From the grating sound, something electronic controlled the movement. Inside the small fenced area around the headstone, a square hole appeared. There was a dripping noise within, which made me wonder how anything could be underground in New Orleans without being flooded. Jacques didn’t share my concern. He simply jumped into the black opening and repeated his earlier directive.
“This way, Reaper.”
I peered into the complete darkness of the pit to see the shine of his eyes looking up at me. He was about twenty feet down. With a mental shrug, I braced myself and followed, feeling a small splash as I landed.
Jacques reached out to steady me, but I brushed him off. No need to play the helpless female. The opening above us began to close with that same low creaking sound at once, adding to the eeriness.
Over an inch of water covered the floor of what appeared to be a tunnel. There were no lights, and nowhere to go but forward. As I sloshed through the passageway after Jacques in the near blackness, I realized why Bones had insisted on the boots. They kept out whatever unpleasant squishy things I stepped on as I kept pace. The air was moist and had a moldy smell to it. When I reached a hand out, the wall was also wet. Still, I kept going, grateful that my inhuman vision meant I wasn’t completely sightless in the darkness.
“I thought you couldn’t build things underground in New Orleans,” I remarked. “Doesn’t this flood?”
Jacques glanced back at me while still walking. “It’s always flooded. Unless you are invited underneath, the waters are released in the tunnel.”
Well. Marie apparently used drowning as a deterrent. That was one way to control nosy tourists.
“That would only work on people dependent on breathing. What about the rest of the population?”
Jacques didn’t reply. His verbal quota had probably been exceeded. After about thirty yards, we came to a metal door. It opened on well-greased hinges to reveal a lighted landing behind it. Jacques moved to the side to let me pass, then touched my arm as I went by him.
“Look.”
There was a whoosh. Suddenly the tunnel we’d just walked through was engulfed in protruding blades. They came out of the walls from all sides, as if we’d just entered inside a demon’s mouth. A few feet back, and I’d have been julienned where I stood.
“Neat,” I said. I could appreciate a good booby trap as much as the next person. “Must have cost a fortune, all that silver.”
“They’re not silver.”
The woman’s voice came from the top of the stairs in front of me. Smooth, buttery. Like crème brûlée for the ears.
“They’re steel blades,” she continued. “I wouldn’t want undead intruders killed. I’d want them alive and brought to me.”
Just like before when I jumped into this rabbit hole, I braced myself. Then I walked up the stairs to meet the voodoo queen.
As stated on her headstone some seventy yards away, Marie Laveau had died in 1881. Beyond that, her being a ghoul and her reputation with voodoo was all I knew. Bones hadn’t wanted to go into detail in her own backyard, so to speak. His caution spoke volumes about the person coming more clearly into view with my every step. From what I had heard about Marie, I half expected her to be seated on a throne, turbaned, with a headless chicken in one hand and a shrunken skull in the other. What I saw made me blink.
Marie was seated in an overstuffed chair, possibly a La-Z-Boy, bent over nothing more threatening than needlework. She had on a black dress with a white shawl thrown over her shoulders. On her feet were smart little heels that could have been Prada. With her shoulder-length dark hair curling around lightly made-up features, I had a weird flashback to a scene in a movie. She could have been bent over cookies, saying, “Smell good, don’t they?” while I broke a vase that wasn’t really there.
“Oracle?”
It came out of my mouth before I could snatch it back. No wonder Bones had wanted to come with me. I’d piss her off before even introducing myself.
Hazelnut eyes that were way too alert raked me from boots to brow. The needlework shifted when a long finger pointed at me.
“Bingo.”
That dessert drawl again, Southern Creole and sweet. If ears could digest verbal calories, my ass would’ve been getting fat just listening to her. And with that single word, she’d just recited the next part of the movie Matrix, which I’d quoted.
“Great movie, wasn’t it?” I didn’t move to sit because I hadn’t been invited to. “One of my favorites. The first film, anyway. Didn’t care for the other two.”
Those penetrating eyes fixed on me. “Do you think you’re the One? The future leader for all of us?”