Crescent Moon Page 6

  “I’ll arrange for a new guide,” Frank said, as if his last arrangement hadn’t died from a mortal throat wound.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  I didn’t plan on hiring anyone. I couldn’t put another person in danger. I’d buy a gun; I’d done so before. Then I’d explore the swamp on my own.

  “If that’s what you want. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “How about if I call you when I have some news?”

  I couldn’t work if he was going to check up on me all the time. He was already making me half-nuts.

  “All right.”

  “I’ll be out in the field a lot,” I explained. “My phone will be off.”

  “Of course.” Frank still sounded a bit miffed, but he said good-bye without further comment.

  I moved to the balcony, checked the crowd once more. No one paid me any mind, which was as it should be. I began to think I’d only imagined being followed— again. I rationalized that even if the man had been staring at me, and I kind of thought he had, it was because he liked redheads, big girls, or balconies on Bourbon Street. Still, I shut and locked the French doors before heading for my laptop.

  Though wolves usually claim a fairly large territory, the proximity of the recent deaths made me think this wolf didn’t. Although, for all we knew, the thing had been killing throughout the swamp—a distance of some 250 square miles—and only the bodies closest to civilization, i.e., on the Ruelle property, had been found.

  I’d bookmarked the articles Frank had originally given me, and I brought them up on the screen, clicked through, made a few notes. I was just about to do a search for other mysterious animal killings under the crescent moon when a tiny photo of one of the swamp victims caught my eye. I clicked on the enlargement feature, and then I couldn’t move, speak, even breathe.

  I could barely think.

  Chapter 9

  I squinted at the screen. The man was dead; he couldn’t have been standing outside my hotel room watching me. I knew that as well as I knew my bra size. So why were my hands shaking?

  “Place is getting to you. Haunted houses. Werewolves in the swamp. Voodoo priestess.”

  Maybe I should talk to Cassandra. If anyone would know why I’d seen a dead man walking, that someone would probably be her.

  Except it was well past midnight and there was no way I was going out on the street in the dark—even if it was lit up like Mardi Gras. Instead I returned to my research, found several articles about dead people in the swamp, cross-referenced them with the phases of the moon, and came up with a list.

  I found no mention of rabid animals, rogue beasts, or a serial killer. Which struck me as odd. Had no one but Frank and I noticed bodies were piling up under the crescent moon?

  I studied the dates. Over the past ten years there hadn’t been more than three bodies found per annum. Which was probably why there hadn’t been an outcry. Especially in an area where death lived everywhere and had for a very long time.

  According to my Internet sources, my guidebook, and my memories, New Orleans could have been called the Big Epidemic instead of the Big Easy. As it was located below sea level, between Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River, yellow fever had loved the place. From 1793 to 1905 there were twenty outbreaks.

  Besides the plagues, they had starvation, war, pestilence. The usual. However, in New Orleans the troubles seemed multiplied. Which is probably why when they partied, they did so for days.

  I continued to search for deaths, disappearances, locations. About 2:00 a.m. my eyes drooped. I was so tired I barely got my clothes off before I fell into bed. The next thing I knew, the sun was up.

  No dreams. No visitations. No flowers. A good night.

  I took a shower, snagged some coffee, and headed for Cassandra’s. On the street, shopkeepers sprayed the sidewalks, flushing away the refuse left over from the nightly celebration. Water dripped from balconies and onto my head as residents watered their plants. I dodged people meandering down Bourbon Street with cocktails in plastic glasses. Had they ever gone home?

  The door to the shop was locked. I glanced at my watch, then the sign on her window. Two hours until Cassandra opened for business. I needed to talk to her now.

  I’d just lifted my hand to knock when she opened the door. My eyes narrowed. “How did you know I was here?”

  “How do you think?”

  She turned, leaving the door open. I stepped inside.

  “Lazarus?” she called.

  I froze, one foot in, one foot out.

  “You mind shutting that? If he sees the daylight, he’ll bolt.”

  I cringed at the thought of Lazarus bolting over my sneakers, or maybe up my leg, and slammed the door. “How does a snake bolt?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Why is he out of his cage?”

  “I let him out at night.” Cassandra went down on her knees, peeking under one of the display cases. “Would you want to be stuck in a cage every minute of your life?”

  Lazarus was a snake. Did he have wants and needs?

  Something skittered across the open space.

  “There he is,” I said, just a little too loud.

  Cassandra started, bumping her head on the case before giving me a disgusted glare. “I thought you were a scientist. How can you be afraid of snakes?”

  “Who said I’m afraid of snakes?”

  She snorted.

  “Call me crazy,” I said stiffly, “but I don’t like being in a small confined space with a freaking python.”

  “He’s not interested in you.”

  A slight thud caused me to turn. Lazarus was right behind me. I stared at the odd growth in his throat. Or was that his neck? Maybe his body?

  “There you are!” Cassandra snatched him up, then popped the snake into his cage and flipped the lock.

  “Does he have a tumor?” I asked.

  “What?” Horrified, she bent and peered at him.

  “That big bump.”

  “I thought you were a zoologist.”

  “Crypto.”

