Royal Street

by Suzanne Johnson

  Alex looked at the floor and didn’t answer.

  “I’ll use the transport site in Gerry’s bedroom, assuming it will take me wherever he went,” I said, heading toward the door. “But I need you to stand watch at the transport and pull Jake and Gerry out if I’m able to send them back. Then call the Elders or the ambulance—whichever is appropriate.”

  Alex followed me to the door and grabbed my arm. “Forget it. You’re not going to the Beyond. It’s too dangerous and chances are good you won’t save either one of them. You’ll just get yourself killed.” I could feel Alex’s fear as well as his conflict. He was torn between following orders like the good soldier he’d been trained to be and going after Jake himself. He was breathing hard and his eyes had taken on a reflective quality that made me think he was close to spontaneously shifting. His control was shot.

  I pulled my arm away from him as gently as I could. “I know I’m overmatched, but I have to try.” I gave him awry smile. “I am Gerry’s daughter, after all.”

  I headed across the hall, Alex on my heels. “You’re not going in there alone.”

  “I don’t plan to go alone,” I said, pounding on the door. “I’m taking Louis with me.”

  CHAPTER 39

  By the time Alex, Louis, and I reached Gerry’s house, the sun had turned to orange fire over the lakefront. We didn’t bother with masks this time, but our boots still sat outside the door and we slipped them on. No point in going into the Beyond covered in sludge. A couple of plastic grocery bags tied around his ankles provided protection for Louis, who wasn’t happy about any of this. We dumped the boots as soon as we got upstairs.

  Gerry’s portal remained beside his bed, and I walked around it carefully, reinforcing it with iron filings so it would remain open. I handed the jar of leftover filings to Louis and told him to put it in his pocket.

  “What’s the plan?” Alex and Louis stood side by side, watching me.

  I took a deep breath. “Louis and I go in. He can help me find information and stay hidden as long as possible. You stay here and wait for Jake or Gerry—both, I hope—to show up. If I’m not back a half hour after they come through, break the transport.” I paused, then added, “If none of us shows up by dawn, break the transport and call Zrakovi.”

  Alex frowned. “What about you?”

  I chuckled. “I hope I’ll be right behind them but if I’m not, break the transport anyway. It can’t stay open.” I held up a hand to silence his protest. “This might be a one-way trip. But either way, Samedi won’t win.”

  That’s about the only part of the plan I had figured out. In case things went badly, if the only way to get Jake and Gerry out was for me to stay with Samedi, I had stuck a vial of lifesbane in my pocket. A quick sip and I’d be dead. Ironically, Gerry taught me about it so I wouldn’t stumble on the combination of herbs by accident. I might die tonight, but I was going on my own terms.

  I’d done some reading in Gerry’s books on power-transfer and blood sacrifice, and since I was a wizard, Samedi would have to kill me himself in order to take my powers. He couldn’t order a flunky to do it like he had the human soldiers. If I took my own life, it wouldn’t do him any good. The thought of ruining Samedi’s plans gave me a load of satisfaction. Not that I’d be there to enjoy the show.

  I turned my back before Alex knew I’d seen the sheen of tears. The internal war he waged between duty and loyalty and his love for Jake was tearing him apart. Too bad love and duty didn’t always overlap.

  I took Louis’s hand and stepped into the transport with him. I had just touched Gerry’s staff to the symbols and begun softly saying a prayer for guidance and protection when I felt an arm snake around my waist. Alex pressed against me in the transport as it lit like a ring of burning coals and a shimmering cylinder rose around us. It was too late to get him out of there, but I elbowed him hard in his rib cage for good measure.

  A flash of light blinded me and I struggled to breathe as the compression of air and time pushed on us from all sides. Powering a transport with the elven staff sure felt more powerful than my usual puny efforts. I closed my eyes against the fierce glare until my eyelids relaxed and I could feel the light subsiding.

  “We’re here.” Louis tugged at my sleeve. I opened my eyes, Alex loosened his grip on my waist, and we stepped out into the Beyond. I had a new appreciation for how Dorothy and Toto must have felt landing in Oz, except I’d be overjoyed at the sight of a wizard and a couple of witches—even wicked ones.

