I thought of anyone having to spend all day in that place, and my whole body shivered for just a second, enough that Lance gave me a curious look. I couldn’t help it: my mind flashed to what I’d seen in the window. I had been tired—had I just been seeing things? I couldn’t deal with it now. I went through my packet and looked at the maps, calendars of the next several months, listings of so many businesses and locations and contact people.
But Connor wasn’t quite done with his speech. “So, if y’all are ready, let’s roll out in five, okay?” He held up one hand. “I’ll meet ya in the courtyard. First stop: the Latter branch library in the Uptown area.” With that, we all dispersed to our rooms, buzzing about all we’d just heard, gathering our things. I climbed up to my bed in the loft to find my phone. While Sabine was occupied switching most of her possessions from one purse into another, I summoned the courage to look at the screen. A message popped on instantly, no indication from whom or from where. The time-date stamp read January 1 at seven o’clock sharp. It simply said:
Good morning, Haven. Happy New Year. We are reunited, and I hope you will find comfort in that. But I regret to have to tell you that, once again, your soul is in grave danger. Be strong, winged one. Trust your instincts and you will conquer again. Remember what you’ve already learned. Draw upon the lessons you’ve been taught, the tests you’ve mastered.
“Ready, Hav?” Sabine called. I hit the button at the bottom of the phone to clear the screen. Instead of the usual array of icons I was used to seeing on a smartphone, there was nothing but a blank screen. I tapped it again and an image appeared . . . of me. It was that portrait that had burned up at the Lexington, in the office of Aurelia Brown. In it, I was recast as the subject of a painting I loved, La Jeune Martyre, lying in the shallow water of a darkened ditch, a halo above my head and a shadowy figure in the distance looking on. I stopped breathing for a moment. I flung the phone in my backpack, anxious to get it out of my hands.
It wasn’t until we were on the streetcar, rattling along tree-lined St. Charles Avenue again, that Lance and I had a moment alone, so he could whisper, “Anything?”
I nodded. “Vague, but yeah.”
He nodded back. “Good.” He looked relieved that the phones were working, that no matter what might be in store for us, at least we would have some sort of guidance. Something somewhere would look out for us in even the slightest way.
Connor waved us all off, and we filed out into the pretty perfection of the leafy Uptown streets. The sun lit up the morning sky now, the air already moist and surprisingly warm. Walking just a few blocks, I could feel sweat glistening on my forehead, though it may not have been entirely from the temperature. That text message was the surest of signals that we had to be on guard now.
Lance and I walked silently, the rest of our group chatting around us. I imagined his mind was racing as much as mine was. Dante managed to break away from Max and sidled up to me. He watched his feet as he walked. If he was quiet, there always had to be a reason.
“Hey, Hav,” he finally said. He kicked at a rock, knocking it along the sidewalk. “Are you, like, I don’t know, kind of freaked out? By everything here, already?”
“Um, yeah.” I laughed, knocking into him with my shoulder. “I think that’s a pretty normal reaction.” I thought for a moment. “So, are you getting the messages now too?”
“Yeah, omigod, what’s the deal with these? Didn’t you guys used to get these all the time? Why don’t they tell us things straight up? Where are they coming from?”
“I wish I knew. Believe me, it would make all of this a whole lot easier. But you’ll get the hang of how to follow them and they will start telling us useful things.” I wasn’t sure which one of us I was trying to reassure.
“I guess I’m just a little, I don’t know, scarred from before.”
“And rightfully so. But we’re tougher now, you know?” I offered. We followed the group up a walkway toward what looked like a mansion set back from the road on a patch of supremely green grass.
“Yeah.” Dante didn’t sound entirely convinced.
“It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. This time around we have the advantage of knowing that everything is suspect. We’re looking through different eyes, more educated eyes. That’s got to help us. Right?”
