Dead Corse Read online

  Phaedra Weldon - Zoe Martinique 00 - Dead Corse

  Ever wonder how Zoë and Rhonda met? Was it a good meeting? Accidental? Or was it a match made in heaven—at first. Were the signs always there? DEAD CORSE tells the story of how the not-yet Wraith Zoë Martinique and not-yet Sorceress Rhonda Orly met and began what they believed would be a long and loyal friendship. Will it last? Only time will tell the tale.

  Happy Halloween!

  “I see in the cards you two are in love.”

  I looked at the couple. They were holding hands, having difficulty keeping their eyes from one another and had answered each other’s sentences for the past ten minutes. Duh. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see these two were in love—nor did it take a deck of tarot cards.

  I’d never really paid attention to card reading until I saw my mom using them in her shop. She said she told her customer’s futures and I had to admit, her readings were a lot more in depth and believable than this boob’s. If only she could see me leaning against the wall behind her, my arms crossed over my chest and a sarcastic whatever look on my face.

  But she couldn’t. Because I was a ghost.

  My name’s Zoë. Martinique.

  I’m Irish Latin mix which means—I wouldn’t say I was ugly but I don’t consider myself beautiful either. I have olive skin, sort of topaz eyes (no really, my mom said so), long thick hair and freckles. I also have an overbite the dentist insists needs fixing. But I don’t think so.

  And there’s one more thing you might need to know—I’m a Traveler.

  Hmmm—that doesn’t sound as impressive as it should does it? Makes me sound like someone that travels the world and blogs. I think maybe I need to come up with a better name. Anyway, what that’s supposed to mean is that I—for some unknown reason—can slip out of my body and take a walk-about.

  I know right? Weird. But I can. And when I do it I don’t really look like I do usually. Yeah same face and hair, but my clothes are all dark and stealthy and I wear black bunny slippers.

  Mental Note: Black bunny slippers are awesome. And hard to find.

  Ever since I discovered I could do this I’d pushed it to its limits. The only limit I’d discovered so far was the length of time out of body. I’d never timed it because I couldn’t bring a watch with me—and I always forgot to look at a clock. I had noticed certain signs when I’d been out too long, like dizziness and nausea. And those times when I ignored those signs? It was a stone bitch when my silver cord yoinked me back and I slammed back into my body. The resulting hang over kept me in bed for a full day before I felt human enough to re-enter the world of the living.

  My recent doctor’s appointment hadn’t gone so well. He’d made me take a sugar test. He couldn’t explain my fatigue, lack of energy and constant peeing as anything other than a possible problem with my pancreas. I knew that wasn’t it—but I couldn’t really explain to him I was staying out partying all night out of my body.

  So here I was, eaves dropping in a haunted house two days before Halloween. I’d already taken a spin inside some of the more commercial holiday haunts, the ones that pop up the last week of September and disappear November first and yawned my way through. Thishouse was a real mansion a local group had rented out and decorated up to earn money for breast cancer.

  I wasn’t there just to spy on people. I was there because I had a job! Someone wanted me to listen in and find a real Book of Shadows.

  Honestly? A Book of Shadows? I know what that was and I figured I’d go look and when nothing turned up I could at least be honest when I reported back it wasn’t there.

  “Oh…and I see you….” the fortune teller nodded to the young lady. “Have recently lost a loved one.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh, how did you know?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Lucky guess.”

  The fortune teller looked to her left, then her right and wore a seriously strange look on her face. “I—I know because the cards say so.” She pulled a few more cards from the deck and made a cross pattern on the table. I’d seen mom do the same thing. “I see you have suffered because of their passing, but I also see you have a brighter future.”

  Before I could give another retort I felt a wave of dizzy which was the first warning that I’d been out of body way too long. “Mmhmm…darkest before the dawn.”

