This Wicked Game Page 13

  Claire’s heart sunk a little.

  “Any idea where he went?” Xander asked.

  “Don’t no one ’round here go far,” the man in front said. “Crazy Eddie moved three blocks north. Used to live there.” He pointed to a house across the street, its roof caved in, a dark, moldy waterline just under the eaves.

  Xander nodded in understanding.

  It was easy to forget there were places in New Orleans, not far from where Claire lived, that were still totally devastated by Hurricane Katrina. She’d always thought of herself as a strong person, but these people were stronger than her by a mile.

  “Any idea which house?” Xander asked.

  “For Eddie?” the guy on the porch confirmed.

  “Yeah.”

  The guy thought about it and then turned to confer with the group behind and around him. They spoke softly to one another for a couple of minutes before the guy in front turned back to face Xander and Claire.

  He pointed to a street on the left. “Take that three blocks up. It’s the green house on the corner. Probably see Miss Thelma on the porch.”

  Xander stepped forward, extending his hand. “Thanks.”

  The man looked at his hand in surprise before stepping forward slowly. He clasped Xander’s hand in his own.

  “No problem, man.” His eyes drifted again to Claire. “Watch your girl up there, now.”

  Xander nodded, his jaw tight. “Always.”

  He steered Claire down the walk. Claire could feel the eyes of the men on the porch as she and Xander headed for the street on the left. She breathed a sigh of relief when they turned the corner, though it wasn’t any better here.

  “You okay?” Xander asked softly. “I could take you home. Come back alone.”

  “No way,” Claire said. “I’m fine.”

  They continued up the street. Most of the houses looked like the ones where they’d parked; water-damaged, condemned stickers on the front, and roofs caved in with only a few semihabitable structures still standing.

  The Guild didn’t discriminate according to wealth. You got in because of your heritage, your connection to the old voodoo families that helped establish the city. Still, because of the niche market, most of the supply houses did well—somewhere between middle class and really affluent like the Toussaints, who catered to the oldest, richest families and to authentic wholesalers.

  This didn’t look like a place for a Guild member, and Claire couldn’t help wondering if Crazy Eddie regretted whatever he’d done to get kicked out.

  “Think that’s it?” Xander was pointing to a house on the corner up ahead. The siding was only slightly green, faded now from water and sun.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  A figure became visible on the porch. As they came closer, Claire saw that it was an old woman, swaying back and forth in an old-fashioned rocker and staring off into the distance.

  “That must be Miss Thelma.”

  Xander nodded, loosening his hold on her arm a little when he realized no one was around but an old lady in a housecoat.

  They approached the porch slowly, not wanting to startle the old woman. Even when they stopped at the bottom of the stairs, her only acknowledgment of their presence was the movement of her eyes in their direction. She didn’t pause in the rhythm of her rocking.

  Xander seemed to hesitate.

  Claire cleared her throat before speaking. “Hello. You must be Miss Thelma.”

  Silence stretched between them. Claire was preparing to repeat herself when the old woman spoke.

  “Maybe, maybe not. Who’s asking?” Her voice was cracked and low with an undercurrent of sharpness. Old woman or not, Claire wouldn’t want to mess with her.

  Claire stepped forward and held out a hand. “I’m Claire Kincaid. This is my friend Xander Toussaint. We’re actually looking for Cr—” Claire stumbled over the nickname, realizing it probably wasn’t polite—or smart—to put the word “crazy” in front of someone’s name when you didn’t know exactly who you were talking to.

  “Eddie,” Claire finished. “We’re looking for Eddie Clement. We were told he might live here.”

  “Might be, might not.” The woman was still rocking.

  “We’re not looking to give him any trouble,” Xander said. “We were just hoping he could help us.”

  “What folks like you be needing help from Eddie for?” she asked, her eyes shrewd.

  Claire swallowed hard, debating their options. On the one hand, she hated to give too much away to someone she didn’t know. Even an old woman like this could be connected to the Guild one way or another.

  On the other hand, Crazy Eddie was their only hope for information about Maximilian without going directly to the Guild.

  “We were kind of hoping Eddie might be able to answer some questions,” Claire said. “About the Guild.”

  It was a test. A risky one, but necessary. Either the woman would know what she was talking about or she wouldn’t, but at least they’d know who they were dealing with.

  For a split second, the woman paused in her rocking. She started up again, but it was enough for Claire to know she’d gotten the woman’s attention.

  “What Guild you say?” The woman’s question was sly, but Claire wasn’t playing.

  Miss Thelma knew exactly what Guild, and Claire looked at her without flinching until she spoke again.

  “He’s inside.” She tipped her head to the door. “You go on in, but don’t be giving my Eddie any trouble now, ya hear?”

  Claire nodded, stepping onto the porch. “Thank you.”

  Xander followed her up the steps, stopping when Miss Thelma reached out, lightning fast, and grabbed his arm.

  She tipped her head at Claire. “You best be watching her now.”