He just nodded. Connor held the door open and we strolled inside, gathering in a dark wood foyer with a sweeping staircase. The rooms on either side of us were filled with racks and racks of cataloged books, but the grand estate certainly wasn’t like any public library I’d ever seen. It was empty save for two gray-haired women shelving books from a cart. I grabbed a fact sheet from the stack on a table near the door.
“Pretty awesome, right, guys?” Connor said in a loud whisper, waving to the ladies then leading us up the creaky wooden staircase.
“Totally,” Max said.
Lance craned his neck, trying to take in every bit of the place.
“Is this French?” Sabine asked, running her hand along the curved banister. “I love all the French stuff here.” I glanced at the sheet of paper I’d taken.
“You would think either that or Spanish, given the influences when New Orleans was settled, but the architecture and styling are Italianate,” Lance said with the joy of someone unwrapping an unexpected gift.
“Former home, gifted to the city to be used as a library,” I read aloud.
“Add this one to the list, Hav. I would live here too,” Dante said. I nodded, but I was too busy listening to the harsh, hushed voices quibbling behind us. I peeked over my shoulder to see the redhead—Emma was her name—arguing with Jimmy. He still seemed on edge from this morning, and I couldn’t blame him.
“ . . . but what were you doing?” she snapped. “Where the hell were you all night?”
“I was at the party and then, I don’t know.”
“I can’t believe you don’t even have the decency to be honest with me. Is that it? Is that how you treat me after a year?” Expletives followed, then she brushed past me, hustling up the stairs to Connor’s side. Jimmy put his head in his hands like he had just been struck with a monster migraine.
“This is sorta our headquarters,” Connor announced as we reached the second floor. “All the tutoring and counseling happen up here.”
We followed him down the worn carpeting to a room with a half-moon-shaped window looking out onto the grounds, a high ceiling with delicate moldings, and framed paintings of pale people from the Victorian era. Long folding tables and chairs were clustered in a heap at the center of the room, waiting to be set up. A bare metal bookcase on wheels sat in a corner. Connor handed us each a lengthy checklist and explained that we would be spending a few hours here every afternoon for any local kids, elementary through high school, looking for homework help. A few nights a week the room would also be used for a teen crisis hotline. And, indeed, a row of desks in the back was outfitted with a quartet of very ancient-looking phones.
“As you may have noticed, today’s a holiday—they let us in here special to set up. You folks over here”—he pointed to where I stood—“take a look at this list of books and gather a copy of each to stock our little library up here. While you guys”—he gestured to the rest—“are going to set up the workstations. Hop to it, folks!” He clapped, signaling us to start.
Our group had two others in addition to Lance, Dante, and Max. The first was a black-attired, goth-inspired girl with nose piercings named River. “Yes, it’s my real name,” she had said, rolling her eyes after introducing herself back at the house, even though no one had questioned her. The other was Drew, an earthy type in flared jeans and a weathered turquoise tunic, with the kind of wavy, sun-kissed locks that begged to be pinned with daisies.
“So, Haven and I will take science, math, and biographies,” Lance proposed. The others split up the remaining subjects, and returned downstairs in search of fiction and children’s books. I headed that way too, until Lance grabbed my arm. “Science and math
are up here.” He looked over his shoulder to be sure the others were gone. “I have to tell you something.”
“Ohhhkay,” I said, following.
We climbed one more flight of stairs to find a stuffy, dark-paneled room, musty because of so many yellowed tomes.
“So, what did you see this morning, anyway?” he asked quietly as we made our way through the towering stacks, scanning for the titles we needed. We had the room entirely to ourselves.
“Just, you know, a dead body.” The thought of it made me shiver all over again. I pried out one of the books on the list.
“I think you should start taking pictures again,” he said in a serious tone. “Just to make sure we know who we’re dealing with all the time.” He crouched down to pull out a biology textbook.
“Yeah, I was thinking that too.” I had, of course, brought my camera—it was nothing special, a used digital model I’d gotten a while back. But I had learned over the past year that the equipment didn’t matter: I was a soul illuminator. When I took a photo of someone, anyone, their true aura shone through. My photos showed inner beauty or, just the opposite, could detect a decrepit spirit, a decaying soul.
