Royal Street (15 page)
He slid the pistol into a shoulder holster under the jacket and picked up the shotgun he’d used to blow Jean Lafitte back to the Beyond. Finally, he clipped a tracker onto his belt—must have been a duplicate, because I still had the one I’d stolen from him hidden in my dresser. Just because I didn’t see any grenades didn’t mean he wasn’t carrying.
Not in my town. “Whoa, cowboy,” I said, holding up my
hands. “We’re just checking things out, not blasting our way into the Beyond.”
hands. “We’re just checking things out, not blasting our way into the Beyond.”
If Alex thought we were storming into Lakeview or the CBD, guns ablaze, he needed a reality check. Mollycoddling preternatural interlopers like my favorite undead pirate could be tedious, but it was better than blowing their heads off. Besides, there was no point in overly pissing off the undead, just on principle. For one thing, you never knew when they’d come back.
Plus, discretion is an important part of this business. Nothing would attract the attention of real cops, not to mention the nervous young National Guardsmen swarming all over New Orleans, like a big Mississippi boy wielding deadly weapons in broad daylight. They were understandably jumpy, and they might shoot Alex before he could whip out his FBI badge.
I tried to explain all this.
Alex didn’t care. “We try it your way first, but this is what I do. Live with it.” His expression dared me to argue.
I wasn’t sure which worried me more—going into a potentially volatile situation with him or without him. Not that I had a choice. “Come on, then.”
I scowled at him as I walked out the back door and headed for the Pathfinder. I was driving; he was riding shotgun. Literally.
N
othing much had changed at Gerry’s except we could get there without a boat, and I wasn’t nearly as squeamish about getting mud on my vehicle as Alex. I cringed as I walked across the living room, trying not to stir up the odor of swamp crud soaked into rotting carpet. I stood next to the pass-through into the kitchen and studied the living room wall. In two days, the mold had visibly advanced in its march toward the ceiling. I’d left my mask hanging around my neck when I walked in, but now snapped it over my nose and mouth.
othing much had changed at Gerry’s except we could get there without a boat, and I wasn’t nearly as squeamish about getting mud on my vehicle as Alex. I cringed as I walked across the living room, trying not to stir up the odor of swamp crud soaked into rotting carpet. I stood next to the pass-through into the kitchen and studied the living room wall. In two days, the mold had visibly advanced in its march toward the ceiling. I’d left my mask hanging around my neck when I walked in, but now snapped it over my nose and mouth.
Alex’s tracker screen remained blank as we walked through the rooms. It was just another empty, flooded house full of muck and memories. I looked closely at the transport in Gerry’s bedroom, looking for any clue to his visitor. Nothing.
Back outside, we studied the remaining addresses and decided to visit the unflooded areas first, where more people were around who might be impacted by an active breach.
First up, the CBD, where we found an undead Huey Long pontificating in Lafayette Square before a gaggle of camo-wearing guardsmen and four or five sweating cleanup workers
in stripped-down hazmat suits. He’d wandered in, obviously thinking he could do a better job than the current politicians in cleaning up the post-hurricane mess. I figured a lot of folks would agree with him.
in stripped-down hazmat suits. He’d wandered in, obviously thinking he could do a better job than the current politicians in cleaning up the post-hurricane mess. I figured a lot of folks would agree with him.
I’d convinced Alex to leave the shotgun in the car, and we managed to lure Huey away from his audience and dispatch him to the Beyond under the pretense of sending him to the governor’s mansion in Baton Rouge to take over the cleanup efforts. He’d probably be back as soon as he figured out we’d led him down a primrose path straight to Old Orleans.
Then we headed to the French Quarter, where we found a goblin sitting in a corner bar on Decatur, downing Jack Daniel’s. I wondered where he’d gotten money to pay for it.
