Royal Street (12 page)
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2005
“Tough-as-nails survivor had only a jug of water: Rescuers find him 18 days after storm.”
“Tough-as-nails survivor had only a jug of water: Rescuers find him 18 days after storm.”
—THE TIMES–PICAYUNE
S
unday had been a how-to in frustration, raising more questions. Monday, I hoped to get answers.
unday had been a how-to in frustration, raising more questions. Monday, I hoped to get answers.
I’d called the St. Gabriel morgue a dozen times on Sunday, but either got no answer, had been disconnected, or spoke with yet another tired-sounding official trying to be polite. The last one said he was very sorry but I would have to be patient. More than six hundred bodies had been brought in so far from Greater New Orleans. He took Gerry’s name and physical description and my phone number, but promised nothing.
I’d tried using hydromancy again, to no avail, then refreshed my mojo bag. Finally, I got the bright idea that I’d try to summon Gerry, even though I’d never heard of anyone summoning a wizard—or anyone else this side of the Beyond, for that matter. Ghosts, demons, vampires, the historical undead, yes. If I tried and it didn’t work, big deal. At least I was doing something.
I gathered up some of his things to use in the summoning ritual: the pipe, a picture of the two of us taken at JazzFest year before last, one of his journals, and the Meisterstück pen. Pulling
aside the throw rug in my library, I chalked in a circle and placed his belongings at north, south, east, and west. I used a small lancet to prick my finger for a few drops of blood to place on the circle and fuel the magic. Thankfully, summoning was one of only a few rituals requiring blood. Finally, I settled on a floor pillow and tried to clear my mind of everything but Gerry.
aside the throw rug in my library, I chalked in a circle and placed his belongings at north, south, east, and west. I used a small lancet to prick my finger for a few drops of blood to place on the circle and fuel the magic. Thankfully, summoning was one of only a few rituals requiring blood. Finally, I settled on a floor pillow and tried to clear my mind of everything but Gerry.
At first I thought it was working. A dark mist gathered inside the circle, tried to thicken and solidify, then dissipated. I attempted a second summoning, and a third, but couldn’t even get the mist back.
Alex had showed up at lunchtime, bringing hamburgers and fries he’d found somewhere in neighboring Jefferson Parish. They had electricity. Ice. Air conditioning. Maybe even Internet service. I was jealous.
“Peace offering,” he’d said, holding up the bag when I opened the door.
I smiled, feeling magnanimous in the face of fast food. “I should be the one making a peace offering, but I’ll take the burger.”
“It’s cold, but I got tied up on the way back. Did you hear about the murder?”
It had been all over the WWL newscast I’d heard on my battery-operated radio. Another soldier on security detail had been found dead that morning in Mid-City, complete with the voodoo-ritual candles and dead rooster. That made three dead, and the media was in a lather about a serial killer. Not only was there a whackjob at large, but the murderer was preying on the soldiers in town to help us.
“You got called in?” I asked. “Anything supernatural about it?”
Alex shook his head and rattled a few loose fries out of the bag. “Not that I know of. The NOPD detective who’s heading up the investigations, Ken Hachette, is a friend of mine. Well, a
friend of Jake’s, technically. They were in Afghanistan together and co-owned the Gator till Jake bought him out last year. Anyway, he called me in to help with the cases.”
friend of Jake’s, technically. They were in Afghanistan together and co-owned the Gator till Jake bought him out last year. Anyway, he called me in to help with the cases.”
I chewed in silence a moment, savoring the grease, before I could ask, “Did you see the crime scene?”
He nodded. “I didn’t see the symbol anywhere, but the area was a mess. Flood zone. Ken didn’t know I was in town, or he would’ve called me earlier. I think I’m going out there later to look around again. See if the symbol got covered up.”
“So we still don’t know if we’re dealing with a crazy human or a crazy prete.” I savored my fries and didn’t care that they were cold.
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to show you this.” Alex opened his briefcase and pulled out a book on elven magic. “It’s one of Gerry’s. Did you know the staff we found was made by the elves? Or at least it fits the description in the book. Apparently, these elven staffs choose their owners. They’re useless to anyone except whoever they’ve chosen.”
That staff was downright creepy, but then again, I’d always thought elves were creepy with their mental magic and secretive ways—not that I’d ever met one. I supposedly had elves back in my gene pool somewhere, but the whole race had flittered off to the Beyond eons ago and kept to itself.
