A Woman of the Swamp - 5

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5. Repaying the Favor

The Ursuline Convent was white in the pallid glow of several spotlights shining up from its base. Marie casually strolled along the opposite street, watching as guards closed a series of heavy gates to keep the public out. During the day, the manicured insides served as a museum, showcasing artifacts from the city’s rich history. In the evening, it was one of the many stops on vampire, ghost, and vampire-ghost tours. Marie wanted to judge the cat-eyed tour guides, trying to look like paranormal experts, but she had led more than a few tours herself. In fact, it was an excellent way to make quick money. Doubly so if the halfway point was a bar.

            She looked up at the old building with a mix of curiosity and disdain. Whenever someone mentioned vampires, Marie was the one to smirk. Now, thinking over The Baron’s task, she was forced to reckon with reality. She had led hundreds of tours past the convent, spouting what she believed to be nonsense for patrons that wanted to pretend they had seen something spooky. People took it as history and brought the legend back to whatever suburban hell holes they crawled out of, giving New Orleans a hefty dose of mystery based in bullshit.  

            The ‘history’ of The Ursuline Convent centered around vampires coming to the new world. Many settlers had immigrated to New Orleans in hope of escaping secrets across the sea. After a few retellings, those secrets evolved into clandestine vampirism. In the early 1700s, vampire hunting was practically a sport in England. Hot on the heels of Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, everyone fancied themselves Van Helsing. Guilty or not, many pale denizens of quaint villages were staked in the name of Christianity, purity, and good old-fashioned fun.

Religion also took hold in the colonies, spreading as fast as horses could carry the zealots. Fortunately for the vampires, new world clergymen were more concerned with witches and getting the proper pyre size to burn them. Eloquent men and women who preferred to stay indoors during the day were little more than a curiosity when there were dark magic users to torture publicly.

If the stories were to be believed, one of the most prominent of the immigrated vampires was Jacques St. Germain. Hailing from France, Jacques was well-liked and considered a prominent mind of his time. According to visitors, his knowledge of history was boundless, almost like he had been there for the events himself. Of course, as the story went, he had been. When Jacques arrived in Louisiana, he didn’t come alone. Smuggling his friends into the new world through New Orleans’s port was practically a pastime.

So began the tale of the Casket Girls, five women arriving in the dead of night, carrying coffins, and headed for the Ursuline Convent. These girls were pale, probably malnourished from the long crossing, but of course, around the time they arrived, mysterious deaths started cropping up around the city. Jacques paid several visits to the convent to check on the new arrivals and was even said to have been seen wandering the streets with them at night. Despite the church’s best efforts, the girls denied proper religious upbringing and became a source of fear around the convent. Nuns saw them wandering the halls at night and developed what they believed to be a healthy fear of the heathens.

Unfortunately for the girls, Jacques’s run ended around the same time. After the discovery of a brutal murder at his home, Jacques disappeared, never to be seen again. He left nothing but bloodstained walls and a mystery that was never fully solved. What happened to the girls was a matter of discussion. One way or another, after he left, they weren’t seen again. On an early morning, several saw the girl’s casquettes being moved to the convent’s top floor. While no one saw the girls being moved with them, it was widely assumed that they were in the boxes.

Over the course of the day, every door, window, and shutter to the third floor was sealed. In total, it took 800 nails. Some even said the metal had been blessed by The Pope himself. Marie smiled; Ray always loved that part of the story. It had a certain pizazz that only New Orleans ghost stories had. She wished she had been able to share where she was going with him. He would have gotten a real kick out of it. Maybe someday she would.

Realizing that she was standing still and staring at the old building, Marie continued her walk. Her goal was to get a good look at the perimeter and find the easiest entrance. The Baron’s instructions had been minimal, and anyone else might have confused them for nonsense. On a cool morning, a few weeks after their first meeting, a note appeared on Marie’s doorstep. It read: Ursuline Convent, 11PM, October 6^th. Don’t be late.

