CHAPTER TEN

Water, coffee, and gin.

Somewhere in the evening, Zoë and Reynard ordered a spinach dip. They ate it, Zoë having the solid feeling that no souls had perished for the creation of their dish.

“’M a very wide-awake drunk,” Zoë said, blinking several times.

“You wanna see something awesome?” Reynard asked. He hadn’t drunk as much as Zoë, but still seemed more relaxed than before.

“Always. I always want to see awesome. Why would you think otherwise? Who doesn’t want to see awesome things? Losers. That’s who. And zombies.”

Reynard paid the bill and they left to join the ever-increasing crowd on the street. “You know they do ghost and vampire tours in the city, right?” he asked her as they staggered toward Jackson Square.

“I’ve heard of them,” Zoë said. “I figured the visiting coterie wouldn’t enjoy that kind of thing, find it offensive, or something.”

“No, it’s hysterical, let’s go.”

“What the hell, let’s do it,” she said.

Their conversation had veered away from the subject of Reynard’s mysterious employers to swapping coterie stories. Zoë found herself actually having a fun time, making Reynard laugh as she told how the zombies had accused her of stealing brains out of the company fridge. Was she rethinking her decision to leave the coterie world entirely?

She was, however, still considering leaving Underground Publishing. But a tiny sober cell in her brain cautioned against committing to a new organization before finding out what exactly it did.

“So talk to it!” Zoë said, giggling.

“What?” Reynard asked.

“Talk to it! The city! Ask it what’s going on! It won’t talk to me, maybe it’ll talk to you?”

“It doesn’t quite work like that. You need to align yourself on a deep level before you can get clear communication. I haven’t done this with New Orleans yet, so all I get is the occasional image. That’s what you’re getting, right?”

“Yeah. I thought I was doing it wrong. Hah! I’m awesome at this.” She straightened a little bit.

“Right,” he said, smiling at her.

They were a block from Jackson Square when they saw a group of tourists following a tall man down Decatur Street, listening to him talk about the French architecture. He had to speak loudly over the partying people, but he was heading for a quiet residential neighborhood.

The man was dressed in a long black coat with ruffles on the cuffs, and his face was long and thin and very pale. He spoke in solemn words to the group, which consisted of tourists in various states of inebriation. Some listened, some snapped photos, and some giggled and jostled each other.

“Uh-oh, frat boy alert,” Zoë whispered, pointing to two beefy young men in pastel polo shirts with the collars up.

“Shh,” Reynard said. “Listen.”

A woman at the back of the group looked at them and sniffed. “You have to pay for the tour,” she said.

“Oh! I can do that!” Zoë said brightly. She pulled her wallet out of her satchel and grabbed a couple of fifties. “Do you think that will cover it?”

The woman looked from the bundle of bills back to Zoë. “Yeah, I think that will do you just fine.”

“Great!” When the tour began walking again, Zoë sneaked up to the front and pressed the money into the hands of the tall guy. “Hey, can we join the tour? We are a bit late.”

His dour goth expression faded into surprise, and he accepted the bills and put them in his pocket. “Uh, sure.” He fished a roll of stickers out of his pocket and handed her two. “These indicate you’re with the tour.”

“Awesome. Thanks!” Ignoring the stares of the rest of the group, she dropped back to the end of the line to join Reynard. “We’re good.”

She handed him his sticker. She put her own on the outside of her leather jacket and patted her chest to adhere it. She crumpled the paper backing and stuck it in her pocket. “Now let’s learn about vampires.”

After one block of hearing the man talk, Zoë was ready to leave.

“If I know vampires, and I do, they would find this offensive,” she told Reynard, who watched her with an amused expression. “I mean, I think it’s hysterical. But I have my readers to think about.” She felt very grown-up for coming to this conclusion while she was drunk. “It’s racist.”

“Racist? These people are essentially walking around the city worshipping them,” Reynard said. “How many vampires do you know, anyway?”

“Three,” she admitted. “But one is the kind who’d get pissed at any little thing. Like a vampire tour.”

“Look. This is a touristy thing to do. You’re writing a book for tourists, right? Don’t tell your vampire friends you paid to hear silly stories about them, that’s all.”

Zoë snorted loudly, and some heads turned. She covered her mouth and whispered, “They’re not my friends. They’d love to see me die.”

“Come on, just a few more blocks,” Reynard said. “Then I’ll walk you back to your hotel.” They rejoined the tour, which had gotten about a block ahead of them.

