A dreary day had turned even bleaker as Odette and Eddie sat in the restaurant’s kitchen drinking coffee. All the workers had gone home for the day. They were alone with only Mudbug for company. Odette glanced out the window.
“There’s a cab pulling up out front.”
“Must be Jack and Chief,” Eddie said.
“It’s parked by the walkway. No one’s getting out,” Odette said.
Eddie headed for the door. “I’d better go see what’s up.
“Wait,” Odette said. “Take an umbrella. They’re in the rack by the front door.”
Eddie grabbed two umbrellas on his way out. Jack opened the rear window a crack.
“I forgot my wallet. Can you pay for the cab?”
“No problem. Here’s an umbrella. Odette has coffee waiting in the kitchen.
Jack and Chief huddled beneath the umbrella and hurried toward the covered walkway as Eddie paid the cab driver. The cab pulled away and started up the rise to the one-lane bridge as lightning streaked across the horizon. Odette was draping a large blanket around Chief’s shoulders as Eddie reached the kitchen.
“Making it, Chief?” Eddie asked.
“Thanks to you. The nurses said I’d have bled to death if you hadn’t put the tourniquet on me.”
“Jack did his part. I wouldn’t have thought the old tub could go so fast.”
“He’s a pretty good babysitter,” Chief said.
Chief was savoring his coffee, though Jack hadn’t touched his. Board-straight in the chair, his arms were crossed and a frown on his face.
“Did I say something wrong?” Eddie said.
Odette had just placed steaming bowls of gumbo in front of them. Chief started eating. Jack continued to sit and scowl.
“It’s not you,” Odette said. “It’s me. I’m sorry, Jack. I know you don’t want to cut anyone in on the treasure you’re looking for. Eddie and I can help you recover it. Why don’t we bury the hatchet?”
“You wouldn’t know anything about the treasure if I hadn’t gotten drunk and opened my big mouth,” Jack said. “Chief and I have been working on it for years. It’s not fair to have to split it when we’re this far along.”
“Seems to me without our help you have about a snowball’s chance in hell of finding your treasure,” Eddie said. “Even if I help, you can keep my share. I can’t speak for Odette.”
“You don’t even know what it is we’re looking for,” Jack said.
Odette reached behind a cabinet and retrieved the bottle of rum Eddie had found during the dive.
“You mean your 1929 Dominican rum?” she said.
“Where did you get that?” Jack asked.
“On our dive,” Eddie said. “My guess is there are lots more where that came from.”
“Did you find the sunken boat?” Jack asked.
“Just a single bottle,” Eddie said.
Odette uncapped the rum and poured some in each of their coffee cups.
“You crazy, woman?” Jack said. “You don’t add priceless rum to coffee. It’s too good for that.”
“There’s more where that came from,” she said.
“You know where the sunken boat is?” Jack asked.
“Eddie says you have the NOAA charts for this part of the Gulf. I majored in restaurant management. My minor was oceanography. Show me the charts, and I’ll tell you the most likely place to find the sunken rum boat.”
“It just ain’t fair,” Jack said.
“If the cache is as big as you think it is, it’s worth a small fortune. You can’t swim, and Chief’s arm is broken. Seems to me you need us more than we need you,” Eddie said.
“You can keep fifty percent,” Chief said. “I’ll cut Odette in out of my share.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Jack said.
“One hundred percent of zero is still zero,” Eddie said.
“Pigs get fat, and hogs get slaughtered,” Chief said.
Jack grabbed his cup and drank some of it. “Uncle,” he said. “You and the girl help us recover the rum, and we do a four-way split.”
“Girl?” Odette said. “I’m a woman, and my name is Odette. “Unless you start treating me as an equal, I’m not going to tell you where the treasure is.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack said.
“I’m sorry, what?” Odette said.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Jack said.
“Call me by my name,” Odette said.
“I’m sorry . . . Odette,” Jack said.
Odette extended her hand. “Shake on it?”
Jack, Chief, Odette, and Eddie exchanged handshakes.
Chief had finished his gumbo and was licking his lips. “That’s the best gumbo I’ve ever eaten, Odette. Jack needs to take a few lessons from you.”
“You’ve never complained about my chow before,” Jack said.
“And I’m not now,” Chief said. “When it comes to cooking, you’re as good as they come. Just try a bite of the gumbo.”
Jack took a bite, pretended he was going to spit it out, and then began to grin. “The big Indian’s right. This is the best gumbo I’ve ever eaten. Can I get the recipe from you?”
“You know Cajuns don’t use recipes,” Odette said. “There’s a large pot simmering on the stove. Don’t be shy. I’m used to cooking for thirty at a time.”
The storm continued outside the restaurant as Jack and Chief worked on seconds, and then third bowls of gumbo. The Dominican rum was also getting low.
“The NOAA packet is at Chief’s teepee,” Jack said.
“Too nasty out there,” Eddie said. “I’ll put you up here for the night. We can have a look tomorrow.”
“No can do,” Jack said. “I’ve been away all day. I need to feed Brutus.”
“You’ll drown going up the hill,” Eddie said.
“Not if you let us use the ATV,” Jack said.
“Didn’t know I had an all-terrain vehicle,” Eddie said. “Where is it?”
“In the metal building at the end of the pier,” Jack said.
“Unless it has a roof, you’ll still drown,” Eddie said.
“It’s got four-wheel-drive, a ninety-horse motor, and a canvas top and sides. Seats four and there’s no place on the island, no matter what the weather, it won’t go,.”
“Fine,” Odette said. “Then we’ll all go. We need to be in the water at first light, the moment the storm ends.”
“Sounds to me as if Odette is the smartest one here,” Chief said.
“I second that,” Eddie said.
“I got no problem with that,” Jack said. “We’ve been looking for the sunken boat now for five years. If Odette can tell us where it is, I’m ready to kiss her ass.”
Chief laughed. “You’ve been ready to do that since the night we met her in New Orleans.”
“I meant no disrespect,” Jack said.
“None taken,” Odette said. “Let’s clean up, get Brutus, and then have a look at those charts. With all this pressure on me, I just hope I’m able to perform.”
When they left the restaurant, they were wearing storm slickers. Odette had tucked Mudbug beneath hers. Jack fumbled with the keys when they reached the metal building.
“Hurry up before we drown,” Chief said.
“Hold your horses,” Jack said. “It’s dark, and I can barely see.”
The metal door soon creaked open, the stale air inside gushing out. Jack fumbled for the lights. When they came on, Eddie was amazed at how big the building was. They not only saw the ATV, but also the black Range Rover that went with the restaurant.
“Hope this metal bucket has a lightning rod,” Chief said.
Illuminated by fluorescent lighting, Eddie could see the stacks of wooden crates that filled the large metal building almost to the ceiling.
“What’s in all these crates?” Eddie asked.
“Who the hell knows?” Jack said. “Most everything in here has been stored since the original owners shut this development down some seventy years ago. One thing for sure, everything in this building is yours. Mr. Castellano told me so.”
“Is there a manifest anywhere that catalogs the contents of the boxes?” Eddie asked.
“None I’ve ever seen,” Jack said.
“The boxes are marked with different symbols. Surely, there’s a meaning,” Eddie said.
“Could be,” Jack said. “Right now, we better get moving. We can worry about these boxes at any time.”
Jack started to get behind the wheel. Odette stopped him.
“I’ve always wanted to drive one of these things,” she said.
Jack moved out of the way. “Be careful. It has more power than you think. Don’t let it get away from you.”
Odette patted Jack on the butt. “Don’t worry. I’ll get us to where we’re going in one piece.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, climbing into the front passenger seat.
Jack was holding Mudbug in his lap, Eddie, and Chief holding on for dear life in the backseat as Odette powered up the hill to the lighthouse. When she slid up to the front door, Jack handed Mudbug to her and then ran inside to get Brutus. Jack returned with the dog and two bottles of rum.
“Someone needs to direct me to Chief’s teepee,” Odette said.
“Might help if you’d turn on the headlights,” Jack said.
“You could have told me this bucket of bolts has headlights,” Odette said. “How do you turn them on?”
Jack reached across her and turned on the lights.
“Down the hill,” Chief said. “I’ll give you directions as we go.”
With Chief’s help, Odette followed the beach until he tapped her left shoulder.
“Left?” she said.
“Straight up the hill. Watch out for the trees. You’ll go straight to it,” Chief said.
They found Chief’s teepee at the top of the hill, in a grove of old-growth oaks. Odette pulled up to the front flap, and they all piled out, following Chief into the teepee. Chief sat on an Indian rug and used flint to start a fire in the center of the teepee.
“I could have lent you a match,” Eddie said.
“It’s important to honor the old ways,” Chief said. “Jack, can you feed my animals?”
“Sure,” Jack said.
“You have animals?” Odette asked.
“You kidding?” Jack said. “Chief here’s a rancher. He’s got horses, cattle, cats, stray dogs. Why hell, you just name it, Chief’s got them.”
“I’ll help you,” Odette said. “I love animals.”
The fire in the center of the teepee had warmed the large structure when Odette and Jack returned from feeding Chief’s animals.
“You have a llama?” Odette asked.
“She keeps the coyotes away,” Chief said.
“Is that a still in the back of the teepee?” Odette said.
“Are you a government agent?”
“No,” she said.
“I can’t always trust Jack to supply my alcoholic needs,” Chief said.
“The Chief here makes some of the best moonshine in the parish,” Jack said.
“I’ve never tasted moonshine,” Odette said.
Jack glanced at the top of the teepee where the smoke from the fire was exiting, and said, “Good Lord, have mercy!”
Chief hefted a ceramic jug over his shoulder, took a swig, and then handed it to Odette.
“Watch it, Missy. It kicks like a mule, and it’ll knock you on your ass quicker than you can say scat,” Chief said.
“Whoa!” Odette said after drinking a healthy slug. “What’s the alcohol content of this shine?”
“You don’t even want to know,” Jack said. “Take a gander at these charts before you drink anymore. If you don’t, you’ll be out for about eight hours.”
Odette passed the jug to Eddie, and he took a healthy swig. Jack grinned as he watched Eddie’s eyes cross.
“Damn!” Eddie said. “That burned all the way down. This shit’s potent.”
“Moderate,” Chief said. “You just don’t know how potent. Sometimes Jack and I use it, instead of peyote, in my sweat lodge.”
“You have a sweat lodge?” Odette said.
“Yes ma’am, I do,” Chief said.
“I want to try it,” she said.
“It’s for men only,” Chief said.
“Are we partners or not?” Odette said.
“Hell, Chief,” Jack said. “We ain’t never seen any spirits yet, and I’m pretty sure your sweat lodge don’t work. What will it hurt?”
Chief glanced at the escaping smoke as nearby thunder shook the teepee. “What the hell,” he said. “While you’re studying the charts, I’ll go crank up the sweat lodge. Maybe it’s time for divine intervention.”
Morning found Odette, Eddie, and Jack in Chief’s sweat lodge. Despite the rain that continued to fall, temperatures inside the small teepee had reached triple digits. Stoked by Chief’s moonshine, singing, and one-handed drumming of his tom-tom, they hadn’t really noticed.
Before the ceremony had begun, they’d stripped off their clothes. Dressed only in breechcloths and ceremonial paint, they’d taken to the native ritual with enthusiasm. A bucket of cold water in Eddie’s face awoke him from his stupor. Cold water also rudely awakened Odette and Jack.
“Everyone up,” Chief said. “The ceremony ends with a ritual bath at Dripping Springs.”
They followed Chief down a path through thick trees that led to a clear pool created by the damming of a small creek. Impermeable clay formed the bottom of the pool. Water from the previous night’s rain poured over the little dam. Jack stuck his toe in the water.
“I’ll pass,” he said. “Too damn cold for this old sailor.”
“It won’t kill you,” Chief said.
Jack reluctantly followed Odette and Eddie into the water. Chief threw them sponges.
“Wash off the paint and reflect on your moments in the sweat lodge.”
Eddie was rubbing his temples. “Remind me to never drink moonshine again. That stuff will kill you.”
“Tell me about it,” Odette said. “This cold dip is starting to revive me.”
“Dripping Springs mineral water,” Jack said. “There was a spa on the island in the thirties. People paid big bucks to bathe here.”
Eddie dipped his head beneath the water then used his hands to squeeze the liquid out of his long hair.
“I’m starting to feel a little better,” he said.
Chief tossed them towels when they exited the pool, and they wrapped themselves in them on their walk back to the teepee. After dressing, they returned to the restaurant in the ATV.
“You didn’t tell us much last night after looking at the charts,” Jack said.
“Tell you the truth, I don’t remember much of anything about last night,” Odette said. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll cook breakfast, and then study the charts.”
“I have a better idea,” Jack said. “I’ll cook breakfast. From the look of the clouds, I’d say this little patch of clear weather is going to be short-lived.”
Except for Jack, they were soon sitting around the old plank table, drinking coffee, and eating bacon and eggs, as Odette studied the charts. The workers had already arrived, and Jack was busy cooking and feeding them. When the last worker had eaten, he joined the others at the table.
“Any idea where the boat went down?” Odette asked.
Jack pointed to a spot on one of the charts. “The barrier islands form a natural levee around Oyster Island. Problem is, some of the islands don’t protrude out of the water much or else lie a few feet below the surface. They pose a danger to large boats riding low in the water.”
“Even with bottom finders?” Odette asked.
“The locals didn’t need bottom finders. The Coast Guard boats were too big to get into the harbor except by way of the main channel. If a rumrunner could make it through an opening, they could usually escape their pursuers. The night the Coast Guard blew the Island Star out of the water, that wasn’t the case.”
“Are you sure this is where the boat went down?” Odette asked.
“It’s where the Coast Guard reported the sinking.”
“Too bad they didn’t make it to the lee side of the barriers.”
“Not really,” Jack said. “If they had, they’d have already salvaged the rum. As it is, there’s still a chance for us to find the sunken boat.”
“What do you think?” Eddie asked.
“The prevailing current is from east to west. The energy of the current will carry its load until the energy dissipates. When it does, it drops its load,” Odette said.
“Such as?” Eddie said.
“At the mouth of a river, for example,” Odette said.
“I have the geological and engineering study for Oyster Island which Mr. Castellano had commissioned. Will it help?”
“Don’t know,” Odette said. “Get it and let’s have a look.”
When Eddie returned with the report, Odette opened it and began pouring through the maps.
“Bingo!” she finally said.
Jack, Chief, and Eddie were quickly all ears. “What do you see?” Jack asked.
“There’s a structural ridge underlying the island. It’s the reason for the rolling hills and artesian spring. The subsurface ridge runs transverse to the coastline and extends into the Gulf.” Odette pointed to a spit of land protruding into the Gulf. “The current makes an abrupt turn right here. The water’s one-hundred feet deep. At least twenty feet deeper than the average water depth this far from shore.”
“And your conclusion? Eddie said.
“Unless I miss my guess, we’ll find the wreck in the deep water just off this point.”
