Crescent Moon - By Lori Handeland Page 0,5

- no man, no beast

Hell, I couldn't even find the cigarette butt
Chapter 3
As I stared at the place where the man had been, a long, low howl rose into the night. Hie hair on my arms lifted. I could swear the noise came from right in front of me.

I'm a zoologist I know howls are funny that way. Not only is it virtually impossible for a human to gauge their direction or distance, but often a few wolves can sound like a whole lot more.

Of course one sounds like one, and that was one more man there were supposed to be around here.

"No wolves in the swamp, my ass," I muttered.

Nevertheless, I headed for my car at the fastest clip I could manage and not trip over my feet I didn't plan on proving myself right by meeting a lone wolf - or whatever that was. Being right wouldn't keep me from being dead.

Since wolves are nocturnal, my best bet would be to return with the sun, a guide, a gun.

Maybe a gun wouldn't even help. Or at least not one that wasn't loaded with silver bullets.

The thought startled a laugh out of me. Since the sound was slightly hysterical, I started the car and headed to town, not slowing down until I planted my butt on a bar stool in a place called Kelly's. There was always a Kelly's.

Several blocks over, the music, the voices, of Bourbon Street increased as the night progressed. I waited until the tourists cleared out and the locals drifted in; then I started to ask questions.

"Ruelle ain't a guide, ye nuts?"

I frowned at an ancient man, so brown and wrinkled he must have bathed in sunlight for the past forty years. Why had Frank sent me to Ruelle if he was - ?

I tilted my head. "What is he?"

"Crazy."

"I'm sorry?"

My companion stared into the bottom of his empty beer mug with an expression of such pathetic loneliness that I waved a finger, and the bartender filled it.

"He owns a mansion at the edge of the swamp, but the thing's all fallin' down. He lives in the wild."

"Then he is familiar with the area."

"Better'n anyone. But he ain't been seen for years. He's probably dead."

Strange. Maybe Frank had known Adam before he'd lost his mind.

"Why would Ruelle abandon the family home?"

"He went into the army right out of high school. Word is he joined some hotshot Special Forces group. When he came home he couldn't live in the world anymore, so he went into the swamp."

I found myself wondering why a young man with any other opportunity would enlist. Of course I'd turned my back on opportunity, too, preferring to sleep hi a tent with the man of my dreams rather than make oodles of money working for Daddy.

However, I doubted Adam Ruelle had become a soldier because of a woman. Then again, maybe he had.

As I considered what Ruelle had to do with anything, I picked up a book of matches on the bar emblazoned with a spooky font that spelled out Cassandra's.

The old man leaned over and tapped the word with a nicotine-stained finger. "You wanna learn about voodoo and such?"

I frowned. "Why?"

"Priestess Cassandra bought Marie Laveau's old house on Royal Street."

"Marie Laveau the voodoo queen?"

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded, warming to his subject 'Most think Marie was actually two women - a mother and a daughter. When one died, the other took her place, which explains why folks believed Marie had power."

"Growing younger and not dying will do that," I agreed.

"No one knows where Marie lived for certain," the bartender interjected, "or where she's buried, neither."

"She's buried in St Louis Cemetery Number One," the old man insisted. "Second most visited grave site in the country."

"What's the first?" I'd bet on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier or maybe the Eternal Flame.

"Graceland."

Well, no one's ever claimed that Americans aren't bizarre.

"Priestess Cassandra lives at Marie's place," my companion insisted. "Set up a voodoo shop."

"Sounds kitschy."

"Catchy?"

"Touristy. Tacky."

"Not this one. She's got things you won't find just anywhere. Even has a voodoo temple out back."

That I wouldn't mind seeing, but first things first.

"I hear there's been disappearances."

"In New Awlins?" He lifted a brow. "Don't say?"

His sarcasm was understandable. I'd discovered early on in my search for the paranormal that a lot more people disappeared than anyone realized. With the huge transient population in New Orleans - both homeless and tourists - as well as a river, a lake, and a swamp nearby, I bet they didn't