4. 618 Burgundy

618 Burgundy

I headed up to one of my favorite spots where I could get a good meal that was actually affordable. Clover Grill. It was worth the ten-minute walk back to Bourbon Street. The weird little pink cart sat out in front of the tiny restaurant, as it always did. It was right across the street from Café Lafitte in Exile, one of the gay bars and also one of my favorites. That place would let me come in and hang out, even if I didn't buy any drinks or tip the bartenders walking around in nothing but a jockstrap and sneakers. Well, I never complained about the view, but they weren't open. Clover Grill was. And it was a popular spot. The secret had been let out long ago. I had to wait a few minutes for a spot at the bar to free up. At least it wasn't the weekend.

The food was the best—old-fashioned grease. I flipped through the cash in my pocket and ordered a burger with cheese, grilled onions, and an egg. I got tater tots instead of fries. There was nothing better. And that meal would last on my ribs for a while.

Once it was served, I took a few bites of burger and a tot. Then I realized Luc was standing beside me, practically inside me, but not. It gave me an idea. I covered my mouth with a napkin and whispered, "Luc."

"Yes?"

"Can you taste this? If you're, you know, like before?"

"I don't know. May I try?"

I sat the napkin down and casually looked around, making sure no one was paying attention to me. Then I nodded.

Luc slipped inside. At first, it was like he was sitting on my lap, then in it, then I was in the back again. He picked up the burger. Never had a burger with an egg on it.

I sent reassuring thoughts, not sure what he could or couldn't hear from me.

He moaned so loud that I popped wood. Fuck !

I haven't had the taste of food on my tongue in…you know. A hundred years.

I let him enjoy the meal. It was going in my stomach, but I felt like if I could give him that moment of pleasure, it was worth it. He'd earned the money to eat, after all.

And he finished every bit of it, using the last of the tots to wipe the grease off of the plate before putting it in my mouth.

As the sun set and the cicadas sang, we stood in front of the cute but unassuming 618 Burgundy. In fact, the house next door had all the flash, decorated in all manner of colors and banners as a Krew house for Mardi Gras, but not Lady Geneviève's place. Only a small duplex, the building had two matching doors on opposite ends, complete with a stoop, shutters, and a solid glass window above it—a transom, I think they're called. Between the doors, two matching narrow floor-to-ceiling windows, both concealed by more shutters, as was the style of the Quarter for the most part. It even had decorative moldings, and though no balconies of latticework, it did have gingerbread trim and fancy corbels on both sides. All very typical of almost any small home in the city.

The house numbers were on the glass, leading us to the unit on the right. I had no clue what to expect behind that door, and Luc probably didn't either. "Hey, Luc. I know this is scary, right?" Turning to look at him, I noticed how he squinted in the dying sun—like anybody else would.

"It is. I'm afraid of making it worse. You know?" He tugged the hat down a little lower to block the glare. "I only just met you."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I haven't had enough time to get to know you, and I'd really like to."

Reaching out, I ran my hand along his arm, feeling nothing, but I could see it. I cupped his elbow before sliding down to his wrist and hand. Luc gripped my fingers, but of course, his went right through mine. Still, I wanted to comfort him. Needed to. Though I didn't understand why, nor did I want to analyze it. "Well, what do you want to know?"

"Huh. Well. What's your favorite color?"

"Brown," I blurted without thinking. "Like your eyes."

His mouth made an O, but he didn't say anything.

"What about you?" I asked him.

"I'd always thought green like the grass on a warm spring day, but now? I'm liking brown a bit more."

"Brown? Are you copying me?"

"No." He shook his head, obviously trying to look serious, but his cheeky grin gave him away. "More like the brown of your hair. Dark and rich, but not too much." He slid a hand over my head that I very much wanted to feel. That need had been building in me and it felt like it would explode if I didn't do something—anything—quickly.

"This doesn't even look like a voodoo priestess lives here."

Luc raised an eyebrow. "And what would that look like?"

"I don't know. Let's get this over with." I knocked on the door.

And stood there waiting, expectantly.

After a silent minute, I knocked again. From inside, I heard. "I hear you. Wait a minute for my old bones already." Then the door cracked open and a wrinkled, coppery face peeked out. "What you want? It's getting late. Oh." The door opened wide, giving us the first full view of Lady Geneviève, the voodoo mambo-priestess in all her hodgepodge glory. She was maybe five feet tall and wore a dress of patchwork in every color of the rainbow. The garish cloth nearly made my head hurt. Her eyes, so dark they were probably black, flew open wide. "This is the most interestin' thing I seen in a while." Her face was old but timeless. If you asked me how old she was, I couldn't tell you. Maybe somewhere between eighty and infinity.

"We, uh, we came for your help." I gave her a little bow as if she were royalty. Hell, for all I knew, she was. "Please."

