arboreal_priestess | New Orleans, Thursday Night, close to midnight (Reply)

It had taken another couple of days of driving to get from Michigan to New Orleans, but Verity figured the detour was worth it. Look, they were still on their honeymoon and if they wanted to see New Orleans, they would. Liam had taken the suggestion of the detour with his usual easy grace, but their current activity seemed to have eluded him somewhat.

Possibly because Verity had refused to explain, other than by saying, 'it's a surprise.'

She kept walking along the edges of the circle she had drawn in the loose red earth, dripping candle wax into the furrows. The original ritual wanted tallow mixed with human blood, not organic soy wax and saline solution, but it was important to move with the times. Besides, finding a place high and dry enough to cast the spell had been difficult in the middle of winter, and had used up most of her ability to be picky about the little things.

New Orleans was not a city that prided itself on its high local water table, okay? Even now, over a decade later, the city still bore scars from Katrina.

Liam	Liam was watching the whole thing with a mixture of confusion and resignation on his face. "Now can you tell me what you're doing?" he asked, pleadingly.
Verity	"Classic road ghost summoning circle," Verity explained. Or, well, 'explained.' "It's sort of like lighting a big neon billboard in the twilight - that's the default road ghost afterlife - that says 'hey, come on over here, I'd be happy to buy you a cup of coffee.'"
Liam	"Okay," Liam said slowly. "Next question: why are you drawing a 'classic road ghost summoning circle'?"
Verity	"Because there's a member of my family you haven't met yet," Verity answered, finishing up the summoning circle. "I want you to meet my aunt."
Liam	"Your aunt who you’re contacting via summoning circle," Liam said, tone still measured. "Another ghost, because of course." Some people might have found this worrying, but not only had he met multiple ghosts himself by this point, he’d technically kind of been one himself for a while, depending on how one defined these sorts of things.
Verity	Verity looked up long enough to flash him a sunny smile. "Yep! Aunt Rose is a posthumous American. She died in the 1950s. We try not to talk about it too much, since it tends to make her cranky."
Liam	"I see," Liam nodded. "Well. I appreciate the heads-up."
Verity	"I'm helpful that way," Verity said, batting her eyes at him. She jammed the last candle into the dirt. "There. Done. Now we just need to make the connection. Can you get me that bag of hamburgers from the truck?"
Liam	"You can't possibly be hungry again," Liam complained. "We ate an hour ago. You had a club sandwich the size of my forearm." Not to mention a good portion of his fries.
Verity	"I'll be hungry if I want to," Verity said primly. And half of those fries were hers legally now that they were married. "Burgers, please."
Liam	Liam looked at her for another few seconds, clearly waiting for the punchline. When it didn't come, he just sighed and turned back to the SUV to get the requested burgers. A minute later, he returned with the back of Jack in the Box burgers and fries that Verity had insisted on stopping for three exits back. "Your burgers," he said, holding it out towards her.
Verity	"Thank you." Verity took the bag before stepping carefully over the candle wax line and walking to the center of the circle. Once she was sure she was in exactly the right place she put the fast food goodies down. Straightening up, she cupped my hands around my mouth, and called, "Aunt Rose! It's Verity! Soup's on!"
Rose	"Jeez, Blondie, you don't have to yell." The voice was sweet, female, and young - no older than sixteen - with the broadly softened vowels that had been common in the Buckley region of Michigan some sixty years ago. Rose Marshall - aka 'the spirit of Sparrow Hill Road,' aka 'the Girl in the Diner,' aka 'trouble in a green silk gown' — was standing with her arms crossed and one hip shot casually to the side, like an advertisement for vintage hooliganism. As was her wont, she was dressed in the timeless hitchhiker's style: blue jeans and a white tank top, sturdy white tennis shoes just dirty enough from the road that hopefully no one would look at them twice, and thus no one would notice that the grass under her feet wasn't bending. She displaced nothing; she was air and memory and a smirk you could have used to power an entire army of rebellious teens.
Verity	Verity answered her smirk with a smile, and said, "I thought you might be hungry. All of that endlessly wandering the earth looking for the man who murdered you and everything."
Rose	"Way to make me sound like some kind of fucked-up teen drama, Blondie." Rose shot a longing look at the bag of burgers sitting in the center of the circle. If someone squinted, they'd still be able see the field clean through her, unplanted soil stretching out until it met the encroaching horizon. She wasn't wholly here. Not yet. "It's nice of you to think of me and all, but you know the rules."
Verity	"I do." Verity looked across the summoning circle to Liam. "Honey, can you get me a coat or something please?"
Liam	"A coat?" Liam echoed, clearly puzzled as to why a ghost would need one.
