NOLA (28 page)

The soul eater had gotten the idea from the last spirit it had ingested.  Champagne was a powerful soul to claim, and it took some time to get her under control. She fought like a tiger, and for a moment, she’d had the upper hand.  But Champagne didn’t know about the man under the bed, the man who could be reanimated in seconds.  The man crawled out and surprised Champagne.  His mummified body making awful scratching sounds as it moved the stiff dead limbs.  It was enough for the spirit to reach up and pull the soul into the bowl.

Tonight, the soul eater would venture out and claim the interfering spirit that plotted to cease the soul eater’s tenure on earth.  It would parade this tasty morsel of a girl in front of the old womanizer.  Alexei Romanov would leave his protected home for this pretty little thing.  This the soul eater did not doubt for a moment.

~

Cranberry sequins rained inside the kitchen.  Candy looked around at the women and said, “This is not good.”

~

A flash of red moved quickly by the windows to the main courtyard.  Murphy thought he saw a woman dressed in sparkles.  Mia sighed.  “It was too much to hope that the teens would have found some place safer to haunt.”

“No,” Father Peter said.

“Yes, this one is on me.  The soul eater has taken over the image of one of the duo we rescued yesterday.  I should have crossed them over.  At least they would be safe under the control of Judge Roumain.”

“Mia, you could not have seen this happening.  Now we know what our soul eater looks like, we can avoid her… ah… it, at all costs.  Come on, let’s take advantage of it being gone and find its lair.”

The three moved through the main floor until they found the little courtyard entrance.  Mia shook her head as they entered the space.  The ashtray was still overfilled with spent cigarettes butts, and no one had bothered to water the thirsty plants.  Mia was astounded that a dying plant could be seen in full view, but yet the smokers couldn’t see past their addiction to aid the living thing.

Father Peter found the key to the lock, labeled
Red Door.
He turned it, finding that humidity and time had corroded the locking mechanism.  He felt the strain on the key and held his breath, praying that the brass key would not break off in the lock.

The door unlocked and swung easily inwards.

Mia found the light to the stairs and flipped it on.  “Don’t worry, no one can see this light from the street.”

Mia poked around under the stairs.  “You would think that there would be an entrance to the bottom floor in here, but no.”

“I had a feeling that the bedroom of Albert Cully would be on the second floor.  Before air-conditioners, we had to depend on open windows and breezes to cool us, especially at night.  That would be nearly impossible in this city on the street level,” Father Peter explained.

Murphy moved up the stairs and waited for them on the landing.  He motioned to the three doors.

“The cleaner said that Albert Cully’s room was padlocked,” Mia reminded the men.

Father Peter found the key and started to insert it into the padlock, but the hasp swung open.  “It’s not even locked,” he said.  He jiggled the handle of the door and said, “The door is, but the padlock isn’t.”  He removed the padlock from the hasp and pocketed it.  “This is so we don’t get locked in.”  He found the door key and inserted it into the lock.  Here, too, he found resistance, but soon the lock gave and the door opened.

~

Becky reached up and pulled two items from the air and laid them on the table.  Two halves of a walnut shell lay there.

“What does this mean?” Candy asked.

“I think they have opened the lair and found it empty,” Becky said.

“Ah, but for how much longer?” Miss Ruby asked.

No answer came from the air.  They would have to wait for the next sign.

~

Wanda Smith addressed her prayer group.  “Tonight, I would like to direct our prayers in a different direction.  I would like us to pray for a man of the cloth, Peter is his name, and a woman named Mia.  They are facing a devil tonight. 
Lord, give them the strength to complete their journey.  Have your mighty angels watch over them.  Bring them into your bosom, and if they fail, send down your mightiest to complete the job, in Jesus name I pray…”

~

“Triple P, over here,” a young man cried.  “Toss the ball, I’m open!”

Paul broke from the spell that had come over him.  He tossed the ball to the kid and made his way down court.  He felt himself being pulled in a different direction.  After the basket, he blew his whistle and gathered the players together.  “Boys, I have been called away.  I’m going to leave you in Pastor Mark’s capable hands.”

