Chapter Twenty-Five
As soon as Mezareau hit the ground, the thunder of falling water filled the cavern. I could do nothing but stare dumbly at the waterfall that had appeared in place of the rock face. Mezareau must have used some sort of shielding spell, which disappeared when he became unconscious—or worse.
“Nice shot,” Murphy muttered, and strode to the body.
Going down on one knee, he checked Mezareau’s pulse, then yanked my knife out of his chest. After wiping the weapon on Mezareau’s shirt, Murphy returned, snatching my backpack as he passed.
“Come on.”
“Is he—?”
“Yep.” He tossed my knife in the bag, adjusted the pack on my shoulders, and shoved me into the pond.
The cool water revived me enough to mount a resistance when he tried to pull me through the waterfall.
“Wait.”
“No.” Murphy lifted me into his arms and dragged me along.
The waterfall clouded my vision, soaking me, soaking us, driving both Murphy and me beneath the water.
I couldn’t breathe—for an instant I thought I’d drown; then we broke the surface on the other side.
The slightly lopsided moon shone brightly as Murphy helped me out of the water. Together we collapsed onto the bank.
“Do you think the zombies will come after us?” Murphy turned his head; so did I. Our noses brushed.
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
“If he could have sent them, he wouldn’t have sent the baka. I think the zombies are still asleep.”
“What happens when they wake up?”
“Hard to say. With their master dead, they might be a little confused.”
“Why did you do it?” Murphy asked quietly.
We were still nose to nose, our breath mingling as the moon cast silvery shadows over both us and the night.
I decided not to mention what I’d seen—the odd height of the eyes, the indistinct shape that had not seemed entirely human. Murphy might not think I was crazy anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t think so again.
I sat up. “He’d have killed you.”
Murphy sat up, too. He lifted his hand, and the diamond appeared between his thumb and forefinger, for all the world as if he’d plucked it from thin air. “You’re probably right.”
“How did you—?” Last I’d looked the damned diamond had been in my backpack. Of course so had he.
I opened my mouth to admonish him for stealing, for risking our lives, then snapped it shut again.
Mezareau had been a killer. He’d murdered all his zombie minions and would no doubt have murdered many more to fashion an army to take over Haiti. Once he had control of the country, the world was next. It always was.
He’d have killed Murphy eventually. The diamond had nothing to do with it.
Murphy brushed his fingers against my hair where it grew white at the temple. “You OK?”
He was a liar, a cheat, a thief, yet my stomach did a weird little dance at his touch. If I wasn’t careful, I’d fall for him, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. It was time to leave both Haiti and Murphy behind.
Our Jeep was right where we’d left it, just as Murphy had predicted it would be. The sun shone bright and hot as he drove me straight to the airport.
I counted backward. Had I gotten off the plane only two weeks before?
Murphy came around the front of the car, opened my door, held out his hand. “I’ll walk you in.”
We hadn’t taken two steps inside the terminal when three young, buff Haitians dressed in the spiffy uniform of the local police appeared and zeroed in on Murphy.
“Uh-oh,” I murmured.
Murphy didn’t even get a chance to turn around before they grabbed him. “You are under arrest for trespassing.”
“Trespassing?” I followed as they dragged Murphy toward the door. “Where?”
“Many places.”
“I was there, too.”
Murphy gave an annoyed sigh. “Cassandra, shut up.”
“Well, I was.”
“Your fine has been paid, Priestess.”
Priestess? How did they know that?
“Who paid it?” I demanded.
“You have friends in high places.”
Edward. Figures. Though I wasn’t sure how he could have found out about the charges already, still I wasn’t surprised that he had.
“I’ll pay Murphy’s fine,” I offered.
“There are other issues.”
“There always are,” Murphy muttered.
“Wait!” I cried, and they actually stopped dragging him and waited.
“Go home,” Murphy said. “I’ll meet you there.”
“In New Orleans?”
His brow quirked. “Isn’t that where you live?”
“I guess.”
