Ghost Train to New Orleans Read online

  A lazy Susan sat on the counter at the left of the door next to an old cash register. On it were trays of things like rose quartz, jasper, eggshells, silver coins, and pink coral.

  On the floor by the counter were a barrel and a large glass jug. The barrel held dried alligators’ and rabbits’ feet, and the jug looked to hold live leeches.

  “You just lookin’ or are you gonna buy?” asked the man behind the counter.

  Zoë didn’t know what startled her more—the fact that she hadn’t sensed him there, or that he appeared to see her.

  “Can you see me?” she asked.

  “A’course I can see you. What kind of priest do you take me for if I couldn’t see the dead?” He chuckled. He spoke with an accent, and Zoë guessed him to be from Jamaica, or more likely Haiti. He was bald and had a steel spike through his nose. He looked to be at the indefinable age between forty and seventy that some well-preserved people manage to achieve.

  He squinted at her. “Only you ain’t dead, is you?”

  She felt herself grin ruefully. “You’re good. I, uh, am not sure how I’d buy anything of yours, and I left my money in my other pants. Meaning my pants, you know.” He didn’t smile. She cringed and went on, less flippantly, “So I am kind of stuck, I got put in a trance and can’t merge back with my body.”

  “Hokay,” he said. “Where your body now?”

  “Somewhere in a walled garden, near the St. Louis Cemetery, I think,” she said.

  “Dat ain’t too far,” he said. “Imma make you a gris-gris bag, and you hang it on your body, and that’ll anchor your soul right smart there, yeah?” He got moving toward the swatches of cloth, pulling a pair of dirty gardening gloves out of his pocket.

  “You have done this before?” Zoë asked, floating along after him helplessly.

  “Once or twice. Ain’t hard if you know what you doin’. And I can’t read or write good, but I knows my gris-gris.” He reached out and grabbed one of the swatches of cloth. He eyed her. “You got a favorite color?”

  “Blue,” she answered absently as she watched his hands deftly thread a needle while wearing gloves, then grab a swatch of blue fabric and begin sewing three of the sides together. Within a minute he had a little bag. He took a white ribbon and attached it to the mouth of the bag.

  He moved around the store, muttering to himself. “Now a girl’s not gonna want da chicory, she want da rosemary.” He dipped his gloved hand into herbs, took a pinch of each, and then sprinkled several drops of oil into the bag. He then went up to the counter and dropped in a few eggshells, a small piece of jade, and then a dried baby alligator foot.

  He put his mouth close to the bag and whispered into it, then quickly tied it up tight and knotted it a couple of times.

  “Dere. That gonna anchor you but good.”

  “What do I owe you?” Zoë asked, knowing he would have to take credit since she had no cash on her.

  “Blood. Freely given, that is. I don’t traffic in the other stuff.”

  “Other stuff… but I am kind of separated from my blood right now. And I don’t think I even want to know why you want it,” she said. “And besides, how am I going to take the bag?”

  He tossed it to her, and reflexively she put her hand up and caught it. He grinned, his teeth white and perfect. “Tole you it wasn’t my first time. You put that ’round your neck, go get back in your body, and then you’ll be good. You don’t let nobody else touch it, ever. You come back to me soon and we settle up, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she said, feeling out of her element completely. “Totally. Thank you so much.”

  She drifted toward the door, and he called to her, “And don’ worry, she do this to every talker. She think it funny.”

  Zoë turned around slowly. “How did you know… and why do you know that about her?”

  “Ain’t. My. First. Time.” He said the words slowly. “’Sides, my family got both strains in it, priest and talker. Only the talkers is gone.” He looked sad for a moment, but then perked up. “So you go get back, and you make sure you don’ let anyone else know what you are. Dat’s what my sister didn’t do, and she gone now.”

  Zoë thought for a moment. “If you’re a zoëtist, do you know the Doyenne? Do you know if she’s alive?”

  The clerk’s eyes narrowed and he spat on the floor. “You clearly don’ know, so I’m not gonna curse you for that, but you don’t speak her name in my house.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I just need to find her,” Zoë said. “I’m sorry I offended.”