It wasn’t long before the Argo was motoring out of the harbor on its way to the spit of land labeled Devil’s Arch on the navigation charts. It crossed Eddie’s mind there might be some reason for the scary name. He let the thought pass as he stood in the wheelhouse beside Jack.
“You think Odette knows what she’s talking about,” Eddie asked.
“I got no idea,” Jack said. “She sounded knowledgeable. Then again, bullshitters always do.”
“She has no reason to bullshit us,” Eddie said. “She gains nothing unless we find the sunken boat.”
“That’s why I’m driving this crate instead of bitching,” Jack said. “Have you ever made a hundred-foot dive?”
“Can’t say I have,” Eddie said.
“What about the girl?”
“I haven’t talked to her about it,” Eddie said.
“There’s a dangerous rip current down there.”
“How do you know?” Eddie asked.
“Divers steer clear of Devil’s Arch. Get sucked up in one of those currents, and your body won’t surface until you’re halfway to Texas.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Eddie said. “I’m going on deck and help Chief and Odette.”
With his broken arm in a sling, Chief was little help to Odette as she readied the tanks for the dive. Eddie pulled her aside.
“Have you ever made a dive this deep before?” he asked.
“About a thousand times,” she said. “My dad took me diving when I was ten. I’ve dived on every man-made reef in the Gulf.”
“Jack says there’s a rip current where we’re going.”
“He’s half right,” Odette said. “Rip currents are found at the surface. What we’ll be dealing with is a deep-water current. Just as dangerous, if you get caught in it, and harder to escape.”
“How do you know where it’s at?” Eddie asked.
“Sea creatures avoid it like the plague. Hopefully, we’ll see the turbulence.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Deep currents are narrow, usually no more than twenty meters wide. It’s hard but not impossible to escape a current. Sometimes, you have to go with the flow and conserve your strength until there’s a change in energy.”
“That doesn’t sound encouraging,” Eddie said.
“We’ll be attached by a long rope. If one of us gets sucked in by the current, maybe the other’s weight will be enough to leverage the other out of it,” Odette said.
“And if it isn’t?” Eddie asked.
Odette tapped the knife belted at her side. “Cut yourself loose. No use both of us drowning.”
“Sounds grim,” Eddie said.
“The boat won’t be in the current, though it could be close to it,” Odette said. “We just need to be cautious.”
When Odette glanced up at the wheelhouse and gave Jack thumbs up, he cut the engine and dropped anchor. She and Eddie had donned their wetsuits and scuba gear.
“You okay?” she asked.
“A little scared. What about you?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” she said. “Stay behind me the length of the rope. If we’re careful, the current will be no problem.”
Odette dived over the side of the boat. Eddie waited a few seconds and then followed her. Something was roiling the water. He became concerned when he found the visibility much less than during his first dive. He continued downward, following Odette’s bubbles as they floated past him.
In addition to the limited visibility, there were no fish or sea creatures around. He remembered Odette’s words, “they avoid currents like the plague.” He tried not to think about it as he continued to descend deeper than he’d ever dived.
Eddie was near the bottom when he saw Odette swimming ahead. She must have spotted something because he was as far away from her as the rope would go.
Odette could see the broken hull of a boat in the murky water. From its size and shape, it could be the wreck of the rumrunner. Swimming forward, she ignored the tug on her rope. When she reached the boat, a sudden yank left no doubt Eddie had swum into a current.
As the current pulled Odette across the top of the sunken boat, she looked for something to grab. She was quickly approaching a broken piece of iron protruding from the railing and knew it was her only hope.
Odette clutched the bar, the current too strong, and her grip too tenuous to hold on to it for long. It gave her just enough time to jam her fins against the railing, creating slack in the rope. She began looping the rope around the misshapen piece of iron bar, continuing until Eddie’s listless body floated toward her through the gloomy water.
Eddie had swallowed water, but his regulator was still in his mouth. After detaching the rope and holding on to Eddie, Odette began following her bubbles to the surface. They were at least a hundred feet from the boat when their heads popped out of the water.
Chief spotted the two and signaled Jack to raise the anchor. Odette was doing her best to revive Eddie when the boat reached them, and Chief tossed them a line. They were soon on the deck of the Argo, Odette performing mouth-to-mouth as Jack pumped Eddie’s chest and Chief watched.
Chief was searching for a pulse when Eddie began belching seawater. In a moment, his eyes popped open. Jack turned him over, lifting him by the waist until all the water had cleared from his lungs. After a coughing jag lasting five minutes, Chief put an oxygen mask on him, leaving it there until his ashen complexion became normal. When Eddie removed the mask, Odette kissed him.
“Oh my God!” she said. “I thought you were dead down there.”
“I would have been if you hadn’t saved me. The current sucked me in. I was powerless to get out of it,” Eddie said.
“Did you see the boat?” Jack asked.
“The rumrunner’s down there,” Odette said. “I saw the name on the hull. I’m going back.”
“No, you’re not,” Eddie said.
“I’ve dived around currents before. I want to know right now if there’s rum aboard the wreck.”
“I won’t allow it,” Eddie said.
“I know what I’m doing. Do you have a fresh tank, Chief?”
Jack, Chief, and Eddie watched as Odette disappeared over the side of the boat.
“She’ll be fine,” Chief said. “She knows more about diving than I do.”
Eddie wasn’t so sure. When Odette’s head finally broke the surface, he was more relieved than he could ever remember.
“Anything down there?” Jack asked as they helped her aboard.
“Something at the end of the rope,” she said.
They watched in anticipation as Eddie reeled in the rope. What popped to the surface was a wooden crate. Jack helped him haul it onto the deck. Chief handed Jack a crowbar, and he soon had the top popped off revealing four bottles of Dominican rum.
“Is there more of this down there?” Jack asked.
“That’s all there was,” Odette said.
“You sure about that?” Jack said.
“Nothing in the hold. I found that crate in the galley,” Odette said.
“Dammit!” Jack said.
“At least there are four bottles,” Chief said. “One for each of us.”
“Very funny,” Jack said. “Five years of work down the proverbial drain.”
“Maybe not,” Eddie said.
“What?” Jack said.
“The outside of this crate has a bottle branded on it. Seems like I saw lots of crates in the metal storage building branded with that exact symbol.”
“You sure about that?” Jack said.
“The only thing I’m sure about right now is we’re all alive. Let’s crack open one of those bottles of expensive rum and celebrate.”
Having consumed a bottle of the Dominican rum, the four treasure hunters were feeling little pain when Jack landed the Argo at the marina. The boat had barely touched the dock when Eddie jumped to the walkway and sprinted toward the metal building. Odette, Chief, and he were waiting at the door when Jack arrived with the keys and a crowbar in his hands.
Eddie grabbed the crowbar and headed for the nearest crate with a bottle marking on it. Odette stood with her eyes closed and her fingers crossed as Eddie ripped off the wooden top of the crate.
“Pay dirt,” he said as he produced a bottle of Dominican rum.
Chief and Odette were exchanging high fives. Jack was frowning.
“Aren’t you excited?” Eddie asked. “There are several dozen crates of rum in here.”
“And it’s all yours,” Jack said.
“Huh?” Eddie said.
“I’m sure it won’t take you long to figure out you own it all and don’t have to cut us in,” Jack said.
“You think I’d do that?” Eddie asked.
“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?” Jack said.
“Forget that shit!” Eddie said. “We’re partners. There’s a quarter here for each of us. You have my word on it.”
The sky had grown dark, only remnants of a winter sun dying on the horizon as Adela and I left Allemands. Despite the pot she’d smoked, and champagne she’d drunk, she wasn’t in a good mood.
“Where are we going now?” she asked.
“To the hotel to see Mama and Taj.”
“That’s not where they are,” Adela said.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Madeline called you a sensitive. Maybe you don’t have the gift she thinks you do.”
“And you do? I thought you said you have no special powers.”
“You don’t believe your own eyes?” she said.
“Are you confessing?”
“I’m mocking you. You’ve told your story about me flying so many times I think you’re actually starting to believe it.”
“I know what I saw,” I said.
“Do you? What about this?”
A blaze ignited when Adela held up her palm. Putting the fire to her lips, she sucked it in and then blew flames from her mouth.
“Magic,” she said.
“Now, you’re playing games.”
Adela’s blue eyes sparkled in the flashing neon of a nearby sign. Instead of answering, she disappeared. She was smiling when I wheeled around, sensing her presence behind me.
“I like games,” she said. “Don’t you?”
“Not when someone is playing them on me. Let me in on your game,” I said.
“So you want to play with magic?”
“Is that what we’re doing?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Let’s walk down Bourbon Street.”
Adela didn’t wait for an answer, heading for a shortcut to the most famous street in the world.
“Hold up,” I said. “How do you know where you’re going?”
Adela clutched my hand, pulling me toward the music and lights coming from the clubs and shops on Bourbon.
“Catch up, slowpoke.”
We were only a block away and found the atmosphere on Bourbon Street electric. People wandered along the old byway and the sidewalks bounding it. The rain, leaving only a damp chill in the air, had moved north. A barker standing in the doorway of a strip club whistled when he saw Adela.
“Get in here, gorgeous,” he said. “We got naked girls, cold beer, and the best drinks in town. Only twenty bucks cover charge each, and that includes your first drink.”
The barker’s eyes grew large when Adela raised her arms, her clothes disappearing as she pirouetted. As the strip club barker and dozens of tourists stopped to get a glimpse of the naked young woman, Adela pirouetted again. The gathered crowd turned away, not believing their eyes, as Adela’s clothes reappeared.
“Are you getting your rocks off?” I said.
“Shut up, or I’ll make your clothes disappear.”
We worked our way through the slow-moving masses, often stopping to peer into the lighted windows of the many souvenir shops, music venues, and half-opened strip club doors. One tee shirt shop had a live, mannequin model in the window.
“Will you buy me a tee shirt like the one she’s wearing?” she asked.
“You bet I will,” I said. “It’ll look great on you.”
Bells tinkled as we entered the little tee shirt and souvenir shop. Rows of tee shirts filled the well-lighted room that reeked of incense and spilled beer. Finding the cheap tee shirt she wanted, Adela pulled it from the hanger and tossed it to me. A purple and gold fleur de lis decorated the front of the gaudy green tee shirt.
“Sure it’ll fit?” I asked.
“Want to see?” she said.
I quickly turned away, reaching for my wallet as I headed for the checkout counter. I handed Adela the sack containing the tee shirt, and we returned to the cacophony of Bourbon Street.
“What now?” I asked.
“Buy me a Hurricane?” she said.
Half the people around us were carrying alcoholic beverages purchased from kiosks and street vendors. One Bourbon Street establishment had a window open to the sidewalk that served drinks to the passing customers.
“There’s a place,” I said.
“Not there. I want a real Hurricane, from Pat O’Brien’s.”
“Why not?” I said. “We aren’t far away.”
A raucous crowd waited on the sidewalk outside the venerable French Quarter nightclub. Music poured from the open door as we entered the carriageway. We followed the slate floors to the courtyard bar and sat at a table near the flaming fountain. A waiter quickly found us.
“Two Hurricanes, one real and one Shirley Temple.” Adela was glancing around the lush courtyard, her former morose expression having returned. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Something about this place makes me sad.”
“You kidding? Strong booze, dim lights, hanging plants and a flaming fountain? How can this beautiful French Quarter courtyard make you sad?”
Adela didn’t answer as the smiling waiter returned with our Hurricanes.
“Don’t drink them too fast,” he said.
Sounds of laughter and music surrounded us as Adela sipped her icy pink concoction through red straws. I took a sip of my own and quickly pushed it away.
“That’s the real deal. Our waiter must have given you the Shirley Temple,” I said.
“Trust me,” she said. “This one isn’t a Shirley Temple either. Give me yours. I’ll drink them both.”
“And I’ll be carrying you back to the hotel.”
“I can handle my booze, thank you.”
“It’s your hangover,” I said.
I drank the water the waiter had also brought as I watched Adela continue to gawk at our surroundings.
“Have you been here before?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “It reminds me of someplace.”
“Where?”
“I remember a courtyard like this from my dreams, nightmares really. I’ve had them since I was a little girl.”
“Hangover maybe. That’s the only thing this courtyard has caused. Not nightmares.”
“The courtyard in my dreams didn’t cause my nightmares. It was the evil that went on there.”
“Please explain,” I said.
Adela’s head drooped for a moment. “I don’t remember. The images always melted away when I opened my eyes. They always left me with a feeling of utter helplessness that would sometimes stay with me for hours. I feel that way now.”
“Are you playing games again or is this for real?”
“No games. I’m suddenly as depressed as hell.”
“Do you want to go?”
“Not yet. Maybe I’ll feel better when I finish this drink.”
“Trust me,” I said. “You’ll feel lots better.”
After finishing her first Hurricane and then starting on mine, Adela’s smile returned. Neither of us talked as we listened to the soothing sound of water dripping from the flaming fountain shaped like a giant champagne glass. Laughter pealed around us as patrons in the main bar sang along with the piano player. Despite her smile, Adela’s demeanor remained glum.
“Sorry, I’m not much company,” she said.
“This courtyard must remind you of the one at the Lalaurie Mansion,” I said.
“I’m not convinced I was ever there,” she said. “I’m Adela Kowalski from Michigan. This is my first visit to New Orleans.”
“What about what Baron Samedi said, and your fainting spell when we walked past the Lalaurie Mansion? That doesn’t include the voodoo veve on your chest and the fact you met a complete stranger with an exact veve on his chest. That’s a lot of coincidences.”
Adela shook the ice in her nearly empty glass and drank the last drops. When she plucked a cherry from the glass and used her teeth to separate the sugary fruit from its stem, a rush of erotic desire surged up my loins. Adela had other things on her mind and didn’t notice my wanton stare.
“What about the demon in the hotel and the dead woman both you and Taj claimed to see,” she said. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“That’s what Taj hired Mama and me to find out.”
“What difference does it make? Will it end my nightmares?”
“Taj is right to try and find answers to this puzzle. I don’t know if knowledge will end your nightmares.” I said. “They might even get worse.”
“Whatever you do, please don’t make that happen.”
The courtyard bar was beginning to fill up as I motioned for the waiter to bring our tab. A block from Bourbon Street, darkness and solitude began engulfing us. Persistent humidity had formed a hazy umbra around the moon.
“Today is the first day of winter,” I said.
“Winter solstice,” Adela said. “The shortest day and longest night of the year.”
“It looks like the moon is full.”
Adela squeezed my hand. “Almost. It won’t be full until tomorrow.”
“Are you a calendar checker?”
“I’m a witch, remember? I don’t need a calendar to know when it’s a full moon,” Adela said. “Want to make love?”
“No can do,” I said. “You’re still my client, and Mama almost killed me for that very reason last night.”
“Mama Mulate has no room to talk,” Adela said.
“Maybe you’d better explain.”
“She and Taj are a number now. I don’t know if they’ve consummated the relationship yet. What I do know is they soon will.”
“How can you be so sure?” I asked.
“I’m a witch. At least that’s what you’ve been telling everyone.”