“This is going to sound bizarre, but I swear that thing moves,” I said. “Almost gave me heart failure when I first noticed it, then I thought I was hallucinating. But it happens a lot. It travels from room to room.” I’d been handling it a little, trying to figure out why it reacted to me, either turning warm or shooting out red sparks.
Interest lit Alex’s face. “The book says they can do that—they will follow their owner. Well, the book calls it their master.”
I smiled. “Except I’m not an elf, remember. It can’t have claimed me as its
master
.”
master
.”
I flipped the book open to a page he had dog-eared and started reading.
“I saw in your file that you had elves on your mom’s side of the family,” he said, making me wonder what else was in that file. “Maybe you have enough for it to claim you.”
“I doubt it. From what I’ve read, they can do really subtle mental magic. I’m about as subtle as a tank.”
“You have a point.” Alex shoveled the final quarter of his burger in his mouth and ignored my squinty-eyed look.
I turned back to the book. “It might help to know what those markings on the staff mean—they look similar to the ones in here. After I eat I’ll go upstairs and get it, compare the runes.”
“You won’t have to,” Alex said, pointing. The staff stood propped against the door facing. Earlier, it had been on my worktable upstairs.
After lunch, I identified most of the carvings, but they were less than illuminating. Just a series of runes for unrelated words, as near as I could tell—wind, time, earth, power, immortality, fire. Things creepy elves might like, but I did not.
Alex hadn’t been the only one doing research. I had been trying to identify the voodoo symbols at Gerry’s and other houses. I’d pulled a couple of reference books from my library and had started slogging through them, but the work was tedious. Oh, to be able to Google
weird voodoo-related graffiti.
weird voodoo-related graffiti.
By Monday morning, I was no closer to figuring out Gerry’s whereabouts and was running out of things to try. Still, visiting the morgue probably wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had.
First, I got rid of Alex, telling him I had cramps and wanted to rest. Mention cramps and guys get a panicked, deer-in-headlights look and develop a sudden urge to go hunting or
drink beer. Like hormones might be contagious. Too bad they’re not. The world would be a more equitable place. Or more violent. It could go either way.
drink beer. Like hormones might be contagious. Too bad they’re not. The world would be a more equitable place. Or more violent. It could go either way.
He headed off to look for breaches or do something manly with the
friend
he claimed to be staying with once I’d pried out an admission he wasn’t living at Jake’s. He’d been vague. Probably, his friend was tall and buxom and dumb as a box of rocks. I reminded myself that the enforcer’s love life didn’t concern me, and that the annoyance I felt was strictly professional.
friend
he claimed to be staying with once I’d pried out an admission he wasn’t living at Jake’s. He’d been vague. Probably, his friend was tall and buxom and dumb as a box of rocks. I reminded myself that the enforcer’s love life didn’t concern me, and that the annoyance I felt was strictly professional.
Whatever he was doing, it was happening without his tracker, which I’d lifted from his briefcase.
I took the chameleon potion I’d prepared Sunday night and dressed in khakis and a tan T-shirt. True invisibility isn’t possible, but the potion works pretty well in a pinch and the neutral clothing should blend with the industrial-tan walls of the makeshift morgue. I knew the wall color because I’d asked during one of my phone calls. People will tell you anything if you are inquisitive and don’t mind making a fool of yourself.
I also pulled out the magicked medical ID I’d been flashing at nice National Guardsmen all over town and an equally phony press pass I’d used on sentinel business a few years ago to gain access to the New Orleans Saints’ locker room in the Superdome. A stray siren had developed a penchant for tailbacks, and an NFL play-off berth was at risk. If the Saints were having a good enough year to be in contention for the play-offs, no siren better stand in their way. One of the badges might get me onto the morgue grounds, and I had the potion for backup.
As I cranked the Pathfinder, I spotted Gandalf trotting around the corner. Yes, I’m a sucker and had kept the dog. In less than forty-eight hours, I’d given him a name, constructed a makeshift collar from a luggage tag, and turned an old length of clothesline into a leash. When stores reopened, I’d buy him the real thing. He was even sleeping in my bedroom.
He barked and ran toward the truck when he saw me getting ready to leave, so I opened the passenger door and he hopped in. He filled up the seat and spilled over the gearshift.