His dark skin was leathery and wrinkled, gray hair long and plaited into pigtails that trailed down the sides of his neck from beneath a red bandanna do-rag. He looked like a really decrepit Willie Nelson and glared at us with beady black eyes as we approached. Alex finally forced him to cooperate with the threat of a cold iron blade.
“I don’t know why you bothered,” I said. “He just wants to get drunk, and goblins don’t like to fool with humans unless they’re serving alcohol. The breaches are obviously standing wide open. He’ll just come back.”
Alex looked at the next breach address and grimaced. “It’s the principle.”
We got in the Pathfinder to head for another blind date with the Beyond in a different part of the Quarter. “We have real work to be doing, and this feels like busywork,” I groused, slamming on my brakes to make way for a speeding Hummer.
“There’s not a lot we can be doing about Gerry without more information,” Alex said. “We need to at least check these breaches out.”
Maybe he didn’t know of things we could be doing, but I
did. “Well, I’ve been thinking … maybe I should try to summon Marie Laveau.”
did. “Well, I’ve been thinking … maybe I should try to summon Marie Laveau.”
Alex slammed his foot on an imaginary brake pedal on the passenger side as I dodged a Jeep. “Watch where you’re going. And don’t summon anybody. Don’t even think about summoning anybody.”
“Why not? Marie Laveau, or some of the voodoo followers, are involved in all this somehow. Why not just ask? Even if it isn’t her, she might know something. I’ll even let you shoot her.” If all else fails, dangle the promise of violence in front of him.
Alex let out a breath as I parked on Royal Street. “Look, the Elders said wait so we wait. Whatever this voodoo thing is, it might be in violation of an existing treaty and they’ll want to explore that first. Sending us after Marie Laveau would be a last resort.”
Somehow, our positions had been reversed. He was playing the politician and I was advocating violence. We might not be good for each other.
I let it go. I didn’t need his permission. If I wanted to summon Marie Laveau, Jean Lafitte, or Elvis, for that matter, it was no concern of his.
The next address given us by the magic box, as I had decided to call the Elders’ new mode of communication, was at Royal and St. Louis. In normal times this was a busy corner, with the massive old Royal Orleans hotel, framed by Antoine’s and Brennan’s restaurants and an assortment of specialty shops carrying everything from collector porcelain dolls to antique firearms.
Today, like the rest of the Quarter, it was mostly deserted. A couple of stray locals who’d refused to evacuate for Rita wandered down the street, and police officers buzzed in and out of the eighth-district station on Royal. We had our pick of parking places, unheard of in the Quarter pre-Katrina.
Next time I’m having a chat with the Elders, I’m going to suggest improvements to their reconnaissance methods. Too much guesswork. We didn’t know if we were looking for a demon from hell or a rampaging politician, assuming there was a discernible difference. Alex’s tracker headed us in the right direction but didn’t tell us what we were looking for.
Finally we heard him, a lone cornet player sitting on the curb of St. Peter Street in front of Preservation Hall. Since the early 1960s, it had been the Mecca of traditional New Orleans jazz. I’d heard Katrina had battered its roof, scattered the musicians, and shut it down indefinitely.
I recognized the musician immediately—Louis Armstrong, with his close-cropped hair and a face that looked like it had done more laughing than frowning. He wasn’t laughing now. A few soldiers and bohemian Quarter residents gathered around him, their faces solemn. More than a few wiped away tears, but the set of their jaws was hard. We’d all mourn for a while, but at the end of the day we were a tough lot, and we’d survive.
At the end of the song, the cornetist bowed his head, and the onlookers applauded.
The streetlights flickered on to signal nightfall, drawing an even bigger round of applause. Electricity! It felt like a luxury, even though the juice had been back on a couple of days in the Quarter and Uptown. I’d never take it for granted again.
Louis got to his feet, and we waited while several people crowded around him. He handled the attention like someone who was used to it.
“Yeah, I hear that a lot,” he told a young couple marveling at his resemblance to
the
Louis Armstrong. “We mighta been related back in the family somewhere—you never know ’bout those things.”
the
Louis Armstrong. “We mighta been related back in the family somewhere—you never know ’bout those things.”
