Corpse Whisperer Sworn

by H. R. Boldwood

  An awkward silence fell over the table. Everyone resumed stuffing their faces. Everyone except me. I was pissed. As far as I was concerned, the conversation wasn’t over.

  “And what about my power, Ferris? Where do you stand on that?”

  His eyes bored into mine. “I believe in you. And your power. I’ve seen it. It’s…tangible. Like the virus and the rotters. They exist. They’re real.”

  I shook my head and whispered, “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, my friend. If you do believe in me, believe this: The magick is real.”

  Ferris went silent. Rico scraped the last of his gumbo from his bowl. “So, for the…less informed…at the table, what kind of magic are you talking about?”

  Wasn’t that a loaded question? What kind weren’t we talking about? Conjure powder and oils, rituals, spells, cross-me-not barriers, five finger grass, goofer dust. The list goes on. Mama knew them all. Even with my training, I’d barely scratched the surface.

  “All kinds,” I said keeping my voice low. “Most of the magick Mama practices is for protection.” There was, of course, a darker form. The kind Toussaint used. But for that night, under Mama’s roof, for very deep and personal reasons, Toussaint and the practice of dark magick weren’t appropriate topics of conversation.

  Vinny raised the last bite of his po’ boy to his mouth. “Were there other kids there with you—like a special Hoodoo Hogwarts school for whisperers? Or did you have a, whatchamacallit, a tutor?”

  The brain bitch hissed in my head. Now you’ve stepped in it.

  I squirmed and stared at my water glass praying for a diversion. “Yeah. Sure. From time to time, there were other students.”

  Rico’s head snapped up. “Was Toussaint Le Clerc one of those students?”

  Mama swept out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of beignets, pecan pie, and bread pudding. I sighed in relief—until she bobbled her tray, nearly spilling the sweets on the floor.

  “Toussaint? How you know my bway?”

  “Your…boy?” Rico darted his eyes to me. I shot him daggers, a silent warning to let it go. Mama either missed the exchange or chose to ignore it.

  “Toussaint was my best apranti—next to my Allie. How is my sweet bway?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said, avoiding Mama’s gaze. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “Nor I. Strange, eh?” She eyed me. “You two used to be…so close. Where could my bway be?”

  I felt the weight of Rico’s stare and looked up to discover Ferris studying us both. Mama finished handing out the desserts, and then silently ambled back into the kitchen.

  “Good one,” I said, punching Rico’s arm. “Mama doesn’t know about Toussaint.”

  “Doesn’t know what about Toussaint? And close? You and he were close? Since when?”

  Babs sighed. “I am the profiler assigned to this case. If you were involved with him, you might have mentioned it earlier.”

  “Back off! Mama doesn’t know he went dark. And it was nothing. We were just kids.”

  The brain bitch blew a freaking gasket. Just give up all your secrets, pinhead. She was right, damn it. I felt naked as a jaybird.

  Ferris snorted. “Mama knows more than you give her credit for. She sure knew you were lying.”

  “Whose side are you on, anyway?” I turned to Rico and stuck my finger in his face. “Ix-nay on the oussaint-Tay in front of ama-May.”

  “She needs to know, Nighthawk.”

  “Let me handle that.”

  “Just see that you—”

  His phone rang, cutting his lecture short. He glanced at the number and got up from the table with a sigh.

  Son of a bitch. I’d know that sigh anywhere. Jade had joined the mix.

  Babs scowled across the table at Vinny, who’d been shoving food into his face non-stop. “You should eat slower, Mr. Abruzzi. Chew your food. It isn’t trying to escape.”

  “Hey,” he said, sliding his plate out of Babs’ reach. “I don’t get to eat like this a lot, you know? Mama’s a damn fine cook.”

  I ignored them both and elbowed Ferris. “That bubble-brained twat-waffle needs to take her hooks out of Rico. She’s on him like a dog on a bone.”

  Ferris dropped his half-eaten beignet on his plate. “Why do you even care?”

  For the second time that night, the brain bitch nearly took out my ear drums. See, dumbass? It isn’t just me. Ferris sees it, too. You’re jealous.

