Mama’s astral voice raged above the storm. “Enough, Bway!”
Toussaint spun, mouth agape, eyes raised to the heavens. He dropped me into a crumpled heap onto the rain-soaked pavers, gasping for breath.
“Mama, is that you?” Toussaint called, wiping the rain from his face and staring into the storm. “Mama?”
Head on a swivel, he railed like the madman he was, calling out to the only mother he had ever known. Had he wanted to destroy her too? Or to simply beg for her forgiveness?
Hell, if I cared. Mama had given me an opening and that was all that mattered.
Biting back the pain, I dug into my pocket, yanked out the pouch of goofer dust, and hurled it up into Toussaint’s face.
He howled and tore at his cheeks as the powder settled onto his skin, raising blisters that instantly burst, leaving behind glimpses of bone.
While he was swiping at the powder, I reached into my boot and pulled Baby from her holster. With my right hand steadying my left, I rolled onto my stomach and moaned as my fractured ribs compressed. On raised elbows, I levelled the gun and squeezed the trigger.
Toussaint slammed to the ground, flat on his back, unmoving. Blood seeped from his body into the ponding water on the stark white pavers, turning them red.
I gathered my knees beneath me and crawled toward his body. Had I shot him in the head? I couldn’t be sure. My bones screamed; my muscles burned and the world grew gray. Every inch I gained seemed like a mile.
Just a quick rest, I told myself, closing my eyes.
Babs voice whirred inside my ear. “I’m here, Allie. You’re going to be okay.”
She uttered a few more words I didn’t catch, and I smiled in spite of the pain. You know she isn’t real, right? I thought. She has no way of knowing you’re here.
The world went black.
I opened my eyes and silently darted them from side to side. From the looks of things, I was in a hospital, hooked up to an IV. Ferris was there, as well as Babs, and Vinny. Rico and Jade too, sitting in some crappy folding chairs, holding hands, looking closer than ever.
What the hell? Was I dying?
“Welcome back.” Ferris leaned over the bedrail and brushed his lips on my cheek. My left hand was bandaged and my entire body was on fire, but I had a good buzz going, and it didn’t seem like I was dying. At least, nobody was crying anyway.
“Care to fill me in?” I croaked.
Rico poured me a glass of water and put the straw to my lips. That water tasted better than any Jack Daniel’s slushie I’d ever had, and yet, that slushie was at the top of the list of things I wanted once I got out of there.
Ferris ticked off my injuries like a laundry list. “Let’s see. You’ve got an assortment of broken ribs, a contused trachea, second-degree burns on your hand and a rocking concussion. But you’ll live. Anything else you’re fuzzy on?”
I eyeballed Babs. “How did you know I was at Congo Square?”
“Actually,” Ferris said, squatting beside my bed, “I should probably be the one to explain that. Boudreaux was worried about you for, ah, for taking shots at the blank wall in the Chalmette house. He ordered me to put a tracker app on your phone, to, you know, keep an eye on you.”
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. “I’ll deal with Boudreaux later. Just when did you install this app?”
Ferris cleared his throat. “When you went into the pharmacy to buy bandages. You left your phone laying on the console in the car.”
My head began to throb. I pressed the PCA pump and waited for sweet relief. But no sooner had my eyes drifted closed than they snapped back open.
“Where’s Toussaint?”
Rico flanked me on the other side of my bed. “He’s dead, Nighthawk. You nailed him.”
“Head shot, right?”
“Dead as a door knob.” Ferris said, glancing away.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Where is he now?”
A stony silence fell over the room. Ferris, Rico, Babs and Vinny all looked at each other in one big circle jerk.
My teeth clenched so tight I thought they’d break. “I want to see his body. Now.”
Babs stepped forward and gently lay her hand on mine. “You can’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “Because it’s…gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
Ferris tossed up his hands. “For Christ sake, Nighthawk. Toussaint’s dead. I even felt for his pulse, to be sure. Then, I called it in, scooped you up, and drove like a bat out of hell to get you here. When the backup team arrived at Congo Square, Toussaint’s body was gone.”
I was released from the hospital the following day, in enough time to say goodbye to Ferris, Rico, Jade and Babs before they flew back to Cincinnati. Ferris wanted to stay in New Orleans with me, but Mama insisted that she’d send me back to him once she’d nursed me back to health.
He’d stopped by Mama’s to visit me privately before he left town. He pulled the handful of dust that Mama had given him from his pocket, poured half of it into my hand, and then kissed me long and hard.
