Night of the Living Demon Slayer (11 page)

A straightforward plan was best. I'd let him know in no uncertain terms that his actions had attracted the attention of a demon slayer and that he'd have to deal with it.

I changed into a simple black leather dress and matching boots. I tucked the enchanted emerald necklace down between my breasts and styled my hair into a simple ponytail at the nape of my neck. Then I buckled on my demon slayer utility belt with the five switch stars holstered, ready to throw, hoping the voodoo bokor had enough magic to see it. And enough arrogance to ignore a simple housefly.

I left my bike in the backyard of the house, preferring to walk over to Royal.
 
Burgundy Street was pretty this time of the morning. Lush plants dripped from wrought iron balconies and I caught the distinct beat of jazz music filtering out of a house or business nearby. As I drew closer to the touristy section of the French Quarter, I passed shopkeepers, out early, stood hosing off the sidewalks from the night before.
 

The sound of the trumpets and the beat of the drums grew louder as I approached St. Phillip Street. Then I reached the intersection and saw it. Well, I heard it first. The tinkle of a piano and then to my surprise, the entire instrument along with the man at the keys, sitting high up on the back of a metal trailer dragged by a red pickup truck. A seven-piece brass band marched along with it. The men wore suits and swayed to the music. An old-fashioned horse and buggy hearse trailed behind them, with an honest to God skeleton in the front seat, driving. Well, he wasn't driving. My world hadn't gone that strange yet. Eight pallbearers marched, four on each side, leading the empty carriage. They came from the direction of the large cemetery north of Rampart.

A family trailed behind, holding on to each other. The men sported white suits, with colorful ties that matched the brims on their white hats. The women's colorful dresses caught in the morning breeze. Clutching their hands, in the middle of this human chain, was Osse Pade. I recognized him immediately, even without the eerie white skull paint on his chest and face. I'd know those high cheekbones anywhere, that expressive face, those wicked black eyes. He wore his white top hat tilted rakishly to the side with yellow feathers thrusting out of the brim.
 

He didn't see me in the crowd.

It was on.

I followed him, joining the parade of mourners twirling umbrellas and singing, "When The Saints Go Marching In." It seemed death was a celebration.

Just what kind of business did this man own?
 

I kept sight of him, up with the family, as the procession continued down St. Phillip and then made a left onto Bourbon Street. These people were not trying to hide. We picked up a bunch of tourists on Bourbon. Them in their colorful mourning wear. Me in my simple black.
 

"Nothing to see here," I murmured. Just a demon slayer carrying a spell bug, joining with voodoo church members to celebrate a jazz funeral.

We made a last minute left on Barracks Street and hit Royal, trailing past
Voodoo Works
, the shop where I'd met up with Carpenter. The owner, Aimee, watched us through her glass front window. She caught my eye and nodded. I kept walking.

We stopped about a half-block down, in front of a funeral parlor. Only this was nothing like the subdued, tasteful mortuaries I'd seen growing up in Georgia. The building facade was painted purple for starters. Columns flanked the front entrance, decorated in orange, gold, pink, and black swirling designs. Even the sidewalk displayed chalked skeletons at a party. It shouldn't have surprised me that Osse Pade would own a funeral parlor, even one like this.

I smiled for the first time since I'd joined their party. Maybe I'd come out of this with something to celebrate as well.

Chapter Ten

I moved quickly through the crowd outside the funeral parlor. Already, church members had begun to call out their goodbyes and hug one another as they filtered to the cars parked along the street. I'd have to move fast if I wanted to catch the bokor by surprise.

He stood near the front doors. A simpering older woman clutched both of his hands in hers and kissed his knuckles, thanking him over and over again. Now was my chance. I reached for the bug.

Osse Pade turned as if he could sense the danger. His eyes widened when he saw me.

Damn.

I was too far away to launch the spell, at least without him seeing me. I shoved it back into my utility belt.

Osse Pade watched me as if I were about to bite. "Go, Esmerelda," he said, dismissing the woman with an absent wave.

