by Mur Lafferty
The smell hit her first. It was closest to rotten potatoes, the foulest thing Zoë had ever smelled—and this was even after working with zombies and being devoured (briefly) by a snake demon in the New York sewers. She could feel her nose hairs trying to curl up and escape.
The location of the smell was obvious: a table lay under a window, and on it was an eviscerated possum. A bucket under the table held shiny entrails, and blood spotted the pad underneath the animal. Taxidermied animals were everywhere in the room: an elk stood in the corner, a hawk hung from the ceiling so low Zoë had to duck underneath it. It was not a living room per se, in that it didn’t look like much living was done there. The place was filthy, with dirt and blood smeared on the wall. The window had been boarded up with plywood as if the Doyenne expected a hurricane. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, guttering pale yellow light into the room.
Zoë thought she saw something move in the corner of her eye, but when she turned she just saw a low table made from the body of an alligator. On the chipped glass tabletop was a statue covered in a black cloth. She glanced around and gingerly reached out and picked up a corner of the cloth and pulled. The cloth was heavier than it should have been, but she got it off.
It was an ebony statue of a dancing man dressed in snail shells, holding a cane. She had seen that before, but her woozy head didn’t let her place it. Around his neck hung a black bag, much like the one around Zoë’s ankle. Zoë closed her hand around it and pulled it off the statue.
The bag around her leg began to warm, heating up until it was almost unbearable. She fumbled for the bag and pulled it away from her skin. She dropped it on the floor and stared at it. If it had the power to protect her, she really didn’t want to leave it behind. But it was far too hot to hold right now. She picked it up by its string and left both bags at the foot of the statue, adding them to her mental list of things to come back and deal with After It Was All Over.
After she dropped the bags, she looked at the statue a bit more closely. From the face, it was pretty obviously the party host, He Who Kills or whatever his name was. Was the Doyenne a worshipper of a disease god? That did not bode well. Why was she hiding?
Underneath the statue, she caught sight of something smeared on the nose of the gator that served as the table’s base. She peered closer and saw a Hebrew character written there.
Outside, the Doyenne screamed one word in a language Zoë didn’t know, and the living room came to life.
The hawk that Zoë had nearly hit her head on began flapping and struggling against the wire that held it, zooming in a circle close to Zoë’s head. She ducked, and at the same time tried to sidle away from the gator, which had begun to thrash around to free itself from the table’s weight.
The elk and another possum came to life, but weren’t restrained in any way, so they both leaped toward the open door to their mistress’s call.
Luckily the animals took no notice of her; the door was their only goal. Still, the adrenaline rush she was having did nothing but weaken her in her bloodless state. The gator’s tail hit her as it threw off the glass tabletop, and she stumbled to her knees. The hawk broke free then, and zoomed around the room once more before exiting.
Zoë froze in fear as the gator trundled past her, but like the other animals it kept going, leaving the trailer.
Zoë struggled to her feet and chanced a glance at the table where the eviscerated possum lay. If the empty, opened animal was about to get up and wander out the door, Zoë would be done with this whole bullshit and just go ahead and go mad right here. Zombie possum golems were the absolute limit on her weird-shit-o-meter. Luckily it stayed where it had been pinned in place.
I need a weapon, Zoë thought once the animals had left the room. She looked around the dark living room for anything that looked pointy.
Most of the weaponlike objects were small surgical tools that the Doyenne had been using to work on the possum. Zoë ran into the kitchen, which was a nightmare of dirty dishes, and, oddly, a microwave and an electric kettle that were plugged into a generator. A hole had been knocked into the wall next to the generator, presumably to release exhaust.
The counter where the microwave and kettle sat was pristine, standing out from the rest of the trailer as if it had been attended to by a maid who had then just given up and left. Behind the kettle, in a shadow, was a knife block.
“Now you’re talking,” Zoë said, grabbing the chef’s knife in one hand. A machete hung on the wall and she grabbed that with her left hand.
