A Woman of the Swamp

7. Another Damned Fine Cup of Coffee

The powerful aroma of freshly roasted coffee brought sparks of joy to Marie’s tired mind. She drank and savored the warm feeling that spread from her throat to her limbs in an instant. Good coffee could right even the worst wrongs for a moment. Despite everything, she was alive. “God, I missed that.”

Nick, sitting across from her, took a tentative sip that turned into a greedy gulp. When he set the cup down, he exhaled a sigh of relief. “It’s the best I’ve had this side of the ethereal plain. I love this city.”

Marie regarded him quizzically, waiting for an explanation. None came. “Can I get some of whatever he’s on?”

Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver flask. He poured some into the coffee and proffered the container to Marie. “I’ll be honest, it’s a mix of a few things at this point, but if you’re looking to dull the pain, it helps.”

Shirley cleared her throat. “It’s just grain alcohol, but it’s enough to make him a pain in the ass most of the time.”

“Just because you’re sober doesn’t give you the right to—”

Shirley held up a finger. “Nick, can we just enjoy this moment before it all goes to shit?”

He seemed on the verge of protesting but lifted his coffee instead.

The three of them drank in silence. It was a damned fine cup of coffee. Marie took in the bustling noises of the café, struck by the nonchalance of everyday life. If she wanted to, she could sit there ordering cheap coffee all day. She might get some dirty looks, but there was no guard or warden to tell her to do otherwise. The freedom was intoxicating. Caffeine sharpened her senses and brought the present moment into stark light. Free coffee from a woman in a fancy suit meant there was about to be a catch.

Shirley set her cup down and looked at Marie. “I’m guessing you’re wondering why we broke into your house and bought you coffee.”

Marie got a distinctly corporate vibe off Shirley in every aspect but her eyes. They were sharp, blue, and held genuine compassion. Trust would never come easy again, but Marie instinctually liked the woman. “It’s a better welcome than I expected, I’ll admit. This is probably the only way I can afford a decent cup of coffee anymore, so cheers.” She took another sip, allowing the soothing liquid to ease the twinge of monetary anxiety.

“We’re happy to oblige. The fact of the matter is, we need your help, and as Nick said earlier, it’s not exactly a traditional request.” Shirley’s eyes darted around the café, searching for something, but not finding it.

Nick scoffed. “What Shirley is trying to say is that a rogue necromancer has made New Orleans their new home. They’re breaking into crypts, stitching corpses together, and taking them for walks around the city. A real nasty bit of work if you—"

Shirley kicked him under the table.

Nick hissed in pain and gave her the finger. “Hell, Shirley. You know better than I do that people don’t give a shit about zombies and necromancers. Even if they’re paying attention, they’ll write us off as a couple of crazies swapping drug-induced tales or yuppie writers pitching a terrible movie. We’re much safer talking in the open. Coming from a tabloid, you should know that.”

“A tabloid?” asked Marie.

“That was a long time ago. A different life in a way. If I make the tabloid headlines now, it’s because I’m doing something wrong.”

Marie leaned in. “You’re going to need to clarify that.”

“Picture the worst government black site you can imagine and then steep it in ten layers of unnecessary mystery. Then you’ve got a rough idea.” Nick made no effort to hide his contempt, leaning toward Shirley with every word he said. Before she had a chance to respond, he continued. “But, under the current circumstances, they’re the ones trying to help you as far as I can see.”

“And here I thought you needed my help.” Marie finished her coffee.

“My organization is the reason your case was finally reviewed.”

Anger flushed hot in Marie’s cheeks. “Always a catch. Can’t even get damned due process without a government goon taking a special interest. I suppose if I say no, I’ll be leaving here in a squad car?”

“No.” Shirley held out her hands in a placative gesture. “Whether you leave this coffee shop working with us or on your own, you will remain a free woman. No reprisals. As far as the world is concerned, your record is clean.”

“Aside from breaking into the Ursuline Convent,” amended Nick. “Which, at another time, I have many questions about.”

“Let me guess, you want to know about the vampire?” She cocked an eyebrow and grinned at Nick. Despite his rough exterior and crass nature, she liked him. Behind the bravado and bullshit, she sensed a deep sadness mirroring her own.

