Ghost Train to New Orleans Page 22

“And I figured something else out, incidentally.” She told them of her theory about ghosts helping the citytalkers kill humans during the purge. “Cities can’t see people possessed by ghosts. So citytalkers can’t either.”

  “It makes a certain bit of sense,” Gwen said, forcing her voice loud as a brass band passed them. Zoë got hit in the face with a strand of gold beads, and she bent to pick them up. Eir caught her arm.

  “You don’t show up at this party with other beads on. You show up pure,” she said. Zoë shrugged and left the beads on the ground.

  The parade was taking its time, with dancing women carrying huge feathered fans, and grinning lanky men with horns. It was followed by a long line of people eager to follow the parade to a ball, and when it was past, Zoë shouldered her way through the crowd.

  Rose’s Fair was lightly occupied when they got there, with racks of sleek, glamorous black, white, and patterned dresses hanging on racks. Shoe shelves lined the left wall, and the clerk’s counter was on the right. The woman behind the counter looked ready to close. She was fae, to judge from her super-high cheekbones and slightly glowing eyes. She greeted Gwen and Eir, ignoring Zoë.

  Zoë opened her mouth to speak, but Gwen stepped in front of her. “This one needs a dress for the ball tonight.”

  The fae woman looked down at Zoë, one perfect eyebrow cocked. “You’re taking that to his ball?” she asked.

  “She was invited specially,” Eir said, hands on her hips. “Do you want to be the one to tell the host that you wouldn’t give her proper attire, or should we?”

  The fae sniffed. “What host? There are many.”

  “The man whose name you should not say,” Gwen said.

  The fae dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were invited by him. Please, we are closing in ten minutes but take as much time as you like.”

  “You’ll close now and let our friend browse as she pleases,” Gwen said, passing the woman a bright-blue hell note. With a nod, the woman drifted to the door and closed it and latched the deadbolt.

  Gwen removed Zoë’s coat for her and took an appraising look at her. “What do you think, Eir? She’s short, so something with a short skirt to elongate the legs?”

  Eir sniffed. “Unless you are fitting her for armor, I am not going to be helpful. I am against exposing skin, it is unsafe if knives come into play.”

  “You know what?” Zoë said. “I’ve had knives come into play unexpectedly several times in the past few months, so I’m going to go with Eir. The less skin showing, the better.”

  “You ladies have no sense of fun,” Gwen said.

  Zoë snorted. “You sound like Morgen.” The thought sobered her. She thought the water sprite would have been the ideal shopping companion, with the right sense of fun and style to pick out the perfect thing.

  The fae showed up. “If you are looking for a dress that has smart armor capability, may I show you something from our back rooms? That is where only our sophisticated shoppers visit. I recommend a dress made from Cinderella fabric.”

  Like Freddie’s Ready B and B, the dress shop seemed to be larger on the inside, with rooms here and there that looked structurally impossible. They were separated by color: a sign indicated the red room was up a spiral staircase, and a closet beside the cash register held what looked like yellow pantsuits and canary-yellow go-go boots. The fae led them past this, as well as a hexagonal room filled with green taffeta—literally filled; Zoë could not see into the room past the lacy green stuff.

  The clerk brought out a key ring and unlocked a blue door in the back, beside a storage closet that stood open, showing office supplies.

  The blue room had white walls and blue clothing of every style. There were older styles like Victorian gowns, simple drop-waisted dresses, long, sleek sheaths, and a Little Black Dress, only in blue. The clerk led Zoë to a rack of blue evening dresses, long flowy gowns made from something that seemed close to gossamer, bordering on silk, puffy like taffeta, but nothing she could clearly identify. Not that she was likely to understand the intricacies of fashion, she realized, but she liked to think she could have identified silk if her life depended on it, and this wasn’t silk.

  The clerk handed her a simple strapless gown that would hug her curves and then spread out like a waterfall to pool around her feet. With the proper shoes she might just not trip and kill herself—or worse, embarrass herself in front of the New Orleans coterie.

  “That’s perfect,” Gwen said over her shoulder.

  “I should try it on first,” Zoë said.