He received some negative moans, but most of the boys were accepting of his having to leave.  Paul gathered his gear together and put on his light jacket.  Before he left the gymnasium, he heard one of the boys shout, “Go with God, Triple P, go with God!”

~

“This room is stifling,” Alexei commented, laying down his hand of cards.  “I believe this is Gin.”

“No, honey, this is gin,” Susannah raised her glass.  “Go and open the windows if you’re feeling confined.”

“I want to go out.  Let’s go out.”

“No, you told me this morning that we had to stay in tonight.  I’ve already asked Jean to have a bath drawn.  I’m going to bathe and then watch television in my nighty.”

“I don’t know why you can’t take your bath after we go out?”

“Alexei Alexandrovich, I can’t believe you would deny your host a bath from time to time.  Where are your courtly manners?”

“Gone, dead and gone.  I want to be out there enjoying life!”

“Really, dear, you aren’t alive.”

“Then I want to enjoy my death.”

“I’m going to have to put my foot down.  We have hired Mia to take care of our energy problem for us.  We have to give her time to set the wheels in motion.  She promised us a report tomorrow morning.  You, my dear friend, are not leaving here in this body until after Mia reports to us and that’s final!”

Alexei looked at his host and saw that she meant business.  “Alright, you go and take your bath.  I’m going out onto the balcony to take in some air.”

Susannah was about to remind the ghost he didn’t take in air or anything else for that matter, but she was tired and the bath was calling.

Alexei walked out onto the balcony.  He watched as the streetcars made their way up and down St. Charles Avenue.  One stopped in front of the condo building.  A young spirit wearing a shiny red dress alighted.  She walked across the road and stood on the sidewalk looking up at Alexei.

He raised his hand to wave, but the minx took this as an invitation to join him on the balcony.  He was surprised how young she was.  Her face was overly made up, and the lashes on one eye had come loose.  Up close she looked less like a siren and more like a person needing one.

“I’m sorry, but I wish you to leave,” he said.  “You don’t belong here.”

“Alexei Romanov, don’t you want to go with me and have some fun?  I bet we could get into some trouble together.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m dead.  You’re dead. What’s the problem?”

“I’m not into little girls, and you are a little girl.”

“Nonsense, I’m… I’m…” the red-dressed girl faltered.  “I’m old enough.  I’m only asking you to come out and party with me, that’s all.  There will be people, fun and lights, so many lights.  But if you prefer to stay here and be nursemaid to that old crow, then so be it.”

Alexei looked inside the house and saw Jean walking through with a pitcher of vodka tonics.  Susannah would be plastered for most of the evening watching Downton Abbey; she wouldn’t miss him.  He held his arm out to the young woman and said, “Well, what are you waiting for? It’s half past party time.”

~

The room was dark. Mia felt around and found the switch for the chandelier and pushed the button.  Only three of the bulbs seemed to be working.  The light was dim but adequate.  The room wasn’t just a bedroom but more of a suite.  A large four-poster bed dominated the room.  To one side of it, a small washroom was tucked into the corner.  On the other side, within a few feet of the massive bed, was a small area dedicated as a small office.  It contained a desk and two rather large, glassed-in bookcases.  On the desk was a large bowl.  Mia grabbed Father Peter’s arm and pointed.  “That’s the entry point.”

“A salad bowl?”

“Take my word for it, that isn’t a normal bowl,” Mia said seriously.

“Since the soul eater is away at the moment, let’s look at the bowl.  Perhaps we can remove it and close down shop.”

“Murphy, could you act as a lookout?” Mia asked.

He nodded and disappeared.

“Your friend is very compliant.”

“Agreeable maybe, compliant, no,” Mia corrected.  “He has his own mind and acts accordingly.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Since I was a teenager.  I’ll tell you the story later.  I think we better see if we can do anything here first.”

