by J. D. Horn
“God. The two of you,” Lucy said. “I know enough to walk the line between being careless and paranoid. I may not have any power, but someone might try to get to one of you through me. I get it. I’m not stupid, and I’m not blind.”
“Unlike Miss Royal Wedding over there,” Hugo said, nodding toward a middle-aged woman maneuvering her immense headdress out of a car a few places ahead in line. “I think she mistook a toilet seat for a fascinator.”
“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Lucy said, leaning over him to get a better look.
“Ugh. I disown you as a cousin.”
“Please, you just wish it came in a size big enough to fit your fat head.”
The two of them burst out laughing. Alice smiled. She wished she had the ability to toy with her brother and her cousin the way they did with each other. But it was over the next instant, and the same bored look washed over Lucy’s features.
“We could’ve just held it at Celestin’s house,” Lucy said. Alice noticed she had picked up the others’ habit of referring to their grandfather by his given name. “It’s big enough.”
“Big enough, yes, but you’ve never been to one of these events.” She mirrored one of Lucy’s own exaggerated expressions. “Witches and alcohol. If something doesn’t get singed, it wasn’t a good party.” She reached over and patted Lucy’s hand. “Come on. You might even have fun.”
“Yeah,” she said, “real likely at this nonagenarian prom.”
“Nah,” Hugo said, “together, you and Alice bring down the average guest age to around eighty-seven.”
“You could’ve invited someone, you know,” Fleur said.
“And whom exactly would I have invited to this fete?”
“Well,” Fleur said, the slight hint of a smile on her lips. “Perhaps the boy you were carrying on a silent conversation with outside Précieux Sang.”
“I wasn’t having a conversation of any kind with any boy.”
Alice couldn’t resist. She examined her cousin, trying to identify her “tell.”
“No? Because it sure seemed . . .”
“I barely know Remy,” she said.
It was her eyes, Alice realized. She always looked right at you when telling the lie, but in the moment before, her focus wandered, a bit up and to the right.
“You know him well enough to know his name,” Fleur said with a knowing air. “And your level of annoyance tells me there are sparks, even if there isn’t a fire yet.” She inspected her makeup once more. “Though as your mother and friend I should tell you that Remy not only looks like Alcide did at that age, but from what I hear, he gets around just like his grandfather did, too.” She dropped her mirror back into her purse and smiled brightly. “And Alcide Simeon is still a legend around this town.”
“Yeah, you right,” Hugo said, dropping into New Orleans vernacular. He laughed as Lucy gave him a withering glance. He shook his head. “It isn’t my fault. You’re the one who’s slipping.” He turned, almost pressing his nose to the window, scanning the people mounting the narrow granite steps.
“I’m just saying the whole thing is a ridiculous bother.” Lucy returned to her original theme in what Alice guessed was an attempt to turn the conversation.
“It’s a tradition,” Fleur said, allowing Lucy to slip the knot, if only for the evening. “A way of keeping the peace. There was a time when a death could spell a territorial war.”
“Yeah, maybe way back in the when,” Lucy said, pulling a face. “You know, when there was any turf to fight over. Besides, it really isn’t our turf to protect anymore, is it?”
Their car came to a full stop just a bit past the entrance, alongside what seemed an incongruous wooden fence. A moment later Alice’s door opened. She hesitated, looking out at the line of those entering the affair. “It’s okay, Alice,” her Aunt Fleur assured her. “We’ll be right behind you.”
“Don’t mind the knives,” Lucy said. Alice turned back. Her cousin shrugged. “What else is family for if not to stab you in the back?”
“Lucy,” Fleur said, her tone full of stern warning.
“I’m just kidding. Relax.”
Alice slipped out the door and went over to the fence, stopping just short of leaning back against it, so she could examine the church’s exterior without blocking anyone’s path. The building’s white facade declared it the abandoned offspring of Baroque architecture and Germanic restraint. On the upper facade, niches, far too narrow to house the statues that might grace a Gothic cousin, made an imperfect effort to preserve the symmetry of the three nearly identical doors on its lower level. The trio of weathered doors still held the memory of sky-blue emulsion.
