by E. A. Copen
“None taken. Is what it is.”
“Anyway,” she said, rolling her hand, “I don’t bother anymore. Can’t find a date without knowing their names, and if I know names beforehand, the first thing I’ll do is run a background check and see what comes up. Lots of creeps in the world.”
I smiled. That was the most Emma Knight thing I’d ever heard. Of course she checked up on everyone she met. Judging by what I’d seen the last time I was in her house, she didn’t know how to relax. She couldn’t stop being a detective, even for something as non-work-related as a date. I felt sorry for whatever guy who tried to make her.
“So what are you doing getting all dressed up and eating dinner at a swanky place like this by yourself?” I asked
She hesitated. “I don’t want you to make a big deal out of it.”
I leaned forward. “Try me.”
Emma sighed, the movement involving her entire upper body. “Today is my thirtieth birthday.”
“Happy birthday!” I started to say she should’ve told me so I could get her something, but stopped when Jean cleared his throat and gestured with his chin toward the necklace taking up space in my pocket. I slid my hand in to touch the box. It wasn’t doing me any good just sitting in there, and the pawn shop owner wasn’t going to take it back. Might as well get some use out of it.
“Actually,” I said, drawing the box out of my pocket and placing it on the table between us, “I do have something.”
“That’s sweet, but I don’t need anything from you, Lazarus. Really, I’m fine.”
“Go on.” I pushed the box toward her. “Everyone should have something to open on their birthday.”
Her eyes got big. “What did you say?”
“I said everyone should have something to open on their birthday.”
Emma’s gaze dropped to the box between us. “My granddad said the same thing on my twentieth birthday.”
The silence between us grew heavy. Emma and her granddad had been close, close enough that I’d seen his ghost wandering the precinct to look after her. I could see the pain of losing him in her face every time he came up, so I tended to avoid talking about him with her. I wasn’t even sure she was aware of his ghost.
After a long beat of silence, Emma picked up the white box and slid off the lid. A smile touched her eyes just a moment before it showed on her face. “Where did you get this? I haven’t seen this since… Oh, it can’t be the same one.” She pulled the necklace from the box and turned it over in her hands. “When I was a girl, my mother had one like this. It was her favorite. I always wondered why she wore it everywhere instead of the pretty gold chain she had. But she said gold is for people who’ve got something to prove.” She lowered the necklace, the smile fading slightly. “I know you didn’t buy this with me in mind, but you couldn’t have handed me a more perfect gift.”
The waiter picked just that minute to come back. He stopped by the table, placing the end of his pencil against his pad of paper. “Would the happy couple care to place an order now?”
“Oh, we’re not…” Emma started, shaking her head. “We’re friends.”
“Co-workers,” I corrected.
The waiter frowned. “Of course. Then will this be on two checks or one?”
“Separate checks,” Emma said before I could.
I ordered something with steak, crab, and several sauces the waiter had to help me pronounce with grits and cornbread stuffing. Emma got something called The Shel and asked for French fries instead of the swanky salad that came with it. Our waiter looked offended but put in the order anyways. Emma and I shared a laugh at his reaction after he left the table, and for a minute, I almost forgot Beth had ghosted me.
They brought out the complimentary tray of shrimp and a trio of sauces, placing it on the table between us before the sommelier appeared to make his wine recommendations. I was happy with the water, or maybe a cold beer. Never been much of a wine guy. But Emma told the waiter to bring her a sample of whatever Italian-sounding wine he was going on about.
Once the wine was on the table, and all the wait staff finally left us alone, Emma raised her glass. “To the single life.”
I raised my ice water and tapped it against her fancy wine glass. “To not talking about work.”
“Amen.” She sipped at her wine.
“So,” I started, grabbing one of the big Gulf shrimp and ripping off its tail, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m a little surprised the guys at the precinct aren’t climbing over each other to go out with you.”
“I don’t date co-workers,” she repeated.
