5. Repaying the Favor (2 Weeks Later)

The Ursuline Convent was white in the pallid glow of several spotlights shining up from its base. Marie strolled along the opposite street, watching guards close 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 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 first 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 who 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 on bullshit.

The ‘history’ of The Ursuline Convent centered around vampires coming to the new world. Many early settlers immigrated to New Orleans in hopes of escaping secrets they left 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, if the story were to be believed, Jaques was nearly a thousand years old. When Jacques arrived in Louisiana, he didn’t come alone.

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 and probably malnourished from the long crossing. 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 defied 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, he 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 caskets 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 inside.

That day, every door, window, and shutter to the third floor of the convent was sealed. In total, it took 800 nails. Some even said the metal had been blessed by The Pope. Marie smiled; Ray always loved that part of the story. It had a certain pizazz that only New Orleans tales possessed. 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 were 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, 11 PM, October 6th. Don’t be late.

As far as instructions went, they weren’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. From all investigations, the officer’s death had looked like a suicide.

Marie was exhausted. Ray’s treatment was going well, but preparing it was no easy feat. The doses had to be administered every six hours, no exceptions. That meant staying close to home and being up in the middle of the night. Ray would be giving himself the treatment tonight, but only after very specific training.

But Ray was getting better. Marie smiled at the thought of his confused doctors. Every time she took him in for a checkup, they would scratch their heads. No one could figure out why, but Ray’s cancer was slowly going away. It was a ‘medical miracle’. Step by step, the strength that had long since left returned. The wry smile on Ray’s face as he got his coffee in the morning was enough to make it all worth it.

One favor for The Baron, then I’m out. Marie looked at her staff and stared into the vacant eye sockets. They hadn’t lit up since that night in The Square, but she could feel the power radiating through the wood. She put the staff away and continued to walk circles around the building, looking for any means of entry. The gates were shut, the guards were alert, and her odds of getting in without confrontation were slim.

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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 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 it was clipped, and he wasn’t reaching for it. Marie did her best to relax but felt the creeping urge to draw her staff once more.

“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 didn’t expose her back to a bullet.

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 sweaty palm. “Who’s he?”

The security guard wiped his forehead. “Look, don’t make me say it, alright? This is my favor, so please just take the keys and go do yours.”

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 else to say. The gate was open, and she had the tools she needed. Marie pulled out the note once more and laughed as the original text disappeared. New words scrawled into being: 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 a 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. A gabled archway framed the building’s wooden double doors.

Marie took a last look around, hoping to hell that the guard was right, and went to the front door. The knob turned and the hinges creaked as she pushed it open. Marie stepped inside. The interior wore the building’s age with quiet menace. Slivers of light from the main door made dancing shadows in the otherwise gloomy interior.

In reflex, Marie pulled out her staff and the skull glowed white.

“Oh, now you come back?” she whispered.

The skull said nothing, but she could feel the same low tug on her hand.

Marie moved forward. The floorboards croaked beneath her feet, dying bullfrogs in the dusty 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 walls, 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. Even after coming face to face with Baron Samedi, a part of Marie still expected to find nothing but cobwebs in the attic. Another piece of her knew The Baron didn’t make deals for free, and if he was sending her to retrieve something, it was serious.

Marie ascended the final stair and entered 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 was shuttered and sealed, but cracks of moonlight still shone through the aging slats. Sitting on the sill was a hammer. “I’ll be damned.” Marie approached the door.

Just like the story, the door was sealed with nails. Marie did not doubt that the original legend’s 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 quickly 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, opening the attic would be a long task.

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 purple.

“Well, alright then.” Marie held the staff out in front of her, angling it toward the door. 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, 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. As they fell, the door began to wiggle in its frame. The handle, long since unused, turned and rattled. Something was on the other side, and it wanted out.

Marie’s heart thumped. 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 slammed into the wall, and Marie was staring into the attic…