For Alice it was love at first sight. She would come back tomorrow. See it again in natural light.
“Perhaps if you would relax,” Fleur’s voice preceded her as she exited the car, leading the others to join Alice by the fence, “you might have a bit of fun. I certainly intend to.” The words still hung in the air as a tall man with a square jaw and a V-shaped torso approached her. “Eli.” Fleur offered him her arm. “It has been far too long.”
“Good evening,” this Eli greeted them all, as he offered Fleur his arm.
Fleur placed her hand over his forearm. “See you all inside,” she said and risked one final triumphant look back at them. “Don’t dawdle,” she said, her voice bright and carefree.
Lucy watched with her jaw hanging open as Eli escorted her mother through the center door.
“Damn. Looks like Auntie F has scored,” Hugo said.
“I just . . . don’t even want to think—”
“Oh, look,” Hugo said, cutting Lucy off, “there’s my date.” He raised his hand and waved, much to Alice’s surprise, at Evangeline, who had just turned the corner on foot, coming from the opposite direction. She looked beautiful, if self-conscious, facing into the headlights of the line of disgorging vehicles.
“Wow,” Lucy said, a wooden expression on her face, “I like that dress even better the second time around.” Alice recognized it as the same dress Evangeline had worn yesterday to the cemetery. “Hope she got the brain splatter cleaned off. I had to toss the shoes I was—”
“Shut up,” Hugo said, his anger real and obvious.
“Geesh,” Lucy said, pretending not to be hurt by his tone. “Getting a little testy, there, aren’t you?”
“It’s only some people haven’t always had everything handed to them.”
“No,” Lucy said. “I guess you were born lucky.” She paused, presumably to ensure her words had hit home. “Come on. What’s up with you inviting your dad’s girlfriend, who was, wait, let me check my diary”—she flipped her finger through air, turning the pages of an imaginary book—“your brother’s girlfriend first. What? Is she so irresistible to the Marin men, she’s turned you? God, Alice will be falling for her next,” she said, the comment casual, offhanded. Her eyes flashed to Alice—a sincere, though silent, apology.
“I don’t think I’m her type,” Alice said. She and Lucy focused on each other for a moment, then they both started laughing.
Hugo gave them both the stink eye, but then his eyes widened, as a truth, her truth, began to dawn on him. “Oh,” he said, then “oh” again.
Evangeline began walking their way, but Lucy gave Hugo a shove. “Go on,” she said. “You have fun with Jocasta. Antigone and I will hang.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said, already walking away. “Say hello to your new dad for me.”
“I hate you.”
Hugo turned to blow a kiss in their direction, then headed off to meet Evangeline.
“Oh. My. God,” Lucy said, whipping around to face her. “I am such a total asshat. You must literally hate me.”
“No,” Alice smiled. “Not at all. I’m glad Hugo knows.” She focused on Lucy. Her cousin was this odd combination of weary worldliness and green immaturity. Somewhere behind the expensive clothes and sharp tongue was a good person. A scared person, but a good person. “I’
m glad you know.” Alice looked toward Hugo, who already seemed caught up in a conversation with Evangeline. “Is it ever real, between you and Hugo, the . . . ,” Alice searched for the right word, then settled for “acrimony?”
“Always, a little. But never. You’ll get the hang of it. I’m being nice to you now. But once we’re friends for real . . . watch out.”
“This,” Alice said with a tinge of seriousness, “is what you consider nice?”
“See, you’re already learning,” Lucy said, then took her hand. “Come on, cuz, let’s make the rounds, then we’ll go find some real fun.”
Lucy tugged, but Alice held her ground. “I don’t think you should see Remy anymore,” she said, the words escaping her before she realized what she was saying.
Alice expected an explosion, but Lucy stopped and looked deeply into her eyes. “Why do you say that?” No anger. No angst. Just a simple question.