  Xander nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Claire reached for the screen and glanced back at Miss Thelma, wondering if they were supposed to knock or ask permission. But the old woman was back to her rocking, and Claire pulled open the door. The squeaky springs would announce their presence to whoever was inside anyway.

  They stepped into a hallway, the light minimal, barely leaking from the rooms on either side. Hesitating, Claire listened for something that would tell them where Crazy Eddie might be. A television, a radio, anything.

  But it was deathly still.

  Xander stepped in front of her. She recognized it as one of his many protective maneuvers. Letting Claire take the lead with an old woman was one thing. Letting her lead the way through a house in Treme when they had no idea who was inside?

  There was no way Xander would let that fly.

  He reached back for her hand. They passed a narrow, decrepit staircase and looked into the first two rooms to the left of the hallway. They were tiny, one a living room and the other a bedroom. Both were empty.

  Continuing down the hall, they passed what looked like a closet and headed for the back of the house. Light streamed from the room at the end of the hallway. They headed toward it, Claire sending a silent prayer to whoever was listening for Crazy Eddie to be there. She was definitely not up for exploring the second level. Her heart was already beating too fast.

  They reached the door to the back room. Xander hesitated, looking back at her before shrugging and pulling her into the room with him.

  A man sat at an old Formica table, a book in his hand and a glass of what looked to be sweet tea at his elbow. He was so engrossed in what he was reading that he didn’t seem to notice them enter the room.

  Xander cleared his throat. “Excuse me.” The man didn’t move a muscle or give any indication that he was startled. Xander continued. “Are you Eddie Clement?”

  The man didn’t look up. Just held up a finger, gesturing for them to wait, as he continued reading. They stood in silence as he read, finally turning the page and be
nding the corner to save his place.

  He closed the book and looked up at them. “You’re here about the Guild.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Claire watched Eddie move around the tiny but immaculate kitchen as he poured them sweet tea.

  He wasn’t anything like what she’d expected.

  For one thing, he didn’t look crazy. In fact, he looked decidedly uncrazy, his eyes clear behind glasses with round black frames. His jeans were immaculate, topped with a loose tunic-type shirt adorned with an African print. Before he’d gotten up to get the tea, Claire caught a glimpse of the book he was reading; Moby-Dick.

  Not exactly light reading.

  “How did you know we were from the Guild?” Xander asked.

  “I’ve been seeing you,” Eddie said, his back to them as he poured.

  “Seeing us?” Xander repeated.

  Eddie brought the glasses to the table and set them in front of Claire and Xander.

  He tapped the side of his head. “Up here. Mostly when I sleep.” He sat down, the chair’s chrome legs squeaking against the chipped linoleum floor. “Not exactly what I was looking for with the insight brew.”

  Claire almost choked on her tea. “The insight brew?”

  “Sage, verbena . . . you know.” He waved a hand in the air. “Standard stuff. I use it all the time. Always sleep with it under my pillow. You never know when insight will strike or which direction it’ll come from.” He shook his head. “But I have to say, I wasn’t real happy to see you and old Max show up in my nightmares.”

  Claire’s felt a chill enter the room with the man’s name. “Max?”

  “Maximilian Constantin.” His eyes grew wise as he surveyed them. “You know who I’m talking about.”

  “Just to clarify,” Xander said. “Who, exactly, have you been seeing with the insight spell? Claire?”

  Eddie took another drink of his tea. “Not just her. You, too.”

  “Me?”

  Eddie nodded.

  “Would you mind telling me what you see?”

  “Would you mind telling me what you’re looking for?” Eddie asked coolly.

  Claire glanced at Xander before answering. She thought about the best way to present everything to Eddie. “Someone placed an order for panther plasma last week.”

  “I take it Max is this someone?” Eddie asked.

  “We think so. I mean, he didn’t actually place the order,” Claire explained. “But we think he’s the one who requisitioned it.”

  Eddie nodded calmly.

  “You don’t seem surprised,” Xander observed.

  “I’m not.”

  Claire wanted to ask him why, but she doubted he would answer.

  “The timing’s weird because some of the Guild houses have been broken into recently,” she continued.

  “And by the houses,” Eddie said, “I take it you mean the residences, not the stores.”

  Claire nodded. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged.

  “Anyway,” Claire continued, “we don’t know anything about Maximilian. No one talks about him, not even to make jokes like they do with—” She stopped herself.

  Eddie raised one eyebrow, a twinkle of humor in his eyes. “With me?”

  At first, Claire didn’t say anything. Then, because he seemed to know anyway, she nodded reluctantly.

  A thread of bitterness ran through his chuckle. “I’m not surprised.”

  “What do you mean?” Xander asked.

  Eddie leaned forward, lacing his hands together, his eyes bright and intense. “Leaving the Guild is a big deal, young man. You must know it more than anyone.”

  Xander stiffened. “Why would I know it better than anyone?”

  Eddie leaned back. “Come on. I know you. You’re Estelle and Bernard’s son. The Guild is who you are. You know how it is. No one leaves. Not on their own. It’s like . . . Well, it’s like turning your back on your own blood. Believe me, I know.”