As far as instructions went, it wasn’t much to go on. Marie felt the comforting weight of her staff strapped around her shoulder and hoped it would do something. Hell, it had worked before. Despite her initial fears, the police never came knocking looking for a cop-killer and the story barely made a headline. As it turned out, murders and crazies were just part of the everyday drivel. Marie said a silent prayer of thank you and continued her sweep.

Exhaustion permeated her every limb. Ray’s treatment was going well, but preparing it was no easy feat, and administering the doses required being up at all hours of the night. Marie took small solace in the confusion of Ray’s doctors. Every time she took him in for a checkup, they would scratch their heads. No one could figure out why, but Ray was getting better. Step by step, the strength that had long since left him returned. The thought of it brought joy to Marie’s tired heart and she knew it was all worth it. One favor for The Baron, and then they could live in peace.

The night wore on and Marie continued to pace in circles around the building. There was no straightforward way in. The gates were shut, the guards were alert, and her staff made her more conspicuous than she would have liked. Sure, she could have left it at home, but going in with some defense was better than none. Besides, if she was going to be out after midnight, having an exit plan was necessary. There would be plenty of people who weren’t vampires willing to do horrible things to a woman alone in the dark.

As eleven rolled around, Marie took a seat opposite the convent. The odd person strolled by but paid her no mind. Most kept their heads down, likely figuring her for a panhandler. Fifteen minutes passed and nothing happened. She half expected The Baron to pop out of thin air again, but he didn’t. The convent was dead and deserted other than the few security guards inside. Marie took the note out and read it again. Nothing had changed, there was no secret message, just: Don’t be late. “Well, here I am on time, and your ass is the one not showing up.”

The street was deserted. At the front of the convent, one of the gates slid open, breaking the relative silence as it ground along its rusty hinges. Marie jumped at the sudden noise and stuck the note in her pocket. A security guard walked out from behind the gate and straight towards her. He was a young man with a crop of blond hair falling from beneath his official security cap. A pistol hung at his side, but he wasn’t dropping a hand to it like most police officers. Marie did her best to relax but felt the creeping urge to draw her staff once more. The staff wanted it and she wanted it.

“You Marie?” asked the young man as he crossed the street to her.

“Who’s asking?” Marie got to her feet and marked her exits. There weren’t many that would land her without a bullet in her back.

The security guard walked up to her and held out his hand. In it were his badge and a pair of keys. “He said to give you these. Should be enough to get you access to anywhere in the building.”

Marie looked down at the man’s palm. It was sweating and he looked nervous. “Who’s he?”

The security guard wiped his forehead with his free hand. “Look, don’t make me say it, alright? This is my favor, so please just take the keys and go do what you have to do. I’ve done exactly as he asked.”

Marie took the keys and keycard. “How many other guards are there?”

“Just one, and he’s on break for the next twenty minutes.” The young man gulped. “Please, don’t tell anyone about this. My family needs me to keep this job.” He reached up and adjusted his cap before turning on his heels and walking quickly away.

“Thank you,” called Marie after him, not sure what to say. The gate was open, and she had all the tools she needed. The Baron hadn’t been clear on his instructions, but she had a decent idea of where she was supposed to go. A sudden urge made her pull out the note again to double check. She had to laugh as the original text disappeared, replaced by a single line of new script: Free my friend.

“Couldn’t have used a cell phone, could you?” she asked aloud. “Demi-gods and their bullshit.” Marie pulled out her staff and approached the building. She stopped at the gate, pushing it closed behind her, not wanting to give anyone else reason to suspect something was off. Beyond it, rows of manicured hedges stretched across a rectangular lawn, flanked by the white wall of the convent on the left side. On the right, a path led around to the other side of the building, following the perimeter wall. Directly in front of her, a set of wooden double doors beneath a gabled archway were shut.

