Undead Agent

by Gary Jonas

  “When I inquired about you, I was given certain information, and I didn’t think it was relevant at the time, so I was surprised Hannah gave it out.”

  “Hannah?”

  “She works for DGI in the Houston office. My initial search for you said you’d been murdered. That would have been the same information Emmanuel got. But he called DGI as well, likely pretending to be Tara.”

  “DGI shouldn’t have much on me. My sister saw to that.”

  “Oh, DGI has a lot of information about you, Jonathan. And when I say a lot, I mean conflicting reports of deaths, battles, historical references, and secret files that should probably be accessible only in the Forbidden Texts. Hannah certainly piqued my interest, but I didn’t have time to go deep right then because Tara was on the other line.”

  “You called back,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “Some of what I learned makes no sense.”

  “Give me an example.”

  “Are you familiar with the name Blake Ravenwood?”

  “Of course.”

  “One report says you killed him, and personally took his spirit to the Underworld.”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “Then riddle me this,” she said. “Why is Blake Ravenwood currently running the Denver office of DGI?”

  “Say what?” I asked. My jaw must have nearly dropped into my lap.

  Madame Rousseau patted the air with her hands. “Close your mouth or you’re going to catch flies. I have it on good authority that he’s been doing an excellent job running the place.”

  “But he’s evil. I mean, he’s…” I couldn’t process the information.

  “So it’s really true,” she said. “You traveled in time and made changes.”

  “I’d rather not talk about that,” I said. “Lots of bad memories there.”

  She nodded. “Your file says you’re perfectly balanced between light and dark magic.”

  “That’s not supposed to be in the files.”

  “Makes you immune to magic.”

  “Again, they shouldn’t have that information.”

  “All types of magic?” she asked.

  “Well, not Penn and Teller.”

  “May I try something?”

  I didn’t want to go through any tests, but deep down, I still wanted her help with Esther. If there was even a small chance, I needed her to look into it.

  So I gave her permission.

  She got up. “I’ll need to prepare. I’m not like those DGI wizards. Can’t just pull up my mojo at will.”

  She went inside to prepare.

  Tara stared at me. “You’re full of surprises,” she said.

  “I’ve been told I’m full of different things, so surprises is an improvement.”

  “I haven’t seen Mama take to someone so quickly before.”

  “She trusts Jack,” I said, and scratched behind the dog’s ears.

  “It’s more than that.”

  A few minutes later, Madame Rousseau came back. There was blood on her fingertips.

  I didn’t ask about it, though. I was just glad she didn’t have a voodoo doll to stab pins into. I wasn’t sure how that would play.

  She touched her fingertips together, and the blood swirled and smoked. When it disappeared entirely, she placed her hands on my upper arms.

  Her face worked through a variety of expressions and she gave her head a vigorous shake. She chanted something that wasn’t English, and clutched my arms with more intensity as she closed her eyes and wrinkled her forehead.

  Then she let go of me and stepped back. She shook her head again, this time slowly.

  “You really are something different, Jonathan Shade,” she said. “You didn’t feel anything?”

  “You have strong hands,” I said. “But I don’t think I’m bruised too badly.”

  She sat down and studied me for a moment. “I don’t think I can help Esther, but I’m willing to at least look at the possibilities. But I need something from you. And you may be the only person I know who can handle it.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It’s not that I can’t do it with my own power, it’s that I can’t do it emotionally.”

  “You’re not making much sense,” I said.

  She held my gaze and lowered her voice. “I need you to find a way to permanently kill my grandson.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  When I got back to my hotel a few hours later, I called Kelly and left her a message.

  “There may be people you can beat up or kill here in New Orleans, so catch a flight if that sounds like fun. Thanks.”

  Then I decided to take a shower. I peeled off my shirt and something stung in my shoulder. I touched the spot and my fingers came away with a little bit of blood on them.

  “What the hell?”

