Free Code Noir by Marianne de Pierres Page B

Mueno male vanity. Like a peacock. ‘I remember him, Oya. He is a man like myself. Strong and virile.’
    I choked back a laugh. Somehow I’d missed the similarity. ‘Teece holds my clout and cred while I am away.’
    ‘Your people are not familiar with our Mueno ways. There may be trouble.’
    ‘Teece will take care of things.’ As I fibbed I saw my second chance with Teece slipping away.
    Pas seemed satisfied with my assurance. ‘What else, Oya?’
    ‘I’m looking for someone. Cabal shamans are missing. When my people asked questions about it, they had their guts spilled out on the pavement and played with. I figured you would know who’d do this kind of thing.’
    His expression froze. His hand moved automatically to the thick hair necklace around his neck.
    Pig bristles! Muenos used them to ward off evil spirits.
    ‘I’m not sure exactly. I have . . . knowledge of a lot of practices.’ Pas shifted uncomfortably like his duds had caught fire. He stroked the necklace for comfort.
    ‘What knowledge?’
    ‘As houngan I perform juju, but not everyone is like me. Some invoke the petro loa.’
    ‘Petro loa?’
    He wrinkled his forehead at my ignorance. ‘The petro loa want cruel sacrifice and bring much malice.’
    ‘So where would I find the people that invoke these loa?’
    He puffed his chest a little. ‘Those ones do not practise here any more. I would know if—’
    Pas’s wife, Minna, stepped from the shadows of the room. Taking a quick, nervous breath she interrupted him. ‘Husband. The women say—’
    He punched her before she could finish.
    She swayed but stayed on her feet. It obviously wasn’t the first time.
    I caught his arm before he could do it again, resisting the desire to break it. ‘Let her speak.’
    She wiped the blood from her lip and got down on her knees in front of Pas. ‘I had not wished to worry you with whispers, husband.’ A glance at me. ‘The women say Dalatto is working with Marinette again. I can show you her place. But you must wear this. Even then I cannot guarantee you will be safe.’
    She disappeared and returned with my damp suede suit and two pig bristle bracelets. She handed one bracelet to Roo and one to me. I cupped it in my hand as I shrugged into the jacket and stuffed the pants in my kit bag.
    I slid it around my fingers. It smelt of cooking fat. ‘How dangerous is this Dalatto?’
    ‘No more or less than you, Oya.’
    Sweet!
    We followed her out through the back of their villa into a washing-cluttered darkness. She led with sure steps, stopping occasionally to broadcast a guttural cry into the night. Each one was answered in kind by a range of female timbres.
    Back doors cracked open as an unseen audience marked our route. Mueno women, wired to the back alleys and grease-thick kitchens of their domain.
    We stopped several times while Minna calmly helped Pas over rubbish-hewn steps.
    More consideration than he deserved.
    I was not so composed. Adrenalin and annoyance combined into a familiar mix of irritability. I didn’t like my followers beating their wives. I didn’t like being watched. I didn’t like groping about in the dark, and I surely DID NOT like visiting mojo practitioners in the witching hour.
    ‘Move it, Pas,’ I muttered.
    Roo kept behind me, his mek limbs coping easily with the obstacles. I didn’t have to ask to know his night sight was better than mine.
    Finally, Minna stopped. I heard her soft gasp and exclamation.
    Pas drew her behind him. ‘Stay outside . . .’
    She nodded, her silhouette tense and alert.
    Behind me, Roo unsheathed his digit blades and his targeting system hummed on-line. Whoever fitted his hardware never perfected the noise suppression. Maybe that’s why he’d made it into Dr Del Morte’s reject basket.
    Pas took a few steps and baulked. I didn’t blame him. The back door to the villa was ajar. Rank blood smells radiated through it. The kind that told you the place harboured old and new death.
    The stench,