“A beautiful witch,” I said. “Even if what you say is true, it doesn’t change the fact I probably shouldn’t have sex with you. As it is, I’m already compromised enough.”
“But you want to, don’t you?”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”
I closed my eyes for a moment as the moon began to dim. When I opened them again, I was in bed with Adela at the hotel. We were both naked. I had my arms around her and my hands on her breasts.
“I’m neither drunk nor stoned. Either I’m dreaming, or else this is real,” I said.
“I’m very real, and your nearness is exciting you as much as it is me,” Adela said.
Adela’s body was warm and soft and didn’t feel like a dream.
“Is this another game you’re playing on me?”
“We aren’t playing anymore,” she said.
Scooting away from her, I said, “Game or not, this isn’t a good idea. If I don’t get the hell out of here right now, I won’t be able to.”
Adela ignored my feeble protests as she crawled on top of me. Her sexual ardor had gone much too far for me to resist. My desire had grown red hot when her body suddenly stiffened, and she rolled off me. Her arms, locked across her bosom, red eyes, and the tears on her cheeks quickly poured cold water on my lust. She laughed through her tears when I finally managed to speak.
“That’s a record for me,” I said. “The fastest I’ve ever been rejected.”
Adela’s body remained rigid as she uncrossed her arms. Grasping my hand, she rested it on her breast.
“Take me,” she said. “I won’t resist you.”
“I can’t.”
“Please do it.”
“I’ve never forced myself on anyone.”
“Am I going to have to get you drunk and stoned again,” she asked.
“You’re the problem and not me.”
Adela’s arms crossed her chest and began sobbing again.
“I thought I could make love to you. I want to make love to you. I just can’t. Perhaps I never will.”
“Are you. . . ?”
“A virgin?”
“You aren’t, are you?”
Adela’s tears had begun flowing freely, and she buried her face in the pillow. When I got out of bed and began searching for my clothes, she stopped crying.
“Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“Then get dressed. We’re both leaving.”
“Where are we going?” she said.
“Mama Mulate’s house. We need her help.”
Neither Adela nor I spoke during the cab ride to Mama Mulate’s house. Except for Mama’s beckoning porch light, the neighborhood was dark. The short respite from the rain we’d enjoyed most of the day, ended as we exited the cab.
The sky darkened, opening into a deluge as we rushed to Mama’s covered porch. Someone turned on a light in the entryway. Mama came to the door, opening it a crack.
“Who is it?” she said.
“Wyatt and Adela. Let us in, we’re drowning out here.”
Mama pulled us inside. “Come in this house,” she said. “You weren’t answering your phone. I was worried.”
As we followed Mama into her den, I gave Adela a quizzical glance. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”
“Maybe,” she said.
Mama grabbed towels from her linen closet and tossed them to us. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there. I have warm robes in the bathroom. Get out of those clothes and put them on. You won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
I waited in the hallway until Adela emerged from the little bathroom dressed in a fluffy bathrobe. When I joined them, I found Adela, Mama, and Taj waiting at the kitchen table.
“A slumber party,” Adela said. “I love it.”
Mama ignored Adela’s frivolity when she saw me staring at Taj. “I won’t even try to explain. You have every right to be angry with me after the way I treated you this morning.”
“No explanation or apology required. I already knew about you and Taj.”
“And how is that?” Mama asked.
“I told him,” Adela said.
“What else do you know?”
“Maybe the reason Adela and Taj are in New Orleans,” I said.
Mama went into the kitchen, smiling again when she returned with a pot of coffee. “If you don’t like coffee this late at night, I have other beverages.”
“I’d rather have what Taj is having,” Adela said. “Or, maybe even something stronger.”
“Not a bad idea,” Mama said. “Coffee will do nothing except keep us awake. I have a bottle of vodka chilling in the freezer.”
“Sounds lovely,” Adela said.
“Hungry?” Mama asked. “I have Tournedos Marchand de Vin that’s still warming on the stove.”
“Not for me,” Adela said. “Don’t want to ruin my buzz.”
“I’ll have some,” I said. “We haven’t eaten since this morning. I’m starving.”
Mama’s cats awoke when a nearby clap of thunder shook Mama’s little Creole cottage. They scurried into the room to satisfy their curiosity, all three soon crawling in Adela’s lap. Adela, hugging and stroking the cats, didn’t seem to mind. Mama shook her head when she returned with the tournedos and bottle of vodka.
“Hope you’re not allergic to cats.”
“No problems with allergies and I love cats.”
“Then you’re a cat person?”
“I had a few when I was growing up,” Adela said.
“I can tell,” Mama said. “So can my babies.”
Mama shooed the cats back into the kitchen as we gathered around the table, everyone except me drinking wine or vodka. I made do with a large mug of Mama’s strong Cajun coffee and a tasty plate of her tournedos. Mama replaced a Trombone Shorty CD with soothing background music from a string quartet.
After lowering the volume, she said, “I’m thinking seriously of returning Taj’s retainer. I did nothing today to help solve the mystery.”
Before Taj could protest, I said, “That’s what partners are for. Adela and I learned a lot. I still have questions. I also have a few answers.”
“Not another story about flying naked over the Mississippi River,” Mama said.
“No one will do much flying out there in the storm. If you’re skeptical about what I have to tell you, maybe I’ll just eat your wonderful tournedos and forget about telling you what we learned today.”
“Mama was just kidding,” Taj said, topping up his wine from the bottle on the table. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
“I wouldn’t want to waste my breath,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” Mama said. “I had no place to comment. Please finish your tournedos and tell us what you know. I’ll refrain from further snide comments.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I haven’t had much sleep in the last two days.”
“Welcome to the club,” Taj said.
Mama topped up my coffee. “The pot’s on the stove. I’ll make more when you drink what’s left.”
I glanced at Adela to check on her demeanor. She looked as if she was about to sit through a boring movie for the third time.
“After Adela and I left Bertram’s this morning we took a stroll down Royal Street. We went all the way to the LaLaurie Mansion. When we reached it, something strange happened.”
“Such as?” Mama said.
“Adela had a fainting spell. For a while, I thought I might have to call an ambulance.”
“What’s the Lalaurie Mansion?” Taj asked.
“A house in the Quarter where the people who owned it abused and tortured the slaves there,” Mama said. “Though it’s closed to the public, it’s still quite a tourist attraction. What caused Adela’s fainting spell?”
“Proximity to the mansion, though I didn’t realize it at the time,” I said. “Adela recovered once I got her away from the house. We went to see Madeline Romanov, and it was Madeline who suggested the Lalaurie Mansion may have been the cause of Adela’s distress.”
“And Madeline Romanov is . . . ?” Taj said.
“A former Catholic nun who lives in the Quarter,” Mama said. “She owns Madeline’s Magic Potions where she sells mystical-related souvenirs to the tourists. She is also, by all accounts, a witch and the best fortune teller in town.”
“She wouldn’t tell my fortune,” Adela said.
“Because some fortunes are best left untold,” I said. “Madeline has a raven named Calpurnia who lives in her courtyard. The intelligent bird can talk. She flew into the courtyard while we were there and became excited and agitated when she saw Adela. She called her Aisling.”
Taj stared across the table to where Adela was tinkling the ice in her glass of vodka.
“Is that true?” he asked.
“Yes,” Adela said.
“How do you explain that?” Taj asked.
“No idea,” Adela said. “I’d never seen that bird before in my life. From what Wyatt says, Madeline is used to dealing with gullible tourists. Maybe it was a hoax.”
Taj and Mama turned their stares to me. “Madeline’s not a charlatan. She had no idea we were going to knock on her door and no way to cause her raven to react to Adela the way she did. It’s too much of a coincidence that Calpurnia linked Adela to someone named Aisling. There must be something to it.”
“That is strange. What did Madeline think about it?” Mama asked.
“That Adela and Calpurnia are connected to the abuse and torture at the Lalaurie Mansion.”
“Surely Calpurnia isn’t that old,” Mama said.
“If humans can have past lives, then why can’t animals?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Mama said.
“I don’t either,” I said. “I trust Madeline’s intuition. When we left there, I decided to find out more about the place.”
“Go on,” Mama said.
“Allemands wasn’t far away. We went there hoping to find Armand and Madam Toulouse,” I said.
“Experts on everything dealing with New Orleans,” Mama said when Taj gave her a quizzical look. “What did you expect to learn from them?”
“I thought they might know some things about the Lalaurie case that isn’t common Internet knowledge.”
“Did they?” Mama asked.
“Lots more. Madam Lalaurie was of Irish descent, and Madam Toulouse told us it was common for the rich locals to have indentured servants from Europe as well as slaves from Africa and the Caribbean. That would explain why someone of Irish descent was living in a Creole household in the French Quarter.”
“Is there more?” Mama asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Madam Toulouse knew all about the murder at the Hotel Montalba.”
“So there really was a murder?” Mama said.
“A chambermaid discovered the headless body of the woman in the bathtub. They buried the headless body in the Charity Hospital Cemetery. You won’t believe who had the room the night of the murder,” I said.
“Tell us,” Mama said.
“Madam Lalaurie’s third husband, Dr. Leonard Louis Nicolas Lalaurie.”
“No way!” Mama said.
“And the murder occurred the same night the Lalaurie Mansion burned and the tortured slaves were discovered.”
“The mansion burned?” Taj said. “Didn’t you say you and Adela walked past it when she had the fainting spell?”
“It’s not the same mansion where the Lalaurie’s lived. The present house was built several years after the original one burned almost to the ground,” I said. “A fact French Quarter tourist guides never tell their customers.”
“Probably because they don’t know,” Mama said.
“So a mansion that’s not there anymore caught fire and burned to the ground? How did the slaves escape the fire?” Taj asked.
“Rescuers saw the flames and hurried to help,” Mama said. “They managed to get the servants out of the house. They also found a torture room. The people in that room were there for only one reason—to be tortured and even killed by their sadistic owners.”
“Were the Lalauries taken into custody and charged with murder?” Taj asked.
“They escaped a mob bent on punishing them for the heinous acts they committed,” I said. “Madam Lalaurie reportedly died in France. I have no clue what happened to her husband. According to Armand, Madam Lalaurie and her husband were both politically connected. It’s possible they were spirited away before the angry mob could deal with them.”
“A typical situation present to this day in New Orleans. Still despicable,” Mama said.
“One last thing,” I said. “Armand identified the symbol on Adela’s chest as a Baron Samedi veve, though he said it was done by someone other than a mambo or houngan.”
“That’s what Mama thinks,” Taj said. “We were talking about it less than an hour ago. You never told me why these veves are drawn in the first place.”
“To summon a loa or deity for assistance,” Mama said.
“Are they always tattoos?” Taj asked.
“They are usually pictures drawn on the ground using a powder such as flour, salt, gunpowder, or whatever. Once drawn, money, whiskey, or something considered valuable is placed on top of the veve in hopes of securing the loa’s assistance.”
“What does any of this have to do with Adela and me?” Taj asked.
“Madam Toulouse told us the Lalauries had an African overseer who helped them control the slaves,” I said. “His name was Taj, and he was tall enough he could have played in the NBA.”
“You gotta be shitting me!” Taj said. “Other players respect me, and I’ve never backed down from a fight. Doesn’t matter because I’m not cruel and I’ve never abused or tortured anyone.”
“Wyatt isn’t suggesting you have, Baby,” Mama said.
“Then what is he suggesting?”
“Wyatt?” Mama said.
“Maybe in a past life, you and Adela both lived in the original Lalaurie Mansion. The one that burned the night the woman was murdered at the Hotel Montalba.”
“Wyatt believes it was me who was murdered,” Adela said. “I think he’s full of shit.”
“I have my reasons. The demon was dragging a woman’s head by its long red hair. I could swear it was Adela’s head. If that’s true, then she was murdered by Dr. Leonard Louis Nicolas Lalaurie.”
“If I was dead, then how am I alive now?” Adela asked.
“Because it was you during a past life,” I said. “What connects you and Taj are your twin veves. Someone or something put them on your chests to try and curry favor with Baron Samedi. Maybe it worked, and spiritual powers have brought you two back here to New Orleans.”
“For what purpose?” Taj asked.
Outside, heavy rain was pelting Mama’s old roof. I felt the storm’s intensity as Adela, Taj and Mama’s stares bored inquisitive holes in my soul.
“Redemption,” I said.
Everyone at the table had grown quiet as I finished my rambling narrative. The cats had returned to their snug beds as the storm outside continued to rage. Mama topped up Adela and Taj’s glasses and then started a new pot of coffee for me.
“What now?” she asked when she returned.
“I feel certain we’ve found a tangible link with the events that occurred at the Lalaurie Mansion. I’ve checked all my live sources. I think it’s time to chase the dead ones.”
“Maybe you’d better explain,” Mama said.
“Use your magic music box. See if you can summon a spirit from the Lalaurie Mansion,” I said.
“You know I don’t like using the music box. Even if I did, I’m not sure who to summon,” Mama said.
“Yes, you do. If Adela and Taj lived past lives in the Lalaurie house before the fire, then you can use them to summon their spirits. If they didn’t, then it’ll be no harm, no foul.”
“I don’t know,” Mama said. “You know how powerful and dangerous the music box is. I’d hate to unleash its powers without knowing for sure we’d achieve positive results.”
“The only way to be sure is to try it,” I said.
Taj grew agitated with the talk of spirits. “Maybe you better explain a few things to Adela and me,” he said. “What is this magic music box?”
“I’ll show you,” Mama said.
She disappeared into another room, returning with an ornate box constructed of polished wood, an antique jar, and a red velvet pouch. She placed the three objects on the table.
“Is that your music box?” Taj asked.
“Much more than just a music box. It’s a priceless relic.”
“It’s so beautiful,” Adela said. Is it really magic?”
“Monks, shrouded in mystery, constructed this medieval music box during the Early Middle Ages.”
“For magical purposes?” Adela asked.
“Christianity was in its infancy in Europe. During the Early Middle Ages, Christianity was little more than a mixture of folk religion and paganism. Monks and other holy men still practiced magic. This music box was created, among other things, to summon spirits of the dead.”
Taj was frowning. “Does it work?”
“Of course it works,” Mama said. “Stow your cynicism and trust me when I tell you this music box has magical powers.”
“I’m trying my best to believe,” Taj said. “It just seems so foreign to me.”
“When monks created this music box, the practice of magic was rampant. They had knowledge of secrets that are long since lost,” Mama said. “Powerful secrets.”
“Such as?” Taj said.
“The magic of this music box has the power to summon the dead.”
“No one practices magic anymore. If they could do so much with it, why did they stop using it?”
Adela winced when I said, “Because the ones who used it were damned as witches or wizards and burned at the stake, or tortured on the rack.”
“How did you come by such a powerful instrument?” Taj asked, ignoring my comment.
“I can’t tell you,” Mama said. “All I can confirm is its powers are so great, I’ve only used it once and it’s quite frightening.”
“It is impressive looking, I’ll give you that,” Taj said. “I just can’t wrap my head around what makes it magic.”
“I understand your doubt,” Mama said. “I can only give you a simple explanation because I don’t fully understand it myself.”
