Ghosts of Averoigne

by Krista Wolf

  When they were finished Xiomara leaned back and cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asked warily. “I mean, if not I can get—”

  “Yes,” said Melody quickly. She still had questions. Even misgivings. But for now she shoved all those things aside. “I’m ready.”

  The Head of Order nodded slowly. She looked her up and down one last time, as if deciding something, while rapping her knuckles gently on the table. When she finally rose, her eyes remained locked on Melody’s.

  “It took us years to get this invite, Ms. Larson,” Xiomara warned. “Long years.”

  Melody swallowed.

  “Don’t fuck it up.”

  Two

  Melody stirred awake just as the long black sedan rolled to a stop. She didn’t even realize she’d been sleeping. Hell, she’d slept on the plane too.

  She peered out the window… and saw nothing but green. Trees on both sides. Overgrowth. Undergrowth. The emerald heart of some thick, Louisiana jungle.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  There was a gentle whir as the partition window between herself and the driver slid down. The big man hadn’t spoken much since picking her up from the airport. He hardly turned his head to speak to her now.

  “Because we’re here.”

  Melody looked all around again, sure she missed something. Apparently she hadn’t.

  “Here?” she asked. “Where’s the plantation?” In the thin rectangle of the rear-view mirror, the man was nothing but eyes. Melody squinted at him. “I thought you were taking me to the plantation?”

  “I have,” he said over his shoulder. “Evermoore is right over there. Just down that path.”

  He pointed, and she followed one thick finger. Cut through the trees was a tiny footpath… if it could even be called that at all. It looked more like an animal trail. Barely discernible. Almost invisible to the eye.

  “You’re kidding.”

  The driver shook his head, somehow without moving his neck. Apparently he wasn’t kidding.

  “This is the spot. Ms. Magoro’s orders.”

  Melody frowned. She opened the door… and was almost knocked back as a wave of heat and humidity washed over her. She stood up and a cacophony of insects buzzed in her ears. The precious air conditioning escaping from the car was a cool, but temporary breeze.

  This is crazy!

  She was wearing a gorgeous red silken dress. Shoes made for waltzing, not walking. She looked at the path again.

  “Really?” Melody sighed.

  The driver was already disinterested. With the car still running, he pulled out a newspaper and spread it across the steering wheel.

  “I’ll be waiting here for when you get back,” he said.

  Melody glanced at the digital display on the dash. It was a little past five O’clock. She had no idea when the ball would start, or when it would end. Or how long it would take her to find an ivory jeweled egg in a tremendous mansion that was probably full of stuff.

  “But I don’t even know when that will be,” she said.

  The driver licked one finger and turned a page. “I’ll be here,” the man repeated without looking up.

  Melody shrugged and closed the door. Already she’d begun sweating. She pinched her dress up and took a few steps in the direction of the little path. The ground was soft and spongy beneath her feet.

  Great, she thought to herself. I’ve got the only driver who can’t even find a driveway.

  She took another few squishy steps, shaking her head the whole time. The path wasn’t going to walk itself, and the sooner she got started the better.

  It was slow going, especially at the thick parts.

  What began as a tiny path had rapidly deteriorated into a squirrel’s run. Melody picked her way through the underbrush while using her hands to hold rogue branches at bay. Spanish moss hung everywhere. More than once her foot caught on a vine, almost tripping her up.

  Xiomara’s orders my ass, she thought. This is stupid. I’m getting sweaty. Dirty. And I’m supposed to be at a cotillion in just—

  She was about to turn around when she very abruptly bumped into something. Waist-high, stretching in both directions, was an elaborate silver gate.

  Beyond the gate, the forest opened into a lavish green field. It stretched out hundreds of yards ahead of her — an immaculately-groomed landscape that sloped gently downward toward a breathtaking, three-story, pillared mansion.

  Her shoulders slumped in relief.

  Well at least the driver was right about something.

  Evermoore manor was every bit as gorgeous as in the history books. Long Doric columns jutted up proudly on both sides of the antebellum mansion, capped at the top and bottom. Melody saw wrought-iron balconies. Large, reaching windows. A canopied path led up to a pair of magnificent white doors, lined on both sides by three-hundred year old oak trees.

  She tried the gate. It was latched, but not locked. It took her a moment or two to figure out how to work the mechanism, but eventually she was able to swing it wide. She winced at the eerie high-pitched wailing of metal on metal.

  Hurry up.

  It was her thought for sure, only this time the little voice inside Melody’s head didn’t sound like her own. She shoved it aside. The humidity was stifling. Already it was getting difficult to breathe.

  She continued forward, allowing the forest to spit her out into the field of lush, verdant grass. Everything was wide and spacious. Much less claustrophobic. Melody took five steps. Ten. Twenty. She felt immeasurably better already, even cooler, although something was still troubling her. Something nagging at the back of her mind.

  Did you close the gate?

  She wasn’t so sure. Melody whirled, and noticed the silver gate had somehow closed and latched itself behind her. Even though she couldn’t remember doing it…

  Isn’t it further away too?