  The freaking head-harpy. What the hell did she know?

  Babs quirked an eyebrow at me. “Jealousy is quite common among work partners who’ve bonded deeply. It’s nature’s way of—”

  I clenched my teeth so hard they almost cracked. “Zip it, psycho-bot. Or next time, I’ll—”

  Rico had returned to the table and was standing behind me. He slumped in his chair and glowered at me, when I tried to explain why I was so peeved.

  “I don’t even want to know,” he said, waving me off. “That was Jade calling. She tracked us down and caught a flight to NOLA. She wants to follow the investigation for her exposé.”

  I went vertical, nearly flipping the table on its side. “Damn it, Rico! That’s the last thing we need—her sticking her pert, plasticized nose into this case. She’s going to get herself killed. Or one of us. Send her back home. Now!”

  “Chill out,” he said, climbing to his feet. “She’s at the Maison Dupuy Hotel. I’ll Uber there and talk some sense into her. You guys stay put, enjoy the night.”

  I had my jacket halfway on. “You need more fire power. I’ll send her perky ass packing.”

  Ferris snickered.

  “No thanks,” Rico said, on his way to the door. “If I wanted this thing to blow up, I’d just throw gasoline on it.”

  Maybe he was right. Okay, he was absolutely right. But I hate that freaking news floozy with every microbe in my body. He was also right that I should enjoy the night with Mama. I sighed, draping my jacket over the back of my chair, and then silently began bussing the table.

  Ferris, unusually quiet, waited until I started for the kitchen to speak. “Where are you going?”

  I looked down at the stack of dishes in my hands and then at Ferris.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” he said. “We need to…talk.” His eyes darted toward Vinny and Babs. “About the…case.”

  “I should help Mama,” I said, turning on my heel and racing toward the kitchen. I was quick, but not quick enough.

  Ferris beat me to the doorway, leaned down and murmured, “While you’re in there, give it some thought. Why are you so invested in Rico’s life? Maybe then, you can explain it to me.”

  I’d rather not.

  “We can talk about this later,” I said, slipping past him into the kitchen.

  Mama tried to shoo me back. “Go. Sit with your friends, sha, I get this.”

  “If it’s okay with you, I could use a break.”

  Mama watched Ferris with a bemused smile as he strolled back to the table. “Look at you,” she said, turning back to me and taking my hands. “So strong. So beautiful. No wonder he wants you. How have you been, Little Bird?”

  I didn’t even try to explain my relationship with Ferris to her. Hell, someone would have to explain it to me first. So much had happened since she and I had seen each other last. Where to begin?

  “I’m good, Manman. Happy.”

  “Centered?’ she asked. “At peace?”

  Anything but. “Absolutely.”

  She looked deep into my eyes, the way she had when I was young and she’d suspected I’d been lying. But she didn’t call me on it.

  “And your Papa. He is well?”

  My eyes began to sting. I cleared my throat and fought for the words. “He’s been gone three years now.”

  There was more. So much more that I needed to share with her about his death. But tonight, our first night back together, I couldn’t bear to break her heart.

  She pulled me to her chest. “Sweet child, God’s will sometime
s leaves us empty. But in time, He fills the hole.” She stepped back and ran her hands through my thick, black hair. “So, what brings you back home to your Manman?”

  I shrugged, blinking back a tear that threatened to spill. “I miss your étoufée.”

  “Tsk-tsk,” she scolded, “do not lie to Manman.”

  Little Allie cowered in my brain. Suddenly, we’d regressed to the clueless teenagers who could never put anything over on Mama. We’d been busted once again. It was time to come clean. So, I gave Mama the Reader’s Digest version of how I came to work with CPD and the FBI, making sure to stress that I always keep my rules. Always is such an exacting term. I tried not to wince as the word shot out of my mouth. But there was no use trying to fool her. She knows that even though I aim for black and white, I usually end up in the gray. I finished my quick and dirty employment history with, “My…friends…and I are here on a case.”

  “And Toussaint has something to do with this case?”