“I know, you said that already. But still. The medical examiner guy. What’s his name?”
“D.J.?” She quirked up an eyebrow and smiled. “Guess he’s technically not a co-worker, is he? Between you and me, he’s just not my type. He’s pretty, and he knows it.”
I could sense there was more to it than that, but decided it was best not to pry. I didn’t want our pleasant and very expensive dinner to turn into an interrogation. Outside of work, Emma and I didn’t really see each other, even though I considered her my friend. It didn’t mean we were close friends. We were just busy people who ran in different circles.
And then there was the psychic connection we’d shared ever since I’d saved her life. So far, it had only manifested while we were asleep. I saw her dreams, and sometimes she saw mine. I’d been working on a way to reverse that, but short of sleeping inside a sealed circle—which could be dangerous for a whole bunch of reasons—I hadn’t succeeded yet.
I still felt close to Emma. After all the shit we’d gone through together, it was hard not to. Call it trauma bonding if you like, but that didn’t make the connection any less real. Still, I couldn’t expect her to spill her guts to me over dinner. We weren’t that good of friends. Not yet anyway.
“Who were you supposed to meet?”
Emma’s question shook me out of my thoughts. “Beth.”
“The museum intern?”
I nodded.
“And Odette, what happened with her?”
“That’s complicated. Very complicated.”
Emma made a noise halfway between a grunt and a snort. “Your exes are getting a little hard to keep track of.”
“Believe me, I know.”
“Well, you know what they say, Lazarus.” She picked up her glass and swirled the wine. “Lucky at cards, unlucky in love. Bet you play a mean poker hand.”
“Wish I had time. Even less time soon.”
I tapped my fingers on the tabletop, suddenly thinking about Odette again. Not how bad I felt about losing her. That had subsided for the most part, though I still had pangs of loss every once in a while. Mostly when I thought about her anymore, it was to wonder how I could possibly handle becoming a father. I barely had my own life together. No way I could take care of a kid, even if she did stay with her mom. We’d have to work out visitations, schedules, doctor’s appointments… It was all so overwhelming I just wound up trying not to think about it at all.
“Lazarus?” Emma ducked her head to catch my attention. “What are you thinking so hard about?”
I sighed. Part of me wanted to tell her. Hell, I hadn’t told anyone. How do you tell your friends your ex-girlfriend is a faerie princess and about to have your baby? It sounds like a line out of a soap opera. I didn’t think anyone cared about my personal life enough for me to sit and unload like that, so I kept it all to myself.
Since I was trying so hard not to let anything about that slip, of course something equally stupid slipped out of my mouth. “Why’d you become a cop?”
She leaned back, blinking in surprise. “That’s a weird question, but okay. That’d be because of my granddad. He was a cop. Worked homicide for thirty years. First black homicide detective on the force in this parish. I used to want to be just like him. Why?”
I shrugged. “Guess I’m a little jealous. My career path was sort of chosen for me. Not much for an ex-con necromance
r to do with himself.”
“I’m sure you used to want to be something else.” She folded her hands on the table and leaned in. “Come on. Tell me. What’d you want to be when you were a kid? No, wait. Let me guess. A fireman?”
I laughed. “Believe it or not, running into burning buildings has never been at the top of my to-do list.” I glanced to the air beside her as Jean floated away from Emma. He hovered there, hands on his hips for a minute, before pointing to his wrist where a normal person might wear a watch. I ignored him.
“Not a doctor. You’re too squeamish. A vet? Come on. Give me a hint.”
I shrugged. “You can guess all night, and you’ll be wrong. Growing up, I honestly never gave it much thought. By the time I was old enough to start thinking about that, I’d brought the family dog back to life and spent my afternoons learning how not to keep doing that. I went to college for about five minutes for acting until I figured out tall, ugly dudes who can’t sing and can’t dance have a snowball’s chance in hell of landing a role.”