Alice wanted to speak of her vision of Mahogany Hall, of the beautiful young man she’d seen there. She didn’t know how to begin without sounding as crazy as Nicholas had always led the rest of the family to believe she was. “It’s only a feeling.”
Lucy scanned her face, seeming to search for a bit of missing information. “You’re lying. I can always tell,” she said, her voice calm. “You’re lying about the why. But you’re not lying about being concerned.” She paused, as if considering how to proceed. “We’ll talk about it later. Okay?”
Alice nodded.
An elderly couple, a study in stiffness, made their way from their car. A black and red strapless brocade gown had swallowed the tan, leathery skin of the nearly skeletal woman, and Alice suspected her face would have fallen into a ring of wrinkles if not held back by the tight chignon in her gray hair. Her partner, still dapper in black tie, held her arm, and they both meandered toward the cousins, the man bumping into Lucy.
“Pardon,” the man said.
The woman turned to them. “So sorry . . . for your loss.” She paused. “Please let me express condolences on behalf of the entire Silverbell Coven.” She held out a deeply spotted hand, dominated by what appeared to be a six- or maybe even seven-carat emerald-cut diamond. Alice couldn’t get a clear view of the stone, but she sensed a tiny glamour had been set on it.
In what seemed to be an out-of-character level of geniality, Lucy took the woman’s hand. “The Chanticleer Coven is pleased to accept your gracious expression of sympathy.” The two leaned in and brushed each other’s cheeks with tiny air kisses that came close but failed to make actual contact. Lucy released the woman’s hand, and the couple smiled at them before turning to negotiate the granite steps—the gentleman grasping the railing, the woman clutching his arm.
“The Silverbell Coven?” Alice asked. She remembered many of the names of the witch clans, but this one seemed unfamiliar.
“The entire Silverbell Coven. Right there. You’re looking at the last of them.”
“You were very diplomatic.”
“They seem sweet. No need to hurt their feelings,” Lucy said. “Besides, I wanted to get a better look at that rock. It’s a legendary stone. Cursed and all.”
Alice said nothing, but Lucy must have read the truth in her eyes.
“It’s paste, isn’t it?” She seemed sincerely sad. “But if you can see it, then . . .”
“Others will, too.”
“They’ve probably been forced to sell the real one, and they’re just trying to keep up appearances.” A line formed between Lucy’s eyes. “It really is over, isn’t it? The magic. The wealth. The power.”
“Yes, I believe it is. Will you miss it?”
“It’s not like I ever had much power myself, but I’ll miss the benefits of being magic adjacent.” She looked up. “This may be the very last witches’ ball we’ll ever have the chance to attend.”
“Could be.”
Lucy took her arm, clutching it in imitation of the bejeweled crone and her mate. They began to climb the stairs to the entrance. “I’ll still spend all evening making fun of people.”
“I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Serendipitous,” Lisette said, staring at her own reflection in the passenger-side window, an imperfect mirror. She could see the darkness that lay behind her own eyes. She looked away, struck by the realization that perhaps the window was her perfect mirror.
“Serendipitous,” the driver, a sturdy young woman with short blonde hair and a quick smile, repeated the word. “That’s what my papa would call a ten-dollar word.” She laughed. “I guess I’d just say it was lucky I was passing.”
“Yes,” Lisette forced what she hoped looked like a sincere smile. She was grateful, beyond grateful, that the kind young woman had spotted her emerging from the tree line along the highway and had been gracious enough to pull over and offer her a ride. But the part of her that could truly appreciate this gesture was sequestered in the back of her mind, screaming in abject terror. No, better to fake it for now.
Lisette’s gaze drifted up to the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time. Her mother’s face, impassive, immobile as a photo, stared back from the backseat.
“I don’t usually come out this way, but I was talking with a fare earlier—”
“Fare?” Lisette asked, feeling panicked. She didn’t have a dime on her.