Verity	"My Aunt Rose here," Verity indicated Rose, who raised one hand in a quick wave, "is what we call a hitchhiking ghost. Her big parlor trick is rejoining the living for short periods of time, but she can only manage it when she has an article of clothing borrowed from someone who isn't dead."
Liam	"... How does that work with someone who used to be?" Liam asked, only half-kidding as he started to shrug out of his jacket. It wasn't a topic he usually joked about, that temporary death of his, but he was also curious how that might interact with what was clearly a well-established rule in Verity's world.
Rose	"You know, I'm not entirely certain," Rose said, thoughtful. "You're alive now, though, so it will probably be fine."
Verity	"I hadn't even thought of that," Verity said, flapping her hands at Liam to put his jacket back on. "Wow, let's hold off on experimenting until we can ask Aunt Mary." As a crossroads ghost, Mary had a lot more knowledge than most about the rules and regulations of the various afterlives. Whether or not she'd be able to answer was a different story, of course. "Why don't you get my coat from the driver's seat," she suggested. "Besides, Aunt Rose'll actually fit in that." Liam was tall enough that Rose would probably end up swimming in his anyway.
Liam	"'It will probably be fine'," Liam echoed with a snort and a roll of his eyes. "If I had any doubts about her being family, that would've erased them, right there." Still, Verity probably had a good point about the size of his jacket, if nothing else. So he once again headed back to the SUV to fetch something. That she could have had everything ready to go before she started the summoning circle had, of course, occurred to him by this point. But also by this point he'd become resigned to the fact that the modus operandi for this trip was 'Verity does or asks for things with minimal explanation', so.
Rose	Rose watched him leave and then turned to Verity. "Should I conclude that you didn't bring the coat because you were messing with the boy? Because Very, I gotta tell you, messing with boys is fun, but if you do it for too long, they're likely to get pissed about it."
Verity	Verity shook her head, sobering. "I know, but there are extenuating circumstances."
Rose	"Like what?" Rose folded her arms, frowning at her niece, and Verity was struck once again by the incongruity of her eyes. They were so old, and her face was so young, and always would be. "You must be getting pretty serious about him, if you brought him out here to meet me. That usually signals the end of the 'messing with' period in your family."
Verity	"I should think so," Verity said wryly. "Considering we're, uh, married." Beat. "The rest of the family doesn't know yet."
Rose	Rose whistled, a high, descending note that sounded almost like a whippoorwill's cry. "You do not fuck around when it comes to making things hard on yourself. Is he really worth risking your mother's wrath for? Does he have a magic dick or something?"
Verity	Most of the family got used to Rose by the time they were out of their teens. She was their friendly family ghost, and if she was a little more profane than Casper or Betelgeuse, that was just part of her charm. Verity still felt her cheeks go red at her last comment. "That's none of your business, okay? And mom's gonna be fine. They already knew we were engaged. We just got tired of all the wrangling over details."
Rose	"Which is why you're crisscrossing the country, huh? Rose nodded, a small smile on her face. "I’m a road ghost, remember? I can tell when someone's been traveling a fair distance. You feel like a few hundred miles of general driving, and that's not normal for you."
Verity	"Rented an SUV," Verity admitted. "Me, Liam, the mice, and a roadmap of America. I figure we'll make it back to Baltimore by the end of the weekend."
Rose	"Well, if a road trip together doesn't scare either of you two off, it might just be a forever thing." Rose shook her head. "There are worse ways to figure out whether you really love someone or just the way their ass fills out their jeans."
Verity	Verity opened her mouth to answer, and stopped, smiling with relief as she saw Liam approaching, the denim jacket she'd bought for just this occasion held in one hand. "He's back," she said. "Now behave, okay, Aunt Rose? I'll buy you something hot and covered in cheese if you'll just behave."
Rose	"I am easily purchased with cheese," said Rose, and turned to face Liam, holding her hand out toward him.
Liam	"Also another family trait," Liam snickered, holding out the jacket.
Rose	"I like him," Rose declared, smiling guilelessly as she swung the tattered thrift store denim over her shoulders and slipped her arms into the sleeves. The weight of the jacket settled on her thin frame, and her feet settled on the ground, suddenly displacing the grass. There was no drama to the transition, no special effect that would win the universe an award: just one suddenly solid teenage girl standing in the middle of a circle drawn in wax and dirt and prayer. She brushed her hands against her jeans before tilting her head back and taking a deep, slow breath of the fresh winter air. "Damn, that's nice," she said. "I always forget how warm it is in Louisiana this time of year."
Verity	"It's always cold in the twilight," Verity said to Liam, by way of explanation. Look, she had fun being cryptic, but she had nothing on her Aunt Rose.
