The Undead Uproar

by Amanda M. Lee

  I wasn’t in a position to disagree. “Who are you?” There was something about the woman that was off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “You look ... familiar. I’m almost certain we haven’t met.”

  “I’m certain we haven’t,” she replied, matter-of-fact. “I’m sure I would remember you if we’d crossed paths. You smell like ... blueberry muffins.” She lifted her nose. “What are you?”

  “Funny. That was going to be my line.” She was ridiculously pretty, boasted one of those bodies that looked as if she stepped straight off a Victoria’s Secret runway. I still felt as if I should know her, which was beyond weird. “Why do I feel as if we’ve met before?”

  “I don’t know.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been watching you all afternoon. Maybe you sensed me on the periphery. That’s not unheard of for people with powers like yours.”

  “Powers?” I glanced around to make sure we were really alone. It was a ridiculous reaction, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Why would you say something like that?”

  “Oh, you’re cute.” The blonde got to her feet and moved around the room, not stopping until she found the jeans I’d been wearing earlier in the day. She dug in the pocket until she came up with the coin I’d picked up in Betsy’s garden. “I was called by this.”

  Confusion washed over me. “That was some sort of coin that was given out to people during a Mardi Gras parade. It’s useless.”

  “No, that’s what Martin told his wife,” she corrected. “It’s much more than that. It’s a calling coin. Do you know what that is?”

  Vaguely. I believed I’d read the term in a book once. I couldn’t remember where, though. “What are you?”

  “My name is Harlequin Desdemona Stryker.”

  My mouth dropped open. “That is the worst name ever. It’s a cross between a porn name and a video game vixen.”

  “It is,” she agreed. “You can call me Harley.”

  “That’s a little better.” I was grudging with my compliment. “You still haven’t told me what you are.”

  “I’m a crossroads demon.” Her smile deepened when my eyes widened. “I see you’ve heard of my kind. That’s good. It’ll save us some time.”

  “I know what a crossroads demon is in theory,” I admitted, licking my lips as I leaned forward. “Ugh. Why am I so sick?”

  “It’s the coin.” She flipped it around her fingers. “You’re sensitive to the magic. A lot more sensitive than a normal person. I’m curious about that because I smell magic on you, but it’s impossible for me to determine what you are. I’ve never had that happen.”

  “Well, I’ve never been in this position before, so I guess we’re both all sorts of lucky,” I drawled, causing her to laugh. “It’s not funny.”

  “It’s a little funny. May I?” Harley gestured toward my hand, which was resting on top of the comforter. I immediately snatched it away.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I want to touch you to see if I can learn something that way. If you won’t tell me what you are, I’m curious to discover it for myself. I always love a good mystical find.”

  She was far too cheerful. I hated that. Still, she didn’t strike me as something to fear. She seemed like a straight shooter. “I don’t know what I am.” I opted for the truth. “I was raised away from my birth family. I had a great adoptive family, don’t get me wrong. I don’t know anything about my origins, though.”

  “Which means they’re probably good.” Harley’s eyes sparkled as she held out her hand again. “Just let me try to touch you. It probably won’t work, but it’s worth a shot.”

  “You’re a demon.”

  “I know.”

  “If I let you touch me, will you be able to steal my soul? I don’t want to lose my soul. I just got a boyfriend and everything. Losing my soul will be depressing.”

  She barked out a laugh so loud it caused me to jolt. “I’m not here for your soul. If I thought I could get my hands on it, I might try. I’m guessing you’re valuable. I also recognize it’s a losing effort with you. You won’t trade your soul for anything I have to offer.”

  Reluctantly, I held out my hand. Harley’s fingers were warm when they clamped around my wrist. “Hmm. You have power. You’re not a mage. There might be hints of mage in your blood, but they’re buried deep. That means if you had a mage ancestor it was at least four cycles ago.”

  I stared at her blankly. “Is that good or bad?”

  “It just ... is.” Her smile was bland. “There’s no shifter in here. No lamia.” She leaned close and sniffed around my ear, which caused a chill throughout my body. “No succubus. No demon. There’s some witch, but it’s fifty percent of your bloodline, which means whatever is fueling you is larger than those genes. Hmm. You are interesting.”

  I was annoyed she insisted on talking about me as if I wasn’t right there. “Um ... you’re interesting, too,” I said, my eyes flashing. “You’re rude, barge into rooms when you’re not invited, and that sniffing thing is weird.”

  She laughed. “I like your attitude, but I can feel your fear.” She moved her hand to my forehead. I wanted to pull away, but I managed to remain strong. “You’re afraid of what the man will think, aren’t you?”

  I opted to play dumb. “What man?”

  “The one who wanted to sit by your bedside and hold your hand as you slept. The one who, even now, is worried that he should rush back and make sure you’re all right. He’s holding it together for form’s sake — doesn’t want the boss to think he’s weak — but he’ll be back in twenty minutes or so. We don’t have much time.”

  “And you know all that from just touching me?”

  “I have a unique set of skills,” Harley replied. “As for you, you’re not sick because of the food ... although you might want to learn to eat in moderation occasionally. You don’t always have to stuff your face until you’re ready to burst.”

