Jeaniene Frost - Up From the Grave

Marie Laveau’s tomb would be easy to find even if I didn’t know where it was located. Over six feet tall, it had several sets of dark X’s scrawled onto its whitewashed sides. It also always had offerings in front of it despite grave-tenders cleaning it on a regular basis. Tonight’s contributions consisted of unlit candles, flowers, coins, beads, hard candy, pieces of paper, and a pair of iPod headphones. I ignored all the tributes as I stepped up to the front of the crypt and rapped on its top square.

“We’re here, Majestic.”

The grinding noise began at once. I jumped back and watched as the cement block where I’d stood pulled back to reveal stygian darkness. All of the offerings that had been over that area fell with a wet thudding sound into the blackness beneath.

No voice told us to enter. None had to. This was as much invitation as anyone got from Marie. I had to give it to the voodoo queen. She knew how to maximize her version of home-court advantage.

I was about to jump into the hole when Bones stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

“I’ll go first, Kitten.”

I didn’t argue. This wasn’t a slap to my feminism—it was good battle strategy. Bones might not have mastered his telekinesis, but a little ability to control objects with your mind was a lot better than none. Marie was also unaware of his new power, so if things took an unexpectedly lethal turn, we had the element of surprise.

Bones jumped into the pit, landing with a small splash about twenty feet down. Nothing underground in New Orleans could stay dry forever, even with the impressive pump system Marie had beneath the cemetery. I jumped in next, glad I had on boots so that whatever squished beneath my feet didn’t end up splattered on my skin.

The hole above us closed at once, plunging the tunnel into as near to complete darkness as was possible for vampire vision. There was only one way to go, so Bones headed deeper into the tunnel, and I followed. We had to walk single file to avoid touching the walls, and I wanted to avoid them for more reasons than their layer of spongy mold. Madigan wasn’t the only person who loved booby traps. Marie had rows of long knives hidden in these walls, and one flick of a switch would send them shooting out to julienne whoever was unlucky enough to be in their path.

After about thirty yards, we came to a metal door with hinges that should have been rusted, but they didn’t let out a creak when we opened the door. Then it was up the short staircase to the windowless room that I guessed was inside one of the larger, communal crypts. It had no apparent exit aside from the way we came in, but once more, appearances were deceiving.

Take, for example, the handsome African-American woman in the recliner across from us. Manolo Blahniks peeked out from beneath her fuchsia skirt, its bright color repeated in the string of gemstones that hung over her black sweater. She’d gotten a haircut since I last saw her, its dark length now ending at her chin instead of her shoulders. The flattering new ’do framed creamy mocha features that were both ageless and lightly lined.

The closest I could come to pegging Marie’s age when she’d been made into a ghoul was fortyish to fiftyish, but there was no mistaking the years in her gaze. Those hazelnut eyes held knowledge that would intimidate the most lauded of sages, and I didn’t let her soft smile fool me. It was more warning than welcome, pretty though her seashell-colored lipstick might be.

“Majestic,” Bones said, calling her by the name she preferred.

That lush mouth curved further. “Reaper. Bones. What brings you to my city?”

Her drawl was pure Southern Creole, smoother than butter and sweeter than pie, yet as usual, Marie didn’t bother with false pleasantries. That trait we had in common.

Two unoccupied chairs were the only other furniture in the small room, but I didn’t sit. This wouldn’t take long.

“We’re here to ask for a favor if you’re capable of doing it.”

Marie’s brow rose at my challenging statement. Bones gave her a bland smile, yet his shields cracked, and I felt his approval threading through my emotions. Now, at least, she’d hear what the request was, if only to prove that she could do it.

“What is it?”

“We need to question a ghost who keeps disappearing on us,” I said. “Can you make one stay if he doesn’t want to?”

She bent down and picked up a glass of wine I hadn’t noticed before. Must have been hidden behind the fold of her skirt. The sight of that red liquid brought back a rage-inducing memory of the last time the three of us had been in this room: Bones pinned to the wall with Remnants gutting him from the inside out and Marie refusing to call them off until I agreed to drink her blood.

Knowing Marie, she’d chosen to bring that glass because she wanted us to remember. As if I could ever forget.

“I can do that without difficulty,” she replied as she sipped her wine. “Though you take a risk admitting to me that you can’t.”

I tensed, but Bones laughed as though she hadn’t just hinted at starting an all-out war between vampires and ghouls.

“Come now, Majestic, you have no interest in pitting our two species against each other. You’ve also known for some time that Cat no longer manifests your abilities, or are we to pretend that you haven’t been spying on us this past year?”

Marie raised her shoulder in a diffident shrug. “Only a fool chooses to live in ignorance when knowledge is so easily obtained.”

There were days when she reminded me of my friend, Vlad. He’d be equally unabashed about being caught spying.

“Now that that’s cleared up, will you help us?” I asked bluntly.

“Yes.”

I didn’t let out a sigh of relief. I knew better.

So did Bones. “For what price?”

Marie’s smile reminded me of a snake uncoiling itself to strike.

“The location of the ghost you imprisoned last Halloween. I want to know where you trapped Heinrich Kramer.”

The word “no” rose in me, almost scalding my insides with the demand to be voiced. Another crack in his shields let me feel the rage that swept through Bones though the only visible sign was a muscle that ticked in his jaw.

“Why? What do you want with the witch hunter?” he asked with admirable calmness.

Her eyes seemed to glow with inner lights. “That’s none of your concern.”

“It is when the motherfucker beat me with a car, had his accomplice shoot my best friend, and, oh yeah, set fire to me,” I said acidly.

Kramer had done more, but listing all his evil deeds would take too long. He’d been a murdering prick in life, and becoming a ghost didn’t stop him. It only enabled him to continue his reign of terror for centuries. We’d nearly died trapping Kramer, and now Marie wanted the address of his cell? If she ever let him out, Kramer would come straight for me. At best, one day I’d look down to see a silver knife sticking out of my chest. At worst . . . well, I’d rather the silver knife.

From the gleam in Marie’s gaze, she knew all of the above though her ghostly spies hadn’t found Kramer’s cell, obviously.

“Your price is too high,” Bones said in a flat tone.

“Your need for answers from this other ghost must exceed it or you wouldn’t have come,” was Marie’s immediate reply.

Memories of the last time I saw Kramer made me want to argue. Giving one lethal adversary possession of another was akin to always having a loaded gun pointed at your heart.

Still, what my friends were facing right now could be worse.

“Done.”

Bones’s gaze swung to me. I held out a hand. “She’s right. We need what Don knows more than we need to keep Kramer’s location a secret.”