by Angie Sandro
I reach out with trembling fingers and touch the ground, only inches from my face. “Oh, Ash,” I breathe, “thank you. Thank you.”
A hand brushes my fingers then tightens. I’m lifted to my feet. The spirit leads me through the dark corridor until the blinding light of a man burning in the distance allows me to see again. I step forward, but invisible arms wrap around my shoulders like steel cords.
“Anders is up there.” I push at the arms until he releases his hold. I search the empty hall for the presence I feel just out of sight. “I’m sorry, Ash. I promise, I’ll find you later. Thank you for saving my life…again.”
I inch closer to the burning man, who minutes before had been trying to kill me. He thrashes around, still on his feet. I cough, choking on the smoke. The acrid smell makes my stomach clench, and I swallow the vomit inching over my tongue. The man collapses to the ground, still smoking. I’m scared to step around him. He’s stopped flailing about, but what if he regenerates? His ability to heal has surprised me too many times to count tonight.
On the plus side, now I know the only surefire way to kill the undead, and it’s not a bullet to the head. I have to burn them.
Anders moans, and I meet his glazed eyes through the flickering flames. Blood coats his face, but I don’t see an injury. He blinks. His eyes clear and drop to the body then flash back up.
Crap, I know that look. It’s blame-game time, starring Dena Acker, the wicked evildoer, as contestant number one.
* * *
Anders drives me to the sheriff’s office. I’ve maintained a steady silence since we left the hospital, not bothering to argue the injustice of being arrested. From experience, I know trying to defend myself won’t do any good. I was found at a crime scene—again—and my guilt was a foregone conclusion once the security guard gave Anders my description.
Anders dumps me off with a bored-looking deputy who escorts me to an interview room. A hidden camera has been fixed behind a light in the corner. Mirrored glass shields the observers on the other side of a large window. The deputy handcuffs me to a chair. Both the chair and the dirty table across from it are bolted to the floor. The requisite box of Kleenex sits in the middle of the table, just out of reach.
I stare at my hands as the door shuts behind the deputy. Then I wait and wait…long enough that I really need to pee, though I will never beg Anders for a bathroom break. I’d rather pee my pants.
When Anders finally comes into the room, he moves until he hovers over me like a dark, malignant shadow. No, worse than a shadow. Ashmael has never arrested me and made me hold my urine for hours. I hate Anders, and I wish with all my heart that he hadn’t pushed me out of the path of that bullet. I’d be better off dead. My life sucks.
“Why am I here?” Silence greets my question. I meet Anders’s cynical gaze and cross my arms. “I want a lawyer.”
He leans over the table. “Dena, you’re only making the situation worse.”
“Despite the fact that you never Mirandized me when I was arrested, I know that I’m entitled to have a lawyer present before being questioned.” I refuse to look at him. It hurts too much. “Give me my phone call.”
“Dena…” he growls. “ I didn’t read you your rights because you’re not under arrest. I need you to answer my questions.”
“If I’m not under arrest then I’m being illegally detained. Undo these cuffs, I’m leaving. Now!”
A knock on the mirrored window startles me, but not as much as when Anders’s hands slap the table loud enough that I jump. The cuffs bite into my wrists. I grimace, clamping down on the huge part of me itching to give a hard tug on the cuffs and snap free. He storms from the room. His raised voice comes from the other side of the door, and when whomever he was yelling at responds, he doesn’t sound pleased.
Sheriff Keyes storms into the room a few minutes later. “Dena, I had no idea you were the one brought in. I’m sorry.” He takes off the handcuffs. I shake my hands to get the circulation flowing again. He pauses, staring at me in silent expectation.
“Thanks, sir,” I say with a slight nod. He’s always been good to my family. I follow him from the room to the outer office, where my cousin paces like a caged lion.
I run to her, but not at supersonic speed ’cause she doesn’t pass out from shock. I pick her up and spin her around. “Hot damn, Malaise Jean Marie LaCroix. It’s about time you showed up.”
