by G A Chase
“You know she’s trying to kill you.” Even with the howling wind and rain hitting the SUV from the side, Baron Samedi’s words came through loud and clear.
“She’s tried before. You of all beings know I don’t fear death.”
“If she succeeds before one of us gets hold of that cane, you’ll find your next visit to the unknown far less enjoyable than the last.”
Despite the Ford losing more traction on the flooded streets, he hit the gas. “You’re saying I’d be better off if you’re holding the cane? I doubt that.”
“If I don’t have that cane, every being you wronged will be out to get you when you die. Trust me, I know. If she has her way, you might not even end up in Guinee.”
Colin, as Baron Malveaux, had deposed Baron Samedi, but what had happened to the original loa of the dead in that supernatural exile had never crossed Colin’s mind. “Where the hell do you think she’s going?”
“Hell would be all too simple.” Baron Samedi sat calmly in the passenger seat as though they were headed out for a day of fishing.
The long Cadillac made a couple of turns through a suburb filled with panicky people trying to shove too many belongings into too many cars. The turn toward the Huey P. Long Bridge, which crossed the Mississippi, nearly flipped Colin’s truck. With each foot of incline up the bridge, the wind picked up by five miles per hour. Even the train that crossed between the north- and southbound lanes squealed at the unrelenting storm’s attempts at toppling it into the river.
On the far side of the bridge, structures were suffering the more direct effects of the storm. Debris was interspersed with the driving rain.
To Colin’s annoyance, Samedi continued to watch it all with indifference. “You’re not making much progress on her. This truck is going to go flying into the marsh a lot sooner than that low-slung town car.”
“What choice do I have?” Colin hated not having a plan. Nothing good ever happened from running after someone half-cocked.
She finally turned off what remained of the major road into the Jean Lafitte Preserve as the outer rim of the storm’s cone blackened the roadway ahead.
“Great, another fucking swamp,” Colin said. “I should have known.”
The red brake lights of the Cadillac meant Colin had survived the chase, at least. The woman had no sense at all. He watched in disbelief as she got out of the car and climbed onto its roof. The wind should have carried her away, but with the cane in her hand, she looked to be commanding the storm.
“Get out of that SUV, you fuckface!” Her words, like those of Baron Samedi, carried clearly to him despite the deafening hurricane-driven winds.
He knew better. Baron Samedi wouldn’t be affected by the storm, and apparently Sanguine had special powers with the walking stick. Colin was neither a supernatural being nor in possession of a magical wand, but he had an anger neither of the other two could match—one capable of defying even the giant hurricane. Without fear, he opened the truck’s door, which was promptly grabbed by the storm and ripped from its hinges.
“That cane belongs to me!” he shouted.
“You want it? Go fetch.” She turned away from him and flung the staff into the mouth of the hurricane.
In a panic, he chased after the stick, which rotated up and away from him. He lost his footing, but instead of falling, he sailed clear above the car and the deranged woman who laughed like some wicked witch who’d just trapped her prey.
He looked back toward the cane, not wanting to lose sight of his objective. With both hands, he reached toward it, not caring that he was being sucked into the storm. The hurricane carried them both in its vortex of fury, but if he could just grab it, he might gain control of even nature’s elements.
The screeching of the storm sounded like the cackling laugh of on old woman. He looked beyond the staff at the vertical wall of rotating clouds, but it wasn’t simply a mass of gray and black. He’d seen that face with lightning for eyes and a cavernous mouth before, but the old, blind swamp witch was now pure energy.
She screamed at him as if the hurricane-force winds were driving her voice. “I warned you that, if you became a rabid dog, I’d put you down. Welcome to my version of hell.”
* * *
Kendell held Cheesecake tightly in her arms. The logical solution would have been to tell the band to get as clear of the storm as possible and to take the pup with them. However, she couldn’t stand the idea of being without her dog or, if the worst should happen, having her companion carry on without her. “You guys should get on the road if you’re going to beat the hurricane.”
Minerva plopped down on the couch. “Sure thing. Just as soon as my old bus has a chance to catch its breath. Air-cooled engines aren’t designed for stop-and-go traffic. Hell, it gets hot just hauling our instruments around town.”
Kendell wasn’t about to let everyone put their lives in danger. “You have to at least try. Take the van Myles stole.”
“Hey, now,” he said, “I wasn’t the only one doing the stealing. And that thing isn’t set up for passengers. It was a snug fit with the four of us guys.”
Polly made a point of using her finger to count each person in the room. “I count ten people and one dog—not including the guards you have locked in the other room. Tell me, Queen Solomona, who’s to live and who sits here, waiting for the storm?”
Kendell wasn’t going to let her band leader intimidate her—not when it came to life or death. “The professor, Myles, Joe, Delphine, and I are part of this mess. Though I won’t speak for any of them, for my part, I can’t run. Either my plan with Sanguine works and that storm moves off, or I’ll accept the consequences. I’m sure Charlie would be happy to have one of you sit on his lap in the van. The five of you have to make a run for it.”
The rabble of voices protesting Kendell’s self-sacrifice made Cheesecake growl at those rude enough to contradict her mistress.
