Jeaniene Frost - Destined for an Early Grave

Bones led me from Bourbon Street to Jackson Square, then to the Saint Louis Cathedral, which looked very similar to some of the churches I’d glimpsed in Paris. After that, we stopped at Lafitte’s Blacksmith shop, one of the oldest buildings in the Quarter. While outside sipping a gin and tonic at one of the tables, I looked up to find a ghost suddenly standing next to us.

“Sod off, mate,” Bones told him. “As I was saying, luv, during the Great Fire—”

“It’s wretched justice that only the crazies care enough to talk to you when you’re dead,” the ghost muttered. “No vampire or ghoul will even bid you good day.”

Bones made an irritated noise. “Right then, good day, now off you go.”

“She’ll wonder who you’re talking to,” the ghost smirked in my direction. “Think you’re mad, she will—”

“I can see you,” I interrupted.

If someone partially transparent could look baffled, he did. Eyes that might have been blue narrowed.

“You don’t feel touched,” he accused.

“You mean psychic? I’m many things, but not that. Isn’t it a little rude, though, to plop down and start chatting away when we were having a conversation? You didn’t even say ‘excuse me.’”

“Kitten, I warned you about talking to them.” Bones sighed.

“I didn’t think you’d speak to me,” the ghost replied, starting to smile. “The undead”—he nodded at Bones—“just ignore us. They’re among the few who can see us, but they don’t even care!”

He spoke with such impassioned resonance, I would have patted him if he had been solid. Instead, I gave him a sympathetic smile.

“What’s your name? I’m Cat.”

He bowed, his head going through the table. “I am Fabian du Brac. Born 1877, died 1922.”

Bones leaned back in his chair. “Fabian, splendid to meet you. Now, if you please, we’re rather busy.”

“You’re Bones,” the ghost stated. “I’ve seen you before. You’re always too busy to talk to us.”

“Bloody right I am, nosy spectre—”

“Bones.” I tugged his arm. “He knows who you are!”

“Kitten, what does that…”

His voice trailed off as what I was mentally shouting penetrated. Then he turned his full attention to Fabian and smiled.

“Why, mate, I reckon you’re right. Sometimes I need to be reminded of my manners, I do. Born in 1877, you say? I remember 1877. Times were better then, weren’t they?”

Bones was right about ghosts being talkative. Fabian blathered on rapturously about bygone days, the sewage of modern culture, favorite presidents, and the changes in Louisiana. He was like a walking encyclopedia. It was amazing how much a phantom could pick up. Like, for example, the recent influx of out-of-town ghouls in New Orleans. Their hushed gatherings. Gregor’s name kept popping up, along with whispers about a threat to the ghoul species.

“Gregor and ghouls, eh?” Bones prodded. “What more did they say?”

Fabian gave him a shrewd look. “I don’t want to be forgotten any longer.”

“Of course not,” Bones agreed. “I’ve got a grand memory, I’ll remember you forever.”

“That’s not what he means.”

It was one of the few times I’d spoken in their conversation. Hell, I couldn’t swap tales about early-twentieth-century life, the sadness of seeing automobiles replace horses, or what the air smelled like before fossil fuels. But this part I understood.

“Fabian wants companionship,” I said. “He’s lonely. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Maybe it was the reflection of the sunlight, but there could have been tears in the ghost’s eyes. “I want a home. Oh, I know I can’t have a real family anymore, but I want to belong to someone again.”

Some things never change. The need for companionship transcends mortality or immortality.

Bones had a resigned expression on his face. “Taking in strays, Kitten? Not without rules first. Any deviance from these, Fabian, would result in an immediate exorcism by the most qualified spook-slayer I could find, savvy?”

“I’m listening.” Fabian tried to look blasé, but he was almost quivering in excitement.

“First, you do not report any information about me, my wife, or my people to anyone alive, dead, undead, or otherwise. Got it?”

Fabian’s head bobbed. “Agreed.”

“Privacy is to be respected just as if you were a real boy, mate. If you think being a ghost allows for voyeurism, you’re mistaken.”

An indignant huff. “I will excuse your misassumption of my character on the basis of current debauchery, which is so common among modern persons.”

“Is that a yes?” I asked with a laugh.

“Yes.”

“Right.” Bones cracked his knuckles. “And lastly, no bragging about your accommodations. I don’t want to be chased everywhere by needy spirits. Not a bloody word, understood?”

“Inescapably.”

“Then we have an agreement, Fabian du Brac.”

The ghost smiled one of the happiest smiles I’d ever seen. Bones rose from his chair. I followed suit, taking a last swallow from my glass.

“All right, Fabian, you’re one of mine now. Can’t say it’s the best arrangement you could aspire to, but I promise if you abide by our accord, you won’t ever lack for a home again.”

We left the outside patio area and headed back to the house, the ghost trailing behind us with one hand on my shoulder.

BONES TOLD ME TO WEAR BOOTS. AT FIRSTI thought they were for storing weapons, but nothing beyond my feet went into my new leather boots. My other new clothes consisted of a pair of midnight-blue pants and a white blouse. I didn’t have on any jewelry except for my engagement ring. Liza had wanted to do my hair, but I declined. This wasn’t a party. It was a polite confrontation.

We left the house on foot after our escort arrived. His name was Jacques, and he was a ghoul. Jacques had skin dark as pitch, and a subdued but resonating power emanated from him. Bones had negotiated beforehand that he would walk with me to a certain point. After that, Jacques would show me the way. I wasn’t armed, and my lack of weapons made me feel like I was only half-dressed. I missed my knives. They felt familiar and comforting to me. Guess that in itself marked me as a weirdo.

Bones walked abreast of me, my hand in his. From the sureness of his steps, he knew where we were going. Jacques didn’t chat on the way. I didn’t talk, either, not wanting to say anything the ghoul could later use against me. Just like being arrested, I had the right to remain silent. Of course, anything I wanted to say to Bones, I could just think at him. Times like this, his mind-reading skill came in handy.

Fabian hovered about a hundred feet away, flitting in and out of the buildings as if he were minding his own ghostly business. Jacques never once looked in his direction. It was amazing how ignored ghosts were by those who could see them. The age-old prejudice between the undead and the spectral dead was working to our advantage, however. Bones wasn’t allowed to accompany me all the way to my appointment, but Fabian wasn’t bound by any such agreement. Liza had been stunned when we brought him home with us. It hadn’t occurred to her to befriend a ghost either.

We stopped at the gates of Saint Louis Cemetery Number One. Bones let go of my hand. I gave a look inside the locked burial grounds, and my brow went up.

“Here?”

“It’s the entranceway to Marie’s chamber,” Bones replied, as if we were waiting at the front door of a house. “This is where I leave you, Kitten.”

Great. At a graveyard. How reassuring. “So I’m meeting her inside the cemetery?”