Unbound

He paused long enough to pull the arrow out of his chest before ducking out the door, moving at a speed that would have been only a blur to the onlookers at the bar. He wasn’t concerned with them, however. His attention was focused on finding whoever had fired that custom-made arrow. From the angle it skewered him, it had been fired from above.

One vertical jump had him on the bar’s roof, crouching again while his gaze scanned the nearby structures. Nothing. Bones ran along the tops of the buildings for two blocks, until he felt certain that he was standing where the shooter had been. There was a faint, residual energy in the air that confirmed what Bones already suspected: whoever fired that arrow wasn’t human.

He took another moment to survey the rooftops, but there was no one to be seen. He or she was fast; it had been less than a minute from shot fired to Bones standing where the would-be killer had crouched. No amateur, this. And whoever this was had been alerted quickly to Bones’s presence in the Quarter. He’d arrived only last night.

Bones gave a mental shrug as he jumped down to the street, warier now to stay within clusters of people, but not forgoing his appointment. He’d already died once. It tended to take the edge off fearing it afterward.

Bones waited outside the wrought-iron gate of St. Louis Cemetery #1. His back was to a post, and he’d been eyeing the rooftops, ready to spring at the slightest hint of movement.

Ghosts bathed the cemetery and its surrounding streets like spectral cobwebs. Bones ignored them, though they could to be as noisy and bothersome as the tourists. New Orleans Quarter was the last place for anyone to rest in peace, be it the living, or the dead.

It wasn’t five minutes before a gigantic man walked toward him. His aura announced him as a ghoul, though he looked nothing like Hollywood’s interpretation of one. No, he had smooth brown skin, a bald head, and a barrel-like chest, the very picture of health and vitality. Except his walk, which had a noticeable awkwardness that was at odds with the normal, graceful gait of the undead.

“Bones,” the man greeted him.

It had been decades, but Bones remembered his name. “Jelani.” He nodded. “I am here to see Majestic, at her request.”

Jelani swept out a hand. “Follow me.”

Moonlight glowed off Jelani’s black gloves, their shape too perfect and too stiff. Prosthetics. Both his legs below the knees were missing, too. Bones didn’t know how Jelani had lost his arms and legs, but he knew it had happened before Jelani became a ghoul. The only thing that didn’t grow back after being cut off from a vampire or a ghoul was his head.

But what he didn’t know was why they were moving away from the cemetery, instead of inside its gates.

“You’re not lost, are you, mate?” Bones asked with cool geniality. He’d had meetings with Marie before, and they were only ever held in the cemetery’s underbelly, right below where her empty grave was. Marie Laveau had nothing if not a sense of irony.

Jelani half turned, but didn’t slow his stilted pace. “If you fear to follow me, then by all means, walk away.”

A snort escaped Bones as he stopped. “Trying to shame me into stupidity? Not bloody likely. Half an hour ago, someone made a very credible attempt to kill me, and now you want me to meet Majestic somewhere aside from her normal place. Tell me why, or I will walk away, and then you can explain to her why you felt it beneath you to prevent that.”

Jelani paused, his face still in profile. “Majestic is not here. She bid me to speak in her stead.”

Bones’s brows rose. Marie was notorious for handling requests, threats, or punishments herself, but she’d sent her lackey Jelani to meet with him? It made him even more curious to discover what this was about.

“Right, then,” Bones said. “After you.”

Jelani led him to Lafitte’s Blacksmith House, the oldest bar in the Quarter. Bones ordered a whiskey, neat. The ghoul didn’t order anything. His gaze kept flickering around, either waiting for something, or from nerves. Bones moved his hand to rest almost casually near his pockets. He had several silver knives lining his trousers and sleeves, in case of vampiric trouble, though nothing but decapitation would kill a ghoul.

“Marie,” Bones prodded him.

“Majestic,” Jelani corrected at once.

Bones resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The formalities are over, so do pry the stick out of your arse.

Instead he said, “What does she want from me?”

Jelani reached in his jacket. His movement was slowed by his stiff, plastic hands, so Bones didn’t feel the caution he normally would have at the gesture. Then Jelani pulled out a manila envelope.

Bones took it, slipped the photos out discreetly, taking only a moment to flick his gaze over them and the pages underneath. Then he slid them back in their envelope and gave a hard, flat stare to the man opposite him.