A Woman of the Swamp

6. The Devil in the Details

Six caskets lined the floor of the attic, open and accumulating dust. If anyone was locked inside, they didn’t come out to greet Marie. The room was quiet, fitting for an alleged tomb. Tension built in the back of her neck radiating down through her shoulders. Practicing necromancy necessitated break-ins, but the attic was different. An unnerving stillness permeated the room like the very air was dead.

Marie stayed tense as she entered. Caskets and a door full of nails brought the reality of vampires far too close for comfort. “Ok, I opened the attic, where’s your friend?” She approached the coffins, lifting her staff. Above, the rafters creaked and groaned with a passing breeze.

Much like the room, the coffins were filled with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. Their lids were open, but the insides were empty. The casket girls were real. All that time spent laughing at stupid tourists for believing the story and she was staring at the evidence. She looked up at the ceiling, half expecting six undead children to be looking back at her. The rafters were empty, except for a fat, brown spider sitting in the corner of an impressive web.

“Sorry to disturb you,” she called.

The spider made no response.

“Horrible creatures anyway.” Marie walked around the caskets, running her hand along the edge. Something was off. The Baron wasn’t known for assigning easy tasks. Marie took another look around and found nothing but aging wood and dust. Maybe it’s a joke? Marie pulled the paper back out of her pocket; it was blank. Then, the ink flowed on the page from an invisible pen scrawling neat, cursive letters. Once again, the message was simple. It read: ‘Made you look.’

Marie caught flashes of red and blue light through the boarded-up window slats. Her heart stuck in her throat. “You son of bitch.” She hurried to the window, creaks from the old wood boards echoing like gunshots in the silent room. With a single swipe of her staff, she broke off several wooden slats, carving herself a small hole to peek through.

Lining the street were six police cars with officers braced behind them. Another group, sporting full tactical gear, and military-grade rifles, worked their way around the side of the building.

“No, no, no.” Terror gripped Marie. She was surrounded. How did they get here so fast? Marie looked down at the paper again. The cursive wiped clean, leaving a blank page. Then: ‘Your debt is paid. See you around, kid.’ She could almost see Samedi’s sneer in the words.

“Oh, fuck you.” She ripped the paper in half and stuffed it in her pocket. The crackle of a man’s voice on a radio echoed up from the stairwell. They’re already in the building. Marie looked at her staff. The eye sockets were glowing with purple fire. It made a subtle pull toward the door. Calm energy radiated up Marie’s arm when she looked toward the exit. Despite her own hesitancy, the staff was looking for a fight.

“We need to get out of here.” The voice came from Marie’s lips but wasn’t hers. She looked at the skull, waiting for a nod, or some other form of acknowledgment. The eyes blazed with purple fire. Marie mulled her options. Option 1: Stay in the attic, throw up her hands, and end up shot or in jail. Option 2: Fight her way out, and then run for as long as she could before ending up shot or in jail.

Ray. If you stay here, Ray ends up alone. She could see him, lying in bed, sleeping through the night, feeling better for the first time in months. When she went out for the evening, he smiled. If Marie didn’t get back, there was no one to finish his treatment.

A creaking floorboard split the silence followed by a burst of radio chatter on the stairs. Marie was running out of time. Morality kept her rooted to the spot. This was the moment she had been warned about, the point of no return. She took a deep breath, trying to find calm. All she could see was Ray’s face, and the thought of his suffering pushed her toward the door. The staff rocketed forward, hell-bent on a fight.

We’re going to have ourselves a rumble. The voice in her head was grating and old. When it spoke, she could practically hear the dust falling off its bones. Follow my lead and we’ll get through this.

“Footprints leading to the third floor,” called an officer from below.

“Another one of those damned crazies trying to open the door,” muttered another.

“Weapons out, body cams on. Can’t afford another fuckup.”

Marie walked away from the landing, hiding in a small alcove. There wasn’t much room at the top of the stairs, but she hoped the attic would draw focus. The staff shook her hand, trying desperately to move straight down the stairs. I listened to you, now you listen to me. I’m not trying to die tonight.

The staff fell still and reduced its glow.

The two officers crested the landing, rifles pointed straight at the attic. “Holy shit, they got it open?” Their footsteps crunched as they walked over the hundreds of nails Marie had removed.

“That’s worse than you know, Mike.” He pulled out his radio. “The attic is open. Couple hundred nails here.”

“Ah, come on, don’t tell me you believe that superstitious crap,” replied Mike.

“Why do you think they nailed it shut?”

Mike laughed. “It’s a bunch of bullsh—"

The girl came out of nowhere, moving with blinding speed. Marie saw only the flash of a nightdress and the pale figure beneath, then Mike’s arm was gone. Blood spouted from the severed end of his shoulder. The shredded remains of his arm fell to the floor with a wet thunk, his disembodied fingers still gripping the rifle. “N-no,” he sputtered. Blood boiled on his lips with the word, dripping red lines down his chin. Mike stumbled backward, falling to an uneasy seat against the far wall. “No, no, no.”

The other officer didn’t lose focus and tried to track the assailant. The rifle barked once, shattering the door frame, but the girl was too quick. “Come on you, coward, show y—” The man’s statement ended in a gurgle as a sudden red gash opened in his throat.

