The Returned (8 page)

Wraith shifted her focus to the kids themselves. They were clearly mortal slingers, and while they did have a respectable amount of power, they were relative lightweights. She doubted they'd made the charms themselves. She tucked away the phone, pushed the goggles back onto her head, and walked over to the trio.

“How's it going?” Wraith asked.

The three eyed her suspiciously.

“It's cool,” she said. “I'm a slinger too.”

They relaxed a little, but just a little. Life on the street was hard, and there was always someone who wanted what you had. That tended to breed suspicion, especially among the less powerful.

“I'm Wraith,” she said. “I just got into town from—”

“Wraith? The Wraith?” one of the girls asked. She was below average in height with long dreadlocks decorated with rings and colored thread wrapped around them. Her skin was dark, but it had large patches over her body and face that were pale white. Even one of her dreads was white blond. “The one from Seattle who took on the FBI on her own?

“No,” said the other girl. She was covered in freckles and sported dyed green and red hair. “She had her friends helping her. Three of them, all fifties, right?”

Wraith opened her mouth.

“You're both wrong,” said the boy. He had a dozen piercings and several tattoos on his face. “They—”

“It was the Order,” Wraith said. “A group that was kidnapping fifties, killing them, and binding their souls to slingers to make them more powerful.”

The three just stared at her.

“The FBI got involved, but I never actually took them on,” she said, then thought about it. “Well, I sort of did, but not like you're thinking.”

“I can't believe it's you!” the dreadlocked girl said.

Wraith started to feel uncomfortable. There was a population of street kids who were always moving, and they carried stories with them. Apparently Wraith's had reached far and wide.

“What are you doing in NOLA?” the boy asked. “Are you here about the zombies?”

“No, I'm just—wait, did you say zombies?”

“They aren't zombies, Flats,” said the girl with dreads.

“Yes, Panda, they are,” Flats said. “Why do you think Mama Toups is handing out gris-gris like candy on Halloween?”

“I've heard that word before,” Wraith said. “What's a gris-gris?”

They all looked at her like she was stupid.

“This is,” Flats said and held out the leather pouch around his neck.

Wraith almost lowered her goggles, but she decided not to. Instead, she focused and looked over the quantum information of the bag. It was like she'd suspected. The bag drew on people's natural tendency to ignore anything they weren't focused on and amplified it.

“Someone gave this to you?” Wraith asked.

“Yeah,” Panda said. “Mama Toups, a local voodoo queen. She and her people are giving them out to the slingers who are hiding out in the city.”

“Why are you hiding out?” Wraith asked.

“Because someone was snatching kids off the street in just about every city,” Panda said. “We heard, like most slingers did, through some fifties that this area was controlled by the First House.”

The freckled girl laughed. “Not that we had any idea what that was.”

“I found out not long ago myself,” Wraith said.

“Well,” Panda continued, “the fifties all said the First House really protects their territories. There were no snatchings down here.”

“Of course, it wasn't true,” Flats said. “It was just like everywhere else.”

“But if you're going to be hiding anyway,” Panda said, “you might as well be warm. Besides, the locals are pretty good to us. They leave us be and look out for us too.” She held out the gris-gris as evidence.

“And the voodoo queen”—Wraith couldn't believe there was such a thing—“is just giving those out to slingers?”

“You tell her, Lash,” Panda said to the freckled girl. “You're the one who found out about them.”

Lash shrugged. “You know how it is. Word spreads quick on the street when there's trouble. Someone starts giving away something that will keep you from getting grabbed in the night—for free, no less—you jump on it.”

“Then there's the zombies,” Flats said.

“They aren't zombies!” the girls said together.

“It's like I told you—” Flats said.

“Let me save you from his mansplaining,” Panda said.

“I do not—”

Panda ignored him. “While back, about six months I guess, the gangs all started fighting over turf. Mostly it kept to certain areas, but eventually it was all over.” She toyed with a bead on one of her dreads. “Some of the slingers and locals joined one side or another, but most of us kept our heads down till the dust settled.”

“Did it?” Wraith asked.

“Sort of,” Lash said. “The Scarlet Enigmas apparently came out on top, and things quieted down.”