As she ran for the door, something in her mind started screaming at her. Whose side was she on? Was she thinking of supporting the monster who drained people for their essence like a mosquito—but helped people like Arthur stay human? Or was Zoë embracing her heritage and supporting the assassin, whose profession she was pretty sure was evil? Hours of playing Dungeons & Dragons with her friends in college had told her that.
She could just leave, and let nature take its course, as it were. She was free, she had a ghost buddy who could go find a friend to rescue her.
But she had promised to help that woman who helped free her.
She opened the front door, still unsure of her allegiance, but knowing she couldn’t sit inside and be passive.
Zoë stepped out of the front door and into chaos.
At first it just looked like a bunch of human-types and a bunch of golems in a bar fight—everyone fighting everyone else, no one paying attention to friend or foe. She watched while a vampire dressed all in black lunged for a man wearing sweat pants and a hooded sweatshirt, then a golem struck out at a demon, and the hawk dive-bombed everyone.
A vampire? It was Opal, fighting alongside the Doyenne, trying to take Reynard down. Either Opal was secretly evil, or what Anna had said was true and the Doyenne had taken control of her.
The sweat pants man—now identified as Reynard—deftly avoided the lunge by jumping on the back of a golem and riding it like a bronco. The mud golem’s arms were too thick to reach its back, and it flailed around trying to reach its rider.
The hawk went for Reynard’s eyes, and he flung up his arms to shield himself. The hawk raked along his forearms, drawing blood.
Every time one of the sides struck a blow, Zoë winced, still not sure which one she was behind. She was no assassin. But she couldn’t let Arthur just waste away to zombiedom. But she couldn’t endorse the draining of anyone. And now she was back to not being an assassin.
Figures appeared at the tree line, and in the light of the houseboat’s floodlights, Zoë could see Arthur, Eir, and Gwen. Arthur took in the undead incubus/zombie wearing the Public Works coveralls, and the strange man who bled and fought golems, and Zoë watching it from the doorway.
Blood flowed down to Reynard’s elbows and began to drip off, onto the golem. It immediately began growing, swelling, and actually glowing in the dark woods.
Citytalker blood really was pretty potent for zoëtists. The golem paused in its struggles and then turned and focused on the Doyenne, who muttered a curse. She hobbled away from the demon who fought on Reynard’s side, who reached for her even as the elk attacked it with its horns time and again, drawing sluggish black blood from its marbled, naked back.
Zoë chewed on her lip as she watched Reynard drive his new toy, the huge mud golem, onward toward the Doyenne. “Anna, do citytalkers and zoëtists ever fight over golems?”
No. She sounded shocked. That would be rude.
“Oh, please. Our blood has power, another thing no one bothered to tell me. Can we use it to control golems?”
Maybe. But it’s pretty obscene, Anna admitted.
Zoë ran inside the trailer. Her companions were still dozing on their cots, and she wondered how fast an ambulance could make it out here for them. But she would think about that later.
She grabbed the bottle of her remaining blood and ran back outside.
It was perhaps not the most efficient idea, but the first thing that came for her was the hawk, and that
was her first target. As it swooped in, Zoë poured some of her blood on her hand, and, swallowing her revulsion, threw it at the hawk.
The blood splattered on the feathers and into the open mouth. It veered away from her, flapping awkwardly, and then landed hard on the ground. It shook its head, and then took wing again, landing on Zoë’s leather-clad shoulder.
“That was awesome,” Zoë said.
Arthur, Gwen, and Eir watched the battle with open mouths. She waved at them, but had to focus on the gator, which had noticed her and judged her as a threat. It ran at her. “They really are fast on land,” she said as she quickly filled her hand with blood again. She flung it at the gator, whose open mouth was nearly on her when it stopped, took a moment, and then stood at her side.
“Don’t kill anyone,” she told them. “But neutralize this fight.”
They took off on her command. She sneaked into the trees so the Doyenne wouldn’t notice her, and wiped her bloody hands on the trees that hadn’t been raised as golems yet. Just to be safe.