  “Still—didn’t you study reptiles?”

  “As little as possible.”

  She put a hand on her hip and tilted her head. “What do snakes eat?”

  “Rodents.” The light dawned. “That’s what’s in his throat?”

  “Another reason I set him free at night. He’s much better than a cat. Never, ever, brings me a present.” Cassandra shuddered.

  I’d never had a cat, never had a pet. Can you imagine my mother allowing an animal to walk on her winter-white carpet? She’d rarely allowed me there. However, I knew cats liked to share. Or maybe brag. I could see Cassandra’s point though I’d stop short of befriending a python.

  “What brings you here?” she asked.

  I hesitated. It was one thing to consider seeking the advice of a voodoo priestess in the middle of the night and quite another to actually do it in the daylight

  “Tea?” She pushed through the beaded doorway without waiting for my answer, which would have been “ack” if I hadn’t known that was rude.

  I followed her into a quaint kitchen. “Don’t suppose you have coffee.”

  “You suppose right. The stuff will stunt your growth.”

  I lifted my eyebrows at her petite form.

  “Never mind.” Cassandra set the tea on the table and motioned me into a chair. “What happened?”

  I found myself telling her everything. Since Simon’s death I’d had no one to confide in, no one to bounce ideas off of, no one to trust. Why I’d chosen Cassandra I wasn’t sure. She just had a way about her. Despite her youth, she seemed wise. Her eyes were a little sad, as if she’d seen more than she should. I sensed she’d lost someone, too, someone she’d loved. Despite our differences, I felt a kindred spirit and I responded.

  She listened to all that I told her, not speaking until I was through. “Comparing a news photo and a man you saw from pretty far away is a stretch.”

&nb
sp; “I know.”

  “He could be a relative of the deceased. Resemble him just enough to throw you off.”

  “Most likely.”

  Cassandra took a sip of her tea, swallowed, set the cup down with a click, and met my gaze. “Then why are you here?”

  “Exactly.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Why am I here? I’m not the spooky type. I don’t believe in this stuff. Yet here I am, asking a voodoo priestess why a dead guy was following me down Bourbon Street. Why?”

  “You’ve lost your mind?”

  ‘I’m starting to wonder.”

  “Maybe you just need a friend.”

  I lifted my gaze. “That pathetic, am I?”

  “Not at all. You travel a lot. How could you make friends?”

  “Even if I was any good at it.”

  “You seem pretty good at it to me.”

  I half-expected her to reach over and pat my hand.

  “Anyway, you came to the right place.”

  “For a friend?”

  “That, too. I like you, Diana. I think I have something that’ll help you.”

  Cassandra stood, then headed into the shop. I followed. A quick glance into the snake cage revealed Lazarus at work on his breakfast At least cats ate their prey, eventually; they didn’t wear it.

  “If you see the guy again, blow this into his face.” She handed me a tiny burlap bag.

  “More gris-gris?” My fingers searched for, then found the one I’d stuffed into my back pocket.

  “No. This’ll tell you if he’s dead.”

  I frowned at the sack. “It’ll tell me if the man who’s following me down the street is dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cassandra, what are you talking about?”

  “Zombies. What were you asking me about?”

  “A dead guy.”

  “Who was walking. Add them together and that equals zombie.”

  “In New Orleans maybe.”

  “In any damn place.”

  She was right. I had come to ask about zombies; I just hadn’t known how to. But now that she’d answered... “How are zombies raised?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. There are a lot of theories, spells, but I’ve never been able to raise one.”

  “You’ve tried?”

  She shrugged. “It takes a lot more power than I have. Raising the dead is serious business.”

  I must have looked skeptical because she tilted her head. “You don’t believe, even though you’ve seen.”

  “We don’t know what I saw. Probably the guy’s cousin, uncle, twin.”

  “Use the powder; then you’ll know.”

  “What happens if I blow this stuff into a zombie’s face?”

  “The one who raises the zombie gives it purpose and strength. His or her power keeps the zombie moving physically. Mentally they just aren’t right.”

  I was starting to get the drift. “If I blow this in his face—”

  “The magic dies. He’ll revert to a corpse right before your eyes.”

  Chapter 10

  “Cassandra, this is ridiculous.”

  “Try the powder; then tell me it doesn’t work.”

  “Fine.” I stuffed the bag into another pocket. “Thanks.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  “I’ll—uh—be staying at the Ruelle place from now on.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “How did you manage that?”

  “My boss. You know where I can get some camping equipment?” There were a few things I didn’t have—like mosquito netting. It had been a while since I’d gone anywhere this tropical.

  Cassandra gave me an address. I wrote out my cell phone number. “In case you need me.”

  Although what she’d need me for, I had no idea. Still she smiled as if I’d just given her a gift beyond rubies and accompanied me to the door.

  “Are you going to be there alone?” she asked.

  “Probably not,” I muttered, and headed for the hotel.

  I checked out, got directions to the address Cassandra had given me, charged what I needed, and drove to the mansion. On the porch sat my camping equipment. I don’t know how Frank had gotten the stuff here that fast and I didn’t care. He was the greatest.

