Ms. October Pt. 2
Chapter One – Line Up
The yellowed light from the dirt crusted window reflected off the surface of the semi-gloss photos laid on the old Formica table. Her long brown finger ran over the air above each one.
“Dead. Dead. Dead. Don’t know. Missing. Dead. Dead. Don’t know,” she droned, placing each one.
It had taken a good part of a week and a number of contacts to track down these images and even at that, she wasn’t entirely sure that she had all the possible suspects. Unfortunately now that she was looking at each and every one of them, the stack was rapidly narrowing.
“She’s dead too.” Madame Morre, bone jewelry clacking, put a cup black coffee, steam swirling rich aromatic beans in silver slippery snakes. “I saw the body. Her pimp got her.”
“Damn. Well, that leaves us five.” Ms. October puffed, shredding the steamy serpents. “Probably.”
“It’s a start. Who are you thinking of first?”
“Her.” She poked her finger right into the left eye of Ms. Grenadine. “She’s my number one suspect.”
Madame Morre smiled. “That will be an interesting reunion. Where is she?”
“and that’s where things get difficult.”
CHAPTER TWO - YURT
“We have to go where?” Madame Morre scowled, her thick purple eye shadow caking in the cracks.
Ms. October rubbed her forehead, a deep sigh shifting the photos on the table. “I said it was difficult.”
“Mongolia though.” Madame Morre grabbed another cup of black coffee and sat down across from Ms. October, taking a sip, then twisting the bulky rings on her long knotted fingers. “Why Mongolia?”
“She’s hiding?”
“I thought she was in jail.”
Ms. October took a sip of coffee, putting the cup down with a heavy clunk. “She was. She isn’t now.”
Bones clacking, Madame Morre shook her head, her eyes going vacant as she was transported briefly to the past. “How long did she get?”
“Not long enough. Not for what she did,” Ms. October spat, her mind also going back to the moment she found the carnage in the medical clinic. All those kids whose bodies had been harvested for their organs, then repurposed as bags for drugs. Because who would be so cold to search for drugs in the cavity of a dead child?
Madame Morre cracked her knuckles, the pop bringing them both back to the present. “Hmm. Now I want to visit her,” she drawled. “I could —“
“Don’t you dare…”
Madame Morre smiled sweetly. A smile that appeared to slither from her wrinkles and to her lips in such a villainous way that Ms. October shivered. She set her mouth to a knife’s edge in response.
Madame Morre shook her head and continued. “So you think it was her who burned down our houses and left the photos? Why? And why now?”
“I don’t know the answer to any of those questions,” Ms. October admitted, rubbing her forehead again. “But everyone else,” she waved her hand over the photos. “None of them have much more motive, so …”
“So I guess we’re going to Mongolia.” Madam Morre, huffed, taking another sip of coffee.
“I guess so,” Ms. October replied, doing the exact same thing. “I wonder if she’ll be surprised to see us.”
CHAPTER THREE – SWIFT
Icy wind cut through her hair and straight into her scalp. Ms. October shivered. The trip to these snow strewn plains had been swift. It had been the previous afternoon that they caught the plane, landing in Ulaanbaatar and taking a rickety train that neither of them thought would stay on the tracks let alone get them to their destination. Still the tea on board was hot and the trip for the most part, quiet. Only once did a fight break out between two sets of musicians who both wanted to entertain, Madame Morre after a strange and swirling lilac scented mist wove its way through the cars causing Ms. October to remember briefly why she hated her old friend. That was followed by a bus ride stuffed between a man and his goat and a woman and her chickens. Finally they reached where they stood now – a plain, wooly horses with embroidered saddles, and blowing snow.
Madame More tugged tight the hood of her parka, long black fingernails clacking against each other as if shivering. “This isn’t worth it.”
“You could have stayed home,” Ms. October reminded her.
“My home burned down,” the Voodoo Queen spit back.
“New Orleans. You know I meant, New Orleans. You’re just being difficult.” Ms. October lodged her foot in the stirrup and swung her other leg over, settling into the saddle. The horse shifted slightly, letting out a lip rolling rumble and a puff of steam.
“I don’t know how to ride animals,” Madame Morre sulked.
Ms. October snickered. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Snapping the flat of her hand onto Ms. October’s thigh, Madame Morre let out the first smile she’d had in nearly two days. “Fine. I don’t think I can ride a horse.”
“Try.” Ms. October jutted her chin towards the distance. “The yurt isn’t far from here and soon we’ll have some answers. Probably.”
Swirling her fingers through the space in front of her chest, Madame Morre locked her mouth in a sinister grin. “Oh, we’ll have answers all right.”
CHAPTER FOUR – DIVIDED
“Yes! Well you can fuck off too!” Madame Morre shouted, the wind immediately eating her words in its howl.
“Lobelia, it’s a horse. Relax.” Ms. October took the reins of both horses and tied them to the stake in the ground.
Madame Morre straightened her coat. “It’s an asshole.” She pulled open her satchel and withdrew a tied bundle of deep purple velvet which matched her eyes.
Ms. October held out her mittened hand. “No. We’re not starting with that. Not unless we need to.”
Forming a hard line, Madame Morre set her eyebrows in defiance. “Why?”
Ms. October’s mouth followed suit. “For the same reason I’m not going in guns blazing. We enter, talk, and then see what needs to be done.”
“I already know what needs to be done. Something the court should have done a couple of decades ago.”
“What?” Ms. October’s skin warmed with temper. “The same thing you did to Doctor Bedlam?”
“No less than he deserved. That meat sack was finally some use to society – before he rotted that is.” Madame Morre looked away, casting her eyes on the distant black-grey clouds.
Ms. October crossed her arms, jutting her hip out as she stood her ground. “You know I don’t approve of your methods.”
“And I never asked you to.” Madame Morre turned back, her eyes flickering. “You know what I do and you brought me along. Don’t play holier than thou now. You need me as much as you need those guns you picked up before the train. We both break laws. Yours are on the physical books –”
“And yours are on the soul.”
Madame Morre turned toward the yurt’s opening. “I’ll worry about my soul. Let’s get this done and over with.” She cast a hard glance at the wooly stallion pawing up the grass under the snow. “After which, I’m going to see a butcher about some horse meat.”
Ms. October let a voluminous cloudy sigh pour through her teeth, before she followed into the yurt.
CHAPTER FIVE – BAUBLE
The aging woman, skinny, grey haired, red-embroidered shall draped over her shoulders, huddled in the corner on a pillow. A small table with a handless cup of murky green tea sat in front of her. A tin kettle, still steaming, sat nearby beside a charcoal burner. The yurt was lit by small smoky lamps giving off flickering orange-yellow light. “Ghosts. Always ghosts,” the woman growled.
Ms. October pushed past Madame Morre — sticking her nose up at the sparse décor, coming to a stand right in front of the woman.
“We’re not ghosts.” Madame Morre said, pulling out a bright pink bauble on the end of an ornamental brass chain and letting it sway in her hand. Long shadows ending in a multitude of opalescent flashes danced off the round felt walls. “And I can’t detect any either. No shadows, no Fey, no spirits.”
“Just us,” Ms. October finished. “Do you know who we are?”
“You should be dead,” the woman spat. “Both of you. All of you.” She stood and hissed, her long neck stretching. “Dead!”
“Hmm. But we’re not, are we now.” Madame Morre, circumnavigated the small space, sprinkling a noxious oil of decaying flesh and warm rats’ nest.
Ms. October shot her a glance. Madame Morre sent back an equally hardened flash, then continued about her business finally ending behind the woman.
“Ms. Grenadine,” Ms. October continued. “Who are we?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, showing off her multitude of wrinkles on her onion paper skin. “You’re that brat who always asked questions. Who ran away and picked up that other brat. I should have shot you both that night.”
“Who are we?” Ms. October asked again, more pointedly.
“Leonie October and Lobelia Morre.”
“Right. And I have some questions for you, Ms. Grenadine.”
Ms. Grenadine walked over to the stove and put the kettle back on. “I saw Dr. Bedlam eviscerate you. There is no way you’re here. No way any of you are here.”
Madame Morre picked up the woman’s tea cup and sniffed. “So, there’s been others visiting you.”
“Ghosts. All of you.”
“We’re not ghosts,” Madame Morre put the cup down again. She slid aside the gem in large ruby ring, letting the grains found in the compartment below fall into the cup.
“Who’s come to visit you? How about some names.” Ms. October requested even as she sent forth her disapproval with Madame Morre once more refuting it with a glance.
“How am I supposed to remember a multitude?” Ms. Grenadine sneered. “There were so many of you passing through, until that detective ruined it all. I wish I could send him to Hell.”
“Connor Alexander is already dead. He died a good man. He died a hero and not a —”
“Monster,” Madame Morre finished.
The kettle screamed
Ms. Grenadine shrieked, her pointed finger shaking “I’m not the monster! You have no organs. And you were eaten by the jungle. YOU BOTH SHOULD BE DEAD!”
“So should you.” Madame Morre, grappled Ms. Grenadine from behind, scooping the tea from the table and forcing the woman’s mouth open. The now indigo contents bubbled in her throat, dribbling inky thick oil, as musty as grave dirt, out Ms. Grenadine’s mouth, staining her skin a deep blue.
Ms. Grenadine collapsed, her eyes wide, staring blank. Madame Morre took the kettle off the boil. “Tea?”
“What did you do?” Ms. October bellowed.
“Got rid of the ghosts.” Madame Morre held up a spare cup. “Tea?”
“Yes! Fine!” Ms. October paced in the tiny yurt. “You didn’t need to kill her.”
Madame Morre added some bright dried leaves to the cups from her satchel. “I didn’t.”
“She looks god damn dead.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” Madame Morre handed the cup of tea to Ms. October. “Drink up. It will warm you for the trip back.”
“So what happens to her then?”
“She was stuck in a loop of what she did and what she didn’t do. I pulled her out of that. She won’t remember her past. She also won’t remember her future. She’ll always live in this one moment of the present. It’s bliss compared to what she’s been in. And if someone comes, she won’t starve. If no one comes…” Madame Morre shrugged.
“But what about the someone or someones who visited her? Don’t you think we should have looked more into that before you mind wiped her?” Ms. October demanded, shooting her tea into her mouth and getting a blast of hot summer air and sweet red sun warmed strawberries which warmed her right to her fingernails.
“She didn’t know anything.”
A deep throated howling and then another joined the wind outside.
Madame More smiled, “Time to go, Leonie. Grandma has some big teeth and she’s about to visit.”
“I knew you couldn’t just leave it,” Ms. October growled. The horses neighed, their voices pitching their fear. “Fine. The horses are a rental after all.”
CHAPTER SIX – SMOKE
“So the dead walk,” Ms. October said, laying out the photos on the table once more.
The motel room door howled with wind blowing through the quarter inch crack between the door and the door frame, snow gathering on the carpet in a drift.
“I want to go home. I hate this place.” Madame Morre bundled up one of her shawls and stuffed it into the crack.
“Then go. I can handle this. I’ve been in worse places with Alexander.”
“That detective? I forgot you ended up with him.” Madame Morre plugged in the yellowed electric kettle and sat down heavily at the table.
“Was with him six years before he finally hit his end. Bullet right between the eyes. Never saw it coming. It was a grizzly job too. Sri Lanka. Not a place you want to be cornered in.”
“I could have woven a protection.” Madame Morre said, looking at the photos and not at Ms. October. “If you had come to me.”
“You crossed a line.” She shook her head. “Hell, you’re still dancing all over them.”
“Lines are like smoke, girl. They’re just there to let you know where the danger is. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Hmm. I disagree.” Ms. October scowled. “Still, you might have a point.” She poked her finger forward, landing on a photo. “Him.”
Lips pursed against a sour thought, Madame Morre cracked, “He’s one of them.”
“So’s Lysander. I say we ask and find out if the dead really do walk.”
Bone jewelry clacking as she shook her head, Madame Morre clicked her tongue in rhythm. “When it’s that lot, they sure as hell do.”
CHAPTER SEVEN – UNDERWATER
“You want to try that again, bud!” Lysander screamed, holding a thrashing, burbling, man head first in a barrel, water and eels spraying onto the concrete floor in his attempts to free himself. “What did you call me?”
Lysander’s voice was low. Their skin porcelain. Eyes burning charcoal after the wind has picked up.
The man’s limbs began to get sloppy, slapping more randomly and with less force against the soaking wood of his watery prison.
“You’re going to kill him before he answers,” Ms. October drawled.
“My girl!” Lysander called out noticing his friend for the first time. Then, eyes darting behind her. “And Madame Morre too! What a great day!”
The man’s arms fell against the barrel one last time and didn’t rise. Madame Morre flicked her wrist. “Your victim?”
“Oh!” Lysander pulled the man free, holding the limp body above the ground, feet dangling. “Madame Morre? A hand please?”
Madame Morre wove her fingers through the air and uttered words both mystic and unrecognizable as her Safire ring ignited with internal light, letting out crack and snap. Water rose in the air around the man. His mouth elongated grotesquely and brackish water poured and splashed onto the floor with weedy pungency.
“My shoes!” Lysander squealed, dropping the man and jumping back in an attempt to keep their pale pink pumps pristine.
“Wouldn’t want to get those dirty,” Ms. October laughed. “They go so well with that ball gown.”
Lysander patted their hair. “I know. Over dressed for the sewers. But I have a date tonight. I just had to take care of this rude individual first. Can you believe it? He called me Ma-am!”
“Never assume gender,” Ms. October said to the man, who was now both choking and crawling away.
“Exactly!” Lysander nodded. “Now, how about you two come to the ball with me. You can be each other’s dates, and I have a feeling it would be the perfect place for you to ask me what you came to ask me.”
Madame Morre looked at Ms. October with a raised and heavily painted eyebrow only to be met with the same.
“Mind reading now?” Madame Morre asked.
“No. You two are just too obvious,” Lysander said, grabbing their bright purple faux fur coat from one of the other vampires, then stepping over the still crawling man. “Let’s go! I can’t leave Zodiac waiting!”
CHAPTER EIGHT – LONG
Eyeing herself all the way up in the long gilded mirror, Ms. October admired her glittering silver heels, her red toenails peeking out the front, the deep crimson silk dress, Asian inspired with silver and diamond accents, and her deep brown and mostly flawless slim shoulders – a little too pointy for her liking and with the odd bullet scar not hidden by the fabric. She ended her appreciation tour on her face. Full lips, something all the white girls wanted and that she had in abundance – painted to match her dress. Long lashes covering gold brown eyes, something everyone always had found dangerous – even when she was young. Her hair still poofed out, but now, with styling, didn’t look like the top of a mushroom as she had though it did when Lobelia first unbraided her cornrows. Her ears, so cute, supported large gold hoops which nearly met her shoulders. Her nose, also cute, was wide and lovely and had never been broken – even though many had tried. She had lived a life but never crossed that line she drew in the sand, yet every time Lobelia stepped into her life the line got blurrier and blurrier.
And now . . . Ms. October laughed . . . they were on a date at a fancy ball. How stupid and crazy and so Lysander!
