Ghost Train to New Orleans

by Mur Lafferty

  Later, Zoë would muse that she was being punished for allowing herself to have fun and get drunk. She had let her guard down once, and now she was paying.

  As she opened the door to Freddie’s Ready B and B, Freddie Who’s Always Ready met her with a phone in his hand.

  “It surprises me that modern ladies these days don’t have cell phones,” Freddie said. “I got my first cell phone when they came out, I said, Freddie, you’re gonna need this kind of technology. I knew it was important. It was about the size of a brick. My grandfather thought it was the devil, but I knew better. Did I tell you about him? He was a voodoo priest, and—”

  “The phone, Freddie?” Zoë interrupted.

  “Right. This is Public Works, for you. Get a cell phone, is my advice right there,” he said.

  “I have one, I just don’t give my number out to everyone who asks for it,” she said, but Freddie had retreated inside, clearly away from whatever drama followed Zoë.

  She stepped inside the door and was distracted immediately by the sound of a Norse goddess’s sobs.

  She looked down and saw Eir crouched in the hallway, her back against the wall, her thick white arms covered in fur and blood from cradling the body of a dead cat.

  “I couldn’t save him,” she said. “I tried everything, even the primitive things they taught me in medical school. Nothing worked.”

  “Hello? Hello? Zoë, are you there?” the phone demanded.

  “Yeah, what is it?” Zoë said, confused.

  “This is Christian from Public Works. Since you were kind enough to inform me of your presence here today, I wanted to let you know that there’s a warrant out for a visiting vampire that matches the description of one of your writers. There’s been a murder. They’re sending someone over.”

  “Wait, what? How do you know about my team, you don’t even know who is with me?” Zoë asked, looking around for Kevin.

  “Ms. Norris.” The voice had lost all sex appeal, perhaps he had eaten, or perhaps it was just that she couldn’t see him. It was placating and slow, as if he were speaking to a child. Or a tired, drunk human. “Public Works sees a lot more than any coterie expects. I thought you would know that.”

  Zoë closed her eyes. Of course, Public Works had eyes and ears for misbehaving coterie, just like New York. The cats.

  She swore to herself. “Hang on a second, we’ve got a little chaos here.” She dropped her hand to her side and looked at the sobbing goddess and the dead cat.

  Gwen knelt by Eir, stroking her head. Her black eyes focused on Zoë. “Bygul is dead. Kevin is missing. We have a problem.”

  Eir was inconsolable. The cat had wounds all over his body; it was clear he had fought hard before his death. The goddess cried too hard to answer any of Gwen’s questions, so Gwen just returned to consoling her.

  Zoë took a deep breath and put the phone back to her ear, stepping outside into the cool night that was minimally quieter than the hallway.

  “So tell me what happened,” she said into the phone, rubbing her face with her free hand, hoping some feeling would return with sobriety.

  “We found the body of a human in a cemetery. We believe she was part of a tour and lagged behind. One of our agents says someone who looks like him was seen running from the cemetery, and the body was clearly exsanguinated.”

  “And you’re sure it’s him?”

  “He dropped his business card,” Christian said.

  “Fucking idiot,” she muttered. “But no one saw him attack anyone?”

  “Not that we could find. But when the agent went into the cemetery to find the body, no one else was there.”

  “I thought the cemetery was a popular hangout? Coterie actually bunk there sometimes? Isn’t that a little like finding a hotel completely empty?”

  “You ask a lot of questions. It can be, but it’s closed for renovation right now.”

  “During Carnival?” Zoë’s tone was incredulous.

  “The renovations went longer than expected,” Christian said, an annoyed tone to his silky voice. “The facts are a Public Works agent saw your vampire, Kevin, fleeing the graveyard.”

  It was too much to take in. Eir’s sobs had calmed down inside, but Zoë still had a dead cat demon and a missing writer to deal with.

  “Fuck,” she muttered.

  “Normally I would say yes,” Christian said. “But we do have a vampire to catch.”

  “Listen, you have to give me till sunrise,” Zoë pleaded. “I want to try to find him on my own. You look for other leads.”

