Most of the people were tourists, even in August. They smelled of sweat, fried foods, and incense. The French Quarter was a tourist trap, regardless of the time of day. There were museums dedicated to voodoo and black magic as well as the history of the area. Restaurants ranged for the exquisite and expensive to pub food on the cheap. Shop doors released exotic smells when they opened. Snippets of music floated along the street from the plethora of outdoor eating areas. Ironically, the voodoo capital of the US was smoke free.
This only applied to tobacco products packaged for smoking. Incense burned inside the shops, released toxic fumes to be breathed in by patrons. It could trigger migraines and seizures. Stores sold curses, hexes, and potions to bring afflictions to your enemies, or so they proclaimed. In Cajun voodoo, gris gris bags were considered a form of black magic, yet stores were still selling them.
“You look a little pale today,” Xavier said, breaking the silence that had been building since we parked almost twenty minutes earlier.
“I did Taser the hell out of myself yesterday.”
“Yeah, that isn’t it. What’s up?”
“It is complicated.” I shrugged, refusing to meet his face.
“Is it physical or mental?”
“Both,” I answered and stopped walking. “Do you believe in black magic?”
“Not really.”
“I do.”
“That seems strange coming from you. Science has never proven black magic works. It’s the process of suggestion causing symptoms.”
“Many years ago, I would have agreed with you. Now, I do not. I have seen it work. New Orleans reminds me of it.”
“You came in contact with voodoo at a younger age, that’s interesting.”
“Yes, but not Cajun voodoo. Haitian voodoo and it is significantly different. However, different or not, when someone decides to practice black magic, it can still be a problem.”
“I get that you try to keep an open mind on everything, but magic?” Xavier looked doubtful.
“Someday, I will explain,” I told him, stopping in front of a store. There was a woman sitting outside. She looked like a witch, an honest to God witch. She had white hair, sallow skin, sunken eyes, and cataracts, which made her pupils and irises appear white. “Are you completely blind?” I asked the woman who looked like she was at least as old as the Great Pyramid.
“Nope,” her voice was still strong. She smoked a cigarette. By the looks of the can next to her, she sat here every day, all day, and did nothing but smoke cigarettes. Nevertheless, she had a smile on her face, and despite the ragged appearance, she gave off a vibe that said she had enjoyed her life.
“Could you look at a picture, let us know if you have seen them?” I asked.
“I could,” the woman answered, “but it wouldn’t do no good. I ain’t seen them.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I don’t sit here after dark.” She answered. “This ain’t no place for a lady after dark.”
“Why? Ghosts and vampires wander the French Quarter after dark?” Xavier smirked.
“You’re an idiot,” the woman told him. “Daytime tourists bring money; nighttime tourists bring crime.” The smirk disappeared from Xavier’s face and moved to mine. The woman was right. Tourists did bring crime, even when they didn’t mean to do it. Muggers, rapists, killers, they were all predators for those weakened by drugs, alcohol, and the promise of a good time.
“What time does the store close?” I asked.
“We close up early here. Only got one priestess and she don’t like it here after dark.”
“Night time tourists spend more money,” I answered.
“Yeah, but they never want anything good.” She looked at me. “You need some protection down here.”
“I am fine,” I assured her.
“Nah, you’ve been touched, sweetie. Every evil doer in the French Quarter will be licking their chops to get a piece of you.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Xavier said.
“Your friend don’t believe in magic.”
“No, he does not.”
“You do though and you know I’m not talking about magic, don’t you.” Since she phrased it as a statement and not a question, I just stood there. “Lenetta, bring me out my bag, girl, and make it fast.”
“You are the priestess,” I said.
“Best one on the street. Don’t do no black magic though. I wanna keep my soul clean. I give you a talisman and most of the local thugs will leave you alone. They don’t wanna bring down my wrath.”
“Thought you didn’t dabble in black magic?”
“I don’t, that’s my sister’s job.” She gave a cackle that made me smile. Xavier stepped in a little closer to me. “She don’t leave home much anymore, but when she do, lock the doors. How far back does the sickness go?”
“Generations,” I answered.
“I figured as much. Met a lot of people in my line of work, some of them good people with bad genes, like you. Never met one quite like you though. You got some stains on your soul and you been touched by the black.”
“I have.” I agreed, unwilling to disagree with this woman who claimed to see my soul. “If you were going to be up to no good in this area, where would you go?”
“I wouldn’t,” she answered. “Lenetta, hurry it up child, we ain’t got all day. We all dying and you taking your sweet time.”
“Why?” I asked.
“This neighborhood? Too many thugs and hoodlums. A couple blocks down, they got an old nunnery that they say has vampires. Your friend wants a fright. You should take him there. But mostly, this area is too flooded with tourists to be up to really nasty business. You want a serial killer lair, it ain’t gonna be here. They may hunt here, but they ain’t killing here.”