Liam	"... Sure," Liam said after a moment. Shahariah hadn't been cold. It also hadn't been warm. Hadn't been much of anything, physical-sensation wise, which had sort of been the point. And Verity's reality played by so many different rules anyway, rules he was still trying to get a handle on.
Rose	Rose lowered her head and grinned at him. She smiled like the teenager she was always going to be, sharp and sweet at the same time. "It's okay, big guy. You don't need to understand the ins and outs of the American afterlife on your first encounter. You just need to follow one basic rule for dealing with the dead and you'll be fine."
Liam	"And what's that?" Liam asked, eyebrow raised.
Rose	This time, there was nothing but sugar in her smile. "When a dead girl asks you to buy her a drink, you do it."

***

Thanks to the tourist trade and the ever-looming specter of Mardi Gras - which never fully went away, not even for Christmas - New Orleans was a city rich in bars, taverns, and other forms of drinking establishment. Not even the still-visible scars left by Katrina could keep their doors closed for long. They parked the rented SUV in the secure garage of a creepy little motel Verity's family had an understanding with, owned by a friendly nest of harpies who didn't really care what folks wanted to store on their property as long as they also got to rent a room and were left a good Yelp review.

Getting a room for the night seemed like the best possible idea no matter how they sliced things. Drinking with Aunt Rose was an experience best savored, sipped slowly and carefully like good cognac, rather than being slammed down like a cheap beer. Not because she was a classy dame - she absolutely was not — but because getting drunk fast in her presence basically invited trouble.

The mice cheered as they poured into the motel room. They would doubtless decimate the local rat and June bug populations by the time the humans (and mostly human) got back, and that was more than fine with Verity. If there was one thing about New Orleans she couldn't stand, it was the vermin.

Rose	Rose walked in the middle as they strolled down a gently curving avenue which either had no name or had somehow lost its street signs, probably to vandals. She linked one arm through Verity's arm and one through Liam's, forming a weird Wizard of Oz-style processional. "We're going to have a blast tonight, kids," she said blithely. "Just remember that you're buying, and everything will be just fine."
Verity	"Hitchhiking ghosts can temporarily rejoin the living under the right circumstances, but they can't taste anything that wasn't given to them freely and without payment," Verity said, catching Liams bewildered expression. "So Rose can't buy her own drinks, but we can buy them for her."
Liam	"Mmm," Liam hummed thoughtfully. “Has anyone ever tested this concept? Seems like the sort of thing someone with no way of carrying around cash would invent for the sake of getting other people to supply their alcohol." Not that he’d be terribly put out, either way. He was quite happy to let Rose drink his share.
Verity	"Since basically everything we know about hitchhiking ghosts comes from Rose..." Verity's voice tapered off as she turned to give her other honorary aunt a hard look.
Rose	Rose laughed. "Oh, I like him, Verity. Glad you decided to keep him. He should buy the first round."
Verity	"I like him too," Verity said, giving Liam a soft, happy smile. Look, the whole 'just married' shine hadn't worn off yet.
Rose	"Where did you kids meet, anyway?" The incongruity of someone who looked almost ten years younger than Verity calling her and Liam 'kids' was mostly eased by the fact that Rose had been part of the family since before Verity had been born. She was their family's lost girl, never growing up, never growing old, and never getting the opportunity to go home.
Verity	"Little island off the coast of Baltimore," Verity said, giggling. "It was totally romantic. A boy, a girl, a playground, a secret cache of weapons..."
Rose	Rose crowed amusement. "Oh, man, you pulled a gun on him? That's not how you catch a boyfriend!"
Liam	"Actually," Liam grinned. "She offered to share them with me." He was leaving out the part where they'd been temporarily transformed into children, not sure how much, if any, of Fandom's particular brand of oddness Verity had explained to her.
Rose	"A Price offering to share weaponry at first meeting?" Rose whistled. "This is some fore-ordained stuff right there. If Alice ever turns out to be right about Tommy boy still being among the living, you four will have to argue over most impressive love story."
Verity	"Hey now, I'm trying not to overwhelm him by dumping too much of the family weird on him at once," Verity teased.
Rose	"So you take him drinking with me? Verity, honey, we need to have a talk about what 'normal' means, and how anything that involves the phrase 'let's summon my dead aunt' doesn’t fall into that category," said Rose, tugging them off the street and into a narrow alley that looked like it might collapse inward on us at any moment. Doors were open every ten feet or so, and the enticing sounds of jazz and laughter drifted out into the alleyway.
Verity	"What better way to say 'Just Married'?" Verity asked, laughing. She pointed to a nearby door. "How about that one? I like the window décor." It was all skulls and decoratively colored glass bottles, and it had the faintly warped sheen that she associated with carnival glass and age.
