A New Orleans Haunting
by Dorian Mayfair
First published October 2011
This version February 2013
Amazon Kindle Edition
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This eBook uses some actual locations and family names, however all events are fictionalized and all persons appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living, dead or invisible, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 Dorian Mayfair
A New Orleans Haunting
Prologue
*
From behind a tall window deep in the French Quarter, a man watched the sun set over New Orleans. Slowly, the last glimmer of daylight gave way to a warm darkness that fell over the rooftops and cloaked the city in shadow. With the night came music, spilling onto the sidewalks from doorways and alleys. It was getting late. Soon, the streets would be packed with people seeking out bars and clubs, hunting for adventure and pleasure. Across the street was a hotel, its windows filled with guests preparing themselves for an evening of decadent distractions.
The man by the window had no such plans. He was on a mission, and he was nervous.
In his dark velvet coat and white crisp shirt, he matched the room’s wallpaper, although while his clothes were clean and expensive, the room was shabby and riddled with patches of mould. Once, the room had been a study; now it was a forgotten space on the top floor of a restaurant. Dense cobwebs filled the dark corners and hung heavy between the beams in the ceiling. Between two empty and dusty bookshelves was an old writing desk covered with grit.
The room was a perfect hideaway. Days of cleaning wouldn’t make it much nicer, but the view over the bus station below was just what he needed. Earlier that day, he’d watched the interstate coaches arrive with its cargo of tourists and expectations. His object of interest had arrived on one.
A contact had called to let Misha know that the woman had been one of the passengers. Another call had informed Misha when she arrived. He had friends everywhere; following the woman’s every step would have been easy, but laws older than the town itself forbid him. Only once the woman had kept sane through the first nights, they would contact her. She had to prove herself, then take the first step. Those were the rules.
This time, though, he was more nervous than he’d ever been before. Reports spoke of old laws failing and traditions going off the rails. If the ritual broke down altogether, he didn’t dare to think about the possible consequences. The victims would be uncountable. And that was only the beginning.
Leaning against the wall near the window, he spun the wine in his wine glass as he waited. The wine, red and almost two decades old, was as good as his mood was sour. The ritual had always been a gamble; now it was a gamble in the dark. It was a complete nightmare.
The silence in the room was interrupted by a soft, polite cough, and the man by the window sighed. “Cai,” he said, not looking over his shoulder. “I’d almost given up on you. What happened this time?”
“My apologies, Misha.” The voice was melodic and articulate, the kind that would make a Victorian stage actor plot murder in envy. “I’m so awfully, terribly sorry.”
“Traffic?” Misha asked. “Or a sudden local snow storm?”
“I got lost.” Cai cleared his throat. “All these new streets,” he added. “I simply cannot understand how they manage to build them so fast.”
“One day,” Misha sighed, “you’ll lose yourself in your own wardrobe. If you ever get one.” Smiling, Misha turned to face Caiban. “And last time I was in England,” he added, “it had streets too. It’s good to see you, my friend.”
“And you,” Cai said.
Side by side, the two men were almost perfect contrasts. Cai was so pale he made sugar look like soot, whereas Misha was dark enough to make most of his tattoos near-invisible. Both men were short, but while Cai had the lean physique of an athlete oblivious to things such as ‘fat’, Misha was stocky and had a chest like a bear, if a small one. Misha’s coat and shirt were neat and chosen with care, his trousers spotless, and his shoes more expensive than a night out in a Scandinavian city. Meanwhile, Cai’s beige chinos were rumpled, his gray T-shirt was two sizes too large, and his short yellow jacket screamed cheap in an irritating voice.
“What is that?” Misha asked appalled, staring at Cai’s jacket. “Oh, never mind. Any news I should know about?”
“Nothing pleasant, I’m afraid.” Cai joined Misha by the window and looked out. “The Other is still imprisoned, but her servants are being spotted every hour.”
“This early?” Misha looked concerned. “This gets worse by the hours. Have they attacked anyone?”
“Possibly. There have been disappearances. You know how they sometimes kill for sheer pleasure, so they might be to blame. But there is something else.”
“Not more trouble, I hope?”
“Carver called two nights ago,” Caiban said. “Right after he’d finished the tattoo.”
“And?”
Caiban ran a finger along a spider web near the window. “He said the woman seemed completely unaware of what she was doing.”
“That’s impossible, and you know it.” Misha scowled out at the darkening city. “But something is wrong,” he said, pausing to sip from his glass. “Jonathan has pinned down the night of the battle.”
“I see.”
“The Other is set to return in less than a month,” Misha continued. “That’s three months and five years early. Did Carver tell you anything else?”
Caiban nodded. “He said our Champion seemed disinterested in discussing the battle.”
“So she’s a coward too.” Misha frowned. “How wonderful. This gets worse by the minute.”
“I’m not sure that is the problem,” Caiban said quietly.
“What else would it be?”
Caiban shrugged. “The exact phrase Carver used to describe her was ‘damn cute but bloody clueless’,” he said. “Is she in town yet?”
