by Opal Carew
Cantrel climbed back on the airboat, sitting in the driver’s seat with a confidence that revealed he’d been there before.
“You seem to know what you’re doing with that.”
“I’ve been driving these all my life.”
“You’re from the area?”
“Right around here.”
“Then you knew Charlie.”
“Yeah. Decent guy.”
We both went silent, thinking of Charlie.
Cantrel straightened—all business once more. “You’ll need to stay out of the swamp now, ma’am. Too dangerous.”
“I don’t have much choice. I’ve been hired to—” I broke off. I couldn’t say I was looking for a loup-garou. Cantrel might just commit me to the insane asylum. Around here, they probably still had one.
“Hired to what?” Cantrel asked.
“Research,” I said, which covered quite a bit and usually bored people so much, they stopped asking questions.
“I thought you were a zoologist. Shouldn’t you be in a zoo?” He flushed. “I mean, working there.”
I didn’t want to explain what I really was. So I didn’t. “I’m working here.”
“It’d be best if you stayed out of the swamp.” He glanced at the crescent moon slowly moving across the night sky. “At least for a few days.”
Before I could question him further, he started the motor and whirled away.
Once I was alone, the silence surrounded me. I glanced toward the water and caught the glint of the moon off several sets of bobbing eyes. None of them seemed interested in getting any closer.
I patted my gris-gris. For a bogus protection charm it worked pretty well. Nevertheless, I hurried to my car and returned to the city.
Bourbon Street was in full swing. I glanced at my watch. Midnight. Why did it feel so much later?
I wasn’t hungry, but I hadn’t eaten all day and while my body could definitely stand to lose a few pounds, I knew better than to skip food entirely. I enjoyed fainting even less than I enjoyed wearing Lycra.
I forced myself into the crowd and let them push me along the scarred, broken sidewalks, past the bars, the strip joints, the souvenir shops that sported T-shirts with obscene slogans, until I found a restaurant that wasn’t too busy. I tore myself away from the throng and stumbled into a cobblestone courtyard filled with tables. I chose one nearest the street.
While I might not enjoy walking in a crowd, I definitely liked watching them. Though loud and mostly drunk, the Bourbon Street horde was fun. Cheery people visited New Orleans, and those who lived here loved it. Sure there was voodoo and murder and something in the swamp, but this was also the Big Easy, and it had become that for a reason. New Orleans was the land of great music, good food, never-ending booze, hot sex. During the day, the rot showed. But at night the neon camouflaged everything.
I ordered a zombie—why not?—and a po’boy. It wasn’t until I was halfway through the food and all the way through the drink that the now-familiar sensation of being stared at came over me. However, there weren’t any alligators on Bourbon Street unless you counted the stuffed ones in the shop windows.
All the other diners were busy with their own libations. The waiters were waiter-ing; bartenders, bartending. The crowd continued to flow by without any hesitation. I told myself I was exhausted from the combination of a drink, a full stomach, and a busy day, then paid my check and left.
The uncomfortable sensation continued. I glanced behind me every few seconds, but with hundreds of people on the street, I couldn’t determine if any single one meant to follow me. Ducking into my hotel, I slipped behind a pillar and peeked out.
Nothing.
As I headed upstairs, I told myself I had good reason to be spooked. Someone had put that flower in my room. Someone had taken it out again.
I unlocked my door, checked the bathroom, the closet, a shady corner. No one here but me.
My gaze was drawn to the balcony. I found myself crossing the room, opening the French doors, stepping outside. My eyes wandered over the crowd below.
The revelers flowed around the man as if he were a huge rock in the middle of a river. He never glanced at them, just continued to stare at me. He was no one I’d ever met yet somehow I knew him. His clothes were dirty, torn, his hair wild; he wasn’t wearing any shoes. What was the deal with shoes around here?
My phone started ringing—loud, shrill—and I spun, heart thundering. When I got myself under control, realized it was just the phone, I turned back, letting it ring.
He was gone, of course. No sign of him anywhere. Not that he couldn’t disappear into the crowd, a bar, maybe thin air.
The damn phone kept trilling. Wasn’t there voice mail in this place? I snatched it up.
“Yes?” My heart still pounded fast enough to make black dots dance in front of my eyes. I needed to breathe.
“Diana.”
Frank.
“I’ve been calling for hours. I was worried.”
“Mmm.” I stared at the wide-open balcony doors. Should have shut those.
“Is something wrong with your cell?”
I patted my pockets, pulled out the phone. It needed a charge. “I was in the field.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t do for you to sneak up on the loup-garou and have your phone frighten him away.”
As if I could sneak up on a werewolf—I sighed—or any wolf, for that matter.
“What have you found?” Frank asked.
“Nothing really.”
“What have you been doing with your time?” His voice was sharp, accusing, annoying as hell.
“My guide’s dead.”
A shocked beat of silence came over the line before Frank drawled, “That didn’t take long.”
“What didn’t take long?”
“For the loup-garou to get him.”
