Ghost Train to New Orleans Page 3

  They had a quick dinner together, Arthur bright-eyed and invigorated with his new plan. He served steak and baked potatoes and red wine.

  “Something weird happened today,” she said.

  “Weird shit always happens to you,” Arthur replied, smiling for the first time that day.

  Zoë shrugged. “OK, weird in the citytalker way, then. I was working out in the park, and when I’m there, I usually talk to the Reservoir. I know they’re in there, but they never talk back. I mentioned I was going to New Orleans tonight, and complaining about not knowing any other citytalkers, and as I was leaving I got a clear impression that I should avoid other citytalkers. What does that mean?”

  Arthur frowned. “I don’t know. Most everyone wants to find their own people, don’t they?”

  Zoë nodded slowly. “I just wish I could learn how to connect with the city as well as Granny could.”

  “I hope that won’t make you a schizo homeless woman,” he said, giving her a peck on the cheek as he poured more wine.

  “I don’t think it will,” she said, but she wasn’t sure. Something had definitely snapped within Granny Good Mae at some point. Was she willing to go through that to talk to a city?

  INTRO

  Welcome to New Orleans!

  SIDEBAR:

  Welcome to the Big Easy! Before we get started letting you know about the wonders of this city—the unofficial coterie capital of the US—we need to do a public service announcement.

  New Orleans is under sea level. This means no one digs in the city, not even rats. All graves are above ground, and while this means there are lovely mausoleums to rent out, using sewers or subway tunnels to move around is completely out. As of this writing, there are few to no safe daytime travel options for photophobic coterie. Several housing options are light-tight, though, and are safe places to stay and rest while the sun is in the sky. (See chapter 11, “Lodging,” for more information.)

  That said, for those of you who do not fear the sun, the city has walking and driving tours, and charming (yet limited) streetcars. (Desire has been decommissioned, but Despair, Death, Destruction, Dream, Delirium, and Destiny still run for coterie passengers.) You can always get a coterie taxi as well.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Granny left you how much?” Arthur asked over their second bottle of wine.

  “I’m not sure how much after inheritance tax,” Zoë said. “But it’s upward of a million.”

  “But she was homeless,” Arthur said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Don’t tell me how weird it is, I know it already. I saw the shithole she lived in. But you know, she did always insist on good footwear. I remember thinking how weird that was.”

  Arthur drained his wineglass. “So when are you handing in your notice? After the NOLA book?”

  Zoë blinked at him, surprise clearing her inebriated head.

  “My notice?” she managed to say.

  “Sure,” Arthur said, sniffing the wine in his glass awkwardly as if he knew he was supposed to, but not entirely sure why. “You’re rich. You don’t have to work. You can quit and live the life of luxury. Learn what we’re supposed to smell for when we smell wine. Or take a sabbatical and study whatever. Or just take your time finding a job that doesn’t constantly put your life in danger.”

  She bristled. “Are you objecting to women fighting monsters?”

  Arthur gave her a patient look. “Of course not. You know there are plenty of women at Public Works that I would trust with my life. But you are a book editor, not a plumber-slash-monster-hunter. Last month you got seriously beat up. You got swallowed by a snake demon, for God’s sake. Do many book editors encounter those kinds of workplace injuries? I thought all you had to worry about was carpal tunnel syndrome.”

  Zoë ignored his mocking tone. She swirled her wine around the glass and took a sip, not tasting it. “I hadn’t considered quitting. It didn’t occur to me. Saving, sure. Maybe a new computer. Book a trip. But quitting?” Arthur waited, and she appreciated that he could tell she wasn’t done. “Yeah, my job is dangerous. But I’ve never felt more alive in my life. I’m seeing cities from a different point of view.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And that doesn’t even count the fact that I can talk to cities. How fucking cool is that? If I didn’t discover that, I probably would have eventually ended up on antipsychotic drugs to fight the voice in my head. And God, Arthur, if I didn’t have this job, we probably wouldn’t be dating. If I didn’t have this job, I’m sure I wouldn’t understand what you did, or appreciate the danger you place yourself in.”