Rose	Rose followed Verity's finger, and shook her head. "No can do, sweetie. You can't afford the cover charge." "What?" Rose stopped dead, leaving her niece and new nephew with the choice of either stopping with her or yanking their arms out of hers. They chose the more polite option, as was appropriate for a child she'd helped raise, even though it meant that the three of them were completely blocking the alley. "Close your eyes." "What?" Honestly, Verity. "Close your eyes."
Liam	Liam exchanged a glance with Verity, and then did as he was told. Rose pulled her arms out of theirs. The sound of music faded like someone was twisting the knob on a radio, replaced by the distant sound of shouting and traffic.
Verity	"Open them," said Rose. Verity did. The alley was empty. There were no open doors. Half the windows that had been there only a moment before were gone, and the ones that remained were dark. The nearest window - the one that had been filled with strange lights and decorative bottles only a moment before - had been broken and poorly repaired with a sheet of water-stained plywood that covered the damage but did nothing to conceal it, turning the empty pane into a blind and staring eye. Something scurried past, low to the wall, moving with the quick anxiety that Verity associated with rats and tailypo. "What--?!" she gasped.
Rose	Rose shook her head, cramming her hands down into the pockets of her borrowed coat. "You're walking with the dead. You're walking with the dead in New Orleans, which is sort of like dipping yourself in steak sauce and strolling through a dog pound. All the animals come quick as a whistle to check you out."
Liam	"Are you implying that those were... what, ghost bars?" asked Liam.
Rose	"Nah, big guy, implication is for the living. Wastes too much time for the dead. I'm saying that those were ghost bars. I'm saying that when you walk with the dead, you see the dead; it's a side effect of standing too close to the boundary. Only since neither of you is even sick, you can't tell what's happening when the twilight begins bleeding through. Most healthy people would never see the bars around us." She gestured to the blank brick walls. "They'd see a shortcut that was sometimes a little chillier than it ought to be, and if they heard a saxophone blowing where there wasn't supposed to be a jazz band, they'd dismiss it. Illogic is hard. The closer someone is to the dead, the more they'll see. The really close — mediums, people who are dying, people who have loaned a coat to a hitcher and then stuck with her for some reason — may see the bars as we see them. Might go in. Might even buy a drink, if the hitcher they're with is vindictive and petty.
Verity	"Persephone and Hades," Verity guessed, putting a few more folklore tales together. Look, this was an educational evening for both of them!
Rose	Rose nodded. "Persephone and Hades, the Goblin Market, all the old stories about eating food in Faerie — this is where they connect to the modern world. Don't go drinking with the dead in their own places. Bring them into the places of the living and they can show you great kindness. They can make your world infinitely better. But if you go to their places, if you drink their casket-brewed spirits, you'll never be seen in the lands of the living again."
Verity	"You know, Aunt Rose, there are easier ways to say you'd rather go to a fancier place," Verity said, her voice teasing, her expression serious. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end, and she was suddenly aware of just how cold and damp the air in the alley was. It felt like they had somehow wandered into winter, in a place where winter - real winter - didn't belong.
Rose	"Then let's go to a fancier place," she said, pulling her hands out of her pockets and once more linking her arms through theirs. She pulled them toward the mouth of the alley and they went willingly with her. Somewhere in the dark behind them, a lone saxophone played a slow, sad series of notes. Neither Liam nor Verity looked back. It seemed to be for the best.
Verity	Half an hour later, they were firmly ensconced at Marty's on Bourbon Street, which was either exactly the kind of bar people went to New Orleans for, even down to the purple gel skulls covering the overhead lights, or was exactly the kind of bar that made the natives of New Orleans curse the tourist trade. (Again, see the purple gel skulls covering the overhead lights.) Despite — or perhaps because of — the terrible décor, Marty's had some of the best prices on Bourbon, and their selection of rum-based drinks was not to be sneered at. Halfway through round three (or was it four?) a waitress walked over to their table, with a tray full of drinks. Verity blinked before raising a hand to signal her to stop. "I'm sorry, not our table. We didn't order anything that green."
Rose	"Or that served in a souvenir skull mug," said Rose.
Waitress	"They're from the gentleman at the bar," said the waitress, sounding tired. She finished unloading her tray. "He sends his compliments." Her mood improved when Verity tipped her generously.
Verity	"Bartender to waitress, waitress to us," Verity said, claiming the electric green cocktail with the bits of kiwi floating in it. "Drinks are unlikely to be drugged, and thus must be consumed for the sake of furthering our understanding of the people of New Orleans."
Rose	"Damn straight," said Rose, pulling the skull mug toward herself. She lifted it, took a sip, and froze. Literally froze: nothing living can go as still as a dead person who suddenly feels threatened. Verity lowered her green cocktail. "Rose?" "The man who sent us these drinks isn't alive." Rose pushed her drink away again, turning to scan the bar with narrowed eyes. "Fuck."