As for herself, Ms. October had dated women and men and everyone in between. Sex, gender, and all that – it didn’t matter so long as there was good conversation and a better time between the sheets. Connor Alexander used to joke that she was a pansexual menace. Still, it had been fun. A good life. Now, she didn’t get out as much. Too busy running a business and outrunning her past. Something that was determined to catch up with her, evidently.
As for Lobelia – the acclaimed Madame Morre – Ms. October really didn’t know if she even ever had a boyfriend or husband, or even a wife or a girlfriend. The only men she had ever seen her with were corpses she had repurposed for her zombie crew and no one else. She had never even seemed interested in any gender. Always too busy studying her magic. Nor did she seem at all interested in this forced date. To her, it was a fact finding mission that included free food and booze and that was all.
Ms. October shrugged and adjusted her dress slightly, smiling at herself. She could live with that. It had been a while since she’d been treated by anyone. So why not enjoy it now. Perhaps she might even ditch her reluctant date and find someone a little more interesting. One never knew how thing would go when it was so early in the evening.
CHAPTER NINE – SWORD
It didn’t take long for Madame Morre to find the punch bowl and add a bit of zing to the evening in the form of spiralious shimmering lavender mist which swirled and swooshed from the tall crystal glasses, making everyone free of tongue and wide of smile. Ms. October was glad she had grabbed a drink before that happened. The last thing anyone needed was her tongue set free. She had seen more than most and it had caused the appendage to become a slashing sword rather than a slicing razor in any conversation.
Again Ms. October showed her scorn with a tightened eyebrows and a hard line forming on her mouth. And again Madam Morre raised hers and let loose a trickster grin before swirling away to chat with Lysander and their significant other, Zodiac.
With Lysander being well and thoroughly grilled on his knowledge, probably with methods Ms. October preferred to not know about, she started her own hunt for the man they both sought, Viper.
Viper had, as far as either of them knew, been dead for a couple of centuries. According to Mr. Mercury, he had caught the wrong side of the factions headed by Cuba not long after they left them all those years ago, causing Asher Mercury to be taken in by the monster and thus sealing his fate in the end. Still, Viper was the next in line after Ms. Grenadine as someone who may have wanted revenge and vampire had a habit of not staying dead after one thought they were. If only Connor Alexander were still around. He was always better at finding the people to question, even if Ms. October was the best at doing the questioning.
She looked around the room. It was a mad collection of all types. From Vampires, to artists and musicians, Fey folk and under-worlders, and swooned and danced to the heart-twisting music in the swirling purple air and velvet draped finery of the ball. Her eyes lit on a familiar face in the corner. A vampire woman she had met all those years ago, if very briefly. She had been against Cuba, perhaps she would have a lead.
Ms. October sidled up to the woman, a striking vampire with the unusual bright green eyes instead of the usual smoldering red. “Nice evening,” Ms. October said, using the line she had heard from Alexander a million times over.
“I was wondering when you’d decide to come over and talk to me,” the woman replied.
“So you remember me?” Ms. October dropped her voice.
“Enough to know that Cuba dying with you there was too much of a coincidence. We should talk. Come with me.” The woman turned towards the exit and slipped effortlessly through the swirling, body spray laden crowd.
Glancing back to Madame Morre, herself in deep conversation with a rather young and earnest man, Ms. October turned back to her target. Madame Morre could look after herself and, if her powerful magic was any indication, would know if Ms. October was in trouble, should it come to that. She steeled her nerves and followed, letting the door swing shut behind her and the cool night air embrace her goose prickled skin.
CHAPTER TEN – SHY
“So, care to tell me your name?” Ms. October asked, sitting on the end of the bed. The hotel room was small and cramped with a queen sized bed, side table, and small uncomfortable chair shoved to the corner. The rest of the room was taken up by an overly large TV stand which also acted as a dresser and coffee table, covering most of the saffron-yellow stained rug emanating wet dog and rancid snack foods.
“Sure, once you tell me what you are.” The woman looked hard at Ms. October, her orange-brown freckles speckling ivory cheeks, set off by her rust hair.
“What do you think I am?”
The vampire cupped her chin in her fingers and lifted it gently, green eyes searching for answers. “Not the same as the last time I met you.”
“No. I’m no half vampire. Nor full vampire either, though I’ve been that twice now.”
“So, what then?” Her fingers left Ms. October’s jawline and trailed down her neck, darting to her collarbone, letting her pulse mix and beat on Ms. October’s own skin.
“Something.” Ms. October shrugged.
The woman laughed. “Something just shy of both human and vampire. You’re always something new to me. Every time we meet.” The woman sat down next to Ms. October, thigh to thigh, and leaned her long neck back, exposing it. “My name is Macha.”
“An Irish name. Is that how you kept your green eyes?”
“Everyone asks,” Macha lilted, letting an old accent overlay her American one for a second. “No. They were blue before. They turned green when I turned. No idea why. Some say the sea got in my veins before the blood did. Maybe it’s true.”
“A sea vampire. Interesting.” The pulse of Macha’s thigh skin, leaping and caressing her own made Ms. October break out in a sweat. “I’ve met many people, but you are something new altogether.”
“Two unique beings in a very big world.” Macha let her palm fall on Ms. October’s leg, near her hip.
Ms. October didn’t move it. Nor did she flinch. Instead, she nodded her agreement, before adding. “I’m looking for one more unique being.”
“Hmm?” Macha asked, leaning in, icy breath catching the small hair’s on Ms. October’s neck unawares.
She breathed. “Viper.”
“Dead,” came the whisper back.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
“Where then?”
Macha’s lips gripped onto Ms. October’s earlobe eliciting a startled groan.
“I’ll tell you after,” Macha murmured.
“I need the information now.” Ms. October leaned in closer, moving her own free hand over Macha’s own searching one. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”
Macha let go, her lips sucking, and answered, “Hyderabad. Maybe. If he’s anywhere. We all heard Cuba killed him to get Mercury, but no one, not even Mercury saw the body… so…”
“So, he could be alive.” Ms. October frowned, even as she lifted her hand once more to pull Macha’s hair away from the zipper on the back of her dress. “But why, Hyderabad? That’s all the way in India.”
“Why not? For a vampire as old as Cuba, India is far too sunny.”
The zipper ratcheted through one tooth after another with a slow zzt of a hungry cat. “That doesn’t explain why you would think he was there,” Ms. October said, catching a whiff of strawberry scented oil, a day old, and barely clinging to Macha’s skin, but still enthralling.
“There was a sighting. Three years after. No one believed it.” Macha freed her arms from the gown, her skin glowing silver in the yellow lamp light. “But with you asking, maybe it’s true.”
“Maybe …” Ms. October replied, her voice far away in thought.
“So,” Macha said, her own fingers moving towards Ms. October’s zipper. “You have your information, do you still want to stay?”
A wide grin lifting her lips, Ms. October let her smile split more vicious than any vampire in existence. “Oh hell, yeah. Just no biting.”
Macha winked. “Biting is the last thing on my mind right now.”
CHAPTER 11 – CROOKED
“Our only date ever and you ditch me!” Madame Morre wagged her finger in Ms. October’s face, a crooked smile dancing across her face. “And by the smell on you, you had a bit of fun too.”
Ms. October, raised her eyebrows. “I got some info while I was at it, but yeah, and you ditched me first for a way younger man.”
Purple eyes darting to the corner where the boy was now chatting up a chunky flushed girl, seemingly having some luck too, Madame Morre shook her head. “Not my type.”
“You have a type?”
“No. Only my magic. Me and it, is enough.”
“Hmm.” Ms. October snagged a tall bubbly glass of champagne which apparently had replaced the potion Madame Morre had infiltrated the ball with earlier. “Well, I know Viper was apparently alive as of three years ago and in India.”
“Nice.” Madame Morre nodded. “I have Viper spotted as of two days ago and his address.”
“Shit!” Ms. October frowned. “You’re good.” She glanced off at the door she had followed Macha out of. “Still don’t regret my actions.”
“Nor should you. Have fun. It’s been dour lately.” Madame Morre fiddled with a ring. “So motive?”
“Mercury.”
“Ahh. That’s bad.”
“Yes. Especially with Cuba being gone and Lysander in charge. There may be more coming than a couple of burned houses.”
Madame Morre bit her lip. “So do we hide or do we attack.”
Her smile flashing out in cocksureness. “Oh hell, we fight. No one hurts me or my friends pain free.”
Madame Morre locked her arm into Ms. October’s. “The let me do some mixing before we take off. I want an arsenal.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Ms. October glanced to Lysander swaying to the band in Zodiac’s arms. “Should we fill them in?”
Madame Morre shook her head. “Let them enjoy the night. We don’t have facts yet. But once we do, we’ll likely have an army behind us.”
Biting her lip, still scented with pale strawberries and coated salty sweet, Ms. October whispered, “Maybe.”
CHAPTER TWELVE – SCREECH
The whole place smelled of curry. The air was thick with it to the point of nearly being golden yellow with turmeric dust. Pots clanged and echoed off the cracked walls and the traditional oven shimmered heat waves through the air.
“Upstairs.” The woman in the pink sari pointed to the ceiling, itself yellow stained from years of leaking pipes and steaming meals.
The women squeezed into the narrow and dark staircase, Madame Morre’s hips dusting the walls ahead of Ms. October. “I hate this,” she muttered. “More than Mongolia.
“We are still in the States,” Ms. October returned. “Again, you didn’t have to come.”
“And leave you alone with Viper. Not on your life.”
They hit the top of the stairs which ended in a twelve inch landing and a big white door covered in black scuff marks. The brass knob was locked.
“This isn’t promising,” Ms. October said, pulling out her lock pick.
Madame Morre raised her fist and pounded on the door.
“Subtlety, huh?” Ms. October frowned.
“Direct approach.”
Shuffling came from inside the room. The door rattled with the sound of locks being disengaged, then the knob turned. The door swung open slowly, tentatively, like the person pulling it was in no mood for visitors. Crimson spark eyes peered around the wood.
“Lobelia! Leonie!” screeched Viper’s deep voice. “You’re still alive!”
The women looked at each other the question running through both their minds. Did it mean that he was surprised he hadn’t killed them in the fire or that he knew nothing about the fire and was delighted to see that they were both okay?
“Come in. Come in. We need to talk.” Viper shuffled back down the narrow passage that was his entrance way and into a room that was both living area and bedroom. “Close the door behind you.”
Ms. October obliged. “So, uh …”
“Set any fires lately?” Madame Morre blurted.
Ms. October gave her the tired hard stare which evidently held no power at all with her old friend.
“Fires? Why?” Viper asked.
While Madame Morre gave him the lowdown on recent events, Ms. October studied the old vampire. He looked tired. Worn out. As if he were just coasting on what was left of his immortality.
“No,” Viper said. “It wasn’t me. Not that.” He sighed and stared off into space. “Did he die well?”
“Mercury?” Ms. October asked. “Yes. In the end, yes.”
“I should have been there. I will be now.”
Eyes flashing, Madame Morre sent a look of panic right into Ms. October’s brain.
“Yeah, well. We should discuss that,” Ms. October said, taking Viper’s hand in hers.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN – GIGANTIC
Viper glowered, his ember eyes lighting to full flaming fury. “I didn’t want any part of the vampire war. The factions. I stayed out and that bastard Cuba, he … he … stole my boy. Right from under me. Lied to him even after I promised to keep him safe. Watch over him. Cuba stole…”
“Cuba’s dead.” Ms. October patted the emaciated vampire’s hand. “He’s gone.”
“But,” Viper hissed. “Mercury’s gone too and there’s where I have the problem, because this … this …” He glared into the distance.
“Lysander,” Madame Morre offered.
“Lysander!” Throwing his arms wide, flinging Ms. October’s own hand away, Viper stood and strode to the middle of the cramped room. “Mercury should have been next in line, right?”
Ms. October and Madam Morre glanced at each other, eyes registering a mixture of both anxiety and confusion. “I guess,” Ms. October finally said.
“Right,” Viper spat. “But this human, this fresh vampire just made, he –”
“Oh jeeze.” Madame Morre twisted her ring over her finger.
“They,” Ms. October corrected. “Lysander is non-binary. It’s they.”
“Hmm,” Viper grunted. “They, then. They shouldn’t be anywhere near the head of anything.”
“They were the only one ready and willing to take charge,” Madame Morre snapped. “Where were you?”
“Cuba was dangerous.”
Madame Morre stood, her full form unfolding, chin lifting, purple eyes flashing right into Viper’s fury. “And yet Mr. Murcury was there fighting. Lysander was there too. Her,” she pointed at Ms. October, finger shaking, teeth gritted, “me. And you … you were hiding. Coward.”
Ms. October shot up, hand to her hip, fingers ready to grip and fire her Walther PPK pistol. It and her specially created ammo likely wouldn’t kill Viper, but it would slow him down long enough to escape – maybe. She sent Madame Morre with another of her tried and, so far failed, ‘stop it’ looks, hoping the situation would deescalate.
As usual, Madame Morre ignored her silent argument, instead she stepped forward, chest to chest with the ancient vampire. Viper’s hands formed claws, his mouth opened to a grotesque width, his head snapped back, and his throat issued a howl that pierced the ceiling to the stars.
“Calm down, Viper,” Ms. October ordered, fingers snapping off the safety and gripping the handle.
Viper snapped his mouth shut, then his eyes. He body slouched forward. Ms. October held her breath. Madame Morre twisted her ring.
“I’m not hiding anymore,” Viper whispered. His eyes split open and his hands flew forward in a blur, snatching Madame Morre yanking her to his long yellow teeth screaming, “I’m not hiding anymore!”
“No!” Ms. October squeezed, pistol flashing in orange burst, even as Madame Morre’s stunningly quick fist shot into Viper’s gaping mouth releasing a sky-blue burst of bitter smoke from her twisted ring.
Viper froze, fell back, head hitting the corner of a coffee table, splitting it open and dispatching a spray of black oozing blood, nearly alive in itself.
“You fired at me!” Madame Morre patted her torso, glaring at Ms. October.
“I fired at Viper. If I wanted to hit you, I would, of so don’t tempt me. You lit off another spell.”
“It’s vampire specific.”
“So you say.” Ms. October glared, eyeing Viper. “Let’s go.”
Madame October turned her own glance at the wounded, and unconscious vampire. “Good idea. I figure we have at most forty-eight hours.”
“So likely ten.”
Madame Morre frowned. “We need to warn Lysander.”
“And we’re still no closer to finding our arsonist.”
“This is the worst road trip ever.”
Ms. October raised her eyebrow. “Yeah, and the company stinks.”
Both women scowled, then broke into wide smiles.
Ms. October, slapped Madame Morre’s shoulder on her way to the door. “Let’s go. We have more work to do than before and less time to do it in.”
“Story of my life,” Madame Morre chuckled.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN – TEETH
It was the second time in as many hours that Madame Morre and Ms. October were dodging teeth.
“You did what?” Lysander roared, fists smashing the table lamp into a collection of shattered ceramic and sparking wire, even as they crashed forward, claws snatching.
“Don’t be an idiot!” Madame Morre snapped, darting behind Ms. October, fingers twisting her rings.
“One step closer and I’m shooting you square in the eye. Understand?” Ms. October said, her voice granite even as her pistol barrel remained steady. “I am not putting up with more of this nonsense!” Her lips pursed in frustration. “We didn’t put Viper on your trail. We’re trying to tidy up ours. Now!” Ms. October swung one long leg over the arm of the couch and sat, gun still trained. “We’re doing you the courtesy of a warning. But you keep up this bullshit and this is the last help from us you get.”