  “If you have such a passion for working with monsters, you should work with me,” he said flatly.

  “Are we going to do this again?” Zoë asked, rubbing her face. “I don’t want to work for Public Works for several reasons.” She counted them off on her fingers. “I actually like my job. Aside from all the in-the-field danger, I’m actually using my skills as an editor. I couldn’t get a job with a human publisher, I tried. I don’t know one thing about the sewer, or the water, or whatever else Public Works does. And come on, Arthur. We already live next to each other. Let’s say this relationship goes south, and you see me at work and here in the hall. I have a firm belief that people in healthy relationships need their own space.”

  Arthur looked at her, not saying anything. She finally grew uncomfortable under his gaze and blurted out, “Well, say something. Are you going to storm out? Argue with me? Tell me I’m crazy?”

  “ ‘Relationship’?” he asked.

  Zoë burst out laughing, startling him. She had to admit to herself that it was nervous laughter, but it broke the tension and Arthur grinned sheepishly.

  “I think the real reason is I’m trying to figure out what it means to be who, and what, I am. And the best way to do that is to research cities from within. And it also seems the best way to find people who can help me learn about what I am.”

  “You could do that on your own. You could afford to travel.”

  Zoë gritted her teeth. “Listen. I don’t want to quit. That should be a good enough reason for you, if you respect my decisions.” She took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders, which had been creeping up to her ears. “Let’s drop work talk, and relationship talk, and just have a good dinner. We’ll head to New Orleans, you’ll do your zoëtist-hunting thing, I’ll do my book writing, we’ll spend some time together, and when we get back we can see if I’m still interested in this job, and we’ll see where this relationship—yes, relationship—takes us. How’s that?”

  He agreed, and they spent the rest of the dinner talking about their childhoods, and books, and even touched a bit on dating history. He admitted that he had once fallen for a succubus, and Zoë told him the whole story of the affair with her married boss that had eventually driven her to New York.

  After dinner they watched Doctor Who, and got into a friendly argument about who the best Doctor was. Zoë had watched the show as a child, and had a soft spot in her heart for Tom Baker, but Arthur was only familiar with the new show, and had decided David Tennant was the only Doctor worth his salt. They split the difference and watched an episode of the ninth Doctor, whom Zoë quite liked though she was pissed he had lasted only a season.

  Later, in her bed, Arthur dozed and Zoë gently touched the zombie bite scar on his shoulder, puffy and shiny on his dark skin, and thought about the other unspoken thing between them, the other big “what if” that could affect their relationship.

  Could she date a zombie?

  Could she kill him if he begged her to, to keep him from turning?

  She woke him up at ten and he left for his apartment to pack for the trip. Zoë was mostly packed already, just had to add some weapons and make sure her laptop and phone—phones, she reminded herself—were charged.

  She sent a text to her friends from Raleigh, with whom she played a weekly Dungeons & Dragons (version 3.5) game via Skype, and told them to have her paladin doing penance in some temple or anoth
er while she was away from the campaign. She would try to get online in New Orleans, but she couldn’t promise anything.

  Her goldfish, Lister and Kochanski, drifted lazily in their tank, showing no concern when she dropped in a seven-day feeding tab. The house-sitting service would check her mail and her fish every three days, but she might as well give them as little work to do as possible.

  She met Arthur in the hallway at eleven. He had slung a duffel over his shoulder. She blinked at him.

  “Is that all you’re taking?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t have to write. I don’t have to work. I’ve got some clothes, toothbrush, iPod, and wallet in here.”

  “No books? No other toiletries?” Zoë managed to squeak. “No books?”

  “I’ve got e-books. I don’t feel the need to carry five fantasy doorstops with me at all times. No wonder you’re so strong.” He grinned at her.

  “The George R. R. Martin fitness plan, that’s me,” she said. “Besides, I might finish one. And then where would I be?”

  They walked down the stairs together, Zoë still glancing at his duffel in astonishment. The streets were quiet in the late night.

  “Did you call for a car?” he asked.