  I looked around me at quiet, cobblestoned streets and familiar French Quarter architecture. Wherever we had landed, it was secluded and definitely New Orleans. Make that Old Orleans.

  And dim. I looked at my watch and punched the stem to light the dial. Five p.m. “Why is it so dark?” I whispered to Louis.

  “It’s always nighttime in Old Orleans,” he whispered back. “We never see the sun. We go from sunset to dawn, then back to sunset. Always full moon too, so there’s always loup-garou around.”

  Why had no one ever bothered to mention this? I’d have brought a flashlight. “Do you know where we are?”

  Louis looked around and cocked his head, listening. “Lower Quarter. Looks like over toward Rampart.”

  We headed toward the closest corner. Gas streetlights flickered on the sides of buildings. The jangle of a dozen competing jazz tunes floated in from our left, and the air smelled of fried onions, stale beer, and rotting oysters—not so different from the Quarter’s modern cousin.

  I got the jar of iron shavings from Louis and quickly traced out a transport. We’d landed in an unmarked breach and might never find it again, plus I wasn’t sure how to power something I couldn’t see. I willed some magic into the new transport, and other than a faint popping sound, nothing happened. Guess that rumor about physical magic not working in the Beyond was true. I tried again using the elven staff, and was relieved when I felt the pulse of magic spread around the symbols.

  The signs at the nearest corner read Burgundy and St. Louis, and I tried to fix the layout of the Quarter in my mind. “Louis, how much attention will we attract walking around Rampart?”

  His eyes looked ready to pop out and roll down the sidewalk. “You can’t go strolling down Rampart Street, no ma’am. Alex could, but not you. Human-looking women attract a lot of attention here.”

  I scowled, trying not to think too much about what kind of nonhuman women might be gallivanting around Old Orleans. “Well, I can’t just stand on the street corner. What the—”

  Alex peeled off his hoodie and threw it at me. At least I knew what he was up to this time, so I wasn’t rendered speechless as he handed me his T-shirt, holster, and gun.

  “Put them on, pull up the hood. Use the shoulder harness.” He continued to strip. “Louis, man, hang on to my pants.” Louis’s mouth hung open, but he held out his hand automatically and took the jeans Alex handed to him.

  Louis gasped as Alex knelt, the air shimmered, and big golden Gandalf stood in his place. Louis gaped at him until Gandalf body-bumped him toward Rampart. Then he mumbled something incoherent and took off at a quick pace. I bet Louis wished he’d never met us.

  I had to hurry to catch up. I threw down the T-shirt and holster but slipped on the hoodie, which fell to my knees and covered the staff strapped to my thigh. I stuck the gun in my back waistband and hoped I didn’t shoot my own ass off.

  I pulled the hood over my head and kept pace with Louis, Gandalf between us. The barrel of the big handgun dug into my skin, and I wondered if I should have even kept it. My shooting lessons with Alex hadn’t progressed past load, release safety, and aim.

  Louis’s gaze shifted toward Gandalf every other step. “Did you know he could do that?”

  I patted the dog on his head, which hit me about waist level. “Oh yeah, I knew. He’s actually nicer this way.” Gandalf curled his upper lip.

  The Quarter might smell the same, but this Rampart Street wasn’t anything like the modern version. These days, or at
least before Katrina, it was the edgy and dangerous outer wall of the tourist zone. Undercover narcs hung out on street corners hoping to make deals. Some really good old restaurants were in the area, but you locked your car and watched your back when you went in.

  Old Rampart was hopping. The time period looked, well, timeless—an odd amalgam of jumbled eras. Napoleon meets Jay Gatsby meets George Jetson. No wonder Jean Lafitte was so well versed in modern customs.

  Flashy neon lit the streets, and scantily clad women—not human, I assumed—hung out of windows and doorways, advertising their favors. A tall, dark-skinned woman with yellow hair tugged on my sleeve as I passed her. “C’mon, little boy, I’ll take you on a ride for a little gold.”

  Little boy was good. If I looked like a little boy, the oversize hoodie was doing its job.

  Before we’d gone half a block, I staggered and fell against the side of a storefront, struggling to stay on my feet. Gandalf nuzzled my waist and I put a hand on his head to steady myself.

