by Angie Fox
Chapter Nine
Enough.
I pushed out of the bed, my movement rousing the dog. At last.
"Hey, whoa," Pirate rolled to his feet as if he hadn't just been curled up, lights out a few seconds ago. "You're awake," he said, perking up, his back legs going airborne as he shook off. "I kept you close the whole time."
"Thanks, buddy," I said, at a loss for what to do now that I'd made my way to my feet.
There was nothing to push up against, nothing to fight. The room felt eerily empty now. Quiet.
I needed to see if that door in the wall was actually there.
The light from the chandelier flickered as I ran my hands over the age-stained wallpaper. Heaven knew what I'd do if I found it.
My fingers danced over Greek vases filled with baby roses, laid out in an intricate diamond pattern. Up close, the design made me dizzy. Or maybe it was the quivering light. It made it even harder to locate any irregularities. Each of the roses was made of a velvety material that felt soft under my touch, while the rest of the paper was smooth silk. Of course, any sort of opening wouldn't be obvious, nothing that merely anyone could find.
Unless it didn't exist at all on this plane. Maybe it was just a dream.
This place—this mission—had a way of making me lose track of what was real and what wasn't.
My gut clenched when my fingers snagged on a narrow crack where two sections of the paper met. I followed it with my fingertips until the gap fused into more roses, more faded silk paper.
Damn.
I followed the same gap, or at least it seemed like one. It was on the line of the paper, so it could be that. I wedged a fingernail under the silk and tried to pull it back, but the frigging wall covering was stuck on tight. After so many years, it was part of the wall.
That rose pattern was burning itself into my brain, giving me a headache. I scrubbed hand over my eyes. If I'd walked through that door, if I'd seen the spirit, it had knocked me out on purpose and kept me here until dawn.
I dropped my hand. Heck, maybe I was just exhausted after battling alligators, releasing a black soul, witnessing a voodoo rite, and then fleeing for my life. It had been a busy night, even for me.
I bent to study the wood base paneling near the floor. It was carved with Roman-style floral designs, and much easier on the eyes than those nightmare roses. The baseboard would also be the perfect place to hide a lever or a handle. I focused on every nook and cranny. If it was here, someone had hidden it very well. I sat back on my heels.
If the only way to open it were located on the inside…then I would try not to let that bother me too much. I stood, exhausted even after several solid hours of sleep.
I just didn't know…
It was probably just as well I didn't find a door. I wasn't about to head up there without six witches and an arsenal of protection spells. And even then it was iffy.
Pirate's tags jingled as he jumped off the bed. "You done staring at the wall?" He ambled over to the large dresser and gave it a sniff. "The real fun is in the dresser. I'll bet there's lots of socks to play with."
"Not now." I tried to think. The darkness I'd felt in this room before…I'd bet it was coming from the spirit in the tower. It was the only way to explain the energy shift since I'd woken up. It was as if he'd gotten what he'd wanted from me, and now it was my move.
Pirate jumped up on the bed. "How about you try and take a pillow and I'll hold onto the same pillow and you can drag me around by my teeth?"
"I'm thinking," I told him.
"It's a very easy game," he said.
"Right." I turned my back on him and tried to get everything straight in my head.
The spirit had set out to frighten me, to get a rise. It had worked on about ten different levels. But there might also be something behind his warning. For better or worse, he'd known what had happened at the voodoo ceremony tonight. As to whether or not he could predict what would happen next…I wasn't about to take anyone or anything for granted, not with so much at stake.
Still, I had to remember, it had been a dream. Our latest encounter may have existed only in my head, not upstairs, not in the tower room. When you got down to it, "it might not have been real."
Only deep down, I knew that it was.
***
I headed downstairs, with Pirate on my heels. We heard the clomp of boots in the kitchen and found Ant Eater tracking dirt across the linoleum floor. I glanced at the unused doormat, and then back to her in a sweaty tank top and her hair pushed back off her forehead with a red bandana. She thunked two huge spell jars onto the center butcher block and stepped back to admire them. "Who-ee," she chortled. "These babies will burn the tits off a boar."