  The fae woman’s eyes sparkled as she led Zoë to the dressing room. “These dresses are fairy-made, they’re designed to form to your curves. A true one-size-fits-all garment. It will fit you.”

  In the dressing room, Zoë had a brief moment of panic when the dress, lacking a zipper or any other sort of closure, stretched out like a snake and wrapped around her of its own accord. Cinderella smart fabric, she remembered.

  Now that it was around her, the dress revealed itself to have small gems along the neckline and the hem, as if she’d been dipped into sapphires at both ends.

  “You will need these shoes,” the clerk said, and slid under the door a pair of glittery ice-blue pumps with two-inch heels.

  “One size fits all again?” Zoë asked through the dressing room door.

  “Indeed,” the fae said.

  When she put the shoes on, the dress hem adjusted itself and just barely brushed the ground.

  “Handy,” Zoë said, looking at her feet. She straightened, then accepted the final accessories shoved inside the dressing room: white gloves that went up to her elbows and a white mask that covered the right side of her face.

  The dress did fit perfectly. Zoë suffered through Gwen pinning her hair up, revealing her neck and the scars on her arms and shoulder. The clerk ran back into the blue room and returned with a wrap of similar fabric and presented it. Zoë put it on and was pleased the wrap covered most of the scars.

  Zoë tried to pay for the clothes, but the fairy had decided they were Somebodies and said she would appreciate nothing more than a nice word said about her clothes to other Somebodies, if one of those Somebodies was to compliment Zoë on her ensemble.

  The fae woman looked her up and down, then frowned. The one thing that was unglamorous about Zoë now was her necklaces, her talisman on a chain and her bloody gris-gris bag. The clerk reached thin fingers up to pluck the necklaces off.

  Zoë’s hand went up automatically to keep her from meddling with them. The clerk held her hands up and said, “No threat here, ma’am. I am merely wondering if you would like to wear the talisman where it would not be so out of place. Like as a bracelet, perhaps? And the bag, it can go around your ankle if you prefer.”

  The talisman was the signal to coterie that she was an ally, and that Someone Somewhere would be quite put out if she were to become someone’s meal. Not everyone respected the talisman, but she would rather have it than not.

  She nodded at the clerk and fumbled with the chain, her gloves proving ineffective at removing it. Gwen stepped forward and deftly unclasped it for her, and attached it around her left wrist. The gris-gris bag was easier to manipulate, and she tied it around her left ankle.

  “Will you be requiring any jewelry?” the clerk asked.

  “The minimal look is fitting,” declared Eir, startling them all. “The editor needs nothing more. Can we go?”

  “I didn’t know you had an opinion, Eir,” Zoë said, smiling at her. The goddess huffed and looked away.

  Zoë insisted on tipping the fairy for her attentions and help (and to smooth over any ruffled feathers, literal or metaphorical. She didn’t like thinking coterie held grudges against her) and they stepped into the night.

  Gwen suggested hiring a carriage to the party, which would keep their finery from liquor or vomit or worse.

  Zoë wondered if there would be mice and pumpkins and godmothers involved, but they just hired a normal carri
age.

  CHAPTER 19

  Shopping

  FINERY

  While many coterie—especially those with human roots—enjoy shopping at human-focused stores, some prefer to shop at stores more suited to their needs. Enter Rose’s Fair, a store where you can get finery that is fitting for Carnival or just a night out on the town. If the coterie world had a patent system, store owner Lilac Thorn, a fae of the plant kingdom, would make a killing with his Cinderella fabric. A dress that does what you need it to, only it won’t come off until midnight. The story is that he can enchant fabric to do your bidding forever, but the cost is so high that no one but the oldest vampire who has invested wisely can afford it. Hence the Cinderella fabric, clothes that suit your needs for a set time.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The horse, a definitely unmagical brown gelding, plodded along toward the warehouse. The driver looked uncertain that he was in the right place, but Eir took no heed of his warnings that they were in a bad part of town, tipped him, and helped Gwen and Zoë out of the open carriage. Zoë didn’t like to be helped down, but she had to admit the dress somewhat demanded it.

