The Map of Moments (36 page)

“You're crazy,” the past-Max said.

Ray chuckled and thanked him, and the past-Max stood, snatched up the Map of Moments and the little clay bottle and started for the door.

Max watched himself, not at all surprised to see a sway in his steps. He'd had too much whiskey and not enough to eat. He could barely believe that this had been only days before. It felt like a lifetime.

He turned to look at Ray, but flinched in surprise when he found Ray staring at him. Looking
right at
him, but not the way Coco and Mireault had been able to see him in previous Moments.

“Welcome back,” the old man said, no smile at all. “Have a seat. You'll have questions, but we gotta be quick about it before the magic you picked up starts to bleed off.”

Max glared at him with a hardened heart. “You're him.”

Ray cocked his head. “Sit down, Max.”

Reluctantly, Max slipped into the chair that past-Max had just vacated. He stared over the top of a fresh bottle of whiskey that Ray had just opened. The old man's glass was full.

“You're him,” he said again. “You're Matrisse. The fucking conjure-man. And apparently you're also called the Oracle, whatever the hell that means. But you're him. It's the only thing that makes any sense. I saw you in that house in the Ninth Ward in 1965, working some mojo, trying to blow one of the Tordu's wards and let Seddicus in, and you didn't look any different then than you do now. You were shot, but you pulled through just fine, didn't you? And I saw you earlier than that, decades earlier, and maybe your hair wasn't as white. But other than that, you looked the same. Just like Mireault.”

Ray's eyes blazed. “I'm nothing like Mireault.”

“Could've fooled me. Oh, wait, you did.”

“What can I say?” Ray gestured with his hands, nodded, and gave an annoying, dismissive shrug that Max remembered from their first meeting. “I dress mighty fine, but I'm ordinary enough to look at. I'm the man behind the curtain, Max, and for you to believe in magic, you had to think the conjure-man had the big juju. You had to think Matrisse was the Great and Powerful Oz.”

Ray reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small glass vial with a glass stopper.

“Now, wait a second,” Max said, shaking his head. “I'm not drinking a goddamn thing until I get some answers.”

Carefully, Ray poured a few drops into the glass that past-Max had just left behind, and followed it with a dash of whiskey. He slid the glass across the table and smiled.

“Seems to me you've already got the answers. You followed the map. You just about brimmin’ with magic, Max; I can see it all around you. You're lit up like a Christmas tree to these old eyes.”

Max frowned at the glass, spiked with whatever new liquid mojo Ray wanted him to inflict upon himself, and he remembered this moment. He turned and saw himself, drunk as a skunk, standing by the door; past-Max watched Ray curiously for a moment, then turned and stumbled out of Cooper's, into the street, where soon he would steal a bicycle, and tonight he would find his way into City Park and the First Moment.

“I know a lot. But I don't know it all.” Max didn't touch the glass.

Ray nodded, took a long sip of whiskey, and smacked his lips. Then he sat back in his chair, cradling his own glass.

“All right, boy. Shoot.”

Max stared at him, aware of the whiskey glass before him. Whatever Ray had spiked it with had to be the last ingredient, the final bit of magic to let him reach the destination he'd been seeking when he'd set out from this very chair. But he wondered now if he even needed it. The way he saw the Moments all around him now, the ghosts and the magic—and the way Coco and even one of the Tordu's victims back in 1935 had been able to see him—he thought maybe he had enough mojo on his own.

“I know what you're thinkin’,” Ray said.

“You're psychic now, too?”

“Not the least bit. But you watch people's eyes for as many years as I have and you get to knowin’ what's in their heads and hearts. I warned you already; you take too long, the magic starts slippin’ away. A conjure-man, he knows how to hang on to it, keep it close. But you're just a teacher, Max. You went to all that trouble gatherin’ up the sparkle you got around you now, but you need a little help if you want to hold on to it long enough to do what needs doin’.” Ray nodded toward Max's glass. “That right there'll do the job.”

“Fine. But not yet.”

With another shrug, Ray rocked a little in his chair and sipped his whiskey.

“How old are you?” Max asked.

Ray arched an eyebrow. “All the things you've seen and that's the question—”

“How old?”

“Two hundred and thirty-three, this past July. I was born
on the island of Martinique. My father was a French aristocrat, and my mother an African slave.”

