Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

The exterior of Tracy’s home was classic New Orleans. Her second-story porch’s wrought iron trim and gates were intricate and lovely. Huge green ferns and urns of brightly colored flowers lined the walkway and hung from the balcony. The wooden slats that hugged her house were a salmon pink, and the shutters a deep green. Altogether, it had a magical feel.

“Dollfaces!” Tracy squealed with delight as we arrived on her front stoop. “Welcome to NOLA! And welcome to my home!”

The Vampyre stood four-foot-nothing with a shock of gray hair sticking straight up on her head, laugh lines galore, tattooed eyebrows, stubby fingers, blue jean overalls, and purple cowboy boots. My guess was that she’d been turned at an older age like Martha and Jane. Most Vamps were wildly attractive and looked to be mid-thirties. Tracy looked to be mid-sixties. Her smile was contagious, and her bright blue eyes sparkled. She was adorable. Tracy wasn’t what I was expecting at all, but thankfully, she was thrilled to see us.

“Get in here, little honey bunnies,” she insisted, hustling us inside while looking up and down the street warily. “Don’t wanna cause any suspicion. This town is full of crazy!”

I was pretty sure she might be crazy, but to be truthful, we all were.

Transporting in broad daylight was tricky. However, if we’d been detected, we could simply green-eye the humans and make them forget what they’d witnessed. Staring into human’s eyes to wipe their memory wasn’t easy. It was time-consuming and time we didn’t have. Thankfully, the street was deserted, and sundown was close.

“Tracy, you old coot!” Martha yelled, hugging her buddy. “You’re lookin’ hot.”

“Tell me about it,” Tracy said with a laugh that sounded like it came from the bottom of her little belly. “I’ve been smackin’ suitors away for centuries. Now, introduce me to all these lovely people.”

“I am Augustus,” Augustus announced, bowing to Tracy. “I prefer to go by Dick LaBalldong or Penis McBoner.”

I winced, then groaned with embarrassment. The idiot was counting on me being polite and not setting him on fire in front of our host. It would be terribly bad manners to burn Tracy’s house to the ground in the first five minutes. Augustus was smarter than he looked. Felix decided to jump in while the iron was hot…

“And I’m Felix, but I also go by Cock McDingledongers!”

Tracy noticed my displeasure and winked at me. Her blue eyes twinkled, and I would swear both of her tattooed eyebrows danced on her face. “Lord Almighty above! I’m real sorry about that, boys,” she said, patting them like puppies. “Must be just awful to be named after sweaty, hairy junk. When I hear those names, I think of six-foot schlongs skipping down the street with pubic hair mustaches and tiny arms and legs.”

Augustus screamed. Felix was horrified. I laughed. Tracy had just taught a lesson in reverse psychology that I would remember and use from here on out. Genius.

“My God,” Felix cried out. “My highest regards to you, Tracy. Augustus and I had no clue that our chosen monikers were conjuring up walking, talking bolloxes. That wasn’t what we were going for at all.”

“Correct, my man,” Augustus said, then punctuated his words with another scream. “Tracy, we are indebted to you for alerting us to our phallic folly. If there is anyone you would like skinned alive, we’re your men.”

“Wait,” Poosh said, perplexed. “Does that mean I can’t go by Poop LaPottybanger?”

“It does,” I said, turning to the brilliantly sneaky Tracy. “I’m Astrid. I knew I was going to like you, but after that move, you’ve solidified that I’ll ride for your ass at dawn any time.”

Tracy guffawed and bowed to me. “Honor and pleasure to meet the Chosen One. I’ve known Ethan for a few centuries. That boy is made of good stuff. I just love him to bits!”

I grinned. I didn’t care if Tracy was a gossip or that her eyebrows were alarming. I was keeping her. It wasn’t easy to make undead friends.

“Guess I’m gonna keep my new name to myself,” Jane said with a chuckle.

I raised a brow and bit back a grin. “I guess you are, old lady.”