Lysander glared.
“Want it or not?” Ms. October asked, her voice carrying a well-practiced boredom.
Zodiac stumbled out of the darkened bedroom, hair spastic, one eye open, sweat and spent cologne drifting from their unbuttoned shirt. “Lysander, just call a meeting. You don’t need to figure it out on your own. Let the council decide.”
“I hate cowards!” Lysander roared flipping the side table into the wall, sending up a drift of powdered drywall.
“And I hate yelling.” Ms. October swung her leg back over, standing. “Come on Lobelia. We have better places to be. If it’s not Ms. Grenadine and it’s not Viper, then we need to move down the list.”
“In the midst of a vampire war,” Madame Morre muttered. “Great.”
“What better time to get out of town?” Ms. October chuckled, giving Lysander a one-fingered wave behind her as they left.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN – SHATTERED
“Well you sure sounded tough.” Madame Morre, sipped her coffee before picking up her pestle to grind rather muddy and sour smelling herbs. “But-”
“But I really have no idea where to look next. Those two,” Ms. October shifted through the pictures on the table. “They were our top options. All the rest of these are pretty much at the same level of interest.”
Madame Morre raised her thickly painted eyebrow. “None?”
“None.” Ms. October nodded, her long fingers tapping the table.
“I could let the spirits decide,” Madame Morre offered.
“I could roll a dice. Same thing.”
“Pfft.” Madame Morre turned away. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”
Ms. October rubbed her temples, her entire psyche feeling shattered and scattered. “Sorry. I’m tired. I miss my house … my stuff. This apartment is small and ugly and I’m getting – ”
“Irritable.”
“Yes.”
“Go away,” Madame Morre said, scooping up the photos on the table, her bone jewelry clacking . “I’ll do my thing.”
“And me?” Ms. October stood and scooped up her coat from the couch.
“Go do what you Private Eyes do best.” Madame Morre poked a sharp painted nail into Ms. October’s chest. “Find some clues.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN – TEEMING
Ms. October pulled her jacket closer against the cool drizzle and mist coming off the Mississippi River driven by the whipping wind. It wasn’t cold. Nothing got cold here. But the damp was chilling enough to make her shiver. A soggy weediness flooded the air. Like swamp mixed with old memories. Ms. October looked up, crossing the street, making sure she wouldn’t be hit by a car and realized with a start where she had ended up.
The building was burgundy, with large arching windows on the second and third floor. The bottom windows were still covered in stained brown paper, now curled and bent at the corners, showing off the years of accumulated dust and damp. Her heart thudded down to her gut, like an elevator with its wires suddenly cut and found in a freefall, smashing into the ground floor. Why here? She hadn’t thought of this place in a good ten years. Maybe more. She figured with property taxes unpaid in all that time, the space would have been taken over by someone else. Repurposed. Maybe not though. Connor Alexander always planned ahead – and always looked after her. Likely as not, he had some kind of arrangement with the bank, some contingency plan that kept this place in good standing.
She peeked through the grubby window and around a bit of torn paper. His desk was still there, as well as a half bottle of whiskey covered in a thick layer of dust. There was a file too, like he was about to come back any moment and finish a case. The image blurred as thick, nose-bubbling sobs shook her body. God, she missed him so bad. Connor had been the father she had never had, the mother too. He was patient and stern and a little bit of a weird older brother that kept her laughing with his wonderful sense of humor. He could be a little lost too, occasionally, overly fond of drink and raucous women. Still he meant well, and often as not the women he brought home left with a two bags of groceries and money for rent.
Everyone loved him. Except for the people who didn’t, many of them in jail by his hand. Connor always said he had to stay on the straight and narrow because too many people would be gunning for him if ever ended up behind bars. Still, he loved his work, and he had made sure that Leonie October had learned everything she needed to know to follow in his footsteps, even claiming that she had out mastered the master on many occasions. She never believed it. In her eyes, he could do no wrong.
She felt in her pocket for her key ring, fiddling past her house key, now no longer needed, and the apartment key that she loathed, until she reached the small brass colored key at the end. She squeezed it in her hand, feeling the cool metal heating up in her palm, imprinting its shape on her skin. Breathing deep, pulling in car exhaust and spicy creole shrimp let loose from the nearby restaurants, Ms. October walked the six steps over to the door and inserted the key.
It opened as easily as the first time she had done it, back when Connor Alexander had bought the place and made her a partner at All Seeing Private Eye. Stepping inside, the first thing that struck her was the air was the same, a combo of cheap cologne and even cheaper whiskey. Like his ghost still sat waiting for her to return and continue his cases. She should have. He wanted her to take the agency over completely if anything happened to him. He had said it a dozen times at least. Eight of them in that last week before he was shot. She shouldn’t have left the place to rot, instead starting her own business out of her house. But, this place, that man, it was more than her soul could take at the time and she just couldn’t bring herself to come back here. Until now … She brushed her cheeks with her forearm and pushed down the hiccupping sobs that kept erupting out of her chest.
Ms. October made her way to the desk, her rain soaked boots leaving dark imprints on the layer of dust. She pulled out the chair and sat down, opening the second drawer and pulling out a remarkably clean tumbler. After a quick wipe to clear the fuzz off the bottle on the desk, she poured herself a glass of whiskey, toasting the air. “To you Connor. I hope you made free and clear in the afterlife. I hope you’re happy.” She slammed the glass back as she had seen him do time and again, the liquid smashing and curling up the back of her mouth before cascading down her throat in a tsunami wave. “I miss you, buddy.”
The whiskey burned through her, warming her chest. “Mmm. I can see how that could get addicting.” She laid her head on her arms listening to the quiet, letting the must and mildew, traffic and rain pour through her body. Finally she said, “Oh, Connor, I’m so lost right now. Everything is messed up. There’s a war about to start, Viper is nuts, and I don’t even know what or who I’m looking for. I wish you were here.”
Wheels splashing puddles, a curse and a honk, then a clap of thunder were her only answer. Finally she raised her head, and ran her arm over the layer of dust on the desk, dislodging the file under it all. “What were you working on? Is this what got you killed?” She flipped open the decade old file and came face to face with someone she hadn’t thought she would ever see, or even think about again. Someone who’s plea deal and resulting lack of incarceration had plague Connor for all the time she had known him. Someone who wasn’t, but should have been, on her hit list.
“Magnus. Of course.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – GUMBO AND GHOSTS
Plopping the paper take out bag on the table with a heavy thud, Ms. October announced. “I know who we’re looking for.”
Madame Morre put down her playing cards, halfway through a game of solitaire and stood, walking to the kitchen. “Better be gumbo.” She said, pulling down some bowls.
“You don’t believe me?” Ms. October returned, taking out the large Styrofoam tub of seafood gumbo and pulling off the cling wrap from the lid, accepting the bows, and spooning out the gumbo.
“Did you get rice and peas?” Madame Morre asked. “What about biscuits?”
Shoving the paper bag over to her, Ms. October threw away the now empty container and sat down, laying the file from her satchel on the table at the far end, for later reading. “Seriously. You told me to get some clues and I’ve found the mother lode.”
“Good for you.” Madame Morre poured some tea, green with an overpowering floral scent, and sat down too.
“You don’t believe I know where we’re going next, do you?”
“I believe you.” Madame Morre took a bite of gumbo and talked around it, her words muffled by the heat as she passed air over the food.
“What then?”
“I have a name too.”
Ms. October frowned, a slight coyness edging her mouth. “Hmm. You do, do you? I bet you’re wrong.” She thought to the stack of pictures Madame Morre had promised to go through, knowing that the person in question wasn’t one there.
Madame Morre sipped her tea. “I’m not wrong.”
“You wouldn’t have had the right information.” Ms. October set down the last vestige of playful softness and took on a firm serious state.
Now it was Madame Morre who shifted to mischief. “With the spirits, I have all the information I need.”
“Fine.” Ms. October put down her spoon with a ting. “Let’s say the name at the same time. But …”
“But?”
“Whatever I say is what we look into first.”
Madame Morre nodded. “Fine. If you insist.” She shook her finger, bone jewelry clacking. “You really are very difficult.”
“I’m difficult?” Ms. October howled.
“Very.” Madame Morre confirmed.
Letting out a long breath, Ms. October composed herself. “All right. On the count of three. One.”
“Two,” Madame Morre chimed in.
“Three,” they said together, then, “Magnus.”
Ms. October’s eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open. “We don’t even have his picture.”
“I know.” Madame Morre took another bite of spicy seafood gumbo. “This is very good.”
“Explain! How did you know?”
“Spirits.” Madame Morre shrugged. “They tell me everything.”
“Hmm.” Ms. October growled. “If they know so goddamn much, how about they tell you who burned down our houses so we can make them pay, figure out what is going on, and get back to our lives.”
“The spirits don’t play that way.” Madame Morre broke apart a biscuit and popped it in her mouth. “You should eat. Food’s getting cold.”
“These spirits of yours are very inconvenient,” Ms. October snapped.
“They aren’t mine, child, and all information costs something. Payment don’t come easy.”
It was then that Ms. October detected the shake in Madame Morre’s hands, the matte dullness in her purple eyes, the dark circles under her cheek bones. She had been using a lot of her magic lately. And there was a cost, Ms. October knew that, even more when the spirit world was involved.
“Sorry.” Ms. October picked up her spoon and took a bite of gumbo letting the spice warm her mouth in a more wholesome way than her friend’s ancient cheap whiskey earlier that afternoon. Tears once more blurred her vision. “I’ll do more. I don’t want you …” Connor Alexanders vibrant blue eyes hit her memory like a car crash. “I need …”
Madame Morre covered Ms. October’s hand with her own. “We do what we can and I know my limits. We’ll get to the bottom of this, but only if we look out for each other.” She squeezed gently. “Now eat. You need to replenish your strength after visiting with ghosts.”
Ms. October looked up. “How did you know?”
“Child,” Madame Morre chided. “It’s all over you. And …” She nodded towards the file. “I’m not blind.”
Ms. October smiled. “Maybe you missed your opportunity to be a PI.”
A cackle cracked the air between them, rushing from Madame Morre’s deep red lips. “Never wanted that!”
“No. You had different plans didn’t you? Something about selling zombies.”
Madame Morre winked. “Now let’s not get into that snake pit again. What’s the next step.”
“I think Connor Alexander was about to catch Magnus and take him down in a big way right before he died. Magnus might even be the one responsible for Connor’s death. And if he did, I’ll…”
“So why poke the bear?” Madame Morre asked, tilting her head her brass hoop earrings jangling.
“You mean, why get me involved? That I don’t know. Something is still fishy about this whole thing but I’m going to find out and if Magnus had anything to do with killing Connor, I’m taking him out.”
“After we find who burned down our homes. Let’s not get sidetracked,” Madame Morre interjected.
“I never get sidetracked.”Ms. October snarked.
Madame Morre let loose another cackle.
Ms. October smiled. “Fine! Sometime I get sidetracked. I’ll be careful. Promise.”
“Until then.”
Ms. October scooped a big spoon of gumbo. “Magnus is our next stop.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – STEAM
Magnus being her next stop was a great idea, however, the practice was something entirely different. Ms. October let out a long stream of frustrated air, dispersing the steam from her sixth cup of coffee. The file was ancient and vague. It had some remnants of Sri Lanka, where Connor Alexander had met his expiration at the wrong end of a bullet, but not much. She remembered going there with him. Looking for a sex trafficking ring, which ended up being not much more than smoke by the time they managed to uncover anything. The whole trip had been frustrating and then devastating.
Ms. October had let the investigation go once Connor had died. He had ordered as much as he coughed up blood on the street, his eyes reflecting the blue sky and battered buildings. He told her it was a dead end. Now she wasn’t so sure it had been. Connor was more likely protecting her by sending her away. If only she had seen that then. Cold embarrassment and guilt washed through her, and not for the first time that night. She had been so busy grieving, she hadn’t finished the job. Obviously Connor had gotten close. Ticked someone off. Had it been Magnus?
Still, what could she have done at the time? She didn’t have Magnus’ name. And now that she did, Sri Lanka was a decade old. If the people Connor had been after had scattered then, there was very little chance of them being there now. So, the question was, where was Magnus? And, more importantly, according to Madame Morre, who was setting them on his path and what did they want? Why now? Why not a decade ago when Connor had first been shot? And what did this file have to do with anything?
Ms. October groaned. A caffeine induced headache wasn’t helping her thought process. She glanced at the clock. Madame Morre had cracked open the casing and stuck chicken bones on the numbers. The woman was weird. And half the time Ms. October didn’t know if what she did had to do with Voodoo or just her strange aesthetic. The clock struck two, its gears grinding with an unnerving hissing while the double bones seemed to glow a radioactive green, if only for a second.
Shaking her head, Ms. October shut the file. That was enough for the night. She was either seeing things that she didn’t want to see, or she was imagining things she didn’t want to imagine. She poked the folder with her finger as her legs pushed her chair back. “I’m going to find you Magnus and I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” she said. “You can’t hide forever.” She dumped out her coffee and stretched. “But you can hide tonight.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN – ZERO
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Ms. October said, patting Zero’s hand. All the frames in the small and disheveled apartment had pictures torn in half, empty spaces where Zero’s boyfriend Max once stood. The wedding hadn’t gone ahead. After all Zero had gone through trying to get Max back from Jacob Cuba, the relationship had all fallen apart within a week.
“He said he didn’t really love me. That I was weak and whiny.”
“He’s not wrong,” Ms. October muttered under her breath. Zero always acted more like a love sick puppy than an independent human being. Still, that pure raw emotion was something that Ms. October had always liked about the guy. He was sweet, young and full of dreams. Also, he was one hell of a PI, and that’s what she needed right now.
“Baby,” she cooed. “You’re going to find someone right for you. Just you wait.”
“But what if I don’t?” Zero moaned. “What if he was it and I die alone?”
Ms. October clicked her tongue on her teeth. “Not going to happen, doll. You’re too cute and kind for that. But take your time this go round. Test the waters and don’t just dive in.”
Zero nodded, running his hand over his rough stubbled chin. “Good advice. Thanks.” He stood and stretched, looking around at the apartment. Boxes and boxed of Chinese takeout crowded every surface, stinking of old chow mein, mould, and oyster sauce. “I need to clean.”
“Yes you do.” Ms. October nodded. “But first—”
“Right, you had a question for me.”
“Where is Magnus?”
Zero looked under the sink for a black plastic bag, and shook it open with a loud crack. “Well, that’s not something I can answer directly, but …”
“But …” Ms. October asked, her voice rising in irritation.
“The crime syndicate he runs, that’s a different story. I know where a few of their headquarters are. That will give you a head start. I can hit one or two and see what I find out, while you look at the others. I think together we should be able to narrow down where Magnus is located or if he’s even alive.”
Ms. October’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
“Mafia, syndicates, crime rings, they’re all bad news. It’s all very MacBeth with the lot of them. Hard to say who lives and who dies most of the time too, they tend to keep it hush hush and within their circles. It’s all about reputation and trust or the illusion of trust.”
