Dark Screams, Volume 5

by Dark Screams- Volume 5 (retail) (epub)

  “Yeah?” Luke paused on the opposite sidewalk. “That old nanny of yours tell you that?”

  Will lifted a shoulder. “She also said that shit’s dangerous.”

  “Come on. It’ll be fun. And what’s the harm if the French Quarter stuff is all bullshit anyway? It’s not like someone’s going to wave a chicken foot over your head and yank out your heart.”

  Will frowned. That much, he supposed, was true. Besides, he knew his friend. Luke never shut up once he set his mind to something. Better to get it over with, then go get wasted at the Monteleone. If he was going to spend the evening going round and round, he might as well start now.

  —

  “You’ve had your heart broken, but there is a strength in you.” The dark-haired woman with the blood-red lipstick placed her hand over his. “You will find a way to go on. Your aura is strong.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Will said, wondering if he’d drown under the weight of so much bullshit. He’d known the reading would be a crock, of course. He just hadn’t expected it to be such a boring crock, with all the expected tropes and platitudes.

  He glanced over his shoulder to find Luke, but his friend was apparently absorbed in a book. Either Luke was really interested or he was putting on one hell of an act to keep from getting pulled into his own sham of a reading.

  His friend shifted as he reached for another title, and as he did, he lifted the book in his hand just slightly. The cover was gray, with a black-and-white image of a woman, and though Will saw it for only a second, he knew that he’d seen that face before. The memory was right there, playing hide-and-seek in the mists of his mind. It seemed important, and he tried harder, strangely certain that he had to figure this out, but when he tried to grasp it—

  “Aimee didn’t want to go.”

  He jerked his head back toward the palmist, forgetting Luke and the book and the woman on the cover. But it wasn’t the sham artist who had spoken. Instead, the simple words had come from a wizened old crone who sat in a straight-back chair in a darkened corner. She’d been there the whole time, but Will hadn’t paid her any heed. Now he focused on her.

  “Aimee?” he asked, his pulse kicking up at the mention of his nanny’s name.

  The woman blinked at him, her glassy eyes seeming to collect the light. “She wanted to stay. Wanted to protect you. Your parents—”

  “You know her?” He’d pushed back from the table and was on his feet. His skin felt clammy, and his head was spinning. He tried to breathe, to steady himself. “You know Aimee?”

  She met his eyes. “Even if she had stayed, it wouldn’t have mattered. There was nothing she could have done. This is your forever place.”

  Cold snapped suddenly through his body, hitting him like a tangible wave and making him stumble backward. He grappled for the desk, trying to grab anything to keep his balance. “What the hell? Who are you? What are you talking about?”

  “It’s easier if you close your eyes. Remember that. When you’re in the dark, it’s easier with your eyes closed.”

  “Christ, Luke, we’re out of here.” Will tried to control his breathing. Tried to project an air of calm irritation. Tried to pretend as though he wasn’t completely, totally, one hundred percent spooked.

  But he was. Fuck, yeah, he was.

  “What the hell?” Luke asked, as Will dragged him out onto the street. “I wasn’t done.”

  “You were,” Will assured him. “I told you we shouldn’t have gone in there.”

  “You said it was just bullshit.”

  “It was.” Will spoke through clenched teeth, trying to force his still-pounding heart to slow. Christ, but he was rattled. That old lady had known him—had known Aimee. And even though all she did was spout nonsense, that didn’t change the fact that she’d pulled his life out of the air and twisted it back around on him. And that was some seriously disturbing shit.

  “I don’t think that place was just a tourist shop,” Luke said, still oblivious to Will’s mood as they headed down Bienville toward the Monteleone. “That book I was reading was a history of that store. It was started by one of Marie Laveau’s granddaughters.”

  “That voodoo queen.”

  “Yeah. I guess the voodoo thing ran in the family. I’m thinking crazy ran in the family, too.”

  “How come?” Will asked, grateful to have the rhythm of conversation to anchor him.

  “This granddaughter—the one who founded that shop—she said she was immortal. And her name was Marie.”

  “Let me guess. She said she was the original Marie Laveau.”

  “Got it in one. So here’s the thing, though. She marries some guy, and it turns out he’s some sort of religious fanatic who’s made it his mission to eradicate Satan and his minions, so that includes anyone who’s into black magic.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a recipe for marital bliss,” Will said. He was calm now and into the story. That’s all it was, of course. A story. Hell, the whole night had been nothing more than one long tale he’d spin for his grandkids someday.

  He glanced sideways toward Luke and caught the reflection of a half-dozen listless men in the dusty windowpane. The same ones he’d seen before, he was certain of it. But when he whipped around to catch sight of them in the street, he found nothing but colorfully dressed partiers, laughing and drinking. There wasn’t even a hint of the men.

  Of the Damned.

  He didn’t know where the thought had come from, but it felt right. Damned to walk forever. Damned. Dead. Damned.

  Christ, he was losing his mind.

  “Are you even listening?” Luke demanded. “He fucking killed her. On their honeymoon.”

  “Sorry,” Will said, even though he really didn’t care. Not anymore. “That’s fucked up.”