“The word is,” Flats said, “one of the shot callers in the Royal Skeleton Brigade, a rival, got their hands on some serious magic.” He leaned forward. “Serious voodoo magic. The kind that can let you bring your dead enemies back to life, but under your control.”

“And shuffle around muttering, ‘brainsssss,' ” Lash said and laughed.

“You've heard people talking,” Flats said. “All those shoot-outs were done by people who were already dead and buried.”

“It's bullshit,” Panda said to him, then turned to Wraith. “Probably started by the RSB to scare the SE.” She shrugged. “Zombie stories came from Haiti and have been told around NOLA for as long as Haitians have been here. So like, forever.”

Wraith opened her mouth to ask another question, but her phone chirped in her pocket. “Sorry, give me a second,” she said to the trio and stepped away. When she opened the app, she saw Edward's dot was moving. She zoomed in and watched it move down the street.

They were probably going sightseeing or something, she thought to herself. But she couldn't ignore the twinge of worry she was feeling. Hopefully it was what she'd just heard making her paranoid.

She watched the dot move out of the Quarter and wind its way down various streets. The subtle twinge became a cold lead brick in her stomach when she saw the dot stop in front of a building and then move inside. The label on the building said Coroner's Office.

She looked from her phone to the trio of slingers and back.

“No way.”

“S
o, yeah, there it is,” Edward said.

Henry didn't say anything. He just stared at Caitlin and Edward. All things considered, Caitlin thought he was taking it remarkably well. Between the two of them, they'd laid it all out. Edward had told Henry that he was a wizard and that his grandfather had been one as well, leaving Edward his house and magical books in his will. Caitlin explained how faeries were real and that some had taken Fiona a couple of years back. She'd even told Henry about going into Tír na nÓg to get her back. She did, however, leave out the part about Fiona's biological father being the king of the Dusk Court fae, as well as some of the details of the Rogue Court hierarchy. The former was personal; the latter wasn't relevant. Edward had also explained the truth behind the events in Seattle, though those details were mostly secondhand from Dante.

Henry opened his mouth, then closed it.

“We did warn you,” Caitlin said.

“Yes,” Henry said and nodded. “Yes, you certainly did. I confess, that was not the explanation I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?” Edward asked.

“I don't rightly now,” Henry said. “But that would've been near the bottom of the list.”

“I know it's hard to believe,” Caitlin said. “I really do. I remember what it was like being in your shoes.”

“Except for the missing child,” Henry said.

“Except for that,” Caitlin agreed.

“I can't even imagine what that must've been like for you,” Henry said.

“I hope you never learn,” Caitlin said.

Henry looked at Edward and shook his head. “Everything I know about you tells me you're telling the truth, but I just can't bring myself to believe it.”

“Go ahead,” Caitlin said when Edward looked at her.

Edward drew in a breath and focused on the stack of napkins in the center of the table. “
Aer
,” he said softly. Slowly at first, the napkins began to turn as a mild breeze circled the table. It grew in power, and soon the napkins were lifted up, spinning a couple of inches off the table, as if trapped in a miniature tornado.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Henry whispered.

Edward snatched the napkins before anyone could see.

“I could do something flashier,” Edward said. “But I don't think setting the place on fire is a good idea.”

Henry held his hand out for the napkins. Edward passed them, and his friend looked them over.

“We've known each other a long time,” Edward said. “Short of Caitlin, you're my best friend. I wouldn't make something like this up, certainly not under these circumstances.”

“It's not an easy thing for a man of science to believe,” Henry said and paused for a long moment. “But, I admit this explains quite a lot.”

“Such as?” Caitlin asked.

“Some of the guests at your wedding,” Henry said. “They were, let's say odd.”

Caitlin nodded. “Yeah, there were a lot of fae there.”

“Fae?”

“What faeries prefer to be called,” she said.

“Ah, I see.” Henry took another drink of his soda. “For the sake of argument, let's say I do believe you, about all of it. What's that mean?”

Edward looked at Caitlin. She knew what he was thinking, and she was in fact thinking the same thing. Henry was a friend, and he needed help. Caitlin and Edward were in a position to offer it. How could either of them refuse? She also knew, all too well, what Henry was feeling: that sense of falling, like the whole world had dropped out from under you, so much of what you took for granted a minute ago having turned out not to be true. If magic, faeries, and the like were real, what else was? She also knew Henry was religious, something Caitlin never had been. She could only imagine how this was challenging his faith. Faeries and magic didn't fit neatly into most religions.