  This time the fortune teller lightly slammed her hands on the table. The cards moved a little but the clients didn’t seem to notice. They were too engaged in each other. “So…yeah. Okay. I see from this card you have many pressures on you like school and dealing with the loss of that loved one.”

  Really? I looked at the couple again. Backpacks. One was wearing a Georgia State hoodie. Even I could have put together she was in school, and if a family member died then yeah—pressure! I made a rude noise.

  “Okay that is it!” This time she slammed her hands down hard on the table. A few of the cards flew off the table as she stood. “Daryl? Is that you? This is not freak’n funny and it is not my fault you had to be the dead guy tonight!”

  The clients finally realized their fortune teller was having a scary moment of her own and talking to—technically—no one.

  Took me two beats to realize two things—one, she heard me. Crap! Damn! I forgot even if I’m invisible I’m still audible. And two, this was totally a Whoopie and Patrick moment from Ghost.

  This was my cue to exit stage left. I moved from the wall and slipped past the couple who were now staring at the fortune teller as if she’d grown two more eyeballs out of her forehead.

  “You!”

  I stopped. I always stopped at loud voices. And I looked over at her—

  And she was looking at me!

  Wait just a freak’n minute. No one could see me like this—except mom and I figured since she gave birth to a weird kid then the gene had to come from someone. How did she see me? I was out of my body and technically—in my opinion—a ghost!

  I decided if I ignored her and slipped through the wall (much better than sieving through metal or glass) and moved down the hall she’d forget I was even there. The sounds of customers screaming and then nervously laughing drifted down the stairs as I moved far away from the fortune telling room. Bothering the fake medium had been fun until it was apparent she could see me too. That was a question for mom later. But I needed to get busy on the job I was sent here to do which was finding this book.

  I had to stop and let the second wave of dizzy pass through. Damn—I’d pissed away most of my time again. But how? I couldn’t have been out of body (OOB) for more than two hours. I’d gone corporeal (visible) a few times to ask questions about the house but that was it.

  After that wave passed I felt the stirring in the silver cord connected to my belly button. It was a subtle tug, but it wouldn’t stay that way. It was going to get really strong, really fast.

  I needed to hurry. I knew what a Book of Shadows was: the book used by a witch to record her spells, her triumphs, her failures, even her thoughts. Mom had one but I’d never tried to look into it. Magic isn’t my thing. And yes, it is real. I mean—look at me—well you can’t look at me—but if I can slip out of my body and go around like a ghost then why couldn’t witches exit?

  Besides, my mom does some pretty amazing stuff.

  Mental Note: Focus, focus, focus, focus…ghostly ADD strikes again.

  The client that wanted me to find this book, some dude named thejackgrayson at gee mail dot com, said it was in a safe in this house. So, where would a safe be? In the movies they were in a study or a den. I was on the first floor of the house standing in a small space between the staircase and a wall. In front of me was the front door with its beveled glass cutout, and to my right under the stairs was another door I assumed lead to a half
bathroom. To the right was where Fake Fortuna spun her fake psychic routine, and on the other side was where the tour of the mansion started. It was a huge house by any measuring scale I had. Reported to have eleven bedrooms, eight bathrooms, kitchen, plus other “family places.”

  And that was just the way the house was advertised. Family places. I assumed that meant living room, dinning room, den, playroom—though I hoped this house’s playroom wasn’t like the Adams’ Family’s playroom.

  I assumed dens and studies were on the lower floor so I slipped by the newest group getting their haunted story from their guide. This guy was dressed like a zombie and a really good one. Looked gross to me.

  The room had plastic covered furniture, a roll top desk, one of those corner curio cabinets and a coffee table with several paperback copies of ghost books. A grandfather clock coincidentally chimed for the hour—it was after ten p.m. Over the roll top was a large painting of a bunch of trees. In the center of them stood what looked like a woman in—an apron? She was very small like a wee person in a large forest.