Liam	"How can you tell?" Liam asked.
Rose	"Because it's smoking and full of chunks of fruit and at least three different types of hard liquor, based on the color, and it tastes like water," spat Rose. "Nothing the dead have to give me has any flavor. That's part of what it means to be a hitcher. If the bartender gives me a drink, that's one thing, but when a dead man buys it for me? Unless he's another hitcher in a borrowed coat, or something else that bridges the lands of the living and the dead - PS, this guy isn't - then I get nothing. I get water."
Verity	"Should we be worried?" Verity asked. Mentally, she was reviewing the items she had in her pockets: a little salt, the stub of a candle, a lot of knives. She hadn't been expecting to go ghostbusting while she was out on the town with her dead aunt. Clearly a tactical error on her part.
Rose	"Dunno," said Rose, rolling her shoulders in an elaborate shrug. She raised her hand and waved to the man at the bar, signaling for him to approach our table. Liam and Verity both stared at her, and she shrugged again, seemingly unconcerned. "What? The fastest way to find out if someone's messing with you is to ask him."
Verity	"Aunt Rose, I know you've been dead for a long time, so maybe you've forgotten what it's like to worry that someone is going to murder you for funsies? But we're the living." Verity pointed between Liam and herself. "Living people worry about whether the dead guy in the bar is trying to get them drunk so he can wear their skins like an ill-fitting leisure suit."
Liam	Liam didn't say anything; just scoffed, poking at one of the floating bits of kiwi in the drink he'd planned to take, like, two sips of before passing it off to either Verity or Rose. ... probably Verity, now, if Rose wouldn't actually be able to enjoy it.
Verity	Verity turned to frown at him. "What? You don't agree with me on the 'let's be faintly concerned about the dead guy buying us drinks' issue?"
Liam	"Verity, my love, the day that I worry someone is going to wear your skin like, how you put it, 'an ill-fitting leisure suit' will be the day I become convinced that you have been secretly replaced by some sort of doppelganger," he said. A very real concern given where they lived, but not actually the point right now. "You carry more knives than most fancy cutlery stores. No one's going to skin you without your permission."
Rose	"That's all very charming, in a disturbing sort of way, but zip it," said Rose. "Dead boy is on his way over." Like Rose, he looked young. Unlike Rose, he looked like he'd died after he was legally allowed to enter places like this one - early to mid-twenties maybe, no older, but definitely no longer a teenager. His clothing was up-to-date, combining tight denim jeans with a button-up blue striped shirt, but that didn't have to mean anything. A lot of ghosts, like Rose, had the ability to change their clothing to look like anything their hearts desire. She had a tendency to revert to what she'd been wearing when she died if she was startled or hurt in any way - and yes, it was possible to hurt the dead - but otherwise, her wardrobe was limited only by her imagination, and her imagination was surprisingly flexible. He stopped a few feet away from the table, close enough to talk while still giving them their space."Howdy," said Rose. "Thanks for the drinks."
The Ghost	"Hello," he said. His voice was rich and deep, with the distinct roll of a Louisiana accent. He was probably a native then, given how young he'd apparently been when he died. "I hope you don't think I'm being forward. I just wanted to offer you a welcome to our fair city, and hoped that some fine beverages might earn me the right to ask you a question."
Rose	"Ask away," said Rose, holding up her original drink - the one that had been bought by Liam, and thus had actual flavor to it.
The Ghost	To Verity's surprise - and Rose's, judging by the way her eyes widened - the man turned to Liam, cleared his throat, and said, "Good evening. My name is Jermaine Favre. I understand that this may be an awkward question, given the company you are currently keeping, but... are you a member of the Beckett family?"
Liam	Liam's eyes went wide and he went very, very still. There were very few people who knew of his lineage, and all of them save Verity lived in another reality entirely. "Why do you ask?"
Jermaine	"You carry the stamp of the family," Jermaine explained, gesturing to his face. "I, err, thought you might be of...a certain lineage."
Liam	Liam frowned, now wondering why that was even relevant. And then he remembered their discussion in Michigan, how the Covenant's 'breeding program' had come up. Something else twigged too; there was something familiar about the name, he'd heard it somewhere before... No. That wasn't right. He hadn't heard it, but- "To what are you sworn?" he asked, the words rolling off his tongue with curious ease for someone who'd never said that particular phrase before.
Jermaine	That had Verity's head snapping towards him in shock, though Jermaine didn't seem to notice. "That's a difficult question to answer, given my current circumstances," he said. He spoke slowly, obviously choosing his words with care. "There was a time when I was sworn to the sword and the secret, and to the covenant made between mankind and our Father. I am afraid that my faith has wavered since then, due to certain unavoidable changes in my perspective."
