The Flight of the Zeppelin

by Melanie Thompson

  LeVeque leaned on his arm as she descended. Fenix was pulled out like a package feet first while two big men hauled Emile off the roof. He seemed dead. The driver helped LeVeque climb into a flat boat floating next to a rickety dock. She swept her skirts aside and sat on one of the bench seats as the bigger of the two men tossed Fenix onto the wet floor. She landed facedown. Emile was thrown next to her. One of his thick arms fell across her. She squirmed and wiggled until she was able to turn over and shove his arm away. His eyes were closed and Fenix could detect no heartbeat. He seemed truly dead. LeVeque must be going to use the stone to make him walk again. Such a thing was terrible and blasphemous.

  When all were aboard, the two big men began poling the boat into the dark swamp. It was muggy and hot. Mosquitoes swarmed around Fenix, biting her exposed skin. She pulled her filthy skirt over her head and huddled under it to protect her face. Above, moss and low-hanging branches obscured the clear summer sky. Lulled by the heat, the slap of water against the sides of the boat and the soothing motion as it slid through the opaque black water, Fenix began to nod off. She was so tired.

  * * * *

  Priest had been watching Bryn’s house when her sister ran down the steps. The red-headed witch had climbed into a hack which turned toward the waterfront. Priest had to scramble to find a hack of his own. He leaned forward and instructed the driver to follow Fenix, but at a safe distance.

  His mouth was watering with desire and excitement. He had Bryn now! He would kidnap her sister and hold her until Bryn capitulated. Of course, it would be hard not to violate her pristine sister while he waited for Bryn, and truly, why should he contain himself?

  He leaned forward to look out the window of the small carriage as it followed the other hack deeper and deeper into the sordid neighborhood surrounding the New Orleans dock areas. When it stopped and disgorged her in front of a tavern well-known for smuggling, voodoo and as a thieves’ den, he chuckled.

  She walked toward the closed bar and Priest thought she looked as though she expected to meet someone. Priest climbed out of the hack and told the driver to wait. The driver frowned. “If you’re up to no good, don’t expect me to be a part of it.”

  Priest snarled and waved his hand over the fool’s eyes. “You’ll do exactly as I say. Wait here.”

  “I’ll do exactly as you say,” the driver intoned.

  “Yes, you bloody well will,” Priest muttered as he ran lightly down the road after Fenix.

  He was almost on her when a carriage swept around the corner of Chartres Street at a slapping pace, slowed and stopped next to her. Priest could feel black magic swirling around the carriage but apparently Fenix could not. He cursed when the stupid bitch climbed into the carriage. Using a heavy sap, the driver smacked her on the back of the head. She fell onto her face, he slammed the door, climbed back onto his box and drove the four gray horses away so fast Priest had no time to react.

  He made it halfway back to his hack in time to see the driver shake himself, start upright, whip up his horse and drive away. Priest groaned. He would never find another hack down here. His only solace lay in the fact Bryn would be devastated when she discovered her precious sister had been kidnapped.

  * * * *

  Fingle began his search for Fenix by bending over and sniffing around the road in front of the house. His huge nose moved up and down as he sniffed. It was long and fat and looked even more like a bloodhound’s nose than ever. He took one final long sniff, stood up and stared up the street. “Miss was here. She got into a rented hack.” He closed his eyes. “The driver ate garlic sausages and rice for breakfast. The horse has a bad right fore. It’s festering. I smells it.”

  Bryn groaned. “If she’s gone off in a hack we’ll never find her.”

  Fingle rolled his droopy eyes. “If I might say, Madam, I believe I can follow that hack.”

  Bryn tilted her head. “You can?”

  “Oh yes, quite. Smelled the horse. Smelled me the driver. Quite a distinctive pair. And poor Miss Fenix was with them.”

  Quinn laughed. “I think I have now seen everything.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there and gawk, Quinn. Hail a cab and let’s go after her.”

  Quinn found the hack he’d just climbed out of waiting for a fare on the next corner. They climbed in and Fingle ran ahead, loping along like the hound he’d once been, ears long enough to flap, nose working up and down.