Tracy’s house was something to talk about. While the outside was classic, the inside was a mix of French empire, eclectic, shabby chic, Art Nouveau, and a heavy dash of thrift shop. She had more cool crap on her shelves, tables, and walls than some of the antique stores I’d shopped at. A French antique sofa, covered in plastic, was bookended by two Low Country end tables, and in the center of the room was a colorful crystal and brass chandelier that didn’t seem to go with anything else in the place. She had great fondness for purple, gold, and lime-green, along with every other color in the rainbow. The styles and colors clashed violently. On top of that, there were a lot of freaking doilies and ceramic ducks that were even more out of place. Strangely, I was completely charmed by the décor.

“Well, now, I’m guessing this isn’t a pleasure visit,” Tracy said, ushering us into the formal parlor.

“Correct,” I told her as I took a seat on a bright purple settee covered in plastic. I was getting right down to business. “Are you well versed with voodoo practitioners in the Quarter?”

Tracy whistled. “You don’t wanna mess with voodoo, sweet cheeks. Nothing good comes from that.”

“While I don’t disagree,” I told her, “unfortunately, I do want to mess with it or rather learn about it.”

Tracy looked at me for a long moment, then nodded her head slowly. “You gonna tell me why?”

“I am,” I replied. “But first, get me up to speed, please.”

Tracy seated herself on a lime-green armchair with hot pink stripes. Her cowboy boot-clad feet didn’t touch the floor. The rest of the crew found a seat and got comfortable.

“Alrighty then,” she said. “Personally, I think true voodoo has a bad rap. You might think it’s a religion, but in reality, it’s more complex and centered on healing.”

“So, there are no spells? No curses?”

She chuckled. “Of course, there are,” she confirmed. “But this is the educational part of the discussion.”

“Got it.” I made the international zip the lip motion.

“Listen good, snickerdoodles, there are different kinds of voodoo—West African, which is the baseline for other types of voodoo. Haitian voodoo, Hoodoo, Trinidadian, Dominican, Tambor de Mine… but my guess is that the voodoo you’re lookin’ for is Louisiana Voodoo. It’s what’s mostly used here by the mambos.”

“Like the dance?” Jane asked, confused.

Tracy laughed. “Nope! A mambo is a voodoo priestess. Gotta watch out for them gals.”

“Why?” I asked.

“We got a couple here that are full of bad juju.”

Those were most likely the ones I was looking for…

“General practices of voodoo?” I questioned.

Tracy picked up a yo-yo on the table next to her. She let it slide down the string, then flicked her wrist and pulled it back up. We watched as the yo-yo slid up and down. It was mesmerizing.

“Readings, spiritual baths, spells, prayer, personal ceremony, curses, healing,” she said, watching her toy bounce up and down. “If you people have come looking for curses, I don’t think I can help you out. I like to steer clear of that crap.”

“We’ve come looking for information on people who might have come here to find a spell to do something illegal.”

Her tattooed brows rose. “Vamps or Demons?”

“Vamps,” I replied.

“How illegal?” she pressed.

“As bad as it can get,” I replied. “You ready for the backstory?”

“Born ready,” the little Vampyre said.

So, I told her. I told her the whole story. My posse filled in the holes. Poosh was excellent on the Dhampir part. While her voice still drove me nuts, I was beginning to like the Demon. When we were done, Tracy was shocked, pissed and speechless. Her yo-yo was put to excellent use. Honestly, I wanted one. Tracy was hung up most on the words on the bloody note— Help end me before I end you .

“I’m thinking someone might be regretting their actions,” she stated flatly.

“How so?” I asked.

The tiny Vampyre pursed her lips in thought for a moment as she made good use of her yo-yo. “According to Poosh, a Dhampir has no logical reasoning.”

“Correct,” Poosh confirmed.

“So, that means it was written most likely by a Vamp. Either the Vamp who created the Dhampir or someone involved. My guess is that the situation has gotten out of control, and one of the perps wants out. The Vamp hunters are a concern, but y’all need to go after the Dhampir first. I’ve never witnessed one in my time on this glorious planet, but from the stories I’ve heard, that could end real dang bad.”

“I agree,” I told her.

