by Arden, Alys
“Shut up, Emilio.” Nicco turned to me. “Because he is my brother and you are just going to have to trust me on this one.”
“Ha!” I yelled. “Never trust a vampire.”
Emilio sneered in delight, practically dancing around me.
“Leave her alone….” Nicco’s voice neared a growl. “She doesn’t know anything.”
“What the hell?” I yelled.
Nicco’s face pleaded with me to stop, so I whipped around to Emilio. “What don’t I know?” I just wanted answers. I didn’t care who they came from.
“Oh, Niccolò, wasn’t it your inexorable gullibility that got us into this predicament in the first place? Haven’t you learned anything in three and a half centuries, brother?”
Nicco moved quickly to meet him face to face. “I am hardly the reason—”
“You and Gabriel are pathetic!” he said, pushing Nicco backwards. “He’s been free for weeks. Father is probably rolling over in his mausoleum at the two of you.”
When Nicco didn’t push him back, Emilio walked over to me and put his hand on my face, just as he had done so many times in Paris. But this time, I swatted it away. The aggression only made him smile.“Ma chérie, this is quite simple. The curse will be broken one way or another—”
“This is about more than a curse, Emilio!” Nicco yelled.
Emilio ignored him and continued. “You have until tomorrow night to do it your way, or I’m going to rip her throat out,” he said, pointing to Vodou Pourvoyeur. “Then I’ll pluck every feather from your little bird friend, and then tear that hot redhe—”
A flash of flowing chiffon rushed past me and knocked him into the street with a bone-cracking thud. “Over my dead body, Emilio!” my blonde stalker growled, her exposed fangs just a couple of inches from his face.
“It appears my brother already beat me to your dead body—”
She hissed.
“Mm. Mm. Mmm. Aren’t you spunky? Three hundred years old, but still with the unpredictability of a newborn.”
“Do not test me,” she said, glaring at him.
“Gabriel,” Emilio said, “can you please control your progeny?”
“Lizzie, please remove yourself from my brother,” Gabe said, stepping out of the shadows.
Jesus. They’re everywhere. How long had he been standing there?
She hissed one last time before she retracted her fangs and stepped off.
Laughing, Emilio popped his arm back into place, rolled over and propped his head on his hand. “And then I will drain you and break the curse myself, the old-fashioned way.”
Nicco grabbed Emilio by the collar, forcing him to stand up. “And what good will that do? Killing the only link we have to him?”
Gabriel intervened, pulling his brothers apart. “Well, I will have my freedom back, for starters.”
“Gabe!” I screamed.
“I’m sorry, Adele, but this feud has gone on for entirely too long. I’ve grown weary of it.”
* * *
Trying to keep my fingers from frying themselves off, I stormed back into the shop and left the Medicis to their fraternal spat. Why were they being so secretive if they were only after the antidote to a three-hundred-year-old curse? What the hell were they really after? What feud?
I threw open the fuchsia curtain to find Désirée nestled in a blanket, drinking a cup of tea. All the candles on the altar were lit, and she was surrounded by an assortment of artifacts, including Adeline’s diary, Marassa’s grimoire, and the painting of the casquette girls.
“Who are you? And what have you done with Désirée Borges?”
“I’m not as stupid as I look.”
“I don’t think you look stupid. I just didn’t think you cared about… well, anything.”
“Ouch. I guess I deserved that,” she said dryly and looked up from the grimoire. “Actually, I kind of have a confession.”
I settled in next to her. “This should be good.”
“A few weeks ago…” – she let out an exasperated sigh – “I-kind-of-might-have-broken-Marassa’s-part-of-the-spell.”
“What? You know about the curse!”
“Adele, where are you right now? Please. Nearly every spell cast in this city has come through these doors in some way, shape, or form. Ingredients, advice, blessings, dolls, gris-gris.”
I touched my necklace through my shirt, and she pulled out a similar one from underneath hers. “My grandmother forced mine around my neck the morning you first came in the shop. The morning of the incident.”
“What incident?”
“The incident at the convent.”
“Excusez-moi?”
“I was in a bad mood when you came into the shop, ’cause Gran and I had been fighting. Ever since my sweet sixteen, she’s been on my back about preparing for this ritual.”
“Ritual?”
“Yeah, to join this coven—”
“You’re part of a coven?”
“Ugh, no. I didn’t want any part of all of this hocus-pocus, especially not some coven prearranged by my gran. I mean, what year is this, 1650?”
“Er?”
“She was refusing to eat, like she’s Gandhi or something, so I was in a foul mood. I ditched first period, parked my car out of sight on Esplanade, and walked around the Quarter for a while. Nothing was open, so it was pretty boring. I felt guilty about the fight with Gran, so I began practicing some simple spells – and that’s when it happened.”
“That’s when what happened?”
“First, I accidentally turned this bird into a cat. I tried to bail, but the cat was freaking out. Like, really freaking out. It followed me for like four blocks. We were right in front of the Ursuline Convent when…”
“Uh huh…”
“I felt bad for the cat, so I started casting every reversal spell I knew to try to turn it back to a bird.”
