by Fiore, L. A.
Her focus was on my chest. If she looked a bit lower, she would see what this conversation was doing to me. Would she even understand what she was seeing?
“I’m thirty-two,” she announced, really almost shouted. She was turned on and didn’t understand. It was tempting to show her, but now wasn’t the time. She was still adjusting to her new reality. Her emotions were so easily seen on her face. Desire shifted as her brow furrowed again.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was urged to remember the number thirty-three. I’m turning thirty-three in a few months.”
“Not a coincidence.” And it wasn’t. We’d have to look into the significance.
“I think I’ve been thirty-two often,” she announced. “I’ve had dreams my whole life of things I’ve never experienced.”
I understood all too well. “Have you Googled yourself?”
Her expression was adorable. She was confused. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Sorry, a search engine for the web.” At her blank expression, I added, “The world wide web, it’s an on line site that you can find shit out on just about anything. We could try Googling you and see what pops up.”
She rubbed at the line between her brows. “I think I need a crash course in twenty-first century living.”
I chuckled. “I’ll give you one.”
Her face brightened. “Thank you.”
“I need a shower. Are we still exploring?”
She eyed my body again. I had to get away from her because I only had so much willpower. “Ah, yes. Aine wants to leave in an hour.”
An hour…plenty of time. I had some business to take care of in the shower. I was grinning as I made my way inside.
Ivy
“I don’t understand why we came to the Garden District. The French Quarter is so cool,” Aine whined for the fifth time.
We were exploring. I had imagined Dr. Ellis going home to his family in the Garden District so often that I wanted to see it. I knew now there wasn’t a family, just another lie, but that didn’t tarnish the moment for me.
My thoughts never were far from my conversation with Bain. We were different, but there was still so much that was the same. We had found a way back to one another. I had a constant case of butterflies…it felt glorious.
We were waiting for the St. Charles streetcar. Aine, Bain, and Brock looked so out of place. People actually crossed the street to avoid them. They were intimidating, but they were standing at the trolley stop for me. That had me fighting back a smile.
“There it is.” I wasn’t able to hide my excitement when I saw the trolley coming. To their credit, none of them made me feel silly for being excited about riding a trolley. Aine settled across the aisle from me, the men didn’t take a seat, even though the sign clearly stated everyone needed to be seated. The driver didn’t comment. At first, I looked out the window, watching the passing scenery. It was warmer today; my legs were sticking to the leather. I couldn’t help the smile. I loved the body odor and the crowding. I loved hearing the horns honking, and the people shouting. For most, they didn’t see it because they lived it every day. But for me, it was its own kind of magic.
I listened to a baby cry and watched as a young man gave up his seat for an old woman. A couple sat across from me, their fingers gnarled from arthritis and still they held hands. School students piled onto the trolley heading somewhere, their excitement almost palpable; the smell of coffee and the scent of the apple fritter from the man sitting at my side had my stomach growling even as my heart raced and my breathing grew shallow. I’d dreamt this, not on a trolley, but I had seen these people in my dreams. Had I seen into the future, were my dreams a form of foreshadowing?
The streetcar stopped; people exited and others entered, but it was the voices…the low hum of so many voices.
“I want to get off here,” calling to the driver, but I didn’t wait. The old gates of a cemetery greeted us when we stepped off the trolley. The above ground tombs, the stone structures erected by the living to honor the dead. I followed the voices, the whispers that echoed from the hallowed ground; the voices of the past carried on the wind. People walked around the sacred place, some came to honor those who had come before, some came to be reminded that life, no matter how difficult, was a gift, and others came to mourn.
There was beauty here. Among the grief and the pain, the lost and the forgotten, there was beauty in the continuity, a feeling that we were all a part of something bigger. A tree sat off to the side, its cherry blossoms in full bloom. I’d read about them in a book back at Misty Vale. Something so beautiful that lasted for so short a time. It was what made them so beautiful because they were fleeting, a brilliant flash that faded almost as quickly as it flared. Something stirred in me, a piece of the puzzle trying to break free.
“Who’s hungry?” Brock asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
My stomach growled in answer.
“I’m hungry too,” Aine chimed in.
“What are you in the mood for?” Brock asked.
Aine glared at him. “How would she know what she wants to eat? Do you forget where she was?”
Brock glared back at Aine, but he was all smiles when he said, “Leave it to me.”
He insisted we eat in the French Quarter. Aine was happy. We passed a large market square where people were selling paintings, sculptures, and clothes. There were performers doing magic tricks and a woman who had painted herself to look monochrome; she moved so slowly that if you weren’t watching, you wouldn’t know she was moving. It was hot, the sun was beating down on us, but there was happiness and excitement in the square.
“This place makes the best crawfish étouffée,” Brock offered as he held open the door of a small restaurant. It was kind of late for lunch, so we were able to get a table. The scents coming from the kitchen had my stomach growling again.
“What is étouffée?” I asked.
“Basically a stew made from a roux and served over rice. You’ll love it.”
I’m sure I would.