  The warehouse at the address was in an empty parking lot, well away from the Bourbon Street revelries. A broken streetlight guttered and popped as they walked under it.

  Zoë looked at the empty parking lot and then back at Eir and Gwen. “I see no signs of civilization. Is this the right place?”

  Eir looked at Gwen. “You said she would have powers. Why does she not know the answer to this?”

  “Right, ‘just fucking Google it,’ I know,” Zoë said. She closed her eyes and reached into the life force of the city. The city herself was busy focusing on something else, and didn’t acknowledge her, which was fine with Zoë. She could sense a great deal of life coming from the warehouse—even if not from living humans, the life force was strong. Inside the warehouse were dozens of people, coterie included.

  She opened her eyes. “Yeah, this is the place. And give me a break, Eir. I’m not really used to having this ability. It’s going to take some getting used to. Anyway, I don’t really trust the city right now.”

  I heard that.

  Then deny it, she retorted.

  The city was silent, and the women walked to the door. Zoë leaned into Gwen and hissed, “Why did you tell her?”

  “She knew you were a citytalker because she overheard us on the train,” Gwen said. “Remember, she was inebriated but still aware. She will keep your secret.”

  “Why do people keep telling me that?” Zoë said to no one in particular.

  The door was metal and dented, with gray paint chipping off to show dull steel underneath. Eir raised her hand to knock but the door opened. A zombie stood there, impeccable in black tie and tails, with a top hat. Eir nodded to him and handed over her invitation, careful not to touch him.

  The zombie focused on Zoë. “Ms. Norris,” he drawled, his slow Louisiana accent made even slower by his natural zombie state. “He will be so tickled to see you. Welcome.” His cloudy eyes shifted to Gwen and Eir. “The goddesses Gwen and Eir, he bids you welcome as well.”

  They followed him into a dirty office area with a gray metal desk that stood askew in the middle of the room. A torn piece of cardboard sat on the desk with the words COAT CHEK scrawled on it in red marker. Tiny gremlins were folding coats into impossibly small parcels and stacking them in the desk drawers. The far end of the room held a door with a torn poster depicting the top half of a toned man standing next to half a motorcycle.

  “Are we ever going to know who ‘he’ is?” Zoë whispered to Gwen as she removed her wrap.

  “I told you, no one says his name. It’s bad luck,” Gwen whispered back.

  “Is it a good idea to come to a party of a bad-luck god?” Zoë handed her wrap over to the waiting gremlins working the coat check. She rubbed the scars on her arm self-consciously, but the gremlins distracted her by taking her wrap, spreading it out on the desk, and efficiently folding it by running along the seam to join the corners together. Then one of them handed her a piece of paper with the number 41 written on it. She smiled, tucked the paper into her purse, and tipped the gremlin a hell note.

  “He’s not a bad-luck god,” Gwen hissed, “and I’ll advise you not to refer to him as such again. He is not evil, but people fear what he represents, and so they don’t say his name. At this point, it’s just common practice. If you must call him something, call him ‘The One Who Kills and Is Thanked for It.’ ”

  “Can’t I call him ‘The’ for short?” Zoë paused, watching Gwen’s face for any sign of the goddess’s odd attempts at humor. When she didn’t smile, Zoë nodded and said, “OK, then, I’ll be using the name ‘he’ from now on. Thanks.”

  Gwen smiled. Eir walked around Zoë pointedly and offered her arm to Gwen. Feeling distinctly like a third wheel, Zoë followed the two goddesses through the door with the torn poster, and they were transported.

  “I’m living a goddamned Doctor Who episode,” Zoë muttered as she walked into the huge ballroom. Again, much larger than the warehouse had looked from the outside, it also wasn’t the tin box Zoë had expected.

