This Side of the Grave (#5 Night Huntress)

The barest smile flittered across Bones’s mouth. “We only just arrived a few minutes ago.”
Yep, and not by plane, boat, train, or automobile, either. Not after the now-headless ghoul told us his cronies were watching all those venues.
Bones flew us in under his own power about ten minutes ago, landing on the roof of Saint Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square before we hopped
down and walked the couple blocks to the cemetery. He hadn’t wanted me to try my wings again for this jaunt into the city. Something about
conserving my energy for later. Under other circumstances, I’d think he meant that in a naughty way, but I knew he was referring to possibly fighting
for our lives later, if things went awry. I knew which activity I’d rather be conserving my energy for, if I had control over my own life, but that hadn’t
happened much lately.
“I will notify Majestic,” Jacques said, staying on the other side of the street. He pulled out his cell, speaking quietly into it, his words indiscernible
amidst the other noises of the nearby French Quarter. Jazz Fest was getting under way in the next day or so, but from the swell of extra tourists, the
city was starting the party early.
“Why’d he even come by, if he didn’t think we’d be here?” I whispered to Bones.
“Because Marie would make sure nothing was left to chance” was his equally soft reply.
That sounded like the infamous voodoo queen. She might look like a cross between Mrs. Butterworth and Angela Bassett, emitting matronliness
or a take-no-prisoners attitude depending on her mood, but Marie Laveau was nothing if not meticulous. Figures I’d be seeing her again under the
same circumstances that we’d first met—me trying to find out if she’d back an asshole in his claims against me. This time, however, the stakes
were much higher than determining who I was married to according to vampire law. I’d ended up settling that matter rather decisively by blowing my
ex-husband’s head off. If only I could do the same to Apollyon soon, I’d consider meetings with Marie as a good-luck omen.
“She will be here in twenty minutes,” Jacques announced, coming back over to us. Bones let out a snort.
“I should think so, after the trouble we’ve gone through to speak with her.”
Jacques didn’t reply to that. He hadn’t been much of a talker the last time I’d met him, either. After waiting the stated amount of time, Jacques
opened the gates to the cemetery and I went inside, knowing where we were headed but willing to let him take the lead. The ghoul started to close
the gate after me, but Bones’s hand shot out to stop him.
“I’m going with her.”
He frowned. “Majestic said she will meet with the Reaper first and you afterward.”
Bones smiled, an easy stretch of his mouth that made his features even more startlingly gorgeous, but his voice didn’t match his playboy good
looks.
“Perhaps you misheard me. I’m going with her, and if you think to stop me, I’ll soon be decorating one of these gate spikes with your head.”
Jacques was at least twice the width of Bones and just as tall, so to an onlooker, if they fought, it would be a no-brainer who’d win. But the ghoul
couldn’t match the power seething off Bones as he dropped his shields. It poured from him and fanned out to encompass the cemetery, making the
sentient ghosts give him a more interested glance as it brushed across them.
“This way,” Jacques said at last, turning his back on us.
We picked our way around the crumbling crypts and refurbished tombs as Jacques led us toward Marie Laveau’s vault. I knew this cemetery was
a popular tourist attraction, but I didn’t see myself coming here just for fun. The air was thicker with all the residual energy from the ghosts, making
me feel like I walked through invisible cobwebs with every step. The cemetery might not be large, but because of New Orleans’s history of extremely
high mortality rates in comparison to their burial space, each crypt we passed housed the remains of dozens if not hundreds of residents—some of
whom watched us as we passed by.
It also had a different vibe than the time capsule feel of the French Quarter. There, in the backdrop of streets suited for horses instead of cars
and gas lanterns illuminating the sidewalks, it somehow didn’t seem odd to see a transparent person adorned in clothes from a different century
mingling among the living residents. Here, however, melancholy hung in almost palpable waves, making me imagine that every crypt I passed or
foot of ground I trod upon sighed in regret over a life never to be experienced again.
Jacques stopped by the white oblong crypt bearing Marie Laveau’s name, date of supposed death, and a faint inscription in French that I
couldn’t read. He said something in what sounded like Creole, and at the base where several offerings were left to the voodoo queen, a grating
noise emanated. Then a few of the old, decrepit-looking stones slid smoothly back to reveal a dark hole within.
Marie might be calculating and meticulous, but she also had a sense of humor, making people travel under her crypt for meetings with her.
Jacques jumped down into the hole without hesitation. Bones flashed a look at me before doing the same. I followed after a second or two,
giving him time to move so I didn’t land on him, and squished down into an inch of brackish-smelling water. Impressive mechanical hideaway, yes,
but nothing stayed totally dry underground in New Orleans, and this area was flooded most of the time. Marie must have a better pump system
down here than the Army Corps of Engineers.
Above us, the slabs creaked again as they closed, plunging the tunnel into what would have been complete blackness to anyone without
supernatural vision. Bones and I both had that, so I wasn’t worried about something jumping out at us unseen. We also both had boots on, so
disgusting things squishing through my toes as we followed down the tunnel wasn’t a concern as well. Still, when I glanced at the tight walls around