  The hack driver dutifully followed Fingle, his eyebrows low in a disapproving frown. He kept muttering, “Of all the unnatural things I done seen since I moved to New Orleans from the decent, God-fearing town of Chicago, this beats all.”

  Fingle led them to the corner of Chartres Street and Piety where he stopped. The hack driver pulled up and waited. He purposefully looked away from Fingle who was down on his hands and knees sniffing the cobbled stones of the rough street. Fingle leaped to his feet and stared with his head cocked to one side at a rundown building. Zydeco music drifted out of it. The door hung half open to allow the breeze off the river inside. Fingle sniffed his way up to the door, stopped, turned around and went back to the road where he bent over and resumed sniffing. When he stood up, he looked troubled.

  “Miss been here two different times,” he said to Bryn. “She was inside.” He shuddered. “But this morning, she come down the street there,” he pointed. “Then she got into a carriage. There.” He pointed again. “It was filled as it could hold with evil magic. I don’t know why she couldn’t smell it herself.”

  He took a deep breath, put one long finger on his chin and tapped.

  “What is it, Fingle? Is there something else?” Bryn knew the man. Something really bad was bothering him.

  “I smells him.”

  Bryn gasped. “Draak Priest was here?”

  Fingle nodded. “I know that man’s scent. I would not mistake it.”

  “Can you follow the new carriage Fenix got into?” Bryn knew why her sister hadn’t smelled the black magic. It had been disguised when it picked her up. But evil left a tainted trail and Fingle had scented it.

  “No, Miss, sorry. If I found it again I’d recognize it sure as I’m standing here, but it was traveling like the Devil was on its heels. I could possibly follow it a short ways, but I’m thinkin’ it went into town where I’d lose it amongst the crowd.”

  “Do you think Priest has her?”

  Fingle bent and walked up and down the road sniffing. When he returned he shook his head. “Priest don’t got her. He’s still around here somewhere.” Fingle lifted his head and sniffed. “Somewheres close.”

  Quinn leaped out of the hack and grabbed Fingle. “Find him!”

  “Yes sir!” Fingle circled slowly with his nose to the ground. He finally settled on a direction and took off at a lope toward the French Quarter. Bryn and Quinn climbed back into the hack and followed. Fingle led them right to Abraxas, Bryn’s jewelry store.

  Bryn spotted Priest hiding in an alley. She leaped out of the hack as Fingle ran up to him and began baying. Quinn followed her out of the hack running. “Get behind me!” Quinn yelled to her as he pulled his pistol out from under his coat. “Stop in the name of the law!”

  The evil man was reaching for Fingle, his hands curled into menacing claws inches from Fingle’s throat. His eyes flew open, then narrowed with rage when he spotted Quinn. “You!”

  He pointed one bony finger at Quinn and started chanting. His lips moved rapidly. Bryn stopped and screamed. “Draak Priest don’t!”

  “Too late,” Priest shrieked as Quinn fell to the cobbled street and began convulsing. Bryn leaped over him, snatched Priest’s silver cross off his belt and pressed it into Priest’s forehead while she muttered an incantation. He fell backwards, his eyes rolling up in his forehead. The pale skin sizzled under the pure silver and Priest screamed. Bryn pushed him into the cobbles muttering the incantation without stopping even when he grabbed Bryn around the throat and squeezed.

  They struggled together for what seemed l
ike hours to Bryn. Her hands ached and burned but she held the cross hard against Priest’s head. Her vision grew dim and fuzzy as he squeezed and she gasped for air. Quinn suddenly appeared above her, shoved his pistol into Priest’s side and growled. “Let her go.”

  A thunderous roar swirled around them and the air shimmered with power. Bryn was thrown off Priest as his body twisted and turned sprouting scales and segmented wings. Priest rapidly morphed into a huge black dragon. When the enormous wings unfolded one crashed into Quinn and knocked him to the ground. The dragon rose above them flapping its massive segmented wings. The air churned as Fingle barked hysterically, grabbed the dragon’s talon and hung on as it lifted. When the beast reached the roof of the jewelry store Fingle let go and dropped while it turned and swooped toward Bryn.

