by Angie Fox
Grandma didn't even lift a brow. "Okay. Let's mount a rescue mission on the voodoo temple. If he's there."
"Sounds good," I said, without hesitation.
"I think I know how to find it. We'll get to work on the spells we need tonight, and we'll go in tomorrow after sunset."
"Can we speed this up?" Carpenter was in trouble.
"I'm not screwing up around voodoo," Grandma said, inviting no argument.
I got it. I really did. I hated to deal with the delay, but I also shuddered to think what would happen if they got the jump on us.
If the balls-to-the-wall, crazy leader of the Red Skulls needed a plan to go up against these ancestor spirits, I'd heed the warning.
And frankly, when it came to the safety of the Red Skulls versus the necromancer, I'd go with the witches every time. Carpenter was a survivor, just like me.
Grandma opened the door to the house and didn't seem nearly surprised enough when Ant Eater stood on the other side. "I've got everybody together outside in the backyard.
That was quick. "What time is it?"
"Just after one," she said. "We can still get a full night's work in." She glanced around the corner of the porch. "Creely and her crew are planting Light Eaters around the outside of the fence so none of the neighbors can see in."
Ironically the street in front of the house hadn't quieted down, either. New Orleans was crazy.
Ant Eater's gaze caught the sky, where the full, red moon hung low. "Good thing we have the blood moon. It'll amplify the power."
"As long as it doesn't make it go wonky," Grandma muttered. She turned to me. "Why don't you go rest up, Lizzie? You're going to need it."
I shook my head ruefully. They were dismissing me because, well, let's face it—my attempts to learn biker witch magic hadn't exactly been successful. My Mind Wiper spells put people to sleep. My Mexican Food Craving Spell caused a run on Taco Bells in three counties. And my one attempt at a Lose Your Key's spell made my neighbor's Kia Sorento disappear.
Still, I had to taunt the witches just a little bit. "You sure don't want me to whip up any magic with you?" I asked it straight faced, trying my best to sound earnest.
Ant Eater held up her hands, as if she needed to protect herself. "No," she said quickly. Guilt settled over her features as she cleared her throat. "Conserve your power," she added. "We need you at your best."
I shook my head. "All right, then," I said, heading into the house. Frieda had a wooden crate of ingredients open in the foyer and was bent over it, passing back jars of heaven-knew-what to Edwina and Bug Eyed Betty. The glittering contents rattled the jars still in the crate.
I sidestepped two more witches carrying a barbeque pit. "Hey," I turned, "where's Pirate?" He was usually at the center of everything.
Frieda glanced at me over her shoulder. "Your dog helped Creely make a nest for Flappy out back, then Pirate went to bed."
"While there are people awake?" Strange.
Frieda shrugged. "Top of the stairs, center room."
I shared a glance with Ant Eater.
"Grand-mère's room," she said, her voice thick.
It had been locked when we arrived. "I'm sorry," I said automatically. I had no idea how he'd gotten in there.
Ant Eater gave a slight shake of the head. If I hadn't been staring right at her, I would have missed it. "'S okay. Ask him if she's there."
I nodded. My dog had a certain affinity for ghosts, and he liked to make friends. "I'll check it out right now," I said, avoiding a biker witch with a blowtorch as I headed for the stairs. "You guys had better use those in the backyard," I added, as I saw the blowtorch follow the barbeque pit out into the front.
"Good point," Ant Eater said, seeming to snap out of her haze. "Backyard brewing ceremony!" she shouted.
Several more witches rushed down the stairs, their boots pounding hard on the wood as they hurried to join.
I passed them going the other way, closing in on the pink painted door that now stood ajar.
Chapter Eight
With a hollow breath, I pushed my way inside Grand-mère Chantal's room.
A faceted crystal chandelier cast uncertain light over the dusty room. Only three of the eight bulbs worked. The others remained dark, tangled in spider webs. I breathed in the stale air, the decay. A fireplace huddled to my left, its cold mouth gaping, the inside stained black with soot from long-dead fires. To my right stood an immense antique wardrobe.