"Oh, yeah?" I challenged. "How about the feathers off an old voodoo bokor?"
She smirked as she considered the question. "That too."
The sun cast orange light through the windows behind her. I could hear the voices of the witches, and the hiss of at least one blowtorch outside in the backyard. They'd been at it the entire night.
"Thanks again, for this and for everything." I honestly didn't know what I'd do without the Red Skulls.
She cast me a wily look. "Just remember that next time a batch of Cherry Bomb spells escape."
Yuck. They'd fled right during dinner time. My taco tasted like someone dumped cherry pie filling inside. "Why do you even need cherry spells?"
"I'd be out of my damned mind to take my arthritis medicine without cherry flavor."
"Perish the thought." The witches were so rough and tough and then we'd get…cherry flavor. I should probably tease her about it, but I had other things on my mind. "Listen," I said, trying to shift focus to more pressing matters. It wasn't the best time to break the news, but we had to face this. "There might be a back way into to the tower we sealed yesterday." At her curious glance, I added, "saw it in a dream. A secret entrance off your grandma's room."
"Damn it all." She leaned both hands on the butcher block. "By the tub in the bathroom?"
"On the other side. Near the bed."
She dropped her head. "Fuck." She pushed off the counter. "I'll ward off the entire suite. It'll trap, well, everything in there," she said, planting her hands on her hips. "Should have done it yesterday."
"Hey," I said, placing a hand on her arm, trying to stop her as she started to pace. "You did good. Bringing us here, keeping us safe. We appreciate it, you know." She narrowed her eyes. I kept going. "I'm glad to have you on my side."
Things certainly weren't as simple as I thought they'd be.
The witches didn't have to support me like this, especially now. It wasn't their duty or their job to follow me down here. They'd done it because they cared about me and I wasn't about to take that for granted, or pretend it was easy for any of us.
Ant Eater gave a sharp nod. Her gaze traveled over her grand-mère's sturdy kitchen. "She was a good person." Her eyes darted to me, and then away again. "I'm not sure what she got caught up in. Or what happened at…the end. But I'll always remember her the way she was."
"It's all you can do," I said simply.
We both jumped as Grandma and Frieda banged in the door, each carrying a cookie tray loaded with what appeared to be rubber crazy balls. The blue, gelatinous insides churned with a life of their own.
"I've never seen those before," I said. They rolled against each other, sparking when they touched.
Ant Eater huffed behind me. "Go ahead. Pick one up."
Nice try. "This isn't my first rodeo," I told her.
"You don't need to be playing with these," Grandma said. "Not until you get you dog out of our breakfast." She pointed to Pirate crouching in front of the open cabinet door, Cheerios scattered at his feet. When he saw we were onto him, he began to eat faster, shoving his entire head into the box on the floor.
"Pirate," I scolded. No wonder he'd been so quiet. "We don't know how long those have been in there." I took the box, and when he began sniffing and gobbling
frantically for stray O's, I picked him up.
"The food's fresh," Grandma said, reaching past me for a box of breakfast bars on the middle shelf, "we made a run last night." She didn't even try to avoid the mess. Her boots ground stray bits of cereal into the floor as she dug a peanut butter breakfast bar out of the cabinet and tossed a second one to Ant Eater.
I winced at the crumbs that were surely getting…everywhere. "I hope you brewed up a housecleaning spell last night."
"That's about the last thing on my list," she said, unwrapping her breakfast. "I think we've got everything we need for tonight. Some of it's still dripping. Creely and her team built some drying racks, and then the Sneak spells need to hide in the shadows in order to set-up right." She shared a nod with Ant Eater, as if that last part were obvious.
"We just need to figure out where they're keeping Carpenter," I said.
Grandma began rooting around in her pocket. "That's why we conjured up this little sucker." She drew a Ziploc bag with what appeared to be a regular housefly inside. It didn't glitter. It didn't glow. It rammed up against the plastic, as if it could force its way out.