Verity	Verity frowned. All of this was weird, but what was getting on her last nerve was how Jermaine had spoken to Rose, and was speaking to Liam, but wasn't acknowledging her at all. She leaned forward, and saw him stiffen slightly, his body shifting to be just a little further away. Interesting. "Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Liam?" she practically purred, leaning closer still.
Jermaine	Jermaine shot an alarmed glance first at Liam, and then at Rose. Finding no assistance in either quarter, he finally, reluctantly, looked at Verity, and said, "I apologize for my rudeness, ma'am, but I wasn't sure you would want to have any part in this conversation."
Verity	Verity blinked at him, now thoroughly confused. "Uh, what? You bought us all drinks. You came to our table. Why wouldn’t I want to be included?"
Liam	"The last known member of the Favre family died in the late 1800s," Liam said, gaze going vague and distant in that way of his that meant he was sifting through someone else's memories. "Before that, they sent some of their members here to the States to attempt to assist in establishing the Covenant's presence on the continent. That would have been long before your grandparents met, and probably even before the Healys made it over here. I'd have to see the records to be sure, and we both know how likely that is to happen." The Covenant wouldn't take too kindly on a stranger looking for access to their archives; especially a stranger who by all accounts was both an enemy of the Covenant and also supposedly dead.
Rose	"How do you know that?" Rose demanded. "Verity, how does he know that?"
Verity	Verity was just going to ignore Aunt Rose's question, since there were so many other things that would need to be explained in order to answer why Liam had access to Robert Bullard's memories. "Oh!" she said instead, picking up what Liam was putting down. She offered Jermaine what she hoped was a non-threatening smile; she wasn't as practiced with 'non-threatening' when the very shape of her face made her look like a danger. The Healys had never been forgiving of deviation from the norm, which meant that Jermaine's...err, posthumous condition could have been taken as a good reason to host an exorcism by one of Verity's ancestors. Liam's ancestors - which was going to require some digging into - had apparently been more tolerant. "Yes, I'm a Healy. Or well, I'm a Price, because there was a marriage a few generations back and it turns out 'cute little blonde' is mostly dominant over 'tall, brooding, cheekbones that can cut glass.' But we're not with the Covenant anymore, and even if the rest of the family was, I wouldn't be, because Aunt Rose would smack me stupid."
Rose	"She's right," said Rose. "I would."
Jermaine	Jermaine looked confused, the same way most Covenant agents did when they first spoke to her, and then relieved. "So you do know the nature of the woman you're drinking with," he said. "I was...unsure."
Rose	Rose raised her eyebrows. "Hey. I've been drinking in New Orleans since the seventies. Took me a while to get here." The explanation was directed at Verity and Liam. Liam looked nonplussed - he would eventually come to realize that Aunt Rose would go anywhere for a beer. "I hadn't been a drinker yet when I died, and there's an adjustment period for new road ghosts. We don't tend to go too far from home for the first decade or so, while we figure out what we can do." Her attention swiveled back to Jermaine. "So given that you almost certainly know who I am, you wanna stop with all the vagueness and 'I was clearly a Covenant member when I died, but I got better as soon as I became the sort of thing I used to destroy,' and tell us what you need?"
Jermaine	"Leave it to the Angel of the Overpass to cut straight to the heart of things," said Jermaine. He smiled broadly for the first time since he'd approached them and and touched the back of the table's remaining chair. "May I sit?"
Rose	"If you're solid enough to plop your butt, then plop it," said Rose, shifting the chair toward him with her foot.
Jermaine	"Many thanks." Jermaine pulled the chair the rest of the way out and slipped into it. "I must say, I was a little bemused when the Angel of the Overpass walked into my bar with a Beckett and a Healy in tow. I thought the end times were finally upon us."
Liam	"Not exactly," Liam said. Being referred to as 'a Beckett' was weird for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which that his mother's family had apparently been (Or perhaps still was? He wasn't sure he wanted to know, honestly.) part of the Covenant in this reality. And it was that weirdness that had him reaching for Verity's hand under the table, needing the reassurance and grounding her touch provided. "More like... my eyes were opened to the truth." Not precisely a lie, but he was hoping Jermaine would interpret it a certain way. (And holding Verity's hand meant he could also send her a mild suggestion to help things along by making that subtext text.)
Verity	"He means he, uh, defected," Verity said, copy/pasting Dominic's history over Liam's. Look, this was some random New Orleans ghost. She didn't feel particularly beholden to telling him the truth. She did have to lightly kick her aunt under the table, though. "I didn't defect. I was born defective. My branch of the family left the Covenant before World War II."