“You know who we are?” Xavier asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “Don’t change the fact that this lady been touched. Or that her presence here is gonna make a few waves.”
“You keep saying touched,” Xavier started. The old woman looked at him with an eyebrow raised.
“Touched by madness,” I told Xavier. “In other words, she believes I am bat shit crazy and the amulet is more about protecting people of New Orleans than us.”
“Oh,” Xavier answered.
“So, where would you go to do nefarious work if you were a serial killer?” I asked.
“The swamps, but you being here means they ain’t that smart. Hard to get a lot of privacy in a place like this. Haven’t heard of any deaths. You ain’t here on vacation, so what you really looking for?”
“A serial killer that has failed to realize they are one yet.”
“Ah,” the woman nodded as another woman joined us. She looked to be in her late teens. I guessed she was the old woman’s granddaughter or great granddaughter. The old woman reached inside the bag and pulled out an amulet on a leather cord. The pendant had small bones surrounding a round disk. The disk was made of amber with something in the center of it. She handed it to me. I pulled out my wallet. “Nah, no money. I don’t think you’re crazy. I also ain’t worried about the thugs in New Orleans, you can have ’em all. It’s to stop you from having trouble with any Voduns. You been touched by both madness and black magic.”
“Thank you.” I slipped it over my head.
“Lenetta, where the teens hang out to do bad things?”
“Lots of places, why?” The younger woman asked.
“These folks are Marshals looking for a serial killer. I don’t get around much anymore, but you do. Tell them where the bad folks hang out.”
“Locals hang out around the cemeteries,” Lenetta answered. The old woman threw her head back and laughed.
“Stupid kids don’t know what they messin’ with hanging around those places. More than one gonna end up with souls sucking the life out of ’em. Serve ’em right, too, disrespecting the dead like that.”
“We appreciate your assistance,” I told both women. Xavier thanked them too.
“One last thing,” Lenetta stopped us. We both turned around to face her. “Avoid the dark house.”
“No problem, she isn’t welcome in places like that,” Xavier assured her.
“I’m serious,” Lenetta pleaded.
“We will do what we can,” I told her. We continued on our way, leaving Lenetta frowning, her eyebrows drawn together and her chewing on her nail.
“Ace,” Xavier said as we crossed to the next block, still searching for the club where our victim had visited.
“What?” I asked.
“That was the single strangest encounter I have ever had around you. I sort of understand the serial killer attraction, but old voodoo priestesses who can see your soul are new.”
“Xavier, do you believe that Gabriel once saw a wendigo? Honestly believe it?”
“Maybe. He saw something that scarred him for life and made him a little unhinged.”
“Maybe? Okay. So, Gabriel may have seen a Native American demonic being eating a child, but voodoo is less believable?”
“When you put it that way,” Xavier gave a weak grin and stuck his hands in his pocket.
“Do you admonish Lucas when he says he believes in ghosts? Fiona has a friend that is a psychic. She believes in his abilities.” I gave him a sideways glance.
“Yeah, you don’t have to brow beat me with it. I get your point. I just can’t believe that you believe in it.”
“If I am willing to entertain the idea that Gabriel saw a wendigo and Nyleena believes there is a super electrical net in space protecting earth, magic does not seem like a stretch.”
“Maybe you should have asked if the cuts were ritualistic.” Xavier stopped to look at something in a store window.
“They are not,” I informed him. “I am not an expert, mind you, but I have never seen such things associated with voodoo, unless you are willing to believe in voodoo dolls, which I do not.”
“How do you believe in voodoo but not voodoo dolls?” He pointed at one, which was what he had stopped to look at.
“The symbolism of a voodoo doll is overwhelming. To think that someone has stolen some piece of you to implant in a voodoo doll is terrifying. But the history of the voodoo doll is evidence that they work only based upon the power of suggestion. Otherwise, slaves practicing voodoo would have been making the dolls by the truckload to eliminate terrible masters. A single vodun could churn out ten a day. No one would be safe if they worked.”
“In other words, you are cherry picking which parts of magic you believe in.”
“No, I just believe in the parts that are provable.”
“I’m going to lose this argument and I’m not sure why, since all evidence points to the power of suggestion.”
“Not all evidence.” I decided to start walking again. We went down another block and found the club. It was closed at the moment, which was fine. Bars in daylight were even more depressing than bars at night. I had a feeling this bar would be extra depressing.
“This is a goth club,” Xavier said reading the sign near the front door.
“Yes, it is. Does Brady seem like the type of guy to hang out with goths?”
“Nope, he was slumming. Lots of pretty, vulnerable women who have unrealistic expectations of relationships inside, after dark.”
“I think that describes every bar.”
“Yeah, it does. He was still slumming in here.”
“That I do not disagree with.”