Ghost Train to New Orleans Read online

  “Come again?” Zoë said, following her.

  “Often when humans suddenly become wealthy, they quit their occupations, yes?”

  Zoë nodded. “Sure.”

  “The god of Abraham is wealthy with belief; he quit his job, left it to his son. He’s in retirement. He’s not healing the sick or sending hurricanes after the homosexuals the way some of your people believe. If you want weather issues, you need to take it up with the weather gods.”

  “God’s on permanent voice mail.” Zoë had never been terribly religious, she more identified with agnostics, with a vague feeling that something was out there, but she didn’t know what.

  The fact that she now could count gods and goddesses as coworkers and friends seemed to be separate from this agnosticism, and something she didn’t spend sleepless nights over, although she knew she could if she tried. Maybe when she found the time.

  Still, she celebrated Christmas and the other Christian holidays, and had gone to several Passover seders, and she had a vague feeling of letdown now that she knew that god wasn’t even bothering to give a shit.

  “That’s pretty sad,” she said at last.

  Gwen patted her arm and they crossed a street, moving away from the cathedral. “There are plenty of other gods who would be glad for your attention. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Sure,” Zoë said. She felt very odd. Then her eyes got wide. “Um. What about Santa, the tooth fairy, all those supernatural people?”

  Gwen laughed then, and Zoë stared at her. It was a sound of deep resonating glee, something she hadn’t heard from Gwen before.

  “That’s funny, I guess,” she said, face burning. “But hey, remember where I’m coming from here.”

  “St. Nicholas existed once, but like all mortals, died a while ago. That’s why parents buy presents for their kids and claim it was him. Parents in the US, anyway. Other cultures don’t focus so much on him.”

  God’s quit. Santa’s dead. “I need a drink.”

  “It’s eleven thirty,” Gwen said.

  “We’re in New Orleans. And I was up most of the night. It’s like still yesterday for me. Or something.”

  “What you need is to walk the city, get to know it, and plan out the book. Then you need a nap. Tonight we can get you some wine and I can tell you the truth about the Easter Bunny.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Dining

  Café du Monde ****

  Some people say that tourists tried to circulate the joke, “Do you serve beignets here?” “Yeah, we serve anybody,” about Café du Monde, but the hostess, a Cajun swamp spirit by the name of Marie, had those tourists boiled in the holy blessed oil that cooks the classic New Orleans breakfast.

  Famous for its 24-hour, 364-day-a-year schedule, its limited menu of juice, café au lait, and beignets, and its pushy waitstaff who get paid in pastry whether you stay there or not, Café du Monde is a must-visit. Located in Jackson Square, it’s a lovely place for breakfast, but also good for a late-night snack if you wish to watch the cats conduct their business in the locked citadel that is the park across Decatur Street.

  Don’t tease the hostess. Tip your waiter. And don’t use a napkin—wiping away the powdered sugar is considered an insult to the chef, the demon Annie Derveaux.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Zoë’s phone woke her. She had fallen asleep on her desk back at Freddie’s Ready B and B, sketching out the book outline and jotting down writing assignments. The room had, in its inexplicable way, transported her to the bed again. The phone was back on her desk, and it buzzed, making an angry staccato noise on the hardwood.

  She tried to leap off the bed but wasn’t fully awake, and got tangled in the bed-curtains. Swearing, she reached her phone as it stopped ringing, the fleeting image of Arthur’s face disappearing from the screen. He was in his sunglasses and Public Works coveralls, holding his hard hat in his hand and looking slightly annoyed at her. She had insisted on the picture when she got the phone, since she didn’t have any of him.

  She called him back.

  “Hey, Arthur,” she said, trying to force the cobwebs from her mind.

  “I was leaving voice mail,” he said.

  “I will remember that when I get a truncated message from you. Sorry I missed your call, I was asleep, and this hotel has crazy bed-curtains and shit. I got tangled.”

  “I can’t find anything out about the Doyenne. Public Works down here was no help at all, even when I asked Fanny to vouch for me.”

