Page 22 of Cheater Slicks

The scratchy voice stopped me in my tracks, and I spun to find Jean-Claude’s grandmother and namesake, Momma Jean, wearing her favorite floral dressing gown with a pipe curling smoke in her hand.

“Momma Jean.” I bent down so the small woman could embrace me, giving me a hit of relief that I had been able to solidify her enough to make it happen after failing so spectacularly with Matty and Vi. “How are you?”

“Dead.” She rasped out a laugh. “How about you?”

Aware she could see my corona just fine, I pointed to it anyway. “I died too, but it didn’t take.”

“Bah.” She clamped her teeth over the pipe’s stem. “Some folks have all the luck.”

“I’m not sure I would call it luck.”

“Hmph.” She slid her gaze over my shoulder. “Lucky woman to have that man on your arm.”

“I’m sorry, Momma Jean, I forgot my manners.” I tugged him forward to meet her. “This is Kierce.”

“You’re Jean-Claude’s grandmother.” He inclined his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” She fluffed her short, dark curls. “What brings you all out tonight?”

“I need to pick up a friend.” I kept it vague to avoid the threat of eavesdroppers. Gossip burned through cemeteries and graveyards like wildfire. “We’ll have to catch up before I go back to Thunderbolt.”

“It’s a date.” She fluttered her fingers at Kierce. “See you later, handsome.”

An adorable flush warmed Kierce’s cheeks as we set out for the Fontenot mausoleum.

Hard to miss the towering marble structure leaning a tad to the right after the last big hurricane flooded the cemetery. That, and the Fontenots had a thing for angels. Muscly ones. Lots of abs. Thick thighs. And a clothing allergy. Most wore a scrap of fabric suggestive of a loincloth and their wings. That was it. The anatomically correct figures stood guard to either side of the door, were carved into the stone walls, and one stood watch on the roof with his legs spread wide enough to flash anyone who attempted to enter.

“The attention to detail is…” Pedro winced up at Mr. Dangly, “…impressive.”

“Wait until you see the inside. All the angels areimpressive. Especially the ones painted on the ceiling.”

Swallowing once, Pedro made the sign of the cross before following me in, not that it would save him.

Pretty sure God wouldn’t step foot within a five-mile radius of this particular plot if you paid him.

Unlike the frenetic energy outside, the inside of the mausoleum had wardings etched in stone to protect its inhabitants. Easily the most peaceful spot in the cemetery, I wasn’t surprised to find it empty with the precious few minutes of moonlight left for spirits to finish their earthly business for the night.

“What now?” Kierce studied an altar at the rear of the building. “Do we wait for Pascal?”

“We don’t have much choice.” I swept a hand toward the door. “We’ll never find him out there.”

Had I been allowed to question the spirits in residence, I might have been more motivated to try.

Sadly, St. Louis No. 1 had ironclad rules I had no choice but to follow unless I wanted my access revoked. I could visit all I wanted, I could talk to anyone I pleased, but the spirits who watched over the cemetery enforced a ban on necromancers. The restriction stemmed from an incident that happened long before I was born, but spirits excelled at holding grudges. Spite was the anchor tethering plenty of souls to this world. The only reason I was allowed onto the property was Vi—and the Fontenot spirits—vouching for me. Unless I wanted the boot, I had to behave, which meant I would reserve questioning the souls here as a last resort.

Kierce and I stood around another five minutes before the first spirit slid through the doorandme.

“Pardon.” He tipped his hat, its long feather tickling the ceiling. “Didn’t see you there.”

“No problem.” I stepped aside to give the next several spirits room to enter. “Pascal is pushing his luck.”

Careful to avoid making eye contact with the murals, Pedro stared at his feet. “Have you met my brother?”

Laughing under my breath, I checked the time then joined Kierce at the altar dappled with candles in various states of melting. “What do you think?”

“I’ve never seen a Virgin Mary depicted in the nude,” he mused, “or with breasts quite so large.”

Rumor had it the model was none other than Momma Jean, whose family had long ties with the Fontenots. But I figured I would keep that tidbit to myself, since Kierce was the blushing type.

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