  “DJ, what’s wrong?” Louis looked scared. Hell, Louis was scared. The woman behind us was angry. A man edged his way around us. He was anxious, on the verge of panic. A vampire was tracking him, and he didn’t know how to hide from her.

  “I can’t block out emotions all of a sudden. I’m pulling them from everybody.” I leaned against a building and closed my eyes, wrapping my hands around the mojo bags and focusing on my heartbeat, on the simple act of expanding and contracting my lungs. It helped a little.

  Gandalf nuzzled my hip.

  “I’ll manage.” I patted his head. Breathe deeply. Mind blank.

  He chomped down on the edge of the hoodie and started pulling me in the direction we’d come from.

  “No, Alex.” I yanked the jacket away from him. “We have to do this. Louis, let me take your arm. Try not to feel anything.”

  Good luck with that. I was freaking him out.

  I walked slowly, my arm locked in Louis’s, Gandalf behind us. Even here, Louis was famous. Bouncers and hawkers outside the clubs greeted him as he passed, and that dropped his fear level lower and made it easier on me as well. My head pounded with the emotions hitting me, and my lungs constricted.

  Finally, Louis slipped into a club called Beyond and Back. I followed him in the front door, head down, while Gandalf slunk into an alleyway beside the building.

  “Sit in that corner and keep your head down,” Louis whispered, pointing me toward an empty table in the back. “There’s a door into the alley if you need it.”

  He went in search of a chatty bartender while I took a chair against the wall and looked from beneath the hood at the motley assortment of patrons who seemed disinclined to mind anyone else’s business—probably a good idea in Old Orleans. A lot of them appeared to be drinking heavily, which numbed their emotions. I liked numbed emotions. I relaxed a little.

  Not all of the bar patrons even tried to look human. I shivered when a very slim, very pale, very handsome man’s black eyes lingered on me. He was hungry. I slipped farther under the hood when he moved a couple of tables closer. He was still staring when a dark-haired woman approached him, nibbled at his earlobe, and tugged on his arm, pulling him toward the door. He grinned at me before turning away, the tip of fangs visible against his lower lip. I shuddered and looked up as Louis sat opposite me.

  “Bartender’s a friend of mine,” he said. “Only thing I could find out was some big ceremony’s going down at St. Louis Number One. Thing is …” He looked around and spoke more softly. “Thing is, that’s normally something lots of folks would want to go to. The voodoo have big parties all the time at the river and they have huge crowds ’bout every night. But folks are scared of the party tonight ’cause it’s at the cemetery. I’m thinking that’s where the old skeleton man is.”

  If Samedi’s power lay in creating and controlling the dead, hanging out in a cemetery made sense. Good grief. I hoped I wouldn’t have to deal with zombies. They were slow and stupid, as a general rule, but also wicked strong and had no self-preservation instincts, so you couldn’t scare them or back them down. Forget the gun. I should have borrowed some of Alex’s grenades.

  The city’s oldest cemetery, St. Louis Number One, was only a few blocks away. I edged out of my seat and slipped out the back door into the alley, Louis close behind. Gandalf waited at the door.

  The elven staff grew warmer against my leg, as if it knew what was coming. I had the feeling Charlie was getting ready for something, or maybe it just picked up on my tension. I put a hand on it to see if it was vibrating, and all the noise in my head stopped. Just stopped. No emotions trying to filter in, nothing.

  I loved this staff. If I ever met any elves, I’d have to thank them for making it.

  We needed to scope out St. Louis Number One. “Are you still willing to help us?” I asked Louis.

  He nodded, shifting Alex’s pants to his other arm and not looking very happy about it. Neither was I.

  “Stay hidden until whatever happens is over,” I said. “If you can, help Jake or the older wizard—and Alex—get back to the transport at Burgundy and St. Louis. If you can’t, don’t worry about it. You’ve already helped us a lot.”

  “I’ll get them there.” Louis’s jaw tightened. “I like Jake. He knew something was funny about me but he was always kind and treated me with respect. Besides, I figure me being at the Gator is what got him on that voodoo man’s radar.”

  I swallowed my own guilt and tried not to think about Jake or Gerry either one, except as rescue targets. Going any deeper would turn me to a nervous pile of mush, and mush couldn’t help anybody.