I was impatient to return to California, but if I didn’t return to New Orleans and see to the raising of that voodoo queen, Edward would only follow me west and take me back.
I’d rather test the raising ceremony on someone other than Sarah anyway.
“I’ll clear this up and follow you,” Murphy continued. “Maybe tonight.”
One of the cops snorted.
“Or tomorrow.”
“But—”
Leaning forward, Murphy kissed me before either the police or I knew what he was up to. “You didn’t think I’d just let you walk out of my life now, did you?”
Actually, I’d thought exactly that.
The cops lifted him from his feet and carted him away.
“See you in the Big Easy,” Murphy called as they shoved him through the door.
“I don’t know why everyone insists on calling it that,” I muttered. “The place may be big, but it certainly ain’t easy.”
I’d arrived after the last hurricane, which had almost been the last for New Orleans. While California awaits the big one to knock it into the ocean, New Orleans has been waiting for the big one to submerge it in the waters of… Take your pick—river, lake, swamp—the place was surrounded.
Katrina had been that big one—a category five—the one all the doomsday predictors had said was coming.
Then it came. New Orleans was devastated. Water, water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink. I used to like that poem.
Lucky for me, I’d still been in voodoo training and hadn’t made it to the French Quarter yet. Lucky for everyone, the French Quarter was a bit higher than the city proper, because it fared better against the floods, not so well against the crazies and the looters.
However, with the typical savoir faire of New Orleanians, they picked themselves up, dried themselves off, and were open for business within months. There was even a bar on Bourbon Street that never did close—just served warm beer right through the hurricane. You gotta love that. Cities like New Orleans did not go away.
Because of Katrina I was able to buy my shop rock-bottom cheap. The place was rumored to have belonged once to Marie Laveau—the infamous voodoo queen of New Orleans.
Marie had actually been two women, a mother and a daughter, who had greatly resembled each other.
When the first died the second took her place, which led to the rumors that Marie had great power.
When you appear to live two lifetimes, that’ll happen.
Whether Marie—the first, the second, or both—had been powerful was irrelevant. The locals thought she was, and they believed my place had been hers. Both viewpoints had been very helpful in the success of my voodoo shop.
After the purchase, I’d spent several months fixing the store and the attached living quarters. Just because the building hadn’t flooded didn’t mean it wasn’t a mess.
I was amazed to discover that I missed it, along with Lazarus and Diana, my two best friends in the world.
“Miss Cassandra.” Marcel materialized from somewhere, and I didn’t even think that was strange. “I am to take you to your plane.”
I’d been staring at the door through which Murphy had disappeared, and I forced myself to look away.
Murphy was gone, and despite his words, his kiss, I didn’t think I’d see him again. “I don’t have a ticket.”
“Monsieur Mandenauer has taken care of everything.” Marcel beckoned, and I followed.
“How did he know I was coming back today?”
“He was not certain you would come back at all. So he had me wait for you here.”
“Since I left? Don’t you have a j ob?”
Marcel paused at security and spoke in soft, rapid-fire Creole to the guards. I lifted my backpack from my shoulders in preparation for a search, but they waved us through without comment.
“My true j ob is to serve the monsieur. He saved my life many moons ago, and this I will never forget.”
Marcel pushed open a door that led onto the tarmac where a small plane idled.
“How did he save your life?” I asked. “Where?”
“That is a tale of another time, for another day. Monsieur asked me to ascertain that you and anything you have with you was put on this plane without question of the authorities.” Marcel pressed a boarding pass into my hand. “And now I have done so. Priestess, may the has bless you all of your days.”
“And you.” I walked up the metal staircase that led to the plane.
Edward was no dummy. He’d considered I might be bringing back more than myself from the mountains.
Most voodoo spells, both white magic and black, were augmented with roots, herbs, even the bones of the dead. Things that would not be allowed through commercial security. Not to mention my solid silver knife. But all that I needed for the raising of the dead was water, fresh blood, and the incantation. Which didn’t seem enough, but then the simplest of rituals were often the most powerful.
