Dark Needs at Night's Edge (18 page)

“Which companies?” This Mariketa was certainly no-nonsense when it came to money.

“Um, there's General Electric and International Business Machines. I think it's called just IBM today—”

“Okay, I have cartoon dollar signs in my bulging cartoon eyes. I'll be right over. Knock on the mirror closest to you while I'm on the phone.”

Did Mariketa need the mirrors for her spells? Néomi's heart fell. “But they're all broken.”

“Doesn't matter. Just need a sliver.” Néomi dutifully knocked, and Mariketa said, “And I've…
got it
. All right, when a witch of superlative gorgeousableness climbs out of your mirror, don't ghost out on me.”

Climbs out of my mirror?
“Oh, I assure you—”

The phone was now emitting a long, unbroken tone!

“Please hurry, Miss Mariketa!”

“Hey, just call me Mari.” In a feigned somber tone, she sighed, “And I shall call you…
Spirit Friend
.”

Smiling stupidly, Néomi turned off the phone and tossed it to the bed. She was giddy—she was…
hopeful
.

She began to pace anticipating Mariketa's—
Mari's
arrival. With their singing, music, and cards, those females were like the
bons vivants
she'd adored. And one was coming to visit!

Life was suddenly new and different and full of promise.

It couldn't be this easy.
But, what if, what if, what if?

C
onrad sat hunched in a tree atop a hill, overlooking the chaos of the gathering. He scanned the crowd for Tarut, but so far had spied nothing. Even in this throng, the demon would be easy to spot. He was eight feet tall.

Though the risk in being here was great, Conrad was prepared. His hand was nearly regenerated. The drugs had all but worn off. And he was holding strong mentally.

Bullshit
.

He was addicted to Néomi.
I'm addicted to a ghost.
Conrad couldn't feel her presence, couldn't smell her scent. And it was killing him.

Behind his sunglasses, his eyes darted. Only his own survival mattered, he told himself again and again. She didn't matter to him.
Damn it, she doesn't!

Yet over the last three days, as his anger abated, he'd come to realize that she hadn't withheld his freedom for malicious, or even selfish, purposes. Her expression had been tormented when she'd handed the key to him. As long as he lived, he'd never forget how she'd looked in the rain, the glitter of electricity all around her lovely face.

With each hour, he remembered more of his enraged tirade. He'd accused her of keeping him in danger from his enemies. Yet she'd been watching over him like a sentinel whenever he'd slept. If anyone had attacked Conrad at Elancourt, he didn't doubt she'd have put them on the ceiling.

And he'd questioned whether she would've let him starve when the blood supply ran out, demanding to know if she gave a damn about that at all—when in fact, it was Néomi who'd coaxed him to start drinking the bagged blood anyway. Every sunset she'd brought him a cup filled to the rim, though she detested the sight of it. “I just can't see it without remembering,” she'd said. “When I died, I was bathed in it, in Louis's….”

Conrad had known that—he'd seen it spilling out over her floor the night of her dance. Exasperated, he'd said, “Then why do you keep bringing it?”

She'd blinked at him. “Because you need it.”

Why
would
Néomi let a self-professed murderer loose? She'd been tortured by one.

Go back for her,
his mind whispered. And do what with her? He'd never soothed the hurt feelings of a female. He wasn't smooth with words like Murdoch.

Why would she want to have anything to do with him after the things he'd said? He'd been so damned hard on her. He remembered telling her to rot in hell—she'd whispered that she already was.

He grasped his forehead.
What is
wrong
with me?

She'd endured eighty years of that hell, only to have a vampire destroying her home, punching her walls. And even before those years, Néomi had
suffered
. The bastard who killed her had made sure of it. Robicheaux hadn't plunged the knife and then looked on in horror at what he'd done. He'd taken hold of that blade and sadistically twisted it.

And Conrad couldn't even torture and slaughter the one who had done this to her.

His eyes widened. But he could desecrate the bastard's grave for her!
Now I'm thinking
. And of course Néomi would want to know about Conrad's gesture because it would please her. He would have to return, if just to tell her.

