CHAPTER FOURTEEN

When Zoë was agitated, she would pace. Right now, as she had no body, she felt like whizzing around the city like an untied balloon that had been released. But she took a mental deep breath and first tried to picture the heart garden and float over and force herself back into her body, which still knelt by the flower bed.

She found it, and Anna still sat in the grass, enjoying tactile sensations of smelling and touching. She tried to get the ghost girl’s attention, but Anna was oblivious.

So that was how ghosts felt. Great.

She approached her body and tentatively reached an arm out and tried to get inside as if it were a new suit. She passed right through herself.

All right, you need to fucking tell me how to get back into my body right now or I swear to God, or—no, I will swear to Gwen —that you will regret it.

The city was stern now, an angry aunt who wasn’t your mom, but also wasn’t afraid to discipline you. There’s nothing you can do to me that’ll be worse than the war, or the floods, or Betsy, or Katrina. Your threats is empty. Besides, I don’t know how to get you back into your body. I’ve never had one.

Oh, that’s BS, you’ve merged with citytalkers before!

And they had all been trained, and knew what to do.

Dammit, Anna, she thought. Why did you leave this bit of info out?

Zoë zoomed away from the garden and fled southeast, the direction Arthur had gone in his cab. She began to weaken and feel her connection to the city ebb, and she fought to keep going, but realized she probably didn’t want to sever herself from the city just yet. What would happen if she did that? Would she die? Exist as a ghost?

With one fleeting look at the highways and swamps past the city limits, Zoë sped back north toward the river. The same weakening happened there, too, which she had expected. Swearing eloquently in her head, she returned to the courtyard.

How did that go? the city asked her. Zoë ignored her. She went up to Anna and waved her hands at her, trying to get her attention.

Hey! HEY! Anna! HEEEEYYYY ANNA! I thought you knew all the details about merging with the city, and all that shit? HELP ME. She jumped up and down, ran around Anna in a circle, and tried to grab her head, but passed right through her.

She appealed to the city, who had appeared again and looked very amused. Can’t you ask her to help me? If you can make her corporeal, then surely you can find a way for us to communicate!

The city smiled sadly, and then disappeared.

Oh, you did not just do that. Come back here so I can glare at you.

She chewed her bottom lip, or what passed for it, anyway. I can’t stay here and babysit you forever! I will find a way to get back, and if you don’t help me, I won’t talk to you or visit again!

No one ever turns down help from a city, came the disembodied voice. Besides, we connected now. You can’t escape me.

Shit. I’m a favorite doll the little girl won’t let go of. Her stomach, whether real or metaphorical at this point, felt made of lead, and queasy. She could feel sweat break out on her forehead and her palms.

The thought came to her mind unbidden then. What about other coterie? Humans likely wouldn’t help her, but gods might. Zoëtists might. And—

Had she had a body, the realization would have floored her. Everything from the previous night to perhaps even the slaughter of the citytalkers. All she had to do to confirm this was find one person.

Zoë calmed herself and let her mind expand, feeling the people within the city without her own thoughts and judgments coloring her view. She felt the life in the city—humans, animals, fae, gods, and demons. She extended deeper and then could feel the undead—the zombies (there were a lot of them), the vampires, and—there. The ghosts.

The city had an awful lot of ghosts.

Zoë was looking for one person in particular, not a ghost. She thought about what she knew about him: very little, but he was cowardly, inventive, self-preserving, and on some weird mission for his employers.

His employers. Oh shit. Seriously? Seriously? How could she have been so dense? Reynard had to be an assassin working for the Grey Cabal, or someone else who knew what citytalkers could do. That was why he was testing her.

He was also being hunted, first by the ghosts, and then probably by that damn demon dog that Zoë had had to deal with for him.

I’m done cleaning up your mess, dude. She said this to no one in particular, but it felt good to solidify the resolve.