“Waydene Madonna Acker, if you drop me—” Mala can’t finish the threat for laughing.
I set her on her feet, so relieved she’s back that my legs feel spongy, like I’ve got jellyfish tentacles attached to my torso. “You’ve no idea how happy I am to see you.”
Her arms tighten around my waist, holding me upright. “Saints, cuz, how do you manage to get yourself in trouble every time I go to New Orleans?”
“I’d like to know the answer to that myself.” I let out a huge sigh and step back with a shrug. “Guess you need to stick around town.”
“Babysitting you isn’t how I planned on spending my spring break, but I guess I owe you.” She smiles, but guilt flashes in her dark eyes. Damn, I didn’t mean to upset her.
With a sigh, I tilt my head toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
As we leave the station, Anders stands in the parking lot. His face is washed of expression, but I know him well enough to tell when he’s pissed. Tension holds his shoulders stiff, and as his hand goes into his pocket to pull out a set of keys, I notice his badge and his gun are missing from his waistband.
Mala follows my gaze. “I can’t believe Anders is still harassing you.”
“He’s also saved my life.”
“That’s his job. Well, it was his job. Cocky jerk took advantage of his position. He’s suspended.”
I glance over my shoulder, but Anders is gone. My chest tightens. “Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“Because of my arrest? Couldn’t Sheriff Keyes cut him some slack? He saved my life after those three men attacked!”
“Calm down, Dee. No point getting upset over Anders. He created his own problems, and they’ve nothing to do with you. Sheriff Keyes and Bessie filled me in on what’s been going on, but I can’t help without more information.”
“What can I tell you?” My voice has a slightly hysterical quality to it. I focus on steadying myself. “It’s all so crazy—guys stalking me, breaking into my home, burning bodies.” I bite my lip. “Whatever’s going on is Twilight Zone weird. I hate to drag you into my mess after what you went through last year, but I don’t have a choice.”
“Wait. Slow down and tell me what’s happened since I left.”
I follow her to her truck and climb in beside her. Her dark eyes shine in the dark. Now that I’ve had a chance to think, I don’t know what to say without sounding insane. Guess it’s best to just spill it on the table and let the chips fall where they may.
“Gabriella said you went to New Orleans to dig up info on Anders.” At her nod, I continue. “Well, I did some digging on my own. Anders told me the murdered men were after me.” I take a deep breath. “He thinks they used to belong to a gang run by your aunt Magnolia. After Magnolia died, someone else took over the organization. That’s why he didn’t want you on the case.”
Mala lets out a strangled gasp. “What?”
“Don’t worry. I told him you didn’t know your aunt was a mob boss. And you certainly didn’t take over her business once she passed away.”
“Of course I didn’t take over her business. It was pretty obvious that Magnolia had some shady ties to the underworld. She employed a bunch of thugs she called “private security guards,” for goodness’ sakes. And she used their leader to try to kill me. I’d be a fool to let myself get trapped in whatever web she spun to control me.”
A bitter taste fills my mouth. “So Anders was right. You knew?”
“I suspected but hearing it confirmed by Anders only verifies it was the right choice to dump my so-called inheritan
ce.” A frown forms between her brows. “So Anders thinks the person who put the bounty on your head took over her business?”
“Yeah, he…” Oh wow. “Mala, it’s too easy.”
“I still have to talk my lawyer into giving me the name of the buyer, but this is a concrete lead. Which is more than what Anders has.” She lets out a cackle that leaves me rolling my eyes. Drama Queen.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Mala starts the ignition. “I can’t wait to see his face when I solve this case. He’ll regret the day he fired me.”
“I’m sure he’s already considered this angle. Just like how he thinks that Magnolia was responsible for bringing me out of my coma.” I hold my breath, waiting a few seconds for denial, then continue, “He saw the video feed at the hospital. You were there, too.” I choke out a pained laugh, remembering the conversation. “I told him I wasn’t a zombie, but I’m not sure that’s the truth.”