"Help with what? Getting rid of the spirit attached to you?"

"Oh, God, no. I—" Nearly said things I shouldn't. "We want to make him whole. Corporal. See, he was stolen from his body. And it was wrong. Under false pretenses."

She glared at Luc.

"Can you see him, then?"

She glared at me.

Luc stepped a little closer to me on the little stoop. "I don't know. I don't think she's going to help."

"I don't know if I can." She eyed him up and down. "And yes, I can see and hear him. I commune with spirits. All my life." She rolled her eyes. "Most folks think it's nonsense, but you…" She pointed at me and then clapped her hands. "You have firsthand experience to say it's not, dontcha ?"

"Yes, ma'am." I nodded.

"Guess you two better come in." She went into the house, leaving the door open behind her, so we followed. I shut the door and joined them, walking across dark, hardwood floors. The walls had been painted a charcoal gray, but with the antique white trim and the last of the day's sun coming in the window, those floors gleamed, and the room felt bright. "Sit, please." She gestured to a round table in the center of the room beneath a grand chandelier. She had certainly done a lot with the humble space.

Luc stood beside the table, and I pulled out a chair for him. He gave me a look that said he thought I was crazy. "Can you sit?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't tried. I mean, I sat with you on the stoop, but…" He squatted in front of the chair but sank through it. "This is different than what I've done before. Sort of. I don't have much practice with things like this, either. I never left the cemetery until you."

"Interestin'. Why's that?" she asked, sitting across from the empty chair.

I pushed it back under the table. If Luc was standing, I would too.

"Haven't been able to." It was nice having someone else hear him. It confirmed I hadn't lost my mind and made for a smoother conversation.

"Why?"

I held my hand up, showing her the ring. "I found this and put it on, and there he was. Now he's with me."

"As I said. Interestin'. Come here and let me see."

I circled the table and stuck my hand out. I wasn't going to take it off for her to examine. I wasn't taking it off until Luc, well, until Luc had a body of his own like he wanted. Though, I didn't know how that would work. The Rougarou's first words might be right in the end. We might have to be happy with what we have, though I couldn't see Luc being satisfied with that. But I hadn't asked him either. Who knew.

Thankfully, she didn't ask me to remove the ring. Instead, she turned my hand this way and that. Her hands on my skin were cool and dry. She grabbed a pair of glasses that had been hanging around her neck and slid them up her nose, and then she leaned in closer, inspecting the ring. "This is the ring." She tapped the metal around my finger. "This is Rose Carollo's ring."

"Uh…yes?" I thought that was what Luc had said.

"What do ya know? So you must be the Prince of Jazz . How about that?" She winked at him.

"So they called me." I didn't know they called him that, or did I? Hadn't the tour guide said something like that? I didn't know, but I could sure understand it.

"He's fantastic. And deserves—"

"Don' tell me what he deserves or doesn't. This is legend. Walking into my house. I know the story. I know what happened to the mambo who done it too. She cursed Rose, you know."

"No, I didn't know that. It…I never blamed her. The whole thing broke my heart."

"I'm sure it did."

"I thought you were gay?" As if it was my truth to tell. It wasn't but hearing that this woman broke his heart made me feel. What? Was this jealousy? Maybe?

Luc rolled his eyes. His hat was gone. I didn't know where he'd put it, and I didn't ask.

It was Lady Geneviève who answered. "There many ways to break a heart, young man." Then she tapped the table. "So you want to be a real boy, huh? Want a body?"

I nodded furiously. "Is it possible?"

"Anything be possible. But." She held up a finger. "It's gonna cost you. It's not cheap."

I was crestfallen. We had been warned. But even though I was broke, there were other ways to pay than money. Right? "What will it cost?"

"First, you need an actual body. I have one. A zombie. He'll work." She waved her hand as if dismissing any notion that it wouldn't.

I wondered immediately if he was cute. Or rotted, but I didn't voice any of that. "Great."

"But a zombie is expensive. Takes a lot to make one, and I'll need to replace it."

Luc sighed. I could imagine he was dreading the question he had to ask. "What will that cost?"

She shrugged. "Not for me to say, but that's not all. You also have to pay the spirits. A sacrifice."

"Sacrifice? Like a goat or a chicken?" I asked like the idiot I was.

Geneviève slapped my arm. Well, I couldn't blame her. "No." She said some words that I suspected were cursing in another language. Maybe French or Creole. It had a familiar lilt to it, though I didn't know the words. "A sacrifice of the heart. That is what it is and you either can give it or you can't."

"I can. What else?" Luc was serious now. This was starting to feel obtainable. At least somewhat.

"What about the zombie? Doesn't he have a soul?" I was so curious about everything, but at least this was a better question.