  “But you didn’t leave on your own,” Claire said softly. “They . . . Well, they kicked you out.” She was embarrassed to say it out loud.

  He looked into her eyes. “That what they tell you?”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” Claire asked.

  He regarded her quietly, his eyes solemn.

  “You’re saying you left voluntarily?” Xander asked. “Why would you do that?”

  “Same reason you’re here,” Eddie said. “Maximilian Constantin.”

  Xander sat up straighter. “You knew him.”

  “Everyone in the Guild knew him. Until he left. Then everyone pretended not to.”

  “Would you mind telling us what happened?” Claire asked.

  Eddie thought about it. “It’s not a pretty story. And it’s not over yet.”

  “That’s okay,” Claire said. “We just need to know so we can . . . I don’t know, try to protect ourselves.”

  It took Eddie a minute to start talking. When he did, his voice was slower, like it was moving through a thick haze of memory.

  “Max wasn’t always part of the New Orleans Guild. He showed up sometime in the nineteen nineties with his daughter.”

  “His daughter?” Claire couldn’t have been more surprised. Maximilian had grown to fairy-tale proportions in her mind. A nefarious villain, complete with a black cape and sinister laugh.

  Being a father didn’t fit her image of him at all.

  “Elisabeta,” Eddie said softly. “She was sick. I can’t remember with what. Something that put her in a wheelchair. Max had already been ostracized from the Guild in Romania for trying black magic to cure her.”

  The words came to Claire through a long tunnel.

  Something that put her in a wheelchair.

  She saw the little girl at the party in her dream, her long dark braids trailing down the back of a wheelchair, Maximilian’s face clenched with silent rage as Claire’s father took the picture.

  “Ah,” Eddie said softly. “You’ve seen her.”

  Xander glanced sharply at her. When she didn’t say anything, Eddie continued.

  “Anyway, Max was petitioning New Orleans for permission to use black magic to save Elisabeta. They wouldn’t agree, of course. The Guild never bends their rules, even to save a life.”

  “So what happened?” Xander asked.

  “Well, the Guild was in an uproar while Max was here. He was . . . volatile. Enraged by the Guild’s refusal to let him try the magic.”

  “Why didn’t he try it on his own?” Claire asked, feeling unexpected sympathy for the man who was trying to save his daughter.

  “Couldn’t get the supplies, I expect,” Eddie said simply. “You know how it is. The Guild’s got a lock on anything even remotely exotic, and there are always exotic ingredients in black magic.”

  She thought about the vial of panther blood in the valise and wondered how Maximilian had gotten ahold of it.

  “Max finally left,” Eddie continued, “presumably to try and save Elisabeta through the help of an underground branch or with ingredients he found on the black market. But he made a promise on his way out.”

  “What kind of promise?” Claire whispered.

  “Max swore that if Elisabeta died, the Guild would pay.”

  “And did she?” Claire asked.

  “That’s what I heard,” said Eddie.

  “What did all this have to do with you?” Xander asked.

  “Let’s just say the Guild and I had differing views on its objectives.”

  “Can you be more specific?” Claire asked.

  Eddie regarded her solemnly before speaking again. “I thought Max was a wake-up call.”

  Xander raised his eyebrows in question. “A wake-up call?”

  “We all knew there were people in the community practicing bl
ack magic,” he explained. “Always have been. Always will be. It’s harder for them without the Guild supply houses. But where there’s a will there’s a way. I believed the Guild should be more aggressive, more . . . proactive about addressing those kinds of threats.”

  “Threats like Max,” Claire said.

  Eddie nodded. “But the Guild didn’t see it that way. They’ve been sitting in their big houses too long, holding so-called rituals in air-conditioned rooms, taking shortcuts in their potions and spells when it suits them.” He leveled his gaze at Claire and Xander. “Neglecting to properly train and arm the next generation.”

  Claire felt the hot flush of guilt touch her cheeks.

  “So what happened?” Xander asked.

  “The way I saw it, we only had two choices: use the craft to bring Max under control or look over our shoulders forever.”

  Claire shook her head. “But what if you were wrong? What if Max never got the ingredients he needed? What if he changed his mind? Why renounce the Guild for something that may never even happen?”

  Eddie didn’t say anything for a minute, just rubbed at the condensation dripping down his glass.

  “You ever been around a Houngan priest?” he finally asked. “And I mean the real deal, not these fakes you see online now.”

  Claire remembered the strange vibration she felt around Max, the air so full of darkness it felt heavy, laden with dangerous, evil things.

  She shrugged.

  “She doesn’t believe,” Xander explained.

  Eddie let out a laugh that sounded more like a cackle. “That’s ironic.”

  “What do you mean?” Claire asked him.

  He lowered his voice. “You’re Marie’s kin. You’re more powerful than any of them. You just haven’t figured it out yet.”

  The words seemed to echo through the tiny kitchen. Claire hurried to change the subject.

  “You were asking us if we’d even been around a Houngan?”

  Eddie nodded. “Max was the real deal. A genuine Houngan with the power to summon the most powerful loas—dark, light, all of them.”