Rose	"And I died ignorant of all this bullcrap, which would have been an awesome way to continue my afterlife," said Rose. "You people are why we can't have nice things."
Jermaine	"I was misguided in life," admitted Jermaine. "I'm glad to see that some among us can come to that conclusion without needing to die first."
	"Are you about to ask us to solve your murder?" Verity asked. Jermaine and Rose exchanged a startled glance. Then, to her surprise and mild annoyance, they started laughing like that was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. Rose slid down in her seat until her nose was nearly level with the table, while Jermaine propped his forehead on his hand. The sound of their laughter was nearly drowned out by the ruckus in the rest of the bar, but the people at the nearby tables still glanced our way, presumably looking for a joke they could be in on. Verity blinked. "What the hell's so funny?"
Liam	"Noooo idea," drawled Liam. "Would now be a good time to remind you that drinking with the dead was your idea? I would've been perfectly happy watching TV in the motel while the mice composed heroic eddas about the sights they'd seen since our last stop."
Verity	"I did like the wording on the Holy Ritual of Look It's Another Goddamn Cattle Ranch," Verity admitted, before kicking Rose under the table again. "Hey! Want to tell the living why the dead are laughing at us?"
Rose	"Oh, man, Verity, you are so alive," gasped Rose, pushing herself back up into her seat. "Most dead people who know that we're dead don't need anyone to solve our murders. 'How did I die?' is one of the first big questions on every ghost's mind, and we have a lot of time on our hands. Plus asking the living to solve your murder is sort of, well. Tacky?" She glanced at Jermaine to confirm her word choice.
Jermaine	He nodded. "It is the height of poor taste to ask a living person to involve themselves so intimately in the affairs of the dead."
Verity	"I thought murdered people wanted justice," Verity muttered.
Rose	"Haunting is a form of justice," said Rose. "Plus, when you know who murdered you, you can spend decades getting ready for them to kick the bucket and come into slapping range. It's like waiting for Christmas. You always know there's going to be a delicious gift box of throat punching on the other end."
Verity	"I am really glad we never had Christmas at your house," Verity said. "Okay, sorry I assumed you'd want us to investigate your murder, Jermaine."
Jermaine	"No harm done," he said. "My killer was a very sweet young girl who just wanted my money. I wouldn't have given it to her. I was a living man, I still thought of myself as virile, even if I wasn't young anymore, and I had uses for what I had. But she kissed me after she poisoned me, and she said she was sorry, and she cried hardest of all at my funeral. I couldn't stay mad at my own granddaughter. She sings Sundays at a bar down on Deadman's Alley. Sweetest nightingale you ever heard. We've made our peace."
Liam	"Granddaughter?" Liam echoed, wondering if he'd heard right.
Jermaine	Jermaine grinned again. The flesh of his face seemed to flicker, and for just a moment an old man was sitting at their table and smiling at them. What hair he had was snowy white, and his clothing drooped around his skeletal frame. Then he flickered again, and he was young and handsome and straight-backed. "I'm older than I look," he said.
Rose	"We're all older than we look, but some of us died while we were young and pretty," said Rose. "What do you want, Jermaine?"
Jermaine	He took a deep breath, which would have seemed odd, except for the part where lungs need to be inflated before they can push air across vocal cords. As long as he was wearing a flesh and blood body - or the simulacrum of one - he would have to play by flesh and blood rules. "You know the ghost krewes?"
Rose	Rose suddenly stiffened. "Keep talking," she said sharply.
Jermaine	He did. The krewes of New Orleans were a sacred tradition: people who formed loose social clubs - or sometimes tight occult societies - with the sole stated duty of putting together floats for Mardi Gras. Their work wasn't the candy-ass sort of thing you'd see in a high school Homecoming parade. No, they organized huge, elaborate rolling castles, hiring teams of dancers, drum lines, and everything else it took to transform an ordinary night into an incredible spectacle. They'd always been there, and they always would be, because without them, Mardi Gras might as well have been the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (which had its own power, although that power was more corporate, and less chaos). Bearing all that in mind, why would the people who ran and lived for those krewes want to do anything else after they died? The ghost krewes, according to Jermaine, were associations of dead men and women who believed that the annual Carnival festivities helped to keep New Orleans standing, redrawing mystical lines across the fabric of the city. "We figure we may even be more use than the living," he said. "We don't have budgets to pay or permits to file. We just work all year to make the best float we can and then we roll it through the ghostroads, and the world keeps on turning."
Rose	"Everybody needs a hobby," said Rose.