  I stared at the bedspread. “Sorry. I didn’t realize random people were watching me eat.”

  “You eat like that because you were once hungry,” Harley noted. “I understand. You won’t go hungry again. Jack won’t let that happen. More importantly, you won’t let it happen either. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for ... whatever you are.”

  “I’m guessing you can’t point me toward answers about my past?”

  “I could ... for a price.”

  I frowned. “I’m not selling you my soul for answers. I’m not an idiot.”

  She chuckled, seemingly genuinely amused. “Good. Don’t make that mistake in the future. It’s never worth it.”

  That was an odd thing for a crossroads demon to say. “Aren’t you supposed to try to get me to sign over my soul?”

  “Yes, but I’m not very good at my job.” Harley flipped the coin over. “The man who had this before, Martin LaFleur, you’re in search of him, correct?”

  I nodded. “Why did he have so many of those coins? And why did he tell his wife they were trinkets from a parade?”

  “Martin sold his soul to us ten years ago. He didn’t ask for riches or fame. He asked for more time for his sick wife, who had cancer eating away at her.”

  I felt sick to my stomach when I realized where the story was going. “Oh, geez. Are you saying that you made him sell his soul to you to save his wife?”

  “He didn’t strike a bargain with me,” she corrected. “He struck it with one of my co-workers. He was a real butthole. Jericho. I haven’t seen him for years because he got busted for doing something inappropriate with a member of the Devil’s harem. You know how that goes.”

  I had no idea. “Someone claimed his soul all the same, even though this Jericho was off the clock.”

  “Someone did,” Harley agreed. “I was dispatched to collect his soul. I felt bad for him. I really did. I would’ve given him more time. Of course, I’m considered soft in this field. That’s why I’ve never been promoted.”

  “And why you’re looking for
a way out?” I queried.

  “Could be.” She flashed a tight smile before flipping the coin so it landed on the bed. “Put that away. You can’t be around it for too long without getting sick. You’re sensitive. Wrapping it in something silk should protect you well enough. Don’t access it unless you really need something ... and if you ever make that choice, be darned sure what you’re trading for is worth it forever, not just at the moment.”

  “I’m never going to sell my soul. I promise you that won’t happen. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Not everyone who trades his or her soul is an idiot,” Harley chided. “Martin wasn’t. He was simply a man who loved a woman for a very long time. He wasn’t ready to lose her and was willing to trade his life for hers. He got another ten years with her and then we came to collect. He wasn’t ready to go, which is why he was collecting the coins. He wanted to make a second deal. That never happens, for the record.”

  I felt inexplicably sad. “His time ran out. That’s what you’re telling me.”

  “His time literally ran out,” she agreed.

  “Is that why he ended up the way he did?”

  Her eyes reflected curiosity when they shifted to me. “How did he end up?”

  “He’s a zombie.”

  She stared at me for a long beat, unblinking, and then burst out laughing. “Girl, there’s no such thing as zombies. What have you been smoking? You didn’t take a funny drink from someone on Bourbon Street when I wasn’t looking, did you?”

  I tried to keep from taking her words to heart. “It’s true. The dead are rising in New Orleans. I saw a guy die twice yesterday. He might’ve technically dropped three times because I have no idea what happened before I saw him on the street, but I know he died at least twice.”

  Harley’s smile disappeared as the wrinkles in her forehead deepened. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.” I bobbed my head. “Didn’t you know?”

  “No. Tell me what you know.”

  Because I didn’t see any harm in it — she was a demon, after all, so she might be able to help — I launched into the tale. It took a good ten minutes to relate. When I finished, she was flustered.

  “I didn’t think that was possible.” She slowly got to her feet and glanced around. “You think there’s more than one body walking around?”

  “I do. I think Martin is walking around, too. His body is missing from its vault.”

  “That is not good news.” Harley tapped her bottom lip and moved to the window. Frustration was practically pouring off her. “Your boyfriend is back. He’s on the main floor and getting ready to enter the hotel. We don’t have much time.”

  “Can you figure out what’s happening and get word to me?”

  “I don’t know. I can try to figure out what’s happening. As for getting word to you ... all I can do is keep watch and listen to the whispers. Keep the coin with you, but cover it in silk. It will keep making you sick otherwise. I wasn’t lying about your sensitivity.”

  “Okay. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to try to find answers.”

  “And then what?”

  “I have no idea.” She shrugged and smiled as she turned. “I have to go. Romeo won’t be kept away from you for another minute. Hide the coin away from you and don’t lose it. I’ll need to follow it to find you again.”

  “I’ve got it. I ... um ... thanks for trying to help.” I felt ridiculous saying the words, but that didn’t dissuade me. “You’re kind of nice for a demon that trades souls and has a weird name.”

  “You’re kind of nice for a magical hybrid, too.”

  I frowned. “What sort of hybrid?”

  She didn’t answer because she was already gone. I cursed under my breath and flopped back against the pillow as I studied the coin.

  Now what?

  Sixteen

  I had already wrapped and hidden away the coin by the time Jack entered my room. He was like a ninja, stealthy feet and quiet breathing. He looked surprised when he found me sitting up in bed with my laptop.