  Christian paused, and then laughed. “And what else should I do, boss? You want me to hold all your calls?”

  Zoë took a deep breath. “I know this guy, OK? You said yourself it’s circumstantial evidence. I know what happens when you guys find someone: there’s no trial. Let me find him first and you look at other leads. I’m not local; I can’t look for other leads. I know Kevin, I have his sire here, and would be able to find him better than you can. Just give me seven”—she checked the time on her cell phone and grimaced—“six hours. By then he will have gone underground and if he’s not here, you can look at your usual vampire hiding places.”

  “There is no underground in New Orleans,” he said, sounding smug. “We’re already below sea level.”

  “It’s an expression, you pompous ass,” Zoë said, rubbing the back of her neck and trying to relax her muscles. “Look, if you want my help, you have to give me six hours.”

  “Done,” he said abruptly. “Give me your cell number.”

  Zoë started to give him her number, and then backed up and gave him the number to her coterie phone. “I’ll have it on all night.”

  “Set it to vibrate,” he said, low and soft, and hung up.

  “Fucking incubus,” she said, and went back inside.

  She put her phone back into her pocket. Eir was allowing Gwen to gently clean the blood off her arms. Zoë knelt on the floor and touched Gwen on the shoulder. “What happened?”

  “We left the restaurant, and Eir wanted to see Bygul again. Wanted to make amends, she said. I think it was her inebriation. We got to Jackson Square and a vengeance demon was there. It was too late for us to help,” Gwen said softly. “It targeted Bygul, I don’t know why.”

  Zoë finally felt sober, as if cold water had washed over her. “A vengeance demon? Was it an inugami?”

  “How do you know about inugami?” Gwen asked, raising her face to stare at Zoë.

  “Is that important? We can talk details later. Was it?”

  “Yes. An inugami killed a divine cat of Freya’s.” Gwen shook her head. “I can’t reach Eir right now, she’s not sober yet. I’ll try to find out later. What was the innkeeper saying about Kevin?”

  Zoë grimaced and sat back on her heels, leaning against the wall. She closed her eyes briefly. “There’s a dead woman, someone apparently witnessed Kevin doing it, the idiot dropped his business card. Or someone trying to frame him dropped it. Public Works are giving me till sunup to find him, else they go hunting.”

  “It’s odd for you to stand up for Kevin,” Gwen said.

  Zoë opened her eyes. “I don’t like the guy, but if he’s innocent then he shouldn’t be hunted like a dog.”

  Eir raised her swollen eyes. She gripped the cat’s body as if she were trying to throttle it, but Zoë thought it might not do any good to point out that the cat was already dead. “I’m going back to Jackson Square. I’m going to find that inugami.”

  She rose to her feet with more grace than someone her size should have had, and walked to the door and abruptly exited.

  “That was, uh, weird,” Zoë said.

  Gwen rose with similar speed. “I should go after her. This may not end well.”

  “I’ll get Opal to help me, then,” Zoë said, feeling tired and lost.

  “Get Bertie to help. Dragons have skills humans don’t,” Gwen said. “And Zoë? This between us isn’t over. We must talk later.” She hurried after Eir.
r />   “Oh, thanks for the understatement of the century,” Zoë muttered.

  The door shut behind Gwen. Freddie came out of the kitchen, holding his hand out for his phone, and Zoë handed it over, feeling guilty. She looked at the blood smeared on the floor and wall, and groaned. She’d leave a big tip for the maid the next morning.

  Feet hit the stairs above her head, and she looked up.

  When she saw Opal’s face, she officially became scared of the last vampire she hadn’t been scared of.

  CHAPTER 5

  The French Quarter

  VAMPIRE AND GHOST TOURS

  The vampire and ghost tours of Jackson Square are highly popular with tourists, but mainly human tourists. Tour guides lead their group on a walking tour and tell them of some of the more “haunted” places in town. The ironic thing is they almost never touch on the real haunted areas, or vampire homes, because the coterie involved have requested privacy and Public Works has accommodated them.