  I grabbed my shirt, and ran my fingers over the shoulder area. A tiny pin was stuck in the fabric. I plucked it free, went to the vanity counter where a circular mirror sat. One side was normal, but flip it over and it magnified everything. In the magnification, I saw the head of the tiny pin was coated with something the color of rust. I scratched at it and it flaked off.

  My first thought was that it was blood. After all, I was dealing with a voodoo family.

  Madame Rousseau had gripped my arms. But Hank Andrews had grabbed my shoulder and squeezed. No wonder he’d known where to find us when we got out of the Uber.

  I set the little pin on the counter, then grabbed my phone, and called Kelly again. She still wasn’t answering, so I left her another message.

  “Turns out some bad guys are tracking me. I need you to catch the next flight. This could get ugly, or to translate to Kelly-Speak, you’re invited to your kind of party.”

  I put my shirt on, grabbed my bag, and left the hotel room.

  The lobby was vacant as it was nearly midnight. I approached the registration desk, expecting Reginald to show up, but I didn’t have to make excuses for not having time to chat because he didn’t put in an appearance. I guess he had his own schedule to keep.

  An older man stood at the counter. He was bald on top with a ring of short silver hair around his head. He wore thick-framed glasses that magnified his eyes.

  “Good evening, sir,” he said.

  I glanced at his name badge. “Hi, Stuart. I’d like another room, please.”

  “Is something wrong with your room, sir?”

  “No. I’ll keep the room. I just want another room as well. If you have one close to my current room, that would be great.”

  “Let me see,” he said, and let his fingers dance on his computer keyboard. “What room are you in at the moment, sir?”

  “1429.”

  “I can give you the room next door at 1431 if that will work.”

  “It must be Joan of Arc week,” I said, trying not to think about how she’d died in that year.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’ll take it.” I lived for risk.

  I gave him a credit card. He glanced at it, then at the terminal. “Same card you used earlier,” he said. “I can simply add this to your bill.”

  “Excellent,” I said, accepting the card back.

  He gave me a new keycard, and I caught the elevator back to the fourteenth floor.

  After dropping my stuff off in room 1431, I went back to 1429 and did the old strand of hair across the door frame trick. If someone entered the room, I’d be able to tell.

  Then again, maybe when the hair dried out, it would simply drop to the floor, so maybe it wasn’t the best low-tech trick in the book, but you pay your money and you take your chances. At least this one had the benefit of being free.

  I went to my new room, showered, threw on a pair of gym shorts, and checked the hair on the door to 1429. It was still there.

  Cool. It worked.

  I went to bed giving myself a mental pat on the back for having watched enough old spy movies.

  The next morning, my shoulder hurt. I reac
hed over to touch it and it was swollen.

  I rolled out of bed, went to the mirror and stared at the inflamed red mound on my shoulder. It hurt to raise my arm. It wasn’t debilitating or anything, but it was noticeable.

  The mirror in this room was on the normal size, so I flipped it over to the magnifier, and turned on the light. I leaned down, and studied the swollen area, running a finger over it in case a piece of the pin was still in there. I didn’t feel or see anything there. Just a bit of pain.

  With my thumb and forefinger, I pinched the swelling. That hurt a lot, but I toughed it out, and the top broke open, spilling a trickle of blood. I mopped it up with a tissue. The injury kept bleeding a bit, so I pulled off a small piece of toilet paper and stuck it on the injury to staunch the blood flow.

  Fortunately, I had some antibiotic ointment in my suitcase. When the bleeding stopped, I cleaned the wound, and rubbed some of the ointment into it. The area was a bit tender, and it hurt when I touched it or moved my right arm, but it wasn’t too bad.

  Once I was satisfied with that, I checked the door to my other room. The hair was still in place.

  So far, so good.

  My phone rang. I grabbed it when I saw it was Kelly.

  “Good morning,” I said. “Are you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?”

