Ghost Train to New Orleans Page 24

  They paused again, presumably while Reynard spoke. Then the host took a cocktail napkin and drew a quick map. “She was last reported living in her houseboat on this river. She likes to move around. Doesn’t like to be found for some reason.” His voice dripped with amusement. “I would go myself, but of course, circumstances…” He trailed off.

  “Thank you,” Christian said, and bowed his head to the host.

  “Y’all going tonight?” the host asked nonchalantly.

  Silence again.

  Before she could hear a response, Zoë was dimly aware of fingers on her shoulders, shaking her. She returned her awareness to find Eir holding her in midair by her shoulders and shaking her like a rag doll. The bottle of wine slipped from her fingers and spilled on the floor, splashing Eir’s boots.

  “God, what, I’m back, let me go!” Zoë shouted, struggling.

  Eir set her down, and Zoë frowned sadly at the spilled wine. “There goes my evening.”

  Gwen retrieved the bottle, still half full, and handed it to Zoë. “We wanted to see if you were all right. Arthur has asked us to accompany him to the swamps tonight, but he said you weren’t coming. Are you spending the evening with a bottle instead of your friends?”

  Zoë put the bottle down on the desk, where the gremlins pounced on it, using teamwork to tip it over and taking turns guzzling the wine. It ran down their chins and over the desk.

  “I was kidding about the bottle, but yeah, Arthur made no secret that he doesn’t want me, and he’s probably going to die out there. Screw him anyway. Still, he needs help, and if you can give it, give it. I don’t want him to turn into a zombie just because my feelings got hurt.”

  Zoë rubbed her arms, the ache still new. Maybe he was right. They didn’t belong together, and she would get in the way.

  Gwen nodded once. She gave Zoë a wry smile. “Maybe tomorrow we can get started on the book?”

  Zoë groaned. “The book, I almost forgot. Is anyone taking notes about this ball?”

  “I will do it,” Eir said. “Gwen and I will leave for the swamps in an hour. First we party.”

  The idea of the stoic goddess partying was enough to push a smile back on Zoë’s face.

  CHAPTER 21

  Plantations

  Arcadia

  All New Orleans plantations are now tourist attractions for humans—all but one, that is. Arcadia is still a living, breathing, working plantation.

  In its ugly past it had a ruthless master, Harold King, who was famous for using his wealth to buy more slaves than he needed, and having them fight for the “honor” of working the fields. One night, a visiting vampire from Morocco took pity on a slave—Jenny—and turned her, then set her loose on the plantation. Jenny was a zoëtist of growing power, and her mixture of vampirism and zoëtism was a sight to behold as she killed her master and trapped his soul within the plantation itself. She freed her fellow slaves and turned several of them, and they took over Arcadia. For some time, the evil that dwelled in the land turned the crops sour, but even evil gets tired, Jenny learned, and after some decades the fields began to be fertile again.

  Jenny died her second death when some zoëtists hunted her down, screaming that she had blasphemed against her culture by accepting a vampire’s embrace. Many of the original slaves still live in Arcadia, but no other vampire at the plantation has retained their gifts. However, they still say they can feel Master King in the soil beneath their feet, and they refuse to sell the plantation for two reasons: they don’t wish to risk anyone else owning the haunted place, and they want to continue the punishment of the most evil man they knew.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Don’t go.

  Zoë glared out the window of her taxi (driven by a human), hoping the city could see her annoyance.

  Go where? I’m going back to the B and B.

  The taxi was taking her back to Freddie’s Ready B and B, and she was trying to decide what to do with the rest of her evening. She could sleep. Or maybe she and Opal could split a bottle of wine and commiserate. Girl bonding.

  Oh right. Opal was a vampire. Was a human friend too much to ask for?

  The city sounded frantic. No, don’t go to the swamps with those friends of yours. I can’t watch you there.

  Zoë remembered to answer in her head, despite her impulse to yell at the voice. I’m not going to the swamps, and frankly, I don’t need you looking after me. I don’t trust you, remember?

  You’re considering going. You are. I can feel it.