“Yes! Screw Shirley’s offer, let’s get another round of coffees and talk about the goddamned vampire!” Childlike wonderment filled Nick’s eyes. “Were there really eight hundred nails?”

Shirley kicked him again.

“What?! Vampires being goddamned is pretty much public knowledge at this point. You can thank Bram Stoker for that one.”

Marie laughed and the action felt like a betrayal to her current predicament. The happy sound died halfway out of her throat.

Shirley’s eyes softened. “We’re offering to wipe your debt. Clandestine organizations might do some heinous things in the name of justice, but they usually have serious financial backing. The people I work for are no exception.”

Marie did her best to hide the flicker of hope she felt. “All of it?”

“All of it,” confirmed Shirley.

“How come I never got a deal like that?” asked Nick.

“Because you’re almost always willing to trade your services for cheap booze. It’s called projecting value.”

Nick mouthed the words back at her like a child.

“And what exactly does my help entail? I’m assuming you know I dabbled in necromancy, but I have no intention of going back.

“We don’t need you to raise any corpses,” confirmed Shirley.

“That’s not a straight no. If I go back, there are powerful forces at play that might not let me leave.” The memory of The Baron’s smooth grin and faded hat sent a prickle down Marie’s back.

Nick sat back in his chair, piercing Marie with an unusually cognizant stare. The drunk was gone, for the moment.

“Ok, no necromancy of any kind,” Shirley replied.

Nick crossed his arms. “What kind of powerful forces?”

Marie bit her lip, riding the razor’s edge between truth and a lie. She settled halfway between the two. “I didn’t break into the Ursuline Convent by choice. I made a deal.”

Nick relaxed visibly. “Burned by The Baron, eh?”

Marie jumped at the mention of the name. “Yes! How did you know that?”

Nick waved a hand at the air. “You deal with supernatural forces long enough and you get to know the big players. So, you broke into the convent and went to prison? Seems you’re your end of the bargain is done. The Baron isn’t all-powerful, he just writes good contracts.”

Marie found the casual way in which Nick discussed deals with the devil to be reassuring. The thought of The Baron still terrified her, but a little less. “He did say my debt was paid.”

“Who’s The Baron?” asked Shirley.

“Now who didn’t read the pre-mission brief?” Nick sat back in his chair, unreasonably smug.

“Did you hand one out?”

“No, but I certainly had concepts of one.” He threw his hands up in an approximation of yet another obscene gesture. “She’s talking about Baron Samedi,” Nick said the name quietly, as if talking about it brought some fear of invoking the man. “He’s a right bastard, but he is a stickler for words. The whole schtick wouldn’t work otherwise. The Baron is an honest man—well spiritual entity, god, or something—and the deals are specific for a reason.”

Marie tried to relax her shoulders but still found them tied in knots. “So, I’ll ask again. How am I supposed to help you?”

Shirley spoke before Nick could. “When you were captured, an object of power was taken off you and brought into prison custody. It’s long since disappeared, and we think someone has it.”

“The staff.” Marie had a feeling The Baron wouldn’t let it sit in an evidence locker. He certainly wouldn’t have let her have it back. The idea of retrieving it, or even being close to it was consuming. She wondered where Ray had been interred and if The Baron’s magic in the staff was still as strong as it had been before. No, you’re done with that shit. She could already feel the shovel in her hands and smell the turned earth.

“Yes, the staff. Objects of power leave a mark on the people that use them. We think you might be able to lead us to it.”

Nick watched Marie carefully. “The indelicate way of putting what Shirley said is we want to use you as a human compass.”

“I’ve been used for worse.” Marie thought it over, but barely. She wasn’t going to get hired with a felony charge on her record, and without a job, she wasn’t going to pay off her debt. That meant helping whatever organization Shirley worked for or going back to prison. Not much of a choice. “Sounds fun.” It was partially true, and that scared her. “When do we get started?”

“Let’s get you introduced to the rest of the team.”

Nick made no effort to hide his excitement. “We’ve got an ex-demigod and my newly resurrected apprentice. You’re going to love them.”