She shook her head. "No, dear, he done lost his soul a long time ago. But to answer your lover here, you also need to pay for the services, the ritual itself. And I'm the best mambo in these parts."

Choosing not to comment on the lover comment, I went with a simple question. "I thought mambo's were more altruistic?"

"Listen, if I didn't think this was a worthy cause, you'd be out the door." She pointed in that direction. "I know you were done wrong, and I want to help. But these things are expensive. I can't be expected to cover all the costs. Can I?"

"No, ma'am." Luc glanced toward the front of the house.

"So, three things. Payment for the zombie and your services. Then, payment to the spirits in the form of a sacrifice. Do I have that right?"

"Yes, boy."

A commotion in the street had all our attention. Luc moved to the window with a fluid gate. "They found you, Austin."

"They?" she asked.

"Shit. Sorry, I mean, can we go out the back?"

Geneviève shot me a look that would have me back in that grave if I could die from a glare. Then she hurried to the window faster than she'd moved before. "Deadman mafia? After you? What's that about?"

"I don't have time to explain."

"They're coming, Austin." Luc headed toward the back.

"Thank you. We'll be in touch." I bowed again, then rushed through the house before she had a chance to give permission. I really hoped she wasn't offended, though. I did not need anyone else after me.

I heard her say, "I expect you will." Then, I sprinted down a hallway and into the back. The walls were brick on one side, the good old soft red brick most prominent throughout the city, and the other was a quaint kitchen with a yellow and white backsplash and a huge island with a butcher block top. And more importantly, a back door. I flew out of it, barely shutting it behind me.

On the other side of a simple courtyard, I climbed over a small wooden fence and into an alley that stretched into the next street. I guessed from where we were that it was St. Peter, so I blindly ran toward Bourbon. If we could get lost in the crowds there, we could get away. The sun was nearly down, and the nightly revelry would be starting.

This was getting out of control. I had no clue how we would pay for Lady Geneviève's services or even how the hell I was gonna get the mafia off my ass. And Deadman Mafia? What the hell was that? One more thing I didn't know. I turned up Bourbon Street. At least I felt a little more confident with so many people around, and the farther we went, the thicker the crowds.

"Woah." Luc turned in circles, looking everywhere at once. "I don't remember this. Oh my!" He was open-mouthed gawking at one of the gay clubs where a couple of young guys, wearing nothing but jockstraps, danced on the bar. Men reached up and stuck money in the strap or handed it to them. The boys flirted. "I never…"

"Welcome to the two thousands, my friend." I gave him a saucy wink and dodged back into the crowd.

"I don't remember most of this. The buildings, yes. Mainly. The architecture of the balconies, yes. But not the people. The noise. Oh my." We passed the Four Points and into the main party area. "It seems bigger and smaller at once."

"Hmm." I looked back, noticing the head of a familiar goon a few blocks back but getting closer. "In here." I ducked into Little Bayou. It was a cool little spot with a double bar for oysters as much as drinks. We needed to find somewhere to hide, and this wasn't it. We'd be spotted through the big glass windows and doors all flung open wide. I breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of salt and spices as well as the peppery, fruity olives. But I needed to get out of there. Maybe we could double back and lose them.

I darted out and around the corner, down St. Louis. It was quieter, but too quiet. Luc rushed up close to me. "I can feel them coming." Feel them? There wasn't time to question it. And there was nowhere to hide.

Except…

Up.

I couldn't get over the door to any of the courtyards between the buildings. In this area, they built them tall with iron bars on the top, often with configurations that appeared downright medieval but were effective in keeping out tourists or people like me. But I could shimmy up that waterspout. It was close enough to the courtyard door that I could get my foot in there to boost me higher. So I did. Then, I grabbed the latticework on the second-floor balcony. And climbed it like a ladder to the roof. Dropping down into the alley leading to the courtyard was an option, but we could also get stuck. Continuing on the roof made more sense. I worked my way back into the depths of the block.

Crossing over from one building to another, we made it all the way to Dauphine Street before I had to drop back to the ground. The hard and noisy partying of Bourbon Street was not here, and we would be easily seen. I crossed the street, spotting another alley I could get into. It had a lower wooden gate minus all the ironwork. I suspected it led to a parking area rather than a courtyard, but either way, we were going. Up and over. Not too difficult at all. Look at me showing off my parkour skills . Also…ouch. My whole damn body was still bruised and not appreciative of the vivacious activity.

We couldn't be seen from the street, and it was deathly quiet. And I was fucking tired. I slowed to a walk, choosing to stick to the shadows just in case.

"Hey, Austin. Where are we going?"

"Don't know," I said between panting breaths.

"We need a plan. Running willy-nilly isn't going to get us anywhere. Do you know where we are?"

"Ahh…yes? Mostly." I grew up on these streets and oriented myself quickly regardless of where I was at any time. "I've been running around here since I could run. You know?"

