Redemption Song [Midnight, New Orleans Style 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  “First, you have to prove you’re not in it for selfish gain. You giving up the gold bars is a good start. You’d be surprised, Mr. Lafitte, how many things come to you when you relinquish control over money and possessions.”

  Rémy appreciated being praised, but he was still not satisfied. “What qualifications do you have, Mr. Simon? How do you know all of these things?”

  Marvin drew himself up to his full six-foot-four height. He was like a creaky tin woodsman, and moved about as fluidly. “Sir. I am a third-generation potentate of the Ancient Arabic Order of the Nobles of the Mystic Shrine. I am a redeemer who assists the downtrodden. I walk hand in hand with Elegua, and I just met you here at the crossroads. How dare you question me?”

  “Just asking,” said Rémy, wishing he could take it back.

  “And, as a Mason, I am privy to things of this demonic nature. We participate in many functions that provide a community service, like circuses, children’s hospitals, and fiendish hauntings. Oh, and sometimes I dress up as a clown and lead Easter egg hunts.”

  “Well,” said Rémy, “that’s enough to scare off any malignant spirit.”

  “Our motto is ‘Have fun helping kids.’” Marvin looked confused then. “But you’re right. Maybe we should add something about the demons in there, too.”

  Rémy said, “Right. You want people to know your entire range of services.” He held his hands up like a banner. “‘Have fun helping kids to get rid of demons.’”

  “That doesn’t have much of a ring to it,” said Heidi. “Maybe more like ‘Up with kids! Down with demons.’ Speaking of rings—”

  “Yes!” said Marvin, all business now. “Now, we need to go to my temple in Destrehan.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Heidi. “We must pray in this temple.”

  “But of course,” said Marvin snobbily. “That is how you’ll receive a ring from the archangel Michael.”

  The strange man seemed to know all about their plight, and when he tooted a whistle that hung around his neck and a younger nerd came running, Rémy wasn’t surprised. The new nerd saluted.

  “Imperial Sir!” he barked. “Es Selamu Aleikum!”

  Marvin gave the guy Toby lengthy instructions on what to do with his tiny Corvette. The four of them, ostensibly, would drive to Destrehan in Marvin’s automobile.

  Niko pointed at the small Stingray. “Oh, don’t tell me we’re flying in this tiny horseless carriage. I’ve seen many wonders since coming into your time, but the four of us fitting into this ‘car’ seems to be a physical impossibility.”

  “Come,” Marvin said at last, making a wide gesture with his arm. “We will take my Prius to Destrehan, since I’m assuming you left your BMW back at the overpriced hotel.”

  “Actually,” said Rémy, proving he could be snooty as well, “I own the old Sarah Kingsley house on Terpsichore.”

  Niko corrected him. “The old Paul Antoine Leclerc house.”

  “My, my,” Marvin said drily. “A native son. Then why does your accent make you sound like you’re all hat and no ranch?”

  Rémy was glad when Heidi defended him. “He’s from Austin, but he bought a house in the Lower Garden to be closer to his ancestor. You may have heard of Jean Lafitte?”

  “So he said,” admitted Marvin stiffly. “More than likely, Jean left his gold bars in Barataria Bay. But I’m telling you. If you want the egun to smile favorably on you, you’d best leave any gold quest in the background. You don’t want these deities thinking you’re in anything for cold, hard cash. Your quest to release your sister sounds like the noblest. Even yours, Heidi, sounds a bit self-serving. You only care about your own guilt, which is weighing heavily on you.”

  “No, no. I sincerely worry that Lisette went to her grave thinking I was some accusatory, jealous harridan.”

  Rémy stood up for her. “She is being eaten up by guilt, yes. But since when is that a bad thing? It shows she has a conscience.”

  Marvin declared, “It is a bad thing because it is self-serving! The guilty party only worries about his own feelings, not truly how the other person feels.”

  Niko inserted, “I feel no guilt about murdering that lowdown snake from the bottomless pit.”

  Marvin said, “That might be a problem, too. Perhaps you should worry a bit more how that poor dead man feels.”

  “No problem,” Niko said sullenly. “I have had to listen to him every day for the past hundred and fifty years.”