  However, there are tours starting up FOR vampires and ghosts to see the city, and from them you will learn about the more famous resident coterie, the historical areas, and the true stories of the city. You will learn Marie Laveau’s strange history and where she got her power, learn how much of Anne Rice’s work is fiction and how much is historical documenting, and visit the graveyard that even the ghosts won’t hang out in.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Most days Kevin’s sire, Opal, was nearly his polar opposite: sweet and friendly and motherly. She had not been able to have children in life, so she loved her baby vampires with all her heart—a love that annoyed the hell out of Kevin, who did not hide his disdain at being mothered. Opal had shown interest in turning Zoë, but she had politely turned down the offer.

  Opal, like Phil, didn’t seem to have the stereotypical vampire personality of angst and torment that Kevin so fully embodied. Zoë couldn’t imagine her hurting a fly. But as she descended the stairs, her fangs elongated and her eyes glowing red, Zoë took a step back to give her room.

  “So you’ve heard what’s going on?” Zoë asked.

  “Something is wrong with my son, that’s all I know,” Opal said, an edge to her usually soft voice. “He has done something bad, and he is angry and frightened and possibly in danger.”

  Zoë nodded and told her the details. The vampire stood with her spine rigid and a frozen smile on her face. Zoë explained the evidence against Kevin and tried to ignore the tears leaking from Opal’s eyes. She stared at Zoë with an intensity that made Zoë twitch.

  Freddie Who’s Always Ready was true to his name and had supplied Zoë with sandwiches—three of them—and Opal with a warm mug of blood. The kitchen of the B and B was not as homey as the house; it was more industrial, with white walls and steel appliances. Freddie confided in Zoë that he didn’t want Opal going into a bloody rage in the dining room littered with antiques, so he put them in the kitchen to talk.

  “So we need to find Kevin, and fast,” Zoë concluded. “I figure if we find him before Public Works does we can find out what happened.”

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” Opal said with a tense, brittle tone. “He has left me. He wants to go sire another, he wants to be his own vampire. My baby has left me.”

  “I, uh, don’t think he sired anyone. Public Works thinks he just killed her.”

  “That’s because I’ve never told him exactly how to do it,” Opal said. “That information is dangerous to give to a new vampire. Before you know it, they’re off turning their spouses or their best friends or someone they want to fuck.”

  Zoë blanched at the word coming out of sweet Opal’s mouth.

  “You don’t learn how to turn until you’re at least ten years old, and then only if you’re incredibly mature. I didn’t think Kevin would be ready until he was at least fifty. Regardless, he’s done with me.” Opal collapsed into the kitchen chair as if someone had cut her strings, holding her head in her hands and weeping.

  Blood sloshed out of her mug and onto her lap, and she made no move to wipe it up. Zoë grabbed a dish towel and put it over the spreading stain. She fought the urge to grab the vampire by the shoulders and remind her that this had absolutely nothing to do with Opal, that Kevin was probably an asshole before she turned him. But she knew Opal wouldn’t listen. She tried a different tack.

  “I think,” she said, hating herself for putting on the kid gloves, “that if you are with me when I find him, we can find out what happened and maybe convince him to come back with us. He hates me, Opal, he won’t listen to me. He will listen to you. He has to. He respects you.”

  “Dregs from a mumblecrust,” Opal muttered.

  Zoë was entirely flummoxed. “What?”

  “That is what my generation calls bullshit. You know he doesn’t love me. He respects me because that’s what one does with a sire, but nothing else ties him to me. He couldn’t leave me in New York, but he sees New Orleans as his way to get free of me, this job, and everything else.”

  “Whoa,” Zoë said, holding up her hand. “You’re not telling me he is quitting, are you?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. He wants nothing to do with either of us.”

  Zoë closed her eyes, thinking of whether they could take up his slack with the remaining writers.

  Oh sure, said that little sober part of her brain. Dude murdered a woman, has threatened you, but you don’t get up in arms till he threatens to quit? This job is seriously messing with your priorities.

  Opal stood abruptly. “Let’s go. We’re losing the night.”