  He snorted. “You need to find her. Everybody need to find her. Some even think she dead, and they still try to find her. No body, no grave. But she out there. Mark my words.” He spat again. “Now go on before your body piss itself or something. And come back, but say that name no more.”

  She nodded, and fled.

  CHAPTER 3

  City Infrastructure

  Pharmacy Museum

  If you find yourself injured or ill in New Orleans, the New Orleans Pharmacy Museum is the best place to go. Ostensibly to preserve the history of pharmacology, it is staffed by dedicated and talented health-care professionals, and many of their tools and medicines are still quite potent. If you need aid when the museum is closed to humans, someone is always on call. Their medicines are top-of-the-line, and their leeches well trained. They are able to treat any injury, and most illnesses such as rot, mange, and plague.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Gwen waited by her body, chatting with Anna, who looked panicked. Zoë went straight to her body, holding her gris-gris bag gingerly, and tried to step back home.

  Feeling slightly like an oozy peanut butter sandwich being squashed together, Zoë settled back into her body. It responded to her thoughts, and she toppled over in relief, pulling her bloody hand out of the hole with the flower bulb.

  Her hand hurt. She had to pee. And the ground felt wonderful.

  Zoë felt the grass with her uninjured hand, and rubbed her cheek along it. Then she allowed Gwen to pull her to a standing position, and she looked around the courtyard.

  Anna stared at the ground. “I’m so sorry. I lost myself in the garden and didn’t notice you couldn’t get back. I can’t even see spirits when I’m here. I let you down.”

  Zoë shook her head, fighting the anger trying to replace the relief she felt. “It wasn’t your fault. From what I understand, the city does this sometimes. I don’t know if it was a test or not, but I actually had to bargain with my blood to get back here. I got one of these things.” She held up the bag with her injured hand. Her blood had seeped into the fabric. “I’m not even sure what it is, but it worked.”

  It’s a gris-gris bag. A voodoo spell. The city’s tone was sullen, like that of a child whose toy has been taken away.

  “Excellent idea, getting a spell to bring you back home,” Gwen said.

  “Yeah, but do I have to keep it with me all the time now?” Zoë asked. “Is my spirit in danger of separating from my body if I don’t have it?”

  Gwen leaned over to inspect the bag. She sniffed it, then straightened. “No, it’s already done that part of the spell. But it’s a powerful protection spell, especially now that you’ve added your blood to it. I’d recommend carrying it anyway.

  “It’s time to go. We have a party to get to,” Gwen added, looking pointedly at the setting sun.

  Zoë walked toward the garden door, clutching the gris-gris bag. She wondered if she could ever put it down. Something to try later, in a safer place. The ribbon looked long enough to hang around her neck for the time being, so she did that.

  “Well, at least you know how to connect with a city now,” Anna said.

  “You think I’m going to do that again?” Zoë asked, incredulous. “No offense, Anna, but being a ghost wasn’t that great.”

  Anna frowned. “None taken.”

  Zoë stopped at the threshold of the garden. “Listen, you’re welcome to hang out with me more during the trip. You’ve saved my life, it�
��s the least I can do. I’m not mad at you, really. Just would have preferred not to spend my day on my knees with my hand stuck in the ground.”

  The ghost girl nodded, and when they stepped out of the garden, vanished.

  Zoë sighed and looked at Gwen. “Thanks for that. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Gwen nodded and smiled. “Anytime.”

  They left the heart and didn’t look back.

  I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

  “Dammit,” Zoë muttered, staring at her suitcase. The city had been a constant buzzing in her head, something she was having trouble tuning out.

  “Gwen, I’m not prepared for a masque! I didn’t pack for this! And I certainly haven’t had time to shop!”

  She had managed a shower, with Freddie Who’s Always Ready arriving with bandages and alcohol at the moment she was dressed. He bandaged her hand expertly and told her of his grandfather the voodoo priest who would solve people’s problems in town. And he told her again that when the police came to the door, he would meet them, and not say a word, and then they would leave and never come back.