“Is that all?” I asked, still somber, but a lightness was creeping in, as it sometimes did when we had these kinds of conversations that other people just didn’t have.
“Yeah, you know, no big deal,” he said as if kidding with me. We smiled at each other.
“No sweat, right?” I shook my head and returned to my sheet. “Okay, then, just four more and Darwin.” I looked at Lance and noticed that a hint of worry lingered behind those heavy frames. Perhaps I could change that. “I’ll take the bottom two, you take the top two and”—I took a slow step backwards—“I’ll race you for Darwin!” I dropped the books in my hands and took off running. His face brightened instantly.
“Not fair, you got a head start!” he called after me from the end of the aisle.
“Sounds like something a loser would say!” I snaked through the next aisle, yanking a book from the shelves, and I saw his face on the other side. In a burst, we sprinted again, agile and silent. I grabbed my other book—astronomy—and whipped around a corner, closing in on Darwin. Lance shot out from the opposite side. I scanned the numbers on the spines. The Origin of Species was going to be on the top shelf, which I couldn’t even reach. I dropped the books in my hands, ran and launched myself up, pulling it out while airborne. I should have landed on my feet. But Lance caught me, bringing me back to the ground.
“I still won, you know,” I needled him. I held the book behind my back, while he clasped his hands around my waist.
“I’d say it was a team effort.”
“We’ll agree to disagree.” I smiled as he leaned me against the bookcase to kiss me.
After the books were gathered, we all set up the tutoring room, and Connor gave us a crash course in teaching tips. “Don’t make anyone feel stupid and, on the flip side, if you find you’re actually not as knowledgeable as you thought on something, don’t be afraid to admit it and we’ll assign someone else,” he advised us.
“Why are you looking at me?” a jock named Tom, in a Lakers jersey, piped up. “I was kidding. I know gym isn’t actually one of the subjects.”
Then Connor walked us through a handbook on counseling. “Or, as I like to call it, ‘knowing when to call the cops,’” he said in a joking tone. Drew raised her hand. “You don’t have to raise your hand, Drew.”
“Oh, sorry,” she said meekly. “But isn’t there, like, doctor/patient confidentiality?”
“I once talked someone off a ledge,” River said, stone-faced and a shade confrontational.
“I bet you did,” Brody quipped.
“I think you mean ‘down from a ledge,’” Dante prompted.
“That’s what I said,” she said, sniping back.
And the afternoon went on until we were all well enough prepared to not inflict any scholastic or psychological damage. The rest of the day and evening passed uneventfully. Then again, when a day starts as that one had, it really couldn’t get much more . . . eventful, thankfully.
6. The City of the Dead
The next morning the schedule simply read, Tour of Community Service Projects, Part 1.
“Some of the locals need some free labor, and a lot of folks are still trying to rebuild their businesses and lives or maintain public spaces with limited resources,” Connor explained as he shepherded us out of the house. “So before reporting for tutoring and counseling duties every afternoon, you’ll be on a rotation aiding New Orleanians near and far.” He stopped before the mansion next door. My pulse picked up. “Lance, Brody, and Tom, you’re here today.” I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Lance gave a wave as he went inside.
“Between you and me, I’m kinda glad not to be in that place,” I whispered to Dante.
Connor led the rest of our group on a walk winding through the streets. When we reached wide, bustling Rampart Street, he stopped.
“Haven, Sabine, and Drew, you’re at Saint Louis Cemetery Number One, just past that church there. They’re expectin’ ya.”
“Huh?” I asked. Dante let out a single staccato cackle, then flung his hand over his mouth. Connor looked up but didn’t say a word.
“Yeah, way better than a haunted house, Hav,” Dante said. “Enjoy.”
“Dante and Max, you’re at Priestess Mariette’s Voodoo Temple.” Connor pointed down the street to a sign blowing in the warm breeze.
“Are you serious?” Max asked.
