Here I sit on Buttermilk Hill
Who can blame me, cryin' my fill
And ev'ry tear would turn a mill,
Johnny has gone for a soldier.
-Traditional, “Johnny Has Gone For A Soldier”
The Garden District remained sweltering on Wednesday, and the weather reports offered no relief in sight. Even the weather girl on TV commented that the heat seemed almost directed and malevolent. The residents of the Garden District were determined to save their plants and trees from the heat. They manned the bucket brigade to keep them watered.
As Daniel conducted some research between calls, he was surprised and frustrated that his collection of occult books contained nothing that resembled his past sightings and experiences. Most of the texts dismissed the existence of literal zombies or depicted them as minions of a voodoo sorcerer. The volumes of spectral tales he possessed made no mention of a phenomenon like a ghost storm.
The books did mention the concept of something called the "Tempest," a seething spiritual chaos that supposedly existed "below and behind" the Underworld that he could see. He read of spells that called down energy from the Tempest to calm ghosts or force them away, but saw nothing that could produce a storm like the one he had seen. And the walking dead he’d encountered had been anything but calm.
Daniel decided to take a trip to the Ouachita Parish library to see if there were any strange events in Monroe’s history that might contribute to a Spectre invasion. He kept his eyes peeled for both Drellassi and Zombie Buford, but he didn't encounter either one. Alas, the library yielded no useful Wraith lore, and it did not even yield any clues where he might find the information he sought. Although many strange events had happened in Monroe over the years, like most cities, he discerned no pattern.
Daniel returned home empty-handed and decided to try another approach to find the information he sought. He still had some of Buford's blood on his clothes, so he tried reading the resonance of the blood. All he felt was Buford's pain and confusion at the moment of his death. A quick Tarot spread and a rune casting gave only vague shadows of information he already knew, such as the presence of evil ghosts and death. All he had to go on was that Buford was nothing but a random victim of some horrible ghost, and he had no idea where the ghost would drive Buford's body or what it wanted with it – beyond trying to murder Drellassi.
As much as it galled him, Daniel came to the conclusion that Drellassi might be the one person who would know more about what was happening. If he wanted to know what he was up against, he would have to deal with the arrogant sod.
The website he had found before showed Drellassi’s schedule. Despite the awful reputation of his magic show, Saint Francis Hospital had booked several shows for him to entertain sick children. Despite the considerable time he had spent avoiding the magician over the last few days, Daniel decided to seek him out.
Saint Francis Hospital was not hard to find. It was one of the major employers in Monroe and took up considerable real estate downtown. It was easily the most advanced hospital this side of Shreveport. The hospital had heavily advertised the magic show. Daniel wondered if whoever booked Drellassi had even bothered to read his website.
When he found the show, Daniel was unsurprised to see several of Drellassi's goons standing around the stage, different from the ones he had encountered in the Garden District. He approached one of the goons and asked if he could speak to their boss. The man shrugged and indicated the makeshift stage, where his boss' act was beginning.
As Drellassi’s show wore on, Daniel was amazed that the children refrained from throwing snacks or booing. Only the presence of the security team prevented him from doing so himself. The reviews on Drellassi's website didn’t do him justice; his performance was even more pathetic than described. Several hospital staff members were present at the show with the children, yet they left before the third trick. The children seemed obliged to stay until the end, but none of them applauded, and numerous loud yawns were heard.
After the performance, Drellassi emerged from backstage looking perturbed. "I was under the impression you wanted nothing more to do with me," he stated.
"You're right about that," Daniel snorted. "But I thought I should warn you."
“What do you mean?” Drellassi eyed him suspicously.
"I believe that Spectre hasn't finished with poor Buford yet. It's been nearly forty years since I've seen anything like this," Daniel remarked. "Not since what we called the Rising. Nowadays, most people deny their existence, but we aren't like most people, are we?""
"The walking dead?" Drellassi's jaw dropped in amazement. "I heard stories back then, but never anything solid. You actually saw them?"
“Mean bastards,” Daniel said. "Did my best to avoid them for years. After a while there just… weren’t any more of them. I thought they died out again, if that's the right word. But I’ll tell you, if there was any place where zombies still roamed, I'd expect Louisiana.”
Drellassi appeared to reach a conclusion. "Perhaps we should go get a coffee," he said. Turning to his bodyguards, he added "Make sure no one disturbs us." The four bruisers nodded and followed them to the hospital cafeteria, where they sat down at a disused table in the back. Drellassi began his tale.
"You surely recall my friend Elliott Riley. I neglected to thank you for your attempt to save him. We were both members of the Guild of the Exalted Light. All of us in the Guild bring different skills to the table. Elliott employed his expertise to locate and disarm perilous artifacts."