  As strange as it sounded, she wanted to say that it was. It’s not like she’d been counting her steps, but the gate seemed way more distant than it should be. She shrugged. There was nothing to do now but make the mansion before she utterly melted.

  She focused on putting one foot in front of the other, while taking in the scenery. The road leading to Evermoore was straight out of a storybook, shaded by magnificent, arching boughs of oak. She was walking parallel to it, having come in on one side of the property.

  Silently she wondered what Xiomara’s plan was; why she’d been dropped off at such a strange angle to the rest of the grounds. Why she hadn’t been driven up to the front door. Maybe the old woman wanted Melody to see it. To walk the grounds herself, rather than—

  The egg…

  It occurred to her that she should probably be looking for it already. Melody scanned the property. On the other side of the path, a row of thatched stone houses ran in a thin, low-slung row. There was a carriage house too, and beside it a barn — big and weathered but fully restored to its former beauty. She supposed the egg could be anywhere. But she’d check the mansion first.

  The grass swished against her dress as she walked. Melody turned her head back one last time to remember where the gate was. To imprint her exit point in her mind, so that when—

  What the hell?

  The gate was gone. Right where it used to be, a thick, rolling mist had enveloped the treeline.

  “Great,” she thought. “Already I’m lost.”

  She stopped walking and peered into the mist. It appeared to be moving, or maybe it was just a trick of the dying light. The treeline also seemed impossibly far, as if she’d been walking three times as long as she had.

  It didn’t make any sense.

  Melody had run track, all throughout high school. She knew distances well, and the point at which she entered the field had to be at least a hundred and fifty yards away. The mist had swallowed the trees there and then seemingly stopped. But left and right…

  She shivered, despite the heat. Left and right the mist ran the entire length of
the property, on both sides of the path. It created a big semi-circle that hugged the entire plantation grounds.

  Keep moving, her little voice told her. Her legs obeyed without being asked. Melody hiked her dress higher and started taking longer strides. The field which had been so beautiful only moments ago was creeping her out now.

  She looked up about halfway to the house. Oddly it seemed to be staring back at her. An strange sense of intrusion stole over her, as if she were some kind of interloper — unwanted and uninvited. Someone who snuck onto the Evermoore’s grounds. Someone who definitely shouldn’t be walking on the grass.

  All of a sudden she wanted to be on the path. She could turn toward it — all she’d have to do was hang a right at a large woodpile and cut beneath the oaks. It would be easier walking for sure. And it would also—

  Her head snapped to the left. She heard a noise. Saw movement.

  What the—

  Melody froze mid-step, her body going utterly still. An unmistakable sound reached her ears, gravelly and terrifying:

  The low, angry growl of a very large dog.

  Three

  The hound was stocky and ferocious, with a giant bulbous head and a body rippled with muscle. It reminded her of a bulldog, only bigger. Much stronger and angrier.

  Melody caught its gaze right away and maintained steady eye contact. Though her experience with dogs was limited, she knew enough not to look away. Outwardly she remained confident. Her expression portrayed strength, even defiance.

  Inwardly she was absolutely terrified.

  It snarled again, but Melody held still her ground. The dog’s eyes remained fixated on her. It raised its snout, sniffing the air, then curled its lips all the way back… revealing a nasty set of yellowed, slavering jaws.

  Another growl started up, this one even louder and angrier than the first. A second dog stepped out from behind the woodpile…

  She ran.

  There’s no way I’m making it!

  It wasn’t even a question. Melody could run fast — faster than anyone she knew — but this was totally different. First, she was wearing shoes not sneakers, and dressed in a ball gown. And these were dogs. They were built to run.

  She got up to speed and maxed out quickly. Even so there was nothing else to do, the house was simply too far away. She could put her head down and dig deep, maybe gain an extra step or two, but already she could hear the animals racing up behind her. Two sets of paws, digging hard into the dirt. Growing louder. Growing closer…

  She fell. It happened in an instant, and Melody was up again just as fast. Without checking her pursuers she broke through the line of oaks and emerged onto the road. Her shoes made loud clacking noises against the surface of the old pavers. She considered kicking them off.

  As the snarls grew louder she risked a quick look back. If they were going to catch up with her, she might as well be prepared for their spring. Maybe she could fight them off. Maybe she could—

  THWAP!

  The sound was followed by a loud squeal, and the heartbreaking cries of a wounded animal. Melody looked again and saw a man standing over one of the dogs. He was tall and well-built, with thick blonde hair and a square-set jaw. In both his hands he held a long, wood-handled axe.

  “HI-YAAAA!”

  His shout was loud and fierce and stopped the other dog in its tracks. It skidded to an ungracious stop, its paws slipping on the worn brick path. The man raised the axe again and the dog turned and bolted. It scrambled back the way it came, disappearing beneath the thick canopy of trees.

  The man lowered the axe and turned to face her immediately. “Are you alright?”

  Melody had her hands on her knees, still gasping for breath as her savior approached. Apparently her track-running days were a lot further behind than she originally thought.

  “Y—Yes…” she breathed. “Thank you… so… much…”

  He held out an arm, offering her some support. She took it gratefully.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? I saw you fall.”