Zoë hovered above the Life Day festivities taking place in a hotel north of the French Quarter. She caught sight of the girl Beverly, with her zoëtist family. They were in some hotel conference room, listening patiently to a woman in a business suit who was raising a golem from collected Spanish moss, the action contrasting greatly with her attire. A Life Day demonstration, Zoë guessed. She looked around the room, decorated with plastic flowers and moss, with mud and newspaper golems serving punch and cookies to people.

These zoëtists know how to party.

An old man slumped in the corner, hands on his cane, his face sad and scraggly as if growing a beard just took too much energy these days. Zoë looked closer and saw that he was transparent. She approached him.

She waved at him. Hey, uh, can you see me?

His eyes rose slowly and met hers. Course I can. What’s wrong with you? Just die or sommat?

No, I’m not a new ghost. Or I don’t think I am, anyway. I’m more of a disembodied spirit, and I need help getting back to my body. Can you help?

The man frowned, his bushy brows furrowing. What the hell are you talking about? No, I can’t help you get back to your body. What do you think being a ghost is?

Honestly I don’t know, Zoë said. I have only been one for a few hours. And I haven’t known many ghosts.

He shrugged. It’s not like we have conventions to hang out like these fool zoëtists. But I’m here because some young vampire wanted a grandpappy, only my heart gave out before she could turn me. I was a failed vampire, you might say. She hid my body under the foundation and then they built this hotel on top of me. So I just prowl the hotel, break a mirror or two, upset a vice president—they’re much more fun to upset than the working-class folk. And people don’t believe them any more than they do the Mexican maids. One year the marketing department tried to pass me off as a hotel ghost to bring in the tourists, and I took a year off just to spite ’em.

Despite her panic, Zoë was intrigued. When did you die?

Almost a hunnerd years ago. Nineteen twenty-nine.

At least you missed the Great Depression! Zoë said, feeling lame immediately after she said it. The old man glared at her, and worked his jaw. Zoë realized he was tapping his few teeth together. She stopped smiling. Please, is there anything you can do to help me?

Accept death. It ain’t that bad when you get used to it. Come on by here and visit anytime. Jean-Babtiste Martin, he said, and stuck out his hand.

Zoë shook it, realizing it was the first thing she had touched since becoming a city specter. Zoë Norris. Thank you, Jean-Babtiste, I will be sure to remember you when I’m out of this situation.

He snorted. Good luck with that. He worked his jaw again, and Zoë felt a weird desire for chewing gum.

The business-suit woman was finishing with her lecture, and she was taking questions. Beverly had pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and was thumbing through Twitter. Zoë wasn’t sure what to do, so waved at the girl a few times, but nothing happened. She tried to touch her but her hand went right through her. It was kind of revolting, honestly. The girl did flinch a little as if she had felt something cold touch her neck, but didn’t look up from her phone.

Zoë leaned in close and tried to whisper in her ear, but she didn’t respond.

She was well and truly alone.

CHAPTER 16

Festivals

LIFE DAY

A celebration of the zoëtist way, and the power the zoëtists can command, Life Day is a festival that used to move around the country but now has a permanent home in New Orleans as of 1957. The zoëtists behind it found that New Orleans was the most coterie-friendly city, and something about it made it unique. The power that flows through this city is different, and many master zoëtists chose to make their home here to train their students. Famous zoëtists such as Beracha Zimmermann, Kreindel Sitz, Naira, Richard Silverman, and the mysterious ancient woman the Doyenne all resided in New Orleans at some point, and all trained students here. In 1973 Zimmermann and Sitz set up a school for zoëtists in the French Quarter, but the Doyenne sent a golem to burn it down. They rebuilt with constant gargoyle guards, but their second building was destroyed in Katrina. Both zoëtists are long dead, but their students mourn the loss of their school.

The School of Life used to host Life Day, but now it’s in the Andrew Jackson Hotel every January. The festival consists of lectures by masters, contests of creation, and parties staffed completely by golems.