Destined for an Early Grave(20)

Some things never change. The need for companionship transcends mortality or immortality.

Bones had a resigned expression on his face. “Taking in strays, Kitten? Not without rules first. Any deviance from these, Fabian, would result in an immediate exorcism by the most qualified spook-slayer I could find, savvy?”

“I’m listening.” Fabian tried to look blasé, but he was almost quivering in excitement.

“First, you do not report any information about me, my wife, or my people to anyone alive, dead, undead, or otherwise. Got it?”

Fabian’s head bobbed. “Agreed.”

“Privacy is to be respected just as if you were a real boy, mate. If you think being a ghost allows for voyeurism, you’re mistaken.”

An indignant huff. “I will excuse your misassumption of my character on the basis of current debauchery, which is so common among modern persons.”

“Is that a yes?” I asked with a laugh.

“Yes.”

“Right.” Bones cracked his knuckles. “And lastly, no bragging about your accommodations. I don’t want to be chased everywhere by needy spirits. Not a bloody word, understood?”

“Inescapably.”

“Then we have an agreement, Fabian du Brac.”

The ghost smiled one of the happiest smiles I’d ever seen. Bones rose from his chair. I followed suit, taking a last swallow from my glass.

“All right, Fabian, you’re one of mine now. Can’t say it’s the best arrangement you could aspire to, but I promise if you abide by our accord, you won’t ever lack for a home again.”

We left the outside patio area and headed back to the house, the ghost trailing behind us with one hand on my shoulder.





SEVEN




BONES TOLD ME TO WEAR BOOTS. AT FIRST I thought they were for storing weapons, but nothing beyond my feet went into my new leather boots. My other new clothes consisted of a pair of midnight-blue pants and a white blouse. I didn’t have on any jewelry except for my engagement ring. Liza had wanted to do my hair, but I declined. This wasn’t a party. It was a polite confrontation.

We left the house on foot after our escort arrived. His name was Jacques, and he was a ghoul. Jacques had skin dark as pitch, and a subdued but resonating power emanated from him. Bones had negotiated beforehand that he would walk with me to a certain point. After that, Jacques would show me the way. I wasn’t armed, and my lack of weapons made me feel like I was only half-dressed. I missed my knives. They felt familiar and comforting to me. Guess that in itself marked me as a weirdo.

Bones walked abreast of me, my hand in his. From the sureness of his steps, he knew where we were going. Jacques didn’t chat on the way. I didn’t talk, either, not wanting to say anything the ghoul could later use against me. Just like being arrested, I had the right to remain silent. Of course, anything I wanted to say to Bones, I could just think at him. Times like this, his mind-reading skill came in handy.

Fabian hovered about a hundred feet away, flitting in and out of the buildings as if he were minding his own ghostly business. Jacques never once looked in his direction. It was amazing how ignored ghosts were by those who could see them. The age-old prejudice between the undead and the spectral dead was working to our advantage, however. Bones wasn’t allowed to accompany me all the way to my appointment, but Fabian wasn’t bound by any such agreement. Liza had been stunned when we brought him home with us. It hadn’t occurred to her to befriend a ghost either.

We stopped at the gates of Saint Louis Cemetery Number One. Bones let go of my hand. I gave a look inside the locked burial grounds, and my brow went up.

“Here?”

“It’s the entranceway to Marie’s chamber,” Bones replied, as if we were waiting at the front door of a house. “This is where I leave you, Kitten.”

Great. At a graveyard. How reassuring. “So I’m meeting her inside the cemetery?”

“Not exactly.” Bones had a tone that was both ironic and sympathetic. “Underneath it.”

Jacques twisted a key in the gates’ lock and gestured at me. “This way, Reaper.”

If Marie Laveau wanted to disquiet someone with her version of home-court advantage, stepping inside the cemetery led by a creepy ghoul while the gates locked behind me was definitely the way to do it.

“Alrighty then. After you, Jacques.”



Marie Laveau’s crypt was one of the larger ones in the cemetery. It was tall, probably six feet, wider at the base and narrower toward the top. There was voodoo graffiti written on the side of it in the form of black x’s. Dried and fresh flowers were laid at the front of the crypt, where a chipped inscription indicated the name of the legendary voodoo queen. All of these things I had a few seconds to notice before Jacques pointed to the dirt in front of the headstone and said something in Creole. Then the ground began to peel back.