The idea heartened him, made being here a fraction more bearable.

When her mirror bulged out, somehow becoming pliable, Néomi gasped. A briefcase flew out of the glass, landing with a thud on her studio floor.

Then came hands, parting the mirror like a curtain.

From the opening, a comely redhead crawled out, her face alight with a smile. Following her was an eerily pretty black-haired woman with arresting golden eyes—and pointed ears. The glass closed seamlessly behind them.

“I'm Mari MacRieve,” the redhead said. She hiked a thumb at her friend. “This is Nïx the Ever-Knowing. She's a Valkyrie.”

Shaking off her astonishment, Néomi said, “It's such a pleasure to meet both of you.” Turning to the black-haired woman, she said, “
Nïx
? I know some people who are searching for you.”

“They always are, dearling,” Nïx sighed, then fogged and buffed her nails, which looked more like small, elegant
claws
. She asked Mari, “How are you doing with all these mirrors?”

Mari let out a breath. “Hanging in there.”

“She's a captromancer,” Nïx explained. “She uses mirrors for her spells and for travel.”

“But,” Mari said, “I've got this foreign greedy power inside me that makes me get all entranced in mirrors if I'm not careful. So I can't live with 'em, can't live without them.” Mari turned in circles. “Wow, what a place!”

Néomi noticed that she had a piece of paper taped on her back that read,
I Do Ghouls.

“Oh, dear,” Néomi said, pointing delicately. “Mari, you have a…”

Mari patted behind her until she snagged the page. “Damn Regin.” After reading it, she crumbled the paper, then glared at Nïx. “When is Lucia getting back? I can't handle Reege by myself anymore.”

Nïx shrugged. “Don't worry, I've got Regin taken care of. Folly, a rogue Valkyrie and Regin's archnemesis, arrives next Friday at a quarter after four.”

Mari exhaled with relief. “Ah, your foresight is a beautiful thing. I wish mine was a fraction as strong as yours.”

“No foresight needed. I bought Folly a ticket. I'm flying her in from New Zealand first-class. Regin will be furious at the betrayal—but sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.”

“You are wise,” Mari said, then returned her attention to a bemused Néomi.

“How is it that you both can see ghosts?” Néomi asked.

Mari answered, “Because I'm a witch, and because she's damn old and powerful.”

“Old as carbon,” Nïx agreed. “And so powerful I'm working on my demigoddess badges.”

Néomi didn't think Nïx looked a day older than Mari, but what did she know? “Can either of you tell me how I became a ghost?”

Mari shook her head. “No one really knows for certain, but I've heard it has to do with a soul being too strong, even after death, to pass on. Oh, and usually you have to have a sturdy spirit anchor.”

“Spirit anchor?”

“Yeah, if you die in a place that you loved or that had meaning for you, it can anchor your spirit there.”

Néomi had loved Elancourt—the property had been all she'd had that was permanent and lasting. She'd wanted to plant roots, to watch children play in the gardens and the folly. To grow old here with someone she loved.

Why did Conrad's face flash in her mind when she imagined that?

“So what do you do for fun around here?” Mari asked.

“Fun? Um, I read the newspaper. And…oh, sometimes cats move in! And there's this family of nutria that come in the winter to root around inside the house. Their antics are so funny, I could watch them for hours.” She frowned. “Actually, I do watch them for hours.”

Mari cast Nïx a speaking glance. “Bones, we got here just in time!”

“Clearly, Jim,” Nïx replied in a bored tone.

Bones? Jim?
“So you'd heard of me?” Néomi asked.

“Yeah, I'd thought about doing my class report on you.”

Striving for a casual tone, Néomi said, “But you didn't?”

“An older witch had already written a paper on a suffragist from Baton Rouge. I wasn't above using it. But I remember you were a burlesque dancer turned ballerina.”

