“No problem,” Max assured him. “Dad is in his sixties now—I guess he kind of gets to slow down, even though I wouldn’t suggest it to him!”
Max gazed over their handiwork. He loved the family business; the haunted house had made him and his brother two of the most popular kids in school when they were growing up. Everyone had wanted to come then—and still did.
Ethan had grown up to major in engineering and architecture, Max had gone into criminology. After a few years working for the police in New York City where he’d elected to go to college, he’d come home to become a detective with the NOPD. Max loved his work; he also loved being home. Especially when it was fall—and “Monster Manse” opened for the season.
Monster Manse was housed in a building that had once been a rectory—which meant it sat near one of the oldest churches in the area, St. Maria of the Glen, a church that still maintained the centuries-old burial ground that sprawled around it on all sides. It didn’t hurt that their haunted house was next to the burial ground at all.
The rector, Father Sebastian, was a friend. He and Ethan had gone to school together and been friends—which Ethan said hadn’t been an easy thing. Father Sebastian had always known that he wanted to be a priest. That meant lectures when they wanted to stay out late, drink, carouse—in other words, behave the way that older teenagers had a tendency to behave.
Sebastian was great for them now, though. He was loved by his congregation, and because he was so human, he had a very active church. He told his flock to enjoy the theatrics—but remember where they could find real demons—and real love and forgiveness. He’d even shown up for their opening the last several years.
Max took another step back.
He set the final cable for their motion activated Jack the Ripper, and took a step to the side. Their eerie Jack—with his top hat, cape, and diabolically evil face—looked up and lifted his blade. The blade was made of plastic, but it had a sheen in the black light that made it appear sharp, real, and lethal. Of course, the fake blood falling from it added to that appearance.
H. H. Holmes—the Chicago mass murderer who had killed dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people during the World’s Columbian Exposition—stood next to him, tapping a hammer he held with his left hand in his right palm. Behind him a bit, and on a pedestal, Countess Elizabeth Bathory looked out benignly, a smile that was purely evil lining her lips. On either side of the carpeted trail on which the brothers now stood, killers looked on, and the Countess Bathory clapped each time one of them lifted a weapon.
“We’re ready. You going to be off work in time for the opening tonight?” Ethan asked. He smiled. “We are sold out.”
“Of course, we are,” Max said, grinning. Life was so odd. He and Max had managed to fight a lot when they were kids. They were just two years apart. From the moment Ethan had left home to go off to Boston for college, however, they had been best friends. Since he’d come back three years ago, Max loved to work at the place whenever he could. He loved helping out. They opened for a number of seasonal events—Christmas, Easter, the Fourth of July, and here and there for special events—but Halloween was their main event.
“Montana and I will be here by six—we’re letting the first arrivals in at 7:00 PM, like usual, right?” Max asked.
“Yep. Montana got the night off?” Ethan asked.
“Yes.”
Max smiled. Life was really pretty good for him at the moment. Being a homicide detective wasn’t easy—but it was something that he felt was important. He loved New Orleans, and working a job he considered to be a way to help his city meant a great deal to him. You didn’t have a city like NOLA—wonderful, historic, diverse, and ever growing—without dissension and crime. So he was here, he was home. With a damned good job he loved—and Montana.
He’d known Montana since they’d been in grade school. He’d known her so long that t was difficult sometimes to remember that—once—she’d been a creepy girl. Then she’d been the tomboy that had played with him and Ethan, and then they’d been in high school, sent out of the city after the storm, and then back, and working together on all kinds of projects to bring NOLA back to life.
Then, they’d both gone to college in different states, and drifted apart. Eventually, when he’d made the decision to come home and take work with the NOPD, he’d been out on Frenchman Street with friends, and he’d seen Montana once again.
That had been two years ago. They’d both been twenty-seven at the time, older, and maybe—just maybe—wiser than what they had been as kids. Still, it had taken him some time to get Montana to really be with him. They’d dated forever before they’d moved in together. She had a problem with commitment—something she admitted. She’d almost gotten married once. Her fiancé had been killed in the service, and Montana had told Max that she’d nearly fallen apart; she’d really had to learn to live again.
Live on her own.
He knew she never wanted to feel that broken again.
Montana was a musician and played guitar with a group called “Three Men and a Girl.” She was a talented musician; she always had been. She had really grown up, as well. Her facial features were fine and angled and beautiful; her eyes were, of course, the same deep blue they had always been. They just seemed to look at him so differently.
At first, of course, there had been a lot of laughter, a lot of wow! Old friend back in town, let’s rehash some of the past and find out what we’ve each been doing. Then he’d thought that she might be with one of the “Three Men” who formed three-quarters of the band, but she was not. Pete and David were each married, and Justin was gay and just about to marry his partner, as well.
She had just needed to keep something of a distance.
But, still, they’d finally gotten together, and even though they should have been a little bit old-hat by now—they’d seen each other almost every day for the last two years—he still felt that he was just about the luckiest man in the world. Montana was beautiful, fun, vivacious—and she loved him. Now they were going to be married—one day. She told him she really believed that they would do it, that she was ready to do it—she did love him, so much. Yes, definitely, as soon as they figured out just exactly how and where they wanted to do the deed. It was important to both of them, and they’d mulled over different churches and venues. They’d even considered the Monster Manse—since it could be used for many different things. It did, after all, even substitute for Santa’s Workshop every season.
