The Malveaux Curse Mysteries Boxset 1

by G A Chase

  Disappointment was the emotion of the day. In place of the velvet seats, embroidered rugs, and soft gas lighting, the building had a stark interior that reminded him of a prison. The whole place looked as though it had been designed to be easily hosed down. At least they’d kept the marble intact.

  He approached the first available teller. “I would like to see the bank president.”

  “That’s a different section of the bank. I just deal with accounts.”

  He ripped a piece of paper off a stack of forms and jotted down three twelve-digit numbers. “Fine. Take this to whoever is in charge. I’ll wait.”

  She stared at his handwriting like some arrogant teacher grading him. Him. That was a laugh. “I don’t know what these numbers are supposed to mean. Do you have a debit card?”

  His nosy host wanted to butt in again, but this was his domain. “Darling, take that slip of paper to your boss this instant. If he doesn’t recognize the numbers, have him take it to his boss. Continue this exercise until someone gets down here. I’m quickly losing my patience.”

  “There’s no need to be snippy with me. I don’t care if you are French. We have a way of doing things in the States.”

  He nearly laughed his derision. The accent had come so easily he hadn’t noticed it. “I’m well aware of how things are done. You have a choice. Call security and have me escorted out, which I promise will be your last action as an employee of this or any other bank, or do as I’ve requested. I’ll wait.”

  He must have lost his edge. A hard stare had traditionally gotten him what he wanted without the need for an involved conversation. But in the work clothes, he guessed the girl didn’t realize his importance. While he waited, he inspected the other clients. Like the cars on the street, they all looked depressingly the same. How was anyone to differentiate those of power and breeding from the common man if everyone dressed the same?

  “Lowest fucking common denominator.”

  “What’s that?” The old woman behind him had crossed the invisible line separating those waiting from those being served. The impetuousness of her action made him long for his walking cane. Simply holding the heavy rod tended to keep people in their place.

  “Nothing you’d understand.”

  Her smile reminded him of some old senile nanny. “That’s quite all right. I’m not in a hurry.”

  From the other end of the long, linear room, a heavy door slammed shut. The sound of hard-soled shoes clacking against the marble floor rang out in a staccato rush. The right person— or at least the right person’s secretary—had finally deciphered his message.

  The woman who approached wore what he thought must be some kind of professional joke. It was as if a tailor had taken a man’s suit and turned it into a skirt and ill-fitting jacket. Again, his host tried to offer advice, but some things defied fashion no matter the explanation. “I’m Abigail Laroque, president of the New Orleans Bank and Trust. My apologies for keeping you waiting. This was unexpected.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  She waved the terror-stricken bank teller back to her cage. “You misunderstand. We did expect you, just…”

  The woman seemed at a loss for words.

  How in the world are you president of my bank? “You didn’t expect me in this form. I’m afraid our girl was a little careless in her use of power. No matter. Once I upgrade a little, I’m sure this situation will work out for the best.”

  “Let me take you in the back where we can talk in private.”

  The workman’s clothes irritated his skin. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I wish to upgrade this wardrobe. I feel like a fucking dockworker. There must be some haberdasher within walking distance worth his salt. Though looking around this establishment, I’m hoping for more than I’m seeing.”

  “Of course. Gottlieb’s on Carondelet Street carries some excellent men’s suits. I’d be happy to show you the way.”

  He closed his eyes to fight back his irritation. “I’m quite familiar with the city’s streets. I’ll need some cash.” He consulted his host’s memories. “Ten thousand should get me through the afternoon.”

  She gave him a hesitating nod. “That’s quite a lot of money.”

  “Hundreds should do it. I can’t imagine needing a lower denomination. Assuming your tailor at Gottlieb’s knows his business, I’ll return later this afternoon. That should give you a chance to put your affairs in order. And I’d like to meet with the board of directors.”

  She jotted something on a piece of paper and handed it to the teller. “We’re still a family-run business. There is no board of directors as such.”

  Her lack of vision astounded him. “I didn’t imagine there was. I was referring to the family. Surely there must be some kind of guiding force to this madness.”

  * * *

  After the frustrating encounter with his successor, being back on the street came as a relief. At least out there he had fewer expectations. Though as he watched people scamper along the sidewalks faster than the traffic could crawl along Canal Street, he had to wonder what constituted progress. People either had the gloomy countenance of the working class or the semidrunk uselessness typical of the insane. Fucking Yankees.

  By the time he got to Gottlieb’s, he started wondering if he’d made a terrible mistake so long ago. Was it possible that too much time had passed? He shook the notion out of his head. Self-doubt was a mental cancer he’d long ago defeated.

  He breathed a little easier as he looked around the upscale establishment. Some things might change, but expensive, high-class businesses knew how to cater to their clients. A man with hair grayer than his suit bowed slightly. “Madam Laroque told me to expect you. I am at your service. Where would you like to begin?”

  He peeled off half the stack of hundred-dollar bills and slapped them on the oak counter. “Right now, I need something to walk around in. I can’t continue to be seen as a dockworker. If I like what you have to offer, I’ll need five well-tailored suits plus sundries. I’m sure the bank will cover any costs I might incur beyond my needs of today.”