“I see. So how do we break in?”
This time it was Zero doing the clucking, tongue against his teeth. “How do you feel about a new name, contacts, and a fresh hairdo?”
CHAPTER TWENTY – PLANS
“Hold still! You’re going to end up looking like a murder if you keep wiggling!” Madame Morre chastised, working the red dye into Ms. October’s newly bleached hair.
“I’m going to look ridiculous,” she sulked. “Like a clown.”
“It’s burgundy not red, and you won’t.” Madame Morre soothed. “Now, have you figured out the travel plans?”
Ms. October nodded, eliciting another hiss from Madame Morre. “Zero is heading for Australia and then New Zealand. He’ll contact me if he finds anything worth moving on.”
“Is his head going to be in the game?”
“Leaving the country will be the best thing for him,” Ms. October said.
“So what about us?”
Ms October said nothing but instead sat staring at the screen of her tablet. “Yeah, about that.”
“I don’t want to split up.” Madame More snapped the plastic shower cap onto Ms. October’s hair to allow the dye to process.
“I know, but there are too many locations for us to do together if we want to be efficient, still, we’ll be close.”
“How close?”
“I’ll be in Seirra Leone and you’ll be in Ghana.”
Madame Morre fiddled with her rings, bone jewelry clacking. “Okay. I can do that.” She took a sip of strong green tea, filling the air with jasmine. “I can defiantly do that.”
Ms. October raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Madame Morre said, grabbing her grandmother’s spell book and opening it to a page with a map of the West African coastline. “Ghana sounds like a fine place.”
“To find Magnus,” Ms. October coaxed.
“Uh hmm.” Finger tracing the ink. “Sure.” she said. “That’s exactly it.”
Ms. October, suspicion growing, shook her head. “Maybe we should trade countries.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – HEAT
Ms. October looked out the surprisingly clean window of the hotel room at one of the poorest countries in the world, Sierra Leone. She checked her face in the window’s reflection, a smile creeping even as she patted her head. Madame Morre had left New Orleans two hours before she had. Gone by the time she took her last shower on American soil, where she found the dye quickly washing out of her hair. Not too upset (having detested the colour), Ms. October after discovered a note and an electric razor by her toothbrush near the sink. It read, “Child, Zero has no idea what he’s talking about. Black is the way to go. Now cut your hair down and put on a nice scarf. See you in the wild world soon. Take care of yourself!”
It wasn’t signed
It didn’t need to be.
Tying a colourful scarf around her head, Ms. October went over her plan in her mind. She had a list of the biggest clubs, nice clothes, and money to spend. She was ready to find Magnus, but first, she needed to get acclimatized.
Locking the door behind her, Ms. October hit the street crowded with more bodies than it could seem to hold. The ocean’s salty breeze did nothing for the punching heat. Around her, traffic crawled in all different directions – oblivious to whatever road rules there might have been. Corrugated metal, sticks strung with twine, and brightly painted concrete made up walls and stalls. Red dirt and dust covered the edges of everything and sludge directly from the underworld sucked through the gutters. The sun, so bright and hot in New Orleans, seemed to be making a hellish effort in the streets of Freetown, piercing with its vibrancy and scorching exposed skin. Ms. October tightened her scarf around her head, already crusty from sweated salts. A million people slid past one another, wading through traffic, chatting in long and quick words that appeared English on the onset but quickly dissolved into Creole. Hawkers sang out about their wares of bright cloth they could sew into clothes, pots made from melted soda cans – right on the spot, and jewelry ready to jangle. Sweet and spicy bubbling stews wafted from small colourful restaurants and roadside booths. Beans and cassava, rice and goat all boiled in pots, held out on paper plates. Litter and rusted metal scattered the walkways, not concerning the sandaled and sometimes barefoot pedestrians. Girls with braided pigtails in skirted uniforms dragged behind fathers. Boys in soccer jerseys sprinted through the street, bouncing off of snail-pace cars. Rusted trucks featured men leaning out, smoke in one hand, yelling to other truck drivers about the latest news. Women in long skirts carried babies on their backs and large baskets on their heads, walked towards home, singing and laughing. Afrobeat flooded the heat with dancing and singing and kids carousing under the shining blue sky with mountains pulling the houses up around her like a blanket on an unmade bed.
A rooster crowed.
Ms. October took it all in, getting the lay of the land. Her stomach rumbled. “Time to try the grub,” she said to herself, a loneliness creeping into her soul in the midst of so many people. She had gotten used to having Lobelia there, even if she was a rock in her shoe a good chunk of the time. She shook it off. Narrowed her eyes. Focused. First food then scoping the clubs and asking around to pick a target. After that, to find Magnus and end this.
She hoped Madame Morre was all right, after all – the woman was her favourite pebble.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – HERBS
The travel ban on plant and animal products had depleted Madame Morre’s supplies down to zero, with the exception of a few gems and her clacking bone jewelry that barely counted as animal after years and years of wearing, her vials and bottles were barren.
She opened her grandmother’s book on the table, page edges dark with the oils of many fingers. Before her grandmother it had been her great grandmother’s book and before that, her great great grandmother’s. Some pages were so worn and faded one practically needed a finding spell to bring out the ink. But the map, that was clear, shining in the bright West African sun – a peacock blue ink showing the way home. The place before New Orleans, before Haiti, before slavery.
Madame Morre’s long red fingernail traced the Ghana coast line landing on Accra. From there she went up river, following the history lines and footsteps of her family to Tamale. There was someone there, according to Grandma. Someone who had something for her, should she ever make the trip. The name wasn’t clear. More of a title she suspected. Still, it was enough to go on if the magic could be cast.
And for that she needed equipment, which likely or not could be found at the market. She jangled the coins in her beaded Elvis purse – the man was still alive somewhere and holding his image helped her to believe it. They clinked against each other, their pitch knocked down a note by the humidity in the air.
Breathing in the guava, African star fruit, and yooyi that punctuated the sea salt air with its bright sweetness, Madame Morre tied up her hair in a turban of bright silk, wrapped her shall about her shoulders, and clacked out of the hotel, ready to find all the ingredients she would need.
Tonight was going to be long and tomorrow would be a journey, but for now she was home and it was time to say hi to all her relatives.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – BLIND JUICY AND FURIOUS
Ms. October slipped through the sweat slick bodies on the street, cars honking, and exhaust giving her a pounding headache. She adjusted her sunglasses against the setting sun, now directly in her eyes, and headed for a narrow street with far less people in the direction she wanted to go. Sighing, as the traffic and pressed skin fell away behind her. She paused and grabbed her water bottle from her satchel, downing the last of the plastic tainted, bath temperature water from it, adding a couple of pain relievers to the mix.
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, wiping sweat from her neck. Night couldn’t come soon enough. Two clubs down and two to go and she still didn’t have a clue where the best place to find Magnus was. She hoped Madame Morre was having better luck.
Her eyes shot open as fingers squeezed her upper arm, bruising, and she snapped her head to see three men all grinning widely, chests out, hips thrust. The leader, a tall man with thick sinewy muscles, stinking of spicy cologne from the discount section leered, nearly cheek to cheek with her. The half of his teeth he had left were rotted and cadaverous. He laid his thick lips on Ms. October’s neck, calling her sister, and leaving a circle of wet saliva while his two friends laughed in high pitched chitters.
Ms. October pulled at her arm, trying to get away. The man squeezed his fingers deeper, pinching flesh to bone. He pointed to his waist, showing off his hand gun, and a little bit more. He leaned in again, this time laying his lips on her cheek, hips to her stomach, sliding his tongue into her mouth, a rotten tobacco leaf probing her teeth.
Once more she pulled away, grunting and tugging, eyes darting to the two pawing and snapping hyenas, barely waiting for the remnants left by their boss. This time his response to her escape attempt was more aggressive. A free hand snapped to her throat, shoving her into the brick wall, knocking the air from her chest in a huff. Her eyes went wide. They all had guns. One of the men had two – one in his hand one in his waist. The other a gun and a knife. Their leader squeezed her neck, then satisfied he had got his message across let go to grab at his belt, loosening it, while passing off his piece to his friend.
That was all the opening she needed. His eyes elsewhere, she shoved the back of his head into her upcoming knee, driving his nose into his face, splattering blood over the alley. His friend, now saddled with a gun in each hand, both with the safety on, was struggling to get them shooting ready. He ran out of time as Ms. October flung her attacker into the side of a garbage bin, and kicked the two gunned man in the chest, launching him into the wall hard. His head snapped back and hit the bricks with a wet thud rolling his eyes into his head. The last man looked at both his comrades and turned to run. Ms. October nabbed him by the collar, yanked hard, and swept his legs from underneath him all in a single unified motion. Soon he was out cold too. Her attacker, anger radiating, rolled to his feet, spitting and cursing. She watched him move to his knees, then feet, still crouched. Finally as he went to bring up his head, she let down her foot. One axe kick to the head and he was as asleep as his friends.
Dabbing at the blood splatter which covered her knee, she exited the alley.
“Ms. October?” a voice of disbelief and joy called from the packed street on the other side.
Ms. October looked around. She didn’t think she would, or should, know anyone here – which was the main reason everything today had been so god damn hard. However, finally her eyes fell on the speaker. A tiny girl with long purple hair tied up in a top knot, baggy magenta genii pants, and what looked like a fantasy dragon scaled top. “Jazzy? Is that you?” Ms. October gasped.
“What are you doing here?” they both yelled at the same time falling into each other’s arms.
Holding Jazzy at arm’s length, a smile replacing her throbbing headache, Ms. October beamed. “I haven’t seen you for fifteen years!”
“Same!” Jazzy smirked. “My, my you look good.” The girl looked around. “Connor Alexander here too?”
Ice blew over her skin as Ms. October shook her head. “He’s passed on, I’m afraid.”
“Jeeze. Poor guy.” Jazzy bent her head in respect. “Poor you.”
“I’m okay,” Ms. October lied. “What are you doing here of all places?”
Jazzy lifted her head, a bright grin skipping back onto her face. “I could ask you the same thing. Some top secret job?”
“A job, but not too top secret.”
“Ooh! Sounds delicious!” Jazzy danced on her toes, as if gravity didn’t bother to apply to her. “I’m here with my band.”
Ms. October clapped her hand over her mouth, then slowly removed it, whispering, “Blind, Juicy, and Furious?”
“The same!”
“You’re still together? Romeo, you, and DJ?”
Jazzy grabbed onto Ms. October’s wrist. “Now why would we ever split up? We have gig at the Rainbow Club for a week. Hottest place in Freetown, I’m told. All the big wigs go there. Loads of fun and hopefully, loads of tips if I can use my ultra-charm!” Jazzy let loose a smile that should have shot glitter into the air. “We’re staying at the resort where the club is. Really nice rooms and a huge swimming pool. Best part,” Jazzy leaned in, “they have air conditioning.”
“Ohh! Air conditioning!” Ms. October groaned. “I could do with some of that!”
“Sweet! Then it’s settled. You’re staying with us and you’re seeing our show and … and… and… we need to catch up on everything! ” Jazzy turned and pulled Ms. October down the street. “Now let’s get your stuff from whatever rat’s nest you’re staying in and check you out.”
“Jazzy.” Ms. October planted her feet, leaving the girl spinning on the spot.
“Yeah?” she asked, finally stopping and turning around, her orange freckles standing out on her flushed cheeks.
“It’s a nice hotel, and-”
“Uh huh?”
“You’re going the wrong way.”
“Ahh!” Jazzy beamed, pulling Ms. October the opposite direction. “To the non-crappy hotel, vite!”
“Jazzy darling, I love you!” Ms. October laughed, “But you are crazy!”
Jazzy wiggled her eyebrows. “I know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR – BLIND
A bell jangled. The door yowled then banged. The room was dim with shadows, not all of them cast from the objects around the tiny shop. Large glass jars lined the shelves with dried leaves, stems, roots, pistols and stamens, and even thorns – some turned to powders of dark green, brown, and bright vibrant yellow. There were animal parts both dried and pickled. Dark brown, blue, and green bottles with tinctures and medicines joined them. All the herbs and treatments sent forth a fragrant cacophony of competing scents. Some low and thick, registering at the bottom of her Madame Morre’s sinuses. Others sharp and bright, even citrusy, hitting her near the eyes. Still others were sweet and cloying, landing in the back of her pallet, as if she could taste the air like a dripping summer mango.
Beyond the herbs were the statues – charms and totems that held power – what the Europeans liked to call fetishes. These humanoid statues were made mostly of clay and wood, some with bells, grass, or shells tied with bright string. Baubles hung on long nails in the wood walls. Gold and diamond charms in their own right, radiating power. No one would ever steal these. Not if they knew what was best for them. Madame Morre wouldn’t touch these. She knew only her own charms from her Louisiana upbringing. There was no reason to meddle with other gods and spirits she wasn’t familiar with.
Madame Morre let her long deep purple nails run over the hollow bone tubes of a wind chime, filling the store with melodious yawning tongs. A cat, gold eyes flashing, peered from under the brightly patterned curtain cutting off the back room before skittering away as the curtain shifted with a wave of a dark hand. An incredibly old woman stepped forth, cane tapping heavily on the wooden flooring, eyes milky as the moon.
“Hmm,” she said, criticism already dripping. “A witch. And not from around here.”
“A queen. And no. I’m from New Orleans,” Madame Morre, bit back.
The elderly woman laughed loud and long, each cackle cracking glass. Her wrinkles dissolved into joy and mischief. “Oh! I like you!” She pointed her cane. “I like you a lot.” Then tapping over and leaning in, she whispered, “But girl, you’re going to get yourself in a heap of trouble here.”
Madame Morre smiled and hissed back, “Yes. I fully plan on it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – SHIP
Jazzy pulled her silently into the hotel room, its sheer white curtains lifting on the salty breeze, cries of gulls coming in from the open balcony window. DJ was asleep on the bed. Romeo stood, staring at the ocean waves, back to them, oblivious.
Ms. October couldn’t stop the shy grin that forced its way over her face, crinkling her eyes at the edges. It had been a decade and a half since she had seen Romeo Juliette and still her heart fluttered just like the first time. It was a quiver that vibrated from her inner organs, pushing up through her skin in goose bumps. She rubbed her arm. She felt stupid and giddy, like she was twelve years old seeing a cute kid, heart falling to pieces in a scramble to do — who knew what.
Romeo had liked her back for a time. A long time ago. Then things got complicated. Life got busy. Futures took different paths.
She still remembered his coconut skin, like a hot beach in July. His deep brown eyes, almost like a fairy from the underworld. His deft fingers, so strong yet gentle. His heart beat against her ear when she lay her head on his chest.
God, could she do this? Say hi? Give him a hug? Pretend to just be friends?
Romeo turned around, long brown hair swishing in a fan on movement, tan skin smooth and velvety as ever, eyelashes a lace shawl over his eyes.
“Leonie?” Romeo gasped, then shut his eyes.
Ms. October held her breath, willing the tears already jumping to replace her grin, heart diving down to Hel, cooling through the plummet, hopes ... “Romeo. Hi. It’s been—”
He leapt forward, wrapped her in a strong constricting hug, encompassing her body and her soul, tears falling on her neck, sobs rattling his chest. “Oh! I missed you. Everyday. Forever and ever and ever.”