“Tracy is a fuckin’ genius!” Martha announced, standing up. She raised her hands in the air like a geriatric cheerleader, then jumped into the air and landed in a split that made my groin hurt.

When she couldn’t get back up, we left her there.

“Do you happen to have another yo-yo?” I asked.

Tracy grinned, hopped off the chair and pulled a box from beneath it. “Sure do, pookiepie!” The nutty gal opened the box and revealed at least fifty yo-yos in every color imaginable. “Help yourselves, darlings! I find it helps me think, and it doubles nicely as a weapon! A good smack in the head with a yo-yo gives everyone a headache!”

We all indulged except Martha, who was still stuck in the splits.

“Have you been a detective during your time?” I asked Tracy as I tried to get the swing of working a yo-yo. I sucked.

“Nah,” she said with a giggle. “I watch Matlock , Murder She Wrote and Law and Order on the regular. That Angela Lansbury just tickles me pink! Love me some bad guys getting what they deserve. Better than an orgasm.”

I wasn’t sure I agreed with that, but I was all for getting the bad guys. “Okay, I believe you’re onto something. What we need next is to find the mambo who would know who might have been sniffing around to get the spell to create a Dhampir.”

Tracy shuddered. “Only one I know of who has that kind of dark magic, and I’m not sure you’re gonna want to mess with her. Best way to describe that one is a soulless airhead melted Barbie.”

That was a mouthful and not real encouraging, but too much was on the line. If the mambo was a nightmare, that was too bad, so sad. Ethan was doing his part, and I was damned well going to do mine.

“Her name?” I asked.

Again, Tracy shuddered. “Cooch.”

“I’m sorry. What?” I asked, sure I’d heard her wrong.

“Cooch,” Tracy repeated.

“Like a bald pink taco,” Jane said, pointing to the anatomy that matched her words. “If I had to have a va-jay-jay name, I think I’d rather have Vagene than Cooch. Little less fuckin’ obvious.”

“Vagene is awful,” Martha commented, still stuck. “I’d go with Poussay.”

“What about Clamina?” Poosh suggested.

“Not bad,” Jane said, slapping the Demon on the back. “I like your style.”

“As do I,” Augustus said, giving his new gal pal a thumbs up. “Much more alive than Lynda!”

“Oh my God,” I said, ready to give all of them a headache with my yo-yo. “First of all, Lynda was imaginary. Secondly, you can all ease up on the lady bits names. The mambo’s name is Cooch. It’s not good, but we’re not going to laugh when we meet her. We’re not going to laugh.” My smile was huge. I couldn’t wipe it off my face to save my undead life. “We’re not. We’re just not.”

Tracy chuckled. “You do realize by saying that you’ve screwed the pooch.”

“Or the Cooch!” Augustus announced, quite proud of himself.

Everyone laughed, including me. We were screwed, and not in a fun way. I was sure that a mambo who could make Tracy shudder wasn’t going to appreciate us laughing at her name.

I closed my eyes. How did I keep ending up in situations with idiots? And why in the hell was anyone’s name Cooch? “It is what it is,” I finally said. “Where is this… umm… Cooch?”

Again, Jane pointed to her lady junk. I zapped her. Tracy cackled.

“Speakin’ of vaginas,” Martha started.

“We weren’t,” I said with a warning zap.

“Fine,” she said, slapping out the fire with a grin. “But I’m gonna need a little help up before my clownhole goes to sleep. Pins and needles in my meat curtains don’t feel real good.”

Augustus and Felix obliged. The vagina jokes were not going to stop any time soon.

I turned away from Martha. One, so I didn’t light her on fire. Two, so I could get back to business. “Tell me where Cooch is, please.”

“St. Louis Cemetery, No. 1 down on Basin Street. About three blocks from here,” Tracy told me.

I squinted at her. “She lives in a cemetery?” I questioned.

Tracy nodded. Her yo-yo was bouncing up and down so fast I almost couldn’t make the disk out.

“Why?” I pressed. “Is she an old-school Vamp who sleeps in a tomb?”

“Can’t say,” Tracy whispered.

“Is she a Vampyre?” I tried another avenue.