The tide of the fight was turning. Despite having his own golem and a still-quite-powerful demon on his side, Reynard struggled in the arms of a tree golem. It walked him slowly toward the river and threw him in. It then turned and ripped the Hebrew character off the mud golem, and the mud man dissolved.
Reynard surfaced, coughing and sputtering, and started to swim to shore. But the tree waded in after him and came down with a mighty branch hand. It landed on his head and pushed him under.
The elk had successfully stabbed Reynard’s companion demon enough with its horns, and the demon lay panting in the dirt. Opal stood in front of the Doyenne, shielding her from any attackers.
The tree golem held Reynard under, easily handling the thrashing and struggling. His reaching hand came up and started brushing at the tape on the tree trunk that bore the Hebrew letter that gave it life, but another hand grabbed its wrist, stopping it.
Arthur had come to help the Doyenne.
Instinct hit Zoë, and she ran toward the golem and splashed half the glass jar onto its bark and leaves. In a moment it froze, then grabbed Reynard in one great hand, and Arthur in the other.
“Keep them safe,” Zoë whispered. She turned to face her kidnapper.
Now that Zoë wasn’t being drained of life force while being tied to a cot, she didn’t think the Doyenne looked so intimidating. The zoëtist was so intent on killing her assassin that she had yet to notice Zoë, and instead was shouting instructions at the tree golem, which ignored her.
The gator golem hit her at the knees, and she fell, grunting. She commanded it to take down the tree, but it returned to Zoë’s side.
Opal was still a problem. Vampires were fast and strong. She rushed forward, hands reaching out to get Zoë. Her fingertips brushed Zoë, but instead of grabbing, she just barreled into her and they both fell over. Opal was still, and Zoë struggled to get out from under her.
A spear sprouted from Opal’s back, and Eir stood twenty feet away, intent on Zoë.
“Shit,” Zoë said, voice shaking.
Gwen appeared beside her. “Tell me what is going on. Quickly.”
“Doyenne captured me,” Zoë said, panting. “She’s draining human coterie and that’s how she makes her life magic, how she is so powerful to keep the zombie curse away. Reynard is here from the Grey Cabal to assassinate her. I don’t know who to support so I’m trying to stop them all.”
“Right. I will tell Eir,” Gwen said, and disappeared again. Zoë wanted to examine Opal, but she had bigger things to worry about.
Bodies were rising out of the river, waterlogged zombies with dead eyes and swollen, grotesque bodies.
“Oh dear God. Will my blood help against zombies?” Zoë asked Anna.
I’m not thinking so.
“Well great,” Zoë said. She wanted to gag at the sight of the bloated bodies, but there was no time for vomiting.
The Doyenne had continued to create golems while the zombies struggled out of their watery graves, but Zoë could at least handle those. The Doyenne seemed to realize she was giving Zoë an army, because every time a mud or stick golem approached Zoë, she would shower it with blood and send it after the zombies. A mud golem couldn’t do much to hurt zombies, but it could keep them away from Zoë.
“This has to end now,” Zoë muttered, and shouted for the hawk to dive-bomb the Doyenne.
The woman threw up her hands to shield her eyes, all the while shouting commands to more and more zombies and golems, and didn’t notice Zoë running toward her, knife raised.
Zoë’s nerve failed her at the last second. As Arthur screamed at her to stop, Zoë flipped the knife to hold the hilt, blade up, and slammed the Doyenne in the back of the head, knocking her out.
She went down hard, and with her the fighting golems collapsed. The zombies stopped in the river, looking around, confused. Then they turned and trudged back under the water.
The tree golem dropped Reynard and Arthur, who both fell into the river, and the other golems went inert as well.
“So it’s over?” Zoë asked.
“Oh yes. At long last,” said a voice behind her. She whirled around, knife ready for defense.
It was the god whose name they weren’t supposed to say.
Reynard ran, again. As everyone tried to sort out what had happened, he had taken the opportunity to disappear into the forest. Zoë wasn’t surprised.