  She grabbed Quinn’s arm, jerked him to his feet and dragged him toward her home and the store. “Run!” She screamed as the dragon roared down Chartres Street. The creature opened its huge maw and breathed fire. The blow torch of red flames scorched the trees bordering the road and the bougainvillea growing on Mrs. Ripple’s balcony across the street. They fell through the door to safety as the flames swept past.

  Quinn grabbed Bryn in a tight embrace. “That was so close.”

  She leaned back and touched his face. “You’re okay,” she sighed. “The silver did the trick. He’s no vampire, but he’s evil enough so when I added the incantation to the silver, he was weakened.”

  “What happened to me?”

  “He sent a surge through your brain that disturbed its normal function. When I made him stop, the convulsions ceased as well.”

  He hugged her harder. “That was a very bad feeling. Don’t let him do it again.”

  She smiled. “I’ll try. It seems as though he’s been watching me. I’m so glad Fingle discovered him. I’ll put an Eye of Isis in that alley to tell me if he returns.”

  “Eye of who?”

  “Isis, yes, that’s one of those little things I can do you don’t want to know about.”

  He held her close and rested his chin on her head. “What do we do about Fenix?”

  “We have to find her.”

  “How?”

  “Sam and I will think of something. We may need Fingle to narrow down the location, but we shall find her.”

  Chapter 13

  The boat ride took forever. When the men finally poled the boat to a dock, the shadows were lengthening and evening fast approaching. Fenix was wet from swamp water leaking into the boat, but she wasn’t cold, just soggy and angry. Emile was either dead or in some kind of suspended state. He did not stir for the entire ride. The evil witch opened a sunshade and twirled it as she leaned back to enjoy the peace of the swamp. The only sounds were the splash of the poles, the buzz of insects and the low singing of the two black men poling rhythmically.

  When one of the men leaped out and tied the craft to the dock, she made an attempt to raise herself far enough to examine her surroundings. LeVeque saw her struggles, laughed and placed a dainty foot on her chest. “Stop, ma chere, you will damage yourself. They will carry you off the boat soon enough. Are you in so big a hurry to find your destiny?” She surged to her feet with the help of one of the men. “Thank you, Henri. Take Emile and the slut to the church and leave them. They go nowhere, I think.”

  The boat rocked as the men helped the beautiful witch to debark and came back for Emile. The biggest man hefted Emile over his shoulder, causing the boat to rock even more. The other man grabbed Fenix under her arms, flipped her and tossed her over his shoulder. In this ignominious fashion, she was carried up a steep hill to an old clapboard church. The boards had once been white, but were now covered with moss and green slime. Ancient live oaks dangled branches and silver streamers of Spanish moss across the old shingled roof. From her upside-down position, Fenix had a good view of nothing but the path which was muddy and moss-covered. Thick vegetation threatened to overtake it.

  The double doors opened under an arch. Fenix tried to look up as the big man carried her into the church which smelled of mildew, mold, damp earth and smoke. When he dropped her onto one of the benches set up around the altar, Fenix scrambled into a sitting position so she could get a good look at her surroundings. Her hands and feet were still tied, but she could move. She squirmed in an effort to relieve some of the cramping in her limbs and to survey the interior of the structure.

  There were two windows on each side. The walls were clapboard and gray with age. The windows were covered with black mold, green slime and crusted with filth. They let in little light. A hole in the roof let in most of the light as well as rain. The floor under the hole was rotted to the ground. The altar had been set up on the exposed dirt under this hole. Fenix took one look at the altar and turned away. A dead goat hung from an upside down cross. These people seemed to be a horrifying combination of devil worshippers and voodoo practitioners. Money, alcohol, cigars, a skull, various voodoo dolls, statues and a large book crowded the altar under the cross.

  Emile had been placed on the earth in front of the altar. Marie LeVeque strode up the center aisle and critically examined it. “We need candles,” she said to the two men. “The ceremony cannot take place until moonrise. When the full moon shines through the hole in the roof, we will begin. The rays must fall on Emile’s face. I will go rest on my bed. Bring me food.”

  “Yes, Mistress LeVeque,” both men intoned.

  She seemed to remember Fenix. “Feed the slut as well. She will need her strength to entertain the flock.” She cackled after that and swept to the back of the church where she opened a door and disappeared.