“About a week ago, Elliott called me. He said he had a line on something big. I think he told the wrong people, and they came to collect it.”
"What did Elliott find?" Daniel asked. He remembered the box that had sat open on Riley's counter and the terrible energy that it radiated. He had been quite distracted since then, but it was hard to forget.
“What do you know about the Tapestry of Whispers?” Drellassi's tone of voice was so dramatic that Daniel half expected him to pull out a flashlight and put it under his chin to make a Jack O Lantern face. He’d never heard anything about a Tapestry of Whispers before though.
“Never heard of that. What is it?” Drellassi's story was just what he needed to take his mind off his zombie friend wandering around somewhere in the dark. He was slightly interested now, and ready to hear the rest of the story.
“It started, so I heard, during the time of the War of Northern Aggression.” Daniel couldn’t help but notice Drellassi’s little smirk of triumph when he frowned at that title.
“A wealthy young planter from these parts named Jeremy Benton went abroad and returned with a lovely lady on his arm. The locals said Isolde Thorne was a witch, but he was so taken by her beauty that he didn't care. Jeremy took her home to his estate, intending to marry her, but was called away to defend the honor of the South during the war. He came home within the month, badly wounded by Northern fire.”
“Isolde was inconsolable. Some say she went a little mad. She went into seclusion, just poured everything she had into her weaving until she had made a tapestry showing the perfect life the Northern cannons had denied them. She set it in his room, and only then did she let him die. From that day on, people swore that the tapestry whispered to her in the voices of the dead.”
“The more Isolde listened to the whispers from the tapestry, the crazier she became. She treated the family and the slaves awfully, but Jeremy had willed the plantation to Isolde, and even his mama couldn't control her. Finally, about a year before the War ended, the slaves rose up and took bloody revenge on Isolde and all the family. No one knew what happened to the Tapestry, but dark rumors surface frequently.”
“What does this Tapestry do?” Daniel asked.
"I don't know what powers the Tapestry has," said Drellassi. "But it seems to attract misfortune to anyone who finds it. My friend Elliott is a case in point. He followed a trail of atrocities looking for it, and ended up being a statistic himself.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste.
“Did Riley tell anyone else what he was doing?”
"Only me that I am aware of," said Drellasi. "If he had told anyone else what he was doing, he didn't inform me who it was."
"Could this Tapestry of Whispers be attracting hostile ghosts?" Daniel asked. He was thinking of what happened the night the Whispering Willow caught fire, and the strange events he'd heard about at places like King Hardware.
"You think the fire at the Whispering Willow was caused by the Tapestry? That's possible. I do sense its influence on those events. It might also explain what happened to your friend Buford, if he was somehow exposed to it."
"He worked at a place where I heard some weird stuff happened," Daniel said. "But I never heard of any tapestry. Maybe the ghosts were just redecorating?"
“Ah, there’s the sarcasm the police officer so enjoyed,” said Drellassi. “Mark well that I do not. We’d have to examine the site to determine what the spirits wanted with it.”
"So, what do we do about Buford?" Daniel asked. He didn't want to hunt him down, but he also didn't like the thought of what Buford might do if they didn't.
"These creatures are difficult to destroy?" Daniel nodded, remembering people emptying entire clips of ammunition into one without even slowing it down.
“They’re slow, but wicked strong. They barely feel bullets. Blades work better. Fire is best but I don’t think either of us has a flamethrower in our back pocket. ”
"Our best chance may be to find and destroy the tapestry," said Drellassi. " If we’re lucky, that should neutralize any revenants it has created. At the very least it will stop more of them from being made.”
“Won’t they be after us if they figure out what we’re doing?”
Drellassi didn't look like he relished the thought, but simply said “All the better to find them.”
“If we find it, do you know how to end it for good or at least lock it away again?”
“That’s where things get complicated,” Drellassi admitted. “As you well know, a working like that is tricky. I’ve seen a book with the information I’d need. Unfortunately, it was in a backroom library at -”
“The Whispering Willow,” said Daniel. “Typical luck.”
“The manager inherited the house from her father. He was also in our Guild.” Drellassi said. “He was a steadfast Craftsman, but she doesn’t share his interest. She kept the books on display because she thought they added to the gothic ambience of the place. I don’t think she knew what she had.”
“Well, she doesn’t have it any more,” Daniel said, glumly. “Although now the fire seems like less of a coincidence.”
“Indeed. But all is not lost,” Drellassi said brightly. “I have heard rumors of where another copy may exist. But,” he cautioned, “to get it, I’ll need the help of someone who can touch the realm of the dead. And I warn you now, you’re probably not going to like it.”