This Side of the Grave (Night Huntress, #5)(38)

“This way,” Jacques said at last, turning his back on us.

We picked our way around the crumbling crypts and refurbished tombs as Jacques led us toward Marie Laveau’s vault. I knew this cemetery was a popular tourist attraction, but I didn’t see myself coming here just for fun. The air was thicker with all the residual energy from the ghosts, making me feel like I walked through invisible cobwebs with every step. The cemetery might not be large, but because of New Orleans’s history of extremely high mortality rates in comparison to their burial space, each crypt we passed housed the remains of dozens if not hundreds of residents—some of whom watched us as we passed by.

It also had a different vibe than the time capsule feel of the French Quarter. There, in the backdrop of streets suited for horses instead of cars and gas lanterns illuminating the sidewalks, it somehow didn’t seem odd to see a transparent person adorned in clothes from a different century mingling among the living residents. Here, however, melancholy hung in almost palpable waves, making me imagine that every crypt I passed or foot of ground I trod upon sighed in regret over a life never to be experienced again.

Jacques stopped by the white oblong crypt bearing Marie Laveau’s name, date of supposed death, and a faint inscription in French that I couldn’t read. He said something in what sounded like Creole, and at the base where several offerings were left to the voodoo queen, a grating noise emanated. Then a few of the old, decrepit-looking stones slid smoothly back to reveal a dark hole within.

Marie might be calculating and meticulous, but she also had a sense of humor, making people travel under her crypt for meetings with her.

Jacques jumped down into the hole without hesitation. Bones flashed a look at me before doing the same. I followed after a second or two, giving him time to move so I didn’t land on him, and squished down into an inch of brackish-smelling water. Impressive mechanical hideaway, yes, but nothing stayed totally dry underground in New Orleans, and this area was flooded most of the time. Marie must have a better pump system down here than the Army Corps of Engineers.

Above us, the slabs creaked again as they closed, plunging the tunnel into what would have been complete blackness to anyone without supernatural vision. Bones and I both had that, so I wasn’t worried about something jumping out at us unseen. We also both had boots on, so disgusting things squishing through my toes as we followed down the tunnel wasn’t a concern as well. Still, when I glanced at the tight walls around us, I was unable to suppress a shiver. I’d seen what Marie had installed for a booby trap in this tunnel, and let’s just say it involved enough blades to turn anyone trespassing into red-splattered coleslaw.

After about forty yards, Jacques opened the metal door at the end that revealed a narrow flight of stairs. Again Bones went up first, me following behind him. At the top of the stairs was a small, windowless room that might be located in a nearby home, or we might possibly be inside one of the larger national crypts in the cemetery. I had no idea, and I was sure that was how Marie wanted it.

“Majestic,” Bones greeted the woman seated on a plush recliner chair, nodding his head respectfully.

But when I came out from behind him and saw Marie more clearly, my polite hello vanished under a burst of laughter. On the floor right next to her smart little heels was a pale container of plastic-wrapped poultry, and I didn’t have to look at the label to guess what kind.

“A headless chicken,” I said once I’d gotten my laughter under control. “Very cool.”

Bones arched a brow at me, not knowing that upon first meeting the ghoul queen of New Orleans, I’d commented that I was sure she’d be holding a headless chicken considering her fearsome voodoo reputation. Apparently, she’d remembered that, yet another example of the sly humor lurking underneath her whole Queen of the Damned demeanor.

“It was the best I could do under short notice,” Marie replied with an elegant shrug. Her voice was like acoustical caramel, that Southern Creole accent sweetening each word. Her shawl shifted as she sat up, inky curls brushing her shoulders with the movement. Then her eyes narrowed as she fixed her gaze on Bones.

“Did Jacques not relay my instructions for you to wait while I met with Cat alone first?”

Bones didn’t lose any of his easy posture, but I felt tension that wasn’t my own brush over my emotions.

“I’m certain you heard of the incident at the Ritz yesterday, and I’m also certain you know the attack was aimed at her. So you’ll forgive me, Majestic, if I’m overprotective of my wife’s safety at present.”

“Yes, I heard.” Not a hint of emotion flickered across her features. “I can assume the bodies recovered from the hotel were those of your attackers?”

“All but one,” Bones replied. “We took him with us when we left.”

Now we had Marie’s full attention. She leaned forward, her dark gaze intense. “Tell me you brought this person with you.”

“Sorry, he’s dead now,” Bones stated impassively.

“You killed him?” Marie didn’t look pleased, and I didn’t think it was because she’d wished a long, happy life on the other ghoul. In fact, if the man were still alive, he might be grateful that Vlad spared him whatever Marie had in store. From her reputation, she was hell on anyone who violated her safe-passage rules.

“Vlad did,” I said before Bones could answer. “He didn’t know all the details.” Partly true, anyway.