  I turned to Gandalf. “How do you want to play this, Alex? Do you want to shift back?” The big dog looked at me, chuffed a noisy breath that sounded more equine than canine, and trotted toward the entrance to the alleyway. My little pony.

  Thank God he hadn’t listened when I told him to stay behind. I didn’t want to do this alone, and he was the only one I trusted. We’d come a long way.

  CHAPTER 40

  The post-Katrina levee breaches flooded St. Louis Cemetery Number One, the oldest of New Orleans’s “Cities of the Dead.” Legend has it people are buried in aboveground tombs in New Orleans because the water table is so high a heavy rain could wash bodies out of the ground. Legend also says the water-table thing is an old wives’ tale. Take your pick.

  Another, more recent legend says you need to visit the cemetery in groups because criminals bent on robbery and mayhem lurk behind the crypts. Frankly, a normal criminal would come as a welcome relief.

  I looked around curiously as we crept along the cemetery’s outer walls. In modern New Orleans, the huge Iberville public housing project sat near the cemetery, trapping poor families in substandard housing for generations—at least before Katrina flooded them out.

  Iberville hadn’t made it to Old Orleans. Rows of multistoried wooden buildings with raised sidewalks and balconies spilled shouts and laughter and jazz from down the block. The scene came straight out of Storyville, the red-light district that occupied these streets at the turn of the century. Well, except for the people (maybe they were people) in modern clothing and the horses, streetcars, and automobiles from all eras jamming the intersections.

  The area around the cemetery entrance was deserted, but I jumped as a gunshot echoed to our west.

  “Prob’ly a card game gone wrong,” Louis whispered. “Happens here a lot. Or dwarves. Dwarves shoot at anything that moves.”

  I tried not to think about gun-toting dwarves.

  We finally reached the entrance to the walled-in cemetery, and Louis looked cautiously around the open gate. Electricity, probably fueled by some kind of spell, had made it to Basin Street, but not inside the cemetery. The grounds were lit by gas lanterns on black wrought-iron posts. In the flickering light, the jumble of tombs topped by crosses and angels threw shadows like skyscrapers angling across the narrow paths. A brighter light beckoned us farther into the grounds.

  As we
slipped from the shelter of one family crypt to another, I saw famous names from New Orleans history—former politicians, musicians, plantation owners, and pirates. But it was the cluster of people gathered near the light, singing and shouting, that I focused on. They had their backs to us, and I motioned for Louis to stay behind while I slipped in closer. Gandalf whined softly and loped off at an angle. I lost sight of him in the dark.

  The scene looked like a scout meeting in hell. Flames from a bonfire shimmied in the center of facing rows of crypts, and a trio of young, dark-haired men sweated as they pounded out a hypnotic rhythm on small drums. Around the fire danced Marie Laveau, dressed in a short shift made from sewn-together red handkerchiefs. Circlets of bells on her wrists and ankles jingled as she moved and sang softly in a patois I couldn’t understand. In her arms was an enormous black mamba, the ritual snake of voodoo.

  A wave of nausea crawled through me. Hunger, lust, reverence, excitement. A jumble of emotions floated off the crowd. My limbs felt heavy, and I reached to touch the staff. It all disappeared except the nausea, probably caused by the seesaw from emotional overload to emotional void. I liked the void a lot better.

  A movement behind Marie caught my attention. Standing guard around the gathering were two wolves, both a deep, rusty red and as big as Gandalf. Loup-garou, the rogues of the werewolf world, the ones who wouldn’t allow themselves to be mainstreamed. Their yellow eyes reflected the dancing firelight.

  The small crowd around the voodoo priestess was spellbound, swaying slightly, entranced. I remembered the seductive pull of Samedi’s voice. It wasn’t hard to understand how they’d gotten sucked in. Hand on staff. Peace.

  I edged around to get a better look, tightening the hood around my face, then froze. Gerry sat atop a low, wide tomb, watching Marie and smiling. Twenty feet from him, tied to a tall, post-like headstone, was Jake. Gerry was ignoring him.

  A cold sweat broke out on my body and my hands contracted into fists. Collateral damage. Change by revolution never comes without someone getting bloody, and if you looked at the big picture—like Gerry did from his standpoint, and the Elders from theirs—Jake was an acceptable loss.