The woman nodded, glancing over. “Yes, ma’am, I’ve been driving part-time to help make the frazzled ends meet, or at least see each other waving. I work as a customs protection officer,” she paused, seemingly waiting for Lisette to demand an explanation of the title. When Lisette didn’t say a word—she couldn’t—the woman continued. “All the risk, none of the weapons. That’s what it means.” Lisette nodded, her eyes traveling once again to the reflection of her mother’s features. “It’s private, though. Not official police work or anything like that.” She signaled and pulled around a slow car. “My hours got cut a couple weeks back.” She leaned in a bit. “So much for that great America we got promised.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any money . . .”
“Oh, no, ma’am,” the driver raised her right hand, but only for a moment. It fell right back to two o’clock on the wheel. “You don’t owe me anything. God put me out here to help you.” Another flash of her bright smile.
A decent person. Lisette heard her mother’s words. She turned, a reflex, to glance over her shoulder. I raised you better than that. Thank the nice woman. Ask the nice woman her name.
“I’m so sorry,” Lisette said. “It’s only I’ve had a bit of a shock.”
“I can see that, ma’am, but I didn’t want to pry.”
“You are a good person. A real good person,” Lisette said, then worried she sounded like she was stroking a dog. “Thank you for your kindness. I do sincerely appreciate it.”
“We gotta look out for each other,” she said. Lisette could tell this woman truly meant it.
Name?
“Yes,” Lisette said. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Nathalie. Nathalie Boudreau. Anyway, like I was saying, I don’t usually come out this way, especially at night, but you know how when you get an idea stuck in your craw?” Lisette held her tongue, assuming the question was rhetorical. It was. “Well, the rider I had yesterday, you might know her if you’re from around the Quarter—Evangeline from Bonnes Nouvelles—I dropped her over at Précieux Sang. Now, I live not a stone’s throw from Odd Fellows Rest, so I know cemeteries, but I got to tell you Précieux Sang, well, that place just gives me the willies. I was telling Evangeline about how my brother used to pick on me about Babau Jean when we were kids, and she mentioned Grunch Road, and, well . . .” Lisette stiffened at the name of the road. Nathalie shrugged. “I never believed it existed—Grunch Road, that is—but Evangeline, she seemed convinced it does, or at least did. Back before Katrina, maybe. So I spent all afternoon today looking at the satellite photos, and dip me in honey and feed me to the bears, I thoug
ht I saw a portion of a cut-off old lane somewhere in the area near where I spotted you ladies. Not much light out there to see anything this late, but I work the next three days straight—not that I’m not grateful for the work—but, well, I know myself, and by the time I’m off again, I’ll have moved on to something else. Figured I had nothing else to do tonight, so . . .”
Something in the stream of words finally got processed by Lisette’s overwhelmed mind. “Ladies?”
“Why yes, ma’am,” Nathalie grinned and nodded up at the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, maybe I should’ve said something earlier, but you weren’t alone out there.”
Lisette tugged her seatbelt out so she could turn fully to face her mother. She turned back to Nathalie. “You see her?”
“Well, yes, ma’am. It’s only I didn’t know if you did. And you seemed real upset, and you don’t know me, so I didn’t want to scare you by going all Shyamalan on you. But you don’t need to be frightened.” Nathalie focused on Lisette’s mother’s face in the mirror. “She seems like a real nice lady. Pretty. Looks something like you, so I’m guessing it’s your mama or maybe your big sister.”
“You can see her?” Lisette repeated herself, unsure as to how many more surprises she could take in one night.
I thought we’d covered that. Lisette saw a smirk form on her mother’s lips.
“Yes, ma’am, I can, indeed.” Nathalie glanced over at her, a gentle seriousness in her gaze. “If you want, I can try to talk to her for you. See what she wants.”
“No, no,” Lisette said, “I think I already know that.”
Nathalie nodded. “All right then,” she said, her voice calm, respectful. “So you said you were headed to the Tremé?”
“Yes,” Lisette said.
No, her mother said at the same time. Bywater.
Nathalie visibly reacted to the words. So, she could hear her, too. At least when her mama wanted to be heard.
“I could take you to either,” Nathalie said, casting a nervous look at Lisette and then in the mirror at her mother, “or both.” She added quickly, “Whatever you ladies want.”