“An actor?” She grinned in such a way I knew she was holding back laughter. “Really?”
“Yep. I was going to be the next Elmer Fudd for sure.”
Emma finally lost it, doubling over in a laughing fit that made the other restaurant patrons in the area turn and glare at us. She had an honest, infectious laugh, the kind that left you feeling warm and happy just listening to. I couldn’t help but laugh along.
They brought our food out, and we kept talking about anything but work. It was a relief, since it seemed like all I’d done the last few weeks was work or sit around, depressed about my situation. None of that came up over dinner. We didn’t talk about ghosts, spirits, or shades once, which was nice. It seemed every conversation I had with anyone was about dead things, enough so that focusing on living was a foreign thing.
Emma told me stories about her grandfather, and I told her some funny stories about Pony Dee and me. Over dessert, we talked about how she got into raising roses because she needed something to take care of.
“It was after a really bad case,” she explained, her eyes darkening with the memory. “I had to take some time off, and I was going nuts. The shrink suggested I get a dog, but I wasn’t home enough for that, so I settled on plants. Just happened to be I got the heirloom roses for cheap. Next thing I knew, I was building a greenhouse in my backyard, and suddenly the guys at the precinct are calling me the Queen of Thorns.”
“Could be worse.”
She glared at me. “How? I’m no meaner than half of them. They just pick on me because I’m a woman, and I’m a better cop than most of them.”
“You’re a hell of a cop, Emma, but you know I wouldn’t mind seeing you more like you’ve been tonight. Relaxed, I mean. When you’re not talking about work, you’re like a different person.”
“Well, as nice as this has been, I do have to work tomorrow.” She stood and collected her credit card from the little plastic tray the waiter had brought back.
I stood with her. “Let me walk you to your car.”
“Are you serious? Laz, you know I can take care of myself.”
“I’d feel bad for any mugger who crossed your path, but still. I’m headed that way, and there are some things out there that bullets won’t put down. Humor me.”
Specifically, I was thinking about whoever had tried to kill me earlier that night. I hoped they wouldn’t target my friends, but there’d be nothing I could do to stop them if they did. The shot at Mrs. Lawrence’s had been quiet, the positioning in the rooftop gables perfect. If I hadn’t bent down to tie my shoe, I’d be dead. Whoever was trying to kill me was probably a pro, which meant they were expensive. Someone with money wanted me dead, and I knew some of my enemies weren’t above kidnapping people.
I thought at first that Emma was going to refuse my offer. She was pretty proud of the fact that she could look after herself, after all. Then she sighed and cocked her head to the side.
“You know, you’re more of a gentleman than half the guys I’ve dated.”
“Learned all my manners in prison,” I said offering her my arm. “If it makes you feel better, you can pretend you’re escorting me. I don’t mind.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but smiled and took my arm just the same.
After escorting Emma to her car, I found mine parked down the block and got in. Jean popped into the seat next to me as I pulled out into the mostly deserted street. “The negro woman seems nice.”
I glared at him. “Listen up, Jean. We need to get one thing straight. This isn’t 1820. I realize you’re a product of your time, but if we’re going to work together, you need to at least try not to sound like a racist asshole.”
“I’m sorry. I lack the language of your time. I was being as nice as I knew how. What would you prefer I called her?”
“Her name is Emma Knight. She’s a homicide detective, but more than that, she’s a friend. She’s smart and kind underneath that cool exterior, and she’ll kick your ghostly ass if you mess with her. I advise heartily against it.”
“Oh.”
I gave him a doubtful look, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t so I settled into my seat, concentrating on driving. My thoughts drifted back to what Jean had said earlier about being pushed out of his own body. I had no idea how I was going to find his body if it was still walking around. Without physical evidence, a tracking spell couldn’t work, and I doubted anything in New Orleans attributed to Jean Lafitte still had any trace of biological matter. Hell, half the places that bore his name hadn’t even been standing during his lifetime. It was all just a tourist gimmick.