“Please do,” he said.
“Everything in the world can be described using mathematics. The universe is the most complex mathematical formula, and music is rooted in mathematics. Some say the arrangement of musical notes in Gregorian chants results in particular responses. One all-powerful chant is the musical equivalent of the universe’s mathematical formula. When performed in a specific manner, certain chants can unlock the powers of the universe.”
“Then why don’t today’s scientists know about this?” Taj asked.
“There was little written history during the Dark Ages. Practically everything people knew then has since been lost. The ancients knew lots of things that aren’t common knowledge in our modern world.”
“But we are so much more advanced now than we were then,” Taj said. “Surely, we know everything they did.”
“Maybe not. Wyatt wasn’t far off with his burning at the stake comment. People were afraid of magic and fearful of the people who practiced it. Those who practiced magic had to hide their abilities or chance being killed.”
“Surely we have enough knowledge to replicate what uneducated monks knew,” Taj said.
“Do we?” Mama said. “Knowledge begins with a single seed. If that seed is lost, is it ever possible to recreate again?”
“Most people have hard times believing anything they haven’t seen with their own eyes,” I said. “Even, then they try to explain anomalies away.”
Adela looked the other way when I glanced at her.
“If your music box is so powerful, then why not share it with the powers-that-be?” Taj said.
“Magic is power,” Mama said. “The monks guarded their magic with their lives because not only can it unlock the secrets of the universe, it could also destroy it.”
“Okay,” Taj said.
Mama chuckled as she finished her vodka in a single swallow and then filled her glass to the brim.
“No more questions and no more explanations. This music box will never leave me. Now, either we’re all in on using it, or else I’ll return it to its proper place of keeping.”
“You sound so dire,” Adela said.
“For good reason,” Mama said.
“This is starting to sound like there’s risk involved,” Taj said.
“There is,” Mama said. “When Wyatt and I used it to summon a spirit of the dead, I wasn’t sure if either of us would survive. Employing its immense power should never be taken lightly, and only done as a last resort.”
“Is that what this is?” Taj asked.
“Though we’re close, I’m not sure we’ve reached that point yet,” Mama said.
“I haven’t been this excited about trying something new in a long time,” Adela said. “Count me in.”
Casting a grave stare at Taj, Mama said, “In or out?”
“Will it hurt my basketball chops?” he asked.
“No, but if you don’t hurry and make up your mind, I’m going to break both of your legs.”
Taj grinned. “Why not? It can’t kill me.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Mama said.
“I trust you,” he said. “You know what you’re doing.”
“Don’t be so sure of that, either,” she said. “Hold out your hands.”
Outside, the wind had picked up, rain pounding the windows and wooden shutters. Mama lit a single candle on the table, turned off the CD player, and extinguished all the other lights. From the velvet pouch, she removed two necklaces with polished black stone pendants.
“Put these around your necks,” she said.
“What is it?” Adela asked.
“The stone is psilomelane, also known as the Crown of Silver. It’s a metallic mineral with magical properties. It’ll help induce the trance I’m going to put you into.”
“You’re putting us into a trance?” Taj said.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Mama said. “I thought you said you trust me.”
“I do trust you. I just don’t like anesthetics.”
“This isn’t the same,” she said. “When you awaken from the trance you’ll have no anesthetic hangover.”
From the antique jar, Mama shook something into Adela and Taj’s awaiting hands.
“What is this?” Taj asked.
“Mushroom. Chew it up and wash it down with your wine.
“If it’s psychedelic I’ll get in trouble with the league.”
“One last time, are you in or out?” Mama said.
“I’m all in,” he said. “But taking illegal drugs could end my career.”
“We’re not doing this for recreation,” Mama said. “Chew the mushroom. I’ll give you an antidote and something to cleanse the remnants of the drug from your system later.”
“What about me?” I asked.
“No magic mushroom for you. I need you to be cognizant and help me make sense of the spirits if we are successful in summoning them. Put these in your ears. In case you don’t remember, the music is deafening.”
Mama handed me a pair of soft rubber earplugs. “What about you?”
She showed me her own pair. “I was all but deaf for days after the last time we used this box. That’s when I bought these earplugs. Adela and Taj won’t need them.”
Adela was grinning. “I’ve never tried magic mushrooms.”
“You’ll be in a trance, so don’t expect much. You may not know anything until the spirits are gone.”
“That sucks,” Adela said.
“I can’t do this without you and Taj. Tell me when the drug begins to take effect. Until then, I won’t start the music box.”
Taj and Adela didn’t need to tell Mama the psychedelic drug had begun working. Their heads were soon drooping, their eyes closed, their arms off the table and hanging by their sides.
“I’m going to put my cats in their beds outside on the back porch,” Mama said. “They won’t be happy but the porch is covered, and they’ll be safe from the storm and the cacophony of the music box.”
When Mama returned, she signaled for me to insert the earplugs. After winding the music box, she opened the carved top of the ancient instrument. The inner workings began to turn and the metallic, though dulcet notes of an unknown melody began to play. The sound of the storm raging outside the house soon became little more than background noise. Though the earplugs blocked most of the melody, I could clearly hear the plucked tones resonating inside the medieval wooden cabinet.
The single candle burning on the table provided dim light to the room. The wax dripping down its side had turned blood red as the music grew ever louder. Even with the earplugs firmly inserted, I could tell the difference. A hazy cloud began to form in a dark corner of the room.
Because of the hallucinogenic mushroom I’d consumed the first time Mama had employed the music box, I remembered little of the former experience. Now, lucid and coherent, I began to see pentagrams and pentacles floating around the room.
A poisonous viper, causing me to recoil before it slithered to the floor, fell from the ether onto the tabletop in front of me. I was starting to wish I wasn’t quite so coherent when two shadowy figures began to appear.
Once fully formed, I saw a huge man, his skin as black as coal, his face, neck, arms, and bare chest covered with tattoos and tribal markings. The other person was a girl, probably no older than fifteen or sixteen. She had long, red hair and a milky complexion. Though there was some resemblance, I could see neither spirit was either Taj or Adela.
“Who summoned us here?” the spirit of the large black man asked.
“Voodoo mambo Mama Mulate. What is your name?”
“I am Taj, and this is Aisling. You have not answered my question. Why have you summoned us?”
“For answers. Did you live in the Lalaurie Mansion?”
“We were both victims of that vile place,” Taj said.
“Then I need to hear your story,” Mama said. “Will you tell it to me?”
“For what purpose,” the spirit said.
Mama didn’t answer his question. “Do you know what a veve is?”
“Yes,” he said.
Our Taj was in a stupor beside Mama when she opened his robe and revealed the symbol on his chest.
“Have you ever seen this or one like it before?”
“Yes,” he said.
“The young woman with the long red hair has a similar veve on her chest. The Lalauries also victimized these two people. Now, they need your assistance. Will you help them?
“I’ll help,” the female spirit said. “That woman looks like my mama.”
“Where shall we begin?” the giant black man asked.
The single candle on Mama’s table flickered and died. It mattered little because a ghostly glow filled the room. Candlelight wasn’t all that was missing. Silence had replaced the dulcet tones of the magic music box and the storm raging outside the house.
Taj and Adela, their eyes closed, had slumped forward in their chairs. Also closed were the eyes of the two spirits whom Mama had summoned. Mama was wide-awake and so was I. As we watched, a billowing cloud engulfed the room. The cloud parted to reveal a French Quarter courtyard, circa 1834.
***
Aisling’s long red hair bounced as she crossed the slate floor of the French Quarter Courtyard. Even during winters in New Orleans, palms, ferns, and baskets of hanging flowers combined to form a lovely, enclosed garden. The two-storied building surrounding the courtyard kept it hidden from the people passing outside on the sidewalk. Aisling hated the long dress and petticoats her mother made her wear.
“You must take care not to wear anything provocative,” her mother had told her.
At least the dress was yellow, Aisling’s favorite color.
Aisling loved the courtyard and the garden and spent as much time there as she could. Today, she was looking for Calpurnia, the majestic raven who called the courtyard home.
Except for Aisling’s mother and the Lalauries, everyone else living in the large house was black. Moreover, they were all much older than she was. Shasa, the old cook was her best friend. Shasa fancied herself a voodoo woman. She wasn’t, but having come from Haiti she did know lots about the subject. Aisling had magical powers. She’d known of her powers since she was a child. Aisling sensed she could do far more than she’d ever tried.
Except for her mother and Shasa, Aisling’s only other friend was the raven, Calpurnia. Calpurnia could talk. Aisling had discovered she could also communicate. When Calpurnia wasn’t flying around the French Quarter, she usually occupied a perch suspended from the building’s second-story balcony. Today, she was missing from her perch and Aisling was concerned.
“Calpurnia, where are you,” Aisling said.
Thinking she’d heard the bird’s cackle around one of the courtyard’s many nooks, Aisling walked around the corner to investigate. She found the raven on the shoulder of a man working the flowerbeds with a hoe. Aisling stopped in her tracks.
For a long moment, she stared at the bare upper body of the young man. His skin was light brown, his muscles rippling as he worked the beds. He turned when Aisling spoke.
“That’s my bird. What are you doing with her?”
When Aisling saw the young man’s face, she realized he was not much older than she was. After catching a glimpse of her, he lowered his gaze. Aisling continued staring at his chiseled chest and regal facial features.
“Didn’t you hear me?” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not glancing up to look at her. “Your bird was helping me weed the flowerbeds. We just kind of hit it off and I didn’t know she belonged to anybody.”
“Calpurnia belongs to no one,” Aisling said. “I’ve never known her to take up with anyone but me.”
“Animals like me,” the young man said. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not mad because Calpurnia likes you. I just want to know why you won’t look me in the eye.”
“I can’t,” he said.
“And why can’t you?” she asked.
“Because you are white. We aren’t supposed to look white people in the eye.”
“We?”
“We darkies,” he said.
“That’s absolutely crazy,” she said. “You aren’t much darker than I am.”
“Don’t matter none. You’re white, and I’m a nigger.”
“My mama told me never to use that horrible word. She would kill me if she ever caught me saying it,” Aisling said.
“Your mama must be a special person,” the young man said.
“Yes, she is. Calpurnia, come to me.”
The raven ignored Aisling, staying on the young man’s shoulder. Taking Calpurnia on his wrist, he propelled the bird into the air.
“Go to her,” he said. “You’ll get me in big trouble.”
Calpurnia’s feathers ruffled before flying to Aisling’s awaiting wrist. The young man continued to keep his eyes averted.
“You're rude, you know it,” Aisling said. “And now you’ve turned my raven against me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“You can at least look at me,” she said.
“I can’t. I told you why.”
“There’s no one in the courtyard except for us. I promise I won’t get you in trouble. Please look at me.”
“But you’re white,” he said.
“My mama’s a servant here, just like you.”
“Is your mama a slave?”
“No, but she’s indentured,” Aisling said.
“What does that mean?”
“Mama is Madam Lalaurie’s cousin. Madam Lalaurie brought us from Ireland when my daddy died. Mama has to work for the mistress until she’s paid the price of our passage here.”
“How long will that be?” he asked.
“Don’t know. I’m fifteen, and we’ve been here for three years now. My name is Aisling. What is yours?”
“Darius,” he said.
“How long have you been here, Darius?”
“The mistress bought me yesterday at the slave market on St. Charles.”
“Shasa says the slave market is a horrible place. That’s all she would tell me. Is it true?”
“It’s true,” he said.
“Please tell me about it,” Aisling said.
“You are way too young,” he said.
“I’m as old as you are.”
Darius hesitated as if trying to recall something he’d successfully forgotten, or at least put out of his memory for a while.
“They have a pen behind the market where they keep the slaves until time to sell them. The men, women, and children are stuffed into the pen where there’s barely room to stand. There’s no place to go to the bathroom, and I can’t even tell you how bad it smelled.
“They fed us nothing but bacon ends to fatten us up. The water was hot and the bacon half-cooked and spoiling in the sun. Almost everyone was sick and throwing up.
“People died in the pen waiting to be sold. When they did, the guards would drag their bodies out and throw them into a cart. They took the bodies to the middle of the river and dumped them.”
“That is so awful,” Aisling said. “I’m sorry you had to go through such horror.”
“It wasn’t as bad for me as it was for the men and women separated from each other and their kids. One woman clawed her face so bad when they took her son the guards killed her to make an example of her.”
“I’m so sorry,” Aisling said.
“It’s okay,” Darius said. “I’m young and strong and got no family to lose.”
Determined to change the conversation back to a less painful topic, Aisling wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her yellow dress.
“Where did you come from?”
“I lived my whole life at a sugar plantation down River Road.”
“You look so healthy. Shasa told me there’s no harder work than cutting cane under the hot Louisiana sun.”
“Shasa is right about that,” Darius said. “I was lucky and worked as a gardener. The mistress was looking for a gardener. That was part of the reason she bought me.”
“What’s the other reason?” Aisling asked.
“To sleep with her,” Darius said.
“Are you kidding?”
“Wish I was. That ugly woman makes my stomach turn worse than thinking about the slave pens on St. Charles.”
“Are you going to do it anyway?” she asked.
“I got no choice,” he said.
“You still haven’t looked at me,” Aisling said. Darius raised his head. “That didn’t kill you.”
“I’m not afraid of dying,” he said.
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“Getting beaten so bad you can’t walk. Hurting so bad you wished you was dead,” he said.
“You’ve never been beaten like that, have you?” Aisling asked.
“No, but I seen others who have. Grown men crying like babies.”
“Mama says it’s okay to cry.”
“No, it ain’t. No matter how bad you’re hurting, you can’t ever let them know,” he said. “My friend Kalifa taught me that.”
“Who is Kalifa?” Aisling asked.
“An old man I knew. Kalifa came straight from Africa. The overseers called him Zeke, but he was always Kalifa to me. He was the only father I ever knew. Kalifa said no matter how bad things get, you should keep your dignity.”
“What happened to Kalifa?” Aisling asked.
“The overseers made an example of him and cut off his hand with an ax. Didn’t matter none because he never changed expression. The overseers killed him for it.”
“I’m so sorry,” Aisling said.
“It’s not your fault. If I get tortured and killed, I want to leave this world with Kalifa’s dignity.”
“I would never hurt you for any reason,” Aisling said.
“I know you wouldn’t,” he said. “I’ve never seen hair or eyes like yours.”
“Red hair and blue eyes. Everyone says I look like my mama.”
Darius turned his gaze back toward the ground. “Guess I better get back to work,” he said.
“How old are you, Darius?”
“Don’t know,” he said.
“It’s just mama and me,” Aisling said. “We got nobody else.”
“You told me your mama is Mistress Lalaurie’s cousin.”
“That woman is evil,” Aisling said. “She treats us like dirt under her feet. Only reason she hasn’t got rid of us is it would make her look bad to her other Irish relatives.”
“I’m sorry,” Darius said.
“How many people are in your family?”
“Ain’t got no family,” Darius said.
“Where’s your mother?”
“We was separated when my brother and me was just kids.”
“You have a brother?” Aisling asked.
“Twin brother,” he said.