The guide spoke in a whispery voice that still managed to carry to the back of the group. “Back in the eighties, those who practiced the goth religion pretty much took over this area of town, but we got it cleaned out. They practically worshiped Bram Stroker.”

Zoë clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter. “Did he say Bram Stroker?” she asked in a stage whisper to Reynard.

He nodded. “Mr. Stroker, high priest of the Holy Order of Goth.”

The guide continued. “And when people take pictures of that tree, sometimes the photo is developed with the image of the woman hanging from the topmost branch where she died—”

“Is that a three-legged dog?” someone interrupted.

The man grimaced and turned. A large yellow lab that was missing its left hind leg was walking on the opposite side of the road. Step-step-hop, step-step-hop, he went happily down the sidewalk. He trailed a leash behind him, and limped along with purpose, not doing typical dog things such as sniffing or urinating. It had been such a long time since Zoë had seen a non-neutered dog that his bouncing testicles looked obscene. She giggled.

“Yes, that’s Hank,” the guide said impatiently, waving a hand. “He’s fine.”

“It looks like he got away from someone,” the woman in front of Zoë and Reynard said doubtfully. “He’s got a leash on.”

“Nah, he’s always pulling that behind him. He belongs to the street. Everyone feeds him.” The man’s voice had lost its dreamy quality and had become nasal and annoyed. He cleared his throat. “Now, we’ll go to noted vampire Comte de Saint Germain’s—the first one, anyway. He played music here, hosted fantastic parties where he reportedly never ate a morsel of food, and then in the privacy of the night, was reported to have done dreadful things.”

The dog stopped and turned its large head toward the group and watched them for a time, then turned back toward Jackson Square.

“I wonder if Opal knew him,” Zoë said.

“Who?” asked Reynard, who was staring after the dog, his face pale in the streetlight.

“That Comte guy. She’s the only vampire who doesn’t scare me. Although she probably could,” she amended, remembering how unthreatening she had thought Gwen had been. “I wonder how that dog lost his leg.”

“That’s no dog,” Reynard whispered. “That’s an inugami.”

Zoë snorted with laughter. “ ‘That’s no dog, that’s a space station!’ What the fuck are you talking about?”

The tour had continued without them, but Reynard hadn’t noticed.

“Wake up, Zoë,” Reynard hissed. “That is a serious thing. You don’t fuck around with inugami.”

She felt sullen. “Now I want sushi. And hey, I’ve had more than you. I can’t sober up just like that.” She frowned and considered him. “You weren’t really drunk at all, were you? That’s twice you’ve lied to me, bucko.”

“Bucko” had sounded a lot more challenging in her head.

“So what’s so scary about bouncing-testicle three-legged Rover? What is he going to do, chase us down and wave his testicles at us?”

Unexpectedly, Reynard laughed. “Your innocence is really charming, but if you don’t lose it fast, you’re going to die.”

“I’m not innocent, I’m drunk. Again, you’re not answering my questions,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Tell me now, or I’m walking.”

“In short, it’s a vengeance dog demon. Very dangerous, very single-minded. Very little can distract it from its quarry.”

“Dude said his name was Hank. Do vengeance demons commonly beg for scraps on the street? And why was it missing a leg?”

“The guide was likely lying to get the focus back on him. And if the demon is not whole, it has likely broken away from the master who commanded it. I have a really bad feeling about this,” Reynard said. “The ghost bandits on the train, now a vengeance demon.”

“Those ghosts were corporate team builders who died in cowboy outfits,” Zoë protested.

“And yet the bullet was real, right? We’re not safe here. Can you get back to your hotel all right? If you can’t, then you need to find a ghost.”

“A ghost? Why in the world…” Zoe turned, but Reynard was off in the opposite direction from Zoë’s hotel—and in the opposite direction from the weird dog.

“So much for seeing me back to my hotel!” she shouted after him. “That’s twice you’ve run off to save your own ass!”

Seriously, that guy. It had been a fun distraction, talking to a human, but even human coterie had their drama.

If he was so worried about people hunting citytalkers, why was he not doing more to inform her of the threat? Zoë chewed on her lip as she tried to navigate the streets home.

Either he was truly a self-obsessed asshole, or the threat was to him rather than to citytalkers as a whole. Either could be true, really, she decided. And why find a ghost? He had lied to her once about ghosts, why should she believe him now?

