by Tonya Nagle
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David gazed into her angry eyes then lowered his head.
“You risked my love.” She moved in closer, as if to strike him again. “And I expect you to fix this.”
He swallowed, unsure how.
“If he’s taken from me, I will hunt you down. I will rip off your head and feed it to the sharks. Marchon is precious to me. No one had ever loved me before and he . . . well he . . . he is the only thing that makes my eternity bearable. So don't you go moaning and pitying yourself in front of him. You stop that, because it doesn't help. You've done me wrong. You've done him wrong. Now is your chance to help. Say only good things.
Happy things. So he will be encouraged to stay." Then she left to get more bags.
David shook when he went back into the room. Unafraid of what Catalina might do, he feared losing his friend if they couldn't get enough blood into him. He sat in a red velvet chair beside the bed.
"Marchon, I've never said . . . you're my best friend. We've known each other a long time, and . . . thank you."
"Now that didn't hurt you, did it?" Catalina walked in. She took the empty bag from his mouth and pressed another to Marchon's fangs and handed two others to David. "Give him these." Then she left again.
"Come on, my friend, remember when we fought over that girl in Calais?"
David saw the glimmer of a smile on his friend's face.
Catalina walked in. "There. At least, he's having good dreams." She handing David more bags. "Keep feeding him. It's working."
He did as ordered. A smile curved his lips when she shut the door. "Ah, yes, I can imagine your dream. The girl from Calais had wondrous hips."
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Marchon groaned.
David smirked. "I believe you're remembering. If Catalina had any knowledge of the wild adventures we've shared, I'd doubt she'd leave me alone with you." Chuckling, he added, "Remember the girls of the Silent Tea Room in Shanghai? Oh, what they could do with their hands!"
***
After many hours and several more bags, Marchon woke.
Catalina forced bottles of blood on him. "Come now, mon cher, just a little more." She smiled sweetly at him, and he would take a sip from the gold goblet she held. She would wipe his face, pour more blood into the goblet, and start the process over again; always coaxing, always beguiling him with her charm. The wound closed, and a faint smile spread across Marchon's face. He winked at David.
"Isn't she more beautiful than a sunset?"
"Yes," David agreed. "She really is." In his heart, David was grateful for Marchon's life and for the wonderful companion his friend had. His thoughts returned to Laura and grief washed over him. He tried not to let it show.
"It's nearly dawn," said Catalina, as she poured more blood. She caressed his face, and Marchon gazed up at her.
"I'm feeling so much better, cherie." Marchon tried to sit up.
She pushed him back down into bed. "Oh, no, you don't. You stay where I can keep an eye on you." Then she turned to David, her face filled with sympathy even though earlier she had screeched at him for risking her man's life. "David, it is almost dawn. Time to sleep. We will try to help you again tonight."
David nodded. He was at the door when he realized she had followed him.
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"The others have told me you did not follow Marchon's advice." With her hands on her hips, she glared at him disapprovingly. "N'all Orleans is our world, David. We know things you can never know just by visiting. When Marchon tells you something, listen. He is an intelligent man." She looked at David for several minutes with that fixed stare of hers, and then something in her softened. "When Marchon was dying, I realized I would be alone for all eternity. I would never again know love. Without him, my life would become dust. It is hard enough to be a vampire. To be without love is truly death."
David nodded. He knew exactly how she felt. He felt that way now, being without Laura.
"I was thinking perhaps." Catalina hesitated for a moment before continuing.
"Brilla must have had a reason for taking Laura. If we learn the reason, we may know how to find her."
"How?"
"From Mama Joe," she whispered, as if just saying the name was dangerous.
"She is the oldest voodoo mambo still in the city. Mama Joe will know, but she will require payment."
"Will you take me to her?"
"I will take you to her door, but no further," the woman replied shaking her head.
"Bad things happen to vampires who ask favors of Mama Joe."
"I will go with you," Marchon interjected, trying to sit up again.
"No, you won't." Catalina was emphatic on that point. She gazed lovingly at her man. "You need to let your body heal."
David walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
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***
His daytime dreams were filled with that incessant humming. Yet for a short while, he saw Laura. She, too, was sleeping and he spoke to her in her dream.
"My darling wife," he whispered. "Meet me at your mother's grave. Now."
Within his dream, David waited by the Cordelais mausoleum in St. Louis #1 Cemetery.
She would come. He knew she would. Within minutes, a pale form appeared and took shape. Laura rushed into his arms.
"Oh, David!" She wept, embracing him tightly.
He kissed her hair, her neck, and when she faced him, her lips. He never wanted to let go of her. While in this dream, David could touch her, make wild love to her if he wished, he couldn't keep her when he woke. Oh, God, it's so good to touch you. She rubbed his back a little while hugging him. He chuckled. This was his Laura.
"Where are you?" he whispered in her ear.
"I don't know. She drugged me. I was unconscious. I don't know how she got me out of the tree house. I'm in the back seat of a car with blankets and a tarp over me. I can't move. I don't know why I can't move. There must have been something in the drink. I hear her humming. I feel New Orleans growing further away."