“And?”
“And, I think I may have overshot it.”
“What do you mean?”
“The cat turned back into a bird, but then my hair got really frizzy.”
“Huh?”
“The straightening spell I had performed last year vanished, duh, along with every other spell I had ever cast. It was like I accidentally hit the reset button. The entire side of the block where the convent is warbled like there was a glitch in the Matrix or something. Then there was this really loud noise, like a cartoon rooster waking up.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then I left.”
“You left?”
“Yeah, my hair was crazy, and I needed to redo the spell.”
“Riiight,” I said in disbelief. “And here we are.”
“And here we are. Oh, and F.Y.I., just because I care about my hair, doesn’t mean I don’t care about anything else. If one of those fangsters touches my gran, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
My eyes immediately welled. She paused.
“I’m sorry about Bertrand and Sabine, Adele.”
I nodded and quickly wiped my tears away.
She hastily changed the subject. “I really wish I had paid better attention during all of those lessons.”
“What class could possibly prepare you to battle vampires?”
“No, I mean my gran’s Saturday night circle. When I was eight, I was playing with my cousin in the shop and accidentally turned his hand green. Gran was furious: she made me practice reversal spells until I could turn his hand back to normal – it took me days – and after that she forced me to attend her Saturday night circle every single week without fail.”
“Ha. I feel you. When I was six, I burned off a pigtail playing in my dad’s metalwork shop and have been getting lectures ever since on the hazards of playing with fire.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, the flames on the candles grew.
She looked back at me and smiled. “A new coven comprised of the new generation of witches.”
I nervously returned the smile.
“
I wonder what the vamps did to get locked up in the attic for what would have been eternity?” she asked.
“What?” I reached for Adeline’s diary. “That never came up during your night with Gabriel?”
We both laughed.
“I knew that prima donna was just trying to get some kind of quick fix from me,” Désirée said, turning her attention back to the grimoire. “He told me that whenever he tried to leave the Quarter, a giant gust of wind would push him back in.”
“Wind?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Dee, one more question.”
“What?”
“What kind of bird was it, that you turned into a cat?”
“Um, a freakishly giant black crow,” she said without looking up.
Chapter 33 Death of a Diva
(translated from French)
17th June 1728
La Nouvelle-Orléans really is unlike anything I have ever experienced, Papa. There are no words to describe the sticky heat. (It is absolutely impossible to maintain Parisian fashion. I find myself wearing less and less clothing each day, so I fear for what will be left when August comes!)
Although it’s not an island, there is water everywhere – a great river, a great lake, and many bayous. Even the land is wet, making the air always thick and damp. The heavy atmosphere holds the scent of cream-colored blossoms as large as my face, and vines of honeysuckle flowers wrap themselves around anything that obstructs their path, marking their territory with a lingering perfume. The tree branches, which are covered in a hairy moss, droop to the ground as if Mother Nature herself is weeping.
To call this place a miniature version of Paris would be preposterous. In truth, it is quite the opposite. While Paris feels like the epicenter of the world, La Nouvelle-Orléans feels like the fringe. It’s as if we could sink into the marshy glades and no one would ever know. I may still curse you every night for not taking me with you to the Orient, but coming to this foreign land on my own has given me an understanding of your sense of adventure and your longing for independence above everything. The people here seem to share this sensibility, making the city a very lively place to be. Even on the streets, there is always talk of what’s to come rather than of past traditions, which dominates the conversations of the French aristocracy.
As previously mentioned, we docked in La Nouvelle-Orléans on the 25th of May. Martine, Marassa, and I stayed with the Ursulines for one week while the DuFrense estate was prepared. The religious property is simple but large, with a small labyrinth of shrubs, a vegetable garden on either side, and a special building for the orphans to live in while the nuns mold them into ladies fit for society. I never thought I would be happy to stay in a nunnery, but after such a perilous journey, it was like heaven.
Unsurprisingly, the DuFrense estate is even more grand then their original in Paris, just as Claude had promised Martine it would be. It’s not very far from the convent. Of course, nothing is far from the convent since the town is still so small. This makes it easy for me and Marassa to see the triplets and even to attend a religious class on Sundays. I confess that I only go to this catechism so as not to miss this chance to see my confidantes, and because Marassa is allowed to attend. It’s a fascinating afternoon, for this is the day the nuns welcome all the girls from the community to attend class, including slaves and those from the indigenous tribes.
Naturally, Martine is still distraught over the loss of Claude, and being stuck in this new land without him is testing her health. Marassa continues to live under the cover of Martine’s slave, residing in a private house across the back courtyard of the property. The opera star’s tongue has become sharp to anyone who crosses her path, mostly because she is drunk for more hours of the day than not.
Much to Martine’s dismay, I have taken a liking to a large wolf-dog, who seems to be as independent as you, Father. He refuses to come into the house at night but is always waiting at the door in the morning to escort me on my daily errands. It has become a joke around town that Adeline Saint-Germain no longer requires a chaperone. Others whisper behind my back, “The daughter of le Comte de Saint-Germain has turned her chaperone into a wolf!”