At the very center of the room, a stunning gold bench, strewn with pillows nestled against the foot of a rich, four-poster antique canopy bed. Dust marred the white canopy and pink silk bed coverings. My dog snuggled up near the carved mahogany headboard, on a stack of pillows, doing his very best impression of the princess and the pea.
"Lizzie!" He scrambled to his feet, scattering pillows.
I placed a hand on my hip. "Pirate Bartholomew Kallinikos, what are you doing here?" I didn't like this room. It was too cut off. Too…dead.
Except for the ten-pound troublemaker who had decided to camp out.
"I'm helping out a sweet lady," Pirate gushed. He dashed across the aged silk bed coverings and met me at the edge, shoving a wet nose into my palm. "Hmm…have you been at a barbeque?"
"Something like that," I said, scooping him up. I held him at eye-level in front of me, his legs dangling. "This isn't the place for dogs."
Pirate liked to be around people, not cobwebs. Every canine instinct he had should have told him to stay out of this dark place.
"The door swung open," Pirate said, as if it were as simple as that. "Of course, I checked that out. Then—you're going to love this—I saw glittery magic lights. I just had to chase them."
"You don't have to chase anything," I said, knowing he'd never buy it. I folded him into my arms, holding him tight against my chest. "Ant Eater talked about the walls in this place bleeding. She didn't mention strange lights."
Pirate hit me with a cold nose to the arm. "No offense, but you're not very good at magic."
Wasn't that the truth? I scanned the room. Above us, the dangling crystals of the chandelier tinkled together. Cobwebs traced strange patterns on the faded silk wallpaper. "Do you see the lights now?"
Pirate wriggled against my strong grip. "They ran away, on account of my ferocity. But if we sit still, they might come back."
Not a chance. "We're leaving."
Pirate's whipped his head to the right, then straight up, like he did while watching snowflakes. "Wait. There they are!" He exclaimed, profoundly impressed. "Ooh! They're bigger now that you're here." His hind legs dug into my chest as he snapped his jaws, trying to take a bite out of the air.
"Pirate," I scolded, wrestling to keep him in my arms. I still didn't see a thing.
"Ick," he recoiled. "Tastes like Healthy Lite dog chow."
"Come on," I said, heading for the hall.
"No." My dog burst out of my arms and landed hard on the floor. I reached for him, but he sidestepped me. In a move he'd perfected for the vet's office, he zigzag dashed across the room and belly-crawled under a large dresser draped in a dirty lace runner.
"Pirate," I warned, stalking up to his hiding place. "Come out from under there right now." Perfume bottles crowded the surface, their rich scents reduced to crust under glass.
"She's worried about us." My dog pleaded, his voice muffled under the dresser. I saw a paw peeking out.
"Who?" I asked, making a grab for him. Oof. Just missed. My back crinked and I stood for a second, my eye catching a framed black and white photograph of Chantal Cerese Le Voux amid the scattered perfume bottles. The photograph showed a smiling, younger Chantal, wearing a classic party dress and posing with a dapper looking man at her side. I took it and slid it under the dresser. "Is this lady talking to you?"
The doorway to the bathroom lay just beyond the dresser. I gave a small shudder. That's where she'd died.
"She's real nice," Pirate said, his tail thumping against a dresser leg. "She says d
on't talk to the spirit it the tower, and I say 'Of course not. I'll stay right here with you.'" His tail thumped against the carpet. "I think she's just lonely."
No, she was smart. We were going to heed that warning, and get the heck out of Dodge.
I followed the sound of the tail and found Pirate's entire rear end sticking out from the far end of the dresser. Ha. I grabbed hold of his back haunches and dragged him out from under the dresser. "Time to go."
"She's my friend," he said, trying to dig back under.
"You don't have to make friends with everybody." Pirate couldn't save the world. None of us could.
"I'm a dog," he said, struggling, "it's my job."
