Dark Shadows 2: Voodoo and Black Magic of New Orleans (An Authors on a Train Short Story Collection): Authors on a Train, #2

By J. Thorn, Zach Bohannon, Christopher Wills and 5 more

Voodoo and black magic has always been part of the mythical lure of New Orleans. Join us on a journey through the historic French Quarter where shamans and the spirit of Marie Laveux linger. Four mysterious and thrilling stories from eight authors guaranteed to send a chill up your spine.

Dark Shadows 2 represents the culmination of the second "Authors on a Train" experience led by Zach Bohannon and J. Thorn—a writers' retreat beginning with an overnight train ride from Chicago to New Orleans and ending with a five-day residence in the French Quarter where authors collaborated on stories inspired by the history and culture of the Crescent City.

All proceeds donated to Covenant House New Orleans, a shelter and safe place for homeless young people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Molten Universe Media
• Release date: Mar 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386786306

Book preview

Dark Shadows: Voodoo and Black Magic of New Orleans

Dark Shadows: Voodoo and Black Magic of New Orleans

Authors on a Train Volume Two

Molten Universe Media

Contents

Introduction

The Curse of the Rougarou

About the Authors

The Soul Collector

About the Authors

Unfinished Business

About the Authors

The Ghost Who Walks

About the Authors

Thank You

Introduction

Like a Voodoo curse, we’ve returned.

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A year after the first Authors on a Train gathering in the City of New Orleans, we again arrived in chilly Chicago to get on a train to spend the week in the French Quarter, working on a short story anthology.

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And as those writers did in 2017, these first-time collaborators crafted a story with their partner, whom they’d never met, and submitted a final draft to us just a few weeks later. We could not be prouder of these talented authors. Their writing styles varied greatly, not to mention cultural, linguistic, and regional peculiarities that found their way into the stories, which are fascinating and captivating.

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We hope to entertain you with four tales from the Crescent City, each with its own take on the mysteries and charm of the French Quarter. The Curse of the Rougarou opens the collection as two federal agents deal with something odd out there in the swamps. Voodoo and revenge take center stage in the beautifully dark, The Soul Collector. The judge has Unfinished Business with Marguerite d’Arcantel and her silent daughter, Marie Laveau. The anthology concludes with The Ghost Who Walks, another ancient tale of revenge with a modern twist.

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Molten Universe Media is thrilled to present, Dark Shadows 2: Voodoo and Black Magic of New Orleans (An Authors on a Train Short Story Collection). This collection represents all our hard work and creative magic drawn from the eclectic, raw, and always exciting French Quarter of New Orleans, Louisiana. And as a way to give back to that community, all proceeds earned from this anthology will be donated to Covenant House New Orleans, an organization dedicated to helping at-risk and homeless youth. You can find more information on Covenant House at https://www.covenanthousenola.org/

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If you’d like to know more about what we did, how we did it, or when we’re doing it again, go to http://authorsonatrain.com

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J. Thorn (and with Zach Bohannon)

January 31, 2019

The Curse of the Rougarou

by Tikiri Herath and Lori Drake

I’d say he’s a goner, Steve said, staring at the body lying face down in the marsh.

It was a miracle they’d spotted it. It had been hidden among the cattail grass in the shallow end of the muddy swamp.

A lone fly buzzed over the man’s shaved head.

Maya returned her Glock to its holster and squatted in the brackish water to get a better look.

The sun had disappeared half an hour ago, making it difficult to see, but she could make out the telltale necklace of skulls tattooed around the man’s throat. He was a ganger, all right.

She rolled the guy over and leaned in to check for a pulse, though she didn’t expect to find one. A frisson of energy shot up her fingers the moment they made contact with his cold skin. She yanked her hand back, but her fingers still tingled. Strange. It was like the body had given her a minor electric shock.

She realized she’d forgotten to put on gloves first. A rookie mistake.

Well? Lingering on dryer ground some distance away, Steve tapped his foot impatiently. Is he dead?

Maya peered at the body, loathe to touch it again. But she didn’t have to. The man’s glassy eyes stared up at nothing, and blood had long ceased to pump from the gashes across his neck. I’m no coroner, but… yeah.

I’ll call it in.

The last thing they’d expected to find in the darkest, dampest depths of the bayou was a body, even if it was a pretty good place to make one disappear. They’d been searching for something else entirely, following up on an anonymous tip that they hoped would lead them to one of the FBI’s most wanted. Now, instead of a pat on the back and maybe a promotion, not only were they going to have to deal with a mountain of paperwork, but also, local law enforcement. Maya sighed.