  “You’d think your promotion would have helped that,” Zoë said, thinking about Christian and his evasive comment about the swamp. “What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Listen, let me help, it’s going to be OK.”

  “What if it’s not?” His voice was flat and cold.

  She paused, and then was honest with him. “Then I guess you have a decision to make.”

  He snorted, and Zoë couldn’t tell if it was from fear or bitter amusement. “Whatever, I just wanted to tell you I’m off to the swamps now, and to not expect me for coffee or dinner. I’ll call you when I get back.”

  “Wait a second, Arthur! You’re acting really fucking weird. You’re pushing me away, why?”

  He had hung up.

  Zoë glared at the phone. “I don’t get that guy,” she muttered. “It’s like… shit.”

  If there was one thing she knew about Arthur, it was that he had a strong desire for control over his own destiny. Spiraling out under the grip of a zombie curse was not a way to die. Dying in an attempt to thwart the curse, that would be preferable.

  She tried to call him back, but got his voice mail.

  “Dammit, Arthur, you’re acting like you’ve got a death wish, and if you go get yourself killed doing some sort of heroics, just to avoid becoming some horrific undead thing, I’ll, well.” She tried to think of a good threat to match death, and she couldn’t. “I’ll tell your family that you were secretly a teen pop fan, and I will go out and buy a bunch of One Direction posters and hang them in your damn apartment. I’m not afraid to fight dirty. Just call me, OK? I’ll help you.”

  Zoë put the phone down and put her head in her hands. “Well, shit. That went well.”

  She was hunched over the desk, despairing, and didn’t see the door open. She did, however, see the light in the room dim as the windows darkened to accommodate a vampire visitor.

  It was Kevin. “ ‘A horrific undead thing’? Good to know what you think of your coworkers.”

  Zoë picked her head up and glared at him. “I wasn’t talking about you. And if you eavesdrop on my personal phone calls, you get what you deserve. What do you want?”

  The vampire sidled into the room, a sneer on his face. “How was your day?”

  “You don’t care about my day. What do you want?” she said again.

  “Who was on the phone?”

  She considered saying, “My boyfriend,” or “A dude who’s using his misplaced anger on me,” or “A future zombie,” but settled on “No one.”

  “Didn’t sound like no one.”

  She spun around in her desk chair, and the vampire actually stepped back. “Look, Kevin, what do you really want? You want me gone, right. Not going to happen. I’m sure my death would please you, but if that happens because of you, you will have to deal with Phil. And you’re too much of a wimp to stand up to him. You don’t really care who I was talking to, you’re just trying to find something else that will get under my skin. But we’re here to do a job, and if you’re not prepared to do that, then say the word and I’ll personally foot the hell notes to get you back on that goddamn train going north. Because I can’t deal with your shit for this whole trip. So choose. You can be a scary-ass vampire in New Orleans, embracing all the cliché that you can, or get to fucking work. Now what’s it going to be?”

  Kevin’s fangs elongated. His eyes glowed slightly red in the dusk light.

  “Oh please,” Zoë said, hid
ing the cold feeling in her belly with indignation. “I’ve seen it before. As the folks in the South say, don’t pull out your weapon if you don’t intend on using it. Are you going to use it, Kevin?”

  Kevin snarled at her, but he backed out of the room.

  Zoë wanted to collapse into a puddle of nerves, but Gwen swooped into the room. “What did you do to enrage Kevin? He just left the house in a most agitated state.”

  “I told him he could either be a vampire or a writer.”

  “He needs to be both. You can’t ask him to choose.”

  Zoë turned her back to Gwen. “Yeah, well, the vampire part of him was focused solely on fucking up my life. So I told him he could be a broody killer who didn’t actually have the balls to kill me, or he could do his damn job.”

  Gwen was silent for a moment. “So you stood up to him.”

  “It was that or let an employee know he could walk all over me. So yeah, damn right I did.” She looked at the book outline on the desk and tried to concentrate on it, but the words were just random markings at this point.

  “Good. Now let’s go see the cats at Jackson Square. I think you might enjoy meeting them.”

  “I should go with Arthur,” she said faintly. “Follow him or something.”