“Where is he?”
“Don’t know. The master sold him to another plantation.”
“When was the last time you saw your mother and brother?” Aisling said.
“When I was about knee-high,” he said.
“That’s so horrible,” Aisling said. “I don’t have a sister. If I did, I couldn’t imagine not ever being able to see her again. My mama is young and almost like my sister. If I were to lose her, I would die.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Darius said. “You have to guard your feelings. Don’t ever get too close to anyone, cause you or they might get sold. You can’t make friends either because tomorrow you may never see them again.”
“You can’t think that way,” Aisling said. “I would kill myself if I lost my mama.”
“Life is cruel, but you can’t let it ever get the best of you. Right now, I better get back to work. Don’t want to wind up with scars all over my back.”
“I like you, Darius. You’re the only person my age I can talk to.”
“Don’t matter. You mustn’t talk to me. You’ll get us both in trouble.”
“I’m not going to worry about that. Will you be here tomorrow?” Aisling asked.
“The mistress said I’m the gardener now. I got the job long as I keep the place green and pretty.”
“I love this courtyard and come here every day. If I need to talk to you and someone is around such that I can’t, I’ll send you a message by Calpurnia.”
“How can you do that?” Darius asked.
“I told you she is smart. No one knows how smart except me. She understands what I say, and she can talk.”
“You sure?” Darius said.
“Want to see?”
“Yes.”
“Later on from now, tell her to find me. I’ll give her a message and send her back to you. You’ll see,” Aisling said. “Our friendship will be a secret between only you, me, and Calpurnia.”
Darius nodded, and then returned to hoeing the flowerbeds.
Dr. Leonard Louis Nicolas Lalaurie stood at the window of his upstairs bedroom. Seeing him staring out at the courtyard below, his wife Madam Delphine Lalaurie walked over to see what he was looking at. As she reached the window, she saw the redheaded girl in a yellow dress disappear around the corner.
“You’d like nothing better than to bed that pretty young white girl, wouldn’t you?”
“You’re one to talk,” he said. “I saw the mulatto boy you bought yesterday at the market. I’m sure you have similar plans for him.”
“Don’t worry about what I do,” she said. “Except for her, I don’t give a tinker’s dam about whoever, or whatever you bed. That particular girl is a relative of mine, and it wouldn’t be proper. If word got out, I would lose face in the community.”
Dr. LaLaurie was two inches shorter and fifteen years younger than his wife, Delphine. Slight of frame, he looked as if he’d never done a hard day’s work in his life. Pomade slicked down his brown hair, short except for the pigtail tied with a black bow. His only impressive features were his extra-long fingers and delicate hands. They were all he needed to wield either whip or scalpel, and he was quite proficient at both.
Delphine Lalaurie’s black wig sat precariously over her graying hair. When she became angry or flustered, a common occurrence for a woman who rarely smiled, the wig would often become cocked on her head. Along with the excess rouge and lipstick she used, it imparted her with a cartoonish look. Known for hosting lavish fetes, none of her guests ever mentioned Madam Lalaurie’s comic book appearance to her. Still, it didn’t keep the topic from being common knowledge around town.
“After our dinner with the governor tonight, I’m going to practice my surgical technique on one of the slaves,” Dr. Lalaurie said. “Will you join me?”
“You know I will,” she said. “There’s no one better in bed than you after you’ve performed with the scalpel. It gets you so hot.”
“You like cutting as much as I do,” he said. “Hot sex and skillful surgery are the two things we both have in common. Maybe that’s why I love you so much.”
“Just don’t ever cross me, or there will be part of your anatomy I will surgically remove,” she said.
Dr. Lalaurie grinned. “I also made a purchase at the market yesterday. The woman is in the cage in the garden, awaiting her appointment with us later tonight in the Dark Room.”
Madam Lalaurie left rouge and lipstick on Dr. Lalaurie’s face when she kissed him.
“I can’t wait, my darling,” she said. “Now, I must attend to the kitchen and make sure that black bitch Shasa is preparing the feast tonight for our important guests.”
Madam Lalaurie never went anywhere in the mansion without her whip. She had ten slaves to help her with the chores which needed doing around the large house. She kept more slaves than she needed because it was always a good thing to make an occasional example. A bullwhipping in the courtyard went a long way to strike fear in the hearts of her slaves. They were all expendable. All of them except for Shasa.
Shasa was the best cook in New Orleans. Her culinary creations were legend. No dinner party ever passed without at least one of the guests offering lots of money for the talented old woman. Delphine loved the accolades her lavish dinner parties always garnered but hated that Shasa was the star of the show, and not she.
One of the richest persons in all New Orleans, Delphine didn’t need any more money. Though she wallowed in the acclaim her cook had brought her, she hated the old woman for having power over her. Because of her hatred, she tortured Shasa every chance she could.
Delphine entered the kitchen to find Shasa sitting on the floor, her arms gathered around her knees as she sobbed. Leather cracked as Delphine lit into her with the whip.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Delphine said. “You have a feast to prepare, so get the hell off the floor!”
Shasa was short, her bony frame swallowed up by the plain brown dress she wore. Her bushy hairdo liberally sprinkled with gray made her seem even smaller than she was. The old woman scooted away from the whip, trying without much success to protect her face from the flying leather.
Remembering her guests, Delphine had to restrain herself from beating the slight old woman to death. Taking a deep breath, she somehow managed to regain her composure when she caught up to the little woman.
When Shasa was in the kitchen, Madam Delphine kept her chained by the ankle. The long chain allowed her access to all parts of the kitchen but would let her go no further. When Shasa had to relieve herself, she had to do it in a can in the corner. Once, in an angry snit, Madam Lalaurie had dunked her face into the can.
Delphine wanted to punish Shasa. She also needed the cook available to prepare dinner for her guests arriving later that evening. Seeing a pot of water boiling over an open flame, she knew what she had to do. Grabbing the old woman’s hand, she wrestled her to the boiling pot and plunged her left hand into it.
“Don’t you cry out, don’t you dare!” Delphine said.
The boiling water on Shasa’s hand produced pain like she’d never before felt. It didn’t matter because she knew if she cried out the mistress would hold her hand in the water even longer. When Delphine finally released her grip and let Shasa wrench her hand from the boiling pot, blood was pouring down her face from where she had bitten through her lower lip.
“You’re not hurt you horrible black bitch,” Delphine said. “Get your lazy ass off the floor and get dinner started. My guests are arriving in four hours. If you don’t have the feast of all feasts prepared by then, I swear by God, I’ll personally skin you alive.”
Madam Delphine Lalaurie went stomping out of the kitchen just as Aisling entered. Seeing Shasa slumped on the floor and bleeding, Aisling ran to her, putting her arms around her shoulders and hugging her.
“Oh my God! What did that evil woman do to you?”
Blood was dripping down Shasa’s neck, and she was holding her left hand. The hand was already swollen and puffy, and as red as boiled crawfish. Aisling ran to the cabinets, returning with a crock of honey. Without asking, she plunged Shasa’s hand into the gooey substance. Tearing cloth from her petticoats, she used the strips to bandage Shasa’s hand.
“The honey will lessen the pain and help the burn begin to heal,” Aisling said.
Aisling used more cloth from her petticoat to staunch the blood on Shasa’s face.
“Your lip needs stitches,” she said. “Hold the bandage tight. I’ll go get Mama.
Aisling and her mother Adela soon returned to find Shasa still sitting on the floor.
Aisling was as tall as her mother. Both had long red hair. They could almost have passed as sisters. From behind, they were all but impossible to tell apart. Adela had a brandy bottle and held it to the old woman’s lips until she had drunk enough to quickly intoxicate her.
“This will hurt though the brandy will provide some relief while I put stitches in your lip,” Adela said.
“I got to get to cooking,” Shasa said. “The mistress has people coming for dinner. She said she’d skin me alive if I don’t have a feast prepared for them.”
“I told Taj what happened,” Aisling said. “He’s coming with Danke and Estelle. Mama and I will help, too. You may have to show us how, but we’ll get everything ready for you.”
Adela knew the brandy was working because Shasa’s words were slurred when she said, “You girls are angels sent straight from heaven.”
“Open your mouth and don’t talk,” Adela said, her Irish brogue prevalent. “I’m going to sew up this cut as fast as I can. Will you be okay?”
“Damn, Baby,” Shasa said. “I can’t hurt no more than I already do.”
Taj arrived with Danke and Estelle as Adela tied off the thread, applied a soothing poultice on the wound and then bandaged it with gauze and tape. Estelle and Danke grabbed Shasa’s arms and helped her into a chair. Shasa continued to sob.
“Something else is wrong, isn’t it?” Aisling said. “Please tell me what it is.”
“James, my son,” she said. “He been killed in the fields down River Road.”
“How do you know?” Aisling said.
“I feel it all the way to my very soul. James dead and I ain’t ever going to see him no more.”
“I’m so sorry,” Aisling said, gently hugging the old woman.
“Can I have some more brandy?” Shasa asked.
Adela handed her the bottle. “Drink it all. Taj can raid the liquor cabinet and get us more.”
Taj was the largest man Aisling had ever seen. His skin was black as coal and covered with tattoos and tribal markings. Though he looked mean as hell, he was one of the kindest and gentlest persons Aisling had ever known. He kept his compassion hidden from the Lalauries who considered him their enforcer.
Danke and Estelle, dressed similarly to Shasa though not nearly so slight of frame, were two middle-aged black women who had somehow managed to survive in the Lalaurie household. Scars on their faces and many more on their bodies testified to the abuse both of them had endured. Danke began to cry as she held Shasa’s head in her hands.
“I’m okay, Baby,” Shasa said. “You’re gonna have to help me cook tonight.”
“We ain’t going no place,” Estelle said. “You just keep sitting right there and tell us what to do. We’ll get it done for you.”
The wonderful aroma of Creole cooking soon filled the kitchen. Taj had brought more brandy, and Shasa was quite drunk, though still coherent enough to direct the preparation of the food. The menu included oyster artichoke soup, sauteed redfish with crab and oyster dressing, and bread pudding with cognac sauce as dessert. Shasa was pleased.
“You girls cooked a regal meal fit for a king, or the madam’s cousin, the governor of all the colonies. I hope she don’t find out I didn’t cook it, or she’ll be dragging me to the Dark House to skin me alive.”
“We ain’t telling nobody,” Estelle said. “Far as the mistress will ever know, you cooked everything with your one good hand.”
Shasa chuckled as she lifted herself with some difficulty from the chair.
“You girls get the hell out of here. The mistress will return soon, along with the waitstaff. You don’t need to be here,” Shasa said. “I’m drunk as hell, and right now I don’t give a damn.”
Danke and Estelle kissed Shasa and hurried out the door leaving only Aisling to tend to the old woman.
“I used plants from the garden to prepare this salve,” Aisling said, rubbing some on Shasa’s lip. “It’ll help you heal. I’ll redress your burn tomorrow and bring more salve.”
Shasa smiled for the first time that night as she caressed Aisling’s cheek with her one good hand.
“Ain’t nothing ever gonna heal in this house. Way too much evil afoot,” she said. “You were my angel tonight, Baby. I promise you now, one day I’m going to be your angel.”
When Aisling reached the little room where she and her mother lived, the curtain was pulled between her bed and her mother’s. Knowing Taj was in bed with her mother, she listened to their noisy lovemaking.
Tonight, she had other things on her mind: the young man she’d met in the courtyard, the most handsome person she’d ever seen in her life. Tomorrow, she would return to the garden and pay another visit to the boy named Darius.
Shasa was feeling better the following morning when Aisling went to change her bandages. She’d even cooked Aisling’s favorite omelet. Aisling was taking the last bite when Calpurnia came flying through the open window and landed on her shoulder. Shasa waited a moment before commenting about Aisling’s expression.
“Baby, you got a funny look on your face. What did the bird just tell you.”
“There’s a new boy named Darius working as a gardener in the courtyard. He’s the dreamiest boy I’ve ever met. He sent Calpurnia to find me. I’ll be back later to check on your wounds.”
Calpurnia flew ahead as Aisling ran down the stairs to the courtyard. She found Darius tending the ferns hanging from a second-story balcony. They both smiled when they saw each other.
“Good morning,” Darius said. “You were right about Calpurnia. She understands every word I say.”
“She told me,” Aisling said. Darius’ smile disappeared when she asked, “Do you like it here now?”
“I gotta show you something,” he said.
“What is it?”
“You’ll see,” he said as she followed him into one of the garden’s many hidden nooks. “I couldn’t sleep last night after meeting you. I walked outside for a breath of fresh air and heard something. I found this cage.”
“It’s so big,” Aisling said. “What do they keep in it?”
“People,” Darius said. “I hid in the bushes when I saw the master and mistress take a woman from the cage and lead her into that building.”
Darius pointed at a door secured by two padlocks. Hidden in the farthest nook of the courtyard, Aisling had never noticed it.
“What’s in there?” Aisling asked.
“Don’t know for sure. They shut the door behind them, and I listened with my ear to it.”
“What did you hear?” Aisling asked.
“Screams, horrible screams,” he said. “I waited in the bushes until they came out. The master and mistress were carrying the body of the woman. There’s a dry well over there. That’s where they threw the body.”
Aisling’s hand went to her mouth. “My God! They killed her?”
“Worse than that,” Darius said.
“How do you know?”
“This morning, I lowered a rope and went down into the well to have a look,” he said.
“And?” Aisling said.
Darius shook his head. “She was dead. What else they did to her you don’t even want to know.”
“That’s awful,” Aisling said
“Her body wasn’t all I found down there. It was a boneyard. I counted a dozen skulls.”
“What’ll we do?” Aisling asked.
“What can we do?” Darius said.
***
Dr. Lalaurie waited in his study as Taj entered the door along with Adela.
“Here she is, Mastah,” Taj said.
“Leave us,” Lalaurie said. “I’ll handle things from here.”
Taj returned to the hallway, shut the door, and then made a pretense of walking away. He didn’t, putting his ear to the door instead to try and hear why Dr. Laulaurie had ordered him to bring Adela to his study. The door was thick, and he could hear nothing.
Adela stood in the doorway, wondering like Taj why Dr. Lalaurie had summoned her to his study.
“Sit,” he said, pointing to a chair in front of his desk. “Madam Lalaurie left this morning for an extended visit to Paris. While she is gone, I have some specific things I intend to do. The number one thing on my list is to make love to your daughter.”
“That’s out of the question,” Adela said. “Aisling is only fifteen. She’s a virgin.”
“That’s about to change,” Dr. Lalaurie said. “Madam Lalaurie’s boat sails today. Tomorrow, I have reservations for the bridal suite at the Hotel Montalba.”
“Madam Lalaurie won’t allow it,” Adela said. “We are related to her.”
“The madam will never know. When she returns, you and your waif will be onboard a ship bound for Ireland.”
“You can’t do that. We have no family left in Ireland and no place to go,” Adela said.