Professor Yates stood in the middle of the room and called for calm. “It isn’t going to matter. With the speed of that hurricane, no one would be able to outrun it. Then there’s the fact that all the roads will be clogged with people trying to escape, stranded cars, and all manner of the worst in humanity. Honestly, I’m surprised you made it here so fast. Looking at this house’s construction, I’m thinking this may be one of the safest places to hole up. But if it comes down to the worst, I’d rather die with friends than be stuck fighting for survival.”
Charlie had been fumbling with some piece of furniture along the wall. He turned toward the group with a couple bottles of tequila. “Then let’s make it a party.”
Joe Cazenave always looked to be on duty no matter the situation. For the first time Kendell could remember, the man looked at ease. “I’m not a fan of drinking while at work, but as there’s nothing else to be done in this instance, I vote for music and margaritas.”
Polly cranked up the house’s sound system and spun around the living room as though she was on stage. Cheesecake, never one to let a lady dance alone, trotted out and barked along with the music. Each time Polly pointed at the pup, Cheesecake ran around in a tight circle.
The entertainment, however, failed to distract Kendell from the darkening skies. Somewhere toward the heart of the beast threatening to swallow New Orleans, Sanguine was tempting the devil. Kendell had never felt so helpless. Even putting on the glasses to warn her friend of the consequences of failure would only distract her from her mission. And so far, Sanguine had proved to be the smarter of the two. All Kendell could do was hope the plan in the swamp witch’s head was more thorough than they’d discussed.
After an hour of entertainment, the power finally gave out.
Unfortunately, that left Polly with too much pent-up energy. “Let’s play some music or something. I can’t stand sitting around waiting to die.”
“We’re not going to die,” Lynn said. “But I do like the idea of doing something. We have all the instruments. Minerva had the bus loaded up for the next gig before
we made a run for it.”
After only a couple of runs out to the bus in the pelting rain, all the equipment was inside. Even Cheesecake looked happy for the new distraction. She barked at each person who reentered the house then ran to the living room to show them where to set up.
Kendell sat on the couch and pulled Cecile from the white-fur-lined guitar case. She looked over at Myles, who was smiling and rubbing his fingers together. If ever there was a time to pull out the gift from Papa Ghede, this was that time. The golden guitar pick shone in the flash of a lightning strike.
Without electricity to power their amps, the women sat comfortably with the listeners instead of standing for their attention. Myles took a seat next to Kendell—Cheesecake at her feet—while she faced the window. Without consulting the others, she started strumming the opening to “Who’ll Stop the Rain.”
Within a handful of notes, Polly picked up on the tune. “That’s how it’s going to be, huh? Okay. We’ll blow this hurricane back out to sea with our playing.”
Everyone in the room joined in with her sweet voice.
They played, sang, and drank as night fell. Rain pelted the storm windows, but the house proved more substantial than a concrete bunker.
Kendell did her best not to shred yet another set of strings, but the restraint left her fingers tired. It’d been a long day. She set the guitar down and turned to Myles. “I imagine there are plenty of bedrooms in this place, but I think I’d rather just snuggle up with you and Cheesecake on the couch.”
“I think we all might feel better in each other’s company,” Polly said. “I know the drill about moving to a windowless room of the house, but the hurricane doesn’t seem to be moving any closer, and this room has held up without any issues.”
Professor Yates waved his empty margarita glass at the window. “Hurricane-resistant laminate glass—you can tell from the reinforced heavy-duty steel frame. Someone sank a lot of money into making this place the perfect viewing room for any sized storm. I’d be willing to bet this house gets blown off its piers before those windows give out. And I ain’t moving from this chair.”
As if the professor’s words were the validation everyone was waiting for, the rest of the group settled into whatever pieces of furniture they found most comfortable.
Despite the threatening storm, Kendell was asleep in Myles’s arms in a matter of minutes.
* * *
The morning after the big storm held an electric energy for Kendell. Everyone in the room had come through it unscathed. She snuggled against Myles, who was still breathing so deeply she knew he was asleep. Cheesecake jerked her legs and let out little doggy barks, indicating she too was still lost in dreamland. Kendell didn’t want to leave his subconscious embrace, but she also wanted to see what had become of the hurricane. Carefully, she unwrapped her body from Myles’s arms.
She tiptoed between her bandmates, who’d crashed out on cushions scattered about the floor.
As she passed Professor Yates in the recliner, he whispered to her, “I found an emergency radio in the kitchen. They’re calling it a weather anomaly. Their current best guess is that upper-level winds from the north blew the top off the hurricane and it just died out, but when meteorologists start using fancy terms, it usually means they have no idea what happened. Sounds to me like your friend succeeded in her mission.”
The morning light turned the few scattered clouds every color from deep purple to bright yellow. “Any estimates of damages?”
“Nothing yet. Just the typical flooding and blown-out windows, but nothing like after Katrina. Sounds like the new pump stations and storm walls did their jobs. Plaquemines Parish got hammered, but anything below the floodgates was bound to get the brunt of the storm surge.”
What she really wanted to know was how Sanguine had made out, but she feared what she might see—or not see—if she put on the glasses. “I’m going out to the deck for a while if anyone needs me.”