An ear-splitting squawk drew her eyes up. A great white heron took off from the undergrowth, its wings fluttering like a ghostly apparition. Maya glanced around. A cold shiver ran through her. These brackish marshlands weren’t far from New Orleans, or the Big Easy, as the locals called it. But this was a place where even alligator hunters didn’t dare to tread, and gangers didn’t usually go to such elaborate lengths to dump a body. Hell, they practically celebrated their kills.

Maya knew the swamps well. She had grown up in this part of Louisiana with her grand-mère. She’d never forget those sunny Sunday afternoons when Grand-mère had regaled her with tales of werewolves and voodoo priestesses, of forbidden spells and dark magic. Those childhood stories were etched in her mind, and right now, as she stood in the shallow mangrove of these swamps, they brought her more unease than comfort.

Though Maya and Steve were geared to the hilt with bulletproof vests, bear mace, stun guns, and FBI-issue sidearms, something about this place told her their mundane weapons wouldn’t be much help if danger arose.

She sighed and shook her head to clear it. It had been a long day, and she was tired. While Steve moved around in her peripheral vision, holding his phone aloft in search of a signal, Maya studied the red slashes on the man’s neck. She’d thought they were knife marks at first. But now that she looked more closely, it looked more like an animal had clawed furrows in his throat.

There’s no damn reception here. Steve shook his phone violently, as if that would help get a stronger signal. Jeezus Christ, none of this newfangled crap works. Give me a goddamned radio any day.

Maya knew why she had been partnered with Steve, a crusty old agent who was months away from retirement. He was hard-nosed, by-the-books, and well-known for his bad temper. The fact that he considered everyone else on the team beneath him meant no one wanted to work with him. As the newest recruit, Maya had pulled the shortest straw.

We can backtrack until we find somewhere to make a call from. This guy’s not going anywhere. Well, unless a gator gets him.

This is such bullshit. Steve held the phone aloft again, glaring at it.

A tingle in her hand distracted Maya for a second. It was her right hand, the one she’d used to touch the dead man’s neck.

Those three gashes on the man’s neck reminded her of something, something she’d heard as a child. She closed her eyes and thought back to what her grand-mère used to tell her.

The three gashes meant something dark. Something sinister. What exactly it meant, though, she didn’t know.

The tingle in her hand migrated up her arm, awakening strange feelings, feelings she didn’t recognize. For a moment, Maya felt powerful, like she had access to ancient mysteries and spirits that she couldn’t explain herself.

I’ve got nothing, Steve said. And we can’t hang around here all night. Come on.

Maya shook her head to clear the cobwebs from her brain. They were just stories, she told herself. Childhood stories. She had a job to do. And as a new graduate, keen to please, she wanted to do this job right.

Rustling came from nearby shrubbery. Their hands flew to their holsters. Maya wrapped her fingers around the grip of her gun and drew it slowly, but Steve already had his out and trained on the bushes.

Do you see anything? Steve whispered, peering ahead.

Another rustle from the thicket. Someone—or something—was there. Could it be the killer? Squinting, Maya just barely made out a man-shaped silhouette.

FBI! Halt right there! Steve said.

Silence.

Then, without warning, a shadow of a man shot out of the bushes and ran away.

Stop! FBI! Maya called after him.

The man thrashed through the mangroves, running from tree to tree, jumping effortlessly across ponds and leaping over dead tree roots. The agents followed in hot pursuit, their guns aimed low. Their gear, combat boots, and the uneven terrain hindered them, but they raced behind the man, dodging deep pools of murky water and dead branches that lay half-buried in the mud. Around them, swamp birds squawked and screeched, angry at the disturbance caused by the outsiders.

Maya’s heart thumped wildly, and her breathing got faster and faster. Keeping her eyes on the figure ahead, she kept up her pace. Something soft and slimy touched her arm, but she didn’t stop. They had just passed a cluster of cypress trees when the man suddenly stopped in his tracks.

FBI! Stop or I’ll shoot! Steve hollered, but the roar of an engine all but drowned out his voice.

Maya and Steve swung around to locate the sound. A steel airboat carrying a handful of alligator-watching tourists, surely one of the last of the day, flew by them along the murky river.

Hi! called out a young girl in pigtails. She waved, and the other tourists followed suit, smiling and waving. Steve and Maya quickly hid their guns behind them and waited for the boat