“Not very often,” I said truthfully.
“More after you saw her in the motel in Canada?”
I shrugged, hoping she’d drop it. “Doesn’t seem like it. Hey, are you sure you’re up for shooting tonight? I mean, after last night, I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to back out of the whole thing.”
She shook her head determinedly. “No, I’m good. I mean, I feel kind of icky, like…dirty. I don’t know, I can’t really explain it. I feel…tainted. Like that’s going to stick in my head for a long time. But I feel okay otherwise. I’m not scared, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m just worried about you, kiddo. And frankly, we want you to be a little bit scared. Haunted house TV show, remember?”
She glared at me mockingly. “Still the sadist, aren’t you? Like the time you made me climb the stairs in the lighthouse.”
“I was just trying to look at your ass,” I admitted, stuffing the pastry in my mouth.
Maximus had left the B&B early, perhaps to visit Rose or stock up on more flannel shirts and pomade. He left a note but all it said was to meet him in the lobby at 7PM, so Perry and I decided to have a nice touristy day in the Big Easy together. Fluffy, sexy fun between the bookends of death.
At least that was the plan. And we did follow through with it, for the most part. We took a ride in one of the red velvet lined, mule-drawn carriages. We had crawfish and Bloody Mary’s down by the river. We watched a few buskers in Pirates Alley and peered in people’s yards in the Garden District. We took the streetcar (wasn’t called Desire, but it did set Perry off on an endless—and terrible—Blanche DuBois impression). We got a bit sunburned and humored a couple of crazy drunks.
But then I got restless and curious. I wanted to find an authentic Voodoo shop and do a little research of my own.
“So much for a happy fun date,” Perry said as we peered into an in-your-face store, Reverend Zombie’s Voodoo Shop on St. Peter Street.
“Well if this place can’t tell us about zombies, I don’t know what will,” I noted, as I spied a sign in the display window among the figurines and potions that said, Come on in and shop for a spell.
We entered the store, surprised again, this time to see it quite busy and not with just tourists. It wasn’t hard to see why: there were tons of statues among all the occult books and unnerving masks. It was a bit creepy having so many eyes on you, whether they were inanimate or not. I felt like nothing was inanimate in Voodoo culture.
There was an adjoining tobacco shop that was capturing Perry’s interest, so I decided to nip it in the bud right there.
“Hey, I saw you have that cigarette last night,” I warned her.
She shot me an annoyed look. “What are you, my dad?”
“No, I’m your concerned boyfriend who doesn’t want you hooked on the stuff.”
She looked up in exasperation. “Right, Dex.”
“Hey, for every cigarette you smoke, I’m going to smoke one too.”
“Now that’s mature.”
“Can I help you?” A mustached, bow-tie wearing, white guy with knee-high Doc Martens stopped right in front of us. He kinda looked like he was heading to a Marilyn Manson concert—in the 1920s—and got lost along the way.
“Can we help you?” I asked.
He smiled. “I work here. My name’s Ezekiel. Let me know if you need any help with anything.”
He turned, ready to go greet the next customers but I reached out and touched his arm lightly.
“Hey, uh, Ezekiel?”
He stopped and smiled pleasantly. I noticed he had weird markings tattooed up and down his neck. “Yes?”
“Hi.” I nodded at Perry. “We’re not from here.”
“I figured.”
“We’re actually visiting friends…and she said she’d heard some rumors about some bad juju going on in the city.”
“Bad juju?” he repeated. I had a feeling I was insulting him.
“Sorry,” I quickly said, flashing him a smile. “I meant, bad…stuff. Regarding local Mambos. Some of them are raising zombies in the ghetto.”
He raised his brows as far as they could go. “Mmmhmm?”
Perry spoke up. “We were wondering if you knew anything about that. We don’t know much about your culture, so whatever you could tell us about what’s real and what’s not would be really, really helpful. We don’t want to go around perpetuating a stereotype.”
“Oh, thank god,” Ezekiel said dryly. He sighed and gently fingered his mustache. “Look here, I’ve heard these rumors too, but they must be just that. There have always been priestesses who try and use the spirits for destruction instead of healing, pain instead of love. They’re in every religion. But even though there are a few of them in the state at the moment, it doesn’t mean they’d bother with zombie rituals. That’s outdated, back to the old days when people owned slaves. That just doesn’t exist anymore. Curses, hexes, those are way more plausible. The zombie rumors are probably just kids on bath salts, that’s all. Everyone points the finger at Voodoo when the first weird thing happens in this town.”
“You say there are a few of them at the moment, a few of the Bokors,” I said. “Could you tell me their names?”
He looked shocked that I asked. “Of course I won’t. I’m not a snitch. Voodoo has a karma aspect to it, you know. Now, if I can interest you in some books on Voodoo, you’ll probably find them a lot more helpful.”
“Is one of them Mambo Maryse?” Perry asked quickly.
We both watched as Ezekiel’s eyes narrowed slightly. Then he smiled. “I have no comment on that.”
He looked over my shoulder, making eye contact with a couple who had just entered the shop, and muttered, “Excuse me” while he went after them.
“Well, at least we know that’s the truth; Mambo Maryse really isn’t the most popular Mambo in town. Do you know what is the most popular Mambo?”
She nodded then shot me a sly grin. “You’re two seconds from getting that song in my head again, aren’t you?”
“A little bit of Perry in my life,” I sang into her ear. “A little bit of Perry by my side.”
I grabbed her hands and spun her around the aisle, narrowly missing knocking over a few Voodoo statues. Now that would have been bad juju.