The recliner gave the familiar leather groan she remembered from her father’s favorite chair as the professor leaned over the side. “No matter the ultimate outcome, everyone put in heroic efforts yesterday.” He made it sound as though the attempt was all that mattered.
“I fear the battle might not be over.”
He settled back into the chair. “Probably not, but the latest storm has passed—hopefully figuratively as well as literally.”
The heavy sliding-glass door released its hold on the frame with a rush of air. The wooden plank deck was cold and wet under her bare feet. She looked along the dock, expecting to see the dreaded airboat that had carried them across the lake. Only frayed ropes remained. Out of curiosity, she walked along the wraparound porch until she spotted the overturned boat in the reeds neighboring the boathouse. The cage that protected the propeller had been badly mashed. A feeling of smug satisfaction swept over her as she eyed the wreckage.
The lake had the typical calm after a big storm. She looked across the water, trying to envision the situation in New Orleans. She wondered how many people were stranded without shelter and how many had been unable to escape in time. As a barista and musician, she could do precious little. Even as a practitioner of voodoo, her skills seemed woefully inadequate.
Polly, wrapped in a blanket, stepped out of the house. “I don’t care if it is summer, hurricanes put a chill in my bones.”
“I wish there was something we could do.”
She leaned against the wooden railing next to Kendell. “You realize today is Friday?”
At first, the veiled suggestion of playing their usual gig at the Scratchy Dog struck Kendell as insensitive, but music and drink were two of New Orleans’s go-to solutions to tragedy. Someone needed to get out there and play for the soul of the city. “We should head down as soon as possible. The club will probably need to be cleaned out. We’ll also need to find a generator.”
Polly motioned toward the garage. “I bet I know where we could find one.”
“That’s called stealing.”
“Technically, after a storm, it’s looting, but I doubt the Laroques are going to come after us for that.”
The thought of being able to play so soon after a disaster quickened Kendell’s pulse, but another issue was more pressing. “I need to find out what happened to Sanguine, but I can’t bring myself to contact her. If she’s dead, I don’t want to know.”
“People have a way of surprising you. Take Myles, for example. Don’t tell him I said so, but that boyfriend of yours is pretty good at figuring things out. I’m still not sure how he managed to find you out here in the sticks.”
Kendell turned back to the living room and saw Cheesecake stretched out along Myles’s side, right where Kendell had slept. The scene tugged at her heart.
“He’s one of the good ones,” she said.
“I won’t tell you not to worry about Sanguine, but she is a swamp witch. If anyone could weather a storm, I’d think it’d be her. I’m going to see if the professor can work up some scientific magic capable of brewing coffee. There has to be a camp stove or something around here somewhere.”
Kendell pointed to the dusty cabinets. “Try above the stove. That’s where I keep my emergency gear for when the power goes out.”
People were stretching out of their sleep and showing signs of life in the living room.
Joe emerged from the garage and caught Kendell before she could rejoin the group. “I know you want to return to the city. Before we took off on this crazy adventure, there were squad cars at Myles’s apartment. After last night’s hurricane, the force will be busy keeping the peace, so whatever their beef was with Myles, it’s probably on the back burner. I just thought you should know it’s not the safest down there for either of you. Even if Baron Samedi’s cane is no longer the target of everyone’s larceny, there’s still the Laroque family, the police force, and Luther Noire to contend with. Those problems didn’t just get washed away.”
She wished she hadn’t needed the reminder.
“Are you saying we should make a run for it?”
“No. I’m just pointing out that New Orleans after a hurricane isn’t the most predictable of cities.”
“What about you? We kind of trapped you between the police and Luther.”
He took on the hard look of a soldier who’d seen too much action. “I’ve learned not to rely on any organization. I’ll let my team know you’re headed back to New Orleans. When I get back to the city, I’ll figure out what’s going on. If you see me back on the force, you’ll know everything’s returned to normal. In the meantime, you’d be better off not trusting anyone too much.”
As she returned to the living room, Joe headed off down the driveway, talking on his clunky military-grade phone.
Polly had gathered the band together. “We’re headed back to the city. We owe it to our fans to play tonight. The problem is we’ve only got Minerva’s bus, and that will barely hold us, Myles, Cheesecake, and our gear. There’s bound to be a lot of cleaning up to do before we can play.”
Charlie was lounging in one of the big recliners as though he owned the place. “That leaves me, Professor Yates, Madam de Galpion, and Joe to follow along in Luther’s van. We can bring anything that doesn’t fit in your VW. And I’ll wager you could use a good bartender or two tonight.”
Professor Yates was attending to the camp coffee pot in the kitchen. “I don’t have anywhere I need to be today. Not like anyone’s going to want to have their fortune told. I’d be happy to have a look at the wiring.”
Kendell figured Delphine would have her hands full, making sure everything in her voodoo back room hadn’t exploded into some demonic cross-curse nightmare—not to mention all the perfumes that might have fallen from the shelves.
“I think I’ll pass on the entertainment,” the voodoo priestess said. “Someone needs to make sense of everything that’s happened over the last few days. I’ll probably need a whole new journal.”