by E. A. Copen
“In the strictest of senses, it had to be.” She put the vial she held into one of the empty slots in the belt. “He chose to serve her. Chose to be with her, even if he didn’t want to. He never let the beast win though. Never. He was always fighting it. I have to believe that to the end.”
“So you’re not fully human. He wasn’t either, but somehow by serving Nyx, you’re telling me he gained a measure of control over this… beast?”
She smiled. “Well, maybe ‘control’ isn’t the right word. ‘Outlet’, maybe. And it showed. Poor Nyx was probably quite crazy at the end.” Khaleda folded her arms before she met and held my eyes. “Mr. Morningstar is my father.”
“And what is he exactly?”
She frowned. “You know what he is.”
“I know what he thinks he is, or at least what he wants me to believe he is.” I shrugged. “Doesn’t mean that’s who and what he is. But let’s say for argument’s sake he is the fallen angel known as Lucifer. What does that make you?”
Khaleda laughed, this time genuinely. The difference was in the dimples. They didn’t show when she was faking it. “Morningstar isn’t a fallen angel. He’s an Archon.”
My back went rigid, and I sat up straighter. “An Archon?”
She nodded. “I’m surprised The Baron didn’t tell you all about him. This is my father’s city, after all. No matter what those fae bitches think.”
I shook my head. Morningstar being an Archon wasn’t the best news, but it made sense. When I tried to see him with my Vision, he’d come up empty except for a bright light in his head and hands. The man didn’t have a soul. Yet, somehow, his son and daughter did. “If he’s an Archon, that makes you what exactly?”
She tipped her head to the side. “Come on. Isn’t it obvious? I’m a succubus. Or…something like that. Not like the ones you see on television. I promise you, I don’t feed on anyone’s desire.”
I cringed. “So, if I’d taken you up on your offer earlier…”
Her eyes rolled to me, eyelids relaxed and half-open. “Probably nothing. At least not the first time. But my lovers don’t fare well for an extended period of time. Their mental and physical health deteriorates. Although I do wonder if being the Pale Horseman wouldn’t provide you with some immunity.”
I shrugged. “Don’t know. Honestly, if I was going to go out, pretty sure there are worse ways to go, but I’d rather not test that theory. No offense.”
“None taken. Believe it or not, it’s not always so pleasant for me either.” There was an edge of pain in her voice.
I could imagine, especially if she didn’t know at some point. She could have sapped the life right out of someone she loved without ever knowing she was doing it.
That information also explained a lot about the weird love-hate dynamic between Osric and Nyx. He obviously didn’t much care for her, though I always got the vibe that they were sleeping together. In such a context, doing the deed would have weakened her, making killing her much easier for me.
Khaleda tapped a fingernail to the empty vial with the purple remnants inside. “I don’t need this to make you want me, but I can’t make you obey me. This one…” She moved her finger to one of the clear vials. “It shuts everything down for a limited time. The downside is that when it wears off, I come back…hungry, I suppose is the right word. And Morningstar overrode it. I was trying to get away from you earlier, not kill you.”
“But you’re fine now?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Fine is relative. It takes effort to keep it on lockdown. Morningstar specializes in removing inhibitions. It’s dangerous in every sense of the word to touch him. He’ll dissolve every ounce of self-control you have, turning you into an animal. I’m telling you this so you understand how much trouble you’re in.”
“I know Morningstar is bad news.”
“Not him.” She shook her head. “There’s a reason he told me to help you. Morningstar isn’t the only Archon in the city right now. There are others, each with different powers and abilities, all of which will destroy you with a touch. You must never let one touch you, even for a second. Do you understand?” As if to emphasize her point, she placed her hand over mine.
I nodded and frowned down at her hand.
She pulled it away. “Sorry.”
I cleared my throat. “For what it’s worth, I liked Osric. He had a prideful streak a mile wide, but he seemed like a good guy. I’m sorry he’s not still here.”