When I'd gotten him almost, sort of under control, I saw that I stood in front of the open doorway. Watery light spilled into the white tiled bathroom and over an old-fashioned claw foot tub against the wall. A cold draft filtered from the room, prickling over the bare skin of my arms.
My dog sighed. "You're so pretty."
"Thanks," I said, shivering against the sudden chill.
He wriggled in my grip. "Not you." Pirate said, looking into the bathroom. "The lady in the tub."
I tightened my grip and stared.
But I saw nothing—only saw the shadowy outline of the empty tub.
Pirate tilted his head at the icy presence. "Sorry. I don't do baths unless forced. They make me stink."
My dog had an affinity for ghosts. He sometimes saw them when I didn't.
"Mrs. Le Voux?" I asked, wondering if I was indeed out of line for talking to the woman while she was in her bath. "Thanks for the warning." We'd crash in one of the biker witches' beds, or in the kitchen for all I cared.
Pirate's tail whacked against my arm. "She says we can stay right here in her room." He craned his neck to me. "He's waiting for you outside."
Okay, that creeped me out on about ten different levels.
I backed away from the door. The light from the bathroom had begun playing tricks on my eyes. I blinked against the halos clouding my vision. The fog in my brain thickened as I forced myself away.
Pirate felt heavy in my arms. "Okay, now we should run," Pirate said, scrabbling against me. He slipped from my grasp. "Lizzie?" His voice swam in my head. I kept walking. Backward. I wasn't going to leave my back exposed to the spirit.
Keep moving.
"You don't look so hot." Pirate's nose nudged my leg. "I think we'd better stay."
Sure. In a haunted room. Maybe I should just take a bubble bath while I was at it.
My shoulder thwacked the wooden bedpost. Hard. The bed shook. My shoulder throbbed, but not as hard as it should have. Alarm registered in the back of my brain.
"Pirate—" I clutched at the bedpost and struggled to sit on the edge of the mattress. It would only be for a minute. I just needed to clear my head.
It took all my focus to shift Pirate to my left side in case I needed my right hand for my weapons.
He wiggled out of my grip and onto the bed. "Lizzie, are you all right?"
"Yes," I said, hearing my voice slur.
It was worse than I thought.
We had to get out of here. I tried to shove myself to my feet, but it was like I'd hit a sharp, icy wall. I fell backward onto the bed, my head throbbing, and the mattress soft beneath me.
Pirate curled up, warm at my side.
"Cold," I managed to say.
His nose hovered over my cheek, his warm breath puffing against my skin. "Don't worry," he said, his hushed tone betraying his concern. "I'm the best watchdog in Georgia."
But we were in Louisiana.
"I'll protect you," Pirate assured me.
That was the last thing I heard before everything went dark.
***
I woke to the sensation of warmth on my skin, along with a slow, prickling unease. I had to get out of there. I reached for my dog, but he was no longer at my side.
"Pirate?" I whispered as I sat.
The room glowed with an unearthly light. My dog wasn't on the bed, or on the floor. He'd most likely gotten himself into trouble.
As I scanned the room again, I could sense a presence above. Watching me. I wrapped my arms around my chest and darted my eyes to the ceiling. But I saw only the crush of milky white fabric where the canopy stretched overhead.
Misty light filtered from the bathroom, along with the distinct sound of water trickling over tile.
I was not about to go in there and see if the tub was overflowing.
Instead, I looked away and saw another door near the corner of the bedroom. The same light filtered from its edges and from where it hung slightly open, big enough for a curious dog.
I sat up straighter as the door creaked and opened wider. I sure hoped he wasn't up there. I rubbed at my arms. "Pirate?" I called, as loudly as I dared.
He was getting no doggie treats for a year. No Bow-Wow Brownies, no Schnicker-Poodles. And he could forget about any Paw-Lickin' chicken bites.
With a clear head and a healthy dose of oh-my-God, I cautiously approached the door in the wall. It hadn't been there before, or at least it had been hidden from me. I ran my fingers over the place where it joined with the patterned wallpaper, amazed how seamlessly it blended. I never would have picked it out if it had been closed tight.