“So, boy, we’re going on a field trip,” I said, scratching the top of his head between his ears, which made him zone out in some kind of doggy stupor. I liked having a dog. He let me speak my mind, and never talked back or argued. He thought I was the smartest, coolest person on earth, and didn’t cast judgment because I didn’t have a lot of experience and couldn’t shoot a gun. He liked to share my junk food, protected me while I slept, and didn’t eat as much as one might think. The stupid cat even liked him.
Best of all, he had no emotions I needed to protect myself from and I could babble at him to keep my mind off where I was going and why.
“I wish you were my partner,” I said. He grinned at me and drooled on the passenger seat. “Yeah, I know, really. It would be great. I can’t get a read on Alex, and that drives me crazy. You’re easy to read. You’re a sweetheart.”
Another good thing about dogs. You can sound like a complete idiot when you talk to them because dogs don’t care. Dogs love idiots.
Gandalf stretched his body around the gearshift and laid his head on my thigh. I stroked his soft fur and sighed.
“Now, don’t get me wrong. Alex is easy on the eyes. Sexiest thing I’ve seen since Jean Lafitte, in fact.” Gandalf whined and licked my arm, and I pondered the sad state of affairs that the first sexy man I thought to compare the enforcer to was an undead pirate who might or might not have tried to kill me.
“Then there’s his cousin, Jake. He has these killer dimples and he even asked me to dinner. Do you
know
how long it’s been since I had a date?” I could have told him, had he asked. Two freaking years, that’s how long. Wizards don’t get out much.
know
how long it’s been since I had a date?” I could have told him, had he asked. Two freaking years, that’s how long. Wizards don’t get out much.
Gandalf raised his head and looked at me with what I imagined was concern for my sanity.
“I agree,” I told him. “I’m babbling.” I was trying not to think too hard about where we were headed, and what I might find there. As badly as I wanted to find Gerry, I did
not
want to find him in the St. Gabriel temporary morgue. The longer it took to locate him, the more I feared no happy ending was possible.
not
want to find him in the St. Gabriel temporary morgue. The longer it took to locate him, the more I feared no happy ending was possible.
I stroked the dog’s silky ears and drove the rest of the way in silence.
Getting to St. Gabriel was an easy hour’s drive; getting into the morgue proved tougher. Guards blocked the only entrance to the parking lot of the old warehouse that now housed New Orleans’s dead, and a chain-link fence ran around the perimeter of the property.
The guards were firm. “No media, ma’am. No visitors. Definitely no dogs.” I should have tried the doctor’s badge first. Stupid. I’d just wait till the next shift came on duty.
I drove down the highway to a small truck stop, waiting for the guards to change shifts. I hated to leave Gandalf in the car but he couldn’t go inside, so I left the windows down. A slice of pecan pie later—well, okay, two slices plus a hamburger for Gandalf—and I was ready to try again.
The evening-shift guards were no pushovers, either, and wouldn’t go for the medical ID without an authorization from the Louisiana medical examiner’s office. I decided to abandon the front-door tactic, parked a block away from the warehouse, and went for Plan B. With Gandalf chuffing beside me, I tucked my hair under a gold Saints cap and circled to the back of the property, following the railroad tracks that ran along the perimeter. Just a girl walking her dog. Dusk descended slowly over the light-industrial area, making everything look as gray as the concrete parking lot.
I found a good spot, dropped my bag beside Gandalf, and told him to stay. He whined, but sat next to the bag. I had the chameleon potion in my pocket, and as I climbed the chain-link fence, I was glad I’d opted for my Nikes instead of boots.
The guys on TV detective shows make fence-climbing look a lot easier than it is. By the time I’d lugged myself to the top and slid clumsily over, the best I could do was drop down the other side, landing on my butt in a bank of loose pea gravel. I hoped Alex’s tracker wasn’t broken. Gandalf whined again as I picked gravel out of my palms.
I drank the chameleon potion, wrinkling my nose at the bitter taste, and crept to a back door that had a window inset. I wore a small amulet that could provide a light source when it got dark, but for now I could still see.
I shrank against the wall as two men exited the door, heading toward a small side parking lot. Before the door clicked shut behind them, I was able to slip inside. Finally, a lucky break.
I didn’t expect anything to come from it, but I pulled Alex’s tracker out of my pocket and turned it on. The little LED screen turned green, and then a red dot began blinking in the center. There was something magical here, or at least I thought that’s what the light meant. I couldn’t exactly ask for a lesson after pilfering it.
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