I frowned. “Why do you think a wolf killed him?”
“Didn’t it?”
I was still on the seeing-is-believing plan, and I’d seen nothing but a tail. Could have belonged to anyone. I meant any thing.
“I rented the Ruelle Mansion for the next month,” Frank continued, letting the matter drop. “You can move in whenever you like.”
“I’ll have my things shipped from storage.”
“Let me know where they are, and I’ll take care of it.”
Usually I paid the owner of the storage facility to do that, but if Frank wanted to pay, I was all for it. I gave him the address.
I almost asked if he’d rented the place directly from Adam Ruelle, but I recalled his reaction the last time I’d mentioned the name and decided to keep the question to myself. Frank thought Adam knew something, and maybe he did. But I’d find out what for myself.
“I’ll arrange for a new guide,” Frank said, as if his last arrangement hadn’t died from a mortal throat wound.
“I’ll take care of it.”
I didn’t plan on hiring anyone. I couldn’t put another person in danger. I’d buy a gun; I’d done so before. Then I’d explore the swamp on my own.
“If that’s what you want. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“How about if I call you when I have some news?”
I couldn’t work if he was going to check up on me all the time. He was already making me half-nuts.
“All right.”
“I’ll be out in the field a lot,” I explained. “My phone will be off.”
“Of course.” Frank still sounded a bit miffed, but he said good-bye without further comment.
I moved to the balcony, checked the crowd once more. No one paid me any mind, which was as it should be. I began to think I’d only imagined being followed— again. I rationalized that even if the man had been staring at me, and I kind of thought he had, it was because he liked redheads, big girls, or balconies on Bourbon Street. Still, I shut and locked the French doors before heading for my laptop.
Though wolves usually claim a fairly large territory, the proximity of the recent death
s made me think this wolf didn’t. Although, for all we knew, the thing had been killing throughout the swamp—a distance of some 250 square miles—and only the bodies closest to civilization, i.e., on the Ruelle property, had been found.
I’d bookmarked the articles Frank had originally given me, and I brought them up on the screen, clicked through, made a few notes. I was just about to do a search for other mysterious animal killings under the crescent moon when a tiny photo of one of the swamp victims caught my eye. I clicked on the enlargement feature, and then I couldn’t move, speak, even breathe.
I could barely think.
Chapter 9
I squinted at the screen. The man was dead; he couldn’t have been standing outside my hotel room watching me. I knew that as well as I knew my bra size. So why were my hands shaking?
“Place is getting to you. Haunted houses. Werewolves in the swamp. Voodoo priestess.”
Maybe I should talk to Cassandra. If anyone would know why I’d seen a dead man walking, that someone would probably be her.
Except it was well past midnight and there was no way I was going out on the street in the dark—even if it was lit up like Mardi Gras. Instead I returned to my research, found several articles about dead people in the swamp, cross-referenced them with the phases of the moon, and came up with a list.
I found no mention of rabid animals, rogue beasts, or a serial killer. Which struck me as odd. Had no one but Frank and I noticed bodies were piling up under the crescent moon?
I studied the dates. Over the past ten years there hadn’t been more than three bodies found per annum. Which was probably why there hadn’t been an outcry. Especially in an area where death lived everywhere and had for a very long time.
According to my Internet sources, my guidebook, and my memories, New Orleans could have been called the Big Epidemic instead of the Big Easy. As it was located below sea level, between Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River, yellow fever had loved the place. From 1793 to 1905 there were twenty outbreaks.
Besides the plagues, they had starvation, war, pestilence. The usual. However, in New Orleans the troubles seemed multiplied. Which is probably why when they partied, they did so for days.
I continued to search for deaths, disappearances, locations. About 2:00 a.m. my eyes drooped. I was so tired I barely got my clothes off before I fell into bed. The next thing I knew, the sun was up.
No dreams. No visitations. No flowers. A good night.
I took a shower, snagged some coffee, and headed for Cassandra’s. On the street, shopkeepers sprayed the sidewalks, flushing away the refuse left over from the nightly celebration. Water dripped from balconies and onto my head as residents watered their plants. I dodged people meandering down Bourbon Street with cocktails in plastic glasses. Had they ever gone home?
The door to the shop was locked. I glanced at my watch, then the sign on her window. Two hours until Cassandra opened for business. I needed to talk to her now.
I’d just lifted my hand to knock when she opened the door. My eyes narrowed. “How did you know I was here?”
“How do you think?”
She turned, leaving the door open. I stepped inside.
“Lazarus?” she called.
I froze, one foot in, one foot out.
“You mind shutting that? If he sees the daylight, he’ll bolt.”
I cringed at the thought of Lazarus bolting over my sneakers, or maybe up my leg, and slammed the door. “How does a snake bolt?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Why is he out of his cage?”
“I let him out at night.” Cassandra went down on her knees, peeking under one of the display cases. “Would you want to be stuck in a cage every minute of your life?”
Lazarus was a snake. Did he have wants and needs?
Something skittered across the open space.
“There he is,” I said, just a little too loud.