Misha nodded. “She got into a taxi right after she arrived.”
“Right,” Cai said. “Good. Excellent. Where is she heading?”
“The Courtyard.”
Caiban frowned in thought. “That name is familiar.”
“It should be,” Misha said with a wry smile. “There are not many places like it.”
“Oh,” Caiban said. “That hotel.”
“Indeed. And I’m happy that is where she’s going.”
“You’re not planning to spy, I’m sure.”
Misha scoffed and twirled the wine in his large glass. “Don’t be absurd. Besides, spying like that would be rude beyond belief.”
“Of course,” Caiban agreed. “Terribly rude.” He shook his head while he looked out the window. “Awful, really.”
Misha glanced at Caiban. “I’m glad you think so,” he said. “I haven’t seen her up close, but I keep hearing she’s pretty.”
Caiban looked offended. “I’d never – well, whatever happens, it is none of my business. Our business, I mean. Will
you please stop smirking?”
Misha turned away from the window and walked slowly around the room. “What I meant to say,” he continued, “was that her choice of hotel is promising. If she stays sane throughout her visit, all might not be lost.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Cai said, watching as the last slice of the Sun disappeared. “We need a champion quite desperately. It seems the ritual will go ahead, but the signs are confusing.”
Misha sighed. “I know.”
“Many rules are being broken.”
“Yes, I know.”
Caiban hesitated. “So if this woman – Suzy, wasn’t it – fails, and the Other is triumphant, can we rest assured that the Other returns to its cell?”
“No.”
“What happens then?”
Misha gave Caiban a flat look. “Then may the Gods help us all. My glass is empty and needs refilling. Care to join?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
***
A New Orleans Haunting
*
Suzy leaned out of the taxi and spread her fingers wide, trailing New Orleans’s warm air with her hand and breathing in the unfamiliar scents. Sleep had claimed her just as New York’s glittering mass of lights had vanished under a blanket of gray clouds, then she’d been jolted awake three hours later when the airplane touched down. Now she felt half-asleep, as if part of her consciousness had been left behind, a thousand miles and many more memories away. But she welcomed the sensation; she allowed it to linger as she watched the city pass by, her drowsiness blurring lights, sounds and smells into a vivid neon haze. Sweat tricked down her back and made her leather trousers stick to the seat, but she was too busy taking in the sights to be annoyed.
The driver said something over her shoulder and glanced at Suzy, who blinked and shook herself.
“What?” Suzy said.
“The hotel, what was the name again?” the driver asked, her eyes returning to the busy street. “Was it The Courtroom?”
If you don’t know, Suzy thought, where the hell have you been going for the past twenty minutes? “The Courtyard,” she said. “And it’s not really a hotel, more of a bed and breakfast. I’ve got the address somewhere,” she added and started to get out her battered notebook.
“That’s fine, I know the place,” the driver said. “Like a small mansion, just outside the French Quarters. Right?”
“Sounds like the place,” Suzy said.
The driver nodded, black curls bobbing behind the plastic safety screen. “We’ll be there in no time,” she said. There was a short silence. “It’s an honor to drive you, I must say. Didn’t see that one coming. Ever been to New Orleans before?”
“Nope,” Suzy said. Had the driver said it was an honor to driver her? Clearly, politeness ranked high here. “I’ve been wanting to come here all my life,” she added, “but work and other stuff got in the way. Then I thought it was time for a break, so I finally got around to buying the ticket.”
“Any plans?”
Suzy shrugged. “Go downtown, check out some clubs, see what they’re like.”
The driver nodded. “So you’ll be staying a while?” she asked.
“Just one night,” Suzy answered. “Then I’m off to LA.”
The driver smiled at Suzy in the rearview mirror. “You look a lot like my brother’s wife. Mexican?”
“My mother’s Puerto Rican,” Suzy said and yawned. “Dad’s from all over the place but he’s pale like a cigarette.”
The driver was silent while she waited for the lights at a large crossing to change. Everyone on the busy sidewalks were walking at a slow, tranquil speed. No one seemed to be in a hurry. Stray fragments of a slow blues drifted from a dim but crowded bar on a corner, the wailing guitar mingling with harsh laughter and cicadas. Brooklyn couldn’t have felt more distant.
“Listen,” the driver said. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but aren’t you afraid?”
Suzy snapped out of her reverie. “Huh?”
The driver shook her head, her eyes flicking between the street and the rearview mirror. “I don’t want to spook you,” she said. “It’s just not good, the way things are now.”
“Things?” Suzy felt completely lost. This wasn’t your normal taxi ride banter.
“We saw it early here, you know,” the driver said. “The signs of trouble, I mean.”
“Really?” This was getting better and better. Clearly, the driver was a bit off the rails. Suzy expected the driver to start with the conspiracy theories any moment.
“No doubt about it.” The driver nodded to herself. “The ritual – no, I shouldn’t. Me and my old big mouth, get me in trouble as usual.”
Wanting to hear the rest, Suzy leaned forward. “UFOs?” she asked. “Dead people walking the streets?” She didn’t intend to be mean, but for some weird reason the driver had made her curious.