“Can’t say,” Tracy repeated.

I wanted to roll my eyes but didn’t. “Is she Immortal?” I tried again.

“Depends on your definition,” she replied. “Can’t tell you anything else.”

“You can’t or won’t?” I asked warily.

Tracy grabbed her yo-yo mid-spin and stuffed it into the pocket of her overalls. “You wanna meet with Cooch?”

“I do.”

“Then that’s all I can tell you. If I tell you too much, the old hag won’t show up,” she explained.

The rules were weird, but so was everything else going on. If Cooch preferred a little mystery, then she could have it. “Anything else we need to know going in? Not about Cooch, but about any protocol?”

Tracy nodded. “To talk to a mambo, you have to bring gifts, sweetheart. Do you have any? And heads up, the gifts can’t be conjured with magic.”

I glanced over at my little army of freaks. We didn’t come prepared. It was after nine at night. The stores wouldn’t be open now. Martha still had the rag magazines stuffed in her boob tube. That certainly wouldn’t do.

“I got a grenade up my ass,” Jane volunteered. “I’d be happy to put that in the gift pile.”

My instinct was to electrocute the living daylights out of her. I’d made it very clear before we’d left that we were not poofing with explosives in our butts. As I lifted my hands to let Jane have it, Tracy’s words stopped me.

“I think Cooch might like a grenade.”

Letting my head fall back on my shoulders, I stared at the ceiling. I reminded myself that everything happened for a reason. I never thought carrying a bomb up your ass would qualify, but we were about to have a meeting with a voodoo priestess named Cooch. Life was sideways.

“Mmkay,” I said, giving Jane the stink eye. “Do we have anything else to add to the pile?”

Poosh pulled the Chanel bags out of her leather coat. “You can use these!”

I grinned. Bribing her had turned into an advantage. “Poosh for the win.” I turned to Tracy. “Do you think Cooch needs a passcode for Netflix?”

Tracy was seriously confused. “Umm… probably not. I don’t think there’s a TV in the cemetery.”

“Right,” I said quickly, wanting to erase the last statement. “Can you suggest anything, or is that against the rules?”

“Against the rules, pookiedoodle, but… if I turn my back, I might not see you pilfering a few items from my house…”

“I’m excellent at stealing!” Poosh squealed.

“Of course you are,” I muttered as I cased the room.

“Ten seconds,” Tracy announced with a giggle as she turned around. “That’s all you have.”

I dove for the yo-yos. Martha and Jane swiped a few ceramic ducks. Augustus and Felix picked up the couch. But Poosh… she was a fucking kleptomaniac. The Demon moved like the wind, ripping pictures off the wall, shoving doilies into her pockets, and putting lampshades on her head. She’d even managed to turn Tracy’s curtains into a shitty-looking skirt. It was impressive.

“Times up,” Tracy said, turning around and then laughing hysterically. “I think that’ll do!”

“I’ll pay to replace everything,” I promised the sweet Vampyre.

“No need, sugar buns,” Tracy assured me. “I’ve got too much crap in here to begin with. It’s nice to clear a little out.”

I was pretty sure I’d never met anyone as kind as Tracy. It would have been lovely just to sit around and chat, but we’d come for a reason, and it was time to go.

“Shall we say a little prayer first?” Tracy suggested.

“Sure,” I replied, kind of surprised. Most Vamps I knew weren’t all that religious. But Tracy was definitely not most Vamps.

She nodded solemnly and clasped her small hands together. We all followed suit except for Poosh, who just looked wildly confused. She was a Demon, after all.

“Dear Lordy Sugar Tush,” Tracy started.

I almost laughed. This wasn’t going to be a regular prayer. I bit back my grin and kept my head bowed.

Tracy kept going. “Grant me and my buddies the serenity to accept that New Orleans is populated with assholes and idiots and fuckery that we cannot change. Dear Lordy Sweet Cheeks, give us the courage not to be part of the assholery, idiocy and fuckery. And provide us with the wisdom to know that we are the shit without shitting on others. Amen!”

Amen, and then some. We were ready to rumble with Cooch.

I hoped.