The yellowed light from the dirt crusted window reflected off the surface of the semi-gloss photos laid on the old Formica table. Her long brown finger ran over the air above each one.
“Dead. Dead. Dead. Don’t know. Missing. Dead. Dead. Don’t know,” she droned, placing each one.
It had taken a good part of a week and a number of contacts to track down these images and even at that, she wasn’t entirely sure that she had all the possible suspects. Unfortunately now that she was looking at each and every one of them, the stack was rapidly narrowing.
“She’s dead too.” Madame Morre, bone jewelry clacking, put a cup black coffee, steam swirling rich aromatic beans in silver slippery snakes. “I saw the body. Her pimp got her.”
“Damn. Well, that leaves us five.” Ms. October puffed, shredding the steamy serpents. “Probably.”
“It’s a start. Who are you thinking of first?”
“Her.” She poked her finger right into the left eye of Ms. Grenadine. “She’s my number one suspect.”
Madame Morre smiled. “That will be an interesting reunion. Where is she?”
“and that’s where things get difficult.”
CHAPTER TWO - YURT
“We have to go where?” Madame Morre scowled, her thick purple eye shadow caking in the cracks.
Ms. October rubbed her forehead, a deep sigh shifting the photos on the table. “I said it was difficult.”
“Mongolia though.” Madame Morre grabbed another cup of black coffee and sat down across from Ms. October, taking a sip, then twisting the bulky rings on her long knotted fingers. “Why Mongolia?”
“She’s hiding?”
“I thought she was in jail.”
Ms. October took a sip of coffee, putting the cup down with a heavy clunk. “She was. She isn’t now.”
Bones clacking, Madame Morre shook her head, her eyes going vacant as she was transported briefly to the past. “How long did she get?”
“Not long enough. Not for what she did,” Ms. October spat, her mind also going back to the moment she found the carnage in the medical clinic. All those kids whose bodies had been harvested for their organs, then repurposed as bags for drugs. Because who would be so cold to search for drugs in the cavity of a dead child?
Madame Morre cracked her knuckles, the pop bringing them both back to the present. “Hmm. Now I want to visit her,” she drawled. “I could —“
“Don’t you dare…”
Madame Morre smiled sweetly. A smile that appeared to slither from her wrinkles and to her lips in such a villainous way that Ms. October shivered. She set her mouth to a knife’s edge in response.
Madame Morre shook her head and continued. “So you think it was her who burned down our houses and left the photos? Why? And why now?”
“I don’t know the answer to any of those questions,” Ms. October admitted, rubbing her forehead again. “But everyone else,” she waved her hand over the photos. “None of them have much more motive, so …”
“So I guess we’re going to Mongolia.” Madam Morre, huffed, taking another sip of coffee.
“I guess so,” Ms. October replied, doing the exact same thing. “I wonder if she’ll be surprised to see us.”
CHAPTER THREE – SWIFT
Icy wind cut through her hair and straight into her scalp. Ms. October shivered. The trip to these snow strewn plains had been swift. It had been the previous afternoon that they caught the plane, landing in Ulaanbaatar and taking a rickety train that neither of them thought would stay on the tracks let alone get them to their destination. Still the tea on board was hot and the trip for the most part, quiet. Only once did a fight break out between two sets of musicians who both wanted to entertain, Madame Morre after a strange and swirling lilac scented mist wove its way through the cars causing Ms. October to remember briefly why she hated her old friend. That was followed by a bus ride stuffed between a man and his goat and a woman and her chickens. Finally they reached where they stood now – a plain, wooly horses with embroidered saddles, and blowing snow.
Madame More tugged tight the hood of her parka, long black fingernails clacking against each other as if shivering. “This isn’t worth it.”
“You could have stayed home,” Ms. October reminded her.
“My home burned down,” the Voodoo Queen spit back.
“New Orleans. You know I meant, New Orleans. You’re just being difficult.” Ms. October lodged her foot in the stirrup and swung her other leg over, settling into the saddle. The horse shifted slightly, letting out a lip rolling rumble and a puff of steam.
“I don’t know how to ride animals,” Madame Morre sulked.
Ms. October snickered. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Snapping the flat of her hand onto Ms. October’s thigh, Madame Morre let out the first smile she’d had in nearly two days. “Fine. I don’t think I can ride a horse.”
“Try.” Ms. October jutted her chin towards the distance. “The yurt isn’t far from here and soon we’ll have some answers. Probably.”
Swirling her fingers through the space in front of her chest, Madame Morre locked her mouth in a sinister grin. “Oh, we’ll have answers all right.”
CHAPTER FOUR – DIVIDED
“Yes! Well you can fuck off too!” Madame Morre shouted, the wind immediately eating her words in its howl.
“Lobelia, it’s a horse. Relax.” Ms. October took the reins of both horses and tied them to the stake in the ground.
Madame Morre straightened her coat. “It’s an asshole.” She pulled open her satchel and withdrew a tied bundle of deep purple velvet which matched her eyes.
Ms. October held out her mittened hand. “No. We’re not starting with that. Not unless we need to.”
Forming a hard line, Madame Morre set her eyebrows in defiance. “Why?”
Ms. October’s mouth followed suit. “For the same reason I’m not going in guns blazing. We enter, talk, and then see what needs to be done.”
“I already know what needs to be done. Something the court should have done a couple of decades ago.”
“What?” Ms. October’s skin warmed with temper. “The same thing you did to Doctor Bedlam?”
“No less than he deserved. That meat sack was finally some use to society – before he rotted that is.” Madame Morre looked away, casting her eyes on the distant black-grey clouds.
Ms. October crossed her arms, jutting her hip out as she stood her ground. “You know I don’t approve of your methods.”
“And I never asked you to.” Madame Morre turned back, her eyes flickering. “You know what I do and you brought me along. Don’t play holier than thou now. You need me as much as you need those guns you picked up before the train. We both break laws. Yours are on the physical books –”
“And yours are on the soul.”
Madame Morre turned toward the yurt’s opening. “I’ll worry about my soul. Let’s get this done and over with.” She cast a hard glance at the wooly stallion pawing up the grass under the snow. “After which, I’m going to see a butcher about some horse meat.”
Ms. October let a voluminous cloudy sigh pour through her teeth, before she followed into the yurt.
CHAPTER FIVE – BAUBLE
The aging woman, skinny, grey haired, red-embroidered shall draped over her shoulders, huddled in the corner on a pillow. A small table with a handless cup of murky green tea sat in front of her. A tin kettle, still steaming, sat nearby beside a charcoal burner. The yurt was lit by small smoky lamps giving off flickering orange-yellow light. “Ghosts. Always ghosts,” the woman growled.
Ms. October pushed past Madame Morre — sticking her nose up at the sparse décor, coming to a stand right in front of the woman.
“We’re not ghosts.” Madame Morre said, pulling out a bright pink bauble on the end of an ornamental brass chain and letting it sway in her hand. Long shadows ending in a multitude of opalescent flashes danced off the round felt walls. “And I can’t detect any either. No shadows, no Fey, no spirits.”
“Just us,” Ms. October finished. “Do you know who we are?”
“You should be dead,” the woman spat. “Both of you. All of you.” She stood and hissed, her long neck stretching. “Dead!”
“Hmm. But we’re not, are we now.” Madame Morre, circumnavigated the small space, sprinkling a noxious oil of decaying flesh and warm rats’ nest.
Ms. October shot her a glance. Madame Morre sent back an equally hardened flash, then continued about her business finally ending behind the woman.
“Ms. Grenadine,” Ms. October continued. “Who are we?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, showing off her multitude of wrinkles on her onion paper skin. “You’re that brat who always asked questions. Who ran away and picked up that other brat. I should have shot you both that night.”
“Who are we?” Ms. October asked again, more pointedly.
“Leonie October and Lobelia Morre.”
“Right. And I have some questions for you, Ms. Grenadine.”
Ms. Grenadine walked over to the stove and put the kettle back on. “I saw Dr. Bedlam eviscerate you. There is no way you’re here. No way any of you are here.”
Madame Morre picked up the woman’s tea cup and sniffed. “So, there’s been others visiting you.”
“Ghosts. All of you.”
“We’re not ghosts,” Madame Morre put the cup down again. She slid aside the gem in large ruby ring, letting the grains found in the compartment below fall into the cup.
“Who’s come to visit you? How about some names.” Ms. October requested even as she sent forth her disapproval with Madame Morre once more refuting it with a glance.
“How am I supposed to remember a multitude?” Ms. Grenadine sneered. “There were so many of you passing through, until that detective ruined it all. I wish I could send him to Hell.”
“Connor Alexander is already dead. He died a good man. He died a hero and not a —”
“Monster,” Madame Morre finished.
The kettle screamed
Ms. Grenadine shrieked, her pointed finger shaking “I’m not the monster! You have no organs. And you were eaten by the jungle. YOU BOTH SHOULD BE DEAD!”
“So should you.” Madame Morre, grappled Ms. Grenadine from behind, scooping the tea from the table and forcing the woman’s mouth open. The now indigo contents bubbled in her throat, dribbling inky thick oil, as musty as grave dirt, out Ms. Grenadine’s mouth, staining her skin a deep blue.
Ms. Grenadine collapsed, her eyes wide, staring blank. Madame Morre took the kettle off the boil. “Tea?”
“What did you do?” Ms. October bellowed.
“Got rid of the ghosts.” Madame Morre held up a spare cup. “Tea?”
“Yes! Fine!” Ms. October paced in the tiny yurt. “You didn’t need to kill her.”
Madame Morre added some bright dried leaves to the cups from her satchel. “I didn’t.”
“She looks god damn dead.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” Madame Morre handed the cup of tea to Ms. October. “Drink up. It will warm you for the trip back.”
“So what happens to her then?”
“She was stuck in a loop of what she did and what she didn’t do. I pulled her out of that. She won’t remember her past. She also won’t remember her future. She’ll always live in this one moment of the present. It’s bliss compared to what she’s been in. And if someone comes, she won’t starve. If no one comes…” Madame Morre shrugged.
“But what about the someone or someones who visited her? Don’t you think we should have looked more into that before you mind wiped her?” Ms. October demanded, shooting her tea into her mouth and getting a blast of hot summer air and sweet red sun warmed strawberries which warmed her right to her fingernails.
“She didn’t know anything.”
A deep throated howling and then another joined the wind outside.
Madame More smiled, “Time to go, Leonie. Grandma has some big teeth and she’s about to visit.”
“I knew you couldn’t just leave it,” Ms. October growled. The horses neighed, their voices pitching their fear. “Fine. The horses are a rental after all.”
CHAPTER SIX – SMOKE
“So the dead walk,” Ms. October said, laying out the photos on the table once more.
The motel room door howled with wind blowing through the quarter inch crack between the door and the door frame, snow gathering on the carpet in a drift.
“I want to go home. I hate this place.” Madame Morre bundled up one of her shawls and stuffed it into the crack.
“Then go. I can handle this. I’ve been in worse places with Alexander.”
“That detective? I forgot you ended up with him.” Madame Morre plugged in the yellowed electric kettle and sat down heavily at the table.
“Was with him six years before he finally hit his end. Bullet right between the eyes. Never saw it coming. It was a grizzly job too. Sri Lanka. Not a place you want to be cornered in.”
“I could have woven a protection.” Madame Morre said, looking at the photos and not at Ms. October. “If you had come to me.”
“You crossed a line.” She shook her head. “Hell, you’re still dancing all over them.”
“Lines are like smoke, girl. They’re just there to let you know where the danger is. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Hmm. I disagree.” Ms. October scowled. “Still, you might have a point.” She poked her finger forward, landing on a photo. “Him.”
Lips pursed against a sour thought, Madame Morre cracked, “He’s one of them.”
“So’s Lysander. I say we ask and find out if the dead really do walk.”
Bone jewelry clacking as she shook her head, Madame Morre clicked her tongue in rhythm. “When it’s that lot, they sure as hell do.”
CHAPTER SEVEN – UNDERWATER
“You want to try that again, bud!” Lysander screamed, holding a thrashing, burbling, man head first in a barrel, water and eels spraying onto the concrete floor in his attempts to free himself. “What did you call me?”
Lysander’s voice was low. Their skin porcelain. Eyes burning charcoal after the wind has picked up.
The man’s limbs began to get sloppy, slapping more randomly and with less force against the soaking wood of his watery prison.
“You’re going to kill him before he answers,” Ms. October drawled.
“My girl!” Lysander called out noticing his friend for the first time. Then, eyes darting behind her. “And Madame Morre too! What a great day!”
The man’s arms fell against the barrel one last time and didn’t rise. Madame Morre flicked her wrist. “Your victim?”
“Oh!” Lysander pulled the man free, holding the limp body above the ground, feet dangling. “Madame Morre? A hand please?”
Madame Morre wove her fingers through the air and uttered words both mystic and unrecognizable as her Safire ring ignited with internal light, letting out crack and snap. Water rose in the air around the man. His mouth elongated grotesquely and brackish water poured and splashed onto the floor with weedy pungency.
“My shoes!” Lysander squealed, dropping the man and jumping back in an attempt to keep their pale pink pumps pristine.
“Wouldn’t want to get those dirty,” Ms. October laughed. “They go so well with that ball gown.”
Lysander patted their hair. “I know. Over dressed for the sewers. But I have a date tonight. I just had to take care of this rude individual first. Can you believe it? He called me Ma-am!”
“Never assume gender,” Ms. October said to the man, who was now both choking and crawling away.
“Exactly!” Lysander nodded. “Now, how about you two come to the ball with me. You can be each other’s dates, and I have a feeling it would be the perfect place for you to ask me what you came to ask me.”
Madame Morre looked at Ms. October with a raised and heavily painted eyebrow only to be met with the same.
“Mind reading now?” Madame Morre asked.
“No. You two are just too obvious,” Lysander said, grabbing their bright purple faux fur coat from one of the other vampires, then stepping over the still crawling man. “Let’s go! I can’t leave Zodiac waiting!”
CHAPTER EIGHT – LONG
Eyeing herself all the way up in the long gilded mirror, Ms. October admired her glittering silver heels, her red toenails peeking out the front, the deep crimson silk dress, Asian inspired with silver and diamond accents, and her deep brown and mostly flawless slim shoulders – a little too pointy for her liking and with the odd bullet scar not hidden by the fabric. She ended her appreciation tour on her face. Full lips, something all the white girls wanted and that she had in abundance – painted to match her dress. Long lashes covering gold brown eyes, something everyone always had found dangerous – even when she was young. Her hair still poofed out, but now, with styling, didn’t look like the top of a mushroom as she had though it did when Lobelia first unbraided her cornrows. Her ears, so cute, supported large gold hoops which nearly met her shoulders. Her nose, also cute, was wide and lovely and had never been broken – even though many had tried. She had lived a life but never crossed that line she drew in the sand, yet every time Lobelia stepped into her life the line got blurrier and blurrier.
And now . . . Ms. October laughed . . . they were on a date at a fancy ball. How stupid and crazy and so Lysander!
As for herself, Ms. October had dated women and men and everyone in between. Sex, gender, and all that – it didn’t matter so long as there was good conversation and a better time between the sheets. Connor Alexander used to joke that she was a pansexual menace. Still, it had been fun. A good life. Now, she didn’t get out as much. Too busy running a business and outrunning her past. Something that was determined to catch up with her, evidently.