Jermaine	Jermaine's expression soured. "Seems not everybody thinks so. Someone's been breaking into our places lately, smashing our floats before we can finish them. If this keeps on, we're not going to make it to Mardi Gras. It would be the first year the ghost krewes had missed since Carnival began. Even when the living can't roll out, we do, on Mardi Gras day. It's part of what makes this city what it is. Our wheels wear down the walls between worlds."
Verity	Verity did some fast math. "Isn't Mardi Gras in, like, February? That's not a full two months away." No wonder he had approached two 'members' of the Covenant and the most powerful of the road ghosts. The krewes must be getting desperate.
Liam	"How can anyone smash a dead man's float?" asked Liam, trying to puzzle that out. "How does it have substance?"
Jermaine	"We work with the ghosts of things that were loved," said Jermaine. "Or hated - same difference, and sometimes you need a little hatred to keep things spicy. We gather them from the city, and we take them to the ghostroads where we can do our work. Anything can be broken, if you know what you’re doing, and where to aim your blows."
Rose	"Let's not get too metaphysical here," said Rose, with a warning glance at Verity and Liam. She had always been like that, trying to keep the family from learning too much about the lands of the dead while they were still among the living. Aunt Mary was even worse. She was a different type of ghost than Rose, and her afterlife seemed to be a lot less sunshine and roses. "So someone's been messing with the ghost krewes. What are we supposed to do about it? I'm a hitcher, so it's not like my strengths are geared toward anything beyond getting out of dodge, and my niece and her husband are alive, which makes them useless."
Jermaine	"Not so useless," corrected Jermaine. "They can go places the dead cannot."
Rose	Rose frowned. "Say that again without the portentous."
Jermaine	"We think we know the source of the disruptions," he said. "But there are barriers keeping the dead from entering. When I saw Beckett I thought..." He trailed off.
Rose	"You thought he'd still be so into hunting anything 'unnatural' that he'd jump at the chance, and not ask too many questions about how someone who looks alive could be pointing him at a haunted house, apartment building, or whatever else weird-ass thing your harasser has decided to haunt." Rose yawned, putting her empty glass aside. "Liam, be a good boy and get your Auntie Rose something with an umbrella and a lot of unnecessary garnish
Liam	Liam knew a dismissal when he heard one. "As you wish," he said, with a wink in Verity's direction as he pushed himself up out of his chair and started towards the bar.
Rose	As soon as he was out of earshot Rose turned to Jermaine and said, with the utmost sweetness, "The Queen of the Routewitches knows my name, little ghost. She has me over for tea on the Ocean Lady on the regular. Liam is my niece's husband, and that means he’s under my protection. Are you trying to screw him? Think really hard about your answer."
Jermaine	"Not trying as such, ma'am, but I won't deny that some people could get screwed, if things go badly," said Jermaine. "We need your help. No more, no less. If you're so concerned about the living, why aren't you worried about your niece? She's as alive as he is."
Rose	"Maybe more so," Rose said. "I don't worry as much about Verity because she doesn't need me to worry about her. She looks out for herself. Liam's still in the shallow end of our weirdness pool."
Verity	"I do recreational SCUBA," Verity said blithely, skipping over the part where Liam was used to SCUBA himself, just in a very different pool. Jermaine looked unsettled. Good. If we could keep him off-balance, he'd be more likely to spill any nefarious plans that he might have involving her, her husband, or her dead aunt. Rose might have been in her grave decades before Verity was a glimmer in her mother's eye, but she was still fond of her aunt, and she wanted to keep her around to irritate the crap out of her own children.
Liam	And that was when Liam finally made his way back, a drink in either hand. One was a horrifying concoction of fruit chunks, umbrellas, and multiple straws. The other was the color of cartoon nuclear waste. Naturally, that was the one he put down in front of Verity with a wide grin. "You seemed to enjoy the green drink so much that when I saw them add the contents of an actual glow stick to this one, I knew that it was meant to be yours," he explained.
Verity	"I can't tell if you're an alcohol genius, or if you're trying to fuck with me. Either way, you're the one who gets to sit in the bathroom with me while I'm puking and crying." Verity took a sip of the nuclear cocktail. It tasted like rum, pineapple, and regret.
Rose	"I have a swizzle stick shaped like a little monkey," announced Rose. "Let's help the dead man with his problem."
Jermaine	Jermaine looked even more unsettled. "That was all that was required? Simian accoutrements for your drink?"
Rose	"I'm a simple girl," Rose said. "Let us finish our cocktails, and we're all yours. It's not midnight yet. We have hours to go before the dawn." Somehow she made that sound like a portent, rather than the sort of thing teenage LARPers say when they're trying to be cool.
Verity	Verity offered Rose a silent toast with her nuclear cocktail, and got down to the serious business of becoming drunk enough to make ghost hunting in New Orleans seem like a good idea.