  “Why aren’t you asleep?” His tone was accusatory.

  I shrugged. It wasn’t as if I could tell him about my visitor. He would think I was hallucinating and insist on taking me to the hospital. That was the last thing I wanted. “I’m feeling a little better.” That was true. The second I wrapped the coin in a pair of silk boxers that I often slept in and hid it in my suitcase the nausea evaporated. “I decided to do some research.”

  “On what?”

  “Hoodoo.”

  “Why?”

  “Because New Orleans is a melting pot of religions and beliefs. So is hoodoo ... and voodoo, for that matter. I just thought I might as well do something useful if I’m going to be stuck in bed.”

  “You could sleep,” he suggested.

  “I’m not tired.” In fact, I was feeling energized since hiding the coin away. Plus, Harley’s appearance had my mind working at a fantastic rate. “I’m fine, Jack. I really am feeling better.”

  “Yeah?” He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed next to me. “If that’s true, go in the bathroom and brush your teeth.”

  I was caught off guard. “Why?”

  “Because I want to kiss you and can’t until you brush your teeth. You’ve been throwing up.”

  “Ah.” His response made me smile. “I guess I can do that.”

  “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  JACK WAS KNEE-DEEP IN RESEARCH when I exited the bathroom. In addition to brushing my teeth, I took a quick shower and I smelled like coconut shower gel when I climbed back into bed. It seemed natural, as if we did it every night. Sure, we’d shared a bed for sleep several times on assignments. This felt somehow different.

  “I thought hoodoo and voodoo were the same thing,” he admitted as he held the laptop so I could get comfortable next to him. He leaned in close and sniffed, momentarily reminding me of Harley. “You smell good. Do you still feel okay?”

  I ignored the impulse to roll my eyes. He was simply showing he cared. “I’m fine. I told you. It came and went fast.”

  “Do you want something to eat? I can order room service.”

  It was a nice offer, but I didn’t want to risk it. “I’m good for now. Thank you.”

  “Just tell me if you change your mind. While you’re debating, break hoodoo and voodoo down for me. I think I understand the difference but I want you to explain it as if I’m stupid. I’m a bit out of my depth with this stuff.”

  He was adorable, but that observation would have to wait until we were finished with work. “Voodoo is a religion practiced by millions of people. It has two main branches. There’s Haitian voodoo and New Orleans voodoo. They have much in common, but they’re different.

  “Hoodoo is something else entirely,” I continued. “Hoodoo isn’t a religion. It’s more a way of life, or practices. It originated in West Africa and also tends to be popular here. Hoodoo is based on folklore and magic. It involves calling on gods called loas and saints from Roman Catholicism. Voodoo uses loas and African deities, but doesn’t worship Catholic saints.”

  “That sounds complicated.” Jack slipped his arm around me and tugged me closer. “Tell me if you feel sick. I’m not kidding. If you throw up on me, this relationship is going to have a massive hurdle to overcome.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I said dryly.

  “I’m just trying to make sure I don’t get sick.”

  “Are you a sympathetic puker?”

  “Maybe. Are you?”

  “Actually, I am. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Well, now at least I don’t feel as much of an idiot.”

  “There’s that.” I briefly rested my hand on his and smiled. “You didn’t have to come back early because of me.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but this w
asn’t a normal situation. When you’re sick, someone is supposed to take care of you.”

  “Really?” I didn’t remember anyone taking care of me after my parents died. When I was sick, I was basically left to my own devices. Of course, I rarely got sick. That was probably a blessing. “Well, thank you. It wasn’t necessary, though. I really am feeling better.”

  “Good.” He pressed a kiss to my temple and then tapped the computer. “Go back to what you were saying about hoodoo. There must be a reason you’re zeroing in on that.”

  I had been visited by a crossroads demon. That was the one and only reason. He wasn’t ready to hear that much truth.

  “Hoodoo involves root doctors, or root healers in some cases. It’s often likened to being a religion of personal power. Roots, herbs, animal parts like chicken feet, crystals and blood are often part of the spells,” I volunteered.

  “That sounds freaky. I’ll never trust anyone who uses blood in a spell.”

  “It’s actually quite normal.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “Fair enough.” I held up my hands in capitulation. “From the research I’ve done, I found that voodoo was brought to Louisiana via Haiti when it was a French colony. Hoodoo was brought by slaves from Africa.”

  “Were the slaves trying to cast spells on their masters to escape?”

  “I’m sure that was part of it. Obviously I wasn’t there. It makes sense, though. If I was treated as less than human I might want to embrace a religion that promised I could make my oppressors pay.”

  “Yes, but we’re dealing with something that enslaves people,” Jack pointed out. “Doesn’t that go against the very tenets hoodoo was created to fight?”

  He had a way with reasoning. “Yes, but it also makes sense on a different level. I mean, think about it. Slaves were used for physical labor, treated like cattle. They would’ve been looking for a way out. They probably knew there was no way they would ever escape from bondage if they didn’t have other ways for the work to get done.”

  “Oh.” Realization dawned on Jack’s face. “You think this spell — or whatever it is — was created as a way to give the overlords an alternative workforce.”