As for Lobelia – the acclaimed Madame Morre – Ms. October really didn’t know if she even ever had a boyfriend or husband, or even a wife or a girlfriend. The only men she had ever seen her with were corpses she had repurposed for her zombie crew and no one else. She had never even seemed interested in any gender. Always too busy studying her magic. Nor did she seem at all interested in this forced date. To her, it was a fact finding mission that included free food and booze and that was all.
Ms. October shrugged and adjusted her dress slightly, smiling at herself. She could live with that. It had been a while since she’d been treated by anyone. So why not enjoy it now. Perhaps she might even ditch her reluctant date and find someone a little more interesting. One never knew how thing would go when it was so early in the evening.
CHAPTER NINE – SWORD
It didn’t take long for Madame Morre to find the punch bowl and add a bit of zing to the evening in the form of spiralious shimmering lavender mist which swirled and swooshed from the tall crystal glasses, making everyone free of tongue and wide of smile. Ms. October was glad she had grabbed a drink before that happened. The last thing anyone needed was her tongue set free. She had seen more than most and it had caused the appendage to become a slashing sword rather than a slicing razor in any conversation.
Again Ms. October showed her scorn with a tightened eyebrows and a hard line forming on her mouth. And again Madam Morre raised hers and let loose a trickster grin before swirling away to chat with Lysander and their significant other, Zodiac.
With Lysander being well and thoroughly grilled on his knowledge, probably with methods Ms. October preferred to not know about, she started her own hunt for the man they both sought, Viper.
Viper had, as far as either of them knew, been dead for a couple of centuries. According to Mr. Mercury, he had caught the wrong side of the factions headed by Cuba not long after they left them all those years ago, causing Asher Mercury to be taken in by the monster and thus sealing his fate in the end. Still, Viper was the next in line after Ms. Grenadine as someone who may have wanted revenge and vampire had a habit of not staying dead after one thought they were. If only Connor Alexander were still around. He was always better at finding the people to question, even if Ms. October was the best at doing the questioning.
She looked around the room. It was a mad collection of all types. From Vampires, to artists and musicians, Fey folk and under-worlders, and swooned and danced to the heart-twisting music in the swirling purple air and velvet draped finery of the ball. Her eyes lit on a familiar face in the corner. A vampire woman she had met all those years ago, if very briefly. She had been against Cuba, perhaps she would have a lead.
Ms. October sidled up to the woman, a striking vampire with the unusual bright green eyes instead of the usual smoldering red. “Nice evening,” Ms. October said, using the line she had heard from Alexander a million times over.
“I was wondering when you’d decide to come over and talk to me,” the woman replied.
“So you remember me?” Ms. October dropped her voice.
“Enough to know that Cuba dying with you there was too much of a coincidence. We should talk. Come with me.” The woman turned towards the exit and slipped effortlessly through the swirling, body spray laden crowd.
Glancing back to Madame Morre, herself in deep conversation with a rather young and earnest man, Ms. October turned back to her target. Madame Morre could look after herself and, if her powerful magic was any indication, would know if Ms. October was in trouble, should it come to that. She steeled her nerves and followed, letting the door swing shut behind her and the cool night air embrace her goose prickled skin.
CHAPTER TEN – SHY
“So, care to tell me your name?” Ms. October asked, sitting on the end of the bed. The hotel room was small and cramped with a queen sized bed, side table, and small uncomfortable chair shoved to the corner. The rest of the room was taken up by an overly large TV stand which also acted as a dresser and coffee table, covering most of the saffron-yellow stained rug emanating wet dog and rancid snack foods.
“Sure, once you tell me what you are.” The woman looked hard at Ms. October, her orange-brown freckles speckling ivory cheeks, set off by her rust hair.
“What do you think I am?”
The vampire cupped her chin in her fingers and lifted it gently, green eyes searching for answers. “Not the same as the last time I met you.”
“No. I’m no half vampire. Nor full vampire either, though I’ve been that twice now.”
“So, what then?” Her fingers left Ms. October’s jawline and trailed down her neck, darting to her collarbone, letting her pulse mix and beat on Ms. October’s own skin.
“Something.” Ms. October shrugged.
The woman laughed. “Something just shy of both human and vampire. You’re always something new to me. Every time we meet.” The woman sat down next to Ms. October, thigh to thigh, and leaned her long neck back, exposing it. “My name is Macha.”
“An Irish name. Is that how you kept your green eyes?”
“Everyone asks,” Macha lilted, letting an old accent overlay her American one for a second. “No. They were blue before. They turned green when I turned. No idea why. Some say the sea got in my veins before the blood did. Maybe it’s true.”
“A sea vampire. Interesting.” The pulse of Macha’s thigh skin, leaping and caressing her own made Ms. October break out in a sweat. “I’ve met many people, but you are something new altogether.”
“Two unique beings in a very big world.” Macha let her palm fall on Ms. October’s leg, near her hip.
Ms. October didn’t move it. Nor did she flinch. Instead, she nodded her agreement, before adding. “I’m looking for one more unique being.”
“Hmm?” Macha asked, leaning in, icy breath catching the small hair’s on Ms. October’s neck unawares.
She breathed. “Viper.”
“Dead,” came the whisper back.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
“Where then?”
Macha’s lips gripped onto Ms. October’s earlobe eliciting a startled groan.
“I’ll tell you after,” Macha murmured.
“I need the information now.” Ms. October leaned in closer, moving her own free hand over Macha’s own searching one. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”
Macha let go, her lips sucking, and answered, “Hyderabad. Maybe. If he’s anywhere. We all heard Cuba killed him to get Mercury, but no one, not even Mercury saw the body… so…”
“So, he could be alive.” Ms. October frowned, even as she lifted her hand once more to pull Macha’s hair away from the zipper on the back of her dress. “But why, Hyderabad? That’s all the way in India.”
“Why not? For a vampire as old as Cuba, India is far too sunny.”
The zipper ratcheted through one tooth after another with a slow zzt of a hungry cat. “That doesn’t explain why you would think he was there,” Ms. October said, catching a whiff of strawberry scented oil, a day old, and barely clinging to Macha’s skin, but still enthralling.
“There was a sighting. Three years after. No one believed it.” Macha freed her arms from the gown, her skin glowing silver in the yellow lamp light. “But with you asking, maybe it’s true.”
“Maybe …” Ms. October replied, her voice far away in thought.
“So,” Macha said, her own fingers moving towards Ms. October’s zipper. “You have your information, do you still want to stay?”
A wide grin lifting her lips, Ms. October let her smile split more vicious than any vampire in existence. “Oh hell, yeah. Just no biting.”
Macha winked. “Biting is the last thing on my mind right now.”
CHAPTER 11 – CROOKED
“Our only date ever and you ditch me!” Madame Morre wagged her finger in Ms. October’s face, a crooked smile dancing across her face. “And by the smell on you, you had a bit of fun too.”
Ms. October, raised her eyebrows. “I got some info while I was at it, but yeah, and you ditched me first for a way younger man.”
Purple eyes darting to the corner where the boy was now chatting up a chunky flushed girl, seemingly having some luck too, Madame Morre shook her head. “Not my type.”
“You have a type?”
“No. Only my magic. Me and it, is enough.”
“Hmm.” Ms. October snagged a tall bubbly glass of champagne which apparently had replaced the potion Madame Morre had infiltrated the ball with earlier. “Well, I know Viper was apparently alive as of three years ago and in India.”
“Nice.” Madame Morre nodded. “I have Viper spotted as of two days ago and his address.”
“Shit!” Ms. October frowned. “You’re good.” She glanced off at the door she had followed Macha out of. “Still don’t regret my actions.”
“Nor should you. Have fun. It’s been dour lately.” Madame Morre fiddled with a ring. “So motive?”
“Mercury.”
“Ahh. That’s bad.”
“Yes. Especially with Cuba being gone and Lysander in charge. There may be more coming than a couple of burned houses.”
Madame Morre bit her lip. “So do we hide or do we attack.”
Her smile flashing out in cocksureness. “Oh hell, we fight. No one hurts me or my friends pain free.”
Madame Morre locked her arm into Ms. October’s. “The let me do some mixing before we take off. I want an arsenal.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Ms. October glanced to Lysander swaying to the band in Zodiac’s arms. “Should we fill them in?”
Madame Morre shook her head. “Let them enjoy the night. We don’t have facts yet. But once we do, we’ll likely have an army behind us.”
Biting her lip, still scented with pale strawberries and coated salty sweet, Ms. October whispered, “Maybe.”
CHAPTER TWELVE – SCREECH
The whole place smelled of curry. The air was thick with it to the point of nearly being golden yellow with turmeric dust. Pots clanged and echoed off the cracked walls and the traditional oven shimmered heat waves through the air.
“Upstairs.” The woman in the pink sari pointed to the ceiling, itself yellow stained from years of leaking pipes and steaming meals.
The women squeezed into the narrow and dark staircase, Madame Morre’s hips dusting the walls ahead of Ms. October. “I hate this,” she muttered. “More than Mongolia.
“We are still in the States,” Ms. October returned. “Again, you didn’t have to come.”
“And leave you alone with Viper. Not on your life.”
They hit the top of the stairs which ended in a twelve inch landing and a big white door covered in black scuff marks. The brass knob was locked.
“This isn’t promising,” Ms. October said, pulling out her lock pick.
Madame Morre raised her fist and pounded on the door.
“Subtlety, huh?” Ms. October frowned.
“Direct approach.”
Shuffling came from inside the room. The door rattled with the sound of locks being disengaged, then the knob turned. The door swung open slowly, tentatively, like the person pulling it was in no mood for visitors. Crimson spark eyes peered around the wood.
“Lobelia! Leonie!” screeched Viper’s deep voice. “You’re still alive!”
The women looked at each other the question running through both their minds. Did it mean that he was surprised he hadn’t killed them in the fire or that he knew nothing about the fire and was delighted to see that they were both okay?
“Come in. Come in. We need to talk.” Viper shuffled back down the narrow passage that was his entrance way and into a room that was both living area and bedroom. “Close the door behind you.”
Ms. October obliged. “So, uh …”
“Set any fires lately?” Madame Morre blurted.
Ms. October gave her the tired hard stare which evidently held no power at all with her old friend.
“Fires? Why?” Viper asked.
While Madame Morre gave him the lowdown on recent events, Ms. October studied the old vampire. He looked tired. Worn out. As if he were just coasting on what was left of his immortality.
“No,” Viper said. “It wasn’t me. Not that.” He sighed and stared off into space. “Did he die well?”
“Mercury?” Ms. October asked. “Yes. In the end, yes.”
“I should have been there. I will be now.”
Eyes flashing, Madame Morre sent a look of panic right into Ms. October’s brain.
“Yeah, well. We should discuss that,” Ms. October said, taking Viper’s hand in hers.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN – GIGANTIC
Viper glowered, his ember eyes lighting to full flaming fury. “I didn’t want any part of the vampire war. The factions. I stayed out and that bastard Cuba, he … he … stole my boy. Right from under me. Lied to him even after I promised to keep him safe. Watch over him. Cuba stole…”
“Cuba’s dead.” Ms. October patted the emaciated vampire’s hand. “He’s gone.”
“But,” Viper hissed. “Mercury’s gone too and there’s where I have the problem, because this … this …” He glared into the distance.
“Lysander,” Madame Morre offered.
“Lysander!” Throwing his arms wide, flinging Ms. October’s own hand away, Viper stood and strode to the middle of the cramped room. “Mercury should have been next in line, right?”
Ms. October and Madam Morre glanced at each other, eyes registering a mixture of both anxiety and confusion. “I guess,” Ms. October finally said.
“Right,” Viper spat. “But this human, this fresh vampire just made, he –”
“Oh jeeze.” Madame Morre twisted her ring over her finger.
“They,” Ms. October corrected. “Lysander is non-binary. It’s they.”
“Hmm,” Viper grunted. “They, then. They shouldn’t be anywhere near the head of anything.”
“They were the only one ready and willing to take charge,” Madame Morre snapped. “Where were you?”
“Cuba was dangerous.”
Madame Morre stood, her full form unfolding, chin lifting, purple eyes flashing right into Viper’s fury. “And yet Mr. Murcury was there fighting. Lysander was there too. Her,” she pointed at Ms. October, finger shaking, teeth gritted, “me. And you … you were hiding. Coward.”
Ms. October shot up, hand to her hip, fingers ready to grip and fire her Walther PPK pistol. It and her specially created ammo likely wouldn’t kill Viper, but it would slow him down long enough to escape – maybe. She sent Madame Morre with another of her tried and, so far failed, ‘stop it’ looks, hoping the situation would deescalate.
As usual, Madame Morre ignored her silent argument, instead she stepped forward, chest to chest with the ancient vampire. Viper’s hands formed claws, his mouth opened to a grotesque width, his head snapped back, and his throat issued a howl that pierced the ceiling to the stars.
“Calm down, Viper,” Ms. October ordered, fingers snapping off the safety and gripping the handle.
Viper snapped his mouth shut, then his eyes. He body slouched forward. Ms. October held her breath. Madame Morre twisted her ring.
“I’m not hiding anymore,” Viper whispered. His eyes split open and his hands flew forward in a blur, snatching Madame Morre yanking her to his long yellow teeth screaming, “I’m not hiding anymore!”
“No!” Ms. October squeezed, pistol flashing in orange burst, even as Madame Morre’s stunningly quick fist shot into Viper’s gaping mouth releasing a sky-blue burst of bitter smoke from her twisted ring.
Viper froze, fell back, head hitting the corner of a coffee table, splitting it open and dispatching a spray of black oozing blood, nearly alive in itself.
“You fired at me!” Madame Morre patted her torso, glaring at Ms. October.
“I fired at Viper. If I wanted to hit you, I would, of so don’t tempt me. You lit off another spell.”
“It’s vampire specific.”
“So you say.” Ms. October glared, eyeing Viper. “Let’s go.”
Madame October turned her own glance at the wounded, and unconscious vampire. “Good idea. I figure we have at most forty-eight hours.”
“So likely ten.”
Madame Morre frowned. “We need to warn Lysander.”
“And we’re still no closer to finding our arsonist.”
“This is the worst road trip ever.”
Ms. October raised her eyebrow. “Yeah, and the company stinks.”
Both women scowled, then broke into wide smiles.
Ms. October, slapped Madame Morre’s shoulder on her way to the door. “Let’s go. We have more work to do than before and less time to do it in.”
“Story of my life,” Madame Morre chuckled.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN – TEETH
It was the second time in as many hours that Madame Morre and Ms. October were dodging teeth.
“You did what?” Lysander roared, fists smashing the table lamp into a collection of shattered ceramic and sparking wire, even as they crashed forward, claws snatching.
“Don’t be an idiot!” Madame Morre snapped, darting behind Ms. October, fingers twisting her rings.
“One step closer and I’m shooting you square in the eye. Understand?” Ms. October said, her voice granite even as her pistol barrel remained steady. “I am not putting up with more of this nonsense!” Her lips pursed in frustration. “We didn’t put Viper on your trail. We’re trying to tidy up ours. Now!” Ms. October swung one long leg over the arm of the couch and sat, gun still trained. “We’re doing you the courtesy of a warning. But you keep up this bullshit and this is the last help from us you get.”