Marie took a last look around, hoping to hell that the guard was right and went to the front door. She tried the knob and found it unlocked. So much for needing the keys. She pushed the old doors open with a bone-chilling creak. The interior wore the building’s age with quiet menace. Childlike fear cropped up into Marie’s throat. She didn’t like being alone in such an old place. The lights were off creating dancing figures in the gloom as light filtered through the front door.

In reflex, Marie pulled out her staff and the skull glowed white. The floorboards croaked beneath her feet, dying bullfrogs in the dusty old silence. Off to her left was the building’s chapel, set up in permanent anticipation of a service that would never come. During the day, tourists flocked to it, trying to feel something akin to religious zeal. At night, the rows of pews were arranged in the dark, giving the appearance of a ghostly congregation sitting in invisible penitence.

Marie avoided the chapel and moved up the large wooden spiral staircase. Pictures of old religious figures adorned the wall, looking down on her with pious indignation. This was the second holy site she had desecrated in a matter of months, but Marie tried to ignore the implication. When she finished freeing The Baron’s friend, she would be done, retiring to a life of easy entertainment and loving partnership with Ray. They wouldn’t ever be rich, but they would be healthy and happy.

At the top of the stairs, several doors remained open leading to the museum. Religious artifacts were laid out in glass cases scattered around the old rooms, but Marie’s path was simple. Immediately following the first staircase was a second, smaller spiral. It was roped off, ensuring no enterprising guests went to go find evidence of vampires on a whim. Marie stepped over the velvet divider and moved up.  

While the bottom stairs had been kept clean, the top were caked in a thick layer of dust. No one had cleaned them in a while, and from the uniform distribution, no one had walked them either. The wood creaked beneath her feet with every step, echoing through the empty space around her. What if there really is a sisterhood of dusty old vampires sitting up there? A part of her still expected to find nothing, despite being confronted with the very real manifestation of Samedi. She wondered if it was all an elaborate trick just to scare her, but knew The Baron wouldn’t have made the deal if he wasn’t getting something out of it.

Marie crossed the top of the final stair and entered into a thin landing that led to the attic door. It was a small, unassuming thing. There was no large metal latch or heavy gate barring entry, just a simple, wooden door. A window next to it had been shuttered and sealed, but cracks of moonlight still shone through the aging slats. Sitting on the sill was a hammer. Marie approached the door and immediately understood why. “I’ll be damned.”

Nails were driven into every side of the door. Marie had no doubt that the original legends estimate of 800 wasn’t far off. There didn’t appear to be any discernable order to them. Someone had just come in and tried to put as many nails between them and whatever hid in the attic as quick as possible. Marie picked up the hammer and held it in her hand. “Seriously?” Looking at the door, it was clear that even with the hammer, she wouldn’t open the door until well after sunrise.

The staff in her hand jumped, pulling toward the door.

“Oh, you want to give it a try?”

The skull’s eyes blazed in response, growing bright with hunger.

“Well, alright then.” Marie held the staff out in front of her, angling it toward the door. At first, nothing happened. A slight vibration crept up from the base of the staff, warming her hand where she gripped it. Then the door rattled. A single nail worked its way out of the doorframe and fell to the ground with a metallic clink. Marie’s eyes widened. She was going to open a door that had remained shut for over a hundred years, and if the legends were to be believed, what lay behind it was not going to be happy to see her.

The staff shook and grew warm, working on its own accord. Marie had the feeling that even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t be able to stop it. More nails fell out of the door, littering the ground and filling the quiet halls with their clatter. She wished the staff would be a little more clandestine about it all but couldn’t really complain. As more nails fell, the door began to wiggle in its frame. The handle, long since unused, turned and rattled. Something was on the other side of the door, and it clearly wanted out.

Marie’s heart beat loud in her chest. This was it. All at once, the final nails shot out of the door, ricocheting off the wall behind her. In a smooth motion, the door flew open, slamming into the wall next to it, and Marie was staring into the attic…

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