“That appears to be your problem and not mine. Have your daughter ready tomorrow evening to spend the night with me at the Hotel Montalba.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Madam Lalaurie and I have a room where we punish slaves who disobey us. Aisling will spend the night with me tomorrow, and you’ll be on your way back to Ireland, or I will make love to Aisling tomorrow night with or without your assent. If you try to defy me, you will see the inside of the punishment room, and Aisling will join you there after I have had my way with her. Your choice.”
Adela’s flash of anger changed quickly to fear and then a feeling of utter hopelessness.
“Take me instead,” she said. “Aisling’s just a child.
“And that’s precisely why I want her and not you. Have Aisling ready tomorrow. You may go now.”
Adela was crying when she ran out of the study. Dr. Lalaurie followed her out the door and then went upstairs to his bedroom. When he opened the curtains and looked out the window to the courtyard, the first thing he saw was Aisling in the embrace of the mulatto boy his wife had recently purchased at the market.
***
Dinner was finished, Shasa cleaning the kitchen when Adela and Taj joined her. Adela was crying. From her puffy red face, she’d been doing so for some time. Shasa put her arms around Adela, hugging her to her bony chest.
“Baby, what’s the matter?”
“Madam Lalaurie’s on her way to France and that monster husband of hers is bent on taking Aisling’s virginity.”
“The mistress won’t allow him to get away with that. She and Aisling are related.”
“He intends to either send us back to Ireland or else to torture and kill us in that torture chamber of his.”
“Where does he plan to take Aisling’s virginity?” Shasa asked.
“He has a room tomorrow night at a hotel in the Quarter. You have to help us stop him, Shasa.”
Shasa walked to the window and stared out. For the first time that month, it was raining. Shasa stuck her injured hand out the open window letting the cold rain soak the bandage. When she returned to the kitchen table, she had a look of resolve on her face.
“Well?” Taj said.
“You have to take Aisling’s place.”
“How can I do that?” Adela asked. “He knows what I look like.”
“It’s almost Mardi Gras. You and Aisling are about the same size, and you both have long red hair. Wear a Mardi Gras mask. If you’re clever, he’ll never know the difference.”
“But what will it matter? When he discovers my ruse, he’ll simply go through with his threat of dealing with us in the torture room.”
“That’s why you’re going to have to kill him,” Shasa said.
“But how will I do that?”
Shasa went to the cabinet and returned with a butcher knife. “With this.”
“How will I conceal the knife from him? Adela asked.
“Baby, do you know what a veve is?”
Adela shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
“It’s a symbol used to beg the assistance of a particular voodoo loa. It’s usually drawn on the ground with flour or some other powder. Offerings to the deities are placed on top of the veve. If the loa accepts the offering, he will grant your request.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I need to tattoo a veve on your chest. The only veve I know how to draw is Baron Samedi’s. If the Baron accepts your offering, he will ensure that evil man’s death.”
“If I’m the offering, shouldn’t the veve be on my back?” Adela asked.
“If Dr. Lalaurie were a normal person with normal desires,” Shasa said. “He isn’t. He will turn you on your stomach and take you from behind. When he does, you’ll be the offering between the veve and him.”
“How do you know this?” Taj asked.
“He’s had almost everyone in this house at one time or other,” Shasa said. “His perversions are well known.”
“It all sounds too dangerous to me,” Taj said. “Why don’t I just kill him?”
“Because it would result in your death and both Adela and Aisling’s when Madam Lalaurie returns. This way, she’ll never know who killed Dr. Lalaurie.”
“How will this work?” Adela asked.
“Strip your clothes off in front of him and keep your mask on. Show him your titties but cover the veve with your hand. Talk in a child’s voice. He’ll think of it as foreplay, and it will only serve to further excite him. Hide the knife under the pillow, in the bed.”
“Can’t I just stab him in the back?” Adela said.
“Baron Samedi will only accept your offering once he is on top of you. We need his help to make this work.”
“How will Adela get rid of the body?” Taj asked.
“She won’t,” Shasa said. “She’ll leave it there and steal out of the hotel.”
“But the desk clerk will see me when we check in to the hotel,” Adela said.
“Wear a long coat with a hood. The master won’t protest because he doesn’t want anyone knowing he’s checking in to the hotel to have sex with a fifteen-year-old relative of his. When the mistress returns, she’ll have no reason to believe anyone here had anything to do with the killing.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” Taj said.
“It has to work,” Adela said. “I can’t allow that monster to touch my baby girl.”
“Then bare your chest, and I will tattoo the veve on you,” Shasa said. “This will take a while because it has to be a mirror-image of the true veve.”
“Why is that?” Adela asked.
“Because if it isn’t, the veve will be upside down when Lalaurie flips you over. Though it might work anyway, we can’t take that chance.”
“When you finish with her’s, put one on my chest,” Taj said.
“What purpose will that serve?” Shasa asked.
“Maybe nothing. If all else fails, the veves might help us find each other in another life,” the big man said.
Shasa spent the next hour tattooing the intricate reverse veve on Adela and a normal Baron Samedi veve on Taj. When the old woman finished her task, she bade the couple good luck and farewell. When they reached Adela’s room, they found Aisling in tears on her bed.
“Baby, what is the matter? Why are you crying?”
“That monster Dr. Lalaurie has Darius locked in the cage in the garden. He’s going to cut him up in his butcher shop.”
“No, he won’t,” Taj said. “We have a plan.”
Aisling wiped away her tears. “What plan?”
“Tomorrow night I’m going to a hotel in the Quarter with Dr. Lalaurie. He’ll think I am you.”
“Me?”
“The perverted maniac wants to defile you. I’m going to take your place.”
“Oh no, Mama, I won’t allow it. He’ll kill you.”
Adela showed Aisling the knife. “He will not because I will kill him first.”
“He’ll just take the knife away from you and use it to carve you up,” Aisling said.
Adela opened her blouse and showed Aisling the veve. “No, he won’t because I have divine power on my side. Taj has a similar veve on his chest.”
“I won’t let you do this,” Aisling said. “I couldn’t bear it if you were killed. Let me do it.”
“I can’t,” Adela said. “When the monster arrives tomorrow evening for you, we must use illusion on him. Trick him into thinking I am you.”
“How will we do that?” Aisling asked.
Adela took Aisling’s face in her hands. “I have a plan. I think we can make it work. You must be an actress, a great actress or the plan will fail, and we all will die. Will you help me with this?”
“Only if you let Shasa tattoo a veve on my chest,” Aisling said.
Adela and Aisling waited for Dr. Lalaurie’s inevitable knock on their door. They’d sat on the side of Aisling’s bed in each other’s arm for what seemed like hours.
“Mama, I’m so scared,” Aisling said.
“Don’t be, Baby. Everything will turn out all right.”
“I know. I just can’t stop shaking. I don’t want to lose you.”
“No one’s losing anybody,” Adela said. “We’ve planned this down to the finest detail. We even have Shasa’s voodoo on our sides.”
“She told me, and she also told me not to worry. I wish I could do that. I can’t.”
“Time to stop worrying about it,” Adela said. “I hear someone coming down the hall, and it’s probably Dr. Lalaurie.” Adela kissed Aisling’s forehead. “Will you be okay?”
“I’ll try,” Aisling said.
“I love you, Baby.”
“I love you, Mama.”
Darkness had begun to fall, shadows creeping over the courtyard outside the window. When the knock came, Adela opened the door. It was Dr. Lalaurie.
“You know what I’m here for,” he said.
“You won’t have to wait. Aisling is ready,” Adela said.
“Then bring her to me,” Dr. Lalaurie said.
Aisling stepped from behind the door dressed in a long black coat, a hood covering her head and a Mardi Gras mask over her face.
“Why is she in a mask?” Lalaurie asked.
“It seemed like the right thing to do,” Adela said. “Someone at the hotel might recognize her. You don’t want anyone to know you’re taking a fifteen-year-old relative up to your hotel room.”
Lalaurie hesitated before answering. “Probably a wise idea. Remove your mask and coat. I need to see your face.”
Aisling lifted the mask and removed the coat to reveal a red dress slit all the way up her long legs. Dr. Lalaurie took a deep breath as someone in the hallway tapped his shoulder. It was Taj.
“Mastah, I have questions that need some answers and will require no more than a few minutes of your time. Can we talk about it?”
“Not now. Whatever it is you have to say will have to wait until tomorrow,” Lalaurie said.
“It will only take a moment,” Taj said.
“I said, it will have to wait.”
Taj persisted. “Just one question, that’s all I ask.”
“I have other things on my mind.”
“But . . .”
“Stop it. I will not tolerate disobedience. Enough, I said. Be gone with you, now.”
Dr. Lalaurie had turned away from the door for less than thirty seconds. It was all the time Aisling needed. Slipping the red dress over her head, she gave it, along with her coat and mask to her mother.
With deft hands, she helped her put them on. Dr. Lalaurie didn’t notice the costume change as he grabbed Adela’s hand and pulled her out the door. Once they were gone, Aisling put her arms around Taj and began crying again. Too busy leading whom he thought was a fifteen-year-old girl down the hallway, Dr. Lalaurie didn’t notice.
“You have my blood boiling my young pretty, so let us make haste. Tonight may not be long enough for me to quench my desire for you. I don’t want to waste a moment.”
A carriage waited outside the Lalaurie Mansion on Royal Street, and the driver dropped them off in front of the Hotel Montalba, the tallest building in New Orleans. Dr. Lalaurie identified himself to the man at the front desk, and then he and Adela proceeded upstairs. Adela had yet to speak a single word.
A serving cart with a bottle of champagne and two glasses waited for them in the center of the large suite of rooms. Dr. Lalaurie ogled Adela’s fiery red dress and hair after helping her remove her coat. Aisling’s breasts weren’t exactly flat but were still much smaller than her mother’s. Adela was praying Dr. Lalaurie hadn’t caught on to her ruse. As the little madman had other things on his mind, he didn’t seem to have.
“As Act One of our night together we shall first enjoy a bottle of the finest champagne,” Dr. Lalaurie said.
Lalaurie seated her in a chair, uncorked the bottle of champagne, and then made a production of pouring each of them a glass.
Adela said, “I’ve never tasted champagne.”
“Good,” Lalaurie said. “This is the bridal suite, and tonight you are my bride. Before the evening ends, you will experience the heights of rapture and the depths of despair.”
Lalaurie’s comment sent a shiver up Adela’s spine as she sipped her champagne across the table from the man whose smile had begun turning satanic. It seemed he had much more in mind than just the deflowering of a fifteen-year-old girl. She knew she’d have to act soon.
“And now, I want you to remove your mask,” he said.
Adela answered in her best child’s voice. “Mama said the mask would make the sex act much more exciting and you should remove it only at the moment of climax.”
“An excellent idea,” he said. “What else did your mama tell you?”
“She said I’m lucky to experience my first time in bed with such a fine gentleman.”
“Did she now?” Lalaurie said. “Anything else?”
“That you’re one of the smartest and most handsome men in all of New Orleans.”
“I don’t believe a word you say,” Lalaurie said. “It doesn’t matter, because I like hearing it.”
“This is the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen,” Adela said. “It must have cost a fortune to rent it for the night.”
“Very perceptive,” Lalaurie said. “This suite of rooms is a special place. I’ve planned this night for many months.”
“Do you mind if I have a look around?” Adela asked.
“I welcome your enthusiasm,” Lalaurie said.
Adela finished her champagne before leaving the table and looking in the bathroom. A regal porcelain tub dominated the floor finished in black and white tile. Following a quick glance, she went to the four-poster bed.”
“I’ve only ever dreamed of sleeping in something so fabulous,” she said.
“Don’t get your heart set,” Lalaurie said. “If I have any say in the matter, you won’t get much sleep in it tonight.”
“You are funny,” Adela said.
Knowing she had the knife secured in a pocket in her dress, she inched around Lalaurie and crept over to the bed. Making a pretense of mussing the sheets, she used the ruse to slip the knife under the pillow.
“I’ve never had sex before,” she said. “Please don’t hurt me,” she said.
Lalaurie’s comment again left an uneasy feeling in Adela’s stomach.
“That is a request I cannot promise to grant,” he said.
Deciding to take the initiative, Adela climbed on the bed, sprawled against the pillow, and spread her arms.
“I’m ready to make love to you,” she said.
“Oh no, my dear girl. The time isn’t right. I have other plans for you before we consummate the final act.”
Dr. Lalaurie had brought his black leather medical bag with them from the mansion. Retrieving it, he removed his instruments, arranging them on the serving cart. From a medical vial, he filled two shot glasses and took them to the bedside.
“Drink it, my dear,” he said.
“What is it?” Adela asked.
“Nectar from the magical garden of the god Morpheus,” he said.
“What does it do?” she asked.
“It creates the most golden euphoria you will ever experience,” Lalaurie said. “Our time together will last longer and be all the more exciting. Now drain your glass.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
Lalaurie downed his shot. “Drink the potion and stop with your inane comments,” he said.
When Adela put the shot glass to her lips, Lalaurie watched closely, making sure she drained all of the liquid. Lalaurie touched a drop that had rolled off her lips and put it into his mouth.
“Now what?” she asked.
“If you are the person I think you are, tonight will be the best of your life.”
“And if I’m not?” she said.
“Then you are in line for a bit of suffering,” he said. “I’m going into the bathroom to prepare your bath. The water must be extra warm, so you enjoy it while I luxuriate in the sight of your young body.”
The morphine Dr. Lalaurie had given Adela began to work as he disappeared around the corner, the euphoria he had mentioned already beginning to flush her cheeks red. In all of her life, she’d never experienced anything like the warmth spreading through her body.
Adela took a deep breath, trying to regain control of her senses. As she did, she thought of Aisling, Taj, and Shasa. She suddenly had doubts, serious doubts, if she would have the wherewithal to kill the little lunatic when the opportunity presented itself.
Placing her hand under the pillow, Adela felt for the hilt of the knife, her heart beating faster when she didn’t immediately find it. When her fingers locked around the bony hilt her hand was trembling, her thoughts filled with doubt.
Should she creep into the bathroom and attempt to plunge the sharp knife between Lalaurie’s shoulder blades? The progressive euphoria was locking up her resolve, preventing her from doing anything other than to close her eyes. The first sight she saw when she opened them was Lalaurie’s smile that had grown more sinister than before.
“Come with me,” he said. “Your bathwater is drawn. I have waited too long to see your body.”
Adela’s fears had vanished, and so had her logic. It didn’t bother her that Lalaurie had transferred his surgical instruments to a table in the bathroom, or there was a drain in the black and white tile floor. She was tripping, and even the imminent possibility of her own death failed to disturb her.
Only the flickering light of seven black candles illuminated the bathroom. Had Adela been more cognizant, she would have appreciated the dimness. It didn’t seem to matter as she unbuttoned the long red dress and let it drop to the floor.
Dr. Lalaurie watched as Adela entered the tub. Steam wafted toward the ceiling as she sank into the water up to her neck. Somewhere, deep in her soul, she knew she would never make it to the bed. At that moment, she was beyond caring.