The priest nodded, and together they approached the desk.  Mia noticed a lack of dust behind the desk. It looked as if an indifferent cleaner had taken a couple of swipes with a dust mop and left.  The desk was large for the space, but she suspected that Albert Cully had been a large man.  There was no chair.  Groove marks in the teak flooring supported her theory that the man was confined to a wheelchair in his later years.  It looked like he had all his precious possessions housed at a level at which he could access them from his chair.  Mia looked around but didn’t see the chair anywhere.  Maybe he died in the chair or the heirs didn’t want to be reminded that the great Albert Cully had died wheelchair-bound and had gotten rid of it.

Mia found broken bits of porcelain on the floor to the right of the desk.  “I think someone swept the items off the desk to put the bowl on it.  Here is the box it came in,” she said, hefting the wooden case up.  She set it on the bed and opened it.  Inside, the case had been fitted to hold the bowl securely.  She found a large velvet pouch wadded up inside.  She unfolded it and looked over at the bowl.  “The bowl goes in this before it is secured in the carrying case.”

Mia looked over at the priest.  He hadn’t commented on anything she had said.  This worried her.  What worried her more was that he was staring down into the bowl, not moving.

Peter could hear deep-toned music.  A low bass beat drove the singers through the repeating phrase.  It was of no language he had ever heard before.  He had studied quite a few African languages, certain that the church would post him on - as Henry M. Stanley put it -
the Dark Continent.
But life had taken a different turn, and he was here, staring into a bowl of water, listening to his ancestors sing.

Mia gently pulled him away from the bowl and turned his face towards her.  “Father Peter, look at me.”

He heard her alto voice cut through the music.  His glazed-over gaze adjusted, and he saw the little blonde’s concerned face in front of him.  “Mia?”

“Yes, Father, I thought I lost you for a moment.”

“The bowl, the music, did you hear the music?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“There were voices singing in a language I thought I should know, but no,” he said, disappointed.

“I’m thinking you should be glad you didn’t understand them,” Mia said.  “You stand here, and let me see if I can pack this bowl away.”

Mia returned to the desk and examined the large bowl filled to the brim with water.  She took out her flashlight and directed the light into the depths of the bowl.  The oyster shell lining sparkled as the light hit it.  She moved the light around the bowl and was comforted that all she saw was shell.  Mia put the light down and tried to lift the bowl up, but she couldn’t even budge it.  “Man-oh-man, this is heavy.  Let’s see if we can find something to siphon the water out.”

Father Peter opened the bookcase.  He reached for an alabaster chalice.  “We could use this to dip into the bowl but…” he stopped, looking around for a place to hold the water.

“I think spoiling the floor is the least of our worries,” Mia said, reaching for the chalice.  Mia plunged the cup in, extracted some water and tossed it away from the wood furniture.  She repeated this again and again and groaned as the level of the bowl never seemed to lessen.  “I think this isn’t ordinary water,” she said, taking the last chalice-full and walking away from the desk to where she had tossed the water.  She poured it slowly out onto the floor and watched as it evaporated before it hit the dusty ground.

“It feels funny,” Father Peter said, dipping his hand in.  Suddenly a hand shot out of the water and grabbed his arm.  “Mia!” he said as he fought to disengage the long-nailed fingers that had dug into his arm.

Mia ran over, taking note of the porcelain nails that had been so prevalent in the 90’s.  On the middle finger there was something painted on top of the cherry-red.  A champagne glass.  “Father, stop!” she ordered.  “Reach your other hand in the water and slowly bring it out again,” she instructed.

Peter was frightened and feared whatever had ahold of his arm would pull him in.  Mia moved behind him and put her arms around his waist, securing her feet on either side of the priest by jamming her boots half under the heavy desk drawers.

The priest did as he was told, and another hand followed his out of the water.  “It’s got me.”

“On three, we pull together,” Mia instructed.  “One, two, three!”

Mia threw her weight backwards as the priest pulled with all his might.  He closed his eyes under the strain.  As he opened them, he saw the crown of a woman’s head break the surface.  This gave him the courage for one last pull.  He jammed his legs against the desk and threw his weight backwards, pulling at the same time.

The sound of breaking glass, combined with an unearthly shriek, preceded the priest falling on top of Mia.

“Thank the Lord, thank the Lord.  Oh my god, like, I thought I was, like, gone forever.”