  “Of course, sir. But if I may say, jeans and a T-shirt are common street apparel. There’s no need for you to feel out of place.”

  He looked the man over from head to toe without saying a word.

  “Of course, sir. I understand completely. A gentleman should always look the part.”

  From the silk undergarments to the quickly tailored suit, neck ascot, and highly polished leather shoes, the self-image he remembered began taking shape. “Do you have a coat with longer tails? I realize they may not be fashionable, but I find this short coat uncomfortable.”

  “I’d be happy to tailor you something, but I’m afraid for the day’s purposes, this is the best I can manage on such short notice.”

  It would be unreasonable to expect an out-of-date suit to be available and easily tailored. He resisted the urge to demand the impossible. “See what you can work up. I’ll return at the end of the week. In the meantime, I’ll need enough clothing to pass comfortably in society. You can toss what I was wearing when I came in on the trash heap.”

  Before he left, he picked out a comfortable if not particularly well-made top hat. It was the best the establishment could manage.

  * * *

  The bank’s management staff had assembled for his return. At least in the new attire he felt closer to his commanding self. Pity the others didn’t share his appreciation for the accoutrements of power. How they maintained control while dressing so much like those looking to them for leadership was a mystery.

  Abigail Laroque stepped forward and handed him his cane—the first thing anyone had gotten right all day. He clasped his fist around the silver skull at the top. “I wish to see the third floor. Hopefully, that’s still where you keep upper management’s offices.”

  She motioned toward the row of elevators. “It is. I have gathered the people you wanted to meet with in the conference room up there as well.”

 
Though the building was as he remembered, certain arrangements had changed. Cheap-looking white walls had replaced the exotic hardwood paneling and elegantly carved moldings. Any passerby could now stare through frosted glass at offices that were meant to be closed off and foreboding.

  He loudly struck his cane on the wood floor as he walked slowly down the central corridor. Halfway to the group of offices, he stopped at the telltale hollow echo. On the wall were the portraits of all the past presidents, including him. “Take these down. Immediately.”

  “Sir, these are—”

  “I’m well aware of who they are. Have someone take them down before I strike them down.” His heavy cane longed for action.

  With one of her associates, she began removing the large paintings by their gilded frames. The woman had no sense of decorum. Such work should only be handled by those paid to do the job.

  He ran his hand over the smooth, bare wall. The change would have been undetectable to anyone not aware of the modification. But even under layers of paint, he could feel the difference in texture. Those around him scattered as he stepped back and swung his cane with all the force of a wrecking ball. The relatively thin layer of plaster crumbled to the ground as if it had been made of eggshells.

  There, hidden for centuries, was the ornately carved doorframe of his office. The large mahogany doors still displayed the elegant Ms with skulls at the corners as though they’d just been engraved. Inscribed above the doors in the heavy wooden frame were the words, “The Seventh Gate of Guinee.”

  “Time to get to work.”

  38

  Kendell had never felt so lost and alone in her life. Myles hadn’t been at his apartment, just as Delphine had guessed. In desperation, Kendell returned to her apartment to hold Cheesecake tight in her arms. “Why do I lose everyone I care about? First you, then the band, and now Myles.” Tears flowed down her cheeks to be absorbed by the pup’s shaggy coat.

  Cheesecake arched her back and kissed away Kendell’s tears.

  “I should have listened to you. Each time I worked on one of those objects, you’d growl at me when I got home. If I performed a killer gig under the power of the curse, you gave me your judgmental stare. That’s probably why I preferred having sex with Myles at his place. It wasn’t the sex that bothered you—it was what I was doing to him.”

  No one had a better understanding of the curse’s power than Cheesecake. She’d had the pipe tool inside her. Kendell remembered the wolflike growling she’d set loose on her abductors. Again, Kendell condemned herself for not listening to her life companion. “I’m going to get him back. I rescued you, and I helped free my friends. Those things took physical courage, and you know that’s not my strong point. Saving Myles will be different. I can do this paranormal adventure. You’ll see.”

  She’d need help, and she knew just the seven women who might join her. To find them, however, would mean taking a voyage into the realm she’d only visited with Myles’s guidance. Assuming Kendell could make the journey, at least one of the ghostly apparitions would need convincing.

  Fleurentine Malveaux’s trunks still filled half of Kendell’s living room. What was left of the baron’s possessions were either meaningless items or clothing, but it wasn’t his stuff she was after. To contact Miss Fleur, as the nuns had called her, would involve finding her without the influence of the curse.

  At the bottom of the chest of frilly antique dresses was a small leather case filled with expensive jewelry. Kendell inspected the diamond-encrusted broaches and blue sapphire necklaces. These were not the possessions of a woman who would sequester herself in a convent. Kendell remembered the pictures from the family albums. Fleurentine’s early years married to Archibald Malveaux had been similar to those of a gutter waif plucked from poverty and transformed into the belle of New Orleans society. These baubles would have come from her husband during a happier time of her life, but they wouldn’t be representative of the woman Kendell hoped to reach. She tossed the box with expensive jewelry onto her nightstand.