“Well, since I’m not going to get my revenge, I guess I’ll satisfy myself by killing things with you, if you still want to accept my help, that is. Knowing everything you know about Morningstar and me now, I’ll understand if you don’t.”
I thought hard about it. The case I was on, it looked like we were hunting ghouls, but not all the pieces fit, especially if I was right about the first victim who hadn’t been eaten to the bones like the rest. The first boy buried in Jackson Square had been emaciated with no official cause of death just like my sister when she died. A ghoul had pointed me to his body, so I thought maybe that was the connection, but no ghoul I knew of was smart enough to eat his evidence and then bury the bones. If there was a ghoul involved in this case, I had the sneaking suspicion he wasn’t working alone.
And then there was Jean’s story. It was eerily similar to what was happening now, two hundred years later. It could be I was looking at the handiwork of one of these Archons Khaleda had mentioned. If I was, I was going to need all the help I could get.
I extended my hand over the countertop. “Give me your word you won’t try to kill me again, and we’re good.”
Her lips turned up in a dimpled smile. “Deal,” she said and took my hand.
The magic of the promise swirled around us a moment before settling like a heavy chain around my neck.
“So, what’s the plan?” Khaleda asked. “Still want to go talk to the ghouls? It’s just about dawn.”
I cast a longing look out the window with a sigh at the crimson sunrise. “Why not?”
The words to an ancient rhyme came to mind. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. I wondered if it was a sign of things to come. After all, nothing good could come from me stumbling into a ghoul’s hideout with a succubus on zero sleep.
Chapter Nine
The last time I’d driven out to Odd Fellows Rest, it’d been to visit the herb shop. An Egyptian god had run the shop and given me directions to an underground auction where souls were used as currency. It was thanks to that little adventure that I owed Morningstar three days’ use of my soul and the body attached to it.
This time, I was there to visit the cemetery proper. The only easy way inside was through a back door in the herb shop, but the door to the shop was boarded and chained. A big sign announced that the shop was closed. Vandals and trespassers would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. The sign normally wouldn’t have stopped me except that there was also a security system installed. Whoever owned the property now would probably have it rigged up to call the police if I went in there and kicked down a few doors. There was no need to draw unwanted attention, not now that I had Khaleda with me.
There was no parking on any of the streets around the cemetery except directly in front of the herb shop, so I took the last spot there and we got out. It was early enough in the morning that the air was still cool but held the humidity of a typical late May day in New Orleans. The air smelled like mud and exhaust, but I caught a whiff of something that smelled of cinnamon candy in a grease fire and looked over at Khaleda. She’d opened one of her vials, this one full of bright pink crystals that looked like coarse salt.
“Do you make all those yourself?” I asked as she poured a few crystals into her palm.
She smiled. “Wouldn’t be a very good alchemist if I didn’t.”
“That what you call it? Bet your lab smells real interesting. What’s in this one?”
“Fulgurite, cinnamon Pop Rocks, and ammonium nitrate.”
I cringed.
Maybe I didn’t know anything about making potions, but I knew what ammonium nitrate did. It was a primary ingredient in a fertilizer bomb. “Got anything less explosive? I was kind of hoping to stay on the good side of the police, seeing as how I’m supposed to be helping them and all.”
Khaleda rolled her eyes but gently shook the two crystals she’d extracted back into the vial, placing it in her belt in favor of one containing fine, black sand. She didn’t open that one until we were standing in front of the cemetery wall, and even then she did so with care. “Step back. You don’t want to get any of this on you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “What is that? It smells like cat piss.”
“Ammonia base,” she said and sprinkled a small amount on a bit of the white cement wall sticking out.
The sand poured over the uneven surface but didn’t fall to the ground, instead boring deeper and wider, making a hole that got wider and taller the deeper it went. I blinked as the compound ate away the stone, giving off a burned hair smell and small wisps of steam. If that could eat away stone, I didn’t want to find out what it would do to a person.
“So, if you can melt anything, what’s with the walking arsenal?” I asked as we watched the wall burn without flame.