  Zoë snorted. “Please.” She pulled off the necklace she wore all the time—a circle with a small claw etched in the center, a talisman that told coterie, “Hands off, I’m an ally, not lunch”—and held it in the air. As always, this summoned a coterie cab driven by her favorite demon, Max.

  He pulled up seemingly from out of nowhere, smoke wafting from the cracked windows. Inside he hulked under a heavy jacket and hat, but he smiled up at Zoë. “What’s the plan, kiddo?”

  “Grand Central, please, Max. For me and my friend.”

  He heaved himself out of the car and looked Arthur up and down. “I remember you. Public Works, ain’t you?” Arthur nodded stiffly. Max laughed, a “har har” sound, and grabbed their luggage with his massive red hands. He tossed the bags into the trunk, then held the door open for Zoë, grinning past his massive tusks. She settled into the back seat, Arthur got in after her.

  “Hey, Max,” she said as he got back behind the wheel. “What do you know about the new ghost train?”

  Max grunted. “It’s the first high-speed rail in da country and it shares the same track as the new human bullet train. It’s called the Slaughtered Kid and it goes from Boston to N’Awlins in a night.”

  Zoë nodded. “Yeah, that’s about what I hear.”

  Max jerked the wheel and they careened toward the stone wall that surrounded Prospect Park. Zoë tried not to wince, but she always did, even as the cab slipped through the concealed hole and down into the tunnel system the coterie used to get around quickly.

  “What’s the matter? Scared or something?”

  Zoë started to bristle at the insult but realized he was grinning at Arthur’s tense face in the rearview mirror.

  “No,” she answered, trying to save Arthur some more needling, “I’m just wondering if a human can ride on a ghost train. I can just see myself trying to board and just walking right through it. And I’m not afraid of ghosts, but I’m not sure what to expect. I found surprisingly little in my reading. There are a lot of conflicting reports.”

  “Eh, ghosts are nothing, don’t worry about them,” Max said. “They can’t affect much in the world around them, so they’re largely bitter, lonely people. You’ll fit on the train, I’m sure. They gotta accommodate meals and thralls, after all. And if not, you call me. I’ll get you to the Big Easy.”

  “Tell me there’s not a Rat’s Nest all the way down the East Coast,” Zoë said, eyes going wide. The Rat’s Nest was a coterie system of roads underneath the New York subway system. Zoë had only ever driven through it but wanted to spend more time there.

  “Nah, but there’s a whole lot more than you think. Even you, Ms. ‘Human among the Scary Monsters.’ ”

  “Noted,” she said.

  Outside Grand Central Station, near the taxi line, a man sold necklaces off an overturned cardboard box. As Zoë was now accustomed to doing, she looked a little closer at the man. He moved with slow purposefulness, and the chilly January air didn’t seem to affect him at all. He was a zombie, with a wide-brimmed hat shading his graying skin and milky eyes. This was the guy Max had told him to buy tickets from.

  Zoë showed him her talisman and asked to buy seven first-class tickets (uncomfortably aware that the first-class tickets would look like a bribe to the members of her team who chafed under the leadership of a human). The zombie looked stonily at Zoë’s talisman and shook his head. “No.”

  Zoë blinked. “I have the hell notes, I have cash if you need it, what’s the problem? Sold out?”

  “Humans are not allowed in first class,” the zombie said. He looked from her to Arthur, then back, and smiled slowly, showing rotten teeth. “For your own protection.”

  Instead of railing at the bigotry, Zoë wanted to compliment him on how clearly he spoke but figured that would be an insult instead of the ass-kissing compliment she intended. She might as well compliment him on his cleanliness. She still wasn’t sure how to kiss up to the undead, aside from tempting them with her bodily treats, which she wasn’t going to do.

  She felt a presence at her side and saw that Gwen had appeared silently, waiting for Zoë to notice her. The rest of her team—the vampires Opal and Kevin, the baby dragon Bertie, and the goddess Eir—stood behind Gwen. Kevin smirked at her, and she realized they had heard the problems she was having.

