Destined for an Early Grave nh-4

by Jeaniene Frost

An indignant huff. “I will excuse your misassumption of my character on the basis of current debauchery, which is so common among modern persons.”

  “Is that a yes?” I asked with a laugh.

  “Yes.”

  “Right.” Bones cracked his knuckles. “And lastly, no bragging about your accommodations. I don’t want to be chased everywhere by needy spirits. Not a bloody word, understood?”

  “Inescapably.”

  “Then we have an agreement, Fabian du Brac.”

  The ghost smiled one of the happiest smiles I’d ever seen. Bones rose from his chair. I followed suit, taking a last swallow from my glass.

  “All right, Fabian, you’re one of mine now. Can’t say it’s the best arrangement you could aspire to, but I promise if you abide by our accord, you won’t ever lack for a home again.”

  We left the outside patio area and headed back to the house, the ghost trailing behind us with one hand on my shoulder.

  SEVEN

  BONES TOLD ME TO WEAR BOOTS. AT FIRST I thought they were for storing weapons, but nothing beyond my feet went into my new leather boots. My other new clothes consisted of a pair of midnight-blue pants and a white blouse. I didn’t have on any jewelry except for my engagement ring. Liza had wanted to do my hair, but I declined. This wasn’t a party. It was a polite confrontation.

  We left the house on foot after our escort arrived. His name was Jacques, and he was a ghoul. Jacques had skin dark as pitch, and a subdued but resonating power emanated from him. Bones had negotiated beforehand that he would walk with me to a certain point. After that, Jacques would show me the way. I wasn’t armed, and my lack of weapons made me feel like I was only half-dressed. I missed my knives. They felt familiar and comforting to me. Guess that in itself marked me as a weirdo.

  Bones walked abreast of me, my hand in his. From the sureness of his steps, he knew where we were going. Jacques didn’t chat on the way. I didn’t talk, either, not wanting to say anything the ghoul could later use against me. Just like being arrested, I had the right to remain silent. Of course, anything I wanted to say to Bones, I could just think at him. Times like this, his mind-reading skill came in handy.

  Fabian hovered about a hundred feet away, flitting in and out of the buildings as if he were minding his own ghostly business. Jacques never once looked in his direction. It was amazing how ignored ghosts were by those who could see them. The age-old prejudice between the undead and the spectral dead was working to our advantage, however. Bones wasn’t allowed to accompany me all the way to my appointment, but Fabian wasn’t bound by any such agreement. Liza had been stunned when we brought him home with us. It hadn’t occurred to her to befriend a ghost either.

  We stopped at the gates of Saint Louis Cemetery Number One. Bones let go of my hand. I gave a look inside the locked burial grounds, and my brow went up.

  “Here?”

  “It’s the entranceway to Marie’s chamber,” Bones replied, as if we were waiting at the front door of a house. “This is where I leave you, Kitten.”

  Great. At a graveyard. How reassuring. “So I’m meeting her inside the cemetery?”

  “Not exactly.” Bones had a tone that was both ironic and sympathetic. “Underneath it.”

  Jacques twisted a key in the gates’ lock and gestured at me. “This way, Reaper.”

  If Marie Laveau wanted to disquiet someone with her version of home-court advantage, stepping inside the cemetery led by a creepy ghoul while the gates locked behind me was definitely the way to do it.

  “Alrighty then. After you, Jacques.”

  Marie Laveau’s crypt was one of the larger ones in the cemetery. It was tall, probably six feet, wider at the base and narrower toward the top. There was voodoo graffiti written on the side of it in the form of black x’s. Dried and fresh flowers were laid at the front of the crypt, where a chipped inscription indicated the name of the legendary voodoo queen. All of these things I had a few seconds to notice before Jacques pointed to the dirt in front of the headstone and said something in Creole. Then the ground began to peel back.

  From the grating sound, something electronic controlled the movement. Inside the small fenced area around the headstone, a square hole appeared. There was a dripping noise within, which made me wonder how anything could be underground in New Orleans without being flooded. Jacques didn’t share my concern. He simply jumped into the black opening and repeated his earlier directive.