He pulled a white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his black suit and wiped his face with it. The temperature hovered
around ninety, but he didn’t seem to mind despite the old-fashioned suit and bow tie. After making people cry with his music, he was now teasing them into laughter.
around ninety, but he didn’t seem to mind despite the old-fashioned suit and bow tie. After making people cry with his music, he was now teasing them into laughter.
Louis was one smart cookie. If he’d come back claiming to be the memory-fueled version of the city’s most famous musician, we’d be doing damage control. Instead, he was charming his new fans without ever saying who he was or what he was doing here.
Finally, the last of the crowd wandered away, and Alex and I introduced ourselves. He squinted at me and gave me the patented Armstrong grin. “Never did meet a wizard before, I have to say. But I figured somebody would know if I just came wanderin’ out of the Beyond.”
“Mr. Armstrong, exactly how did you get here?” Alex asked. “Did someone summon you from this side, or send you from the Beyond?” We weren’t sure if our historical undead were just stumbling into the breaches or coming across intentionally. No questions about the goblin’s motive. Goblins followed the alcohol.
“Call me Pops,” he said. “Everybody does. No, I came on my own. I wanted to see what happened in the hurricane.” Louis’s gravelly voice sank to a whisper as he nodded toward Preservation Hall. “Never thought I’d see this place closed down.”
“Can we buy you dinner?” I asked, earning a startled look from Alex. I wasn’t sure if he was shocked at the invitation or the idea that the historical undead, unlike garden-variety ghosts or other undead like vampires, could eat, drink, and (if Jean Lafitte was any indication) engage in all kinds of human activities. The only thing they couldn’t do was die—at least not unless everyone forgot about them and took away the memory magic that fueled them.
Besides, I had an ulterior motive—I thought Pops might be able to tell us how riled up the scarier denizens of the Beyond might be.
The only open French Quarter restaurant we found was on Esplanade, a small mom-and-pop dive already crowded with off-duty guardsmen. They were bellied up to the bar three bodies thick, snagging bottles of cold beer as fast as the bartender could open them.
Once we’d gotten a table and ordered burgers—the only thing on the chalkboard menu—I touched the legendary bandleader on the arm. “Louis, how did you get here? Did anyone help you?”
Louis took a big sip of soda and smacked his lips. “Man, that’s good.” His smile faded. “Old Orleans is buzzing about the hurricane and how easy it is to come across now.”
Old Orleans lay like a thin veneer between modern New Orleans and the rest of the Beyond. Most of the historical undead lived there, plus anybody else from the Beyond who wanted a change of scenery. It was a free-for-all zone for preternaturals and a dangerous place for mortals to wander, or so I’d heard.
“Are there people in Old Orleans involved with voodoo?” Alex asked. “Do you know if Marie Laveau is there?”
Louis took a bite of his burger and nodded. “She’s there all right. But I got nothing to do with her. She don’t mess with me, and I don’t mess with her.”
A kernel of a plan nudged at my brain. “But you play in clubs there, right?” I asked. “And you hear things?”
“Yes, I play. And I guess I could hear things but I mind my own business, you know what I mean?”
I chewed my lip and pushed my burger away. Suddenly I wasn’t so hungry. I wondered how close the Elders were to repairing the breaches and doubted the Speaker would give me a straight answer if I asked. To find Gerry and see how he fit in with the voodoo puzzle, I’d have to do it myself.
“Louis, would you like to stay in New Orleans awhile?” I
asked. “Maybe play a little music?” From my peripheral vision, I saw Alex’s eyebrows meet in the middle of his face.
asked. “Maybe play a little music?” From my peripheral vision, I saw Alex’s eyebrows meet in the middle of his face.
“I would, Drusilla,” Louis said. “But where would I stay? And where would I play?” He chuckled at his own rhyme.