  Zoë thought for a moment. I wasn’t till you said something. But you’re right, I don’t like the idea of that assassin dude heading out there the same time as Arthur. Even though Reynard is a complete coward.

  Don’t! You won’t be able to contact me, or view the dangers around you. You are only safe in the city.

  Zoë thought of all the times in the past thirty-six hours she had not been safe in the city. She could think of at least once each week since she’d discovered the coterie’s existence that she had not been safe.

  She didn’t answer, and the city remained silent. Zoë leaned her head back and closed her eyes, trying to decide what to take with her. First change out of the dress. Then get weapons, definitely. Flashlight, cell phone. And what was she going to do? Follow Arthur? Reynard? Stop… something?

  She wanted to find out what Reynard was up to, definitely. And she was rather nervous about Arthur going out there on his own to look for a possibly undead zoëtist. He could likely handle himself, it was his job, after all, but he would be clouded by desperation and despair. It could affect his judgment.

  The taxi pulled to a stop outside the B and B. “Can you take me to the bayou?” Zoë asked.

  The cabbie, a large man in a white tank top, twisted around. Zoë tried not to look at his back hair. “That’s a broad question. The bayou ain’t like a store you go to. It’s kind of big, yeah?”

  “Yeah, right. Never mind.” She paid her fare and slouched up the front steps to the door. How was she going to get to the Doyenne’s place if the zoëtist master was constantly on the move, and even the host couldn’t find her?

  She walked into the B and B and found Opal’s bedroom door open, and Bertie lying on her floor. Opal’s face was red from tears, but she looked calm as she sat on her bed in a white blouse and jeans and heels. Bertie, in human form now, lounged on her floor and Zoë got a weird sense of déjà vu, from memories of visiting college buddies as they hung out in a dorm room.

  Zoë knocked on the door and poked her head in. “Hey, how are you holding up?”

  Opal shrugged. “Bertie is helping. I talked to Phil. He’s not going to fire me.”

  “I would hope not. I need you. And coterie laws are a bit different than human rules, right?”

  Opal shrugged, a more tired response than an “I don’t know.”

  Bertie answered for her. “A bit. Anyway, what are you doing back? I thought you were going to be at the ball all night.”

  Now it was Zoë’s turn to shrug noncommittally. “Something came up that requires, well, all of our attentions.”

  Bertie snapped to his feet, faster than Zoë had ever seen him move. “What can we do? I’m ready to be part of your adventures.” He reached out and snatched Opal’s wrist, pulling her to her feet. She whined a protest but stood listlessly next to him.

  Zoë looked at him suspiciously. “You seem way too eager, which is pretty much the opposite from last night. What gives?”

  Bertie grinned. “Last night was more fun than I’ve had in a while. You may not have plans, but being with you is exciting. Besides, Opal needs something to give her some pep.”

  “OK, well, we’re looking for a zoëtist who may or may not be dead,” Zoë said. “She apparently is somewhere in the swamps. She’s supposed to be dead but that hasn’t stopped just about everyone I know from trying to find her tonight.”

  “Great, the bayou is my assignment,” Bertie said. “And between us we can find one human, right,
cher?” He elbowed Opal. She raised an eyebrow. He shrugged. “I like how they talk here. Sue me. So why are we doing this, boss?”

  She had no desire to discuss the situation concerning Arthur. But Opal looked completely miserable and could probably use some distraction. Zoë laid out the situation in brief, essentially that they were looking for the Doyenne and had to find her tonight.

  “I’m going to go get changed. Be ready in ten,” she said.

  She got out her phone and texted Gwen.

  DO YOU KNOW IF THE HOST SENT ANYONE ELSE TO FIND THE DOYENNE TONIGHT?

  Gwen was swift with her reply.

  NOT THAT I KNOW OF. WHY?

  Zoë thought for a moment, and started to text—I’M HEADING TO THE—but the phone powered down.

  “Shit. I’ve never charged it,” she said, staring at the phone. She stuck her head out of the room. “Guys, does anyone have Gwen’s number in your phone?”