  “This way, Reaper.”

  I peered into the complete darkness of the pit to see the shine of his eyes looking up at me. He was about twenty feet down. With a mental shrug, I braced myself and followed, feeling a small splash as I landed.

  Jacques reached out to steady me, but I brushed him off. No need to play the helpless female. The opening above us began to close with that same low creaking sound at once, adding to the eeriness.

  Over an inch of water covered the floor of what appeared to be a tunnel. There were no lights, and nowhere to go but forward. As I sloshed through the passageway after Jacques in the near blackness, I realized why Bones had insisted on the boots. They kept out whatever unpleasant squishy things I stepped on as I kept pace. The air was moist and had a moldy smell to it. When I reached a hand out, the wall was also wet. Still, I kept going, grateful that my inhuman vision meant I wasn’t completely sightless in the darkness.

  “I thought you couldn’t build things underground in New Orleans,” I remarked. “Doesn’t this flood?”

  Jacques glanced back at me while still walking. “It’s always flooded. Unless you are invited underneath, the waters are released in the tunnel.”

  Well. Marie apparently used drowning as a deterrent. That was one way to control nosy tourists.

  “That would only work on people dependent on breathing. What about the rest of the population?”

  Jacques didn’t reply. His verbal quota had probably been exceeded. After about thirty yards, we came to a metal door. It opened on well-greased hinges to reveal a lighted landing behind it. Jacques moved to the side to let me pass, then touched my arm as I went by him.

  “Look.”

  There was a whoosh. Suddenly the tunnel we’d just walked through was engulfed in protruding blades. They came out of the walls from all sides, as if we’d just entered inside a demon’s mouth. A few feet back, and I’d have been julienned where I stood.

  “Neat,” I said. I could appreciate a good booby trap as much as the next person. “Must have cost a fortune, all that silver.”

  “They’re not silver.”

  The woman’s voice came from the top of the stairs in front of me. Smooth, buttery. Like crème brûlée for the ears.

  “They’re steel blades,” she continued. “I wouldn’t want undead intruders killed. I’d want them alive and brought to me.”

  Just like before when I jumped into this rabbit hole, I braced myself. Then I walked up the stairs to meet the voodoo queen.

  As stated on her headstone some seventy yards away, Marie Laveau had died in 1881. Beyond that, her being a ghoul and her reputation with voodoo was all I knew. Bones hadn’t wanted to go into detail in her own backyard, so to speak. His caution spoke volumes about the person coming more clearly into view with my every step. From what I had heard about Marie, I half expected her to be seated on a throne, turbaned, with a headless chicken in one hand and a shrunken skull in the other. What I saw made me blink.

  Marie was seated in an overstuffed chair, possibly a La-Z-Boy, bent over nothing more threatening than needlework. She had on a black dress with a white shawl thrown over her shoulders. On her feet were smart little heels that could have been Prada. With her shoulder-length dark hair curling around lightly made-up features, I had a weird flashback to a scene in a movie. She could have been bent over cookies, saying, “Smell good, don’t they?” while I broke a vase that wasn’t really there.

  “Oracle?”

  It came out of my mouth before I could snatch it back. No wonder Bones had wanted to come with
me. I’d piss her off before even introducing myself.

  Hazelnut eyes that were way too alert raked me from boots to brow. The needlework shifted when a long finger pointed at me.

  “Bingo.”

  That dessert drawl again, Southern Creole and sweet. If ears could digest verbal calories, my ass would’ve been getting fat just listening to her. And with that single word, she’d just recited the next part of the movie Matrix, which I’d quoted.

  “Great movie, wasn’t it?” I didn’t move to sit because I hadn’t been invited to. “One of my favorites. The first film, anyway. Didn’t care for the other two.”

  Those penetrating eyes fixed on me. “Do you think you’re the One? The future leader for all of us?”

  “No.” I advanced and held out a hand. “I’m just Cat. Nice to meet you.”

  Marie shook my hand. Her fingers tightened on mine for an instant but not painfully.

  She released me, a tilt of her head indicating the seat next to hers. “Sit, please.”