I slid my gaze to Alex, who was giving me his most intimidating stare. It didn’t work. “Any ideas? Can Louis stay at Jake’s since you aren’t living there?”
He clenched his jaw and pulled his phone out. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head: the good little soldier wondering what I was up to, if the Elders would approve of it, and figuring the answering was probably no. He made the call anyway. I think I was winning the bad influence contest.
While Alex called Jake, I filled Louis in on the basics of cell phones, which he found fascinating. If we had time, we’d have to show him the Internet.
“Okay, I think we’ve solved the problem,” Alex said, snapping the phone shut. “Louis, how would you like a few days at the Green Gator? My cousin Jake owns it, over on Bourbon Street. He just reopened. You could play there at night, and he has an apartment upstairs you can stay in.”
Louis raised his eyebrows. “What’s the catch?” Louis hadn’t been born yesterday, after all. There’s always a catch.
I
t took some convincing, but Louis finally agreed to be my spy. I had no doubt Alex would go running to the Elders as soon as he got a chance.
t took some convincing, but Louis finally agreed to be my spy. I had no doubt Alex would go running to the Elders as soon as he got a chance.
“I told Jake your name was Jackie Williams and you were a Louis Armstrong impersonator,” Alex said as we got back in the Pathfinder and headed for Bourbon Street.
Talk about an understatement. I wasn’t too concerned about anyone finding Louis suspicious, though. Ordinary people don’t know there’s magic in their midst and will go to great lengths to explain away things they don’t understand. This just might work. Louis would play the Gator at night and live upstairs at Jake’s, but would keep tabs on the Beyond during the daytime and report back to us.
“Don’t get involved in anything yourself,” I said. “Just tell us anything you hear involving voodoo practitioners or gods—or wizards.”
He sat in the front seat, studying the storefronts as we drove through the Quarter. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about me
getting involved, no ma’am,” he said, laughing. “I want nothing to do with those people.”
getting involved, no ma’am,” he said, laughing. “I want nothing to do with those people.”
I had a feeling his definition of
those people
differed from my dad’s and Gran’s.
those people
differed from my dad’s and Gran’s.
The Gator was open, and we headed in to get Jackie Williams squared away with Jake. The lone bartender, Leyla, stood behind the long wooden bar that ran along the left side of the room, tossing long black hair over supermodel shoulders the color of café au lait. She gave Alex soulful cow eyes as he introduced us. He winked at her and got a giggle in return. Oh, please.
Jake walked in from the back hallway and I knew just how Leyla felt.
He nodded at Alex, shook hands with Louis, and gave me a smile that made my heart speed up. What was it about this guy? The dimples were nice, but I thought the biggest attraction was his high normal factor. He was simple and safe and plain-vanilla human.
Jake tossed a key to Alex. “Why don’t you help Jackie there settle into his room? I’ll keep DJ company till you come back down, and then Jackie and I can talk business.”
Alex stopped just short of a snarl and led Louis toward the back hallway. Jake got Leyla’s attention and pointed toward the back. She nodded and flicked a cool, appraising glance at me before turning back to the bar.
A small stage on the right held a piano and bench, and an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner pumped zydeco music to the small crowd already filling the scattered tables. Mostly cops and soldiers, judging by the haircuts.
“Let’s get away from the jukebox.” Jake put a hand on my shoulder and guided me toward the far wall. He leaned close to my ear so I could hear him. “You want something to drink?”
I shook my head and fought the urge to make cow eyes and giggle.
From the front of the bar, one couldn’t see the three back booths tucked in a little area set off from the main room and muffled from the worst of the noise. I slid into the last booth on one side of the table, and Jake took the other side. I noticed he kept his right leg almost straight when he slid into the booth. That one definitely hadn’t healed right.
I waited for him to say something, and laughed when he seemed to be waiting for me to start. “I’m not very good at small talk,” I said, feeling every bit the geeky social misfit I was.
