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FIFTEEN
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Bayou Whispers SIXTEEN
SIXTEENGreenwood Cemetery Caretaker’s CottageNew OrleansTHEY WERE OUTSIDEthe cottage, near the parked truck. “Roo, can you get to Charley before those things get here?” asked Curtis through gritted teeth.“Yeah, he’s wrapped up—but I hate moving him before the process is complete.”“Get him into the bed of the pickup. Fernández, go with him.”“Do you expect to waltz through a couple hundred zonbi?” asked an incredulous Gallow, as he pulled a shotgun from behind the couch.“No, I expect we will run away as fast as we can get out of here.”“And go where, Jonesy? My restaurant and house are sure to be covered with cops.”“Back to my place.”“We burned it to the ground, remember?”“I do. You didn’t burn the bunker, though.”“Guys,” began Jeannine. “While I appreciate this macho banter, can we move, please? I’m really not interested in hanging out with the dead again, especially if Papa Nightmare is here, too.”An engine roared outside and Roo screamed something unin
Bayou Whispers SEVENTEEN
SEVENTEENUndisclosed LocationCURTIS AWOKE INsome sort of cell. The dampness reminded him of the hole in the ground he had been kept in for a week in Colombia. He shook his head, the cobwebs faded, and his mind cleared. He had a vague recollection of Roo’s place, bodies crawling toward him. Shotgun blasts ...Gallow. That fucking traitor. He always was a political pussy, cutting deals to save his own skin. That’s why Curtis had ended up in that hole in the ground in Colombia, too. It all made sense now. Gallow’s restaurant in the French Quarter was never a place where he wanted the krewe to meet. “Bad for business, having you criminals around,” Gallow had always said.But crooked cops with the entire state in their pocket?Well, that would ensure Gallow’s place of power within the corrupt local government.How did Curtis never see it?Gallow had saved Curtis’s life during the war. But because Gallow’s motivations were always so coated with self-interest, he’
Bayou Whispers EIGHTEEN
EIGHTEENThe SultanaEASY STREET HADalways loved playing his horn. The music naturally flowed from him. His mama had never been able to afford him lessons when he was younger. When he was alive.He’d stolen his sax—Ms. Maxine, as he’d lovingly named her—from a white man who owned a pawn shop long since bulldozed. Old man Gene loved to beat on black people, especially children. Nobody cared back then. Mostly, they still didn’t care, from what Easy Street had seen.So, he stole Ms. Maxine. But try as he might, he couldn’t get a sound out of her.Until a man named Reggie explained what a “reed” was and taught him how to blow into the horn all proper. He even taught the boy how to hold the instrument. Reggie played records for him, and young Easy Street listened, then noodled on the horn until he found the right notes. In less than a month, the kid was able to play old Ms. Maxine like a pro.“Boy,” said Reggie one day, “I never heard nor done seen the like. You is a natural,
Bayou Whispers NINETEEN
NINETEENU-Store-It!Public Self-Storage Units off of Interstate 12FERNÁNDEZ KEPT TRYINGCurtis’s burner. Gallow’s, too. They rang out. “Still not picking up,” he said.“Something’s obviously happened,” said Roo. “We’ll lay low at my cousin’s storage place until we hear from them.”“Why a storage place?” asked Fernández.“It’s one of my bolt holes,” said Roo. “I have a pass card that gives me twenty-four-hour access.”He turned his truck into the facility, stopping at the gate long enough to buzz himself in. He saw the security cameras but was nonplused about hiding from them. Beside him, Fernández struggled to hide his face.“The place belongs to my cousin,” said Roo. “I got him out of trouble a while back. He lets me use one of the bigger units here as payment. His boys will erase the camera footage as soon as they come in later this morning.”Fernández relaxed a little. “Who else knows about this place?”“Jonesy does. He’ll figure we’re laying low and he’ll show wh
Bayou Whispers TWENTY
TWENTYBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew OrleansTHE BAYOU CALLEDto her with scents and sounds—wrapping around her like a favorite blanket. She smelled glorious stagnant pools filled with muck and slime; the subtle peaty smell of decaying leaves and wood—the beautiful, fetid scent of animal flesh giving back to the insects and the plants and the waters of the bayou. Nocturnal animals called for their mates, ate one another, raised their young, and fought over territory. Massive birds screamed at the reptiles trying to hide their hunger. The bayou whispered her new name, whispered approval at her plan.But someone else controlled her body, controlled her thoughts. She fought against it, but the struggle took all her strength. The power of the Loa was as frightening as the knowledge that flooded into her. The bayou laughed at her.Ti Malice laughed at her.This is just a taste, child. It’s your turn now.For Jeannine knew, now, that Cassandra and Ti Mali
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-ONEU-Store-It!Public Self-Storage Units off of Interstate 12WHILE FERNÁNDEZ SPENTthe night alternating between stacking crap in front of the big metal door and bitching under his breath about “lazy-ass magic douchebags,” Roo prepared for the reanimation of Charley Mouton. The spell used to create the clay vessel for the Golem was relatively straight forward and was to be the last component of the invocation to be done closest to dawn. Using Charley’s degraded tooth to return the ex-Ranger’s soul to the created body, that was the tricky part. Besides, Roo thought, as Fernández swore loudly because the cot he’d just tossed on the top of the makeshift barrier tumbled off the pile and nearly hit him, hard work helps the little man forget he’s been out of chewing tobacco for a few hours. A little before dawn, the bit of yellowing ivory that represented what was left of Charley’s physical form, hummed with stored energy as Roo completed the difficult spell work. Next,
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-TWOBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew OrleansTHEY WAITED UNTILdaybreak to explore the ruined psychiatric center. Curtis tried Roo and Fernández one last time, leaving a message.“Roo, if you get this, J and I are free and we’re at Cass’s place. Come when you can. Gallow’s in bed with the Major. Watch your asses.” Curtis put the cell back in his pocket. Two calls—to Roo and Fernández, leaving two identical voicemails. Dawn had broken and he hoped his two compadreswere okay—and that they’d been able to quietly bring back the Golem.I’m not sure what will piss Charley off more—the amount of shit he’s missed in the last twenty-four hours, or the fact that Gallow betrayed us. How did I not see that coming? Georgina always hated him, refused to eat at his restaurant even.Jeannine spent an hour adjusting her prosthetic. “It’s the humidity. Makes the stump swell.”It was the only thing she’d said to Jones all morning.When she was done, she s
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-THREEU-Store-It!Public Self-Storage Units off of Interstate 12CHARLEY “THE GOLEM” MOUTONhad taken out a dozen zombie soldiers before the undead creatures knew they were in trouble. He’d picked up Roo’s truck and used it as a massive sledgehammer to pound them into dust. “Golem,” yelled Fernández, as a couple of the undead turned from the resurrected Charley to renew their attack on him.The Golem moved toward Fernández and tore the heads off the would-be attackers.Fernández picked up the axe that had fallen from his hands during the onslaught, and he and the Golem prepared to charge at the remaining zonbi soldiers.The sharp blast of a horn startled them.The undead turned and retreated from the storage unit.Fernández and the Golem chased after the blue and grey ghouls. The Golem ran in a sideways lope reminiscent of a large primate and roared at the top of his lungs. Fernández moved as quickly as he could to catch up and was so focused on the pumping of his
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