  “It’s too early for your bullshit, Jonathan. Esther and I will be in New Orleans this afternoon. Where are you staying?”

  I told her.

  “Promise me there will be violence,” she said.

  “I promise.”

  “Good.”

  She hung up.

  I called her back.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Can you tell Esther to pop down here now? It would be nice to have her watching over me until you can get here.”

  “Esther doesn’t want to be at your beck and call, Jonathan. So no, I will not tell her to go now. But I will put you on speaker so you can ask her if she’ll join you now.”

  “Okay,” I said. I’d been working on not taking Esther for granted. Sometimes I did well with it, and sometimes I forgot. I needed to get better at it, and I knew it.

  “You’re on speaker now,” Kelly said.

  “Hey, Esther,” I said. “I need your help. Would you mind popping down to New Orleans?”

  “It’s all berries,” Esther said behind me.

  I spun around to see her standing there already, a big smile on her face. The beads on her flapper dress waved as she clapped her hands.

  “That was fast,” I said.

  “All you ever had to do was ask,” she said.

  “See you this afternoon,” Kelly said, and hung up.

  Esther kept smiling. “What’s shaking?” she asked.

  “Thank you for coming out here so fast,” I said. Then I explained the situation, leaving out the bit about Madame Rousseau giving Emmanuel a body. He wasn’t using it now anyway, and why get Esther’s hopes up for something that was unlikely to happen.

  “So you have some torpedoes after you. Sounds like Thursday.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Tara met me for lunch in the French Quarter. Esther and I waited outside, so we could all go in together. When Tara approached me and gave me a hug, Esther looked her up and down, then glared at me.

  “Don’t you dare get stuck on this sheba, Jonathan. You always fall for the water proof skirts.”

  Tara couldn’t see or hear Esther, so I didn’t respond. Instead, I gave Esther a signal by asking Tara, “Are you all alone in there or is Emmanuel doing a ride along?”

  “You want me to check her for possession?” Esther asked.

  “Just me,” Tara said.

  I nodded more to Esther than to Tara.

  Esther walked through Tara. “No extra passengers,” Esther said.

  I gave her a thumbs up.

  Tara smiled, thinking I’d meant the gesture for her.

  “Shall we eat?” Tara asked. “I’m starving.”

  “Will this oyster bar work, or do you want Burger King again?”

  She laughed. “This will be fine.”

  We entered the restaurant, and the hostess led us to a booth. Esther sat beside Tara.

  “Your server will be right with you,” the hostess said, placing menus on the table then walking away.

  “Mama really liked you,” Tara said. “She went on and on about you after you left.”

  “I owe her my life,” I said.

  “That was crazy,” Tara said. I’d told her about the tracker when we set up the lunch.

  “We won’t get caught unaware again,” I said.

  “You called for reinforcements?”

  “I did,” I said. “And one of them is sitting beside you.”

  Tara looked over and then back to me with a raised eyebrow.

  “Don’t be shy, Esther.”

  “The ghost?” Tara asked. “She’s here?”

  “Absolutely,” Esther said as she made herself visible and audible.

  “Oh my god,” Tara said. “I can see right through her.” She reached out and her hand went through Esther.

  “Watch it,” Esther said. “This isn’t a petting party. How do you like it?” She waved her translucent hands through Tara’s head.

  “Girls,” I said. “Be nice.”

  “She started it,” Esther said, and made herself invisible. “Quiff.”

  Tara didn’t hear the last word, which was just as well.

  A girl in her late teens clad in a white button up shirt and black pants approached our table. “I’m Rhonda,” she said. “I’ll be your server this afternoon. Would you like to hear our specials?”

  “No thank you,” Tara said. “I already know what I want. Give me the Creole Trio.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Jambalaya, red beans and rice, and gumbo.”

  “Would you like the same, sir?” Rhonda asked.

  “No, I think I’ll try the blackened catfish Lafitte.”