“Okay, let’s start with easy things.” He smiled. “You’re a native? You talk like a native.”
I wasn’t sure he meant that as a compliment. “You mean I speak Yat?” Secretly I was pleased. I liked the local accent, its nickname taken from the universal local greeting,
Where y’at.
“My family in Alabama would come after you with a shotgun for saying such a thing.”
Where y’at.
“My family in Alabama would come after you with a shotgun for saying such a thing.”
“Alabama.” He grinned. “I like Alabama. Alabama and Louisiana make folks in Mississippi feel good about ourselves—y’all always keep us from ranking dead last in stuff like literacy and life expectancy.”
I laughed, but couldn’t argue with him.
We talked easily for a while. I gave the short explanation of risk management, the perfect cover occupation because either people don’t understand it or find it boring. He talked about the ins and outs of running a business in the French Quarter, and of growing up in Picayune.
He reached across the table and took one of my hands, turning it over and tracing his thumb across my palm. “You and Alex. Am I gonna be stepping on any toes if I ask you out?”
I curled my fingers around his thumb. “Alex and I are just friends. And you already did ask me out, remember?”
Speak of the devil. Alex and Louis rounded the corner and stopped next to the booth. I tried to pull my hand away but Jake held on, watching his cousin.
Alex didn’t react. “Let’s go. Jackie needs to talk to Jake about his performing schedule.”
He was quiet on the walk back to the Pathfinder. I waited for him to bring up the whole Jake handholding thing.
“This is really not a good idea.” He finally spoke up after I’d driven two blocks.
“Jake is none of your business.”
He looked at me, frowning. “I wasn’t talking about you and Jake, although that’s not a good idea either. I was talking about using Louis Armstrong as a spy.”
Oh, that. “What the Elders don’t hear from you won’t hurt them.”
“You don’t think they’ll know?”
I shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. They can’t tell which breaches are being used and which ones aren’t. All I know is they’re dragging their feet playing politics instead of looking for Gerry. Plus, three soldiers have died, and there’s some voodoo threat to the wizards in town. At least we’re
doing
something.”
doing
something.”
He gazed out the window. I barely heard him mutter, “Maybe so.”
While Alex pondered his own moral duty to the Elders, I pondered Jake and Alex. And Leyla. Tall, pretty Leyla whose gaze followed Alex around the room like a heat-seeking missile. Not that I cared. Still, I’d be better able to do my job if my curiosity were satisfied.
“So, Alex, why don’t I drop you off at your friend’s place instead of going all the way to my house to get your car? I can pick you up in the morning.”
“No, go on to your house. I might need my car tonight.”
We were already out past curfew. I knew a lame excuse
when I heard one. “Why don’t you want me to know where you live? Because you’re living with Leyla?”
when I heard one. “Why don’t you want me to know where you live? Because you’re living with Leyla?”
He stared at me, his face glowing a little green from the dashboard lights. “Huh? I barely know Leyla. Why would you think I was living with Leyla?”
“So who are you living with? Why is it such a big freaking secret?”
Silence. Eyes straight ahead. Brain racing like a hamster on an exercise wheel.
“It’s not such a hard question, Alex.”
Finally, he sighed. “You aren’t going to like it. But that voodoo symbol in front of your house worries me and I never know when you’re going to do something crazy like go to the morgue.”
Doing crazy things beat doing nothing. “What does that have to do with where you’ve been living?”
“I’ve been living with you. You just didn’t know it.”
I blinked.
“Gandalf,” he said.
“What about Gandalf? You haven’t even seen Gandalf.”
Alex took a deep breath. “I
am
Gandalf. I’m a shapeshifter.” He still didn’t look at me, even when I ran the Pathfinder onto a sidewalk and jerked it to a stop a foot from a trash pile the size of a small office building.
am
Gandalf. I’m a shapeshifter.” He still didn’t look at me, even when I ran the Pathfinder onto a sidewalk and jerked it to a stop a foot from a trash pile the size of a small office building.