Lysander glared.
“Want it or not?” Ms. October asked, her voice carrying a well-practiced boredom.
Zodiac stumbled out of the darkened bedroom, hair spastic, one eye open, sweat and spent cologne drifting from their unbuttoned shirt. “Lysander, just call a meeting. You don’t need to figure it out on your own. Let the council decide.”
“I hate cowards!” Lysander roared flipping the side table into the wall, sending up a drift of powdered drywall.
“And I hate yelling.” Ms. October swung her leg back over, standing. “Come on Lobelia. We have better places to be. If it’s not Ms. Grenadine and it’s not Viper, then we need to move down the list.”
“In the midst of a vampire war,” Madame Morre muttered. “Great.”
“What better time to get out of town?” Ms. October chuckled, giving Lysander a one-fingered wave behind her as they left.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN – SHATTERED
“Well you sure sounded tough.” Madame Morre, sipped her coffee before picking up her pestle to grind rather muddy and sour smelling herbs. “But-”
“But I really have no idea where to look next. Those two,” Ms. October shifted through the pictures on the table. “They were our top options. All the rest of these are pretty much at the same level of interest.”
Madame Morre raised her thickly painted eyebrow. “None?”
“None.” Ms. October nodded, her long fingers tapping the table.
“I could let the spirits decide,” Madame Morre offered.
“I could roll a dice. Same thing.”
“Pfft.” Madame Morre turned away. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”
Ms. October rubbed her temples, her entire psyche feeling shattered and scattered. “Sorry. I’m tired. I miss my house … my stuff. This apartment is small and ugly and I’m getting – ”
“Irritable.”
“Yes.”
“Go away,” Madame Morre said, scooping up the photos on the table, her bone jewelry clacking . “I’ll do my thing.”
“And me?” Ms. October stood and scooped up her coat from the couch.
“Go do what you Private Eyes do best.” Madame Morre poked a sharp painted nail into Ms. October’s chest. “Find some clues.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN – TEEMING
Ms. October pulled her jacket closer against the cool drizzle and mist coming off the Mississippi River driven by the whipping wind. It wasn’t cold. Nothing got cold here. But the damp was chilling enough to make her shiver. A soggy weediness flooded the air. Like swamp mixed with old memories. Ms. October looked up, crossing the street, making sure she wouldn’t be hit by a car and realized with a start where she had ended up.
The building was burgundy, with large arching windows on the second and third floor. The bottom windows were still covered in stained brown paper, now curled and bent at the corners, showing off the years of accumulated dust and damp. Her heart thudded down to her gut, like an elevator with its wires suddenly cut and found in a freefall, smashing into the ground floor. Why here? She hadn’t thought of this place in a good ten years. Maybe more. She figured with property taxes unpaid in all that time, the space would have been taken over by someone else. Repurposed. Maybe not though. Connor Alexander always planned ahead – and always looked after her. Likely as not, he had some kind of arrangement with the bank, some contingency plan that kept this place in good standing.
She peeked through the grubby window and around a bit of torn paper. His desk was still there, as well as a half bottle of whiskey covered in a thick layer of dust. There was a file too, like he was about to come back any moment and finish a case. The image blurred as thick, nose-bubbling sobs shook her body. God, she missed him so bad. Connor had been the father she had never had, the mother too. He was patient and stern and a little bit of a weird older brother that kept her laughing with his wonderful sense of humor. He could be a little lost too, occasionally, overly fond of drink and raucous women. Still he meant well, and often as not the women he brought home left with a two bags of groceries and money for rent.
Everyone loved him. Except for the people who didn’t, many of them in jail by his hand. Connor always said he had to stay on the straight and narrow because too many people would be gunning for him if ever ended up behind bars. Still, he loved his work, and he had made sure that Leonie October had learned everything she needed to know to follow in his footsteps, even claiming that she had out mastered the master on many occasions. She never believed it. In her eyes, he could do no wrong.
She felt in her pocket for her key ring, fiddling past her house key, now no longer needed, and the apartment key that she loathed, until she reached the small brass colored key at the end. She squeezed it in her hand, feeling the cool metal heating up in her palm, imprinting its shape on her skin. Breathing deep, pulling in car exhaust and spicy creole shrimp let loose from the nearby restaurants, Ms. October walked the six steps over to the door and inserted the key.
It opened as easily as the first time she had done it, back when Connor Alexander had bought the place and made her a partner at All Seeing Private Eye. Stepping inside, the first thing that struck her was the air was the same, a combo of cheap cologne and even cheaper whiskey. Like his ghost still sat waiting for her to return and continue his cases. She should have. He wanted her to take the agency over completely if anything happened to him. He had said it a dozen times at least. Eight of them in that last week before he was shot. She shouldn’t have left the place to rot, instead starting her own business out of her house. But, this place, that man, it was more than her soul could take at the time and she just couldn’t bring herself to come back here. Until now … She brushed her cheeks with her forearm and pushed down the hiccupping sobs that kept erupting out of her chest.
Ms. October made her way to the desk, her rain soaked boots leaving dark imprints on the layer of dust. She pulled out the chair and sat down, opening the second drawer and pulling out a remarkably clean tumbler. After a quick wipe to clear the fuzz off the bottle on the desk, she poured herself a glass of whiskey, toasting the air. “To you Connor. I hope you made free and clear in the afterlife. I hope you’re happy.” She slammed the glass back as she had seen him do time and again, the liquid smashing and curling up the back of her mouth before cascading down her throat in a tsunami wave. “I miss you, buddy.”
The whiskey burned through her, warming her chest. “Mmm. I can see how that could get addicting.” She laid her head on her arms listening to the quiet, letting the must and mildew, traffic and rain pour through her body. Finally she said, “Oh, Connor, I’m so lost right now. Everything is messed up. There’s a war about to start, Viper is nuts, and I don’t even know what or who I’m looking for. I wish you were here.”
Wheels splashing puddles, a curse and a honk, then a clap of thunder were her only answer. Finally she raised her head, and ran her arm over the layer of dust on the desk, dislodging the file under it all. “What were you working on? Is this what got you killed?” She flipped open the decade old file and came face to face with someone she hadn’t thought she would ever see, or even think about again. Someone who’s plea deal and resulting lack of incarceration had plague Connor for all the time she had known him. Someone who wasn’t, but should have been, on her hit list.
“Magnus. Of course.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – GUMBO AND GHOSTS
Plopping the paper take out bag on the table with a heavy thud, Ms. October announced. “I know who we’re looking for.”
Madame Morre put down her playing cards, halfway through a game of solitaire and stood, walking to the kitchen. “Better be gumbo.” She said, pulling down some bowls.
“You don’t believe me?” Ms. October returned, taking out the large Styrofoam tub of seafood gumbo and pulling off the cling wrap from the lid, accepting the bows, and spooning out the gumbo.
“Did you get rice and peas?” Madame Morre asked. “What about biscuits?”
Shoving the paper bag over to her, Ms. October threw away the now empty container and sat down, laying the file from her satchel on the table at the far end, for later reading. “Seriously. You told me to get some clues and I’ve found the mother lode.”
“Good for you.” Madame Morre poured some tea, green with an overpowering floral scent, and sat down too.
“You don’t believe I know where we’re going next, do you?”
“I believe you.” Madame Morre took a bite of gumbo and talked around it, her words muffled by the heat as she passed air over the food.
“What then?”
“I have a name too.”
Ms. October frowned, a slight coyness edging her mouth. “Hmm. You do, do you? I bet you’re wrong.” She thought to the stack of pictures Madame Morre had promised to go through, knowing that the person in question wasn’t one there.
Madame Morre sipped her tea. “I’m not wrong.”
“You wouldn’t have had the right information.” Ms. October set down the last vestige of playful softness and took on a firm serious state.
Now it was Madame Morre who shifted to mischief. “With the spirits, I have all the information I need.”
“Fine.” Ms. October put down her spoon with a ting. “Let’s say the name at the same time. But …”
“But?”
“Whatever I say is what we look into first.”
Madame Morre nodded. “Fine. If you insist.” She shook her finger, bone jewelry clacking. “You really are very difficult.”
“I’m difficult?” Ms. October howled.
“Very.” Madame Morre confirmed.
Letting out a long breath, Ms. October composed herself. “All right. On the count of three. One.”
“Two,” Madame Morre chimed in.
“Three,” they said together, then, “Magnus.”
Ms. October’s eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open. “We don’t even have his picture.”
“I know.” Madame Morre took another bite of spicy seafood gumbo. “This is very good.”
“Explain! How did you know?”
“Spirits.” Madame Morre shrugged. “They tell me everything.”
“Hmm.” Ms. October growled. “If they know so goddamn much, how about they tell you who burned down our houses so we can make them pay, figure out what is going on, and get back to our lives.”
“The spirits don’t play that way.” Madame Morre broke apart a biscuit and popped it in her mouth. “You should eat. Food’s getting cold.”
“These spirits of yours are very inconvenient,” Ms. October snapped.
“They aren’t mine, child, and all information costs something. Payment don’t come easy.”
It was then that Ms. October detected the shake in Madame Morre’s hands, the matte dullness in her purple eyes, the dark circles under her cheek bones. She had been using a lot of her magic lately. And there was a cost, Ms. October knew that, even more when the spirit world was involved.
“Sorry.” Ms. October picked up her spoon and took a bite of gumbo letting the spice warm her mouth in a more wholesome way than her friend’s ancient cheap whiskey earlier that afternoon. Tears once more blurred her vision. “I’ll do more. I don’t want you …” Connor Alexanders vibrant blue eyes hit her memory like a car crash. “I need …”
Madame Morre covered Ms. October’s hand with her own. “We do what we can and I know my limits. We’ll get to the bottom of this, but only if we look out for each other.” She squeezed gently. “Now eat. You need to replenish your strength after visiting with ghosts.”
Ms. October looked up. “How did you know?”
“Child,” Madame Morre chided. “It’s all over you. And …” She nodded towards the file. “I’m not blind.”
Ms. October smiled. “Maybe you missed your opportunity to be a PI.”
A cackle cracked the air between them, rushing from Madame Morre’s deep red lips. “Never wanted that!”
“No. You had different plans didn’t you? Something about selling zombies.”
Madame Morre winked. “Now let’s not get into that snake pit again. What’s the next step.”
“I think Connor Alexander was about to catch Magnus and take him down in a big way right before he died. Magnus might even be the one responsible for Connor’s death. And if he did, I’ll…”
“So why poke the bear?” Madame Morre asked, tilting her head her brass hoop earrings jangling.
“You mean, why get me involved? That I don’t know. Something is still fishy about this whole thing but I’m going to find out and if Magnus had anything to do with killing Connor, I’m taking him out.”
“After we find who burned down our homes. Let’s not get sidetracked,” Madame Morre interjected.
“I never get sidetracked.”Ms. October snarked.
Madame Morre let loose another cackle.
Ms. October smiled. “Fine! Sometime I get sidetracked. I’ll be careful. Promise.”
“Until then.”
Ms. October scooped a big spoon of gumbo. “Magnus is our next stop.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – STEAM
Magnus being her next stop was a great idea, however, the practice was something entirely different. Ms. October let out a long stream of frustrated air, dispersing the steam from her sixth cup of coffee. The file was ancient and vague. It had some remnants of Sri Lanka, where Connor Alexander had met his expiration at the wrong end of a bullet, but not much. She remembered going there with him. Looking for a sex trafficking ring, which ended up being not much more than smoke by the time they managed to uncover anything. The whole trip had been frustrating and then devastating.
Ms. October had let the investigation go once Connor had died. He had ordered as much as he coughed up blood on the street, his eyes reflecting the blue sky and battered buildings. He told her it was a dead end. Now she wasn’t so sure it had been. Connor was more likely protecting her by sending her away. If only she had seen that then. Cold embarrassment and guilt washed through her, and not for the first time that night. She had been so busy grieving, she hadn’t finished the job. Obviously Connor had gotten close. Ticked someone off. Had it been Magnus?
Still, what could she have done at the time? She didn’t have Magnus’ name. And now that she did, Sri Lanka was a decade old. If the people Connor had been after had scattered then, there was very little chance of them being there now. So, the question was, where was Magnus? And, more importantly, according to Madame Morre, who was setting them on his path and what did they want? Why now? Why not a decade ago when Connor had first been shot? And what did this file have to do with anything?
Ms. October groaned. A caffeine induced headache wasn’t helping her thought process. She glanced at the clock. Madame Morre had cracked open the casing and stuck chicken bones on the numbers. The woman was weird. And half the time Ms. October didn’t know if what she did had to do with Voodoo or just her strange aesthetic. The clock struck two, its gears grinding with an unnerving hissing while the double bones seemed to glow a radioactive green, if only for a second.
Shaking her head, Ms. October shut the file. That was enough for the night. She was either seeing things that she didn’t want to see, or she was imagining things she didn’t want to imagine. She poked the folder with her finger as her legs pushed her chair back. “I’m going to find you Magnus and I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” she said. “You can’t hide forever.” She dumped out her coffee and stretched. “But you can hide tonight.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN – ZERO
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Ms. October said, patting Zero’s hand. All the frames in the small and disheveled apartment had pictures torn in half, empty spaces where Zero’s boyfriend Max once stood. The wedding hadn’t gone ahead. After all Zero had gone through trying to get Max back from Jacob Cuba, the relationship had all fallen apart within a week.
“He said he didn’t really love me. That I was weak and whiny.”
“He’s not wrong,” Ms. October muttered under her breath. Zero always acted more like a love sick puppy than an independent human being. Still, that pure raw emotion was something that Ms. October had always liked about the guy. He was sweet, young and full of dreams. Also, he was one hell of a PI, and that’s what she needed right now.
“Baby,” she cooed. “You’re going to find someone right for you. Just you wait.”
“But what if I don’t?” Zero moaned. “What if he was it and I die alone?”
Ms. October clicked her tongue on her teeth. “Not going to happen, doll. You’re too cute and kind for that. But take your time this go round. Test the waters and don’t just dive in.”
Zero nodded, running his hand over his rough stubbled chin. “Good advice. Thanks.” He stood and stretched, looking around at the apartment. Boxes and boxed of Chinese takeout crowded every surface, stinking of old chow mein, mould, and oyster sauce. “I need to clean.”
“Yes you do.” Ms. October nodded. “But first—”
“Right, you had a question for me.”
“Where is Magnus?”
Zero looked under the sink for a black plastic bag, and shook it open with a loud crack. “Well, that’s not something I can answer directly, but …”
“But …” Ms. October asked, her voice rising in irritation.
“The crime syndicate he runs, that’s a different story. I know where a few of their headquarters are. That will give you a head start. I can hit one or two and see what I find out, while you look at the others. I think together we should be able to narrow down where Magnus is located or if he’s even alive.”
Ms. October’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
“Mafia, syndicates, crime rings, they’re all bad news. It’s all very MacBeth with the lot of them. Hard to say who lives and who dies most of the time too, they tend to keep it hush hush and within their circles. It’s all about reputation and trust or the illusion of trust.”
“I see. So how do we break in?”