  “An excellent choice, sir. Would you care for an appetizer to start?”

  I glanced at the menu. “Oh, we have to try the crispy fried alligator. They eat us, so we have to return the favor.”

  Rhonda smiled as if she didn’t hear the same line ten times a day.

  We ordered iced tea to drink, and Rhonda assured us she’d be right back.

  I absently rubbed my shoulder, which throbbed more than it should have. “Any thoughts about where your brother might be staying?” I asked.

  Tara shrugged. “Maybe at his grave?”

  “He’d save on rent money that way,” I said.

  Rhonda brought the drinks and set them on the table. We thanked her. I reached for the tea with my right hand, then thought better of it because a twinge of pain ran from my shoulder into my bicep. So I raised my hand to scratch my head to cover the motion. At that point, I still thought the pain would go away. It was just a pin prick, after all.

  I used my left hand to pick up my glass. The tea tasted good.

  Esther raised an eyebrow at me. Had she noticed my slight flinch?

  “Which cemetery is your brother buried in?” I asked.

  “People aren’t really buried here. What was left of him is in the Saint Louis Cemetery Number One.”

  I’d heard of it, of course. It was allegedly the most haunted cemetery in New Orleans. It was also the oldest.

  “How appropriate,” I said. “We should go check it out tonight.”

  “Safer during the day,” Tara said.

  “Yeah, but if we go tonight, Kelly will be with us.”

  “Now you’re on the trolley,” Esther said.

  “What trolley?” Tara asked, looking at where Esther sat. “Okay, that’s just weird. Now I can hear her, but not see her.”

  “She has skills,” I said.

  Esther nodded. “And how.”

  “All right,” I said, “I’ve heard a little bit about your brother. Maybe you can fill in the gaps. I know he was killed, and your mot
her brought him back. What was he like?”

  “He was a voodoo priest. Mama taught him a lot, of course, but when she was gone, he used to sneak into her library and read books he wasn’t ready for. He practiced rituals without protection, and took shortcuts to power.”

  “Dark side of the Force kinda stuff, hmm?”

  “Something like that.”

  “All right, so he was building his street cred in the occult circles?”

  “He specialized in curses. He mixed up potions and poisons, and while most of what he did relied on people’s beliefs, some of it was more natural.”

  “Give me an example.”

  “Home remedy kind of stuff. Some of it was helpful, and some of it went to the darker areas. He liked to dance between the light and shadows.”

  “All right. If your grandmother is Yoda, is he Darth Vader?”

  Esther rolled her eyes the same way Tara did.

  “Nailed it,” I said, as Rhonda brought our appetizer.

  “Your alligator,” she said. “Eat it before it eats you.” She winked at me, and smiled.

  “She thinks you’re a sheik,” Esther said, pointing at Rhonda. Esther put on a satisfied smile.

  Tara didn’t react, so Esther spoke only to me with that one. I let it slide. Esther thought all women were interested in me. Rhonda just wanted a bigger tip.

  When Rhonda left to take care of another table, Esther turned to Tara. “Jonathan thinks he’s funny.”

  “I noticed,” Tara said. “But at least he’s handsome.”

  “Can we get back to Emmanuel?” I asked.

  “Sure. Try your alligator.”

  I took a bite. It was crispy and firm, and tasted like chicken with a hint of fish. “Not bad,” I said. “Want some?”

  “Pass,” Tara said. “Emmanuel studied hard, and by the time he was twenty-one, he was arguably the most powerful voodoo priest in New Orleans.”

  I ate some more alligator. “I’m sure that won him some friends.”

  “What it earned him was an early grave. Mama thinks he was murdered by Papa Simon. His real name is John Simon.”

  “Same guy Madame Rousseau says is a great lover?”

  “One and the same. Small community here. Emmanuel used to piss him off by calling him Papa John and telling him he wanted a pepperoni and mushroom pizza.”

  “Sounds like something I’d say.”