David kissed her. Their fangs hit like they did on their first kiss, and they laughed. Then growing serious, David asked, "Do you know why she took you?"
"Brilla was a close friend of my mother's. She promised to protect me. She said that by marrying, we had broken an ancient law of the Keres. She said she meant to save me from destruction and . . ."
Before Laura could continue, she disappeared into smoke. David tried frantically to hold her, but she faded in his arms.
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"No," he cried, tossing and turning in the bed. He punched the pillows in anger.
His head ached with that persistent humming. For the rest of the day, he replayed those precious few moments in his mind; holding Laura in his arms, smelling the flowers in her hair, and feeling her strong, eternally young body against his.
***
When evening came, he flew downstairs, meeting Marchon. His friend had recovered completely from his wound.
"We've got to get going. Where's Catalina?"
"Calm yourself, my friend. This visit requires careful planning," Marchon explained. "We should arrive with some sort of gift. Otherwise we're more likely to suffer a loss of limb."
"She's only another voodoo witch like Brilla, right?"
"Oh, no, no," declared Catalina, gliding into the kitchen with three black bottles bearing the red rose. She wore only a bright pink robe tied loosely against her luxuriant dark skin. "Mama Joe can see where others cannot. Her power is the greatest in the city. She did not leave, because she knew this storm would not touch her."
David frowned as he picked up one of the bottles. He didn't know about voodoo, but he understood politics and sucking up. "We should bring seven."
"Seven?" Catalina raised an eyebrow.
"He's right," replied Marchon. "Seven is a sacred number. It will show her that we're serious."
Catalina sighed and disappeared back into the cellar. Minutes later, she reappeared carrying four more bottles. Marchon wr
apped each carefully and put them in a large black backpack, while Catalina went to change.
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"It's time to go," he said to David.
Catalina led them on that starless night, several blocks through the French Quarter to a stately green and black Victorian house on Dauphine Street. Not only had the storm overlooked this house, but so had time. The door was carved with spirals and demons. The sign bolted to the wall beside it read: Way To Go Joe's Voodoo Emporium.
They walked up the steps. Catalina did not.
"This is where I go home." Marchon's companion disappeared in a blink.
"Why is she so afraid?"
"When she was young, before becoming one of the blood, she witnessed a ritual where a vampire was murdered. After they beheaded him, they boiled the skin off and fed it to the hogs. Then they cleaned the bones for future use. There is a rumor, that Mama Joe keeps the skull of that unfortunate on the desk in her parlor."
"Rumors are one way to instill fear." David shook his head.
Marchon tried the door. It was locked. He pressed the buzzer.
A crackling voice through the intercom answered, "Evil cannot enter here, Vampires." The door remained locked.
David pressed the buzzer and quickly said, "Please, I need Mama Joe's help."
He heard an audible sigh. "Who are you, Vampire? You are not from the Big Easy."
"I'm from the Big Apple."
They heard scuffling behind the door and then the intercom shut off.
Minutes later, the door opened and they walked in. Candle sconces on the purple walls of the foyer provided a dim glow. Glass cases displayed all manner of religious artifacts and items ranging from statues of saints and portraits to boxes labeled as the 57
blood or the bones of the holy. Jars of dried herbs sat in neat rows on the counters.
Voodoo dolls were lined up like a chorus line. Next to them were boxes of "Your Own Voodoo Kit." Gris-gris bags hung from a rack in the corner, and shrunken heads hung from a curtain rod against a window, as if to give them a view.
"The one on the end looks like an old friend of mine," laughed Marchon.
"Could be. Could be," said a voice behind them as old as the North Wind. They turned to see three young black girls in faded pink dresses. They were maybe 11 or 12
years old at most. Triplets. One of them stood behind the wheelchair of an old black woman who wore sunglasses and a purple robe covered with amulets. Every talisman and religious symbol hung from a gold chain around her neck. She sat regally in her wheelchair like a queen addressing her court. David felt the woman's power. Marchon bowed. David did not.
"Hmm," she half-chuckled. "Come into my parlor, and we'll talk."
Marchon looked nervous. David made the first move by following the woman into the next room. It was a pleasant, pale pink room with floral paintings and a large round table with a lace tablecloth. No desk and no skull. Once seated around the table, Mama Joe gave David a long appraising look.
"So, Mr. Hilliard, what can I do for you?"
David narrowed his eyes. He didn't like the fact she knew his name without introductions. What else did she know? "My wife has been kidnapped, and I want her back."
Mama Joe laughed. "Don't you know? Vampires don't have wives. Why have a wife, when a handsome man like you can have any woman he wants, another vampire 58
for a companion, a human for a pet. Vampires were made to be free of such encumbrances."
"Nevertheless, I do have a wife, and I need her." This woman annoyed him.
Mama Joe smirked. "What will you give me, if I help you?"
"Three bottles of human blood," said Marchon, taking them from the bag.
"No." David put the whole lot on the table. "Seven in all."