  Marvin paused before the driver’s door of the Prius. “Well, then. Perhaps you should get rid of this fellow who has been haunting you, then. We’re off! We’re off to find the ring of Solomon after praying in the temple, so you can all be absolved of past mistakes!”

  Rémy wasn’t so sure any of them had committed any mistakes, per se. What Heidi had done was about a Tom Hanks level of criminal behavior, some Marty McFly shenanigans with a skateboard, compared to stuff Rémy had done in his life. If this was her most mortifying and guilt-riddled moment, she did not have much to repent for. And Niko at least had righteousness on his side when he’d tangled with Leclerc.

  Rémy just hoped they could defeat the damned demons before midnight.

  Chapter Nine

  The round-headed sage drove the automobile like a madman all the way to Destrehan.

  Niko was expecting to see the old Destrehan Plantation, but so much clutter got in the way, hurting his eyes. He didn’t know what to make of this Marvin fellow who seemed to know all about their quest.

  Marvin said they shouldn’t seek personal gain. But wasn’t Niko’s goal to absolve himself of guilt “personal gain”? His quest was the noblest, above Rémy’s search for gold and Heidi’s search for absolution in her friend’s death. But he’d be damned if he’d apologize to that masher Leclerc.

  Yet it seemed to be required if they wanted the damned ring. Niko was exhausted and confused, and part of him wanted to crawl back into Everlost and be done with this. The modern world, the flashy, painful molly house that the Vieux Carré had become, wasn’t where Niko wanted to live. If he somehow found a way to become fully mortal and stay in this bright, shiny place, what would he do with himself? He could hardly tutor youths anymore, since he’d missed out on the past hundred and fifty years’ worth of history. His mathematics would be laughable, and even his English would be ridiculously out of date.

  “Maybe I could teach history,” Niko mused aloud.

  “What?” said Rémy. He was riding in the “back seat” with Niko, as the lady of course rode up front.

  “Oh!” Niko hadn’t expected Rémy to be listening. “I’m just wondering. Marvin said we’re bound to each other forever. What will I do if I somehow find a way to stay in your present?”

  To his surprise, Rémy said, “I’ve thought about that. I can find you something within my software company.”

  “Your company has to do with that small box Heidi is always looking at.”

  Rémy chuckled. “Something like that. Technology.”

  Niko snorted. “Well. That is the last thing I know anything about. Technology. I’m about as modern as a Neanderthal man. Oh, don’t tell me! You’ve discovered there’s an older variety of caveman?” Exhaling hotly, Niko folded his arms and glared out the window.

  Rémy put a soothing hand on the back of Niko’s neck. “Calm down. It’ll all come to you. You’re smart. You’re intelligent. I’m sure if you just read books for a few months you’ll get up to speed.”

  “Yes. Some children’s textbooks. I might become educated enough to teach five-year-olds.”

  “One step at a time. Have you definitely decided you want to stay in New Orleans with me?”

  Niko turned to his friend. “Have you decided to stay? You live in Austin.”

  “I think the writing’s on the wall, don’t you? I can easily run my company from New Orleans, or set up a satellite office. Hell, there’s room in my house to have an office with a few people. That’s not my worry.”

  “What is your
worry? Finding the gold?”

  Rémy sighed deeply. “It’s not even that anymore. Marvin just said more than likely it’s out in Barataria, where we figured it was. I can get my private investigator back on that. No, I’m more worried about what’s going to happen to you. You and Heidi. That fake priestess said we’re forever intertwined because we witnessed your revival. Now along comes this clown and says the same thing. We can’t be forever intertwined if I go back to Austin and Heidi goes back to San Francisco. Also, I’m not leaving you on your own in this town.” Rémy snorted. “I’ll leave you alone for two minutes, and you’ll be smoking kale or playing Frisbee with DVDs.”

  “Frisbee? DVDs? See what I mean, mon ami? I am hopeless, utterly hopeless! Even if I manage to bring Sabine back here, what will she do?”

  “What did she do in 1855?”

  “She was a chef, but not for white folks. For another gens de couleur libres family. She was very adept at Creole cooking.”

  Rémy slapped him with the back of his hand. “Well, see? That’s totally useful in the modern New Orleans world. Don’t worry about it, mon ami. We’ll get her out of that hell. That comes first. After that, we’ll worry about the rest.”