It felt warm, alive.
I pushed it all the way open, and found a small, narrow staircase leading upward. Rays of light shone from the top, like the heavens reaching down. All right, then. I rested a hand on my switch star belt. I had a sinking feeling that I knew exactly where this led. And I didn't like it one bit.
It grew warmer every step I took, the stairs creaking under my bare feet.
The door at the top stood open. I braced myself and walked straight through it, right into the séance room in the tower.
My face flushed with the heat. Charms dangled from the ceiling. I hadn't noticed them before. They turned in slow circles, tinkling together. I stood in stunned silence. I'd never wanted to come back here.
I stared down at the Ouija board on the center table. The planchette rattled against the board. I watched with dread as the game piece spun slowly and stopped, pointing directly at me.
"Hello, Elizabeth," a male voice oozed.
My heart sped up. A trickle of sweat ran down my back. "I'm not talking to you," I murmured to myself, not to him. Never to him.
The small room grew even warmer. "I knew you'd come back."
Quite a trick, considering I'd never wanted to set foot in this place again.
Whatever this was, whoever, seemed to exist in the air itself. I tried for shallow breaths, pulling only as much into my lungs as I dared.
This had to be a dream, I realized, as the steaming air washed over me. I clenched my nails into my palm, trying to wake myself.
Wet breath tickled my ear. "You like my power."
"No," I answered. I couldn't help it. His presence was suffocating. "I'm just here for my dog."
He laughed at that. "Refreshing. But you and I both know he's not here."
He appeared to be telling the truth. I didn't see any trace of Pirate. My dog had been smart enough to stay out of here, away from this…presence. I could feel it watching me, even before I'd come to this room.
It had been premature to tell myself we were okay after we'd locked up the tower, that the witches had secured the house. We should have suspected a hidden entrance, or at least searched for one. Whatever this thing was would always have a back door.
I tried to retreat to the stairs, but my body wouldn't move. It was as if I'd lost all control. I could do nothing but stand and stare at the tinkling chimes, and breathe in—breathe out—as the air grew hotter and thicker all around me. I began to pant. Was I under his power?
"Calm yourself," he tsked. "I'm trying very hard to be friendly. You can at least to do the same."
I opened my mouth, not trusting my ability to speak. "I—" I gasped. It felt like someone had stuffed a pillow over my mouth. "I need yo
u to leave me alone."
He let out a low chuckle. "Just the opposite. I was willing to help you tonight. But when I made myself known, you locked the door and left. How very foolish."
My entire body flushed with heat. "I didn't need helping."
"You of all people should know that's not true." He drawled, slipping into a slight southern twang.
My mind swam and I struggled to keep from passing out. "You can't do anything. You can't even leave the house." Whatever this thing was, it had limits. The presence had evaporated as soon as I'd walked out the door.
"The witches can brew all the spells they want under the blood moon, but you saw real blood tonight, didn't you Lizzie?"
"This conversation is over." I fought hard to move, to escape.
"You are a treat," he said, far too pleased, "so I'll warn you. All blood is not the same. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said pushing until my eyes watered, until my body burned. I'd seen what they did with Carpenter. I understood the power in play.
"There's more," his voice rumbled in my ear. "All bones are not the same, either."
"What does that mean?" I demanded. Were they going to skin Carpenter alive? Cut him apart?
"Go." He ordered.
I lurched out of bed, gasping for air, shocked as I sat in the grey light of dawn, panting.
It took me a moment to realize where I was. I shook, drenched with sweat and felt the weight of Pirate curled next to me, asleep. I stroked his back, my clammy hand catching on his fur. I needed to touch him to make sure he was actually there, to know that I wasn't trapped in the tower room, with…whatever that was. "It wasn't real," I murmured.
All blood is not the same.
I'd seen it with my own eyes. I'd watched it play out in the smoke and the fire of the voodoo rite.
"Please, don't let it be real."
All bones are not the same, either.
That one scared the hell out of me.