  To the right of the roll top and the left of the grandfather clock was a door. Now that would either be another room or a closet. The padlock on the outside pretty much assured me it was a closet since I didn’t think people would put locks on the outside of a den or a study, but it wasn’t going to hurt if I just stuck my head through the door and took a peek.

  The next group moved from the room as I approached the door. Old door. Paint peeling. I figured this was probably one of the house’s original doors. I glanced at the painting to me left and stopped.

  The figure of the woman wasn’t in the middle of the painting anymore but was more toward me—and it looked like she was pointing at the door.

  Holy Muther Guppie. My heart pounded against my chest as I stared at that little figure, waiting for it to move.

  When it didn’t I tore my gaze away from it, took in a deep breath and shoved my upper half through the door.

  Definitely not a closet.

  Hell no. There was a whole room back here.

  I started to push the rest of me through when the third wave of dizzy hit. Oh not good.

  As far as I could tell, me being incorporeal (my mom’s word not mine) like this meant I couldn’t touch or move any physical object, and if something were thrown at me it would go through me.

  Physics, right?

  I was also limited in my five senses. Sight and hearing were good, in fact I could see shit that nobody really wants to know is lurking in the shadows. But touch and smell—eh—pretty much non-existent. So feeling cold or smelling something bad wasn’t going to happen.

  I yanked my head and shoulders out of that door and spun around as the third wave of dizzy continued and I went down on my booty.

  “Eieci te oh malum spiritum! Cum sale conpellar confodere te!”

  What the hell? Who was shouting? I looked up to see Fake Fortuna standing over me with a hand full of salt. She threw some of it on me and of course it went through me and scattered on the dirty, dust coated hardwood floor.

  I tried to yell at her to stop that but she was all into. She’d thrown back her hood and I saw long dark hair and really heavy eye-makeup. Painted nails wove symbols in the air and she continued to spew out what might have been latin as I felt the pull on the cord. Well hell, I wasn’t going to be able to explore that room tonight.

  But, at least I knew there was a room.

  I just hated that this whack job was going to believe she exorcised me.

  Balls.

  • • •

  Moms are the bomb.

  Except when they’re not.

  Sigh…that didn’t make a lot of sense did it?

  Mom was great because she made the best breakfasts in the world. Mom was not because she came into my room and opened the curtains and let the evil sunshine burn my skin to my bone.

  I know I said something rude. Or at least I was thinking it as I pulled the cover up over my head and made myself into a burrito.

  “Up. Come on. You did it again last night.”

  Yes. Yes I did.

  Wait— “What did I do?” came my rather muffled question from the inside the safety of my burrito.

  “You’ve got to come up with some kind of way to monitor how long your’e out of your body, Zoëtrope.” She smacked my butt. “Take a shower and come downstairs. You need to eat to keep up your strength. You’re too skinny and that is very unattractive with your height.”

  Did I mention I was kinda tall?

  “I just want to sleep.”

  “I know. But you have email.” I heard her moving around the room picking up my stuff and then the bathroom door opened and the she turned on the shower. “Now Zoë. Or I will get an ice-cube.”

  “All right all right,” I muttered as I unrolled myself and stumbled past her to the bathroom. She stopped me as I started to pull my pajama pants down and put a hand to my face. She turned it to the right, then the left.

  “You look awful.”

  “Mmmm,” was all I said as I pushed her hand away and slipped under the blessed avalanche of—“Christ woman this water is scalding!”

  “Ten minutes, Zoë.”

  Ten turned into fifteen but I made it to the table downstairs. Mom’s shop in Little Five Points was a converted Victorian with a wrap-a-round porch. The first floor was split into two shops—a botanica on the left full of books, candles, dried herbs (that mom sucked the life out of herself), sachets, statues, etc. A junk shop. And on the right—where the front door brought the customer in, was a tea shop. Mom thought of herself as a tea aficionado. Me nor Jemmy Shultz, mom’s cohort in all things old, had the heart to tell her she sucked at it.