  “Thanks.”

  The small room was bare of any decoration. Its walls were concrete, dry at least, and the only things in it were our two chairs. It reminded me of a prison cell. Stark and bleak.

  “Should I just jump right in and say Gregor’s full of shit, or do you want to chat first?”

  Meaningless banter didn’t seem like a productive use of time. Besides, if I could do small talk, I wouldn’t have pissed off the vast number of people that I had. Certain talents were beyond me. Okay, many talents.

  “What do you want?” Marie asked.

  Her matching bluntness made me smile. “You haven’t slept with Bones, and you don’t beat around the bush. If you weren’t considering backing Gregor against Bones, I’d like you tremendously.”

  She shrugged, resuming her knitting. “Whether I like people or not has little to do with deciding to kill them. It’s either necessary, or it isn’t.”

  That caused a grunt to escape me. “You sound like Vlad.”

  A knitting needle paused. “Another reason to wonder about you. Vlad the Impaler doesn’t make friends easily. Nor is the Dreamsnatcher usually so enamored of someone. You have an impressive list of conquests, Reaper.”

  My brow arched. “When you conquer something, it means you fought for it. I don’t know Gregor, Vlad’s just a friend, and Bones is the only man I care about, dominatingly speaking.”

  A throaty laugh came from her. “Either you’re a very good actor…or very naïve. Gregor wants you back, and he’s amassing support for his claim of a blood-binding with you. Vlad Tepesh has named you as a friend. And Bones, who was notorious for his promiscuity, married you and started two wars over you.”

  “Two? I’m only aware of one.”

  “Gregor is understandably angry about Mencheres’s imprisoning him for over a decade, but he offered not to retaliate if you were returned to him. Bones refused, and as his co-ruler, that means he spoke for Mencheres as well. Technically, that makes them at war with Gregor.”

  Great. Bones had neglected to mention that.

  “If Gregor hadn’t been invading my dreams, I wouldn’t know him if I hit him with my car,” was my even response. “I remember cutting my hand and swearing by my blood that Bones was my husband, in front of hundreds of witnesses. Where are Gregor’s witnesses? Or evidence? If he’d really taken the trouble to marry me, you’d think he would’ve kept a souvenir.”

  “You could find out the truth for yourself,” Marie stated. “I wonder why you haven’t.”

  I sat up straighter. “Mencheres told me my memories can’t be retrieved.”

  “Did he? In those exact words?”

  My nails drummed against the edge of the chair. “Kind of.”

  “Mencheres can’t return your memories, but Gregor can,” Marie flatly pronounced. “Mencheres knows that. As does Bones.”

  I didn’t say anything for a minute. She stared at me, absorbing my reaction, then she smiled.

  “You didn’t know. How interesting.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” I said, covering my obvious surprise. “I don’t know Gregor, but he doesn’t sound like the type who would come over to return my memories, then leave with a cheery wave when he was proven wrong.”

  “What if he wasn’t proven wrong?”

  Be careful. Very careful. “Like I said, why are all his claims hinging on my memory? It could easily be a ploy to get me within snatching range, then it would be may the fastest man win.”

  Marie set her knitting down. Guess that meant we were getting serious. “Right now, I believe you don’t truly know if you bound yourself to Gregor. If it’s proven, however, that you are his wife instead of Bones’s, I will ally myself with Gregor according to our laws. That’s my answer in this matter.”

  “You asked me before what I wanted, Marie. I want to go home with Bones and be left alone by everyone for about ten years. I don’t remember Gregor, but even if I did, it wouldn’t change how I feel about Bones. If it’s a fight Gregor or you wants by trying to force me to be with him, you’ll get it.”

  Marie’s face had an unusual ageless quality about it. She could have been twenty when she was changed into a ghoul. Or fifty.

  “I was married once,” she remarked. “His name was Jacques. One night, Jacques beat me, and I knew he liked it. The next morning, I gave him a poisoned tonic, then I buried him underneath my porch. Now every time I take a lover, I call him Jacques, to remind me that if I have to, I’ll kill him.”