  The Shriner’s Temple turned out to be an ordinary Spanish-style villa fronted with a long, arched colonnade. Marvin led them into the interior chapel. They walked over a checkerboard tiled floor past Roman statues inserted in alcoves. A giant—all-seeing, Niko supposed—eye was carved over a dais that could seat four people. Aside from a sign that bore a cartoon of a clown and the inscription Jerusalem Temple Clown Unit, the atmosphere was deadly somber. Perfect for praying for a ring.

  Marvin bade them to sit in pews, and he stood behind a pulpit decorated with crossed scimitars. He looked absurd with his little flowerpot of a fez perched atop his lollipop-round head. He rapped with a gavel. “It is the command of this Illustrious Potentate that my free friends forthwith receive the mystic pass so that I may give assurance that no ignoble spy intrudes upon the ceremonies of our mystic rite.”

  Heidi took three items from Marvin and passed them to her fellows in the pew. The “pass” turned out to be a piece of paper giving them free admission to the crawfish cook-off later that day, the one Marvin was in a hurry to attend.

  Marvin went on, “Now the mystic shrine is secure and free from jeopardy. There are none present save nobles of our mystic rite. Let us be clothed.” And he pulled on a pair of white gloves.

  Rémy whispered from the corner of his mouth, “I hope the ring is more powerful than this.”

  “Shut up,” whispered Heidi.

  Rémy still grumbled. “This ceremony is powerful enough to scare a 7-11 clerk.”

  Marvin intoned, “These poor sons of the desert are weary of the hot sands and burning sun of the plains. They humbly crave shelter under the protecting dome of this temple. Let us unite in singing our opening ode.”

  The three stood, and Heidi protested. “But we don’t know your song, Marvin.”

  He flashed them an ungrateful look. “Fake it.” In a high, wavering tone, Marvin commenced to warbling. “Joy is a fruit that will not grow in nature’s barren soil. The Saviour calls for you and me, in His vineyard to toil.”

  The trio muttered along with the song. Luckily, the song wasn’t long, and Marvin soon got to the heart of the matter. “Father and Creator, who hast given us life and being, aid us to perform the duties which Thy law and our vows impose upon us.”

  It went on in that vein while the three listened attentively. Niko recalled that they themselves were supposed to pray “in the temple” to receive the ring, so he bowed his head and fervently prayed, Marvin’s words weaving in and out of his own inner thoughts. Marvin rapped his gavel and banged a gong, and Niko had the general impression of him marching about as he recited, but Niko remained with head bowed, focusing on Sabine and praying for the ring.

  In retrospect, later, he realized he must have prayed a bit too hard, with too much passion. This time, in addition to hearing Sabine’s voice, he was transported back to the Vieux Carré drawing room on the Rue St. Ann. He was surrounded by the lush depth of the room. The red velvet divan where he had last engaged in Greek love with Michel, the thriving potted ferns, even the little pianoforte where Sabine used to tinkle beautiful little songs like “Give Me My Arrows and Give Me My Bow” and “Oh! Susanna”—everything stood out in deep relief. Niko reached out to finger the burgundy flocked wallpaper.

  Yes, he could feel the velvet. He breathed deeply. There. That musty scent that had always emanated from that old pianoforte. Testing out his lungs, he bellowed, “Sabine!”

  A spoon clanked against a pot in the kitchen, and he started rushing there just as Sabine appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. “Mon frère! I’m so glad you’re back!”

  Back from where? Niko clutched his sister to his breast, trying hard not to squeeze her within an inch of her life.

  “Niko!” squealed Sabine. It truly was as though they were back in his front room, carefree, their biggest worry the beef croquettes. “What’s gotten into you?”

  But when she pulled back and Niko examined every centimeter of her face, a shadow came over it. Happiness was replaced by fear and suspicion, and Sabine pulled away even farther, clutching her towel to her breast. “Niko. You are not what you seem. You’re gone from Everlost, so how can you be here now?”

  “But I am!” Niko insisted. She shied away from his attempts to grab her upper arms again. “I am here, Sabine! I’ve come back, maybe only temporarily to visit, but it truly is me standing here! Here, I can prove it.” He had a million examples he could use to prove to her they truly had grown up in Havana together. “Here is something no one else knows. Our beloved papa had an unpublished poem where he said good-bye to his mother, our grandmother.