  So the shop also sold home made pies and cakes, treats and coffee.

  The place was decorated post modern eclectic. That’s what mom called it. What that translated into was several different sized tables and all sorts of chairs. She’d found them all over Little Five, sanded and painted them.

  It was Monday so she didn’t open the shop till one. That gave us—me, mom, and Jemmy—time to eat and relax before the rush. I know she’d like it if I helped her in the store but I just didn’t know anything about what she sold, other than some of it, in my opinion, was just over priced.

  The two house ghosts—Tim and Steve—a long lasting couple that gave me hope that maybe one day I’ll find me a soul mate—sat in their usual spots. Steve at the table next to mom and Tim on a stool next to the display case.

  Yes. That’s right. Not house guests.

  House ghosts.

  They were in the house when mom moved in and since the two of them got along with her and we could all see them, it was a perfect fit. And don’t get all judgy. Mom offered to exorcise them but since no one knew what that meant or where they’d go, they respectfully declined. It’s not like she’s keeping them there. They just couldn’t go beyond the boundary of the house.

  I plopped down in a chair as Jemmy put the biscuits on the table, along with bacon, sausage, grits, butter, eggs, jam, coffee and juice. I grabbed a cup of the coffee, dumped about five cubes of sugar into it, cream and then held onto it with both hands.

  Mom set my computer in front of me before she settled down in the opposite chair. Jemmy sat at my right, mom’s left.

  I stared bleary-eyed at my email. “You look at it?”

  “No she didn’t, Zoë,” Jemmy said. I liked the way she said my name. Zo-eh. “She heard it go off in the other room and brought it in.” She poured me a glass of juice.

  I moved my finger over the track pad to scroll down the list. Junk. Junk. Ah, the third request for an update from Grayson. Patience grasshoppah. And…

  There was a new email from someone on Craig’s List. I opened it and looked at the information. “Anyone ever heard of someone named Ma-” I frowned at the bleary little email address and tried it all at once. “Ma-har-bah?”

  Mom, Steve and Jemmy shook their heads and continued on with their con
versation. Tim was busy looking at a newspaper spread out on top of the display case. To anyone else coming into the shop, the pages would look as if they were turning themselves.

  Well pooh on you all.

  The subject line said “request for intel.”

  Dear Miss Martinique,

  It is a great honor to see you alive and very much in control of your facilities. Imagine our delight to see you are testing your boundaries. We wish to aid you in your journey of discovery by giving you this opportunity to show us just how valuable you can be.

  We would like for you to gather intel on a person of interest. This is someone we believe has the capacity to create great things. Our present intel is based on her physical records: birth, weight, height, eye color, hair color, address, etc., but what we would like is to know more about the person. The individual herself.

  Since this is your first job with us, we would like you to answer a simple question for us: Is this person a witch?

  Included in this email is a pdf of physical, tangible information. Please study it and use it to your best advantage. The sum of $50,000 has been deposited in your account, and upon your report, a second deposit of the same amount will appear.

  We look forward to working with you.

  Maharba

  I blinked at the screen. Fifty thousand dollars?! Even through the blur I could make out that number. I sat up and typed in the command for a new window so I could check my bank account. A few held breaths and—

  Holeeee crap.

  My balance as of this morning read fifty five thousand and sixty-two cents, which should give you a good idea how much I’d had in there to start.

  “Da-Yam!”

  That stopped mom and Jemmy’s nattering. They both looked at me and I read the email out and showed them the account.

  Jemmy started clapping and singing ‘Happy Day’ even as mom took the computer and started clicking keys.

  I grabbed up the buttered biscuit and took a big bite. Mmmm. Butter.

  “Why is this person curious about Rhonda Orly? Who is she?” Steve spoke up for the first time that morning as he leaned over and read off the screen. Of the two ghosts, Steve was more the serious, analytical one. All business all the time. Tim was more the free spirit geek with a love of Disney memorabilia.