The driver gave Suzy a concerned look in the mirror. “Don’t know about any UFOs,” she said. “But – never mind. We’re here. Need a hand with that bag?”
Suzy opened her mouth, closed it and shook her head as the taxi slowed down. It seemed she wouldn’t hear the end of this. That was a pity, but the city offered more entertainment. The taxi stopped and money changed hands, then Suzy stepped out and looked at The Courtyard.
Just as in the picture online, the building really looked like a miniature mansion, rising out of the lush, surrounding gardens like a brooding remnant of a past era. Which, she thought, probably was exactly what it was. Tall windows faced the street on each of its three floors but most of them were dark. Only the ground floor was fully lit, while a few lights shone between heavy curtains on the second floor.
Suzy craned her neck and admired the ornaments that lined the windows and ran along the edges of the roof; small statues of cherubs, dragons, angels and other shapes she could not make out in the darkness, all backlit by the flickering, yellowish glare of a enormous billboard somewhere behind the building. The entrance, a pair of massive oaken double doors, looked oddly small on the gray brick façade. They were closed, but there was a painted sign above them, as well as a stand with tourist brochures on the sidewalk just outside. While the building looked a bit ominous for a hostel, the scents that floated on the hot air from the gardens were rich and alluring; whiffs of jasmine and lilies, the aroma of daffodils and dahlias, all blending and mingling in the heat. Suzy imagined herself pulled in by the smells like a bee drawn to a flower. She hung her backpack over one shoulder, turned back to the taxi and found that the driver still was watching her.
“Got all your luggage?” the driver asked.
Suzy nodded. “It’s just this bag,” she said.
The woman offered Suzy a small nod. “Listen,” she said, “don’t mind what I just said, right? Just an old woman’s babble. One word of advice, though.”
“Let’s hear it.” Suzy was still watching the building in which she would spend the night. It was a majestic, gothic daydream. She felt like pumping her fist in the air.
“Watch your step,” the taxi driver said behind her. “There’s a lot of illegal cabs around, I’ve heard. People have gone missing.”
Suzy nodded, wondering if the woman ever had been to New York. Only idiots didn’t avoid bad company. “Got it,” she said.
When Suzy turned around, the taxi was already speeding away, its taillights blending with the bright lights of restaurants and bars. A heavy base from a bar somewhere made the ground shudder faintly. It felt like a heartbeat, just under the streets.
Suzy decided on a plan. She needed dinner, then some seriously strong coffee to shake off the sleepiness. And a shower, too; the heat made her clothes stick to her body. After that, she would venture out to sample the New Orleans nightlife.
She rubbed her face with her hands and headed for the entrance.
*
The door swung inwards and opened to a large, dimly lit oval hall much cooler than the sweltering evening air outside. Suzy paused in the opening an
d looked around.
“Hello, time trip,” she said softly.
Paintings of men and women in uniforms and dresses lined dark, paneled walls, their faces indistinguishable in the weak light from a massive chandelier that hung in the center of the room. Suzy was half-surprised to see lights bulbs; most of the interior seemed to have been preserved from centuries ago, creating the atmosphere of a closed museum. There were even old-fashioned weapons on the walls, swords, axes and antique guns, and Suzy couldn’t help but smile when she noticed a full plate armor in desperate need of polishing mounted on a stand on the top of the staircase. Down in the other end of the hall two staircases curved upwards and met in front of a doorway to the next floor. In front of the stairs on the ground floor was a wooden desk, behind which a small woman in her sixties looked up as Suzy entered. The silvery laptop in front of the woman looked distinctly out of place and time.
She checked the dressing on her left lower arm and smiled in approval. Clean and tidy, no sign of blood. Getting a tattoo a few days before travelling was probably not the brightest idea she’d had, but she took pride in being a solid spur-of-the-moment girl. Life was more fun that way. Besides, the motif was too great to resist: A black dragon twisting along her arm and digging its claws into a Celtic-looking symbol just below her palm. At least, Suzy thought it was Celtic; she wasn’t a historian. She’d never seen anything like it, just like she never had noticed the tattoo parlor, wedged in between a antique book shop and an Italian restaurant. The guy had been good. The lines were knife-sharp and the tattoo bled less than any of her other ink jobs had even done. It was a sweet addition to the ones that decorated her back and her shoulders.
Suzy walked down a worn carpet the color of red wine that crossed the cold stone floor, wondering if she’d made a mistake when she’d made her choice of hostel. The Courtyard hadn’t been the cheapest alternative, but she didn’t want to spend her only night in New Orleans in some dump on the fringe of the city. This place was downtown, so all the entertainment was just around the corner, and she had found several interesting places in a online club guide, especially one with the promising name Shadow Gallery. Still, she’d hoped for some other guests to liven up the visit, but so far the only other person she’d seen in the building was the woman at the desk, beaming at Suzy as she walked up to her.
A New Orleans Haunting: #1 in the Suzy's Adventure Series (NOW COMPLETED!) (Paranormal Fantasy & Erotica) Page 1