"Oooh, a man who means business." Mama Joe nodded thoughtfully, choosing one bottle with its rose emblem to admire before gesturing to one of the girls to put the bottles away. "Denise, bring me the Buru Jar."
One of the girls handed her a gray jar covered with strange black markings. It had the affect of spiders crawling over the jar when she held it.
"I need a small item from you." Her sunglasses effectively shielded her eyes as she looked up at David. He didn't know if she was hiding behind them or using them the way cops do to project authority.
David didn't believe in voodoo, but no other options had presented themselves.
This, at one time, had been Laura's world. From everything she'd told him, it was a piece of her childhood she wanted to forget. It was pretty far from the Manhattan he knew in a lot of ways.
She held out her hand.
He couldn't think what to give her.
Her dark, gnarled hands sported bright, glossy red fingernails, which she tapped on the table. "I don't have an eternity to wait."
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He ripped a white button off near the bottom of his shirt and gave it to her. She put the button into the jar, closed the lid, shook the contents vigorously, and poured them onto the table.
Mama Joe took off her sunglasses revealing luminous blue eyes. Gazing down at the button, bits of bone, shells, and several small crystals and stones, she said, "Brilla took your bride to prevent destruction."
Then she put her hand over a grouping and continued, "She took her . . . wait, what is this? Your wife is a Cordelais and a Telkhine." Mama Joe pushed away from the table. "I can't help you. You were never meant to have a Telkhine. Be quick, girls. Give him back the bottles. I will not owe an obligation to a vampire."
As the girls put the bottles back on the table, Marchon reached out to take one, but David stopped him. "Whether you will it or not, you do owe an obligation, Mama Joe. You agreed to help."
Mama Joe fixed an angry stare at David and he returned her glare refusing to back down.
"What is a Telkhine?"
She shook her head and looked back at the small groupings of items on the table.
Passing her hand over a small purple snail shell, a blue crystal, and his button, she sighed. "A magnificent creature in human form known for its purity of heart and adventurous spirit. They are the promise from God that man would never again be destroyed by flood."
"I thought that was a rainbow."
"That was the sign of the promise."
"I don't understand what a Telkhine is."
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She sighed. "A Telkhine is a storm caller. They can create a storm or unwind it.
If it's a storm of their creation, they can unwind it entirely. If not, they can unwind it enough to save a city from destruction. After her return to New Orleans, Juliette Cordelais did that for several years. Since her death, we've been unprotected and see what has happened. Laura will be trained to use her powers to protect our city. That is how sacred she is. Now go away, David Hilliard."
David clenched his fists in frustration and stood up. He wasn't afraid of this old woman. He didn't care that the vampires of New Orleans quaked in their boots at the mention of her name. If he chose to threaten her, he had the strength and power to make good on his threat. If he chose to kill her, nothing would stop him. But then he thought of Laura, and her love softened his temper though not his argument. The rage in his body raised his fists, but they fell to the table with open palms. All that mattered to him was Laura.
"No. I won't leave. Not until you help me." He sat back in the chair. His trembling fingers raked through his hair and rubbed the young whiskers on his face.
That simple act took him out of himself to a Sunday morning when he and Laura were reading the funnies in bed. She caressed his face with her hands and giggled. "You need a shave, or at least decide on growing a beard." He pretended to be more interested in Prince Valiant, but he really heard her. She leaned over and chewed his ear, and he surrendered to her playfulness.
"Mr. Hilliard, leave my house now."
Her hard words burst his tender memory. David's heart was breaking. He could feel Laura moving farther and farther away. "What can I do? Laura calls to me in her 61
dreams. In my entire human and vampire life, I had never fallen in love. I love Laura Cordelais, and I will do anything for her."
"You did a binding ritual," accused the mambo.
"I gave her a wedding," he snapped back fiercely and then sighed. His hands flew up in resignation. "It was my gift to her. I did not bind her to me. Any time she wants to leave, I will let her go. I love her that much. If Laura stays with me, then it's her choice. It's out of love. Even now, she calls to me. I could never keep her against her will, but Brilla is, and you know that."
Everyone stood quietly staring at each other. David felt helpless. He hated feeling helpless. He hated seeing Laura crying, and he hated the silence.
"I know you don't like vampires, Mama Joe, but where is your justice? Laura is Brilla's prisoner. Brilla kidnapped her. That's a crime and whether you help or not, I will go after them and get my wife back."
"Why, David Hilliard, why do you want your wife back?"
"She is my life." David looked at his hands on the table and thought, This has all been a waste of time. He was ready to leave.
"Marchon, leave," demanded Mama Joe.
"Let's go, David."
"No. He stays. What I have to say is for him alone."
Marchon looked at his friend. David nodded and the vampire left. Then the girls left too, and closed the door.
"I felt your rage at me, but instead of threatening, you spoke of your love for Laura Cordelais." She shook her head, as if resigned to her fate. "Love is a miracle that too few know. I see the love you have for Laura, and I cannot deny that. For this reason 62
only, I will help you." She collected all the little pieces again into the jar and after shaking, threw again.
