Bones was across the room and over the counter in less time than it took the elderly shop owner to clear his seat. He chuckled as the man let out a spate of Creole that cursed Bones, his parentage, and several of his ancestors.
"Remember, Jean-Pierre, I speak Creole, so anything you say can and will be held against you and all that rot."
"Debil," Jean-Pierre said in English with a hiss. "I 'oped I'd seen the last of you years ago."
"Now, mate, you'll hurt my feelings. Don't know why you take such an aversion to me. Your grandfather and I got along splendidly, and I know I'm glad to still find you here."
Jean-Pierre's eyes flicked around the shop, but it was empty of anyone but Bones and himself. No surprise there; the wares he had on his shelves were ugly, shoddy T-shirts and other miscellaneous gimmicky items, all in questionable condition and priced higher than most of his competitors.
But Jean-Pierre's real business was voodoo. The shops along the Quarter were for the tourists or the uneducated. Jean-Pierre supplied genuine ingredients for the practiced, discerning buyer, and his family had been in the business since almost the inception of the city. He was someone who knew many of the city's darkest secrets. And because Jean-Pierre had inherited the family trait of being immune to vampire mind control, Bones couldn't just use his gaze to glare information out of him, more's the pity.
"Now then, what did I want to ask you about? Ah, yes, redheaded bloke who goes by the name Ralmiel. Vampire, 'round my height, and has the most amazing new trick of disappearing into thin air. What do you know of him?"
From the expression on Jean-Pierre's face, he did know something about Ralmiel, but he didn't want to share the information.
Bones didn't lose a fraction of his smile. "Need me to bash you about a bit before you answer? No trouble at all. Just let me know which bone you'd like broken first and I'll get to it straightaway."
"Debils," Jean-Pierre hissed. "Nothin' but grave walkers, the both of you, 'cept even the earth don' want you."
Bones waved a hand. "Yes, right, we're all wretched blokes forsaken by God and Mother Nature herself, now get on with it."
Bones really had no desire to start beating on the little man. That would take too long.
"Redheaded debil, he come 'round every so often," Jean-Pierre said, spitting out the words. "He have fetishes made for him, use magic."
"Vampires are forbidden from using magic. It's one of the few laws Cain laid down for his people. I'm surprised Ralmiel uses it so blatantly."
Jean-Pierre's mouth curled. "Cain. God should have killed him for murdering Abel, not made him into a vampire as punishment instead. As for Ralmiel, those who see 'im use magic don't live long enough to tell about it, I think."
That would keep word from spreading, true enough. But a few people had to know aside from Jean-Pierre. "This magic Ralmiel uses, who makes it?"
"Don' know."
Bones gave Jean-Pierre a measured stare. "I won't enjoy it, but I'll either beat the answer out of you, or I'll take you with me and keep feeding off your no doubt dreadful-tasting blood until you tire of being my snack and you tell me then."
"Hope she curdles your blood to dust," Jean-Pierre spat, but gave Bones a name. And her location.
"You ring me if you see Ralmiel again," Bones instructed Jean-Pierre, writing his number on the back of one of the sloganed coasters for sale on the counter. This one had a tagline of "It won't lick itself!" Quite true, that.
"And don't make me end my long, friendly association with your family by doing something foolish," Bones added, letting green flash in his eyes as he handed him the coaster.
Jean-Pierre took it. "I don't cross debils. Too much bad juju afterward."
Bones just nodded as he left. Quite true, that, as well.
It was Bones's fourth day in the city when another murder was discovered. As before, Bones went to the scene to see what, if anything, he could use from it to track the LaLauries.
Jelani spoke with the detective assigned to the case. From their muted conversation, Bones picked up that the detective thought Jelani was an associate of one of the city's biggest donors, and that Bones was a private investigator.
Bones made Jelani empty out the flat before he went inside, ignoring the rubbish the detective sputtered about him contaminating the scene. He'd leave the scene a sight less muddled than those blokes.
Once alone, he walked through the flat, breathing deeply every few moments. Same male and female scent from the other flat. Spent less time here, though, and made a grand mess of things in their haste. Those blood spatters are from an arterial spray, arced wide enough that the girl would have been running when they tore open her throat. Not the same girl they finished off in the kitchen, though. She's the poor lass who owned the other flat, and she didn't have any legs left to run on.
The boy was watching. His blood's fresher than theirs, and the stench from his fear is smeared all over both rooms. From the shallowness of his wounds, he was likely still alive when they ate his arms...
Bones felt the shift in the air right before Ralmiel appeared behind him. He spun, his knife flashing out, but the other vampire wasn't pointing any weapons at him this time. No, Ralmiel was staring almost sadly around the carnage of the room.
"Mon Dieu," he breathed, then gave a censuring glance at the knife in Bones's hand. "Put that away. There's been enough death in this room, oui?"
Under normal circumstances, Bones would have disagreed, and then proceeded to stab the hell out of Ralmiel. But the scents, sight, and aura of despairing horror in the flat also made him loath to add to it. Bones lowered his knife, but didn't let it out of his hand. He wasn't so affected that he'd lost his wits.
"Why are you here, if not to attempt to kill me again?"
Ralmiel walked around the room, inhaling just as frequently as Bones had. He held another small, dark satchel in his grip. Ah yes, that would be Ralmiel's voodoo version of a teleporter.
"This was not done by human hands. It is one thing to kill such as you or I"-Ralmiel's dismissive wave encompassed their mutual lack of worth-"but these are innocents. It is not right."
Bones almost rolled his eyes. A hitter with a conscience. If Ralmiel wasn't out to kill him, he'd buy him a drink and they could talk shop.
"You didn't hear about the other murders? You should pay more attention, mate."
"I heard about the last one, but didn't know our kind was responsible. New Orleans is my city. It has its darkness, but not like this. You know who's doing this?"