  Bertie and Opal answered in the negative, and Zoë groaned. What an awesome leader, not even making sure they all had each other’s numbers.

  She plugged her phone into the wall and watched it. A red light began to blink sluggishly, and she tried to turn it on, but it refused. “Dammit, how long does it take these phones to charge, anyway?”

  “If you drain the battery all the way, it needs to get to fifteen percent before it will even turn on again,” Bertie called from his room. “Didn’t Phil tell you not to let it run out all the way?”

  “Phil doesn’t tell me stuff like there was a whole genocide against a part of the human race, why would he tell me about how to work a cell phone?” she muttered as she left the phone on the desk to charge. She forced her mind back to the pressing topic.

  She had no idea what the host was angling for, sending a bunch of people into the swamp. Whose side was he on? What was Reynard up to? She did know what Arthur was up to, and that was enough reason to go after them.

  She closed her door and tried to reach for the zipper of the dress, then remembered it had formed itself around her. Cinderella fabric. It was “smart.”

  It was also not coming off.

  Zoë groaned. It probably wouldn’t come off until midnight.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. “Am I really going into the swamp dressed like a fairy princess?” She probably had just insulted fairies, but who cared; she didn’t employ any, right?

  If Morgen had heard her say that, she would have called Zoë a bigot. Damn, but she missed that water sprite.

  Zoë bent down and slipped her shoes off, glad she could at least put on her Chuck Taylor high-tops. When she stood, she noticed the dress subtly rearrange itself to fit her loss of a few inches. Then she looked in the mirror and jumped.

  Anna, the ghost, was standing behind her.

  She whirled, but saw nothing in the air behind her. She peeked back at the mirror and saw the ghost girl pleading with her eyes, and Zoë guessed what she wanted.

  “All right, come on in.”

  The ghost stepped into her and they merged. In the mirror, Zoë could see the girl’s face on top of her own. It was very strange.

  “So how much have you witnessed tonight?” Zoë asked.

  I’ve been watching you since you got to the ball. I’m sorry about your boyfriend.

  As she spoke, Anna moved Zoë’s hands over the dress and tweaked here and pushed there, and even though she couldn’t remove it, she coaxed the dress into something a bit shorter, something that covered the shoulders and protected a bit more. Zoë nearly forgot to listen, she was so entranced by the girl’s casual modification of the magical clothing.

  “So am I right that the citytalkers were killed by assassins working with ghosts?” Zoë asked.

  Some of them, certainly. That kind of information is pretty tightly guarded, but yeah, it makes sense. I knew we could kill demons if we merged, but didn’t realize we were invisible to cities. Those who did know, and knew how to hide from the citytalking assassins, were probably taken by surprise. For some of us, it was a quiet war, or one that we thought was happening to others. Besides, being an assassin is a dangerous job. Many just thought that their friends and loved ones were dying on the job.

  “I guess cities wouldn’t know to look for something they couldn’t see,” Zoë said.

  I suppose not.

  “OK… so why are you here now? I hope we don’t have more demon dogs?” Zoë said.

  I thought you might need help with the swamp.

  Zoë nodded. “I can use all the help I can get. Especially if there are more demons out there. I’m not sure if I want you inside me the whole time, if that’s OK. It’s a little disorienting.”

  I will only possess when you ask me to.

  “Thank you. I’m not sure how I could repay you.”

  I’ve no need for payment. Being with you has been more exciting than my last fifty years.

  Zoë stumbled as she regained control of her body unexpectedly.

  She glanced in the mirror again and saw Anna by the bed. “So even if you’re not in me, you’ll be nearby?” she asked. The ghost nodded.

  “Human, wyrm, vampire, and ghost. Going to save a Public Works dude from I don’t know what. Why am I not surprised my trip has ended up like this?” she asked herself in the mirror. Either the city or the ghost could have answered her, but neither did.

  Zoë packed her satchel with her notebook and pen, both phones (the coterie phone had barely fifteen percent charge left), her knife, a stake (hidden from Opal), and a really old compact of foundation she had found in her suitcase. The makeup was crumbly, but the mirror was just fine.