"I'm surprised it's in one piece," I told her. She could have easily crushed it.
She watched it whack its head over and over against the plastic. "Spell bugs are tough." She gave it a little shake. "You told me Osse Pade has a business on Royal. I made a few inquiries. He's going to be out that way at about ten this morning. You go, you plant this bug on him, and we'll be able to track him."
I liked how she thought. "I could mix in some uncomfortable questions about Carpenter, just for fun."
"Yeah," she nodded, her gaze traveling over me. "You look like hell."
Like I needed the reminder. "Bad dream." I said, holding out my hand for the spell bag. "Give it here. I can handle this."
The knife rack rattled behind me, as if begging to differ.
"I'll go with you," Ant Eater said. "I don't trust that guy."
"I don't, either," I told her. "But it'll be less suspicious if it's just me. He already knows I'm after him. You guys are my ace in the hole." I wasn't going to take a chance on blowing that, on letting him know what was coming. "He can't suspect I have any kind of special help. I'll go and be back within an hour."
Grandma chewed at her thumbnail. "She's right. It's better for Lizzie to do this on her own," she said to her second in command. "You need sleep."
"How does it work?" I asked, eyeing the bug. I had to make sure I got the spell on Carpenter instead of me or anyone else.
"The bug wants to land on something. Anything," Grandma said. "Launch it at the bokor when he's not looking. As soon as it connects with him, it'll disappear and go into stealth mode. Osse Pade won't even know he's carrying it."
"Nice trick," I said, tucking the spell into a side pouch in my utility belt.
"It's new," Ant Eater said, with a hint of pride. Lucky for me the Red Skulls never stopped innovating.
"You all mind if I take a look at the spells you brought and borrow one or two for my trip over to Osse Pade's?" I couldn't be too careful.
Grandma grinned. "Take what you want. We packed plenty."
They did indeed.
Maybe the witches could give me some insight on my other problem. "The spirit in the tower talked to me in a dream last night," I told them. "He spoke about blood and bones. It may have something to do with their plans for Carpenter."
"Don't," Ant Eater said quickly. It surprised me. She was usually the one blazing forward, damn the consequences.
"It can't hurt," I said, somewhat defensively. "If he let something slip, we'd be that much ahead. He said all bones aren't the same."
Grandma shared a glance with Ant Eater and shook her head. "You should know better than to listen to strange spirits."
"Oh, come on—" I started. "This one's making sense."
Ant Eater gave me a squirrely look. "Resist the temptation."
If only it were that easy.
***
I took an extra-long shower in a bathroom off one of the guest rooms and thought about how I wanted to approach Osse Pade. I had to look non-threatening. I had to blend if I wanted to get close enough to plant the bug on him. I also knew better than to try and hide what I was. It wouldn't work, and the bokor would see it as weakness.
A straightforward plan was best. I'd let him know in no uncertain terms that his actions had attracted the attention of a demon slayer and that he'd have to deal with it.
I changed into a simple black leather dress and matching boots. I tucked the enchanted emerald necklace down between my breasts and styled my hair into a simple ponytail at the nape of my neck. Then I buckled on my demon slayer utility belt with the five switch stars holstered, ready to throw, hoping the voodoo bokor had enough magic to see it. And enough arrogance to ignore a simple housefly.
I left my bike in the backyard of the house, preferring to walk over to Royal. Burgundy Street was pretty this time of the morning. Lush plants dripped from wrought iron balconies and I caught the distinct beat of jazz music filtering out of a house or business nearby. As I drew closer to the touristy section of the French Quarter, I passed shopkeepers, out early, stood hosing off the sidewalks from the night before.
The sound of the trumpets and the beat of the drums grew louder as I approached St. Phillip Street. Then I reached the intersection and saw it. Well, I heard it first. The tinkle of a piano and then to my surprise, the entire instrument along with the man at the keys, sitting high up on the back of a metal trailer dragged by a red pickup truck. A seven-piece brass band marched along with it. The men wore suits and swayed to the music. An old-fashioned horse and buggy hearse trailed behind them, with an honest to God skeleton in the front seat, driving. Well, he wasn't driving. My world hadn't gone that strange yet. Eight pallbearers marched, four on each side, leading the empty carriage. They came from the direction of the large cemetery north of Rampart.