Of course, finding who or whatever was killing and eating the children of New Orleans would probably lead me to something useful. There was no way of knowing if the thing was still wearing a Jean Lafitte meat suit, or that it had been involved in killing those sailors two hundred years ago, but it seemed a likely place to start. I just wished I knew what to call the damn thing.
One thing was clear. My knowledge of monsters and gods was too limited to be of use. I had to find out more. That meant asking someone who knew more than me. I eyed Jean. He knew a few things. He’d even claimed to be a hunter of the supernatural, which meant he probably knew more than most. But if he knew enough to find and destroy this particular monster, he’d have told me already. The guy seemed eager to have it done. Sybille, an old witch I knew in the Quarter, might know a thing or two. She always seemed to know something. But she didn’t like me very much. Most people in the magic community didn’t like me much, actually.
Pony Dee might know something. My old mentor had been around long enough that he knew everything there was to know about the supernatural. At least, it’d seemed that way growing up. If he didn’t know about this monster, he at least knew someone who did. I might not have many contacts left in the New Orleans magical community, but he does.
“You’re in love with her.”
I resisted the urge to slam on my brakes at Jean’s words, but only barely. There was nothing I could do to avoid swerving, as that was involuntary. “What? Who?”
“The ne… I mean, Ms. Emma Knight.”
I wrinkled my nose and righted the car. “No way. Where’d you get that idea?”
“Oh, please. Just the entire evening? You two at the dinner table, talking about nothing. Smiling at her like a drunken fool, despite not having a drop to drink. And the necklace. You bought that for the woman you were expecting to meet, yet you handed it over without a second thought, as if this other woman meant nothing to you.”
“She stood me up,” I said, gripping the steering wheel tighter. After a moment, I sighed and let myself calm down. “Not that I should be surprised. It isn’t the first time Beth has left me standing there like an idiot. Once, I thought we had something. I thought this time would be different. Just goes to show what a sucker I am, I guess. But Emma and I are just friends. That’s it.”
He shrugged. “If you say so.”
“I do say so.” Anything other than that would be weird and awkward. Besides, until just a few hours ago, I considered Beth and I to be an item. Again, though, a girl had left me without warning or cause as far as I was aware. I was getting really tired of being abandoned by the people I cared about.
Emma wouldn’t do that, said a small voice in my head. She’s the most loyal person I know. Loyal to a fault even. And we have spent a lot of time together. It’s not like she’s hard to look at. I wouldn’t have called her drop-dead gorgeous, but she was attractive in a cute, homicide detective next door kind of way. But I’d never thought of her in those terms. I’d never let myself even consider it because it was such an impossibility.
“It could never happen anyway,” I said to Jean. “I’ve got a record. I’ve done time. She’s a cop and a damn fine one.”
“You’re right.” Jean nodded. “She is too good for you.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Isn’t it?” He turned in the seat. “You know, I may be a ghost, but a little self-confidence goes a long way.”
“Really? Cause I find self-depreciation to be pretty liberating.”
“You should enjoy life while you have it, my friend. Mortality is fleeting. This life is but a shadow.”
He went on, but I tuned him out after that. I wasn’t about to take relationship advice from a guy who’d been dead two hundred years.
I pulled into the parking lot of Paula’s. Someone was parked in the spot reserved for tenants, so I had to take a spot at the end of the lot. Between that and Jean’s lecturing, I was in a bad mood by the time I pushed open the front door into my apartment.
I’d just closed the door behind me when someone lowered the barrel of a gun against the side of my head. “Hello, Lazarus,” said a silky, sultry female voice I didn’t recognize. Behind it, a wall of magic that hit me without warning.
I had a fraction of a second to throw up my mental defenses against black magic, but they didn’t do me any good. The intruder wasn’t working any black magic. Hers was a magic of lust and carnal need.
