Chapter Seventeen
The helicopter set down on the roof pad of a luxury hotel not far from the Vieux Carré.
The valet who met them to show them to their suite didn’t even look askance at the large animal carrier the pilot unloaded.
Thankfully, Pendragon had decided to cooperate and remained quiet, probably due to that second gallon of ice cream Michael had bought him.
“This certainly beats the places we’ve been staying,” Sophie said after the valet left. She picked up a polished apple from the fruit bowl on the ornate dining table and bit into it. “I hope this isn’t another five dollars added to our tab.”
“It probably is,” Michael said as he helped himself to one too, “but Smith made the arrangements. I say we enjoy it.” He put one arm around Sophie’s waist and drew her close, nuzzling her neck. “We can check out the bedroom too.”
Last night had surpassed even his wildest expectations and he’d had centuries of wild expectations fulfilled.
Making love to Sophie had been surreal, something more than just a physical joining of their bodies, although he certainly had no room to complain about that aspect—Sophie had been as spontaneous, passionate, and adventurous as any woman he’d ever had.
But there was something more. Every time they climaxed he’d been inside her head too.
Not just reading her thoughts—her thoughts were his and his were hers as though they were one identity. Two parts made whole.
He had found his soul’s mate and he’d never believed that such a person existed.
“Did I mention that I love you?” he murmured as he trailed kisses down her neck.
Sophie tilted her head to expose more skin to him. “I don’t think more than twenty times or so.” She sighed contentedly. “I don’t think I ever knew what real love felt like.”
“Excuse me,” Pendragon said with a thump of his tail. “It’s not polite to make me watch.”
Michael gave the dragon an irritated look as Sophie reluctantly pulled away, but she just grinned at him. “We’ve got most of the day to search. Where do we go first?”
“The most logical place would be the Veterans Memorial Hall on Camp Street,” Michael said.
“It boasts the second largest collection of Confederate military artifacts in the country. There is also the World War II museum on Magazine. We could go to Fort Pike close to Chalmette. The Union forces broke through the Confederate defenses there.” Michael pulled her close again.
“I have a feeling the Sword is here. We’ll find it.
” He nuzzled her neck again, his hands caressing her back.
Excuse me,” Pendragon said again and stalked over to the bar with its small refrigerator. “Do you think they have—”
“No, hotels don’t usually keep ice cream in bar refrigerators,” Michael replied between kisses, “but I’m sure room service can bring some up.”
“Well, make them do it, then. Chocolate, for sure.”
With a sigh, Michael released Sophie and reached for the phone. “Tonight, Dragon, you sleep in the living room and leave us alone.”
“Hmmph,” Pendragon said.
****
“I’m still not quite sure what we are doing at a voodoo museum,” Sophie said two days later as walked down Bourbon toward Dumaine.
“Well, the historical museums didn’t pan out.
Neither did the fort. I guess I was wrong to think someone from the Priory would take the chance to put the Sword in full sight.
It has to be hidden. And New Orleans is full of all sorts of secret places.
What better place to begin than where voodoo magic still lingers?
Maybe I’ll pick up a vibe.” He opened the door for her and grinned. “I am a warlock, remember?”
Like she needed reminding. Sex the past two nights had been beyond her wildest fantasy.
With a capital F. Now that she had let her shields down, Michael had shown her how to tap into his emotions, the result being that she not only experienced body-shattering orgasms herself, she lived them from his perspective as well.
It was mind-blowing to have a double and simultaneous climax.
“Are you going to tell me next that Marie Laveau’s spirit is going to connect with you?”
Michael gave her an odd glance. “You’re not using as much sarcasm as you usually do about the supernatural.”
‘Well, gosh! I saw a ghost in Charleston, and we have two dragons loose that are hundreds of years old, and a demon chasing us. To say nothing of the fact that my man can make himself look like a really sexy panther.” She shrugged.
“I’m still wanting there to be some sort of logical explanation, but either all of these things are real or I’m totally delusional. I’d prefer to think I’m still sane.”
“You’re sane. Maybe a little crazy in bed, but I’m not complaining.” He gestured.
”Let’s see what’s here.”
“So did this voodoo queen put curses on everybody?” Sophie asked as they began to walk around.
“Don’t know. She sold gris-gris. They could be used for good or evil, just like the Sword. She was practically a legend in her own time.”
“Like King Arthur?”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t think King Arthur would have thought of himself as a legend. He was simply trying to keep Britain from being overrun by Saxons.”
“Still, he must have had some kind of charisma for legends to spring up and endure through all this time. Or maybe it was Merlin’s magic, huh?”
Michael gave her another odd look. “You’re still skeptical?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Well, if there is one city in this whole country that holds magic, it’s New Orleans.
The history, from the Spaniards to French aristocrats to the slaves brought in from many countries—no one forgot their cultures.
This was the only place in the South that accepted children of mixed blood.
Quadroon Balls were as popular and elegant as anything on the Continent.
Marie Laveau was of color and she didn’t become a voodoo queen without the patronage of the white aristocracy.
Here Jean Lafitte—a pirate by all government accounts—could not only walk freely on the streets but also commanded more respect that the governor did.
New Orleans protected her own and honored her dead.
She holds her secrets close. Can you feel the magic? ”
“Well—” She hesitated. “I did have an odd reaction when we turned to walk on Bourbon Street earlier.”