“Oh well.” Mala’s dark eyelashes dip to conceal her eyes. “It’s complicated. Your body didn’t die, but your soul…”
“Magnolia raised me from the dead?” My heart squeezes. It’s hard to catch my breath.
“No, I did.”
Crazy. I’ve finally gone crazy. “Oh.” A shiver rattles my teeth. So cold. I flip the heater on. Warm air blasts from the vent. “So you really are a Hoodoo Queen?” I ask in a teasing tone, still waiting for her to bust herself out. She’s got a terrible sense of humor. And she laughs at her own jokes. I don’t know how Landry stands it. This joke isn’t funny. She’s taking it too far. Play it off, Dee.
“Hoodoo Queen.” Mala slaps the vent closed on her side. “Stupid title. No, I’m the last LaCroix. All the power from generations of women in my family spilled into me after Mama and Magnolia died. The ability to see the spirits of the dead is only one of my abilities. Another is pulling souls from the other side and stuffing them back into their bodies.”
“Like me.” My hands are so cold. I cross my arms and stick them under my armpits. Why isn’t she laughing?
She gives a slow nod. “Dark magic goes against the natural order. It came with a high price tag—a life for a life. I killed Redford Delahoussaye so you could live. He had you trapped in purgatory. I couldn’t let him keep torturing you.” Her liquid brown eyes melt. “I played God. I don’t regret getting you back, but…everything that happened the night of the earthquake is my fault. It’s a price I’ll never repay.”
Oh God, she’s serious. I hunch into the seat. Her explanation’s too elaborate. She’s a good actress, but not this good. Why can’t I warm up?
“Dee,” Mala whispers, “say something.”
She looks so sad. I should hug her, but I don’t. Now I know why I hear Death’s song. Why it’s drawn to me. I’m dead. I stare at my hands. The cuts from my fight are healed. A zombie can’t be killed. It’s already dead. I’m dead.
“Dee, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you everything. I will now.”
“No! Later.” I swallow hard. My head’s gonna explode, and probably reform like the morgue zombie’s if I hear any more. The tears I should cry ’cause I’m dead start to fall. “I’m so scared, Mala. So scared…”
Mala pulls me into a hug, and I sob into her T-shirt. Inhaling her strawberry shampoo, I’m transported back to when we were little girls. Back then, it was Mala and me against the world. Together, we weren’t afraid of monsters; we slayed them. Her life wasn’t all sunshine and daisies, but somehow she managed to see magic in the world. I had the rose-colored glasses ripped from my eyes when Pepper abandoned us and Dad lost his ever-loving mind. After that, I saw life as it is. And until I died, I found nothing magical about it.
Everything is different now.
I’m the monster in the dark.
And I have something to fight for and protect to the bitter end. Mala saved me from Redford Delahoussaye. It’s my turn to protect Mala and Gabriella. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself and pull it together.
’Cause the cool thing about being dead is, I’ve got no life to lose.
I sniff and regain control. “I need you to take me over to a friend’s house. Can you do that for me?”
“I’d rather take you home. Landry and the Rev will help….” Her eyes are puffy, but her expression is calm, thoughtful even, as she leans back in the seat. “But you don’t want them involved, right? And if I force you, you’ll just climb out a window like you did in high school for that Carrie Underwood concert.”
I laugh, wondering what she’d say if I told her my last attempt at climbing out a window landed me on top of Anders. I sober at that image. “I’m done climbing out windows. I’m old enough to use a door.”
I text Ferdinand about needing a safe place to hide. No questions asked, he sends the address of some “friends.” They live off the grid, in the one place nobody goes: Bayou du Sang. I thought we lived rough until we turn off Old Lick onto a narrow, muddy road. Despite Ferdinand’s directions, we get lost several times. The road winds through the high areas of the swamp, not following a straight path.
Mala clutches the steering wheel, muttering, “I hate this place.”
I blink into the darkness of the old-growth trees overhead. “They say the ghosts of the dead walk here.”
My cousin’s head whips in my direction. Black pits where her eyes should be bore into me.