  As soon as I’d unloaded, a sudden compulsion to do something proactive made me head into the swamp. If I was going to take a look around, I wanted to do it in the daytime.

  I found the location of last night’s “incident” without too much trouble. Yellow crime scene tape stands out pretty well amid swaying grass and cypress trees. I resisted the urge to tear it down. Behavior like that could earn me a few days in a cell.

  I spent far too long in the swamp. The place was both wild and tranquil, steamy with heat, yet filled with cool water. I saw birds I’d never seen before, plants, trees, flowers, fish. I was captivated, entranced, mesmerized, which was the only reason I didn’t notice the sun falling down.

  I discovered a field of fire irises and used the pocketknife I’d just purchased to saw through a few stalks. As I gathered them into my arms, something caught my eye. Thinking I’d see the tip of a tail once again disappearing into the swamp, I gaped at the shape of a man in the shadows of a cypress tree. I knew that silhouette—the broad shoulders, the slim waist, the tousled hair.

  “Adam?” I blinked and he was gone. Which was impossible. Nobody could move that fast.

  I tightened my fingers on the knife, then hurried to the tree and walked around the huge trunk. There was nothing, no one, yet still I felt... something, and it wasn’t friendly.

  I stared upward, cringing at the idea of a man dropping from the tree and landing on me. All I saw was branches and moss; nevertheless, I cursed. Dusk hovered on the horizon.

  With one last wary glance at the swamp, I folded the knife and put it in my pocket, then clasped the irises to my chest and headed for home at a near run. Along with the thunder of my own frantic feet—now encased in unfashionable but practical hiking boots—I could have sworn I heard footsteps behind me. I was officially paranoid.

  As I burst out of the foliage and into the yard, the house seemed to stare back at me with a smirk. Not only was I paranoid but a little crazy too.

  I ran inside and slammed the door, locking it behind me. No wonder the house seemed to be laughing. What good would a locked door do me when all the windows were broken? Why on earth was I here without a gun?

  From what I’d gathered on the Internet, it wasn’t hard to buy one around here. No waiting period, no registration, no background check. God, I loved the South. First chance I had, I was using some of Frank’s money on a pistol.

  A thud from the second floor had my heart racing as fast as my feet had. I should have stayed in the city, but then I’d never find out anything. With a sense of deja vu, I turned toward the steps.

  Adam Ruelle stood at the bottom, holding the lantern I’d bought, wearing his usual frayed khakis. This time a white tank top covered his chest, the lack of sleeves only emphasizing the ropy muscles of his arms.

  Confused, I glanced out the window, toward the swamp, where I could have sworn I’d seen him not more than fifteen minutes ago. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” He set the lantern next to my backpack, sleeping bag, and portable stove. “My house.”

  “Not while I’m renting the place.”

  “You're the one who rented it?”

  “My employer did. I need to be close to the area where the—” I broke off.

  He didn’t seem to notice, staring at the flowers I clutched to my chest. “You shouldn’t have brought those.”

  I lowered my arms, stared at the crushed blooms. “Why?”

  “They attract animals.”

  Before I could say anything, do anything, he yanked them out of my hands then opened the front door, walked to the dock, and tossed the fire irises as far away as he could before striding back inside.

  “You’r
e kidding,” I said.

  “I don’t kid.”

  I wasn’t surprised. The man hadn’t cracked a smile since I’d met him.

  “Someone left one on my bed at the hotel.” Had that someone been him? If so, why leave the flower then and take them away from me now?

  Adam appeared more worried about the fire iris on my bed than I had been. Which couldn’t be good.

  “I was told those flowers were bad luck,” I continued. “I figured someone didn’t much care for me.”

  His eyes flicked to mine, the bright blue a beacon in the hazy light from the lantern. “Who you think it was?”

  “No idea. I’d just gotten into town at the time. How could I have pissed off anyone that fast?”

  I plucked a stray red petal off my shirt and rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger. A spicy aroma arose, like cinnamon atop a bonfire. I could understand why an animal might be attracted to them. I was.

  “At least I’m not nuts,” I murmured.

  “No?”

  I narrowed my gaze. “I could have sworn someone was following me just now. But maybe it was... something.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I thought I saw you, but that must have been a trick of the light. You were here. Right?”

  “Right.” He didn’t sound convinced. Which was as bizarre as my seeing him in the first place. Didn’t he know where he’d been?

  “The police think you’re dead.”

  “They aren’t the only ones.”

  “You like being a ghost?”

  A long moment passed, the silence broken only by a faint splash from the swamp. He went to the window and his whisper came out of the darkness. “I don’t mind.”

  He seemed so sad, so alone. I’d been there, hell, I still was, and while sometimes I liked it, more and more lately I didn’t.

  I couldn’t help myself. I inched in close and touched his arm. “You seem real enough to me.”

  He stiffened, and I yanked my hand away, but he caught it in a swift, catlike movement as he turned. I didn’t have time to think, let alone escape, even if I’d wanted to. He wrapped his long, strong arm around my back and kissed me. I was so shocked I let him. Or maybe I let him because the man kissed as if he did little else but.