  “He isn’t the angel you remember. Neither am I.”

  Mama eased herself onto a stool beside the well-worn butcher-block table. “I hear tings. I know he grows stronger. And I know your heart. There be no darkness in you. The truth this time, child. Why are you here?”

  I needed her help. And the only way I was going to get it was to tell her about Leo and the virus manipulation. I explained how the virus had been bioengineered to spread more easily, to create more zombies. In Mama’s vernacular, bioengineering was akin to root work. Spells and magick were staples of the hoodoo culture—Mama’s culture. She’d taught us those things to broaden our understanding of the metaphysical world. Toussaint excelled in root work, in the science of it all. The tortured look in Mama’s eyes told me she was putting the puzzle together. I thought I caught a glimpse of guilt in those eyes too, and my heart ached.

  The power Toussaint and I shared, the power to raise the dead, wasn’t root work or hoodoo. But the reason we were left in Mama’s charge was because she understood the veil between life and death, understood the intoxicating power of our wonderful, godawful gift, and the isolating responsibility that came with it. She would consider Toussaint’s fall her own failing.

  Mama patted my hand. “Is that why you left? Why you and he parted ways? Because he crossed into the darkness?”

  I couldn’t find my voice. But Mama knew it was true. She always knew. With Mama, there was only black and white, never gray. She slowly rose from her chair, shuffled to the doorway, and peered into the dining room. “Good. The night is slow. Your friends are comfortable. The tall, skinny woman is reading a journal, the young man is wooing one of my waitresses, and your man is drinking coffee and checking his phone.”

  “He’s not my man.”

  Mama snorted. “He is yours, sha, whether you want him or not. Come with me.”

  She led me through a faded velvet curtain strung across a doorway at the back of the kitchen, and I couldn’t help but grin. It had been forever since I’d played in Mama’s greenhouse.

  The musky smells of dirt, flora, and mingled herbs met my nose as we crossed into that magical space. Memories of being spellbound as I watched Mama conjure flooded my brain, followed closely by memories of my own spells gone sideways, that had been snatched from the jaws of calamity by Mama.

  We walked beneath incandescent lights and followed the main aisle to the center of the greenhouse, where we stopped at a rustic wooden workbench littered with gardening tools, candles, oils, and a mortar and pestle.

  Mama lowered herself onto her stool, looked me in the eye, and asked, “What are the two forces in this world?”

  The dogma was ever-present. “Good and evil.”

  “And which path do you follow?”

  “The good.”

  “Then we protect you against the bad, eh?” She worked quickly, anointing her gnarled hands with JuJu oil, a combination of Myrrh, Mimosa, Jasmine, Patchouli, and Galangal.

  “As above, so below,” she whispered, coating a candle, starting at its center and working her way to the top.

  She began to pray aloud. I recognized the words; they belonged to Psalm 23.

  She smiled and whispered, “Pray with me, child.”

  My voice joined hers. “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.”

  Mama continued dressing the candle, this time starting at the center and working her way to the bottom, as we recited the rest of Psalm 23. I’d read that passage so many times when I was a child, that even though I hadn’t thought of it in years, the words sprang from me like a song.

  “We ask you, Lord, to protect this child against all evil.” Mama’s eyes began to glisten. “And against those who do the dark works of the left hand. May she rise victorious above all that is malignant.”

  She let the candle burn as she filled a scrap of red flannel with a collection of herbs, roots and oils, some of which I recognized: dried toadstool, camphor, and powdered jellyfish. She started to stitch the edges of the flannel into a pouch, then almost as an afterthought, crushed a rose petal and sprinkled it into the mix.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  She grinned. “What you tink it for?”

  I blushed. Of course. It was for love. Give me a break, Mama.

  She slipped a leather cord through the half-sewn pouch, stitched it closed, then held it in her palms, and blew life into it. Slipping the gris-gris bag around my neck, she said, “Wear this next to your heart. Always. Every Friday, you soak it in whiskey. Keep it strong.”

  Hey, that worked for me. I could soak it while I was sipping one of my Jack Daniel’s slushies.