  Zoë stepped back. “OK, do we want to bring Bertie along? Another person might—”

  “No,” Opal interrupted her just as Bertie walked into the kitchen.

  “What’s all the hubbub?” he asked, yawning. His brown hair was rumpled, and Zoë could have sworn he actually grew an inch or two as he stretched.

  “Kevin’s apparently gone on a killing rampage and Public Works knows it, and Eir and Gwen are hunting a vengeance dog demon for killing a cat,” Zoë said, collapsing onto a kitchen chair. “Nothing new.”

  “Oh, OK,” Bertie said. “Can you guys keep it down, then?”

  Zoë groaned. “How can any of you get attached to other coterie if you just blow it off when one of you dies? If they find him, they will kill him. Uh, again.”

  Opal’s jaw was clenched. “They will not. Not unless they want this town to bleed.”

  The voice in Zoë’s head was very small. Bleed?

  Now is not the time, she thought. Not with an angry, determined vampire in front of her.

  “Bertie,” Zoë said, turning to the wyrm. “Can you help us find Kevin, or are you going back to bed?”

  Bertie sighed and looked longingly at the kitchen door, then back at Zoë. “I don’t know, Zoë. It’s not in the job description.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Dude, if you knew the shit I’ve had to do that hasn’t been in the managing editor’s job description, you’d go back to New York without another word. A coworker is in trouble. We could use someone with your experience. And”—she added, wondering if she could play on his vanity—“someone with your wisdom. You’re one of the oldest here.” This was a lie, of course. Bertie was two hundred years old, only a baby to his race, but Eir and Gwen had to be at least two thousand years old each, and she didn’t know how old Opal was. But the point she was trying to make was that he was older and wiser than she.

  He pursed his lips, but she could tell she had gotten to him. “You do know that if it was him, and he’s not on his way out of town, we have to turn him in or we are accomplices?”

  “I’ve seen a few police shows in my time,” Zoë said, nodding.

  “And if he has fed directly from a frightened person, he’s likely to be in bloodlust. Vampires in bloodlust are not great negotiators,” Bertie said.

  Bloodlust? When Phil had fed from the deranged zoëtist attacking the city (after feeding on her milquetoast husband) he had managed to keep
his cool, Zoë remembered. But perhaps he was a rare vampire.

  “I didn’t know that,” she admitted. “But this is why we need you.”

  “Of course we need a wyrm,” Opal said archly, rounding on Bertie. “Because who among us would be able to give advice about a vampire?”

  “Can we not turn this into a pissing contest?” Zoë asked. “I need all the help I can get. And why the hell am I the only one apparently concerned about Kevin, who incidentally I loathe?”

  Opal actually looked hurt at that, the stiffness leaving her spine and her dark eyes pleading with Zoë. “I am very concerned,” she said softly. “He’s my child. But you do understand we have to find him on my terms.”

  “Actually, I don’t understand that at all. I thought we just needed to find him. But if you think we can find him on your terms, lead the way.”

  “I don’t have a choice in this, do I?” Bertie asked, rolling up his sleeves. Zoë couldn’t keep herself from trying to see if he had scales, but still the only thing that betrayed him as coterie was pupils that seemed more snakelike than human. He said he could shape-shift, but she had never seen it.

  She shrugged. “You could have a choice. But if Public Works finds him, then that means you have more work to do tomorrow. If you want Kevin here to pull his weight on the book, you will need to help us. Are you in?”

  Bertie’s strange snake eyes stared into her own, and then he finally sighed and nodded. “He’ll be at Bourbon Street Terror. Let’s go.”

  “What?” Zoë asked. “How do you know that?”

  “He’ll be hungry. That’s the weird thing about vampires—feeding makes them want to eat more. Making deals with blood banks is the best thing that’s ever happened to them. Bloodlust doesn’t peak as much.”

  Opal stood at the back door, arms crossed. “I wouldn’t talk, Bertie. Your eating habits are foul.”

  Bertie stood up straighter. “I beg your pardon? I eat in private, and always clean up afterward.”