I ignore the whispers, but it does make me fear that I will be alone forever. Who would ever want to court a girl who might turn them into a wolf? I try to tell myself that just because I am without you, I am far from alone. Cosette and I, along with my furry friend—who I have named Louis after my good friend the tailor—often escape for late-night strolls along the river, of which I have heard the local people call this word: ‘Miss-i-ssi-ppi,’ which is horrendous to say the first dozen times until the tongue is trained. As we walk, Cosette often mourns the absence of her red bird, whom we haven’t seen since we docked, or, when she is in a lighter mood, she might joke about her flight from French court. Sometimes I feel that perhaps I was fleeing Paris as well, unbeknownst to me at the time. But I suppose I won’t know for sure until I receive a letter from you regarding our next rendezvous. I long for that day, Father.
As far as our dark-natured friends, I know they are still here.
The streets have been paved with new stones, and the buildings are freshly painted, and yet sometimes when I am out walking, I can sense things far older hiding in the shadows. I pray that their plan is to move on to some land far away from this one. Although… I confess that sometimes when I am alone, late at night, I can’t help but wonder about Gabriel Medici, and why he was aboard that ship, and how he knew my name. On two separate occasions I have even risen in the middle of the night and hurriedly dressed with the intention of seeking him out. But do not be alarmed; both times I came to my senses before I opened the front door. My intuition always wins out over the often overwhelming curiosity I feel towards this man.
22nd June 1728
I thought our secret circle was complete when we discovered Marassa’s talents onboard the ship, but that all changed when I encountered Susannah Bowen at the convent. She was the maid who served tea while I was trying to persuade the Mother Superior to host a ball so that the orphans might have the chance to mingle with the town’s bachelors. I am desperate for the girls to be married off rather than be left cooped up together, unprotected, like animals waiting in the slaughterhouse. I have no idea how to rid the town of the monsters, but I’ve been doing everything in my power to try to protect the girls who had survived that journey from Paris. It has become my obsession.
Susannah’s bonnet was no match for her fiery red curls, which spilled out and hid her face, but even underneath her locks I could see those icy blue eyes noting my every move. I returned her gaze with equal suspicion as she poured my tea. I was surprised, however, when a jolt of energy swept through me so quickly that I couldn’t keep the silver spoon from stirring itself in the bergamot-flavored tea. I quickly placed my fingers on the utensil and finished mixing in the crème, while stifling my smile.
I tried my best to remain calm, but I became overwhelmed by the sudden surge of possibilities a sixth member would bring to our circle. When, during our talk, the Mother Superior paused at the window to contemplate my suggestion, I glanced at the wall sconce above the servant girl’s head, spun it out of the wall, and let it drop. In retrospect, my behavior was brash and risky, but, as I suspected, her natural reflex wasn’t to move out of the way as the sconce fell. Instead, she sent a burst of wind upwards, and the iron fixture bobbled in the air like a marionette. Her eyes darted to me, and a taut smile spread across her face as the sconce gently floated into her freckle-dusted hands. She quickly hid the piece of iron behind her back just as the Mother Superior turned to face us.
Mark my words – it will only be a matter of time before Susannah is folded into our group.
26th June 1728
On the last two Sundays after the Catholic service in the chapel, I have invited the girls back to the DuFrense home, where we sing around the piano, paint, or share French lessons with Marassa and the new girl, Susannah. I’ve yet to extrac
t her entire story because her French is poor, as is my English, but I have gathered she is of English descent by way of the isle of Bermuda. Speaking a common language would make it so much easier to communicate, but I believe this barrier has brought us together in a strange, intimate way. In lieu of mindless gossip, we share our secrets by teaching each other things passed down by those before us: Susannah and Marassa spend hours exchanging notes and diagrams on the healing properties of herbs and flowers; Cosette teaches Lisette the ways to a person’s heart by showing her first how to speak to animals; and I have found an unsuspecting partner in Minette, who has quite an aptitude for the sciences. Her curiosity about the origins of material sometimes reminds me of you, Father.
It’s such a strange relationship, Papa, having grown up without siblings and with no close friends among France’s crème de la crème. I never learned to trust anyone until now. Other than you, I’d never met anyone like myself. You’ve always told me that people are brought together for a reason, and I keep that wisdom close to my heart.
4th July 1728
I worry more about Martine every day. At night, she can sleep only if Cosette slips an herb solution into her brandy, which she consumes as if she is looking for death, and death, I’m afraid, is far too easy to come across in this town. Conditions are poor for most people – the streets are filthy, and disease runs rampant. What people do not know of is the real epidemic that was unleashed when our ship docked in the port de La Nouvelle-Orléans – the true reason bodies are scattering across the city.
Each night more of the population disappears, but no alarm bells are rung when they go missing: a faceless prostitute, a nameless pirate deckhand, an orphan girl sent by the King.
But I notice, Papa. And I am overridden with guilt.
After so many months coexisting with these predators, developing this strange bond through the shadows, I have become complacent. I constantly have to remind myself that the relationship could turn lethal if there is any disruption to the current arrangement – such as my exposing their bloody secrets.