T
he 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.
I looked at Gerry through a blur of tears.
I’m not like you.
He turned in my direction and his gaze shifted to me. I held my breath as he frowned, cocked his head, and watched me a moment before turning back to Marie.
Either he hadn’t recognized me, or he was pretending. Either way, safe to breathe again.
I walked around two women with their hands crossed over their chests, swaying to the drumbeats, and found a spot where I could get a better look at Jake but still stay toward the back of the onlookers. I swayed a little with the emotion of the people around me, trying to blend in. I reached down to touch the staff, but kept swaying. Just one of the faithful, waiting for something to happen.
Jake was propped upright, mostly. Ropes bound his knees to the marble column and his hands had been secured behind it. His head slumped forward but he appeared to be supporting his own weight. I breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive. So far, so good.
He shifted his head slightly to the right, watching something behind him. I squinted, and caught a quick view of gold fur. Gandalf was working the ropes with his teeth, trying to free Jake. So far, the wolves hadn’t spotted him. If they scented him, I hoped he’d smell like canine rather than human.
A scream from the crowd riveted my attention back to Marie Laveau, who had fallen to the ground, stunned. The black mamba rose vertically as if standing on its tail, and the blasted thing had to be at least seven feet tall. The crowd backed away from the fire as the air around the snake shimmered and changed form. Their momentum carried me back with them.
The Baron Samedi had arrived at his own party.
Women shrieked; several fell to the ground. I wasn’t sure where the worshipping ended and the fainting began. As long as the people in front of me stayed put, I didn’t care.
He was a sight to behold. Like his incarnation in the safety of my library, Samedi stood tall, wearing a top hat, bow tie, and tails, black pants and red cummerbund, but no shirt. The frog necklace had disappeared so the skeleton painted on his body gleamed white in the firelight against his dark skin.
He reached down to a cage I hadn’t noticed earlier and pulled
out a squawking rooster, hanging by its feet from his right hand. It struggled, all bristling feathers and snapping beak. He swung it over his head a few times, laughing in that melodic voice that had hypnotized me earlier, and slung it into the fire. The rooster screamed as it ran around the circle in flames, causing the spectators to retreat farther. The smell of singed feathers assaulted my nostrils and increased the nausea.
Hand back on the staff.
Several onlookers began running toward the cemetery gates, and before I realized it, the circle had thinned until there were only two rows of people between me and the main attraction. I pulled the hoodie as far as it would go over my face. It knocked out my peripheral vision so I couldn’t keep track of how Gandalf was progressing in his attempt to free Jake, but at least it provided me a little more cover.
Unburdened of his rooster, the Baron straightened his bow tie and brushed off the cuffs of his tuxedo jacket. “Greetings, my followers, especially you, my dear Marie.” He turned to smile down at the voodoo priestess, who sat on the ground at his feet. The imperious demeanor she showed while dancing with the snake—and taunting me in my library—had been replaced by a look of rapture.
Samedi’s voice, as when he’d talked to me, vibrated with the cadence of old New Orleans, soft and lilting, with French and Spanish influences. Sensual, but deadly.
The people in front of me murmured and shifted restlessly. Several more slipped toward the exit, leaving a trail of fear that sent my hand reaching for the staff.
I wanted nothing more than to run out of the cemetery with them, but that wasn’t an option. I was
so
not cut out to be a hero. A hero wouldn’t shake and feel like throwing up. A hero would whip out a staff or a gun and take charge of the situation. I picked the tallest guy still among the onlookers and wedged in behind him.
Smiling as Samedi blathered on about how powerful he was becoming, Gerry looked relaxed and pleased with himself. I couldn’t reconcile the Gerry I loved with this man who could sit smiling while Jake suffered. As soon as Gandalf freed Jake, I would slip out the gates and then decide what to do about Gerry. Jake wasn’t here by choice. As much as it hurt, he had to be my priority.
I shifted my gaze to check on Gandalf’s progress when I felt a hand on my back. A woman pushed me forward as she tried to get a better view. Muttering at the interruption, the tall man in front of me stepped aside, and I found myself in the front row. I had a clear view of Samedi.