He was lucky; he needed to remember to simply thank God for what he had.
She was quick to say, “I love you.”
She never said, “I need you.”
Max’s phone buzzed; it was his partner, Dale Hickman.
“Just making sure you’re doing okay at the old manse,” Dale said. “I’m invited, right?”
Max grinned. “Yeah, you’re invited—and I’m on my way back right now. We’ll head out right after our shift.”
“Yeah! Our shift is over in about an hour, thank the lord, today. Bunches of crazy stuff with people seeing things. Halloween is on the way.”
“I haven’t been gone that long—did anything else happen?”
“Patrol has been getting a lot of calls about kooks—and drunks. I’ve just finished up the paperwork on the Watford case. D.A. told me no problem. No jury would believe that Alma Watford accidentally shot her husband with a shotgun—five times.”
“You were worried? Never mind. No one ever knows a jury, huh?”
“What about Montana?”
“She’s meeting us at the manse with a friend.”
“Cool. Tell me the friend is cute?”
“She is. See you soon.”
Max hung up his phone.
“Gotta go; I’ll see you at six,” he told his brother. “Not long now—I’m betting some people will already be parking and getting into line.”
“Yep—and thanks!” Ethan called.
Max turned to leave.
Creating motio
n.
Jack the Ripper raised his bloody knife again.
Countess Elizabeth Bathory offered him her evil smile.
They were amazing electronics, or whatever one wanted to call them.
They looked real.
He was a hardcore cop, but…
Something about the knife…
About the countess’s smile…
He actually shuddered as he walked out, a chill racing through him.
Someone walking over his grave, his mother would have said.
He hadn’t realized until he was older that it was an odd saying for someone who had hailed from NOLA where most interments were above ground, in the “cities of the dead,”—and like the one by the manse, attached to a church. Places where families were buried in small mausoleums that resembled little houses—above ground burials. He would never be in the ground; his family owned a vault at Lafayette Cemetery in the Garden District.
But, in a way, the saying made sense.
Because he felt cold and clammy… as if he lay among the dead!
He gave himself a fierce shake. He was a cop. He-Man cop, as Montana liked to tease. And he sure as hell wasn’t frightened by any Halloween attraction owned by his own family!
*
“Hey, it’s New Orleans, and it’s something that people just do in New Orleans!” Brenda Smyth said with determination. “I’ve done a lot of research. Read about the best people. There’s one in particular. She’s got raves on all the tourist sites—the Empress! She’s great. New to the city. She’ll read tea leaves, or your palm, or your tarot cards. And it’s a great tea shop as well. They have coffee and cookies and the like, too. You said that you were thirsty.”
Montana Gautier sighed inwardly.
She loved Brenda, but like most of her friends who visited her here, there was no such thing as a simple lunch, dinner—or a quick drink.
Everyone wanted voodoo, magic, vampires, or seers.
And it all made her so miserable!
Then again, what could she say? Max and his family did own the Monster Manse, and they would be heading there soon.
“I know the shop, Brenda,” she said. “I live here, remember?”
“You live in the Garden District—not the French Quarter. I, on the other hand, am a tourist—and therefore, probably much better informed on what’s happening locally than a local. And I have done extensive research on the French Quarter!” Brenda announced. “I know you—and what you said to me over and over again a zillion times. You love the French Quarter, but that’s not all there is to New Orleans. Yes, you come in, but you go everywhere else, too. So, indulge me! Let a tourist tell you about the French Quarter.”
Montana smiled. She and Brenda had been roommates all through their years at Carnegie-Mellon. Brenda was a fantastic violinist—she now played for Broadway and Off-Broadway shows. This was the first vacation she had taken in years, and her first trip—ever—to New Orleans.
During the day, they’d seen the Audubon Zoo and the Aquarium of the Americas. It was almost time to head over to the Monster Manse to meet up with Max and Dale Hickman.
“Okay, okay, you want to go to the shop. Great. We’ll go. I’ll have tea—but I’m not having anything read.”
“Oh, come on!”
“No!” She didn’t mean to snap the word the way she did. She just liked to avoid fortune tellers of any kind.
She’d never forget that, right before she heard the news about Brody, she’d laughed with friends at Jackson Square, and seen a palm reader there who looked at her and told her that she’d have a long and happy life. That everything was wonderful.
She’d still been smiling when the news that he had been killed had come.
Brenda was oblivious. She grinned brilliantly at Montana. “Great! I love it. Oh, I love New Orleans! I love all the decorations out for Halloween. I love the voodoo shops and the costume stuff and the masks and… tonight! Tall, dark, and studly really owns a haunted house? By a church and a graveyard. Oh, that is too… too cool!”