Crossing Bourbon Street was problematic, with women lifting their shirts, beads flying, and beer being drunk and spilled at similar rates. A crier in front of a strip club tried to entice her inside, but she felt the pull of hungry incubi inside. “No way,” she said, and hurried across the street.

When the crowds had thinned a bit, Zoë did a search for “inugami” on her phone, with little hope, but she was surprised when she got several hits. They were created by Japanese families—zoëtists, Zoë assumed—and would avenge those families. She shuddered. She couldn’t think of a more embarrassing death than being killed by a three-legged dog with bobbling testicles.

Her phone dinged; a text from Bertie asked if they were supposed to just go out and party or if they were going to have a meeting before they started researching. She groaned and picked up her speed. Maybe Freddie’s magic B and B would have a miracle sobering-up-and-hangover-remedy.

Later, Zoë would muse that she was being punished for allowing herself to have fun and get drunk. She had let her guard down once, and now she was paying.

As she opened the door to Freddie’s Ready B and B, Freddie Who’s Always Ready met her with a phone in his hand.

“It surprises me that modern ladies these days don’t have cell phones,” Freddie said. “I got my first cell phone when they came out, I said, Freddie, you’re gonna need this kind of technology. I knew it was important. It was about the size of a brick. My grandfather thought it was the devil, but I knew better. Did I tell you about him? He was a voodoo priest, and—”

“The phone, Freddie?” Zoë interrupted.

“Right. This is Public Works, for you. Get a cell phone, is my advice right there,” he said.

“I have one, I just don’t give my number out to everyone who asks for it,” she said, but Freddie had retreated inside, clearly away from whatever drama followed Zoë.

She stepped inside the door and was distracted immediately by the sound of a Norse goddess’s sobs.

She looked down and saw Eir crouched in the hallway, her back against the wall, her thick white arms covered in fur and blood from cradling the body of a dead cat.

“I couldn’t save him,” she said. “I tried everything, even the primitive things they taught me in medical school. Nothing worked.”

“Hello? Hello? Zoë, are you there?” the phone demanded.

“Yeah, what is it?” Zoë said, confused.

“This is Christian from Public Works. Since you were kind enough to inform me of your presence here today, I wanted to let you know that there’s a warrant out for a visiting vampire that matches the description of one of your writers. There’s been a murder. They’re sending someone over.”

“Wait, what? How do you know about my team, you don’t even know who is with me?” Zoë asked, looking around for Kevin.

“Ms. Norris.” The voice had lost all sex appeal, perhaps he had eaten, or perhaps it was just that she couldn’t see him. It was placating and slow, as if he were speaking to a child. Or a tired, drunk human. “Public Works sees a lot more than any coterie expects. I thought you would know that.”

Zoë closed her eyes. Of course, Public Works had eyes and ears for misbehaving coterie, just like New York. The cats.

She swore to herself. “Hang on a second, we’ve got a little chaos here.” She dropped her hand to her side and looked at the sobbing goddess and the dead cat.

Gwen knelt by Eir, stroking her head. Her black eyes focused on Zoë. “Bygul is dead. Kevin is missing. We have a problem.”

Eir was inconsolable. The cat had wounds all over his body; it was clear he had fought hard before his death. The goddess cried too hard to answer any of Gwen’s questions, so Gwen just returned to consoling her.

Zoë took a deep breath and put the phone back to her ear, stepping outside into the cool night that was minimally quieter than the hallway.

“So tell me what happened,” she said into the phone, rubbing her face with her free hand, hoping some feeling would return with sobriety.

“We found the body of a human in a cemetery. We believe she was part of a tour and lagged behind. One of our agents says someone who looks like him was seen running from the cemetery, and the body was clearly exsanguinated.”

“And you’re sure it’s him?”

“He dropped his business card,” Christian said.

“Fucking idiot,” she muttered. “But no one saw him attack anyone?”

“Not that we could find. But when the agent went into the cemetery to find the body, no one else was there.”

“I thought the cemetery was a popular hangout? Coterie actually bunk there sometimes? Isn’t that a little like finding a hotel completely empty?”

“You ask a lot of questions. It can be, but it’s closed for renovation right now.”

“During Carnival?” Zoë’s tone was incredulous.

“The renovations went longer than expected,” Christian said, an annoyed tone to his silky voice. “The facts are a Public Works agent saw your vampire, Kevin, fleeing the graveyard.”

It was too much to take in. Eir’s sobs had calmed down inside, but Zoë still had a dead cat demon and a missing writer to deal with.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

“Normally I would say yes,” Christian said. “But we do have a vampire to catch.”