Cassandra started, bumping her head on the case before giving me a disgusted glare. “I thought you were a scientist. How can you be afraid of snakes?”
“Who said I’m afraid of snakes?”
She snorted.
“Call me crazy,” I said stiffly, “but I don’t like being in a small confined space with a freaking python.”
“He’s not interested in you.”
A slight thud caused me to turn. Lazarus was right behind me. I stared at the odd growth in his throat. Or was that his neck? Maybe his body?
“There you are!” Cassandra snatched him up, then popped the snake into his cage and flipped the lock.
“Does he have a tumor?” I asked.
“What?” Horrified, she bent and peered at him.
“That big bump.”
“I thought you were a zoologist.”
“Crypto.”
“Still—didn’t you study reptiles?”
“As little as possible.”
She put a hand on her hip and tilted her head. “What do snakes eat?”
“Rodents.” The light dawned. “That’s what’s in his throat?”
“Another reason I set him free at night. He’s much better than a cat. Never, ever, brings me a present.” Cassandra shuddered.
I’d never had a cat, never had a pet. Can you imagine my mother allowing an animal to walk on her winter-white carpet? She’d rarely allowed me there. However, I knew cats liked to share. Or maybe brag. I could see Cassandra’s point though I’d stop short of befriending a python.
“What brings you here?” she asked.
I hesitated. It was one thing to consider seeking the advice of a voodoo priestess in the middle of the night and quite another to actually do it in the daylight
“Tea?” She pushed through the beaded doorway without waiting for my answer, which would have been “ack” if I hadn’t known that was rude.
I followed her into a quaint kitchen. “Don’t suppose you have coffee.”
“You suppose right. The stuff will stunt your growth.”
I lifted my eyebrows at her petite form.
“Never mind.” Cassandra set the tea on the table and motioned me into a chair. “What happened?”
I found myself telling her everything. Since Simon’s death I’d had no one to confide in, no one to bounce ideas off of, no one to trust. Why I’d chosen Cassandra I wasn’t sure. She just had a way about her. Despite her youth, she seemed wise. Her eyes were a little sad, as if she’d seen more than she should. I sensed she’d lost someone, too, someone she’d loved. Despite our differences, I felt a kindred spirit and I responded.
She listened to all that I told her, not speaking until I was through. “Comparing a news photo and a man you saw from pretty far away is a stretch.”
“I know.”
“He could be a relative of the deceased. Resemble him just enough to throw you off.”
“Most likely.”
Cassandra took a sip of her tea, swallowed, set the cup down with a click, and met my gaze. “Then why are you here?”
“Exactly.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Why am I here? I’m not the spooky type. I don’t believe in this stuff. Yet here I am, asking a voodoo priestess why a dead guy was following me down Bourbon Street. Why?”
“You’ve lost your mind?”
‘I’m starting to wonder.”
“Maybe you just need a friend.”
I lifted my gaze. “That pathetic, am I?”
“Not at all. You travel a lot. How could you make friends?”
“Even if I was any good at it.”
“You seem pretty good at it to me.”
I half-expected her to reach over and pat my hand.
“Anyway, you came to the right place.”
“For a friend?”
“That, too. I like you, Diana. I think I have something that’ll help you.”
Cassandra stood, then headed into the shop. I followed. A quick glance into the snake cage revealed Lazarus at work on his breakf
ast At least cats ate their prey, eventually; they didn’t wear it.
“If you see the guy again, blow this into his face.” She handed me a tiny burlap bag.
“More gris-gris?” My fingers searched for, then found the one I’d stuffed into my back pocket.
“No. This’ll tell you if he’s dead.”
I frowned at the sack. “It’ll tell me if the man who’s following me down the street is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Cassandra, what are you talking about?”
“Zombies. What were you asking me about?”
“A dead guy.”
“Who was walking. Add them together and that equals zombie.”
“In New Orleans maybe.”
“In any damn place.”
She was right. I had come to ask about zombies; I just hadn’t known how to. But now that she’d answered... “How are zombies raised?”
“I’m not exactly sure. There are a lot of theories, spells, but I’ve never been able to raise one.”
“You’ve tried?”
She shrugged. “It takes a lot more power than I have. Raising the dead is serious business.”
I must have looked skeptical because she tilted her head. “You don’t believe, even though you’ve seen.”
“We don’t know what I saw. Probably the guy’s cousin, uncle, twin.”
“Use the powder; then you’ll know.”
“What happens if I blow this stuff into a zombie’s face?”
“The one who raises the zombie gives it purpose and strength. His or her power keeps the zombie moving physically. Mentally they just aren’t right.”
I was starting to get the drift. “If I blow this in his face—”
“The magic dies. He’ll revert to a corpse right before your eyes.”
Chapter 10
“Cassandra, this is ridiculous.”
“Try the powder; then tell me it doesn’t work.”
“Fine.” I stuffed the bag into another pocket. “Thanks.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“I’ll—uh—be staying at the Ruelle place from now on.”