  She could have sworn that the warehouse hadn’t had windows. She could also have sworn that the evening had been cloudy, with no moon visible. Still, tall windows showed a crystal-clear, starry night. The windows were framed by rich brown curtains the color of old blood. What the color didn’t add to the look, the high-quality fabric made up for: it was a rich, textured fabric that nearly begged to be stroked. Huge chandeliers dotted with moving orbs of light gave the room an unearthly glow. The floor was made from wooden planks, cherry, it looked like, and had been polished to a glossy shine. Masked coterie swirled and danced around while suited coterie carried trays of wine, blood, and hors d’oeuvres. (Zoë made a mental note to avoid the trays, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t eaten all day.) Heavy cloth streamers draped the walls in a scalloped pattern, with glittering jewels hanging from their ends. At the far end of the ballroom, a tuxedoed zombie staffed a bar, her dead eyes focusing on each patron with determination. She looked to be serving all sorts of drinks, for both human and coterie, with a speed Zoë had never seen a zombie exhibit.

  Their host sat at a table near the bar, his hands on his cane. He talked to his companion, a fat vampire with a sickeningly pale face and an eye patch. The host wore purple tails and a top hat, but this was clearly a worn and well-loved suit that looked to have hosted many balls with him. It was threadbare and one of the lapels had visible white stitches where it had been ripped at one point. His cane was made from black wood and had an ivory handle in the shape of a snake. When Zoë and her friends entered the room, he swiveled his head around immediately and focused on them. He stood and tipped his hat to the vampire and left him looking disgruntled. The host limped toward them, grinning widely.

  “Ms. Norris, I didn’t think you would make it,” he said, opening his arms to them.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Zoë said. “I’ve never been to a masque before, much less an exclusive one, much much less one with such a charming host.”

  He cackled. “You flatter an old man, Ms. Norris. Now who have you brought with you? You I know.” He pointed the end of his stick at Gwen, who smiled and embraced him. Zoë frankly stared at the sudden show of physical affection. She hadn’t seen Gwen embrace even Eir.

  “Does she do this with all old friends?” she whispered to Eir.

  “She has never met him before this trip, not in person. They just work in the same circles. When that happens, you get to know people by reputation after a few hundred years.”

  “It’s a god thing, right, I get it,” Zoë said.

  The god released Gwen and looked at Eir. “Now, you I don’t know, but I think we have some things in common as well.”

  Eir inclined her head, holding her spear upright in front of her. “Indeed. It is an honor to meet The One Who Kills and Is Thanked for It at last.”

  “You
as well, Lady Eir.” He bowed back at her. Zoë noticed they kept a polite distance. “Divine ladies, please enjoy yourself to the fullest extent that I can provide. And Ms. Norris, will you accompany me to the bar? I find myself thirsty.”

  He held out his arm, and Zoë, after a brief, panicked look at Gwen, who nodded to her, took it. He led her along the perimeter of the room, with the masked dancers moving along the floor to the sound of slow jazz played by a zombie band at the other corner. He didn’t speak, and Zoë took stock of the whole room. The dancers were all coterie, mostly fae and vampire, but a demon with tentacles coming out of her face was dancing with a fire sprite in the corner, an interesting mirror dance that allowed them not to touch each other. Which, since she looked like a water demon, and he was clearly made of pure blue fire, was the wisest way to go.

  A couple of zombies hung out near the band, drinking thick white drinks from martini glasses, tapping their feet slowly.

  “Your invitation was a surprise, but I’m still not sure why you gave me such an honor, though,” she said to her host, who limped beside her, cane in one hand and her arm in the other.

  Had he been limping on the other leg before? She couldn’t remember.

  “You’re very interesting, Ms. Norris. You have a… dangerous glow about you.” He spoke as if he chose his words carefully.

  Zoë looked down at herself self-consciously. “Dangerous glow? Like I’m pregnant with a killer robot?”

  He stopped and looked her up and down, frowning. “No, I don’t think so. I mean you shine unlike most humans. Especially after your little adventure yesterday.”

  Zoë snorted. “I’m sure I didn’t see you yesterday. I was dealing with some staffing problems.”

  His fingers tightened on her arm, not quite painfully, but in an insistent and annoyed way. “I see a lot more than you think, Ms. Norris. Do not lie to me. I know what you are, and I know where you were and what you accomplished yesterday, not to mention what you accomplished today. Understand this is my adopted city, and I will protect her.”