Page 102 of Samhain Savior
Delilah shivered, her eyes closing before she whispered, “Maybe.”
“You comin’?” Mex shouted, and I snarled at her back, showing my fangs as she made her way down the narrow row of mausoleums and disappeared around a corner. Overhead, Mal flew, his sleek raven form swooping low over the tops of the tombs, following Mex as she navigated the narrow warren of the cemetery with ease.
“She’s right,” Delilah said, her hand patting mine where it still clung to her waist. “We should get this over with.”
Still, I refused to release her, far too content to simply hold her, to know she was near me and safe.
“Later, lovebirds,” Vine chirped as he pushed past us, Corson following him at a slower pace. “As cute as this is, there’s work to be done.”
“Don’t kill him,” my witch teased, stepping away, her eyes following the others out of sight. When I looked at her in surprise, she simply smiled and said, “I know you want to.”
She was right. I did. And I likely would again.
“Come, witch,” I said, gesturing for her to step ahead of me so that she would always be in my line of sight.
She entered the cemetery slowly, her wide gaze drinking in the towering crypts that flanked us on all sides, ever watchful.
New Orleans never could stomach its dead. No, the swampy ground refused them, rejecting the offerings again and again until the living finally caught on. Now, they raised their dead skyward, entombing them in marble, tiny fortresses of denial, monuments to sorrow and decay.
A supernatural paradise where the dead are never forgotten.
Stepping carefully over the old, cracked concrete, Delilah followed the others, finding them gathered around a tall, narrow tomb of veined white marble. At the base of the tomb was a collection of coins, buttons, and, oddly enough, tubes of lipstick.
“Is this him?” Delilah asked as she approached.
“Nah,” Mex answered quietly, not taking her eyes off the tomb. “But you don’t come to the City of the Dead andnot pay homage to the Queen. This here is Madame Marie Laveau, and before we go any further, we gonna leave her a little something for her trouble.”
Reaching into her pocket, Mex pulled out a handful of coins—silver dollars, by the look of them—and placed them carefully at the base of the tomb.
“Won’t someone just steal them?” Delilah asked.
“Marie won’t mind. She was a woman for the people, helping anyone who needed it, no matter where they came from.” Lifting her chin, Mex smiled at the name carved into the marble plate at the front of the tomb. “If someone comes by here and thinks they need those coins more than Marie does, well, she’d be happy for them to take ’em.” Pressing a kiss to two of her fingers, Mex pushed them gently against the stone, a strange kind of smile on her face. “Generous, our Queen was.”
“You knew her?” Delilah’s face was lit up with curiosity, and I found myself envying her. How long had it been since I’d felt that way?
Centuries—perhaps longer.
And when did that change? I wondered, but in truth, I knew.
My curiosity and zeal for life had reappeared the second I had laid eyes on my little witch.
“Yes,cher. I knew her. She was an incredible woman. And an incredible friend. I miss her, but she’s resting quietly now, and for that, I’m glad.”
For a moment, no one spoke, all of us taking a moment of silence for Mex’s fallen friend. Wordlessly, Vine opened his Rip, reaching inside and drawing out a bottle of spiced, dark rum and setting it next to Mex’s pile of coins. Corson grunted, opening his own Rip and withdrawing a jar of honey. Where he’d acquired that, I had no idea, but it wasn’t my business what a man kept in his Rip.
Delilah watched the scene with quiet reverence, and I could feel the growing spark of respect she had for everyone, even Mex, as she watched them each lay their offerings before the tomb. When Mal flew down, landing lightly, he carried a cluster of white flowers in his beak, Asters, if memory served. Setting the blooms next to the tomb, he let out a single, mournful caw before resuming his position in the sky, keeping watch.
Stepping forward, Delilah reached into her satchel, once again hunting in its depths before coming out with several items.
“I don’t have much on me,” she said quietly. “And I don’t have a Rip, so I’m afraid this will have to do.” In her hands, she held a small woodencomb, a vial of what appeared to be oil, and a few candies wrapped in waxed paper.
“Toffee,” she said when she caught me staring at them in question. “Heidi made them.” The words were tinged with sadness, and my chest ached at the feeling of loss that leaked through our connection.
Kneeling down, she arranged her offerings in a small pile, whispering quietly, “Rest easy, sweet lady.”
She made to stand, then paused, her hand darting back into the satchel and coming out with a handful of the hedgehog’s feed she kept there.
“One from Pandora, too,” she added, her cheeks heating.