  Fenix fell back against the bench and sighed. She had to escape. There was no way Bryn could follow her to this God-forsaken place.

  * * * *

  Bryn decided she needed to perform a conjure, a spell to find her sister. She ran into her home calling for Sam. It was fully ten minutes before she remembered Sam was installing a new engine on Henry Talbot’s zeppelin. The huge aircraft was scheduled to make a cross-country flight tomorrow night. The winds were good and the weather was supposed to be perfection. Sam was not going to be able to help her with this spell.

  Furious and frustrated, time was of the essence, she ran down the steps to the basement closely followed by Quinn and Fingle. She stopped in the middle of the lab and stared at Quinn. “If you wish to stay, don’t say anything or interrupt for any reason or inject your personality into this procedure in any way.”

  Quinn looked puzzled. “What procedure?”

  “Fingle understands. I’m going to find Fenix by using magic.”

  “Oh,” he said and backed up two steps.

  “Exactly.” Bryn held her hands in front of her, closed her eyes and whispered “open” three times. A door appeared in the blank wall. It glowed for a few seconds and then swung wide.

  “The devil!” Quinn ejaculated.

  She turned on him with one finger held up. “Quinn!”

  “Right,” he said and backed slowly away from the open door.

  Bryn flew into the room and began rummaging around on the shelves. She opened a trunk and threw several items onto the floor, grabbed them and ran to a table. Quinn moved cautiously into the room and looked over her shoulder. Bryn pushed him back. “Don’t impede me or get in my way.”

  “I won’t.” He moved closer to the wall and watched from there as she took several items from the pile and ground them together in a mortar. She saw Quinn’s questioning look. “Mummy finger, which is the most important ingredient, dried apricot for immortality, blood root for protection and chili pepper for breaking hexes.”

  “Right.”

  She took the mixture and dropped it into a small cauldron hung over the fireplace, pointed to a pile of aromatic wood and a blazing fire began heating it. As the room filled with the scent of sandalwood and cedar, she cut her finger with a ritual knife of silver and squeezed six drops of blood into the mixture. “Fenix is my twin. My blood is hers.”

>   Quinn nodded again. His eyes were round with wonder and not a little fear.

  She added water from a vial and then ran around the room lighting white and red candles and sticks of incense. When the room began to fill with fragrant smoke, she took a cedar box off the shelf and opened it reverently. Inside, on a bed of blue velvet lay the Stuart Sapphire. When Quinn lifted his hand to protest, she hushed him.

  “I need it right now. It’s the most powerful stone I possess. You can have it when we find Fenix.”

  She beckoned to Fingle. “Go upstairs and guard our privacy. Let no one enter the house or come down the stairs.” He nodded and she took the boiling mixture in the pot off the hob and placed it in the center of the room. A sparkling white fog rolled out of it and filled the room with a smell not unlike gardenias. The fog was thick and moist as it rolled out of the pot and surrounded them. She felt it caress her face as she extended her hand to Quinn. “Take my hand. I may need you to pull me back if I get too deep into the spell and the seeking.”

  “Me? What can I possibly do?”

  “You’ll know, Quinn. Do not fear. I will be the one inside the spell searching. You will merely ground me so I can return.”

  He shook his head, but joined hands with her. Bryn focused on the stone in her hand and the pool of milky liquid inside of the cauldron. In her mind, she spread waves of searching fingers. Each finger hunted for Fenix or any sign of her. She blocked out everything but the fingers. They spread from the area right around her home to the streets of the Quarter and she concentrated harder barely aware of Quinn’s hand holding tightly to her own.

  The fingers picked up a scent and joined into one. The single searching finger raced down streets and out into the swamp. It stopped at a rickety dock and quivered clearly pointing down the bayou. Fenix ordered the finger to back up and find some kind of signpost or landmark so she could locate that particular bayou. She was rewarded when it found a fishing shack and a tumbled down bar. Loud music issued from the bar. The fingers went inside and she saw the name carved into a plaque behind the plank bar. The barkeep was an old black man with gray hair wrapped in colorful rags. He had a scruffy gray beard. The bar was called Le Poisson, The Fish.