Max closed his eyes. He'd worked out so much of the truth already, and logic had dictated the answer would be something like this. But to hear it out of the man's mouth so casually, as if everyone lived to be that age, made it all real. Wonder and horror shook him in equal measures.

“Who's Seddicus?”

Ray gave him a stern look. “Now, Max, don't waste time with things you already know. I can smell him on you. You been close enough to not have to ask that question. He's a devil, come from the old world to the new the same time as I did.”

“Following you?”

“Mireault.”

Max sighed. “Now who's wasting time? Why does the demon want Mireault? He and the Tordu put up all these wards to keep the demon out of New Orleans—

“They don't care anythin’ about New Orleans, except to keep it for themselves. Their little hunting ground, Mireault's kingdom of fear. Most people live here never even know. They might hear about the Tordu, but they think it's gang business that don't concern them, an’ part of that's true. The Tordu, they got long lives, and they like to live well. So there's drugs, and women, an’ guns, an’ that part of it's all about money. But the people of New Orleans are his subjects just the same. His cattle. Anytime he wants, he'll kill 'em, twist 'em, throw shadows into their lives, unless somebody's there to stand against him.”

“And that'd be you?”

Ray nodded. “For now.”

“What about Seddicus?”

“The wards keep the demon away, but Seddicus wouldn't touch most people. If he was in this bar with us right now, he wouldn't even know we were here. That old boy's blind, Max. As for the rest of his senses …well, the only thing he's hungry for is the hollow ones, the ones without souls. The ones who owe him.”

Max stared at the whiskey glass in front of him. It might have been his imagination, but the prickling pins and needles feeling of magic crackling on his skin seemed to have diminished.

He picked up the glass, stared at Ray over the rim.

“The Tordu sold their souls to Seddicus?”

Ray raised his own glass in a silent toast. “ ‘Sold’ is the wrong word. They surrender their souls to make room for darkness, and the long lives they lead. Murder's a part of it. And eatin’ the organs, but you know that much. That's what twists 'em. Mireault le Tordu, that's what they called him even in Martinique, twisted up by the dark magic he practiced, even as a boy. He wanted more. More life, more power, more magic.

“Seddicus is an ancient power, bound by ancient covenants,” Ray continued, eyes bright with terrible knowledge. “Mireault surrendered his soul, and as long as he continues performin’ the ritual every few years—killin’ some innocent, offerin’ up their life to Seddicus, consuming the vitals—he won't ever die. Not until Seddicus finds a way in to claim him. That's the pact all Mireault's followers enter into, and old, old laws means the demon honors it.”

Max saw it clearly now. They made their offerings, and Seddicus was bound by some kind of infernal law to fulfill his end. But as long as the Tordu kept the wards in place around New Orleans, Seddicus couldn't get in to claim them.

“They're immortal,” he said.

“No such thing as immortal for someone flesh and blood,” Ray replied. “One day a mistake will be made and the wards will fail and Seddicus will take them. Mireault knows this. But he lives as he lives until then, and he'll put off the day as long as possible.”

Max studied him. “So in 1965 when you tried—

“Enough!” Ray said, banging his now-empty glass on the table hard enough to make Max jump, to make a little drop of whiskey slosh out of his own glass.

No one so much as glanced at them. The talking continued, and Max wondered if Ray himself had somehow stepped out of time.

“You don't drink that now, and you're gonna miss your chance to do anything for Gabrielle,” Ray said. “I know you loved her.”

Max narrowed his eyes. The whiskey glass felt warm in his hand. Something glittered like diamonds inside the brown liquid.

“So did you,” he said.

Ray nodded. “All right. So did I. But not the way you mean.”

“And Corinne?”

“Corinne's dead an’ gone. Gaby's the one you might still save.”

“That's not—”

“Fair?” Ray sighed, and suddenly he looked so tired. He nodded at the drink.

Max tilted the glass to his lips. He drained the whiskey in one go, no sipping for him, and it burned all the way down.

“You tried taking out a ward in ’65 and you fucked it up,” Max rasped. “Why didn't you try again?”

Ray poured them both another whiskey. “I'm not strong enough. I'm just a conjure-man, not some kinda sorcerer.”

