably the one you used.” I handed him the card and took the dagger, turning it over in my hand. Lafitte had gouged a hole in my plaster wall with one just like it, down to its wicked triangular blade.

  Alex tried his tracker at the back door and got a faint, pulsing signal. “At least he didn’t hang around waiting for you.”

  “He knew you were here.”

  “Maybe he’s after me instead of you—I’m the one who shot him.”

  I considered that possibility. “No, it’s me. Jean Lafitte and I have a bad history that began before you trotted in with your shotgun.”

  I pulled a soda from the fridge and went into the living room.

  “And, by the way, you were right about Gerry all along.” The familiar ache of magic settled into my muscles as soon as I hit the armchair. Not just magic, though. Too much stress, too little sleep, too many skipped meals.

  “What are you talking about?”

  I told him about the reconstruction ritual, about Gerry and Samedi heading off who knows where, practically arm in arm.

  He sat quietly for several minutes and wouldn’t look at me. “You know we have to tell Zrakovi.”

  I nodded and stared at the floor. “I just don’t understand why he’d do it. Why he’d risk himself like that.”

  Alex remained quiet. I finally looked up at him, expecting either an I told you so or a show of sympathy. I didn’t expect anger. His eyes were dark, and he tightened his hands into fists, then released them, then tightened them again. He looked like he wanted to punch something. Hard.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I said. The last thing I wanted was to alienate Alex. He was the only ally I had now. “I know I shouldn’t have done this when you weren’t there—”

  “I’m not mad at you.” He got up and paced the living room, his voice low, words clipped. “If I could get my hands on Gerry right now I’d kill him.”

  I slumped against the back of the chair, unsure how to defend Gerry anymore. “You can’t be surprised. This is what you suspected all along. He went rogue, or at least it’s sure looking that way.” Treason. Execution order. I was mad at Gerry, but I couldn’t stand to see that.

  Alex sat on the sofa next to me. “I guess I’d started to see him through your eyes. I can believe he’d risk himself for his ideals, but I can’t believe he’d risk you. Any danger you’re in is all on him.”

  He stretched his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. I knew he wanted to comfort me, and I wanted to be comforted. But we sat there awkwardly for a minute and didn’t look at each other. It was too soon after the counter episode.

  “Have you eaten dinner?” I asked.

  “No.”

  We headed for the kitchen, dragging out MREs. At the rate we were consuming them, we’d have to break down and start cooking in another week or so.

  I filled him in on the house inspection, and in the interest of full disclosure, told him Jake was there.

  “I’m not surprised. He worked with Rick in construction awhile after college, before he went into the Corps.”

  I decided the less discussion of Jake, the better. “What was your mysterious errand today?”

  Alex grimaced. “A new clan of merpeople has moved into South Plaquemines, in a small community called Tidewater. They’re mainstreamed in the fishing industry. After talking to the clan leader and the Elders, we decided to let them stay, at least until things settle down. The Elders have their hands full with the vampire regents and the fae right now. They don’t have time to deal with mers.”

  “What are the vamps and fae up to?”

  Alex shook his head. “Same old thing, I guess. They’re using the storm and the temporal breaches as an excuse to reopen the whole subject of border oversight. I’m sure there are a lot of other prete groups watching to see what happens.”

  About seven, Alex got another call from Ken. The Voodoo Killer had struck again. Another guardsman, this time in Bywater, halfway between the Quarter and the Lower Nine. Five deaths now, plus the poor guy still barely hanging on. I wasn’t sure how much more New Orleans could take before it imploded, or how long before the National Guardsmen would be drawing straws between facing the dangers of New Orleans versus Kabul or Baghdad—and who could blame them?

  “Ken invited me to look at the crime scene before forensics gets in there,” he said, strapping on his vest and shoulder holster. “I know you will disagree, but I think you should stay here, behind your wards. Lock yourself in. Lafitte’s already come after you once tonight.”

  If I sat here by myself all night, waiting for Jean Lafitte to show up, I’d go crazy. “I think I’ll go to the Gator. Why don’t you meet me there after you finish up?”

  “Forget it.” He pulled a jacket on over his vest. “That’s one of the first places Lafitte will look for you, and you’re less exposed here.”