Caitlin let out a sigh, but she smiled. “We help you figure out what's going on.”

“Oh no,” Henry said. “Absolutely not. I am not pulling you two from your honeymoon to help solve some mystery.”

“We can help,” Edward said.

“What exactly can you do?” Henry asked. “Cast some spell and find out who raised those people from the dead?”

“I doubt it would be that simple,” Edward said.

“But it might be,” Caitlin said.

“I appreciate the offer, truly I do,” Henry said. “But this isn't some personal issue I told you about. This is a felony murder being investigated by the police.” He shook his head. “Even if it weren't, no way is John going to believe this. He'd never let you anywhere near the body.”

“We don't have to tell him what I'm doing,” Edward said. “You can say I'm a colleague with experience in criminology, which is true. I have consulted with a few different police departments.”

“And when you start with the magic?” Henry asked.

Caitlin put her hand over Edward's. “Let it go, sweetheart. We offered, and he refused. It's done.” She turned to Henry. “But let me add one thing.”

Henry let out a breath and motioned with his hand for her to continue.

“You said this has been going on for six months or so, right?” she asked.

Henry nodded.

“Do you think it's just going to stop?” she asked. “Whoever is doing this has some kind of plan, and they don't care who it hurts. Right now it's been gang members, but what if next time they open fire in a mall? Or in the Quarter during Mardi Gras? I don't know if Eddy will be able to figure out who's behind this. But I do know that without him, the odds of anyone figuring it out are pretty slim.”

Henry looked from Caitlin to Edward and back before letting out a sigh. “All right, it's your honeymoon. If you want to spend it with me at the morgue, who am I to argue?” He took out his cell phone and dialed a number.

“This is even more romantic than I imagined,” Caitlin said to Edward.

“I'm sorr—”

“Don't you dare apologize,” Caitlin said. “He's your friend, which means he's my friend. It's the right thing to do.” She shrugged. “Of course, it would still be the right thing to do even if he was a complete stranger.”

“John,” Henry said into the phone. “How are you?” He nodded. “Well, that's understandable.” He looked at Edward. “Look, I, um, a friend of mine is in town. He's a psychiatrist, a good one. He's consulted with the police in the past.”

Caitlin squeezed Edward's hand.

“No, Boston and some departments in New Hampshire,” Henry said. “He's an expert on scarification, and he might be able to provide some insight into your—” He listened. “Well, I'm sitting with him at Café Du Monde. We could be at the forensic center in about fifteen minutes.” He nodded. “Okay, we'll see you shortly.”

“That seemed easy,” Caitlin said.

Henry nodded as he ended the call and set the phone down. “John is a good man and a good doctor. He just wants to do what's right, and this case is bothering him. That means he's eager for any help he can get.” Henry leaned forward. “Within reason, you understand.”

“I do, and I hope I can help,” Edward said.

“So do I,” Henry said. “Well then, let's go.”

Caitlin and Edward stood as well and followed Henry.

“Our car is at the hotel,” Caitlin said.

“I'm parked just over here,” Henry said and led them to the parking lot behind the café. “I'll drop you off when we're done.”

They climbed into Henry's car and drove through the city. When they crossed under the interstate, the cityscape shifted to residential. She was struck by how old the houses looked. Even the nicer houses looked like they'd been battered over the years. Then they'd go by entire blocks, or several blocks, of houses that were obviously very new. She thought of how it must feel to lose your home, and she wondered if there was any comfort in a new one. This train of thought got her to thinking about family. While she and Edward had been talking to Henry, she hadn't really thought about what was happening. As Edward and Henry talked shop, her mind drifted, and the enormity of the situation settled in on her.

Had someone really figured out how to raise the dead? Or was it some elaborate trick, a ploy for one gang to put some fear in its rivals? The idea resonated with her, having lost both her parents when she was young and the grandparents who raised her, before Fiona had been born. She still felt the loss, still missed even her father, who'd been gone now for more than twenty years. Of course, she knew the lore, the trope that when people came back they weren't the person they'd been. But from what Henry was saying, these weren't animated corpses. These were living, breathing people. She wasn't considering trying to figure out how it was done and bring her family back, but she'd be lying if she said it wasn't tempting.