  Marie tilted her head and gave me a challenging look. “Care for some refreshment?”

  Not after that story. But if she thought I was going to tuck my tail between my legs, she was wrong.

  “Love some.” Bring it on, Voodoo Queen.

  “Jacques!”

  The ghoul appeared. “My love?”

  I quelled a snort with difficulty, getting the reason behind his name. Yeah, you’d better ass-kiss, buddy. I bet you never forget an anniversary, huh?

  “Bring some wine for me, Jacques, and I believe we’re familiar with our guest’s preferences?”

  He returned quickly. The glass with red liquid he gave to Marie with a bow, and the round one filled with clear liquid went to me. I hefted it at my host in salute and swallowed in a long gulp. Gin and tonic, no surprise there.

  Marie watched me, taking only a sip of her glass. When I was finished, I extended it toward the hovering Jacques.

  “That was great. I’ll have another.”

  Marie set down her drink and flicked a hand at Jacques, who took my glass and left.

  “Your bloodline doesn’t make you immune to all things, Reaper.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Still, from what I’ve heard, you have a protocol about killing people, so in that case, I’ll have a keg of whatever you’re serving. And my name is Cat.”

  “Do you have any intention of turning into a ghoul?” Marie asked me.

  The question was so unexpected, I paused before answering. “No, why?”

  Marie gave me another hooded look. “You live with a vampire. Your life is frequently in danger, and you are weaker as a half-breed, yet you haven’t chosen to change into a vampire. I’ve heard it’s because you want to combine your half-breed abilities with a ghoul’s power, making yourself the first ghoul-vampire hybrid.”

  What’s in the stuff she’s drinking? I wondered.

  “That thought never crossed my mind,” I said.

  “A vampire can’t turn into a ghoul. Only a human can. So no one but you, as a half-breed, could combine all the strength of a vampire with none of their aversion to silver. You might have unlimited power. But you’ve never thought of it?”

  Open challenge was in her words. I thought back to Fabian saying that there had been a recent influx of ghouls in New Orleans, whispering about a possible new threat to their species. Was this it? Did people actually believe I’d do such a thing out of a twisted lust for power?

  “After my father ripped my throat, Bones tol
d me he would have brought me back as a ghoul, if I’d died before his blood healed me. That’s the only time I ever thought about being a ghoul. If one day I choose to cross over, Majestic, it’ll be into a vampire. So you can tell that to whoever’s spouting the rumor that I’m looking to be even more of a freak than I already am.”

  Jacques came back with another full glass, but Marie gave him that authoritative flick of her fingers again.

  “Our guest is leaving.”

  I stood, my mind running through a list of reprimands. Good one, Cat. Pissed her off in ten minutes. Guess you’ll be the one leaping up the stairs, yelling, “In the car! Quick!”

  “Always nice to meet a famed historical figure,” I said.

  Marie rose as well. She was tall, probably five-ten, and in those heels, over six feet. Her figure was statuesque, and she radiated an odd combination of menace and matronliness.

  “You are not what I thought you’d be.”

  She extended her hand, creamy mocha and soft. I clasped it and fought not to shake mine afterward to get out the numbness from her power.

  “Neither are you. I was so sure about the headless chicken.”

  Why not say it? When someone wanted to kill you, you really couldn’t make them angrier.

  She smiled. “Of all the things you’d first say to me, quoting a scene from my favorite movie was the last I expected. Go in peace, Cat.”

  Jacques held open the door to the tunnel for me. Those long, curved knives slid back into their settings with a hiss. I caught a hazy flash at the end of the tunnel. Fabian on sentry duty. He was gone before Jacques fell in step behind me.

  My escort didn’t talk the rest of the way. When we reached the door to the crypt, the upper covering groaned as it slid open. Jacques put his hands out to help me up, but I brushed him off.

  “Don’t bother, thanks. I’ll do it myself.”

  A quick bend of the knees and flash of concentration, and I cleared the twenty-foot space. With my increasing ability to jump, at least I was becoming more like my feline namesake. If I shed my pulse, I could do a hell of a lot more than jump high.