I stared at Alex’s profile, and the line of dominoes began falling. Alex and Gandalf were never around at the same time. Alex had ties to the were community, which a shapeshifter probably would. He always used the password to cross my security wards even though I told him humans didn’t need to. The reason Gandalf seemed to listen so well was because he had Alex’s brain.
I’d picked up a buzz of energy around him before, but there had always been something else to blame it on. I shut my eyes and sent out my empathic senses, and there it was—that light aura
of magic I’d been blaming on wards and magical herbs. What an idiot.
of magic I’d been blaming on wards and magical herbs. What an idiot.
I banged my head on the steering wheel. How many nights had that freakin’ dog been sleeping in my bedroom? How many secrets had I told him? I groaned in mortification. “Please tell me you didn’t understand all those late-night heart-to-heart talks I’ve been having with Gandalf.”
Alex looked sheepish, in a canine sort of way, then grinned. Oh yeah,
now
the man grins. I didn’t even know he had teeth.
now
the man grins. I didn’t even know he had teeth.
“I know you think I’m hot.” Then the grin faded. “Of course, you think Jake’s hot, too, and Jean Lafitte, who’s not even alive. You’re really screwed up, you know that?”
I couldn’t even look at him. I might have to put in for a transfer. I might have to change my name, abandon magic altogether, move back to Alabama, and marry a pig farmer. My grandmother would be thrilled.
He turned serious. “A lot of enforcers are either shifters or were. You were stubborn and wouldn’t let me stay with you, so I figured I’d give you a more palatable form of protection.” He shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea, although I kept waiting for someone to ask why I kept having to shower at the FBI offices or wander up and find me naked on your porch since it’s the only place I can find to shift back.”
Too much information.
I could be calm and mature about this. I assumed an air of casual curiosity. “Can you only turn into a dog, or other animals as well—a cow or a bat or something?”
“A
cow
?” Alex looked offended. “Most shifters have a particular form they take. Mine has always been a dog.”
cow
?” Alex looked offended. “Most shifters have a particular form they take. Mine has always been a dog.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or beat him over the head with the elven staff, which I just noticed had made its way to my backseat. I needed to figure out what that thing could do, other than be creepy.
This was a sad turn of events. I had really grown attached to Gandalf. He was a lot easier to get along with than Alex, and he didn’t play with guns.
Another reality hit me. “So you’re telling me you don’t actually have a place to live and we just gave Jake’s spare apartment to Louis Armstrong?”
He gritted his teeth. “Look, part of my job here is keeping you safe to do
your
job, and I can’t do that living in the Quarter.” He gave me his half twist of a smile that had become a lot less sexy now that I knew it also belonged to my canine confidant. Make that my
former
confidant.
your
job, and I can’t do that living in the Quarter.” He gave me his half twist of a smile that had become a lot less sexy now that I knew it also belonged to my canine confidant. Make that my
former
confidant.
“You know, it’s kind of a possessive pack thing, too.”
I’m sure my face turned purple. Thankfully, it was dark. “A
pack
thing? Like, we’re members of a pack? I didn’t think shifters had packs. Don’t even tell me. You’re the alpha, right?”
pack
thing? Like, we’re members of a pack? I didn’t think shifters had packs. Don’t even tell me. You’re the alpha, right?”
“You missed your turn.”
I had cranked the Pathfinder, pulled back onto the street, and had, indeed, missed the turn to my house. I noticed he hadn’t answered the alpha question, but decided to leave it alone for now. I couldn’t handle any more revelations tonight.
Finally, I had to be practical. Even twenty-four hours ago, I wouldn’t have considered a bodyguard. Today, with Gerry still missing, a voodoo vévé painted on my sidewalk, someone targeting wizards on my turf, and an undead jazz musician as my spy, opening my doors to a lying, dirty dog of a shapeshifter sounded reasonable.
Alex moved in.
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