What really bothered her though was that someone was doing this not to bring peace to a family or ease the pain and loss of someone, but to make someone a weapon. Or, she wondered, did they actually set out with the more altruistic goals in mind, but it turned dark?

“Just like in the stories,” she said to herself.

F
ifteen minutes later they were parked on the street across from a collection of buildings that looked like they'd seen better days. Caitlin saw the sign that read New Orleans Forensic Center above the entrance of a squat gray building. It looked out of place, houses on one side and a market on the other. It also looked like it had been rebuilt after being bombed.

“I'm going to warn you,” Henry said, “it's a little rough inside. The place is a renovated funeral home that had been burned out. Katrina took care of the previous facility.”

“You've got to be kidding me,” Caitlin said. “Still?”

“Wish I was,” Henry said. “There's supposed to be a new facility coming, but it keeps getting delayed.” He looked from Edward to Caitlin. “So just keep that in mind. These are good people, trying to do good work. Don't judge them too harshly.”

They all got out of the car and crossed the street. Henry led them inside.

“Can I help you?” asked a woman behind the front desk.

“Dr. Henry Thomas. Dr. Boudreaux is expecting us.”

“Boudreaux?” Edward asked quietly. “Let me guess, he's from Minnesota?”

The woman behind the counter chuckled as she picked up the phone. A minute later a distinguished, gray-haired man with tired but keen dark eyes came out of a door and walked up to Henry.

“Good to see you, Henry,” he said. “How's Hannah?”

“She's doing fine,” Henry said. “Not enjoying the bureaucracy of being a department head, but who does?

“I understand completely. She has my most sincere sympathies,” Dr. Boudreaux said.

“This is Dr. Edward Huntington,” Henry said. “And his wife, Caitlin.”

“Not a doctor though,” Caitlin said with a smile. “Just a nurse.”

“An entirely underappreciated position, Mrs. Huntington,” John said.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Edward said and shook John's hand.

“Let's sit and talk for a moment before we get started,” John said.

They were led through the door John had come from and down a hall to a small office. There was the requisite shelf of books, but only one, and an old metal desk that looked like it had been taken from a warehouse office. In front of it were two chairs, old and worn, the cushion coverings split and taped.

“I apologize,” John said as he moved behind the desk. “I've only got two chairs, but then I don't think a third would fit in here.”

“I'll stand,” Henry said and offered the second chair to Caitlin. She took it. Once she was seated, John and Edward sat. She smiled a little at the small gesture of chivalry, deciding it was on the correct side of the line separating it from chauvinism.

“I do apologize for the appearance of the—” John started to say.

Edward lifted his hands. “No need. Henry explained about the issues from Katrina and the delays with your new facility.”

“I appreciate that,” John said. “Let me start, then, by saying I hope you don't take my reticence as a sign that I don't want or appreciate any help you can provide.”

“Not at all,” Edward said. “I understand completely. From what Henry said, this is a serious case, and you have responsibilities to the law and the people of your parish.”

“I'm glad you appreciate my position,” John said. “Am I correct in assuming Henry told you the, um, strange circumstances of the case?”

“He did,” Caitlin said. “But that's really not Edward's area of expertise.” She was a better liar than Edward.

“My intention,” Edward said, “is to see if I can help you in determining a possible motive and perhaps provide a profile of the crime.”

Caitlin smiled inwardly. Apparently Edward's time around Dante and the other fae had taught him how to say enough to be honest, but not outright lie.

John nodded. “Honestly, that's a relief. I'm sure I don't have to tell you this city has come under scrutiny for the way previous cases were handled, both by this office and the police department.”

“Again, Dr. Boudreaux,” Edward said, “I'm just here to offer my help, in the limited scope of my expertise.”

“What exactly are your qualifications?” John asked. “And please call me John.”

Caitlin had to fight back another smile as Edward rattled off his long and almost unbelievable list of degrees and certifications, one of the least modest being an MD from Johns Hopkins, with honors.

John laughed. “You're either padding your resume—and rather heavily—you're a liar, or you look remarkably young for your age.”

Caitlin opened her mouth to retort, but Henry stepped in before she could.

“Actually, John,” Henry said, “he's a genius, and I only use that wholly inadequate term because I can't think of a better one.”