  And did she know that when he died, Freddie’s granddaddy transferred his power to Freddie? He’d covered it all in his blog, where he told the story in poetry. Zoë listened to the story as well as she could, trying not to fall asleep. She had taken a twenty-minute nap, which only made her feel more tired.

  Gwen had awakened her with an imperious command to get up and get moving, and said that one did not stand up someone as dignified as their illustrious unnamed host. Zoë had mumbled something about how he would understand since he had sensed her with the city, but Gwen ignored her and left her to get ready.

  Zoë stood in her ratty Pearl Jam T-shirt and sweat pants and frowned at the sweaters, T-shirts, and jeans in her suitcase. Masquerading as a shlubby travel book editor didn’t seem glamorous enough, even if she carried a copy of The Shambling Guide to New York City with her.

  Gwen swept in without knocking and spun in the middle of the room. She had changed her long flowing black robes to long flowing red ones. Her hem had white down sewn into it, making her look as if she were walking on a cloud. She had tied her black hair into multiple braids that made a labyrinth all over her head. Her face was covered by a black feathered mask.

  Zoë stared at her, mouth open. “OK, I’m definitely not going now.” She tried to crawl back inside the fort that was her curtained bed, but Gwen caught her heel.

  “What are you talking about? Of course you are going!”

  “Hell no I’m not. I look like a hobo next to you, and the last time I went out with a coterie friend and I looked like a hobo, I nearly got eaten by an incubus. Now admittedly that probably had more to do with me being at a sex club with an incubus than looking like a hobo, but you know, associations.”

  “You’re worried that you will get eaten if you go in what you’re wearing?” Gwen asked the question slowly, as if Zoë were stupid.

  “Yes. No. It’s just I am just a human, showing up with a goddess. And it’s not even like you’re just divinely glamorous. Even if you were human and dressed like that, I’d still look like a slob next to you. I didn’t plan for a party, much less a coterie one. There will probably be fairies there, Gwen!”

  “What do fairies have to do with it?” Gwen asked, crossing her arms.

  “They’re prettier than me!” Zoë heard the whine in her voice and closed her mouth abruptly. Flashbacks from prom were looming dangerously close.

  “And they always will be. Why is tonight different? You travel with coterie. Interesting coterie things just seem to happen around you—no doubt because of your association with the city. How can you not expect a fancy coterie party invite?”

  Zoë ran a hand through her wet hair, pulling roughly at tangles. “Never mind, the point is, whatever the reason, whatever the bad planning, I did not prepare for a fancy dress party with or without gods. I do not want to go looking like this. I will stay home. Take Eir instead.”

  “I am going,” the Norse goddess stated, and strode into the room. She was dressed in ceremonial armor, all black leather and shiny silver, contrasting beautifully with her blonde hair, which had been brushed out long to hang below her waist in wavy yellow sheets. She carried with her a spear with a gleaming steel head, Nordic runes carved into the wood shaft. She also wore a mask, hers made of white feathers that matched the feathers that made up Gwen’s hem. They made a very striking couple.

  They made Zoë feel more like a hobo than ever.

  “That’s it,” she said, and headed back to her bed, swept aside the curtains, and collapsed in a dramatic fashion. “I’m not going.”

  Gwen’s voice was heavy. “This is getting tiresome, Zoë. Here. I will give you five minutes to feel sorry for yourself. Just five. When Eir and I come back in, your tears will be dry and you will be dressed for shopping. We will take you out, get you appropriate clothes, and go straight to the masque. I recommend you wear clothing you don’t mind throwing away at the dress shop.” Her glittery eyes judged Zoë’s sweats. “Those will do.”

  The goddesses left the room, closing the door firmly behind them. Zoë felt tears prick her eyes, and wondered where Arthur was. She was just exhausted. She normally didn’t cry about her clothes, or boys.

