Chapter 5

 

Isabelle’s idea worked brilliantly. I wasn’t sure where in Guinee these bodies were going. The nymph and dryad and whatever else grazed there probably weren’t used to seeing so much death. But it was the only idea either of us had that made this doable.

A blue glow from the newly re-formed firmament danced across the bodies. I didn’t dare look at any of their faces. Before Pauli had cleared the city and put the waters back into the firmament, most of the bodies had been floating in water. They were bloated, their facial features warped. As disturbing as it was, it was probably not nearly so troubling as it would have been if I had been able to recognize some of the faces. Most of these people lived in Vilokan with their families. That didn’t mean some of them didn’t have loved ones who lived in the world above. No bodies would be left for them to identify. Was I sparing them the trauma of seeing their loved ones in this condition or denying their families closure? Probably both—but it wasn’t like I’d be able to figure out who was who anyway. Not unless they were carrying identification. And frankly, this was a job that had to be done quickly. The surviving Voodoo world, not to mention the new vampires who’d been raised from amongst the dead, were vulnerable to Kalfu.

I gagged as I cut a gate through the fabric of space and time around one of the bodies. I didn’t know how many I’d gotten rid of by this point. I wasn’t keeping count.

I saw something in my peripheral vision—something moving. I looked. It was gone.

“Did you see that?” I asked Isabelle.

I saw the same thing you did… I think it’s an apparition. It has a human aura.

I thought we’d freed all the souls who still languished here. I’d assumed we’d gathered them all into the vessel. Those whose souls hadn’t inhabited their reanimated bodies—becoming vampires—moved on to their eternal wherever. It struck me, though, that the only souls we gathered were those who’d been in the auditorium. There were others, some who were trying to escape Vilokan when the flood waters poured in, and some, perhaps, who hadn’t been at the auditorium at all. There couldn’t have been many in the latter category—no one involved in the Voodoo world would have missed the Trials, not unless they had a compelling reason or some kind of personal emergency.

I gripped my soul blade out of instinct. It wouldn’t do much for me in an encounter with a ghost but, for whatever reason, squeezing the blade’s hilt more tightly gave me a sense of security. While I had Baron Samedi’s aspect and had almost no knowledge about how to use it effectively, it did give me the latent ability to see dead people. Most ghosts aren’t a threat—those I’d met were, for the most part, benevolent. But ghosts are ghosts, and no matter how many paranormal experiences I’d had, they still gave me the goosebumps.

“Looked to me like it ducked into the door of the academy…”

Yeah… think it was a student?

I shrugged. “Maybe. Could be anyone.”

I walked up the steps and pressed open the door to the academy. It squeaked on its hinges. I almost lost my footing—the floors were slick and wet.

“Hello? Who’s there?” I asked, my voice resonating through the foyer.

A figure appeared from behind a corner. His form was vaguely translucent. His cassock and tonsure made him immediately recognizable. It was the very ghost who’d first guided me into Vilokan, who brought me to the academy on my first day.

“Père Antoine?”

The priest nodded even as his head hung low. He carried himself with some trepidation—his ghostly figure almost trembling. He didn’t have the same confidence and comforting presence he’d had every time I’d seen him before.

“Father, what’s the matter? I figured when Vilokan fell, you’d moved on. Why are you still here?”

“I cannot bear to leave this place behind. Not until I know all is well.”

“We’ve restored the firmament. We’re clearing out the dead. We’re remaking Vilokan.”

Père Antoine nodded. “You have done well. But the magic of this place is not in the firmament. It’s not even in Voodoo. It’s in the spirit of these people. That is what keeps me here. The lost souls, still wandering the city. Until they find their way, I cannot in good conscience find my own.”

I nodded. He was a priest—and a good one. By all accounts he’d welcomed Marie Laveau in her earthly life, even baptized her. He welcomed the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans into his church and embraced her. If anyone knew how to summon her, it would be Père Antoine.

“Father, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course you may.”

“On the stairs, when we were coming down, there was a presence there. Not human. Bitter cold. Whatever it was tried to give us a message.”

Père Antoine’s eyes widened. He lifted his head slightly. “What message did this being give you?”

“It said to find the queen. Said it needed a host. Then it gave us three letters. L-A-X. Does that mean anything to you?”

The priest cracked a smile and nodded. “Follow me.”

“But what does it mean?”

The priest turned back and looked in my eyes. “Come with me, Annabelle. There’s something you must see.”

I followed Père Antoine to the staircase that led to the former headmistress’s office. Erzulie’s office, the one that had belonged to Papa Legba before. The stairs that Erzulie had added were more stable than those that were here before. Still, they were slicker than snot. I gripped the rail as I followed the priest, who glided up the stairs without difficulty. He was just an apparition—there was no risk that he could slip and fall.

“Open the door,” Père Antoine said as we reached the top. “I cannot.”

I reached and turned the knob. “It’s locked.”

The priest looked at me incredulously. “Come now, Annabelle. Is a locked door really going to stop you?”

I grinned. The headmistress was gone—I’d sent her to Guinee with my soul weapon. There was no authority here—if there was an authority at all, it was me. Still, in spite of the fact that the whole place was in disrepair, engaging in intentional property damage wasn’t something I was used to. I was accustomed to respecting locked doors. I chuckled at the foolishness of the sentiment.

I inhaled deeply, drawing a dose of Isabelle’s magica, and thrust it at the door. The door broke from its hinges and flew across the room, crashing into what used to be the headmistress’s desk.

“You have been christened as High Mambo. But a title alone means little. The surviving Voodoo world will look to you for leadership. It is up to you to provide it.”

I huffed. “What they need is the Voodoo queen. Not me.”

Père Antoine grinned widely. “They do need their Voodoo queen. But who is to say that can’t be you?”

“But Marie Laveau… they have a queen already.”

“They do, don’t they?”