  “No shit. Makes a decent ghost story, though.”

  “Dead immortal voodoo queen?” Will said, forcing a chuckle. “Yeah, I guess it does.” He waited a beat. “Luke?”

  “Yeah?”

  Will shook his head. “Never mind.” How could he tell his best friend that he was seeing ghostly figures in shop windows? Luke would tell their friends Will had gotten freaked by the story of a voodoo queen, and Will would never hear the end of it.

  “Enough with this shit,” Luke said, pausing in front of the entrance to the ornate Hotel Monteleone. “We’re here. Let’s go get plastered and find ourselves some girls.”

  —

  An hour later, Luke was having a hell of a time, and Will was bored out of his mind. He had to admit that the bar was pretty damn cool. Circular in shape, it and the chairs immediately surrounding it rotated slowly, which had the effect of putting everyone who was sitting there drinking on display for the rest of the folks.

  Luke had homed in on a sassy blonde with a pert nose and wide mouth that looked like it was made for kissing. Will had chatted up her friend for a few minutes, but the other girl kept looking away, as if she was scoping out the room, waiting for someone better to come along. Will had put up with that for about five minutes and then blew the bitch off. Jess had already told him he wasn’t up to snuff; he didn’t need to hear that same shit from a woman he’d known for only minutes.

  He made some excuse about wanting extra olives for his martini, then started to walk the perimeter of the bar. As soon as he was a few steps away, he saw her lean closer to her pert friend, whisper something, and then disappear into the crowd. And good riddance to her, Will thought. He could do better than her. Hell, he could do better than Jess.

  He thought of the woman he’d seen on the street. The beautiful flapper. Somehow, he was certain that if he could find her, everything would be okay. The memories of Jess erased. The bitterness in his chest soothed.

  Her.

  But who was she, and where the hell had she gone?

  Because he was already at the bartender’s prep area, he put five olives into a napkin, then ate them one by one as he looked idly out over the bustling room. As far as he could tell, everyone in New
Orleans had crammed into this one area, and folks were jammed up shoulder to shoulder. It was almost as if the city had provided him a smorgasbord of women to pick from. Redheads. Brunettes. Blondes.

  He swept his gaze over the crowd, enjoying the view. Then almost choked on an olive when he saw her again. The woman in the flapper gown, and those pale eyes were looking straight at him.

  She’d been searching for him, too. Will was certain of it. She’d searched, and she’d found, and now it was his turn to go to her.

  He took a step toward her, stumbling as he stepped from the rotating platform onto the unmoving floor. With a curse, he steadied himself, then looked back to where he’d seen her.

  She was gone.

  No.

  No.

  She’d come for him, he was certain. And no way was he losing her again.

  Suddenly frantic, he rushed forward, away from the bar and into the throng. He eased past a bruiser of a guy who could have made a career in pro wrestling and found himself in the midst of a fog.

  What the fuck?

  He froze, his mouth suddenly dry. He looked out through the haze and saw five pale men standing together, their backs to him. As one, they turned, their doll-like black eyes focused on him.

  Will took a step backward, his heart pounding so hard he feared he would crack a rib, and slammed into something hard and solid.

  “Watch it, buddy.”

  He turned to see the bruiser looking down at him. “Sorry,” Will said. “Sorry, but I—” He turned back to the crowd, as if he could find the words to explain what had spooked him, but the mist was gone, and the men along with it. “Sorry,” he repeated, the words half-hearted and lame.

  Air, he thought. The heat and the crowd and the alcohol were playing with his head, and he needed air. He tried to get Luke’s attention, but his friend was enraptured by the woman with the pert nose.

  He pulled out his phone, sent Luke a text saying that he’d meet him at the hotel, and aimed himself toward the exit.

  As soon as he was through the main door and back on Royal, he gulped in air. He moved a few yards down the sidewalk, then leaned against the building and simply breathed. He felt off. Like someone could give him a shove and he’d go toppling sideways.

  He didn’t like the feeling.

  “You need rest.”

  The voice was soft and seemed to surround him. Will blinked into the darkness, seeing no one. But when he looked again, there she was.

  Her.

  The woman in the flapper dress, and she was standing right in front of him, so close he could breathe in the floral scent of her.

  “You,” he said, reaching to take her hand, as if that was the most natural thing in the world.

  Her smile grew wide, and those pale blue eyes seemed to fill with light. “Me.”

  He frowned, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I—I mean, do we know each other, because I think we know each other?”

  “Then I suppose we must.” She squeezed his hand. “Walk with me?”

  “I—okay.”

  They fell in step beside each other, moving down Royal as they got deeper and deeper into the Quarter.

  “I don’t understand any of this,” Will finally said.

  “What is there to understand?”

  He shook his head, a bit baffled, a bit delighted. “For starters, I don’t even know your name.”

  “Is that so important?”

  “Some people think it is.”

  “You are William,” she said. “And I like to be called Em.”

  “So we have met before?”

  She didn’t answer, merely paused at a street corner and smiled at him.

  “Because you know my name.”

  “How could I not know the name of the man I want?”

  He swallowed. Could this really be happening?

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

  She started to walk again, but he pulled her to a stop. She looked at him, the question clear in her eyes.