Arthur sat and stared into the river, while Eir removed her spear from Opal’s back.
“Is she dead?” Zoë asked, looking nervously at the vampire.
“Yes, she’s a vampire. But I only knocked her out,” Eir said, wiping the blood off the spear with a handkerchief. “The spear is steel, it certainly doesn’t feel good, but vampires are tougher than that.” She focused on Zoë. “You have lost a lot of blood, how are you still standing?”
“I’ve got some help,” she said, silently thanking Anna. “Why did you guys come back?”
“We were heading out of the woods when we saw Bertie counting gold coins. Dragons can be distracted by gold on the ground, and whoever attacked you dropped a lot of gold. Gwen got the coins away from him with no bloodshed, since she doesn’t have blood, and he told us what happened to you and Opal.
“We came back to find you, but found you attacking the Doyenne while she tried to drown her assassin. We didn’t know what was going on, but Gwen told me to protect you. Then the assassin ran away.”
Zoë looked over at the Doyenne, being ministered to by He Who Kills and Is Thanked for It. “Did—did I kill her?”
“She cannot be killed, not by a human,” said He Who Kills and Is Thanked for It. He had shed his tuxedo and wore a coat that rattled with snail shells, and leaned heavily on his stick. Zoë could smell the rot coming from his injured left foot and tried not to wince. His limp had never seemed that bad before, but now that he looked more like the statue inside, which presumably was how he normally looked, his foot was clearly necrotic and foul.
“Why not?” Zoë asked.
“Because she is not fully human. Years ago, her apprentice attacked her and left her for dead, but the Doyenne had twisted the magic of life so much she found a way to prolong her life using the life force of others. Then she began selling the herbs to others. She was a worshipper of mine until she perverted the magic, and she hid from my sight. Tonight I figured one of you would lead me to her.”
“The statue,” Zoë said, understanding. “Was taking off the cloth all it took?”
He smiled. “That, and you had to remove her spell, which you did by touching her gris-gris bag. You’re lucky you had one of your own, otherwise it may have burned your life from you.”
He knelt with difficulty over the body.
Gwen was nodding. “I understand now. I could sense a little life in her, but she is between life and death. Kind of what I sense in Arthur,” she added.
The god rolled the Doyenne over, and she opened her eyes at his touch. They had
trouble focusing, but she saw him. “Lord,” she murmured.
“I am here to give you a gift, Doyenne,” he said, and took his fingers and closed her eyes for her.
“Thank you,” she said. And didn’t move again.
“It’s over,” Arthur said. He was not referring to the battle.
APPENDIX III
Worship
While the city is primarily Catholic, many residents and visitors practice voodoo, and some even try to mix the two.
This, understandably, annoys the local deities.
If you find yourself at a loss, or needing to pray or find a place of worship, nearly any church will take you in, so long as you do not shout the name of your god too loudly.
However, considering so many deities make their home in New Orleans, even the retired ones, sometimes praying on the street corner, on Bourbon Street, in Jackson Square, or in the Superdome will get you faster results.
And remember, sometimes all you need is a good rest and a good meal. Things will look better when you wake up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The god gathered some of the herbs inside the Doyenne’s house and brewed everyone some tea. Zoë took the lanterns outside and sat while Bertie (after a cursory apology to Zoë for letting her get taken, which she accepted) gathered up the bodies and the golems. Eir tended to the humans in the trailer.
The beautiful incubus Christian had been early to fall in the battle. In death he looked like an average white man with dirty-blond hair, with the addition of a gaping wound in his chest. He lay next to the Doyenne, who seemed much older and smaller in death. Reynard’s demon ally hadn’t made it, bleeding out after the elk’s repeated attacks.
“I think I know why Ben didn’t want us to meet her,” Zoë said, looking at the corpses. “I wonder if he knew everything about the herbs. I can’t see him endorsing this kind of operation.”
“We can find out when we get home,” Gwen said. “Phil will be quite interested in the events, I’m sure.”