“Mama told me I would know when to use this. It’s a lover’s blessing to bring you back to me, Allie girl. I’ll be waiting.”
He left town having never heard those three little words that I struggle with so much.
For the time being, Mama allowed Vinny to stay with her too. School was out. He had nowhere to stay, and you couldn’t stick a crowbar between him and Luna, anyway. I’d been thinking about asking him to come back home with me, maybe help Nonnie run American Corpse Management Executives, Inc. Why not? Somebody had to keep an eye on that crazy, blue-haired huckster. And down deep inside (a place I try not to visit), I figured Leo would get a kick out of us working together—if we didn’t end up killing each other first.
Healing quickly is a requirement for corpse whisperers. In two days, I was up and about, following Mama, and driving Vinny crazy. After Mama showed me how to make Jade’s medicine, I was so bored, that when my phone rang and Nonnie was on the other end, I didn’t roll my eyes or sigh.
“When you coming home?” she asked.
“A day, maybe two, tops. How are the terrible twins?
“Is triplets now,” she said. “One of the eggs, it hatched.”
I frowned at the phone. “Unfertilized eggs don’t hatch, Nonnie.”
“Fertilized, unfertilized, who tracks such things?”
“You let my bird get knocked up? We don’t have enough dog biscuits to feed us as it is.”
“Bah! Who know when the knocking happen? I take baby home—be his momma. I call him Hyrum.”
“Perfect. That’s one problem down. Now for that property tax issue…”
Two days later, when the time came to say goodbye to Mama, the words refused to come. I stood on the porch of the house I’d loved since I was a child, knowing that once I left, the chances were I would never see her again. But as all good mamas do, she guided me gently down the steps and shooed me back to the life I’d left behind. The life I was destined to live. The life of a corpse whisperer.
Vinny agreed to come to Cincinnati and work for me after he finished summering with Momma and Luna. He’d have a home with me for as long as he wanted. We could figure out his last year of college and ongoing training later. He had a long and exciting life ahead of him, working beside me in the corpse management business.
Ferris would be there waiting for me, and Rico too, each of them wanting something different from me, and each determined to get it.
I wished I knew what I wanted from them.
And I wished I could have seen Toussaint’s body—to know he was dead—to feel the complete and utter absence of life inside him.
Until I could do that, I would never be sure he was truly gone.
Acknowledgments
I would like to express my gratitude to the many people who helped bring this book to life:
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Christiana Mille
r and the talented folks associated with Third Street Press. Your drive and focus have given The Corpse Whisperer series wings. Thanks for believing in me and Allie Nighthawk.
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Robert M. Burdick, who reviewed, suggested, and corrected this manuscript—thanks for giving Corpse Whisperer Sworn copious amounts of your time, your literary expertise, and your devotion.
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Ms. Logan Ashley, lifelong resident of New Orleans, who served as my local flavor and Creole consultant. I couldn’t have written this without you!
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Officer Scott Burdick who has stepped into his father’s shoes as my police/weapons expert. Thanks for your expertise and for answering my ridiculously civilian questions.
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And a special shout out to Don Moon and the network of authors and beta readers who critiqued Corpse Whisperer Sworn, as well as to friends and fans who encouraged me. You are too numerous to mention individually, but you know who you are. I will treasure your support and friendship always.
About the Author
H.R. Boldwood, author of the Corpse Whisperer series, and finalist in the 2019 Imadjinn Awards, is a writer of horror and speculative fiction. In another incarnation, Boldwood is a Pushcart Prize nominee and winner of the 2009 Bilbo Award for creative writing by Thomas More College.
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Boldwood’s characters are often disreputable and not to be trusted. They are kicked to the curb at every conceivable opportunity when some poor unsuspecting publisher welcomes them with open arms. No responsibility is taken by this author for the dastardly and sometimes criminal acts committed by this ragtag group of miscreants.
You can send H.R. Boldwood a message at [email protected]
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To learn more about H.R. Boldwood, visit her website at: www.hrboldwood.com
Also By H.R. Boldwood
Novels
The Corpse Whisperer
Corpse Whisperer Sworn
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Anthologies
Killing it Softly (Volume One)
Killing it Softly (Volume Two)
Hyperion and Theia’s Saturnalia
Toys in the Attic
Floppy Shoes Apocalypse II
Carnival of Horror
Bete Noire
Pilcrow and Dagger
Corpse Whisperer Sworn Page 27