"No. I spent time here, but I traveled all over the south, and I'm not originally from New Orleans."

"Oh. I didn't think about that. Where are you from?"

"St. Louis, actually. But, uh…I came here for the music."

"Stayed for the fun?"

Luc snorted.

"Yeah, guess that wasn't all that funny, now that I said it. Let's keep moving."

We came out at St. Peter and cut back down to Bourbon. We moved slower this time. Walking casually through the crowds, not calling attention to myself. But the crowds were thinner. This was an area where all the tourists went who were into vampires, voodoo, and the other supernatural nonsense that flourished in New Orleans. Oh, right. Maybe not so ridiculous after all.

"This is St. Ann's." I waved my hand around. "Let's go up again…" We were entirely too exposed here. I once again shimmied up a pole. This one was a bit harder, closer to the street than the wall, but I managed. Then I skated across the balcony to the back wall and over an arched gate of brick with iron bars completely covering the opening. I jumped down on the far side and walked around the corner into yet another courtyard. Well, this was more of a parking area, but there was a low wall on the far side begging to be climbed.

New Orleans was full of hidden treasures. This space was incredible. Lush with vegetation and nearly hidden behind palm trees and other bushes. It was secluded. The ground was a cement path, but multiple varieties of potted palms and ferns surrounded the space. A little table with a chair was pushed against the corner. And a pair of long legs happened to be sticking out.

The man leaned forward and peered over at me, blowing out a puff of smoke.

"Man, smoking is bad for your health." We were busted, but it could go a number of ways, and I had no choice but to play it out.

The smoker ignored my comment. "The tourists are eating down the road at the café, and here you come, bounding into my courtyard. Are you lost?"

"Uh, no, not really?"

He took a slow drag from a cigarette and held it a second before blowing it out again. "Oh, but you must be. My gallery is closed." He waved the cigarette around.

"Um… We're just passing through?"

"We?" he asked with a flick of his hand, dumping ashes to the ground beside him.

"Yes, me and… Oh. Right, Luc is a spirit. Now you think I'm crazy." I had gotten entirely too comfortable with my new lover—friend. Definitely, friend. And I was guessing the vampire couldn't see Luc's glow, though it lit up the entire courtyard. At least it wasn't likely for the goon-brigade to track us like that.

"But you must be. You're making dangerous choices." He flashed a fang and stood intimidatingly tall. He was what I'd always thought of as svelte . Perfectly svelte. Flawless. Fanged. Shit. That could be fake. This was New Orleans, after all.

"So, you're a vampire?"

Luc leaned toward me. "Yes, definitely a supernatural creature. I can tell—"

"Luc, please…"

The vampire flicked his cigarette away. "Do you really see and hear a spirit? Are you an Ongan?"

"N-No. I uh… It's this ring." I felt like I needed to tell the truth. If Luc was right and this truly was a vampire, it might mean life or death. Or something in between, and I'd had enough of that. "And we're working on that. Sort of. But…"

The vampire waved his hand around and sat back down. "I don't want to know. You get a pass this time. For your spirit friend."

"I'm Austin. The spirit is Luc. And you are?"

"If I must. Call me Sloane."

"Sloane. Thank you. I won't forget this."

"Something tells me I won't either." He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and tapped one out, but I didn't stick around to see him light it. Instead, I walked around the corner and climbed over another wall, heading back to the streets. I wondered why the vampire couldn't see him or even tell he was there, but the Rougarou could. None of this made since, but I didn't know much about the spirit world. I put it out of my mind, while we made our way down toward the river and across St. Peter Street. Trying to keep moving and simply put distance between us and the goons, though I wasn't sure where they were now.

A lot of people were around. Maybe we would be okay. "Luc, any ideas yet on the payment for Geneviève?"

"I have the sacrifice. We only need the other two. But if we're going to figure it out, we need to get rid of your problem first so we can even think. As clever as you've been at avoiding them. This is making things difficult. And to be honest, I don't like the idea of people hurting you." Damn, he was sweet, and it made me want to taste if that mouth was as flavorful as his disposition.

"We've been running around the city all night. I'm sure we're good now." An authentic gas light on the building flickered as I walked beneath a balcony.

"Austin, being good for now isn't good enough. Why are these men chasing you?"

"I don't think they're men, exactly." Not after Lady Geneviève's comment about the Deadman Mafia. "But also because I owe money. Gambling debt. And whoever the boss is, he's decided it's time to collect. And…I don't have it. Told you. I'm broke."

"You don't know the boss?" That seemed like a valid question, but there were circumstances.

"No. The family running the city was falling apart for a while, but suddenly, they weren't. No one is sure exactly what happened or who is actually in charge now. And honestly, I don't want to know."