“Oh, I can do more than melt someone.” Her satisfied smile made me shiver. “One grain of the wrong one of these in your food and you’ll have an explosive case of heartburn. Rub a little oil residue on the right dollar bill, and I can make you melt from the inside out. But there’s no sport in that. There’s no satisfaction in the world like staring into a man’s eyes as you finish him.” She licked her lips and tilted her head back.
“Uh… We are still talking about killing people, right?”
Khaleda looked at me like I had a second nose. “Of course. What else would we be talking about?”
“It’s just…you were doing that mixed-message succubus thing. You know what? Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
Jean floated up from the sidewalk to fill the space next to me. “So when are you going to start looking into what happened to me?”
I shot him an irritated glare.
He crossed his ghostly arms and frowned deep enough it made his face look melted. “We had a deal, necromancer. Or did you forget about that because this tart showed up?”
“First of all, nobody says words like ‘tart’ anymore. It’s practically laughable.”
“Who are you talking to?” Khaleda frowned at me.
“Ghost. A rude ghost.”
“Look who’s talking.” Jean turned his head aside, pretending to be insulted. “You’re the one who cast me aside in favor of some harlot.”
“Second—” I held up two fingers for the ghost. “—I am helping you. She’s helping me help you. Stop being a drama llama and get out of my face unless you’ve got something useful to say.”
“Drama llama?” Jean sputtered, indignant. “Why, if you weren’t going into a graveyard already, I’d… Well, I’d…”
“Do what, Casper? We’re miles from any bedsheets.”
He puffed up to double his size, crossed his arms and turned his back to me.
I knew I was being mean. Jean was annoying and overdramatic, but insulting him wasn’t going to make the situation any better. It made me feel better though, and after the last twenty-four hours I’d had, he should’ve known better than to poke me. He was lucky griping at him was all I did. God, I needed some rest. Or a second wind.
“Hey, Khaleda, don’t suppose you’ve got any potions in there to give a guy a little boost, huh?”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “Performance issues, is it?”
I scowled at her. “I’m dead on my feet here, and the three cups of coffee have worn off. Unless you’ve got something stronger than caffeine, I’m going to need to crash after this. Even I’ve got my limits. I haven’t been able to feel my face since about four a.m.”
Khaleda gripped the edge of the burned wall and pulled on it to make sure the opening was stable, then climbed through. On the other side, she turned around to help me through. “I don’t have anything like that on me, but I can brew something up that’ll do the trick once we get back to your place.”
I tossed my staff through the opening. “Back to my place?” I grunted as I gripped the wall and pushed my head through to the other side.
“Of course. Unless you intend to turn me away to find my own lodging. With no money, the only option available to me will be to seduce someone. Not that I would mind, but the mortal may not fare so well.”
“Just don’t get any ideas about seducing me. My love life is complicated enough.” I vaulted through the hole to land on the other side.
Like most of the city, Odd Fellows hadn’t fared well during Hurricane Katrina’s rampage through the New Orleans. Hurricane force winds and significant flooding had washed out most of the cemetery, leaving graves toppled, and wire gates ripped out of the ground. Crypt doors stood broken or missing. Mausoleum walls crumbled on one side, leaving death exposed to the wild.
Every time I stepped into a cemetery, I felt a rush of power. Part and parcel of being a necromancer. Being near dead things makes you feel good…until it doesn’t. The line between the awesome feeling of being touched by raw power and angry spirits dragging you to hell is pretty thin, so I tried not to go into many cemeteries if I could help it.
As soon as my feet came down on the ground inside of Odd Fellows, I expected my shields to wither and fall away like they always had before, but I had rebuilt my shields. Before, I’d shielded my mind from the magic of the dead with living things like vines and trees. The new mental shields I relied on were dead, constructed of bones and cemetery walls. The wash of dark, sticky magic that normally hit me upon entry just brushed over me without sinking in. I didn’t feel any different here than anywhere else.
I flexed my fingers, making a fist and releasing it, frowning. That meant I needed to manually lower my mental shields if I wanted the boost that came with standing inside the cemetery, a boost I would badly need if the ghouls decided to try anything. Or Khaleda.