Shivering, I rub my arms. “What? You said you see ghosts.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “They’re all around us. Can’t you feel them?”
“God, I shouldn’t have encouraged you. Stop being so dramatic; you’re freaking me out. And watch the road.”
Her foot eases up on the gas. “Now who’s being dramatic? I’m barely going five miles an hour.” The road ahead branches out at a crossroad. Mala stops the truck. “Your friend’s directions suck. Do they say which way to go?”
“Left.”
Mala slams on the brakes, and I yelp. My hand slaps the dashboard. “What the hell?”
“We’ve hit a dead end.” She twists in her seat. “I can’t turn around. The road drops off on either side. You’ll have to get out and navigate.”
I’ve never liked how the swamp sounds once the sun sets. I’m not afraid of the dark. Or the mosquitos buzzing around my ears. It’s the chittering and creaking in the air. The cry of a bobcat in the distance, like a woman shrieking for help. It’s the way the bushes rustle, and the wind moans through the branches overhead. My mind plays tricks on me as I walk backward down the dark road with only the flashlight from my cellphone. The hair rises on the back of my neck, and I swear eyes watch from the darkness. I’d pass this off to paranoia if I hadn’t felt the same way right before Tolson attacked me. If I’d listened to my instincts that night, I would’ve gone back into Munchies and asked Adam to walk me out.
I catch myself staring over my shoulder every few steps, my body tense and ready to fight. My feet squelch in the mud. A light drizzle blurs the red glow of the taillights, leaving me blinking as if my vision will suddenly clear. I can’t stop shivering.
It’s a relief when we reach the crossroads.
Mala pulls a U-turn and points the truck in the opposite direction. Her fingers drum on the steering wheel when I climb in. “Landry’s gonna kill me. He expected me home hours ago. And if I get this truck stuck in a ditch, holy hell, I’ll never hear the end of it.” She points at a downed tree in the road. “How exactly are we supposed to get past that?”
I sigh. “Guess I’ll walk in.”
“Hell no. Not by yourself,” she says in her law woman voice. Whenever we played cops and robbers as kids, she pretended to be her hero, Deputy Bessie Caine. Calm and deadly. I know there’s no point in arguing, but I try. “What about your truck?”
“It can take care of itself. You can’t.”
Maybe not before I died, but I doubt much can take me out anymore. Mala, on the other hand, is still human. I remind myself of this as I slide protectively in front her—’cause wouldn’t you kn
ow it, her words are put to the test the moment we exit the truck.
CHAPTER 18
Allies and Puppies
Two figures melt from the shadows, one big-boned and the other thin to the point of looking emaciated. The metallic glint of the thin guy’s machete flashes in the high beams of the truck parked on the other side of the fallen tree. He steps forward, and I’m able to see him clearly. He’s Latino, mid-twenties, with buzzed black hair. He’s dressed in an oversized, black button-up shirt, baggie jeans, and black boots.
“Who sent you?” he asks.
“Ferdinand,” I say, ignoring a sharp hiss from Mala. She grabs my elbow, and I pat her hand. Throwing bravado into my voice, I tip my chin. “He said to ask for Angelo?”
“He didn’t say nothing about two girls,” the same guy says. I assume he’s Angelo.
“She’s my cousin. She’s dropping me off.”
“She doesn’t look nothing like you.”
“Most people think we look a lot alike.” When he remains silent, I snap back. “We come from different branches of the family tree. Why? You got a problem with black people?”
Mala squeezes my elbow in warning, and I back down. I hate when people judge. Like I can’t call her family ’cause our skin’s different shades.
“Didn’t say that.” He sounds indignant. Maybe I shouldn’t be so judgmental myself. “I’m saying you can come in free, but your cousin has to pay. This ain’t no free shelter.”
Mala steps forward with her jaw jutted like a bulldog about to chomp on a skinny little bone. “Like I’d trust her going off alone into the backwoods with the two of you.”
Angelo steps back, and the hand holding the knife jerks up. “Step off! I owe Ferdinand a favor, but not big enough to deal with two PMSing females.”