Bain was scoping out the place, always alert and attentive. I didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary, nothing sinister. Not that I didn’t feel evil pushing at the edges, seeking a stronger hold but waiting.
Brock ordered. Our drinks were delivered. Coca Cola was delicious. I drank the entire glass, and before I could ask for another, one was delivered. The waitress returned with our meals. My plate was overflowing with food, and the scents were intoxicating. My mouth literally watered.
Brock and Aine got the same as me, but Bain ordered a burger dripping with cheese. I wanted to try that burger. Before I could ask, he handed it to me. The easiness of the gesture caused a pleasant ache. On some level, he remembered too. Our fingers touched when I took it, heat sizzling down my arm. His face looked more angular, his eyes burned hot. I wanted to touch his cheek, wanted to brush my fingers over his lips, wanted to taste him. There would be time for that. I smiled then took a bite, and holy shit, it was good: the seasoned beef, the tangy cheddar cheese. There was even smoked bacon on it.
Handing it back, I declared, “That is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Try your étouffée,” Brock encouraged.
The flavors exploded on my tongue. I moaned at the same time I closed my eyes because it was heaven on a fork. “Delicious.” I took another bite before I announced, “I got a job.”
All eyes turned to me. “I’ll be working at Hunter’s Moon. The sheriff’s wife owns it.”
“Why do you want a job?” Aine asked. “Working sucks.”
“Have you ever?” Brock asked.
“Occasionally. I do need cash,” Aine snarled.
“I want normal. I haven’t ever known normal. I’d like to know normal.”
Aine’s expression changed. “That makes sense. You’ll need clothes.”
I looked down at the outfit I was borrowing from her. “I do. I also need to learn how to wash my clothes, how to clean the house;
I have the urge to clean the house, and I want to use a vacuum cleaner.”
Aine rolled her eyes. “For me, I’d want to have sex and eat my body weight in food and ride a motorcycle, but you want to do chores. What’s up with that?”
“Because you’ve done those things. They’re ordinary to you, but for Ivy, even the mundane is extraordinary.”
How right Bain was.
I turned my attention to the patrons in the restaurant. Like on that trolley, people coming together, pockets of moments and memories. Again, something deep inside me stirred. “I dreamt about the people on the trolley.”
That announcement earned me everyone’s attention.
“All of them, even the man with the fritter and the coffee. Dr. Ellis was holding me for a reason. He let me go pretty easily considering he’d held me for twenty-two years. Why?”
“I’ve been wondering that too,” Aine confessed.
“As have I, but we aren’t going to think about it today,” Bain said.
“Yes, today we are eating our way through New Orleans,” Brock commented. “Are you up for dessert?”
I wanted to talk about it. We needed to talk about it, but it could wait a day. I wasn’t hungry, but that didn’t stop me from saying, “Yes.”
His eyes sparkled. “Good. The best damn bakery in the world is just down the street.”
Brock, unlike Bain, didn’t have a problem with expressing himself, but even for him, his boast was a little unusual. And the sparkle in his eyes, that was definitely odd.
“Best bakery in the world?” Aine was skeptical.
“Hell, yeah.”
Sweet Tooth was the name of this mind-blowing bakery. As soon as we stepped inside, we were assaulted with the scents of vanilla and cinnamon. Every table was filled; there was a line of people waiting to be served, but no one looked to be in a hurry. Based on what I saw on the plates we passed, I understood.
“The éclairs here are insane.” Brock was downright animated, which was slightly odd seeing someone like him gushing over baked goods.
Of course looking around the bakery, he wasn’t the only one. My eyes trailed to Bain. Not a surprise, his expression was unreadable.
Looking around the bakery, there was joy, delight, even decadence, but there was something stronger weaving through all of it. Not a bad emotion, but different.
A heavyset woman appeared from the back carrying a tray of sticky buns. She had the biggest smile on her face. Brock looked in love. “That’s Cinder Gulliver, the owner,” he said almost reverently.
“Brock, how are you?”
He blushed. I looked over at Bain to see his eye roll. It took Brock a minute to answer, and when he did, he fumbled his words. What in the world? Awkwardly, he pointed at me and said, “That’s Ivy Blackwood and Aine Wolfhart.”
Ms. Gulliver’s smile never dimmed when she greeted us. “Nice to meet you both.”
“And you, Ms. Gulliver,” I replied.
“Call me Cinder.” Her attention shifted outside where a fistfight started on the sidewalk. “Excuse me.”
Bain started for the door, but Cinder stopped him with a lifting of her hand. “I’ve got this.” She grabbed two donuts on her way out. She wasn’t a small woman, but they were in the heat of it. To my surprise, they stopped when she approached. She then handed each man a donut, as if it would be that easy. My eyes may have popped out of my head when it was in fact that easy. Both men walked away with smiles on their faces, ones that matched hers when she returned to us.
“Now where were we? Oh yes, what can I get you?”
We weren’t next in line, but Brock didn’t hesitate to answer. “A dozen éclairs.”
“On the house.” She met Brock’s stare before he could object. “No objections.”
And to my surprise, he didn’t.