“Then why doesn't Mireault just kill you?”

At that, Ray smiled. He picked up his whiskey glass, knocked it against the one he'd poured for Max, and raised it in a toast.

“That's one I thought you'd figured out. He don't want to kill his own brother. Our daddy's the one taught us our first conjurin’, but he showed Mireault magic he never shared with me. Maybe because I was younger, and by the time I got a little older he'd already disappeared.”

Tumblers clicked. Doors opened. Of course they were brothers.

“Seddicus took your father?”

“Oh, yes. And we ran. Well, Mireault ran, and I followed him. And so did the demon. And here we've been, ever since.”

“And now you're some kind of oracle?”

Ray smiled. “Didn't start out that way. Oracle's the heart of a city, or at least someone who's got the city's best interests at heart. Every big old city's got one. But, understand, bein’ the Oracle ain't where my magic comes from.

I'm a conjure-man through and through, and the conjurin's what has kept me alive this long. It's what I use to keep Mireault from takin’ over entirely.

“Bein’ the Oracle …that's like havin’ a second job. But it makes it easier for me to fight Mireault 'cos I got the heart of New Orleans in me now. Used to be I had to try to protect the Oracle from Mireault—he was always tryin’ to kill them. Guess New Orleans finally decided it made more sense to just give me the job. The city's had three Oracles just in the time since I've lived here …three before me, I mean. But I've been playin’ the part for goin’ on seventy years now, since the Tordu killed the last one, a young man—”

“In the Beauregard-Keyes House,” Max said, thinking of the screaming, struggling victim who'd seen him there. “And you were there.”

“I tried to stop it. Got there too late. The city chose me next.”

“And you chose Gabrielle to take your place.”

Ray sipped whiskey, savored it. “I'm dying. The city conspired to bring me and the girl together. I taught her everything I know about conjurin’, but she didn't have it in her as strong as my family does. She needed every bit of magic I could give her to stand against Mireault. She wouldn't have the power to destroy the wards or to kill him, but she could be the light in the darkness, keep the Tordu from truly controlling the city. Stop Mireault from ever getting the shadow kingdom he's always wanted.” Ray leaned forward, and his next words were a whisper. “If no one stood against
him, my brother would turn everyone. Then even Seddicus would bother him no more.”

Max felt a fresh wave of grief, images of Gabrielle flooding his mind. She'd been just a girl, nineteen years old. It must have been terrifying for her to think that Ray would die and she would have to face Mireault on her own.

“She didn't have faith in herself,” Max said. “She was afraid she wouldn't be strong enough.”

“Maybe she wouldn't have been. But I trained her. And I had enough faith for both of us. And then the city chose her to be the next Oracle, too, so I knew my choice had been the right one. She'll be like me, mojo in one hand, heart of the city in the other. Burnin’ the candle at both ends. My clock is winding down, Max. Won't be long now. If I could do this for Gabrielle myself, I would've done it already. But if I step out of time, then there's no one here and now to fight the Tordu. We got one chance to fix it, Max, to make sure Gaby doesn't die in that attic, so she can do the job I trained her for.”

The last of the tumblers clicked into place.

Max stared at him. “Jesus. You set this up right from the beginning, didn't you? You and Corinne.”

Ray breathed an old man's sigh. “Poor Corinne was just an innocent. The girl loved her cousin, an’ she stood by her when no one else did. Messin’ with me is what made Gabrielle's family shut Gaby out in the first place. They heard of me, you understand? My name's spoken in the same breath as the Tordu, by people too ignorant to understand the difference.

“So when Gaby died and Corinne tol’ me about you, I asked her to get you down here. Corinne called you 'cos of me. I set you on this path 'cos I can't do it,
but you can save Gaby.
If you stop—”

“You used Corinne, like you used everyone?”

Ray shrugged. “Stop asking so many goddamn questions. You can still save Gabrielle's life and put things right.”

“But—”

“Out of time, Max,” Ray said. He threw back the last of his whiskey and slid the glass across the table. “It's now or never.”

“That's really all I have to do?” Max asked.

Ray pointed at the door. “You go out there, an’ you'll step right into the Moment you need. You'll still have to get to her house, but you'll be
when
you need to be. Getting
where
you need to get will be your problem.”