Montana managed a smile as well. Brenda was always so full of life; she was great. “Max’s family owns the attraction; his brother, Ethan, is actually going to take it over soon from their father. He’s an electronics genius. They buy most of their animatronic characters, but Ethan actually created a lot of the effects that help make it so amazing. There’s a dining room set-up where a mummy and a bunch of other creatures—vampires, werewolves, ghosts—appear to be having a celebration dinner, and they move, and do all kinds of cool things. Ethan is pretty amazing and really works the place. Max… well, Max really loves to be a cop.”
“Very, very cute cop—and young for homicide, huh? Now I know why you were never that into anyone in school—you were waiting for him.”
“Nope. I’d forgotten about him until he showed up one night when the guys and I were playing. Anyway, let’s get tea. We’ll go through the manse. Then we’ll take you to a place where you can get the best crawfish boil, shrimp and grits, and bread pudding in the city.”
“I’m game for that!” Brenda shivered, delighted. “Cool. Lead on.”
Montana miraculously found street parking on Chartres Street and she knew the shop that Brenda wanted to see.
“This-away,” she said.
In just a matter of minutes, they arrived at the shop.
New Orleans went really crazy every October, but they were still in the middle of September—right when the Halloween antics were all just beginning. She had to admit; she especially loved NOLA during Halloween season. The city truly embraced all that was fun—and creepy—about the holiday. There were all kinds of balls throughout the city, and some of the costuming was absolutely amazing. She loved to dress up herself; now and then, she’d served as a guide for Max’s family attraction, but that was often difficult because her band was always playing during the season, as well. And if they didn’t play at Halloween, they might not be asked back to play when they weren’t in season.
The place was called “Tarot and Tea.” And Montana hadn’t lied; she had been there before. But only for tea. They carried a really nice selection of teas; you could buy a cup or a bag to take home.
The place was decked out for Halloween. Skeletons hung here and there from the rafters; spider webs covered corners and sconces and other paraphernalia. A little witch on a broomstick advertised that readings were available by appointment.
“By appointment!” Montana said.
“And you think I don’t have an appointment?” Brenda asked her. “Oh, ye of little faith!”
“But, I don’t want an appointment!”
“And I didn’t get you one!” Brenda assured her with a laugh. “Just me.”
While she might have been to the shop before, Montana never had met “The Empress.” While Brenda headed in for her reading, Montana wandered in the front of the shop. There were charming little wooden “tea” tables all about and a rack that held papers and magazines. She couldn’t help but notice the front page of the main national paper. The headline read: “Halloween Horror Killer Strikes in Texas!”
As she was glancing at the article, a young man behind the tea counter spoke to her. “Terrible, huh? Thank God, it’s Texas—no offense to Texas—but we sure do get our share of kooks here. I’m Donald. Donald Levin. Can I get you some tea while you’re waiting? Complimentary with a reading—even a friend’s reading!” he said with a grin.
She ordered tea. And Donald told her that “The Empress” was actually Tina Mayberry from Williamsburg, Virginia, but she had lived all around the world and studied with some of the best people in the business and knew the cards backward and forward. Even they—Donald, and his wife, Louisa—were astounded by the amount of rave reviews they received on tourist sites since The Empress had come there.
“I’m just not terribly into readings—of any kind,” Montana said.
“Afraid of what they might say?”
“No.” What difference did it make? Anything learned
was a lie! “I don’t believe in predetermined destiny in any way, that’s all. But, on the other hand, I do believe in people getting carried away in self-fulfilling prophecies. Oh, I’m sorry—I sound horrible. I won’t say this to people coming in for readings, I promise!”
At that moment, Brenda came out from the curtained-off back of the shop, her reading having come to an end. She was followed by a slim, attractive, middle-aged woman with pitch-black hair and brilliant green eyes. She wasn’t in any kind of a fortune-telling get-up—she wasn’t even wearing a Halloween costume or token hat. She appeared regal—and regular, just nice and friendly.
“Thank you! You’re wonderful,” Brenda said, her face lit up in a brilliant smile as she and the woman walked out. Seeing Montana, Brenda stopped short. “Hey! Montana, this is Tina—”
“Mayberry, yes, thank you. Donald told me,” Montana said, reaching out a hand to shake with the attractive older woman.
She realized that the woman had been holding a deck of tarot cards in her right hand; she went to shift them in order to shake hands, as Montana had offered.
But the cards fell to the floor.
It really was quite extraordinary. Most of the cards stayed together in the container. One—just one--slipped from the pack. It seemed to skid across the floor—and land directly in front of Montana.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Go figure on that,” Montana said, reaching down for the card.
“Not your fault at all,” Tina Mayberry said. “I dropped the cards, and it’s not as if they were heavy or anything!”
She smiled, a great smile as Montana reached down for the card.
“The Empress! How fitting,” Brenda said.
Montana tried to hand the card to Tina. It seemed to have a mind of its own and slipped from her fingers again. Once on the floor, it seemed to spin so that the elegant woman on the card was actually staring at Montana.
“The Empress, yes.” Tina said.
There had to be a wind—a draft from an air-system of some kind—in the shop. The card suddenly spun around.
Never Fear - The Tarot: Do You Really Want To Know? Page 8