At least I'd caught him off guard. He hadn't anticipated any trouble or he'd have made sure his goon squad stood nearby. I noticed the way he scanned the sidewalk and street, and found no sign of them.

"Your watchdogs are out by the hearse," I said, pleased to find my boots made me almost as tall as him. "Talking to pretty ladies," I added. Couldn't resist.

He gave a shallow smile. "I'm talking to one as well." His voice was hard, his Cajun accent strong. He took my hand and leaned down as if to kiss it. He licked it instead.
 

I felt the slide of his wet tongue over my skin for a split second before I yanked it away. Jerk. In the same motion, I reached up and smacked the top hat off his head. "Do that again and you're going to lose more than your hat."

Nonplussed, he bent to retrieve it. As he rose, he made a show of donning the hat, running his fingers along the brim. "You taste better than I expected," he said low, his eyes glittering with interest. "There's something wonderfully…dark about you."

"You need to work on your fortune telling." It was exactly the opposite. I considered it my job to stamp out as much evil as I could in this world. And this clown had earned a spot the top of my list. I cocked my head. "I'll tell you one thing: I am a woman to fear."

He smirked. "It's not you, girl." He licked his lips and prepared to learn closer, before stopping himself. Wise move. "It's
him
." He teased the air with his fingers, as if he could see it. "He soaks up the space around you. A master presence."

He could be lying through his teeth to intimidate me. I'd be overjoyed if that were the case. But there was no mistaking his keen attraction, and worse, his effort to tamp down his excitement.

This was not going according to plan. He was paying far too much attention to my every move. I needed him distracted.

I eased toward the building, and felt the pressure of the wards. They pushed at me, like two polar opposites of a magnet. No big surprise he'd have it well protected. I wasn't getting in there without an invite.

Pade focused his attention on the space near my neck. The priest was besotted. If he were a cat, he'd be purring. "Tell me his name."

"It doesn't matter," I said quickly. I hadn't asked it. I'd ditched that presence in the tower room.

Oh, Elizabeth
. A chill slammed through me as the spirit spoke.
As if you could leave me behind.

Sweet Jesus. It was in my head now? I locked my shoulders, refusing to give an inch. Hopefully then Pade wouldn't see me shaking. He seemed to grow more enthralled by the second. "I'm here to talk to
you
," I said to the bokor.

He drew back. "Then you misplayed your hand."

Two guards approached from the sidewalk. I recognized one from the swamp. Each held on to a weapon inside his jacket.

I scrambled hard to think.

"What if my dark presence wants to commune with you?" I asked. I was grasping at straws, and inviting the worst.

This could be a big mistake.

The bokor paused, sizing me up. "You do know he's there," he said slowly, as if he'd caught me in a lie.

"How would I not?" I asked, terrified at the thought.

That's right, how could you not?
The spirit echoed in my head. He had gotten to me somehow.

"Let's do this alone. Inside," I added, eyeing the guards.

I could see that I'd tempted him. The bokor tilted his head and removed his hat. "Very well," he said, opening the brightly painted front door for me. As if I'd just walk into a trap. I had a few tricks up my sleeve as well. And the good sense to wait.

I felt the zing of his wards, like needlepoints on my skin as I crossed over the threshold, but I'd been granted permission. I was in.

And the guards were still several yards away. Their mistake.
 

The bug required a quiet, secret release, but not this next spell. I spun quickly toward the doorway and reached into the back of my utility belt, withdrawing a Ziploc baggie with a twirling black and white striped spell inside. I tore it open. I'd had a good feeling when I borrowed it this morning, even composed a little enchantment to make it mine.

"It won't work here," Pade said, as if it were a matter of pride.

"Thanks for the warning," I said, releasing the live spell in the doorway. It zipped upward like a trapped bottle rocket. I raised my hands quickly and began the enchantment, before the goon squad realized what was happening. "Guard all points." The spell zinged to the bottom of the doorway and up, then back down, and up. It was downright beautiful. "Let no one through." I tried to hide a giddy surge as sparkling, nearly transparent magical bars appeared in its wake. "Except for me." And, yes, I'd planned this part for my new friend. "And the bokor, too."