  “If the unfortunate fate engulfing me,

  The ending of my history of grief,

  The closing of my span of years so brief,

  Mother, should wake a single pang in thee,

  Weep not.”

  Sabine held the towel to her open mouth. Tears had already sprung to her eyes before Niko finished the line. It was their father’s last poem, written before he was executed for his part in the “Ladder Conspiracy.” The name was taken from a torture method where Africans were tied to ladders and whipped until they confessed imaginary crimes.

  “Yes!” Once again Sabine was in Niko’s arms. This time she did not pull so far away when she asked, “Are you back to save me?”

  “Yes, that is the quest I am on. I’ve been told that I must repent somehow, that I must apologize to Leclerc—”

  “Yes! It was wrong of you to kill him, Niko. He may be a repulsive reprobate, but that still doesn’t justify murder.”

  “But he had a pistol!” Niko protested. He became aware of shouts out in the street. Taunts, it sounded like. Going to the window, he peeked through the curtains, only to see Leclerc driving that gaudy landau of his. It looked as though he should be chaperoning a newlywed prince and princess, but he was waving his hat and sneering at Niko’s house.

  Niko threw open the window and bellowed, “Come here and say that, you disgusting cross between a fox and a hog! I’ve got an Arkansas toothpick waiting for you. I will not attend your funeral, but I will definitely approve of it!”

  “Niko!” cried Sabine, standing behind him. “You will not reenact the death scene from so long ago! This is your chance to set things right with Leclerc.”

  Leclerc shrilled, “Why not come out and talk like that to my face like a man, Valdés?”

  Feeling around in his boot, Niko could find no knife. Did one need a knife in Everlost in order to murder someone again? Could someone even be murdered in Everlost? He doubted it, and dashed for the door anyway.

  “Niko!” Sabine screeched as he ran up the front pathway. “You are laboring under misconceptions!”

  Leclerc was already applying the whip to his horses. Yellow as always, he needed
a head start down Rue St. Ann, even though he rode in a carriage and Niko ran on foot. Niko yelled, “You turncoat, you member of Congress! Stop this instant and face me!”

  “Niko!” Sabine was in the middle of the street now, but Niko only had a vague impression of her standing bereft, desperate, as he chased Leclerc. “You are wrong! Leclerc didn’t dishonor me. You assumed that—you jumped to conclusions too fast, and I didn’t have time to tell you! I didn’t have time to tell you!”

  This time Niko stopped running. Turning, he faced his sister, letting Leclerc get away. He took slow steps back toward Sabine. Wind was picking up, tossing her curls around her shoulders, and he’d never seen her look so bereft, so thoroughly abandoned by the world. “He…didn’t dishonor you? Then what did he do?”

  Sabine’s arms flailed around helplessly. “He tried to dishonor me. But I fought him hard and kicked him in the groin, and he finally fled, angry, vowing he’d get revenge on me through you. He was going to abuse and defame your name all throughout the Vieux Carré. Niko, he was going to call you a Uranian, an androgyne, a lover of the Italian fashion who was not fit to tutor children!”

  The wind became so fierce it whipped Sabine’s skirts around her legs. Oddly, it didn’t seem to touch Niko, maybe because this version of Everlost was only a reflection to him. Sabine could be touched by the malevolent wind because she was truly still trapped in this make-believe mirror world where nothing was as it seemed. “What are you talking about, Sabine? I was made to understand that he had deflowered you completely against your wishes!”

  Sabine waved fists in the air. “I tried to tell you. But you were hailing a hack, and I didn’t fancy screaming out for the entire street to hear!”

  “Sabine!” Niko’s word was half a whisper, half a shout. He looked around to see which neighbors eavesdropped now, but the street had gone quiet, the wind soundless around Sabine’s legs. “So he did not disgrace or abase you?”

  “Not for lack of trying! He tore my clothes, Niko, and was on top of me trying to force entrance, but I must have fought too hard for him, and connected too many blows. He ran off, vowing to disparage you as an invert, a sodomite, if I didn’t—”