  I blew out an exasperated breath. “I can’t just sit here waiting for something bad to happen, Alex. I will go berserk.” I’d be jumping at every leaf that hit the porch, every sigh of breeze that swept past the window.

  When he flicked his gaze toward heaven and shook his head, I knew I’d won.

  “Fine,” he said. “But I’ll drop you at the Gator on my way out and make sure you aren’t hijacked by pirates.”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  I ran upstairs and reapplied makeup on my chin bruise. I also grabbed my spare mojo bag and stuck it in my pocket, and picked up the backpack. I wouldn’t be caught empty-handed again. On the way out, I tripped over the elven staff, which had placed itself across the doorway.

  I thought of Bad Teeth and his boot heel. “Okay, Charlie. You’re going.” I stuck it in the backpack. It poked out one side of the flap, but till I found a better carrier, it would do.

  As soon as Alex dropped me off and I opened the door of the Gator, the noise hit me like a physical force. BeauSoleil was rocking “Zydeco Gris-Gris” on the jukebox, and most of the tables were already full of guys. It was a great time to be a single woman on the prowl in New Orleans, as long as soldiers and construction workers were your type.

  Leyla spotted me at the door and nodded toward an empty stool at the near end of the bar. By the time I climbed up, she’d brought a Diet Barq’s. “Jake’s meeting with a supplier,” she shouted over the din.

  I paid her for the soda. “Is Jackie upstairs?”

  She nodded, and I wove my way through the bar to the back. My spy hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with useful information.

  Louis answered on the second knock, looked up and down the hall after letting me in, and relocked the door before I’d made it two feet inside.

  “I heard on the news that another man’s been killed.” His eyes were wild, and his fingers twitched at the lapels of his dark suit.

  I nodded and sat on the sofa, hoping he’d do the same. He was making me nervous. “You hadn’t called, so I wanted to check in and see what you’d found out. You’re not hearing anything about these murders from your sources in the Beyond?”

  He finally perched on the edge of the armchair. “I’m not a very good spy, DJ. I only hear about things after they happen, or things that don’t seem important. Like that pirate moving in down the street.”

  My breath hitched. “What?”

  He nodded. “That Jean Lafitte. He’s set up in the Quarter somewhere. Don’t think he has anythi
ng to do with the murders. Although, with pirates, I guess you never know.”

  Holy crap. “What do you know about the pirate, exactly?”

  He shrugged. “Only that it’s someplace he knew from his first life, and he’s got some guys with him.”

  Double holy crap. That could be just about any place in the Quarter.

  Louis’ shoulders sagged. “Like I said, I’m not a very good spy.”

  I barked out a laugh. “Maybe better than you know. Anything else you found out after it happened?”

  “Nothing I can think of.”

  I stayed in Louis’ room after he went down for his first set, thinking about Jean Lafitte sitting somewhere nearby like a big hairy spider, waiting for the right moment to pounce. That was just wrong. Why should I have to cower and sneak around my own town? I shouldn’t have to be escorted everywhere by an elven staff or a guy with a gun.

  Jean Lafitte was smart. He had a reputation for being ultimately loyal to only one person: himself. He could be bargained with. Surely I hadn’t made him so angry he’d pass up a profitable business deal. Plus, I got the impression he was a player in the Beyond. I might be able to get information from him about Gerry.

  I wasn’t waiting for him to find me. I’d find him.

  I took a cab home, greeted a grumpy Sebastian—oh, wait, that was redundant—and went upstairs to the library. I pulled the Elders’ magic-box tracker to the edge of my worktable and leaned over it, studying all the blinking lights. I wrote down the five breaches in the French Quarter in a notebook.

  Taking the list to my computer, I powered up and, thanking God for restored Internet service, Googled all five addresses. I had thought one of them might be the Lafitte Blacksmith Shop, where Jean Lafitte’s brother Pierre had run the legitimate front for their smuggling empire. But it wasn’t one of the addresses listed.

  Two of the breach sites were open areas—one at Armstrong Park, the other at St. Anthony’s Garden behind St. Louis Cathedral. A third was at an art gallery on Bourbon surrounded by businesses that had started reopening. The pirate wouldn’t want to risk that much exposure.