A family trailed behind, holding on to each other. The men sported white suits, with colorful ties that matched the brims on their white hats. The women's colorful dresses caught in the morning breeze. Clutching their hands, in the middle of this human chain, was Osse Pade. I recognized him immediately, even without the eerie white skull paint on his chest and face. I'd know those high cheekbones anywhere, that expressive face, those wicked black eyes. He wore his white top hat tilted rakishly to the side with yellow feathers thrusting out of the brim.
He didn't see me in the crowd.
It was on.
I followed him, joining the parade of mourners twirling umbrellas and singing, "When The Saints Go Marching In." It seemed death was a celebration.
Just what kind of business did this man own?
I kept sight of him, up with the family, as the procession continued down St. Phillip and then made a left onto Bourbon Street. These people were not trying to hide. We picked up a bunch of tourists on Bourbon. Them in their colorful mourning wear. Me in my simple black.
"Nothing to see here," I murmured. Just a demon slayer carrying a spell bug, joining with voodoo church members to celebrate a jazz funeral.
We made a last minute left on Barracks Street and hit Royal, trailing past Voodoo Works, the shop where I'd met up with Carpenter. The owner, Aimee, watched us through her glass front window. She caught my eye and nodded. I kept walking.
We stopped about a half-block down, in front of a funeral parlor. Only this was nothing like the subdued, tasteful mortuaries I'd seen growing up in Georgia. The building facade was painted purple for starters. Columns flanked the front entrance, decorated in orange, gold, pink, and black swirling designs. Even the sidewalk displayed chalked skeletons at a party. It shouldn't have surprised me that Osse Pade would own a funeral parlor, even one like this.
I smiled for the first time since I'd joined their party. Maybe I'd come out of this with something to celebrate as well.
Chapter Ten
I moved quickly through the crowd outside the fune
ral parlor. Already, church members had begun to call out their goodbyes and hug one another as they filtered to the cars parked along the street. I'd have to move fast if I wanted to catch the bokor by surprise.
He stood near the front doors. A simpering older woman clutched both of his hands in hers and kissed his knuckles, thanking him over and over again. Now was my chance. I reached for the bug.
Osse Pade turned as if he could sense the danger. His eyes widened when he saw me.
Damn.
I was too far away to launch the spell, at least without him seeing me. I shoved it back into my utility belt.
Osse Pade watched me as if I were about to bite. "Go, Esmerelda," he said, dismissing the woman with an absent wave.
At least I'd caught him off guard. He hadn't anticipated any trouble or he'd have made sure his goon squad stood nearby. I noticed the way he scanned the sidewalk and street, and found no sign of them.
"Your watchdogs are out by the hearse," I said, pleased to find my boots made me almost as tall as him. "Talking to pretty ladies," I added. Couldn't resist.
He gave a shallow smile. "I'm talking to one as well." His voice was hard, his Cajun accent strong. He took my hand and leaned down as if to kiss it. He licked it instead.
I felt the slide of his wet tongue over my skin for a split second before I yanked it away. Jerk. In the same motion, I reached up and smacked the top hat off his head. "Do that again and you're going to lose more than your hat."
Nonplussed, he bent to retrieve it. As he rose, he made a show of donning the hat, running his fingers along the brim. "You taste better than I expected," he said low, his eyes glittering with interest. "There's something wonderfully…dark about you."
"You need to work on your fortune telling." It was exactly the opposite. I considered it my job to stamp out as much evil as I could in this world. And this clown had earned a spot the top of my list. I cocked my head. "I'll tell you one thing: I am a woman to fear."
He smirked. "It's not you, girl." He licked his lips and prepared to learn closer, before stopping himself. Wise move. "It's him." He teased the air with his fingers, as if he could see it. "He soaks up the space around you. A master presence."