“Yep. Go on! That’s a lady you do not want to keep waitin’.”
“Awesome,” Dante said cheerfully.
“The rest of you guys, come with me. We’re hitting a food bank a few blocks down for some Meals on Wheels action. See y’all later at the library. Make me proud!” he instructed as he left us.
The smooth gray façade of Our Lady of Guadalupe Church beckoned from across Rampart Street, its spire piercing the cloudless morning sky. According to our packets, the contact here was a Sister Catherine. Well, a nun would certainly be a change from my last boss.
Just inside the church’s heavy white-painted doors, a small tour group had gathered, their guide spouting facts in a whisper amplified by the vaulted ceiling. The only other sounds came from the creaks of the dozen or so parishioners shifting ever so slightly in their wooden pews, lost in their own thoughts and prayers. Light streamed in through stained-glass windows, speckling bits of color against the sharp white walls. I hadn’t actually spent a ton of time in any church, with the exception of the small, cozy chapel nestled within the hospital, where I had often escorted the family members of patients or, better yet, been dispatched to retrieve loved ones when there was good news. The silence here was so deep it made me aware of every clumsy step and noisy breath I took. I felt like everyone was looking at me. Sabine was slightly less concerned about that sort of thing.
“I totally love this,” she whispered to Drew, tugging on her burlap-like messenger bag. “Hav, you need one of these. Get rid of that backpack.”
“I was going for, you know, geek chic,” I whispered back, embarrassed.
“I think it’s nice,” Drew said. I liked that she was one of those people who could be counted on to be polite no matter what.
“Yeah, no.” Sabine shook her head at me. “We’ll work on it. But what is this? Hemp?”
“Yeah, but it’s really softer than it looks,” Drew said, holding it out for Sabine to pet. “I love a good hemp. Connor actually talked me into it.”
I was suddenly paying attention. “You went shopping with Connor?”
Drew shook her head. “No, I met him back home at this vegan shop I used to go to a lot, and he convinced me I had to get one. I guess he has one too.”
Sabine and I looked at each other. “That guy gets around,” she said.
“What?” Drew asked, confused. But we didn’t get to explain.
I felt the lightest tap on my shoulder, like a bird landi
ng there, and couldn’t help being startled. I spun around to find a tiny woman in a habit, only her milky, moon-shaped face exposed. Hands clasped before her, she smiled with pruned lips. She looked to be in her seventies, at least.
“Hello, girls. You must be from the student program,” she greeted us in a delicate voice that crackled with age, like Joan’s old vinyl records, and was tinged with the sweetness of her native drawl. Crepelike folds of skin hung at her neck and creases were nestled into pockets around her eyes and mouth. Hers was a fragile face whose years gave it an added warmth. A vein-vined hand extended from beneath her robe to meet mine.
“Sister Catherine, hi, so nice to meet you. I’m Haven.” Her grip was as gentle as her presence. The others shook her soft hand and whispered hellos too.
“A pleasure to have you here, my dears. We appreciate your service. Have you seen Saint Louis Number One yet?”
“No, ma’am,” said a serious Sabine.
“It will be celebrating its two hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary next year so we’re sprucing it up. It’s quite beautiful, but will be far more stunning from the contributions of your able hands and warm hearts.”
“Thank you, we look forward to helping out,” I said, as Drew smiled. She was several inches taller than all three of us and was hunched over now, which made her look even shier.
Sister Catherine led us back outside into the warm sunshine. Her back curved slightly, making her just about my height. I wondered how tall she had once been and whether she was very hot shrouded in the drapes of that robe and headpiece.
“You’ll be spending most of your time in our city of the dead,” she began. Those words chilled my blood for a split second. She continued, “But there are such wonders in our little church. You’re welcome to explore as much as you like. You’ll find in our garden”—she pointed to an area behind the church, where a life-size statue, probably of a saint or apostle I should have known, stood watch—“the most delightful grotto. Feel free to light candles or leave messages there. We find that many prayers are answered.”
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