He raised a brow. “What was it?”
“It’s going to sound silly.”
“Try me.”
“Just for a minute I…I… It seemed that time stood still. All the people milling around were gone. So was the noise from the traffic on Canal. All I could hear were horses’ hooves on the cobblestone and ladies-of-the-night calling down from the balconies.
” She stopped and gave him a wide-eyed look. “It was weird.”
“Not so much. You probably connected with a time portal.”
“I’m not sure I want to know what that is.”
Michael smiled. “I’ll save that explanation for another time, but I’m not surprised it happened. The Vieux Carré is filled with spirits that linger because their descendants honor them. In fact, we can go look at Marie’s tomb later.”
They began to walk again. “If Marie were a witch, how come she’s entombed at the St. Louis Christian cemetery?”
“Oddly enough, she supposedly was a devout Catholic who attended Mass regularly and also worked with the orphans and the poor.”
“How can she be Mother Theresa and practice voodoo at the same time?”
“I don’t think anyone would compare her to Mother Theresa,” Michael said, “but remember what I told you about Emperor Constantine converting pagan festivals into Christian ones? The same thing applies here. African slaves brought their own religion with them, but slave owners forced them to convert to Catholicism, so they merely changed the names of their spirits to be in accord with the Catholic saints. For example,” Michael said as he stopped before a painting, “this is Ogun, spirit patron of warriors and blacksmiths. You know him as St. Jude.” He moved on.
“So, while the slave owners thought the Africans had docilely accepted their new religion, it was a ruse—merely a subterfuge to keep practicing voodoo under new circumstances.”
“That makes sense, I suppose,” Sophie said as they completed their tour of the museum. “Speaking of blacksmiths, wasn’t that the ruse Jean Lafitte used to run his illegal business?”
“Yes, but most of the French aristocracy benefited from the bounty that the Lafitte brothers brought in, so he was considered more of a kingpin than a criminal except by the American governor, Claiborne. And the French didn’t like the Americans meddling in their business anyway, so they more or less protected the Lafittes. ”
“Well, Jean is definitely remembered here. His name is everywhere,” Sophie said as they stepped out to the sidewalk.
“True. In fact, the blacksmith shop that you mentioned is only a couple of blocks from here. Want to go see it?”
“Why not? We don’t seem to be making much headway on clues for the Sword. Maybe it’s hanging in the old blacksmith shop.”
“You’re being sarcastic again,” Michael said with a grin.
She gave him a droll smile and pointed. “There’s a Tarot card reader across the street. Maybe you should ask her.”
Michael looked in the direction she pointed to an old woman sitting at a card table. “That may not be a bad idea. Looks like she’s got a couple of clients right now. We’ll stop on the way back.”
“I was kidding.”
“Tarot can be a useful tool,” Michael said as they continued down the street.
“It’s possible there’s a connection, since the four suits are divided into wands, swords, cups and pentacles, representing air, fire, water and earth.
Clues to the Celtic relics are turning up in the same order. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Sure. I mean, why not?”
Michael looked at her. “Are you being cynical again?”
She paused. “I don’t know. Last spring, if someone had told me I would experience the things I have, I’d have thought they were lunatics. Now it’s nearly August and I…I’m not so sure what to think anymore.”
“Lugnasad.”
“Huh?”
“August first is the Celtic festival of Lugnasad. It’s a thanksgiving of sorts to celebrate summer’s abundance and first harvest. All things come to fruition.”
Sophie studied him as they stopped in front of the blacksmith shop. “Does that mean we’ll actually find the Sword soon?”
“I think so,” Michael said. “My intuition has gotten stronger here. I just need some small clue—a slight nudge—and I think we’ll find it.”
“Maybe Jean Lafitte’s ghost will be waiting for you,” Sophie said and then laughed at Michael’s indignant look. “Okay. Well, let’s just enjoy history then. You’ve got to admit a guy who seems more like a swashbuckler than a bloodthirsty pirate is interesting.”
They spent a good thirty minutes wandering through both the front part of the smith’s shop, which served as a legitimate business, and the back area that was a warehouse for all sorts of goods that had nothing to do with being a smithy.
“I find it interesting that the expensive stuff—like silks and china and coins—was kept on some little island instead of safe in a place that could be locked up,” Sophie said as they started back toward Rue Dumaine.
“The island was well protected by Jean Lafitte’s men,” Michael replied, “and it was out of the grasp of the American governor, so Jean could hold his auctions there without too much fear of being raided.”
“But to call it the Temple was a bit ironic, wasn’t it? Or even blasphemous? ”
“Maybe. It actually was a ceremonial site of the original aborigines that inhabited this area. But remember what the Africans did with their voodoo rituals. They covered them with the cloak of Christianity. Anyone not knowing what the Temple really was would be clueless, so the Lafittes were free to practice their not-quite-legal trade.”
“Well, it looks like someone else isn’t practicing her trade either,” Sophie said as they approached the empty table where the Tarot reader had been. “Looks like she’s gone for the day.”
“We can come back tomorrow,” Michael said and then squinted at the ground. Bending down, he pulled a Tarot card out from under one of the legs of the table.
“Did she drop one?” Sophie asked.
For a moment, Michael didn’t answer as he mulled over the card and then he smiled. “She didn’t drop it. She left it.” He held out the card. “It’s the King of Swords. I think I know where to look.”