"Cute," Osse Pade smirked, but his smugness evaporated when he flung a hand out at the bars, only to have it flattened by an invisible barrier. The look on his face almost made me feel sorry for him. But not quite. "Impossible," he seethed.

"Your guards are also asleep," I said, pointing out the two slumping goons by the hearse. Lucky for me, the rest left for the party.

Pade turned to me, barely containing his rage. "You planned this."

"Of course, I did." Silly man. I loved that he underestimated me. And that the magic had worked for me. Spells sometimes went haywire when I tried to use them, but this had been worth the risk. "Let's have some alone time."

"I don't suppose I have a choice." He turned on his heel and stalked through the lobby.

I slipped the bug out of its Ziploc bag and prepared to strike from behind. Then I stopped cold.

Ornate designs in white chalk swirled over the parquet floor of the lobby, reaching toward the edges. I recognized hearts and crosses inside large patterned swirls and geometric shapes. This place was spelled. Not surprising, given the circumstances. Still, I had no clue what these symbols meant, or what they could do to a person.

Osse Pade strode confidently over the marks, shooting me a glance over his shoulder as he did. Great. An unspoken dare.

I clenched my hand. The bug struggled in my grasp, its wings stinging my palm. I may have won this last round, but I'd be a fool to get too cocky.

"I'll stick to the scenic route," I said, keeping to the narrow section of clear floor near the walls. It took longer, given that the room was long and narrow, but I wasn't one for taking unnecessary chances.

I walked tall, past yellow walls streaked with thickly painted images of death. A skeleton in a top hat smoked a cigar while a serpent wound through an empty eye socket. Another appeared to have been skinned alive. It smiled and wore a necklace of bloody fingers.

Classy.

The bokor smirked as he waited for me near an altar at the back. The surface was crowded with bottles of rum, lit candles, playing cards, stuffed animals, candied nuts, even cash tucked into nooks and crannies. "Your master spirit should make you brave," he challenged.

Just the opposite. He scared the hell out of me.

"Who is he?" the bokor pressed.

I stopped in front of him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"You'll tell me eventually," he said, keeping an eye on me as we walked through a wide archway.

The man was on perpetual high alert. I bided my time as we passed into an open brick-walled courtyard. The morning sun shone down over rows of rickety white folding chairs. They lined up in front of a low stone altar, caked with colorful wax. I noted, with a prickle of alarm, that the stone floor sloped gently downward toward a metal drain below the stone slab. Behind it, a raised dais awaited the next coffin.

The open structure of the building made me willing to bet they still had Carpenter out at the swamp. It would be hard to hide a prisoner here. The only other inside space was behind a simple wooden door on the left side. The bokor headed that way.

He slipped a key into the lock, and we entered a dark, narrow room. The cloying scent of incense competed with the musky odor of old death.

He lit a large candle and I soon saw why. The thick red taper sat upon a real human skull. Shreds of leathery skin still clung to the empty nose socket, stained red with dripping wax.

He lit more candles, some in holders, some on low bookcases lining the walls.
 
The shelves held more skulls, as well as framed pictures of individual people, and personal effects like a harmonica, a beat-up flask, and a feathered fan. I also saw leg bones, fingers, all human from what I could tell.

I caught his glance.

"Nice bones," I said.

The candlelight flickered over his sharp features. "My ancestors are close to me."

He said it like a warning. I didn't bite.

In fact, I didn't move at all as he bent and opened a rickety drawer in the old apothecary chest behind him.

Now was my chance. I closed in quick, releasing the bug. It circled toward me for a moment, confused. I swatted it back, praying it wouldn't land on me.

Osse Pade let out a cry and turned, faster than I'd ever seen him move. He had his hand up, fingers pinched, ready to strike.

I met him halfway, making a grab for whatever he was ready to toss at me. The bug buzzed around our heads, as if it couldn't decide whom it wanted to infect.

Just before I could close my hand over the bokor's pinched fingers, he let loose a dash of gray powder. I flinched as if stung and refused to inhale as it fluttered over me.

For a second, we both froze.