***
The kitchen at the Lalaurie Mansion was dark. No one had come to release Shasa from her chain. She was sitting on the floor, her head in her hands, crying. As she waited in the darkness, she heard a scream and instinctively knew where it had come from. After rising off the floor with some difficulty, she made her way to a storage cabinet.
Coal oil lamps lighted the kitchen at night. The sooty fuel always caused Shasa to cough. Tonight, she didn’t care. Finding a coal oil can in the closet, she took it to the oven still hot with glowing coals. Taking a handful of ashes from the hearth, she began drawing a Baron Samedi veve on the floor. When she finished, she sat in the middle of the intricate symbol. Taking the can of coal oil, she poured it over her head.
Shasa was distraught, of that there was no doubt. She waited until the coal oil had soaked into her dress, then reached into the hearth with her hand and extracted a glowing coal. She didn’t wince as she held the coal to her heart, waiting until it ignited the oil, and then her dress. She’d drawn her veve on the floor and was giving herself as the offering.
Shasa closed her eyes and crossed her arms as the ensuing blaze ignited her dress. Fire, quickly spreading to the walls and dry wood engulfed Shasa’s old body. As it did, she prayed Baron Samedi would accept her offering and change her fate, and that of Taj, Aisling, Adela, and all the other wretched humans, trapped in the Lalaurie’s house of evil.
As Shasa’s dress caught fire and began to burn, a dark cloud engulfed the ensuing scene. The music grew so loud I could hear it even through my earplugs. As the spirits of Taj and Aisling faded into nothingness, there remained only total silence and complete darkness. I popped the plugs out of my ears and shook Mama Mulate’s arm to make sure she was still cognizant.
“Shasa,” Mama said. “Let’s revive these two and then we have work to do.
Waking Taj and Adela took some effort. Mama slapped cold water on their faces and shook them gently until they’d regained consciousness. When they did, they both looked as if they’d survived a beating.
“What the hell did you do to us? I’ve never had a headache like this,” Taj said. “Feels like a mule inside my skull trying to kick his way out.”
Mama gave them each two tablets.
“What is it?” Taj asked.
“Aspirin,” she said. “You’ll feel better in a bit.”
“What happened?” Adela asked.
“I channeled two spirits. Wyatt and I witnessed scenes from the night you were murdered, and the Lalaurie Mansion burned.”
“You know I love you, Mama,” Taj said. “I hope you’re not pulling our legs on this one.”
“Wyatt and I know what happened, where your veves came from, and why you are here. Let’s get dressed.”
“Aren’t you going to tell us, first?” Taj asked.
“You’ll know everything we know in due time,” Mama said.
It was still raining outside, my clothes damp when I exited the bathroom. Taj and Adela were experiencing the same problem
“Try not to fret,” Mama said. “We are going to get even wetter when we go back out.”
“Surely this can wait until tomorrow,” Taj said.
“I’m so tired I’m about to drop,” Mama said. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than wait until tomorrow. We can’t because tomorrow may be too late.”
“Can I at least finish my glass of wine before we go?” Taj asked.
“Then slug it down and bring the bottle with you. We may need it,” Mama said. “When you finish, call a cab. Have them pick us up.”
“At this hour?” Taj said.
“You have the card of the man who took us to the cemetery. Call him. He didn’t seem particular about what hours he worked.”
“Where are we going?” Adela asked.
“To the cemetery. I have a feeling someone is waiting there for us.”
Mama had a closet filled with clothes from past relationships. Even Taj found a raincoat that fit him. The cab arrived shortly, and I grabbed the front seat. Mama, Taj, and Adela piled in back.
For as late as it was, our cabbie looked wide awake. He fingered the pencil stub resting on his ear.
“Wait, don’t tell me,” he said. “St. Louis Cemetery No. 1.”
“You’re a mind reader,” Mama said. “Wish you could stop the rain.”
“I ain’t figured how to do that just yet. If I could, I wouldn’t be driving this hack at all hours of the night.”
“I hear that,” Mama said. “We won’t be gone long. Will you wait for us?”
“I still remember the tip that big boy here laid on me the last time. I’ll wait.”
Wink, the cab driver parked near the entrance to the cemetery. As if someone was expecting us, we found the front gate open. Old iron hinges creaked as we pushed through the door and walked toward an ephemeral light piercing the darkness. It was coming from a storage shed.
“That’s the same building where I first saw Sam,” Taj said.
“Good,” Mama said.
“How would he have known we were coming?” Taj asked. “We didn’t know ourselves until a half-hour ago.”
“He’s here,” Mama said. “I sense his presence.”
Lightning, illuminating the eerie old crypts surrounding us, flashed through the rain falling in torrents. After booming thunder died away, we heard a voice calling to us from inside the shack.
“It’s me, Sam. Come in here.”
The door closed behind us, shadows dancing on old brick masonry as coals from a pot-bellied stove flickered and popped. Sam was dressed in jeans and an old work shirt. The lighted stub of a cigar protruded from his lips. Even in the dim room, he was wearing dark glasses. Bedclothes draped an old cot, a pillow hanging off the edge. The only other furniture on the dirt floor was a couple of derelict chairs. Heavy rain continued blowing through the door Sam had left ajar.
“We brought you something,” Mama said, handing him the bottle of wine.
Sam removed the cork, took a swig, and then plopped down on the cot.
“Not bad,” he said. “I was wondering how long it would take you to return to the graveyard.”
“Pardon my skepticism,” Taj said. “I was born, but I wasn’t born yesterday. This is starting to feel like a setup.”
“No setup,” Mama said. “You and Adela were lovers in a past life. Aisling was Adela’s daughter. They all lived in the Lalaurie Mansion. Madam Lalaurie and her husband were sadistic murderers. They had a killing room where they routinely tortured people to death.”
“Adela’s not black,” Taj said.
“Madam Lalaurie brought Adela and Aisling to New Orleans after Adela’s husband had died. Though Adela and Madam Lalaurie were related, Adela served as an indentured servant and was little more than a slave.”
“This is crazy,” Taj said. “I’m not the least bit attracted to Adela. How could we have been lovers in a past life?”
“Because she isn’t Adela,” I said.
Taj was growing angry, his fists clenched. “Then who the hell is she?”
“She’s Aisling,” I said. “That’s why Madeline’s raven recognized her.”
“Bullshit!” Adela said. “I know who I am.”
“Do you?” I said. “Your veve is identical to Taj’s. Your mother’s veve was a mirror image of his.”
“How in hell would you even know that?” Adela asked.
“We’ll tell you later how we know,” Mama said. “You’re here tonight because an old woman named Shasa sacrificed herself to give you a chance to save your mother from a horrible fate.”
Adela grew silent. Taj was still raging. “I’m like Adela and calling bullshit on this whole affair. Where did you come up with Sam? Is he just some old wino you gave a bottle of Mad Dog to play a part?”
Sam’s cigar had gone out. A flame shot from his finger to relight the stogie.
“The first time we met you had a bloody voodoo doll with you,” Sam said. “Remember what the owner of the voodoo museum told you about the doll?”
“He said it was my doll and somebody had put a hex on me,” Taj said.
“You remember how you got the doll?”
“I’m starting to believe this whole thing is a hoax,” Taj said.
“You don’t believe your own eyes? You saw me materialize when Mama summoned me that night in the cemetery,” Sam said.
“Maybe it was just illusion,” Taj said.
Sam grabbed him by the neck, lifting him into the air.
“Is this illusion?” he asked. Taj’s eyes had grown large when Sam lowered him to the floor. “Adela, here, knows magic. Make him levitate.”
Adela shook her head. “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” she said.
Taj began rising off the floor, not stopping until he bumped into the ceiling.
“Is this an illusion?” Sam said.
“Put me down,” Taj said.
When Sam flicked his wrist, Taj dropped to the floor. “That’s the problem with you young people,” he said. “You don’t believe in nothing except the here and now. If it weren’t for Shasa, I’d wash my hands of you.”
“Who paid to have me hexed?” Taj asked.
“The incarnation of Dr. Leonard Louis Nicolas Lalaurie,” Mama said. “Another reason why we need Sam’s help.”
“I just don’t know,” Taj said.
“Then take Adela and go back to the hotel,” Mama said. “Wyatt and I will return your retainer tomorrow.”
“Adela?” Taj said.
“What happened to my mother?” Adela asked.
“She was murdered by Dr. Lalaurie because her veve never had a chance to work,” Mama said.
“You have your veves because Taj thought it would help you find each other in a future life,” I said. “Instead, you found Aisling. Adela, your lover, was murdered.”
“How do you know she isn’t Adela?” Taj asked.
“Like you said, you and Adela, here, don’t have even the slightest sexual attraction. Aisling’s veve, unlike her mother Adela’s, is a normal image. Aisling knew magic and could use it. Adela knew nothing about magic. You are Aisling and not Adela.”
“She is Aisling. She’s known it all along,” I said. “Her mother, Adela was murdered trying to protect her.”
“Okay,” Taj said. “Now that I know about the past lives Adela and I led, guess we can go about our business.”
“Not that simple,” Mama said. “You need to unravel the curse.”
“What I want to know is how this curse is going to affect me,” Taj said.
“It already has,” Sam said. “You wouldn’t be in New Orleans if it wasn’t for the curse. Next time, the demon may kill you.”
“Adela is also a victim of the curse,” I said. “The same madman who cursed you also cursed her. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t be here now.”
“I can handle my own problems,” Adela said.
“Can you save Darius and your mama from horrible deaths?”
“Who is Darius?” Taj asked.
“Someone who had a strong emotional connection with Aisling. A boy who Dr. Lalaurie had caged in anticipation of torturing and killing.”
“All those things happened almost two centuries ago,” Taj said. “What good does it do to worry about it now? Isn’t that how you feel, Adela?”
Sam answered for Adela. “Aisling is a special being. She’s an Irish witch and knows lots more than you think she does. Her magic is powerful, though not powerful enough to travel back in time.”
Adela’s eyes began turning red. “If there were a way to change time and save my mother and Darius from horrible deaths, I would do it.”
“There is a way,” Sam said.
“You can help me travel back in time?” Adela asked.
“Wyatt can. He’s a Traveler,” Sam said. “I’ll accompany Wyatt to the portal. The rest is up to him.”
Adela grabbed my arm. “You must take me with you.”
The rainstorm ended the moment we stepped out of Sam’s shack. The eyes of the cabbie named Wink grew larger when Sam climbed into the front seat. Unlike the persona he had exhibited in the shack, he’d donned an old tuxedo jacket and a top hat and looked just like the voodoo Loa Baron Samedi. It took Wink only a moment to notice.
“Hey, this ain’t Halloween, and it’s too early for Mardi Gras,” he said.
“What’s your name, boy?” Sam asked.
Something in Sam’s voice alerted Wink to the possibility his costume might be something more than an act.
“Don’t mind me,” he said. “I always talk too much. Where to?”
“Charity Hospital Cemetery,” Sam said.
“You mean the Katrina Memorial?”
“Same location, different cemeteries,” Sam said. “I told you where we want to go.”
“Except for an empty patch of dirt and a single headstone, there ain’t a damn thing to see at Charity Hospital Cemetery,” Wink said.
“You got a mouth on you,” Sam said. “Why don’t you shut the hell up?”
“Yes sir,” Wink said.
The entrance to the cemetery, near the intersection of Canal and City Park Avenue, wasn’t far from where we’d come. Still, it was starkly different from St. Louis Cemetery No. 1.
“Where are all the crypts?” Taj asked.
“This was New Orleans’ original Potter’s Field. If you were a derelict and no one claimed your body, you were buried here. If you died of cholera, influenza, or yellow fever, you were likely buried here,” Mama said.
“After Charity Hospital bought the property,” I said, “they began interring their medical cadavers in this cemetery. Before Katrina, there was a simple iron cross and a single stone monument for the bodies donated to science. Now, there’s a Katrina Memorial, some walkways and two large crypts.”
“Not very big,” Taj said. “How many bodies are buried here?”
“More than you might imagine,” Mama said. “Maybe as many as one-hundred-fifty thousand bodies are interred beneath that little patch of land.”
“You gotta be kidding,” Taj said.
Sam glanced into the back seat at Adela. “It’s where your mama is buried,” he said.
“That’s so sad,” Adela said. “There’s no dignity in a mass grave.”
“You’re wrong about that,” Sam said. “This piece of ground is hallowed. There’s no less disrespect than if they’d been buried in the most regal crypt in New Orleans.”
“How do you know?” Adela said.
“Because I know where every body in New Orleans is buried. Your mama’s remains are the portal that’ll launch you back in time.”
We left Taj and Mama in the cab with Wink and stood outside the massive iron gate that said Charity Hospital Cemetery. As we stood in the darkness, the gate creaked open. We followed Sam inside.
As we plodded across the damp earth, the clouds parted, revealing a full moon sitting low in the starless sky. It was a blood moon, its creepy color illuminating many piles of dirt, each one marked by a flag, where someone had recently dug.
“Do they still bury people here?” Adela asked.
“Haven’t for years,” Sam said. “Archeologists dig and use ground-penetrating instruments to study the bodies.” He chuckled. “They should have just asked me.”
Spirits of the dead were rising up through the damp earth, surrounding us as we trodded to a far corner of the cemetery. Each one of them seemed to want to touch Baron Samedi. The Baron stopped when he reached a spot near the fence surrounding the little patch of ground.
“Your mama is buried about ten feet from here. Wyatt is an old hand at time travel. Since you’ve never done it before, there are things you need to know.”
“Like what?” Adela said.
“The flesh can travel through time, though not your clothes. When you enter the portal, you’ll be transported to the last place you were before your mama died. You’ll reach the past naked, the way you came into this world, and you won’t be the same person you are now.”
“Who will I be?” Adela asked.
“The person you were then. You gonna be all right?”
“You’re not talking me out of this if that’s what you mean,” Adela said.
“That’s not all,” Sam said. “Once you get there, and finish what you’re going there to do, you’ll have to return to the exact spot where you entered. There’s one last little detail.”
“What?” I asked.
“You need to return to that spot before dawn. If you don’t, you’ll be trapped in the past for eternity. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready,” Adela said.
“Then take Wyatt’s hand and start walking toward the fence. When you reach your mama’s grave, you’ll be transported to another time and another place.”
Foggy spirits caressed us as Adela clutched my hand and pulled me toward the fence. Before we’d gone ten steps, my senses went totally dark, almost as if I’d died. When my eyes cleared and I could see again, I was in a tiny bedroom with two beds separated by a sliding sheet. I was quite naked, and so was the person holding my hand.
Aisling screamed when she opened her eyes and saw me. Grabbing the sheet from one of the beds, she quickly covered herself. I yanked a sheet from the other bed. When she spoke, Aisling’s voice was probably an octave higher than normal.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Wyatt.”
“What are you doing in my room?” she asked.
“I’m here to help you.”
“Then why were we naked?” she said.
“We were just transported through time from the future. We lost our clothes in the process.”
“You are crazy,” she said, backing away from me until she touched the wall.
“We don’t have much time, and you have to trust me on this. Your mother is in grave danger; you, Taj, Shasa, and everyone in this house are in danger. We have to act quickly. Can you find me something to wear?”