As she boxed our éclairs, I asked the others, “Isn’t anyone else surprised by how easily she stopped that?”
“No, her shit is just that good,” Brock offered.
That might be so, but it still seemed a little odd how easily she handled it. I didn’t press the point.
We took our treats outside to a patch of shade. On second thought, her shit was that good. Golden pastry, creamy chocolate top and inside was the most delicious buttery custard. “You’re right. These are killer.”
Even Aine was quiet as she devoured her éclair.
“I could eat a dozen a day,” Brock said as he stuffed a second one in his mouth.
“Could we stop by a bookstore? I’d like to get a book on the area,” I asked.
Bain pulled out his phone. “There are several.” He handed me his phone, and the list he’d pulled up so quickly. Cell phones were amazing. I scrolled through the list, but the screen froze, and I couldn’t move past one picture. It was then I noticed the dandelion clock incorporated into the store sign. I shivered, was it a coincidence or was someone trying to tell me something? With what I’d seen so far, I wasn’t taking a chance. “This one.”
“That’s not far,” Bain offered. “We good to go now?”
“I can’t move,” Brock stated.
“I’ll stay with him. We’ll see you back at the house,” Aine suggested.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
She glanced over at Brock who was lying on his back with his eyes closed. “I’m sure.”
The bookstore was a little hole in the wall, but the inside was jam-packed with books. An old woman stood behind the register, so old her hands were crooked, her back hunched, and her hair was pure white and reached the middle of her back. As soon as we entered, dark blue eyes greeted us.
“Welcome.”
“Hi.”
She walked around the counter, her steps slow, her balance not great. “How can I help you?”
“I wanted to get information on the LeBlanc plantation.”
“Ah…the number of tourists interested in that place. It’s a popular attraction. Very little is documented, most are just stories passed down…urban legends some say. I have a book of those back here.”
She moved slowly, her legs shaking as she walked the short distance to the back of the store. The books were old, reminding me of the library at Misty Vale. Her boney fingers pulled a book from the shelf.
“This is the most comprehensive, and still, it isn’t very detailed.” Before she handed it to me, she asked, “May I ask what specifically you’re interested in?”
“A history of the house and the land.”
“To what end?”
I studied her for a second debating on whether I should ask what was on my mind, but I imagined I wasn’t the first with morbid questions about the place. “I want to know what happened there to make it so dark.”
Her old eyes widened. “You’ve a bit of the gift in you, don’t you?”
I wasn’t sure what I had in me, but to her I said, “A little.”
She took the book back, handing it to Bain. “Return that to the shelf, will you dear. I’ll be right back.”
She disappeared into the stockroom, returning a little while later with a very old book. “You’ll want this one.” As soon as I touched it, I felt the buzz of magic zip through me leaving a tingling in my muscles.
“What is it?”
“The answers to the questions you have yet to ask.”
She walked to one of the old sofas tucked in a corner. She sat then patted the seat next to her. “My mother, her mother, and so on through our family tree all had the gift. There are stories that have gotten lost through the generations, stories so gruesome that it’s believed they are better forgotten.” She touched my hand, and I felt something; she did too when she removed it quickly. Our eyes met as déjà vu swept through me. The bell over the door jingled and the moment was lost. She continued, “Some believe the start of the hauntings for that old plantation started with the LeBlanc family, but the place was already marked before that. The land was cursed even before the house was built.”
This is what I wanted to k
now. “And you know the story?”
She smiled. “You have to go back to the very beginning.”
“Beginning?”
“Scientists call it the big bang, and they have it right, but they only have part of the picture. Even religion is limited because of what they don’t see. Earth is home to more than just humans. The big bang was really a clash between the gods. It sparked creation, but creation in its infancy starts in darkness, the opposite response to creation’s light. Even now, babes are born from their mother’s womb, a protected but dark place. And it is in those moments of darkness that open the door to those deities with evil intent.”
I felt Bain tense before he demanded, “Who are you?”
“No one you need fear, but someone who can offer a direction if one is asking.”
“Are you saying evil staked a claim in this world on that parcel of land?”
“Why not? Have you never experienced the opposite, a place of such joy and goodness that those emotions linger long after those who inspired the emotions have gone?”
Misty Vale.
“Life is a balance. Great happiness must be countered by great evil. They cannot exist without each other.”
I felt sick because as painful as it was to believe, it really did seem that our lifetime from so long ago perpetuated the very thing we were fighting.
She touched my hand, and I immediately felt comforted. “Are you okay?”
I wasn’t sure. The thought that something so ugly came from something so beautiful, I couldn’t think about it now. “Why do you have the dandelion clock on your sign?”
Her old eyes sparkled. “They carry wishes for as far as the wind blows, and books are like wishes to a reader, don’t you think? All the possibilities we can live in the pages of a book.”
I had at Misty Vale. The places I traveled in a world I never thought I’d be apart of.
She held her hand out to Bain; he helped her to her feet and walked with her to the register. “Ivy, a word of warning. Wishes are fickle, those who grant them even more so. Have care in what you wish for because you might just get it.”
We were down the street when Bain asked, “How did she know your name?”