  “I’m fine,” she gasped. “But I think I… might’ve torn my dress.”

  “You did,” he said, kneeling before her. “But only a little.” He held up a scrap of material in one palm, split down the middle. “Man you run fast!’

  She chuckled nervously, half amused, half still pumped with adrenaline. Now that she was safe her eyes went to the fallen animal. It was twitching on the pavement a moment ago, whimpering, but now it lay still.

  “Don’t look at that,” the man said. He put an arm around her and turned her toward the house. “It’s… not good.”

  There was blood, too. Blood on the ground. Blood on the blade of the—

  “Where’d you get that axe?”

  The blonde man shrugged and pointed back at the woodpile. “Found it sticking out of there.” Sure enough, a small pile of freshly split wood lay scattered around a large stump. “Lucky, eh?”

  “Very,” she agreed.

  Without realizing it, they’d begun walking together. Moving slowly in the direction of the house.

  “I’m Eric,” he said amiably. “Eric Hanham.” He offered his hand.

  “Melody,” she smiled back, taking it. “Melody Larson.”

  “Pleased to meet you Melody Larson.”

  She sighed and shook her head in disagreement. “Not half as pleased as I am to meet you.”

  The road to the house was fully shaded, and it felt good to be out of the sun. Melody was still sweating, still shaking. But at least she was safe.

  “I’m okay,” she said finally, as she took her arm from Eric’s. “Thank you.” He smiled and nodded. She was moving deliberately slow, and appreciated the fact he was kind enough to match her pace.

  They passed a mortared stone well on one side, the carriage house on the other. A noise came from the barn area — the rhythmic sounds of metal striking metal. Blacksmithing was something they would’ve done back when the place was built in the late 1700’s. Apparently, with the plantation restored, it was going on again.

  A man stepped out from the barn just as they passed by, one with dark wavy hair that fell to his shoulders. He was shirtless and glistening — every stretch of exposed skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It made his chest stand out. His arms even more. As she watched, he upended a bucket of water over his head, drenching himself completely.

  His eyes blinked open and caught Melody’s gaze. The man did a double take, as if surprised by her sudden appearance.

  She waved at him to say hi. Reluctantly at first, sheepishly, he raised one big arm to signal back.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Hell if I know,” said Eric.

  The man was still staring at her awkwardly. He had striking blue eyes. A stubbled chin. Eventually he dropped the bucket and turned away, heading back in the direction of the barn.

  “Where’d you come from anyway?” Melody asked as they walked. It was odd that the question had only just now occurred to her.

  “Stepped out from behind one of these trees,” Eric said with a short laugh. “You were there.”

  She looked him up and down as if seeing him for the first time. He wore a gentleman’s coat and vest, all black with gold buttons. Shoes with silver-washed colonial buckles. Everything he had on was period dress, just like her.

  “I know that, but why are you here?”

  He smirked at her. It was a knowing smirk. “I could ask you the same thing actually,” he said.

  “I’m an invited guest,” Melody told him. “There’s a ball tonight.”

  “There’s a ball every night,” he laughed.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Eric said dismissively. He gestured at his own outfit. “Look at me. I’m an arriving guest, just like you.”

  Melody gave him another once-over but said nothing. There were almost to the house now. Her legs had finally stopped trembling.

  “Listen,” he said, leaning in confidentially, “I’m just like yo
u. I’m here for the same thing you are.”

  “The cotillion?” she asked innocently.

  Eric’s gaze shifted back and forth for a moment before falling back on her own.

  “No,” he whispered. “I’m here for the egg.”

  Four

  Melody stood at the base of the porch, trying not to be stunned. They were in the shadow of the house now. It loomed over them like a living thing.

  “You’re here for what?” she asked carefully.

  “For what I just said,” Eric answered. His voice dropped even lower. “Don’t make me say it again.”

  “But—”

  “You think you’re the only one sent here by the Order?”

  Now she was stunned. The Hallowed Order was never to be acknowledged outwardly, at least not for what it was. The only exception of course was to other members. Melody stared back at him, completely uncertain.

  “Ah,” said Eric, “you still don’t believe me. Here. Look.”

  He rolled up one sleeve. A large tattoo snaked its way up his forearm, all black and grey and filled in with intricate detail. Tribal bands gave way to a lion, a rose, a swooping dove. And further up, past his bulging bicep… a familiar eye, half lidded, buried within the other designs. An eye set against three interlocking triangles.

  The symbol of the Hallowed Order.

  “So you’re…”

  “Here for the same thing you are. Sent by Aldwyn.”

  Aldwyn. Melody turned the name over in her mind. It definitely sounded familiar. She was sure she’d heard it in her time at the Blackstone.

  Eric rolled his sleeve back into place. “And who sent you?”

  She paused, but only for a moment. “Xiomara.”

  Eric laughed. “Oh man, sucks for you. I’d hate to have to report back to her. Especially if I couldn’t find the…” His voice trailed off as he glanced around again. “Well, you know.”

  Melody’s face went flush with anger. Xiomara! This was supposed to be her first assignment. Her first unassisted assignment! And now here was someone else, sent perhaps even to babysit her. Or at the very least, to help out.