Aisling must have heard something in my voice because she disappeared for a moment behind a screen. She was dressed when she stepped out again and began rummaging through a wicker chest. I changed behind the screen into a shirt and pants that were woefully large. Neither of us had time to worry about it.
“Is my mama okay?” Aisling asked.
“I hope so,” I said. “Right now, we have things to do here. Point me toward the kitchen, and you go find Taj.”
Aisling showed me the way to the kitchen and then ran in the other direction. I burst through the kitchen door in time to see Shasa, in tears and chained by the ankle. She was sitting on the floor, pouring coal oil over her body. I called out to her.
“Shasa, no!”
My warning wasn’t in time as she’d already lit the oil. Coal oil apparently has a high flash point because it didn’t immediately burst into flames. Still, it would only be a moment before her dress caught fire and she would die a painful death. I grabbed the chain and pulled.
Smoke billowed up from the fire as I pulled on the chain, trying to yank it loose from the wall. Just as I thought it was too late, Aisling and Taj came rushing through the door.
“Taj, I need something to cut the chain.”
Taj had already thought about it and was carrying an ax. He smashed through the chain as Aisling and I tried to put out the fire. Taj knew what to do. Finding a bucket of sand, he began pouring it on the flames. Once the fire was out, the four of us stood in the smoky kitchen, Aisling, Taj, and Shasa embracing.
“No time,” I said. “Before Lalaurie kills Adela, I have to go to the Hotel Montalba.”
“I’m going with you,” Taj said.
“Me too,” Aisling said.
“First, we have to rescue Darius from the cage in the garden, along with everyone else. Though I can’t explain how I know, this house will be burned to the ground before morning comes.”
“I got the keys,” Taj said.
The house was huge, the wood floors echoing, as we raced downstairs and out into the courtyard. The light of the full moon was shining down on the tiny cage. Darius was holding his head when Taj inserted the key and rattled open the door.
“You’re free, boy. Now, we need your help.” Taj tossed him the hefty keychain. “Open all the doors and help get the people out of the Dark Room.”
Taj rousted the shay driver from the stable and helped him rig the wagon.
“Take us down Royal to Hotel Montalba,” Taj said.
There was no traffic on the street as our driver trotted the horse down Rue Royal. The night clerk was asleep behind the counter as we hurried up the stairs to the thirteenth floor where Taj kicked open the door to Room 1313.
The next thing I knew, Aisling, Taj, and I were standing on the black and white tile floor of the bathroom. Adela was in the steaming tub, her long red hair damp. Dr. Leonard Louis Nicolas Lalaurie was standing behind her with a surgical scalpel in his hand. When Taj made a move toward Lalaurie, the mad little doctor put the scalpel to Adela’s neck.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Lalaurie said.
“Leave her alone,” Taj said. “If you want to kill somebody, then kill me instead.”
“Come here, and I’ll do just that,” Lalaurie said.
“Taj, no!” Aisling said.
Grabbing Aisling’s shoulders, I shook her. “Stop him, Aisling,” I said. “Use your magic.”
Aisling glanced first at me and then at her mother. Raising her arms, she pointed her fingers at Lalaurie, bowed her head and closed her eyes. Lalaurie glanced up as if he’d just seen a ghost and released his grip on Adela. Taj was already there. Water drenched the tile floor as he grabbed Adela’s wrists and yanked her out of the tub.
Lalaurie could do nothing about it. His right arm had stiffened, his eyes growing ever larger as he struggled to keep the scalpel away from his neck. He was screaming bloody murder as he decapitated himself with his own scalpel.
Lalaurie’s body tumbled into the tub, the steaming water turning red. Adela, Taj, and Aisling were in an embrace as Lalaurie’s head rolled across the tile, coming to a halt at our feet. Aisling kicked it across the floor.
“What do we do with his head?” Aisling asked.
“Throw it out the fucking window,” I said.
Grasping the hair of the disembodied head, Aisling hurried into the next room, raised a window and threw it out.
“Baby,” Adela said. “Who is this man?”
“No time to explain,” Aisling said.
Aisling found Adela’s long red dress and helped her pull it over her wet hair. The night clerk awoke long enough to see us rushing out of the front door. Our shay was waiting on the street in front of the hotel. Up Royal Street, we could see flames licking the horizon. Taj took control of the reins and had the horse in a fast trot. Flames were pouring out of the roof of the Lalaurie Mansion as Taj reined the horse to a stop.
A group of neighbors and all of the household slaves stood on the sidewalk watching. I found Shasa and pulled her aside.
“How did the house catch fire?” I asked.
“I went back to the kitchen to get something. Madam Lalaurie was there. She’d missed her boat and had returned home. When she realized what was happening, she attacked me with her whip. Her dress burst into flames. She was screaming at me when she fell over the banister.”
“Baron Samedi answered your prayer,” I said. “Does anybody know Madam Lalaurie was in the house?” I asked. When she shook her head, Shasa’s gray hair flickered in the light of the fire. “Then don’t ever tell anyone. Not even Taj or Adela.”
Shasa gave me a knowing nod as Aisling, Taj, and Adela reached us. The mansion was in flames, the sun beginning to dawn, as I stepped toward the burning house.
“I have to go now,” I said.
Adela and Aisling clutched my hands. “You can’t go in there. You’ll be burned to death,” Adela said.
“No choice,” I said. “I’m glad you’re all safe. It’s now or never for me. Aisling, are you coming with me?”
“I don’t know who I was in another life. I know who I am here. This is where I’ll stay.”
I kissed Aisling’s forehead, pulled loose from her grasp and sprinted toward the house. Before I had entered the burning building, she called to me.
“Go with God,” she said.
Flames licked the walls, smoke filling the house, as I ripped off the shirt and held it over my mouth and nose. As I hurried up the stairs, I knew God was my only hope. I could see the door to Aisling’s room at the end of a long and fiery hallway. The last thing I remembered was pulling open the door and diving inside.
I opened my eyes in the Charity Hospital Cemetery. A new day had dawned, and wispy spirits caressed me before disappearing into the damp earth. My clothes lay in the mud, and I quickly got dressed. The front gate was still open as I hurried toward it. Mama was waiting for me on the sidewalk.
“Oh, Wyatt, I’ve been so worried. Where’s Adela.”
“Adela was really Aisling, and she chose to stay.”
Wink wasn’t smiling when we reached the cab. “Your fare is getting more expensive by the minute.”
“And I have no money,” Mama said.
Mama, Wink, and I were the only ones in the cab. “Where’s Taj?” I said.
“Gone,” Mama said.
“Where did the big basketball player go?” I asked.
“Ain’t nobody here but the three of us,” Wink said.
I fished through my wallet, looking for some of Taj’s retainer I had stashed there. Taj’s money was gone. The twenty-two dollars I found wasn’t enough to pay our fare.
“Take us to Bertram’s Bar on Chartres,” I said. “I have money upstairs in my room.”
Bertram was up, waiting on a customer when we entered the bar.
“Where you two been?” he asked.
“Detective work,” I said as we hurried upstairs.
My cat Kisses met us at the door, and I quickly opened a can of cat food for her.
“I put my share of Taj’s retainer in the upper drawer,” I said, pointing.
As I finished feeding Kisses and was giving her a few full body strokes, Mama rummaged through my underwear drawer.
“There’s nothing in here,” she said.
“You sure?”
“Nope, nothing. What now?”
“Back downstairs.”
Bertram had coffee waiting for us when we reached the bar.
“You been mud wrestling?” he asked.
“Something like that,” I said. “Can I borrow some money for a few days?”
“What for?”
“No questions, please. There’s a cab waiting outside and his meter’s running.”
Bertram handed me a wad of cash from beneath the bar.
“When you gonna pay me back?” he asked.
“Soon as I can,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I believe you, but I believe you’re lying.” Mama followed me to the door. “You two coming back? Eddie’s in town. He found a cache of the rum that’s so good. We’re celebrating later on.”
“We’ll have to see,” I said as we walked out the door.
Wink was waiting, the motor of his cab running. The sun was rising, tourists beginning to prowl the early morning streets.
“Well?” Wink said.
“Drop us off at the Upper Pontalba Building.”
Wink looked visibly perturbed but drove the short distance to one of the buildings flanking Jackson Square. He was considerably happier when I paid his tab and added a nice tip.
“Who do you know who lives here?” Mama asked.
“Armand and Madam Toulouse. Maybe they’ll have some answers for us.
Artists, mimes, tourists, and pigeons were already occupying Jackson Square as we reached the front door of the Pontalba and rang a bell. A squawky voice sounded through the speaker.
“Who the hell is it?”
“It’s me, Armand. Wyatt Thomas.”
When the buzzer sounded, we entered the hallway and walked up a short flight of stairs to Armand and Madam Toulouse’s apartment. Armand was waiting for us at the door.
“Mama Mulate,” Armand said. “What a pleasure. Come in here. You’re just in time for breakfast.”
Armand was dressed in house slippers and a plush burgundy bathrobe. It marked the first time I’d seen him in anything other than black. We followed him into one of the most sought after places to live in all of the Big Easy. Known as the oldest apartment complex in the United States, Armand, and Madam Toulouse’s domicile was anything but old and rundown.
Madam Toulouse was cooking at a restaurant-style six-burner stove that must have cost them a small fortune. She was also dressed in a plush burgundy bathrobe, and her usual bouffant hairdo was relaxed and draped over her shoulders.
“Wyatt,” she said. “And Mama Mulate.”
Madam Toulouse scooted the pan away from the flame and rushed to give Mama a big hug.
“Better cook enough for two more, Baby,” Armand said.
“You know it,” she said. “No one goes away from my house hungry.”
We didn’t. We were soon sitting at a beautiful wooden dining table drinking coffee and eating Eggs Benedict. When we’d finished, Armand refilled our cups from the pot on the stove.
“Now, tell us what’s so important you felt you had to talk with Madam Toulouse and me before nine in the morning.”
“Taj Davis,” I said.
“What about him,” Armand said.
“The Pels are in town tonight. Is Taj playing?”
Armand stared at me as if I’d just asked him something crazy.
“What the hell are you talking about? The Celtics aren’t in town tonight.”
“We traded Zee Ped to Cleveland for Taj Davis,” I said.
“What planet are you living on? Taj Davis never played for the Cavs. He’s a Celtic,” Madam Toulouse said.
“You sure you’re on the wagon?” Armand said.
“I was just pulling your leg. I do have a couple of other questions for you,” I said.
“Hit us,” Madam Toulouse said.
“Do you know anything about a murder at the Hotel Montalba which occurred almost two centuries ago?”
“Madam Toulouse knows all about it,” Armand said. “She researched the case when she worked at the Notarial Archives.”
Madam Toulouse made a face when I asked, “Who was murdered?”
“Don’t know,” she said. “They found the body of a naked man in the bathtub. His head was missing. It was never found.”
“Could it have been the body of Dr. Lalaurie?”
Madam Toulouse gave me one of her patented looks. “Funny you should ask. The dead man had registered using an assumed name. Though no one believed him, the clerk who’d checked him in swore it was Dr. Lalaurie.”
“The murder happened the same night the Lalaurie Mansion burned,” Armand said. “Dr. Lalaurie disappeared and was never seen again, probably to avoid abuse and torture charges for the way he and Madam Lalaurie had treated their slaves.”
“Did Madam Lalaurie flee to France?” I asked.
“That’s the word on the street,” Armand said.
“And you don’t believe it?” I said.
“Not long ago, someone found a plaque in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 which seemed to indicate she was buried there,” Madam Toulouse said.
“What happened to the Lalaurie’s slaves?” I asked.
“They were all manumitted and became part of the city’s free people of color population,” Madam Toulouse said.
“Do you know anything about an Irish woman and her daughter who had lived with the Lalauries?” I asked.
“They were related to Delphine Lalaurie and her cousin who at the time was the governor of Louisiana and Florida. The governor took them with him to Florida,” Armand said.
“Do you know what happened to them after they moved away from New Orleans?” I asked.
“They must have prospered because there’s a dormitory named after one of their ancestors at the University of Florida,” Armand said. “I know because I lived there while I was attending college.”
Armand nodded when I asked, “You from Florida? I didn’t know.”
“Lots of things you don’t know, Cowboy,” Armand said.
The sky was blue, not a single cloud in the sky as we left Armand and Madam Toulouse’s Upper Pontalba apartment.
“Guess that answers all my questions,” I said. “It’s almost as if Taj and Adela were never here.”
“They weren’t, except for you and me. We may as well keep it to ourselves. No one will ever believe us anyway,” Mama said.
“Sure seems that way,” I said.
“So sad,” Mama said. “That handsome man, Taj Davis, is out of my life forever, not to mention our lost twenty-thousand dollar retainer.”
“When I told the story about seeing the demon, Adela kept telling everyone I was only dreaming. Right about now, I’m not so sure she was wrong.”
“Oh, Wyatt,” Mama said. “Sometimes there’s not an ounce of difference between reality and a bloody nightmare.”
“At least the rain has stopped,” I said. “And Eddie’s back in town. I’ll bet he has a story to tell.”
Mama put her arm through mine and turned us toward Bertram’s. “Then let’s go get drunk.”
####
Although Garden of Forbidden Secrets is a work of fiction, many of the historical details in the book are real. The Lalaurie Mansion on Royal Street exists. As the story accurately details, it’s the structure built after the infamous Lalaurie Mansion had burned.
Madam Delphine Lalaurie and her third husband, Dr. Leonard Louis Nicolas Lalaurie actually existed. Madam Lalaurie was Irish and had powerful relatives in New Orleans and the Spanish colonies. While the true story of what actually happened within the confines of the Lalaurie Mansion is conjecture, much information exists to indicate both abuse and torture likely occurred there. Madam Lalaurie possibly died in France, though a plaque found in the St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 suggests she may have actually died and been buried in New Orleans.
The Charity Hospital Cemetery exists. Thousands of people were buried there in a common grave beneath a single gravestone. The city of New Orleans briefly floated the idea of turning the cemetery into a bus stop. Realizing that the spot where the cemetery is located is hallowed ground, the citizens vetoed the idea.
I hope you enjoyed reading Garden of Forbidden Secrets as much I enjoyed writing it, and that you like Wyatt Thomas, my moody private investigator. If so, please consider leaving a review, and reading the other six books in the French Quarter Mystery Series. You may also like my Paranormal Cowboy Series that includes Ghost of a Chance, Bones of Skeleton Creek, and Blink of an Eye and watch for the upcoming French Quarter Mystery #8.
Thanks for being a fan. Without wonderful readers like you, my stories would be little more than morning fog wafting across a forgotten lawn and then disappearing forever into the Great Unknown.
Ghost of a Chance
Murder Etouffee
Name of the Game
A Gathering of Diamonds
Over the Rainbow
Big Easy
Just East of Eden
Lily’s Little Cajun Cookbook
Of Love and Magic
Bones of Skeleton Creek
City of Spirits
Primal Creatures
Black Magic Woman
River Road
Blink of an Eye
Sisters of the Mist