Kindling Flames: Stolen Fire (The Ancient Fire Series Book 4) (11 page)

“No,” she hissed as his teeth sank into the metal severing it. “Zak!” she said, exasperated with the fay.

The little horror spit chunks of metal out on the ground. In a blink, he shifted back into the loving Shih Tzu he liked to pretend to be.

Vicky stepped back from the gate now that Zak was no longer holding to it.

“Well,” Darien pulled on the damaged chain and the gate squeaked open, “that’s one way to do it. Good boy.” He reached over and scratched Zak’s head before stepping through the opening into the cemetery.

“Darien!” Vicky hissed, her exasperation with Zak flowing over to his actions. How could he just walk into a place that was
supposed
to be locked? She glanced up and down the street, then slipped in behind him. Darien had stopped a few steps inside the gate to get his bearings. “We can’t just break in here.”

Vicky struggled to hold on to Zak. Wanting down, the little fay wiggled until she finally gave up and dropped him to the ground. He scampered off, dragging his leash behind him. With a frustrated huff at the little fay’s behavior, she let him go. He could take care of himself.

Darien turned to the right and headed towards the front of the graveyard. “Why not?”

Vicky hurried to catch up to him. “We’re going to get arrested,” she growled at him. Her eyes scanned over the graves as they walked. They were nothing like any graves she had ever seen. There were hundreds of small, stone buildings lined up across the space.

“No, we won’t,” he reassured her as he turned from the main path and proceeded between the tombs. “We won’t be here that long.” Darien weaved his way through the stones, looking for something.

Vicky dogged his footsteps, still worried they would be caught. “Where are we, anyway?” she asked looking at the unusual graveyard.

“Welcome to Saint Louis Cemetery Number One. It the oldest ‘City of the Dead’ in New Orleans.”

“City of the Dead?” Vicky thought this was an unusual name for a cemetery, but looked more closely at the small buildings. They did look like little houses. Some even had iron fences around them. She almost ran into Darien’s back when he stopped suddenly.

“I know it’s here somewhere.” He looked back and forth at the tombs. “It can’t be that hard to find.”

While they were stopped, Vicky reached out to touch one of the crumbling buildings. “They’re tombs.” She rubbed the sun-bleached stone.

“Family tombs,” Darien clarified as he gained his bearings again and headed off in another direction. “In the early years of the city, the high water table made burying the dead in the ground difficult. One good rain and the airtight coffins popped right out. And when packing them under rocks and drilling holes in them didn’t work, the people turned to the French and Spanish traditions of family vaults above ground.”

Vicky listened, fascinated by the history around her. “So each of these is for a family?” She looked at one stone vault. It was about six feet tall and just large enough to lay a man in. “How did they get an entire family in there?” All the buildings varied in size, but none were large enough to hold more than two or three bodies.

“When someone died, the tomb was opened up, and the body was placed in the compartment on the top. The dead were given a year and a day, undisturbed, for their souls to rest. During this time, the heat and the sun would decompose the body,” Darien explained. “When the next family member died, the remains of the first were pushed to the back, where they fell down into the bottom of the vault. Then, the next body was put in. Nowadays, they give the bodies two years to decompose, and the remains are wrapped in a special burial bag when their time is up. The remains are then deposited into the bottom of the tomb.”

“What happens if someone else dies before the end of the year or two years?” Vicky asked.

“The cemetery has special holding vaults in the walls.” Darien pointed towards the wall two rows over. Vicky could see little doors lining it. “The second body is placed in one of those until the first has had its time in the tomb. Then, the family clears the first body and moves the second into its final resting place. Then that person’s time starts.” Darien stopped when his eyes caught something. “There it is.” He cut between two tombs.

Vicky followed, curious to see what had Darien wandering around such an old graveyard.

The tomb Darien had been looking for was hard to miss. There were candles and beads strewn about it, and the sides were covered in hundreds of little Xs. Darien stood in front of the tomb quietly for a moment. Other than the many offerings and markings, the only thing that distinguished this tomb from any of the others was a small, bronze plaque on the lower left-hand side.

Vicky bent to read the name and inscription. “Marie Laveau?” Standing up, she looked at Darien. “It this really her grave?” Even Vicky had heard of the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans.

“No,” Darien answered as he placed the roses at the foot of the grave. “Her remains were removed from here a long time ago.”

“Then, why are we here?” Now she was really confused.

“Because this was her original resting place and where she is now is lost to time.” Darien held Vicky’s rose out for her.

She took it, not sure what to do with it now. Should she put it on the grave with the others?

Darien dug around in the bag and pulled out a handful of gaudy bead necklaces. “Here.” He held them out to Vicky before digging in the bag again. This time, he pulled out a small bottle of rum and a pack of cigars.

“Okay.” Vicky finally voiced her thoughts as Darien placed the bottle and smokes against the grave. “Now I’m really confused.”

Darien snickered and stood up. “Why don’t you arrange those beads around the bottle, and I’ll explain.”

Vicky handed him back her rose and artfully draped the beads over the bottle and box. “Okay.” Pushing up from the ground, she dusted off her hands. “Explain.” She looked back to find him holding out a stick of red chalk. Not sure what was going on, she took it and waited for him to explain.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he spun her around three times and pointed towards the tomb. “Knock three times,” he instructed her.