  She texted Gwen that she was going to the swamp and added that a citytalking assassin was also headed there. Gwen didn’t reply.

  Bertie raised his eyebrow when Zoë came out of her room. “You always go tromping through swamps in an evening gown?”

  “It’s Cinderella fabric or something. I can’t take it off till after midnight. Who thought this was a good idea?”

  Bertie smiled at her and she made a face. Opal exited her room dressed in a black turtleneck and black jeans. She still wore black heels.

  “You look like a poet,” Zoë said.

  Opal looked her up and down. “If you’d rather I not go, I’d be delighted to go out looking for a bite. Besides, I’m in mourning. And I can’t even begin to wonder what the hell you are wearing.”

  “Cinderella—Oh, never mind. Yes, I’m wearing a ball gown in the swamps. You’re a poet. Bertie, who are you playing at tonight?”

  Bertie shrugged. “Human?”

  “You have no vision,” Zoë said.

  Freddie Who’s Always Ready met them at the door with canteens of water and a first-aid kit. “Never know what will happen in the swamps,” he said. “I once met Muhammad Ali out there, and we boxed in the parking lot of a swamp tour clubhouse. He said I was the best he’d ever seen. Wished we’d had a first-aid kit then, the poor bastard’s lip was swole up good.”

  Zoë nodded at him, trying to extract them from another story. “That’s awesome, Freddie. Thanks.”

  “Also I tried to call you a cab. The bad news is, no one will go out there at night. More money made in the city, they said. Did I ever tell you about the time I drove a cab?”

  “No, but how did you know where we were going?” Zoë asked.

  He grinned at her, the gold tooth catching the light. “I’m always ready,” he said. “One of my guests needs something, I’m ready to help. Within reason, that is. So let me tell you about the time I had President Obama in my cab. ’Course, he wasn’t president at that time, he was just an ordinary Joe.”

  “That sounds like a great story to hear over some coffee, so will you save it for when we get back?”

  Freddie nodded, smiling. He looked used to putting aside his stories for later.

  On the sidewalk Zoë frowned and started looking on her phone for where the closest car rental was. Bertie looked over her shoulder, smiling. “No plan, huh?” he asked.


  “Can’t you go back to being silently superior, please?” Zoë said, exasperated. “You know exactly how we can get to the swamps, but you won’t tell me because I’m a lowly human who can’t get to the answer myself.”

  She was starting to shout. She took a deep breath. “Fine, then. I’ll make a decision. Turn into your natural shape and fly us there.”

  His eyes widened. “What?”

  “You heard me. I said, in a handful of words, that I know what you look like when you’re not human. I know you’re big enough to carry both Opal and me. And I’m pulling rank, reminding you that even though I’m a human, even though I’m only in my thirties, and even though you could eat me with one bite, I’m still your fucking boss.” She forced her voice back to its normal volume. “Unless you have a better idea.”

  His face darkened to the point that Zoë was afraid he was going to scream at her, or storm off, or eat her. But he continued to change color until his skin reached a slate gray.

  He stooped over until his hands hit the sidewalk, and, in full view of everyone, he began to change.

  “What, here? Is this a good idea?” Zoë asked, looking around.

  “Our friend had too much to drink,” Opal said to a passing couple, who looked with pity at Bertie on his hands and knees on the sidewalk.

  “Stand in front of him. Look like we’re building a float for a parade,” Opal suggested, so Zoë and Opal shielded Bertie from the onlookers, and Zoë started telling Opal to check the airflow and make sure the chicken wire was hidden.

  “Chicken wire.” Opal’s voice was flat and confused.

  “Parade floats have chicken wire,” Zoë said pointedly.

  “Right,” Opal said, starting to pat the changing Bertie as if she were setting up a float.

  Bertie ended up even larger than Zoë had seen him in his room—he must have still been keeping himself under some sort of constraint. He grew to at least twice the length of a horse, with a long, slithery body, and his wings were bright red when they sprouted.