He also had a clear view of me. I jerked my head downward, pulling my face as far into the hoodie as I could, but I felt the weight of his gaze. Imaginary ants crawled across my scalp, and a cold tingle marched up my spine, even with my hand on the staff.
“Our guest of honor has arrived!” Samedi’s voice was a delighted singsong of rhythm. “Join us, won’t you, little wizard?” I backed up and turned to run—right into the arms of Jean Lafitte.
Not again.
“A pleasure to see you,
Jolie
.” Lafitte’s dark-blue eyes shone, and I got a close-up view of the full lips and scarred jawline before he spun me around and propelled me forward. Traitorous wretch.
“Our deal’s off, turncoat.” I struggled as he forced me toward the center of the circle, in front of Samedi. I dug into his hands with my nails and wished he’d put a body part close enough for me to bite.
“You said you’d stay out of this, you jerk.” What a fool. Trusting a pirate. And not just any pirate. Freakin’ Jean Lafitte.
I finally pulled away from him, leaving him holding the oversize hoodie.
“Caution,
Jolie,
” he whispered. “You are safer with me.”
Yeah, like I’m trusting him again. I circled the fire, keeping the flames between me and Samedi. The old god’s smile was so broad it barely fit on his face.
I pulled Alex’s gun and pointed it at Samedi in a two-handed stance that probably looked cool, but had a far more practical purpose—the pistol was so big I couldn’t hold it otherwise. I remembered to release the safety but didn’t know whether the gun was still loaded with regular ammo or whether it even would work on a voodoo god, assuming I could hit him. I heard the rustle of feet as the few remaining onlookers decided they had something better to do with their evening. Marie Laveau slipped into the shadows as well. I kept the gun trained on Samedi.
“No need for violence, Drusilla, plus your little gun will not hurt me.” Samedi’s voice was a smooth-tasting poison—felt nice going down, then you were dead. “I have promised your old friend Monsieur Lafitte his own time with you before our business begins, is that not right, Jean?”
Maybe discounting Jean had been a mistake. I glanced back to where I’d last seen him and flinched as an arm slid around me from behind. He jerked me against him, reaching around to pull Alex’s pistol from my grasp and toss it on the ground. Dominique You emerged from the shadows to retrieve it. The look he gave me wasn’t friendly. Great. At least one of Jean’s hench-pirates was present and feeling vengeful.
“What happened to the bit where I was safer with you?” I elbowed Jean hard in the ribs, but all it got me was a hiss and the business end of a knife pressed below my ear.
I hadn’t handled the staff in a while, and Jean’s emotions filtered through my defenses. Nerves and fear. Jean was afraid of Samedi, which I did not find reassuring.
“
Mais oui,
Baron. I would have my time with her.” Jean’s
breath was hot in my ear as he pressed the point of the knife into the side of my neck and flicked it. I felt a quick, sharp pain and a thin trickle slither toward my collarbone. I shuddered as his tongue licked the blood from my skin.
He nibbled at my neck and whispered, “You shouldn’t have come,
Jolie
. I had to take your gun, but Samedi hasn’t seen the staff and I know what it can do. However, I hope your aim has improved.” He bit my ear hard enough to make me yelp.
Samedi prowled the edge of the clearing, watching us, eyes bright. Laughing and singing, enjoying his role as voyeur.
This was a ridiculous three-ring circus, and it was time one of the onlookers got off his butt and helped.
“Gerry!” I screamed at him, and he jerked his rapt gaze from Samedi to me. I’d never seen him look so vacant. He blinked twice and frowned, like he thought he’d seen me before somewhere but couldn’t quite remember who I was.
Finally, insight hit me like a mallet. Gerry had been enthralled. No wonder he’d just smiled vaguely while everything went to hell around him. Samedi’s seductive voice had almost lured me into my own summoning circle. Gerry would have been even more vulnerable working with the Baron in the Beyond, away from his magic.
How much of Gerry’s behavior had been done under Samedi’s influence? Had the old god kept him so zombied out he couldn’t think or act on his own? Or was I still trying to make excuses for him?