  Lance Laroque had taken every diary he could find before Kendell had gained access to Miss Fleur’s possessions, but at the bottom of the half-empty trunk that held random correspondences, she found a small case of pastel sticks. Unpretentious brown folders were scattered across the bottom of the trunk. She opened the first and found drawings of a young girl. The emotion poured into the flat sheet of vellum was unmistakable. Blond, blue eyed, and with an expression of joy, the child had to be Serephine Malveaux, the daughter who had been the first to fall under the curse.

  Kendell reverently removed the drawings from the file and spread them out on the coffee table. Serephine had been the entry point for the exploration that had resulted in Kendell being bound to the curse. Maybe she could also be the way out. A page was filled with studies of the girl’s sky-blue eyes and nothing else—just the expression of innocent joy that sparkled in them. Kendell pulled it from the rest and returned to her bedroom.

  Cheesecake hadn’t moved from her command post on the end of the bed. Kendell remembered the first thing Myles had taught her about exploring the inner journey: she needed a core memory to help guide her back to her life. For that, she used the treasured image of the first time she and her pup had met eleven years earlier.

  She ruffled the shaggy black-and-white head. “I don’t mind you staying there. Just don’t freak out when I get really quiet.” She would have liked to promise the dog that she knew what she was doing, but lying to Cheesecake wasn’t part of their relationship.

  She eased back down on the bed and sought the most muscle-relaxing position she could find. As if doing likewise, Cheesecake stretched out against her leg. Kendell clutched the drawing to her chest and began the mantra Myles had taught her. I am what I am.

  At first, the words didn’t make much sense for separating her soul from her body. What was she? A lead guitarist for an up-and-coming band, a server of coffee, the much-loved caregiver to one of God’s greatest creations—a dog—and the lover of a seriously misunderstood guy. As the descriptions circled around her thoughts, she realized they were only the outward manifestations of what she wanted out of life. Like the person operating the movie camera, she had to find that shy hidden soul who was really behind the scenes.

  That realization was like falling into a bottomless pothole in one of New Orleans’s streets. Everything that she’d used to define her life was only what she presented to the world.

  The drawing worked like a magnet to another life just as the pipe tool had done with Myles. She stood in the doorway of a large parlor filled with children’s toys from a long time ago. As the little girl on the floor interacted with her dolls, her mother raised a cloud of blue dust from her feverish scraping of pastel stick to paper. The scene warmed Kendell’s heart.

  It wasn’t supposed to. As a disembodied spirit, she was there to observe. Experiencing her own emotions would separate her from the scene. That was what Myles had said. The memory of him should have taken her even further from her objective, yet she remained in the doorway of the long-gone mansion.

  She wasn’t alone. An animal half her size stood at attention next to her. She reached over and petted the short, straight hair of the black-and-white wolf. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  To her relief, the animal didn’t respond with words but snuggled her head against Kendell’s hip. The love and protection she felt from Cheesecake was even more prominent in this world of pure essence.

  Though Cheesecake didn’t answer, another woman’s voice startled Kendell into spinning around to see who had snuck up behind her. “I knew you’d show up eventually. I appreciate that you chose this memory. My love of that child is still an open wound even after all this time.”

  “I didn’t mean to cause you pain, but of all your possessions, I felt the most emotion from your drawings.”

  The woman’s eyes glistened, but from her smile, Kendell knew they weren’t tears of sorrow. “From the moment I saw you in my hu
sband’s office, I knew you’d need my help. That boy of yours is quite talented in crossing into Guinee, but I figured you might need a little assistance meeting me without him. Those pictures I drew so long ago may be the only bridge between us that has a chance of working.” The old woman in drab convent attire turned to Cheesecake. “But did you really think it necessary to bring your spirit wolf?”

  Though Cheesecake was a wolf with a commanding presence, one that would create fear in most people, Miss Fleur scratched her ear. The old dog bent her head into the hand and exhibited all her usual responses of joy at the woman’s attention.

  “She came of her own free will. I think she was just curious.”

  Miss Fleur patted the black-and-white head. “She’s not a bad companion. I wish I’d had such a loyal friend in life. The day may come where you’ll be glad to have her by your side, either in this realm or that of the living. But I doubt you came here for me to tell you what you already know.”

  “The baron has taken possession of Myles.” Though she knew it to be true, expressing the thought gave Kendell a profound sense of dread. This had been her fault, and that guilt hung like a shadow around her.

  With ghostly pale-gray eyes, Fleurentine inspected Kendell for so long that she felt naked under the woman’s stare. “You could command me, but you’re not doing that.”

  “I need your help—you and the others. I have control of the curse, but using it would make me no better than the force I hope to defeat.”

  Fleurentine nodded as if she’d figured out Kendell’s objective. “But I’m not the person you came to see.”

  “I’m hoping you can help me convince her.”

  “I’ll take you to her, but you might want to leave your pup back among the living.”

  Kendell turned to her wolf. “I’m okay, girl. You proved your point. I’m never alone, not even in this spiritual realm. But if you appear like the imposing creature I know you to be, you’re going to scare some people. Run along back to the bed. I’ll be back soon.”