“Burlesque? That got out? But people never understand,” Néomi said, wondering what these women would think of her—Conrad had been appalled. What if they wouldn't take her seriously about what she was seeking? “I only did that for three months. Four possibly. A year at the most. I was never
entirely
naked,” she added. “Not many times at all. Back then it was called a strip
tease
. Not a
strip,
you understand. There were usually fans or big feathers—”

“But that's one thing people loved about you,” Mari said. “These days burlesque is way cool. After your secret got out, people called you the ballerina with burlesque soul. You
fit
New Orleans.”

“Oh, then,” Néomi said on a breath. At last, people were seeing it as they should. “I'm actually mollified.”

“Great. So, let's get down to business.”

“Would you like to have a seat?” Having her own guests here was so surreal!

With a nod, Mari kicked her briefcase past the coffee table to the cot, then sat. Nïx hopped atop the display table to the dust-free spot where the gramophone had been. She surveyed Néomi's collection of condoms, bras, and Mardi Gras paraphernalia, but said nothing.

“I'd offer you coffee—”

“I don't ingest food or drink,” Nïx said evenly.

Mari added, “And coffee on top of margaritas is courting the wrath of Cuervo.” She took out a pen and a pad of paper. “So, Néomi, first some background just for my own records…. Why contact me now? I mean, you've been a ghost for decades.”

“Well, I didn't even know about the Lore until the vampires moved in a couple weeks ago. I'd had no idea there were witches or Valkyrie—”

“
Vampires
moved in?” Mari interrupted, flashing a look at Nïx. “Funny. I just saw a foreign vamp at a bayou bar recently. What a coincidence.”

Nïx mouthed,
“Who? Whaa?”

“Yes, they're from Estonia,” Néomi said, and soon the entire story flowed. “…and then Conrad cut off his hand and called me a pathetic ghost, and I realized I was, and I couldn't stand it. So that's when I rang you up.”

“You're not seeking to be embodied because of the vampire, are you?” Mari asked. “To show him what he's missing? Because this is really serious.”

Even if Néomi never saw Conrad again, she had to take action of some kind.
Because I can't stand what I've become.
“I'm seeking this, because
it's time
.”

“Okay, I'm just going to lay all this out for you.” Mari set down her pen. “I can help you with your incorporeality problem, but it's a temporary fix, and it comes with a high price. Not just the monetary type. It's basically a shell spell that creates a target practice body. The spell will make you look and feel precisely like the human you once were, but you'll, well, you'll get killed soon after.”

“Why is that?”

“Some folks call what we're discussing a
hail Mary mortality
play. You could set about righting old wrongs, using knowledge of the afterlife to screw with the present. Fate doesn't like these bids and shuts them down
forcefully,
” Mari explained. “It'd be like you were walking around with a glaring target on your back. You'd get capped by some unnatural cause—a runaway trolley car or a plane crash or you'd be electrocuted by your hair dryer. Something pretty horrific would happen. Your shell body would expire, then disappear, and then your spirit would
die,
die.”

“How long would I have?”

“A couple of weeks? A night? Maybe a few months. There's no way to tell. But the most I've ever read of in the Web forum was a year.”

Néomi swallowed. “What happens after
death,
death?”

“That's the kicker. Nobody knows—it's kinda between you and your God, gods, goddesses, et cetera.”

“Well, now that we're in discussions,” Néomi began, “I have to ask—is there any way to make me corporeal for a lifetime? Maybe I have enough money for a full resurrection?”

Mari and Nïx shared a look. “I don't touch those. But what you're asking for isn't a resurrection. Your spirit's here and available. No need to suck it back to this plane. What you need is an embodying, which is highly dangerous in itself. And there are about a dozen different conditions that would have to be met. But even if everything were ideal, I'm just not skilled enough to try it. Not yet.”

“You've never attempted it?”

“On a human? Not outside a simulator.” After a hesitation, she admitted, “I did recently attempt it on my ghost cat.”

“And?”

“And, did you ever see
Pet Sematary
?”

Néomi shook her head.

“No? Well, my Tigger came back
wrong
!” she cried, biting her knuckle.

Nïx rose to sit beside Mari, patting her back. “There, there, favorite Wiccan-type person.”