“Listen, you have to give me till sunrise,” Zoë pleaded. “I want to try to find him on my own. You look for other leads.”

Christian paused, and then laughed. “And what else should I do, boss? You want me to hold all your calls?”

Zoë took a deep breath. “I know this guy, OK? You said yourself it’s circumstantial evidence. I know what happens when you guys find someone: there’s no trial. Let me find him first and you look at other leads. I’m not local; I can’t look for other leads. I know Kevin, I have his sire here, and would be able to find him better than you can. Just give me seven”—she checked the time on her cell phone and grimaced—“six hours. By then he will have gone underground and if he’s not here, you can look at your usual vampire hiding places.”

“There is no underground in New Orleans,” he said, sounding smug. “We’re already below sea level.”

“It’s an expression, you pompous ass,” Zoë said, rubbing the back of her neck and trying to relax her muscles. “Look, if you want my help, you have to give me six hours.”

“Done,” he said abruptly. “Give me your cell number.”

Zoë started to give him her number, and then backed up and gave him the number to her coterie phone. “I’ll have it on all night.”

“Set it to vibrate,” he said, low and soft, and hung up.

“Fucking incubus,” she said, and went back inside.

She put her phone back into her pocket. Eir was allowing Gwen to gently clean the blood off her arms. Zoë knelt on the floor and touched Gwen on the shoulder. “What happened?”

“We left the restaurant, and Eir wanted to see Bygul again. Wanted to make amends, she said. I think it was her inebriation. We got to Jackson Square and a vengeance demon was there. It was too late for us to help,” Gwen said softly. “It targeted Bygul, I don’t know why.”

Zoë finally felt sober, as if cold water had washed over her. “A vengeance demon? Was it an inugami?”

“How do you know about inugami?” Gwen asked, raising her face to stare at Zoë.

“Is that important? We can talk details later. Was it?”

“Yes. An inugami killed a divine cat of Freya’s.” Gwen shook her head. “I can’t reach Eir right now, she’s not sober yet. I’ll try to find out later. What was the innkeeper saying about Kevin?”

Zoë grimaced and sat back on her heels, leaning against the wall. She closed her eyes briefly. “There’s a dead woman, someone apparently witnessed Kevin doing it, the idiot dropped his business card. Or someone trying to frame him dropped it. Public Works are giving me till sunup to find him, else they go hunting.”

“It’s odd for you to stand up for Kevin,” Gwen said.

Zoë opened her eyes. “I don’t like the guy, but if he’s innocent then he shouldn’t be hunted like a dog.”

Eir raised her swollen eyes. She gripped the cat’s body as if she were trying to throttle it, but Zoë thought it might not do any good to point out that the cat was already dead. “I’m going back to Jackson Square. I’m going to find that inugami.”

She rose to her feet with more grace than someone her size should have had, and walked to the door and abruptly exited.

“That was, uh, weird,” Zoë said.

Gwen rose with similar speed. “I should go after her. This may not end well.”

“I’ll get Opal to help me, then,” Zoë said, feeling tired and lost.

“Get Bertie to help. Dragons have skills humans don’t,” Gwen said. “And Zoë? This between us isn’t over. We must talk later.” She hurried after Eir.

“Oh, thanks for the understatement of the century,” Zoë muttered.

The door shut behind Gwen. Freddie came out of the kitchen, holding his hand out for his phone, and Zoë handed it over, feeling guilty. She looked at the blood smeared on the floor and wall, and groaned. She’d leave a big tip for the maid the next morning.

Feet hit the stairs above her head, and she looked up.

When she saw Opal’s face, she officially became scared of the last vampire she hadn’t been scared of.

CHAPTER 5

The French Quarter

VAMPIRE AND GHOST TOURS

The vampire and ghost tours of Jackson Square are highly popular with tourists, but mainly human tourists. Tour guides lead their group on a walking tour and tell them of some of the more “haunted” places in town. The ironic thing is they almost never touch on the real haunted areas, or vampire homes, because the coterie involved have requested privacy and Public Works has accommodated them.

However, there are tours starting up FOR vampires and ghosts to see the city, and from them you will learn about the more famous resident coterie, the historical areas, and the true stories of the city. You will learn Marie Laveau’s strange history and where she got her power, learn how much of Anne Rice’s work is fiction and how much is historical documenting, and visit the graveyard that even the ghosts won’t hang out in.