She looked over her shoulder at him in confusion but rapped her knuckles on the stone three times.

“Now draw three Xs.” He pointed to an open spot on the white stone.

Holding up the chalk, she paused, not wanting to deface the tomb, but Darien urged her on. She drew three tiny marks on the tomb.

Darien wrapped his arms around her and raised her hand up to press it over the marks. “Now make a wish,” he whispered into her ear. “And make it a good one.”

Shocked by this, it took Vicky a moment to think of things she might wish for. The obvious wish would be for them to not get caught, but she nixed this idea for a better one. She closed her eyes and wished for an answer to Darien’s problem. After a moment, she drew her hand back and opened her eyes. “Now explain,” she demanded.

Darien kissed the side of her head. “It’s an old tradition to wish on Marie Laveau’s tomb.” He released her and stepped back.

Vicky turned to face him. “Does it really work?” she asked curiously.

Darien shrugged and reached out to take her hand. Turning, he started back for the gate. “Tradition says it does, but I’ve never tested it,” he confessed.

Vicky looked at him, shocked. “You mean that I just marked up some tomb in hopes that it would grant my wish?”

Darien nodded.

“And this is okay?”

“Not really. It makes the Glapion family furious.” He shrugged again. “They have been after the police for years to stop the vandalism.”

Vicky’s mouth dropped open as she stopped to stare at him. It was outrageous that he knew this and still had her do it.

Darien stopped and looked back at her, unashamed.

She thought of several things she wanted say to him but decided not to. Yelling at him was not going to get him to behave. Vicky let out another exasperated sigh. Shaking her head, she stepped into him for a hug. “I love you.” She put all her frustration, indignation, and irritation into those three words as she squeezed him. “But, it’s times like these that I wonder why.”

He chuckled and squeezed her back, getting the meaning she implied. Kissing her softly, Darien pulled her around to his side and held the single rose out to her.

She took it, and they continued walking.

“So…” Vicky thought over their little ritual back at the tomb. “I understand the roses,” she twirled the one in her fingers as she thought, “but what’s with the bottle, cigars, and beads?” She could almost come up for a reason for the Mardi Gras strands.

“It wouldn’t be right to bring a gift for Marie and not bring something for the loa,” Darien explained as if Vicky knew what he was talking about.

Vicky let out her amusement in a soft snort. By now, she should be used to him using terms she didn’t know. “What are the loa?” she prompted, unsure if she really wanted to know.

“They are Haitian spirits.”

She waited for Darien to explain more, but he didn’t. “
And
…” Vicky pushed for more.

Darien chuckled. “They are the connection between the human world and God.”

Vicky rolled her hand in front of him, wanting Darien to give her more.

“In the practice of Vodou, the loa are called on to take mortal requests to the Creator,” Darien began. “There are lots of different loa, but the two main ones are Papa Legba and Baron Samedi.”

Vicky could almost feel the air thicken as Darien said those two names, like speaking them out loud drew something’s attention. She looked around but didn’t see anyone watching.

Darien went on. “Papa Legba is the intermediate between the loa and humanity. He’s the one you go to if you want to speak with any of the other loa; therefore, he is known as the gatekeeper.”

“So who’s the key master?” Vicky beamed up at him.

A grin turned the corner of his mouth, and he ignored the sarcastic movie reference. “Papa Legba definitely deserves respect, but the loa you really need to watch out for is Baron Samedi.” Darien’s voice grew a little more serious, and the air thickened a touch more.

A spot between Vicky’s shoulder blades itched as if eyes were on her back. She looked around again, but the cemetery was still deserted.

Darien continued. “He’s the master of the dead.” This time Darien looked around as if expecting the loa to step out from between the tombs. He drew Vicky a little closer to his side. “The rum and cigars were an offering to him.” His steps quickened just a little.

Vicky could tell he was anxious to get out of the cemetery. Could he be having that same itching feeling of being watched? “If he frightens you that much, why did you leave him an offering?” Shivering, she pressed closer to Darien.

Darien laughed out loud but didn’t slow. “He doesn’t frighten me, but I do respect him and the power he wields.” His eyes locked on the gate just a few feet ahead of him. “I’ve been loa-ridden before, and it really wasn’t pretty. I would like to avoid a repeat performance.”

The itchiness on Vicky’s back grew warm, making it harder to breath. She felt a soft touch on her ankle and looked down to see Zak wobbling along in his fay form. He had reached a feeler up under the edge of her pants leg to wrap around her skin. The warmth on her back cooled, but she could still feel eyes on her.

Darien ushered her out of the gate and turned around to string the broken chain back through it so it looked secure.

Vicky took several deep breaths and looked around. Her eyes caught on a flash of red at the far corner of the cemetery. She focused on it to see that is was an old black man in a red coat and a straw hat leaning heavily on a cane.

He pulled the stump of a pipe out of his mouth and nodded his head slowly at Vicky.

“Darien!” Vicky hissed and grabbed at his arm.

He turned to meet her eyes. “What?”

She looked back at the corner, but the old man was gone.

Darien followed her gaze to the corner.

Zak stared down the road and chirped before wiggling back into his Shih Tzu disguise.

“I think it’s best we get out of here now.” Darien pulled the still-shocked Vicky into his side and led her back to the main street.