She put a hand on her hip and tilted her head. “Something the matter?”
“Just give me a minute.”
I closed my eyes and pictured the cement wall of a cemetery tipped with iron spikes, the outer layer of my mental shields. In my mind’s eye, I let the iron rust and the wall crumble in several places. It was the best I could do without lowering the barrier completely.
As soon as my defenses were lowered, I felt the pull of the curious dead. Ghost fingers tickled my arm and tugged at the hair on the back of my neck. Energy reached in through the holes in my mental shields.
Ghosts.
I could call to them, use them as energy to fuel a number of particularly nasty spells, but it would consume them. To most people, I guess ghosts are just shadows of the living, but to me, they were fully aware and sentient beings, even if they lacked a body. Murdering anything that was aware you were killing it was just wrong. Even I’ve got my limits.
But ghosts were a two-way street. While I could draw the line at consuming them for magic, most had no qualms about using me as a door into the realm of the living. Given half the chance, any ghost that could get through my mental defenses might attach itself to me if I wasn’t careful, and I didn’t need to add ghost possession to my list of problems.
The energy reached into my mind and hit the secondary wall of bone, clawing at it. There were two ghosts in particular that had taken an interest in me, and though I couldn’t see them, I could feel their icy fingernails raking at the bone wall, their voices whispering in my head for me to let them in.
“Lazarus,” Khaleda prompted, impatient. “Hello? You still in there?”
“What am I, Khaleda?” I cracked one eye open to see her shrug. “A necromancer. And we’ve just walked into a place full of dead things. Not just any place, mind you. A graveyard is consecrated ground. A place of power.”
“A claimed place of power,”
she corrected, glancing around, biting her lower lip. “This one does not belong to you. It belongs to something… other.”
She’s nervous. I considered that. Pony had always told me that particularly nasty things like demons couldn’t enter a graveyard because of the consecrated ground, but what about Archons? What was the difference between them and demons? Did it affect her at all, being in there? She hadn’t seemed to care at first, but maybe there was some cumulative effect. She was a succubus, after all.
I let out a breath, and it came out colder than normal, but not enough to chill the air. I’d pulled in a little extra power but didn’t dare risk more. “Well,” I said, turning back to the opening in the wall. Jean floated on the other side with a pensive expression. “You coming?”
He shook his head. “It feels wrong. I don’t want to. I think I’ll just go see if I can find my body.”
“Why don’t you go check up on Emma?” I said.
“Who?”
“Detective Emma Knight. Remember her?”
“Oh!” He nodded. “Yes, I’ll see if I can find her. Perhaps she knows something.”
With a shimmer and a pop that wouldn’t have been audible to anyone but me, Jean’s form imploded, and he disappeared, moving into some other plane for travel.
“Just how many ghosts do you have bound to you?”
I shook my head. “None. Enslaving a ghost is wrong, just as it’s wrong to do it to a human. I prefer free range ghosting.” Staff in hand, I gestured down the path in front of us. “Palace of Bones is this way. We’re looking for a mausoleum that looks like a castle.”
“You sure it’s still standing?”
I nodded. “Last I checked. Katrina wrecked this place, but the ghouls didn’t move into Odd Fellows Rest until after. Before that, they were holed up next door in Saint Patrick’s. Less foot traffic here since the place is closed to the public.”
We walked through the streets in one of the smallest cities of the dead in New Orleans, a companionable silence between us. Khaleda’s eyes swept left and right, passing over every crypt and tombstone, searching for threats. I didn’t bother to point out we probably wouldn’t find much resistance at all until we made it to the gates of the palace. Ghouls didn’t care for the daylight, not because they would burst into flame or anything, but because they had long ago adjusted to the dimness of light. Sunlight hurt their eyes, effectively blinding them. They’d have sentries out, but they were watching us from the open tombs, deep shadows, and other places where no human eyes could see. Then again, Khaleda wasn’t human, so maybe she could see them when I couldn’t.