Marie stared in shocked silence, still unsure of what she was seeing. The blur moving around the room had ignored her for the time being.

Hold still, said the dusty old voice in her head.

Marie listened and pressed deeper into the alcove.

A young girl walked out of the attic covered in streaks of red blood. She lifted a pale hand to her lips, tasting it. Her eyes followed the dying officer on the floor. “Yes, there was a good reason they nailed it shut. Clever boy.” She laughed, a chilling sound in the otherwise quiet room.

The officer sank to his knees, dropping his rifle and clutching at his ruined throat.

The girl turned toward Marie’s hiding place, meeting her eyes. “Unlike these two, you are interesting.” She smiled.

The staff jumped out in front to protect Marie, glowing fiery purple.

The girl giggled. “No need for that. Thanks for the save.”

The door downstairs burst open and heavy footfalls echoed off the stairway. “Shots fired!” one of them yelled. “Paul, Mike, you up there?”

“That’s my cue.” The girl gave Marie a final smile and blurred out of the room. The sound of shattering glass echoed from the attic.

Marie stepped out from her alcove, overwhelmed by shock and nausea. Mike looked up at her with pleading eyes, cradling the spot his arm had been. Blood pooled on the floor around him and his face was deathly pale. The other man was making quiet choking noises, slumped where he had fallen in the middle of the stairwell.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs.

Marie hurried back into the attic. An evening breeze blew through the now open window. Marie held her staff up to spread light, but it dimmed and went out. She looked down at the skull. “Hey!” she shouted. The purple fire was gone, and it made no pull on her hand. “Wake the hell up, I need you!”

The skull remained silent.

Marie turned back toward the stairs and held the staff out in front of her. It did nothing. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little vampire?” She was more than a little scared herself, but she suspected that wasn’t why it had suddenly lost its magic powers. Somewhere not too far away, The Baron was having a good laugh. Now, Marie was at the scene of a break-in with two dead police officers in the middle of the night. It was dark, she was alone, and they were closing in. There was no way out.

Marie sank to her knees, trying to think straight. There’s no blood on you. People wouldn’t believe that she had nothing to do with the deaths, but if she sat still, the evidence might save her in the long term. It’s just breaking and entering. Maybe vandalism if someone gets nostalgic over a couple hundred holy nails. Marie laughed, a tired sound. It’s over, she told herself. Her best shot at surviving was making herself as little a threat as possible. She held the staff up again, looking into its eyes.

The polished skull looked back at her, the vacant form of something that was at one point alive.

“Well, screw you too.” Marie set the staff down on the floor and put her hands behind her head. “Someone, help! There are two officers dead up here!” She put her face on the floor. The smell of musty wood was powerful and calming.

The footsteps crested the stairs and several flashlights were on her. “Jesus Christ,” said a woman, gagging. “Ma’am, keep your hands where I can see them.”

Polite for a police officer. Marie counted her lucky stars and raised her hands.

Heavy boots approached, thundering through the quiet space. Cold metal closed around her wrists and before Marie knew it, she was being led past the bodies and back down the stairs. It was all supposed to be simple. Thinking so had been a fool’s errand. She thought of Ray waking up the following morning to find the other side of the bed empty. The car would still be gone, and he’d be alone. Instead of her comforting voice, he would hear the obnoxious ring of the telephone. It would be the one phone call Marie got at the station.

Several police officers muttered slurs under their breath as they exited the building. Walking out past the brigade of men and women with rifles, her spine twitched. The sheer amount of guns would be enough to make anyone nervous. Attached to every officer’s chest was a body camera, and Marie supposed those small pieces of accountability had saved her life. It didn’t offer much solace.

She got into the police car without a struggle and tried her best not to flinch when she watched her staff placed in a black evidence bag. From the back of the police car, it was the least of her worries. Lights flashed above her and the woman who put her in cuffs sat down in the driver’s seat.

“You weren’t responding much up there.” She turned back to face Marie through the metal grate divider.

Marie hadn’t heard a word inside the building. Had someone been talking to her?

“Do you understand your rights?” There was sympathy in the woman’s voice.

“I do.” Marie wondered if the woman knew that a wooden staff wasn’t likely to tear a man’s arm off.

“That’s good. We’re going to take you into holding. From there, I imagine it’ll be a day or so until you’re transferred.”

Marie nodded and rested her head on the window. Broken boards and shattered glass marred the convent’s otherwise pristine courtyard. She looked up toward the attic and her heart froze. A silhouette stood in the window. Even in the darkness, she could see the top hat’s outline and glittering eyes.

Samedi leaned out into the moonlight, grinning, and tipped his hat.

Shock turned to anger. Marie barely held her temper, remembering that she was in a dangerous enough situation as it was. Blue and red lights flashed overhead as the police car pulled away. Marie watched the shuttered exterior of the French Quarter pass by in a blur, still not entirely believing her evening was real. Everything had gone wrong so quickly. Her hands shook, and she realized that tears were running down her face. It was over. It was all over.

“Ray,” she whispered to no one in particular and choked off a sob. The police car sped off into the night.