This time it was Zero doing the clucking, tongue against his teeth. “How do you feel about a new name, contacts, and a fresh hairdo?”
CHAPTER TWENTY – PLANS
“Hold still! You’re going to end up looking like a murder if you keep wiggling!” Madame Morre chastised, working the red dye into Ms. October’s newly bleached hair.
“I’m going to look ridiculous,” she sulked. “Like a clown.”
“It’s burgundy not red, and you won’t.” Madame Morre soothed. “Now, have you figured out the travel plans?”
Ms. October nodded, eliciting another hiss from Madame Morre. “Zero is heading for Australia and then New Zealand. He’ll contact me if he finds anything worth moving on.”
“Is his head going to be in the game?”
“Leaving the country will be the best thing for him,” Ms. October said.
“So what about us?”
Ms October said nothing but instead sat staring at the screen of her tablet. “Yeah, about that.”
“I don’t want to split up.” Madame More snapped the plastic shower cap onto Ms. October’s hair to allow the dye to process.
“I know, but there are too many locations for us to do together if we want to be efficient, still, we’ll be close.”
“How close?”
“I’ll be in Seirra Leone and you’ll be in Ghana.”
Madame Morre fiddled with her rings, bone jewelry clacking. “Okay. I can do that.” She took a sip of strong green tea, filling the air with jasmine. “I can defiantly do that.”
Ms. October raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Madame Morre said, grabbing her grandmother’s spell book and opening it to a page with a map of the West African coastline. “Ghana sounds like a fine place.”
“To find Magnus,” Ms. October coaxed.
“Uh hmm.” Finger tracing the ink. “Sure.” she said. “That’s exactly it.”
Ms. October, suspicion growing, shook her head. “Maybe we should trade countries.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – HEAT
Ms. October looked out the surprisingly clean window of the hotel room at one of the poorest countries in the world, Sierra Leone. She checked her face in the window’s reflection, a smile creeping even as she patted her head. Madame Morre had left New Orleans two hours before she had. Gone by the time she took her last shower on American soil, where she found the dye quickly washing out of her hair. Not too upset (having detested the colour), Ms. October after discovered a note and an electric razor by her toothbrush near the sink. It read, “Child, Zero has no idea what he’s talking about. Black is the way to go. Now cut your hair down and put on a nice scarf. See you in the wild world soon. Take care of yourself!”
It wasn’t signed
It didn’t need to be.
Tying a colourful scarf around her head, Ms. October went over her plan in her mind. She had a list of the biggest clubs, nice clothes, and money to spend. She was ready to find Magnus, but first, she needed to get acclimatized.
Locking the door behind her, Ms. October hit the street crowded with more bodies than it could seem to hold. The ocean’s salty breeze did nothing for the punching heat. Around her, traffic crawled in all different directions – oblivious to whatever road rules there might have been. Corrugated metal, sticks strung with twine, and brightly painted concrete made up walls and stalls. Red dirt and dust covered the edges of everything and sludge directly from the underworld sucked through the gutters. The sun, so bright and hot in New Orleans, seemed to be making a hellish effort in the streets of Freetown, piercing with its vibrancy and scorching exposed skin. Ms. October tightened her scarf around her head, already crusty from sweated salts. A million people slid past one another, wading through traffic, chatting in long and quick words that appeared English on the onset but quickly dissolved into Creole. Hawkers sang out about their wares of bright cloth they could sew into clothes, pots made from melted soda cans – right on the spot, and jewelry ready to jangle. Sweet and spicy bubbling stews wafted from small colourful restaurants and roadside booths. Beans and cassava, rice and goat all boiled in pots, held out on paper plates. Litter and rusted metal scattered the walkways, not concerning the sandaled and sometimes barefoot pedestrians. Girls with braided pigtails in skirted uniforms dragged behind fathers. Boys in soccer jerseys sprinted through the street, bouncing off of snail-pace cars. Rusted trucks featured men leaning out, smoke in one hand, yelling to other truck drivers about the latest news. Women in long skirts carried babies on their backs and large baskets on their heads, walked towards home, singing and laughing. Afrobeat flooded the heat with dancing and singing and kids carousing under the shining blue sky with mountains pulling the houses up around her like a blanket on an unmade bed.
A rooster crowed.
Ms. October took it all in, getting the lay of the land. Her stomach rumbled. “Time to try the grub,” she said to herself, a loneliness creeping into her soul in the midst of so many people. She had gotten used to having Lobelia there, even if she was a rock in her shoe a good chunk of the time. She shook it off. Narrowed her eyes. Focused. First food then scoping the clubs and asking around to pick a target. After that, to find Magnus and end this.
She hoped Madame Morre was all right, after all – the woman was her favourite pebble.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – HERBS
The travel ban on plant and animal products had depleted Madame Morre’s supplies down to zero, with the exception of a few gems and her clacking bone jewelry that barely counted as animal after years and years of wearing, her vials and bottles were barren.
She opened her grandmother’s book on the table, page edges dark with the oils of many fingers. Before her grandmother it had been her great grandmother’s book and before that, her great great grandmother’s. Some pages were so worn and faded one practically needed a finding spell to bring out the ink. But the map, that was clear, shining in the bright West African sun – a peacock blue ink showing the way home. The place before New Orleans, before Haiti, before slavery.
Madame Morre’s long red fingernail traced the Ghana coast line landing on Accra. From there she went up river, following the history lines and footsteps of her family to Tamale. There was someone there, according to Grandma. Someone who had something for her, should she ever make the trip. The name wasn’t clear. More of a title she suspected. Still, it was enough to go on if the magic could be cast.
And for that she needed equipment, which likely or not could be found at the market. She jangled the coins in her beaded Elvis purse – the man was still alive somewhere and holding his image helped her to believe it. They clinked against each other, their pitch knocked down a note by the humidity in the air.
Breathing in the guava, African star fruit, and yooyi that punctuated the sea salt air with its bright sweetness, Madame Morre tied up her hair in a turban of bright silk, wrapped her shall about her shoulders, and clacked out of the hotel, ready to find all the ingredients she would need.
Tonight was going to be long and tomorrow would be a journey, but for now she was home and it was time to say hi to all her relatives.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – BLIND JUICY AND FURIOUS
Ms. October slipped through the sweat slick bodies on the street, cars honking, and exhaust giving her a pounding headache. She adjusted her sunglasses against the setting sun, now directly in her eyes, and headed for a narrow street with far less people in the direction she wanted to go. Sighing, as the traffic and pressed skin fell away behind her. She paused and grabbed her water bottle from her satchel, downing the last of the plastic tainted, bath temperature water from it, adding a couple of pain relievers to the mix.
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, wiping sweat from her neck. Night couldn’t come soon enough. Two clubs down and two to go and she still didn’t have a clue where the best place to find Magnus was. She hoped Madame Morre was having better luck.
Her eyes shot open as fingers squeezed her upper arm, bruising, and she snapped her head to see three men all grinning widely, chests out, hips thrust. The leader, a tall man with thick sinewy muscles, stinking of spicy cologne from the discount section leered, nearly cheek to cheek with her. The half of his teeth he had left were rotted and cadaverous. He laid his thick lips on Ms. October’s neck, calling her sister, and leaving a circle of wet saliva while his two friends laughed in high pitched chitters.
Ms. October pulled at her arm, trying to get away. The man squeezed his fingers deeper, pinching flesh to bone. He pointed to his waist, showing off his hand gun, and a little bit more. He leaned in again, this time laying his lips on her cheek, hips to her stomach, sliding his tongue into her mouth, a rotten tobacco leaf probing her teeth.
Once more she pulled away, grunting and tugging, eyes darting to the two pawing and snapping hyenas, barely waiting for the remnants left by their boss. This time his response to her escape attempt was more aggressive. A free hand snapped to her throat, shoving her into the brick wall, knocking the air from her chest in a huff. Her eyes went wide. They all had guns. One of the men had two – one in his hand one in his waist. The other a gun and a knife. Their leader squeezed her neck, then satisfied he had got his message across let go to grab at his belt, loosening it, while passing off his piece to his friend.
That was all the opening she needed. His eyes elsewhere, she shoved the back of his head into her upcoming knee, driving his nose into his face, splattering blood over the alley. His friend, now saddled with a gun in each hand, both with the safety on, was struggling to get them shooting ready. He ran out of time as Ms. October flung her attacker into the side of a garbage bin, and kicked the two gunned man in the chest, launching him into the wall hard. His head snapped back and hit the bricks with a wet thud rolling his eyes into his head. The last man looked at both his comrades and turned to run. Ms. October nabbed him by the collar, yanked hard, and swept his legs from underneath him all in a single unified motion. Soon he was out cold too. Her attacker, anger radiating, rolled to his feet, spitting and cursing. She watched him move to his knees, then feet, still crouched. Finally as he went to bring up his head, she let down her foot. One axe kick to the head and he was as asleep as his friends.
Dabbing at the blood splatter which covered her knee, she exited the alley.
“Ms. October?” a voice of disbelief and joy called from the packed street on the other side.
Ms. October looked around. She didn’t think she would, or should, know anyone here – which was the main reason everything today had been so god damn hard. However, finally her eyes fell on the speaker. A tiny girl with long purple hair tied up in a top knot, baggy magenta genii pants, and what looked like a fantasy dragon scaled top. “Jazzy? Is that you?” Ms. October gasped.
“What are you doing here?” they both yelled at the same time falling into each other’s arms.
Holding Jazzy at arm’s length, a smile replacing her throbbing headache, Ms. October beamed. “I haven’t seen you for fifteen years!”
“Same!” Jazzy smirked. “My, my you look good.” The girl looked around. “Connor Alexander here too?”
Ice blew over her skin as Ms. October shook her head. “He’s passed on, I’m afraid.”
“Jeeze. Poor guy.” Jazzy bent her head in respect. “Poor you.”
“I’m okay,” Ms. October lied. “What are you doing here of all places?”
Jazzy lifted her head, a bright grin skipping back onto her face. “I could ask you the same thing. Some top secret job?”
“A job, but not too top secret.”
“Ooh! Sounds delicious!” Jazzy danced on her toes, as if gravity didn’t bother to apply to her. “I’m here with my band.”
Ms. October clapped her hand over her mouth, then slowly removed it, whispering, “Blind, Juicy, and Furious?”
“The same!”
“You’re still together? Romeo, you, and DJ?”
Jazzy grabbed onto Ms. October’s wrist. “Now why would we ever split up? We have gig at the Rainbow Club for a week. Hottest place in Freetown, I’m told. All the big wigs go there. Loads of fun and hopefully, loads of tips if I can use my ultra-charm!” Jazzy let loose a smile that should have shot glitter into the air. “We’re staying at the resort where the club is. Really nice rooms and a huge swimming pool. Best part,” Jazzy leaned in, “they have air conditioning.”
“Ohh! Air conditioning!” Ms. October groaned. “I could do with some of that!”
“Sweet! Then it’s settled. You’re staying with us and you’re seeing our show and … and… and… we need to catch up on everything! ” Jazzy turned and pulled Ms. October down the street. “Now let’s get your stuff from whatever rat’s nest you’re staying in and check you out.”
“Jazzy.” Ms. October planted her feet, leaving the girl spinning on the spot.
“Yeah?” she asked, finally stopping and turning around, her orange freckles standing out on her flushed cheeks.
“It’s a nice hotel, and-”
“Uh huh?”
“You’re going the wrong way.”
“Ahh!” Jazzy beamed, pulling Ms. October the opposite direction. “To the non-crappy hotel, vite!”
“Jazzy darling, I love you!” Ms. October laughed, “But you are crazy!”
Jazzy wiggled her eyebrows. “I know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR – BLIND
A bell jangled. The door yowled then banged. The room was dim with shadows, not all of them cast from the objects around the tiny shop. Large glass jars lined the shelves with dried leaves, stems, roots, pistols and stamens, and even thorns – some turned to powders of dark green, brown, and bright vibrant yellow. There were animal parts both dried and pickled. Dark brown, blue, and green bottles with tinctures and medicines joined them. All the herbs and treatments sent forth a fragrant cacophony of competing scents. Some low and thick, registering at the bottom of her Madame Morre’s sinuses. Others sharp and bright, even citrusy, hitting her near the eyes. Still others were sweet and cloying, landing in the back of her pallet, as if she could taste the air like a dripping summer mango.
Beyond the herbs were the statues – charms and totems that held power – what the Europeans liked to call fetishes. These humanoid statues were made mostly of clay and wood, some with bells, grass, or shells tied with bright string. Baubles hung on long nails in the wood walls. Gold and diamond charms in their own right, radiating power. No one would ever steal these. Not if they knew what was best for them. Madame Morre wouldn’t touch these. She knew only her own charms from her Louisiana upbringing. There was no reason to meddle with other gods and spirits she wasn’t familiar with.
Madame Morre let her long deep purple nails run over the hollow bone tubes of a wind chime, filling the store with melodious yawning tongs. A cat, gold eyes flashing, peered from under the brightly patterned curtain cutting off the back room before skittering away as the curtain shifted with a wave of a dark hand. An incredibly old woman stepped forth, cane tapping heavily on the wooden flooring, eyes milky as the moon.
“Hmm,” she said, criticism already dripping. “A witch. And not from around here.”
“A queen. And no. I’m from New Orleans,” Madame Morre, bit back.
The elderly woman laughed loud and long, each cackle cracking glass. Her wrinkles dissolved into joy and mischief. “Oh! I like you!” She pointed her cane. “I like you a lot.” Then tapping over and leaning in, she whispered, “But girl, you’re going to get yourself in a heap of trouble here.”
Madame Morre smiled and hissed back, “Yes. I fully plan on it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – SHIP
Jazzy pulled her silently into the hotel room, its sheer white curtains lifting on the salty breeze, cries of gulls coming in from the open balcony window. DJ was asleep on the bed. Romeo stood, staring at the ocean waves, back to them, oblivious.
Ms. October couldn’t stop the shy grin that forced its way over her face, crinkling her eyes at the edges. It had been a decade and a half since she had seen Romeo Juliette and still her heart fluttered just like the first time. It was a quiver that vibrated from her inner organs, pushing up through her skin in goose bumps. She rubbed her arm. She felt stupid and giddy, like she was twelve years old seeing a cute kid, heart falling to pieces in a scramble to do — who knew what.
Romeo had liked her back for a time. A long time ago. Then things got complicated. Life got busy. Futures took different paths.
She still remembered his coconut skin, like a hot beach in July. His deep brown eyes, almost like a fairy from the underworld. His deft fingers, so strong yet gentle. His heart beat against her ear when she lay her head on his chest.
God, could she do this? Say hi? Give him a hug? Pretend to just be friends?
Romeo turned around, long brown hair swishing in a fan on movement, tan skin smooth and velvety as ever, eyelashes a lace shawl over his eyes.
“Leonie?” Romeo gasped, then shut his eyes.
Ms. October held her breath, willing the tears already jumping to replace her grin, heart diving down to Hel, cooling through the plummet, hopes ... “Romeo. Hi. It’s been—”
He leapt forward, wrapped her in a strong constricting hug, encompassing her body and her soul, tears falling on her neck, sobs rattling his chest. “Oh! I missed you. Everyday. Forever and ever and ever.”