  “Do you know where he is?” Gwen asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you know where he is going?”

  “No. Swamps, that’s all I know.”

  “Does he want your help?”

  “Dammit, no.”

  “Are you aware that the southern Louisiana swamps span miles, and are not likely to have an information desk?”

  Zoë glared at her friend. “I liked your attempts at humor better when they weren’t used to batter me about the head with reality.” She put down her pencil. “Fine. Arthur is on his own. Could we get some food, after the cats? I need something soon.”

  “I keep forgetting that. Yes, all right, cats, then food.”

  Zoë reached down and got her satchel, checking for her recording devices and notebook. She got her leather jacket and slung her bag over her shoulder while Gwen waited patiently.

  “We need to go to the swamps tomorrow,” Zoë said.

  “I thought you had already planned on it,” Gwen said.

  “Yeah, well, it’s more important now,” Zoë said. “If he can’t find anything tonight, tomorrow we look. Regardless of whether he wants my help, we have to go out there.”

  “Right. I can help you find this mentor, if you want the help.”

  Zoë relaxed a bit, grateful for the support. “Thanks.”

  When they exited Zoë’s room, Eir was in the hallway. Zoë felt a sudden pang of guilt—she had been concerned with her own issues all day, the city, then wandering, then napping, then Arthur’s issues. She hadn’t bothered to meet with her team, or even the new employee.

  The goddess had changed to a fresh sweat shirt with NEW ORLEANS on the front, her braid hanging thick over her shoulder down to her right hip. Her arms were crossed, and she looked as if she had been waiting for some time.

  “Editor,” she said, nodding briefly to Gwen but focusing on Zoë. “Where do we dine tonight?”

  “I—uh—hadn’t even thought of a group dinner plan. Gwen and I are going to see the cats at Jackson Square, and then to dinner if you’d like to join us. There’s a place, Café Soulé.”

  She nodded once. “I will join you.” Like everything with her, it was said with an air of bestowing a great gift.

  “Great!” Zoë said, forcing a grin. She realized she had to get to know this goddess, even if she wanted to wallow with her friend tonight. She was at work, after all. “Did you get a chance to get out today? I’m sorry I wasn’t around much.”

  Eir looked straight ahead, her face stony. “I spent the day looking for the old record store where I once worked. It is no longer there. This upset me, so I raged.”

  Zoë pictured a new crater in the middle of a block where Eir’s anger had manifested. “Did you, uh, well, did you hurt anyone? Or anything?”

  Eir looked at her as if she had suggested Eir invite Hitler to a barbequed kitten dinner. “I don’t hurt. I went to the hospital and healed everyone I came in contact with until security found me and escorted me from the building.”

  “That’s an interesting way to rage,” Zoë said. Then she realized that healing that many people would likely have affected Eir like a bottle of whiskey. “Are you all right now?”

  The goddess nodded once.

  “OK, then, I guess we’re on our way,” Zoë said. “I’ll gather everyone in the house when we get back after dinner. We’ll go over assignments and schedules. But for tonight, we just enjoy ourselves.”

  “After the cats,” reminded Gwen.

  Zoë nodded. “After the cats.”

  Jackson Square was about as busy at night as it was during the day, with performers contorting and breathing fire, tour groups meeting, and bar hoppers staggering around. The park’s gate was closed, however, and though the park itself was lit along the fence, few lights penetrated the middle aside from the lights illuminating the statue.

  They walked past a group of people wearing large stickers indicating they were with a tour group (the “vampire tour”—Zoë wondered if they were going to visit any real vampires), following a tall man in a top hat, black coat, and fishnet gloves.

  They approached the park and peeked in through the bars.

  “I don’t see any cats—” Zoë began, but she saw something move under a bush. And, as if a spell had been broken, she could see dozens of shadows or silhouettes of ears, tails, and legs. The streetlamp glinted off an eye, and one cat leaped to the statue in the center, its body sleek and strong against the sky.

  “Wow. How many are there?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. I focus on humans,” Gwen said, her eyes on the tour group.