  “I just—I just wanted another look at you. To convince myself this is real.”

  “Why shouldn’t it be?”

  “I don’t know. I guess because it’s…” He trailed off, knowing he shouldn’t say what he was thinking.

  “It’s what?”

  “So fast,” he said, the words coming despite himself. He felt his cheeks warm and felt like a schoolboy with a crush. He hadn’t wanted to say that. Hadn’t wanted to give himself away. And yet he had to know if she felt it, too. Because he did. He felt it—that hard tug. That soul-deep connection. He didn’t understand it, but he believed it.

  “Is it? Or is that just your perception of time?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Her smile was indulgent. “I want to show you something.”

  “All right.”

  They continued up Orleans Street until they reached the wall that surrounded the Saint Louis Cemetery. She turned, then walked in silence, following the wall until they reached the gate. It was locked, of course, the cemetery closed for the night, and through the bars of the gates, he could see the white stone tombs rising like small houses from the Louisiana ground. Here were the stories that his nanny had told him. Here were the dark things, the black magic, and the ghosts of the dead safe in tombs above the ground, making it easier for them to get out, to walk. To haunt.

  Em put her hand on the gate. “I like it here. It’s peaceful.”

  He shook his head. There was no peace there. “We can’t go in. It’s closed,” he added. “We should go.”

  “No,” she said, then gave the gate a tug. It opened, and he wondered if he’d been wrong. He’d heard that the city kept the cemetery closed, because taggers would come in and spray-paint the tombs.

  He nodded. He told himself this was no big deal, and he didn’t want to look like a frightened kid in front of this woman. He knew he shouldn’t be nervous, but Miss Aimee’s stories had stuck with him, and he felt himself hesitate before he followed her inside to where the tombs cast shadows in the moonlight.

  “We call it a city of the dead,” she said.

  “ ‘We’?”

  “The locals.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  Her smile held a hint of self-mocking. “It feels like forever.”

  He frowned, the word conjuring thoughts of Jess.

  Em shook her head. “No,” she said. “Don’t think of her.”

  “How did you—”

  She cut off his words with a finger to his lips. “We’re alike, you and I. We both thought that we had found someone. Someone who would be with us forever. Someone who betrayed us. I was wrong, Will, but I haven’t given up hope.” She cupped his chin in her hand and rose up on her tiptoes. “Kiss me, Will. Kiss me, and let’s face forever together.”

  He hesitated. It was all too fast, too strange. At least that was how he felt when he let his gaze move away from her. But when he looked at her—when he got lost in the hot ice of her eyes—he knew that she was right. That she was his future, his past, his present.

  He closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to hers.

  The kiss drew him in and pulled him under. It sucked the breath out of him, drawing him down, drowning him, making him go weak.

  She pulled away, and this time when he looked at her, it seemed that her eyes were cold.

  “Em?”

  She stepped back, clearing his view, and he saw the men behind her. Those pale and listless figures were no longer dim reflections of themselves. Now they were real. They were there. And they were staring right at him.

  He took a step backward.

  “No,” she said, reaching for his wrist. “It’s okay.”

  “But—” He looked from her face to the men, confused.

  “They are with me.” She stroked his cheek. “They’ll be with you, too. And you
with them.”

  He started to protest, but didn’t get the words out. One of the pale men stepped forward, then opened his mouth to reveal a gaping maw. Liquid black seemed to burst out, enveloping the night and erasing the stars and drawing Will down, down, down so far and so fast that he knew this had to be a dream.

  Because how could it be anything else?

  —

  Cold.

  That was the first thing he noticed. The chill that seemed to seep into him, all the way to his bones.

  He noticed the dark next when he tried to open his eyes and realized they already were.

  Oh, fuck. Oh, shit.

  He heard a pounding. Like a drum, fast but steady. Mostly steady, anyway.

  It took him a moment to realize it was his heartbeat.

  He reached out and his hands touched solid stone, cool and damp.

  He let his fingers run over the surface. Beside him—only inches. Above him—the same.

  His phone.

  He shifted to one side, trying to reach into his back pocket, then managed to pull out his iPhone. He turned on the flashlight, then glanced at the screen. No signal, and that sucked. But he could see.

  And that sucked more.

  Because he knew where he was. He was in a coffin. Or, more specifically, a stone sarcophagus.

  He pressed his palms to the lid and tried to push it open. Nothing.

  He raised his phone, hoping for a signal. Not a thing.

  He screamed, silently begging some unknown passerby to hear him and come to his rescue. Again and again and again, until his throat was burning.

  “Hush, William. There’s no one to hear you.”

  He jerked his head to the side and found her pressed in tight beside him. His next scream was one of pure, rapid terror. “You.”

  Her thin smile chilled the air even more. “The coffin is stone. The tomb is marble. There is no way for sound to get out, and there’s no way for air to get in. Don’t scream, William. You’ll use up the one thing in this coffin that you truly need.”

  “Em,” he said, realizing with a sudden wash of nausea why the face on the cover of Luke’s book had looked so damn familiar. “Not short for Emily. Not ‘Em’ at all. It’s M. M for Marie.”