  “Won’t let you in the first-class car? That must be embarrassing for the boss to be in coach,” Kevin said. His sire, Opal, elbowed him in the ribs, and he subsided.

  “I’m traveling with a bunch of coterie to vouch for me, what’s the problem?” The zombie shook his head. Zoë finally slipped a hell note out of her pocket and slid it to him. “Can I convince you otherwise?”

  His slow eyes never hit the money, but his hand reached out and snagged it. “Five first-class. Two coach.” He reached under the box and counted out five green tickets and two yellow. Kevin snickered behind Zoë, and she gritted her teeth.

  “Bigot,” she muttered as she took the tickets.

  The zombie sighed in a way that implied it was done out of habit instead of an actual need for air. “It’s nothing personal. It’s for your own safety. We don’t even allow vampires’ thralls to travel with them. The humans are just too vulnerable and we can’t be responsible.”

  “He’s got a point,” said Arthur. “I’d rather sit with my own kind, anyway.”

  Zoë glared at him. “You’re not helping,” she muttered.

  “We don’t need to go first-class, Zoë,” Gwen said, putting her hand on her arm. She looked at the others pointedly. “Do we?”

  Bertie, the baby dragon, or “wyrm” (who looked more like an Italian linebacker than a lizard), shrugged. “I usually fly.”

  Eir folded her formidable arms. “I was planning on purchasing an upgrade to experience the full trip, so I will take the offered ticket. Thank you, editor.”

  Gwen sighed at Eir, exasperated. Kevin reached out and grabbed his and Opal’s tickets. He glanced at Arthur, who took his and Zoë’s tickets from her.

  “Did you bring your own meal, Zoë?” Kevin asked, pointing to Arthur.

  “My friend Arthur is also coming to town, for a different reason. You will not harass him,” Zoë said.

  “Maybe,” Kevin said. “Maybe not.”

  Arthur folded his arms and stared at Kevin. “Zoë’s mentioned you. The weakest writer on the team, I understand. I’d recommend focusing on doing a good job rather than bothering humans for no reason.” He showed his own talisman, a medium-size medallion he pulled from his jeans pocket. “Besides, I’m Public Works.”

  Instead of engaging further, Kevin just winked. “See you in New Orleans, Zoë. Have fun in coach.” The vampires walked away, Opal chiding him for his behavior, sounding like a mother with a son whom she chast
ised out of habit and not because he listened to anything she said.

  Zoë winced. She wasn’t sure traveling with a team like this would work very well. “Kevin, we’ll talk about this in New Orleans.”

  He waved over his shoulder. “OK, boss.”

  It’s like they’re just waiting for me to fail. If she had thought that they would respect her more for saving the whole fucking city from a crazy zoëtist, she had apparently been wrong. It would take more to impress them.

  “Right,” she said. “Gwen, you’re in charge while we’re apart. Make sure they don’t screw anything up. I’ll see you after we get off the train in New Orleans.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, but turned and strode away, pulling her luggage behind her.

  Arthur followed her. “That’s your team? Seriously? I’d fire half of them.”

  “Kevin’s a prick, but the others are OK. Opal is really good, and I’d hate to lose her. And if I fire Kevin, I’ll probably lose her, too. She’s his sire. I hear that makes them tight.”

  Arthur nodded, understanding.

  “What’s with the talisman? I didn’t know you had one,” Zoë said, nodding toward his pocket.

  “Higher-ranking members of Public Works have them,” he said. “Got a promotion last week.”

  “You didn’t tell me; that’s fantastic!” Zoë said. “What are you doing now?”

  “Head of Sewage Maintenance,” he said. “Comes with a pay raise, a talisman, and more authority when it comes to sewer coterie.”

  “Awesome,” she said. Arthur was very good at his job, both keeping the city’s water flowing and dealing with demons in the sewer. Although, admittedly, he was more likely to enter into a fight with a demon than ask it questions, but she hoped that time with her had given him reason to ask questions before he shot.

  She heard a laugh float down the empty train station, and recognized Kevin’s voice. She cringed. She hated being laughed at.