  “Currently there are eighty-three feline life forces in the park,” Eir said, a bit too loudly for Zoë’s taste. “More are coming. Many more.”

  Zoë lowered her voice even more to compensate for Eir’s loud voice. “And what do they do there? Do any coterie get involved?”

  “Only the cat gods,” said a voice next to them. It was said with a heavy Cajun accent, Ohnlee da cat gads, and spoken by a stout young African American woman who had sidled up next to them. “You got business with the cats?”

  “No, I’m just here to see them,” Zoë said. She pulled out her notebook. “Cat gods, you say. Bast, I assume. Who else?”

  “Most of the gods is from Egypt, yah?” the girl said. “All of them, I suppose. There aren’t as many who visit as before, but the cats still come here. They still call their names.” The woman’s voice grew sad.

  “And you are?” Zoë asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “I’m no one,” she said.

  The woman wore a denim jacket and baggy work pants, with muddy work boots. Her face was round and young, and her hair was a bushy Afro contained under a wide headband. Zoë wouldn’t have assumed she was older than twenty.

  In Zoë’s experience, “no one” could certainly describe a lot of people in coterie circles. She could be a lost god, an ancient vampire who had forgotten her name, or someone under a geas to keep anonymous.

  “But you know about the cats,” Zoë said.

  The lost god waved her hand. “Sure. Everybody knows the cats.”

  “But most people don’t know that they are calling to their gods,” Zoë pointed out.

  “Well, no, not that. But you can hear them sing.”

  Zoë’s companions were ignoring them, Gwen still fixated on the tour group and Eir watching the cats. Her brow was furrowed as if she was trying to remember something.

  Zoë put away her notebook and stuck out her hand to the young woman. “Well, I’m Zoë Norris, I’m working on a travel book for coterie visiting the city. Any information you can give me about the cats would be great.”

  The woman grinned and slapped Zoë on t
he arm. “Nah, you got everything you need right here. You got your eyes and your ears. You watch the cats and learn.” She turned and ambled away. Zoë noticed that no one in the square looked at her as she walked past.

  “The city keeps its secrets,” Eir whispered.

  The goddess turned back to the park. The cats were assembled on the fountain now, one large, fluffy black-and-white cat moving among them, touching noses.

  “It’s like… like that one cat is giving out blessings, or greetings, or something,” Zoë said.

  Gwen finally took her eyes off the group, and her eyes shone black and sparkly. She’d been feeding from the humans. “Or the cat is like you, Zoë. Giving out assignments.”

  “Huh. Assignments. Maybe,” Zoë said. Each cat, after being touched, would melt away into the darkness of the park. “What assignments would a cat give?”

  Eir shook her head. “Not just a cat. Bygul.”

  “Bye-gul,” Zoë repeated. “You know that cat?”

  “I surely do. His name in English is Honey. And he is here, like he is every night, because he is looking for his mate, and his god.”

  “His mate? There are plenty of cats here. Cats don’t mate for life, do they?”

  Eir turned to look at Zoë, her eyes gold-blue and slightly glowing in the dark. Zoë fought the urge to step back. “These cats do. He and his mate belonged to Freya, my queen, and they pulled her chariot.”

  Eir spoke with such reverence that Zoë fought the urge to giggle. A cat-drawn chariot. Zoë pictured the chariot staying still, with one cat pulling to the right, and the other one curling up for a nap, with the goddess swearing mightily and cracking a whip.

  “I didn’t know Freya was a cat goddess. Is she here?” Zoë asked.

  Eir shook her head. “I was not entirely honest with you, and I regret this. When I came to New Orleans, Freya came with me. She was hiding from a vengeful rival. She brought her belongings—her necklace and her cats, and nothing else. We tried to start a new life, but Freya couldn’t adapt to the area. She didn’t like the zoëtist magic or the vampires. There was… an incident. Freya and Trjegul went missing. Bygul had no love for me, so he came to Jackson Square and became leader of the cats here, and works nightly to patrol the city and search for signs of the missing goddess. But I knew she was gone. Perhaps not dead, but definitely not in this area of the country.”