  “God, this is pathetic. They’re right. Sheesh. I need help.” She rubbed both hands over her face and then poured a cup of water from the glass pitcher on the bedside table provided by Freddie Who’s Always Ready.

  She wondered idly if the vampires had blood in their pitchers. Probably. Freddie had told her a long story about how his grandfather always had a pitcher of water and a pitcher of bourbon in his bedroom, and he always knew the one he reached for was the right one.

  Then she wondered how Opal was doing.

  You could check on her yourself, look at her through my eyes.

  Zoë ignored the city’s words. She didn’t like having a more intimate connection with the city, not when she couldn’t trust the being.

  “No thanks, I’m not using you to spy on my writers,” she said, choosing to give Opal her momentary privacy and focusing back on her room.

  In four minutes she had her hairbrush and pins stashed in her purse, makeup on, and a jacket over her old T-shirt. The gris-gris bag hung inside her shirt against her skin. She sat in her chair, purse in her lap, and waited for the goddesses.

  Precisely five minutes after they’d left, they returned, and Gwen smiled to see Zoë ready to go.

  “So where are we going?” Eir asked.

  Zoë shut the door behind her. “Don’t you guys know? You’re the ones determined to get me all dolled up.”

  “Yes, and you are the one with the connection to the city. Find out the best place to shop.” Zoë hated it when Eir sounded as if her suggestions were actually orders.

  She wanted to protest, but she didn’t have a lot of energy left. She closed her eyes and tapped into the life force of the city.

  Is now when you come a-running back home?

  This is not my home. I’m just looking to see where the fancy coterie shop, Zoë said.

  I can help. I suppose I owe you.

  Sure, helping me shop will completely make up for trapping me in a ghost state. We would be totally square.

  The city was quiet at that, and Zoë focused on the shopping districts, and found Rose’s Fair on Magazine Street. It was a short distance from the innocuous warehouse in which the ball was to take place. Several of the customers looked to be coterie, and she even saw some vampires exiting a black-windowed limo in a back alley and entering the shop under a heavy awning.

  “Found a place,” she said, leading the goddesses out the door.

  They passed by the doors of Opal and Bertie, but both were closed, and she heard a stifled sob coming from the vampire’s room.

  “Is she going to be all right?” Zoë asked.

  “She had to kill her son,” Gwen said. “That’s not easy in any
culture. She will likely have a blood debt to pay at home. We can ask Phil.”

  Zoë paused outside her door. “Should we check on her?”

  Eir put her large hands on Zoë’s shoulders and guided her toward the exit. “Editor, a human doesn’t console a sobbing vampire. They enjoy comfort food as much as humans do.”

  “Point taken. I just hate leaving her like that.”

  “Bertie said he will look in on her. He can handle her, maybe take her to a club later to get some food,” Gwen said.

  “He’s not the most sympathetic,” Zoë protested, but let them steer her out of the inn.

  “What happened last night? With the cats, I mean?” Zoë asked as they got onto the sidewalk and checked the address on the invite.

  Eir became very still, even as she continued to walk.

  “We still don’t know why Bygul was targeted, but the cats see everything in the city, and Bygul was their leader. Kill the eyes, and no one can see,” Gwen said, lifting her skirts as she stepped from the curb to cross the street. “He killed only Bygul, so we know it wasn’t a random demon attack. After the attack, we don’t know where the demon was, but clearly he wasn’t done, as he found you. You know the rest.

  “It was something amazing, frankly,” Gwen said. “You and your ghost made a good team.”

  Zoë nodded. They were approaching the sounds of a parade, and she had to speak up to be heard. “Thank you for taking care of me, again,” she said to Eir.

  “It is who I am,” she said gruffly. “I’m only sorry I couldn’t heal your arm.”

  Her arm. She had forgotten about the burns—they were healed since her adventure with the city, so thoroughly that she hadn’t even noticed. Her hand still stung from where she had cut it, though. She had refused Eir’s offer to heal it; after a bullet wound and broken bones, she felt asking for what would amount to essentially a boo-boo kiss was like using Hercules to clean up Chihuahua shit.