  Mama’s face looked like it had aged beneath the incandescent lights. “Last I heard, perhaps a year or so ago, Toussaint was rehabbing a manse in St. Bernard Parish.” She started back toward the kitchen, then turned to me with a sad smile. “You should visit a shoppe not far from Congo Square. Zanj Lan Fé Nwa.”

  The Dark Angel. My heart skipped a beat. That was the childhood nickname we’d given Toussaint when he was nothing more than a charming bad boy.

  Mama and I silently made our way, arm in arm, back through the curtain and found Ferris standing in the kitchen with his arms folded across his chest. “Thanks for the amazing meal, Mama Femi. I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Right now, Allie and I need to be getting back to the hotel. We have some…unfinished business…to discuss.”

  Well, shit, I thought. Mama’s busted up rose petal better have some good juju in it.

  15

  The Girl from Ipanema

  The ride back to the hotel was…what’s the word? Awkward. Babs’ nose never came out of her journal. A silent Ferris set his jaw and wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel in a death grip. Vinny whined about us committing stud-us interruptus in his efforts to pick up Mama’s waitress, Luna. And the head hag bitch-slapped me repeatedly for oversharing, or as she put it, spewing my secrets like projectile vomit.

  “Is it me?” Vinny asked. “Or is it like really tense in here?”

  “How astute,” Babs muttered.

  When we pulled into the Marriott, my hand was already wrapped around the door handle. As soon as Ferris parked, I tried to make a break for it, but the door wouldn’t budge. I hadn’t anticipated child-proof locks.

  Ferris threw me the side-eye. “Nice try, Slick. Agent McMillen, would you be kind enough to escort Vinny to my room and stay with him until I return? I won’t be long.” Ferris reached to the back seat, handed Babs his room key, and then glanced at Vinny. “You will remain there all night, locked inside, sleeping on the roll-a-way. Or you and I are going to have a problem. Copy that?”

  “Cockblocker,” Vinny mumbled.

  “Horndog.”

  Babs took Vinny by the arm as he slid out of the SUV. “Come along, Mr. Abruzzi.”

  The door swung closed behind them, l
eaving only Ferris and me.

  A chill snaked up my spine and woke up the head hag. You’re in for it now, Aliyah Marie.

  I hate when she calls me by my given name. And I swear, I heard her giggle. Ironic, isn’t it? The brain bitch had a front row seat to my first lover’s quarrel with Ferris.

  I sucked in a breath and slowly let it out. “Well?”

  Ferris squirmed and stared out the window. “What is it with you two, Allie?” He paused, like he was waiting for an answer. When I didn’t give him one, he began again. “You bitch about Jade having her hooks in Rico, but you’re…worse. You micromanage his love life. And he…” Ferris twisted his hands around the steering wheel. “Sometimes, he looks at you the way I do. This morning? The look on his face when he came to pick you up and found me there? He has feelings for you too. You know that, don’t you?”

  I couldn’t have denied it even if I’d wanted to. But I couldn’t bring myself to admit it, either—to Ferris, or myself. And certainly not to Rico. I was hoping the head hag would pull a pearl of wisdom out of her haughty ass and save me, but she must have been too busy enjoying the show to intervene.

  “Well?” Ferris asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “Damn it, Allie. What do you want?”

  What did I want? What did he want? Sure, we were dating. But we weren’t exclusive. The four-letter “L” word had never been spoken. Sure, Rico was hot. And yeah, there was some kind of chemistry between us. But he was with Jade—at least, for now, anyway.

  God, I needed a drink.

  “Is it hot in here?” I asked, pulling at the neck of my T-shirt. “It is. I don’t feel so good.”

  I rolled down the window and hung my head out like a St. Bernard.

  Ferris chuckled in spite of himself, swiveled sideways, and caressed me with his beautiful blue eyes. “Damn you, Nighthawk. C’mere,” he said, pulling me close. He kissed my forehead, sending shivers through me. “You don’t need to give me an answer tonight. I wouldn’t want you to hurl or anything. Not in the agency car.”