by Jan Eldredge
Julian pointed beyond the figures toward heaps of Styrofoam and a scattering of worktables covered with paint containers and miniature sculptures. “It appears to be a Mardi Gras float-building facility.”
Standing so close to such large toothy mouths jangled Evangeline’s nerves, making her fear that at any moment a giant hand might shoot out from the shadows, spear her with a giant fork, then sprinkle her with Tabasco sauce. “Let’s keep moving,” she whispered.
The orange light led them on like proverbial moths to the flame, toward the rear of the warehouse. They plunged through the sea of colossal heads and exited into a forest of parts, props, and pieces, reinforcing Evangeline’s ever-growing impression that she and Julian had somehow shrunk to the size of insects. Flowers as wide as washtubs sat stacked on towering wooden shelves. Enormous vines and leaves stretched out across worktables. She and Julian wove their way through multitudes of huge rainbow-colored birds and fish scattered across the floor. No doubt this is what it must have felt like for Alice when she fell down the rabbit hole and into Wonderland.
Just when Evangeline thought things couldn’t get any more peculiar, Julian stopped and motioned ahead. There in the darkness, row after row of long rectangular vehicles stretched into the shadowy depths of the warehouse. “We’re inside a den.”
“A what?” Prickles danced along the backs of her arms. Wolves lived in dens. And a wolf den was not a safe place to be if you weren’t a wolf.
“A den is a building and storage facility for parade floats. Did you know that in the early years of Mardi Gras, floats were referred to as tableaux cars? They—”
“Come on.” Evangeline cut him off before he could recite more history lessons. She waved for him to keep moving.
They drew closer, and the brightly colored creations came into focus, the long lines of floats creating a fanciful, otherworldly traffic jam. Some were single levels, some double-deckers, each one fronted with its own giant figure like that of a ship’s masthead. Faint voices drifted toward them from somewhere ahead. She and Julian locked frightened eyes, then crept toward the sound, snaking their way through the horizontal lines of floats, tiptoeing beneath the watchful eyes of giant football players, caped superheroes, and bearded Spanish conquistadors.
The voices grew louder as they approached the last line of vehicles. Evangeline peered around the corner of a mermaid float, its sides covered with rolling blue waves and pale-pink seashells. She’d seen enough strange images inside this warehouse of wonders to last her a lifetime, but none of it compared to what now appeared before her.
“Good heavenly days,” she muttered, unable to pull her eyes away from the grand plantation house sprawling right there before her, a stately southern beauty ornamented with towering white columns and red brick chimneys. Two sweeping staircases led up to a wide, spacious balcony. A line of moss-droopy oaks stretched along each side of it. A grassy green lawn lay before it.
The murmuring voices rose from a group of men in black suits gathered on the lawn. They stood facing the house and a narrow brick roadway that ran before it.
“What are they up to?” Evangeline mumbled.
At least the source of the orange light was no longer a mystery. Large firepots filled with dancing, crackling flames lit up the base of each white marble staircase. Another line of firepots stretched across the balcony decorated with swaths of white fabric draped from column to column.
Julian frowned and shook his head. “This is a clear violation of the city’s fire safety code.”
As Evangeline continued assessing her surroundings, she grew more confused with every detail she took in. Adding to the oddness in an already odd scenario, the bronze statue of a woman towered alongside the staircase to the right. Clothed in a toga and sandals, its shoulders squared and its chin held high, it must have stood at least ten feet tall. In one hand it balanced a bowl; its other hand clutched an upward-pointing wand, as though casting a spell upon the house’s balcony.
“Why is there a house inside a warehouse?” Evangeline was seriously rethinking her recently improved opinion of city folk.
“It’s not real,” Julian replied.
“I know what I see.” She scowled at him. “And I see a great big house right there.”
“It’s a façade, a re-creation of a southern manor home to produce the illusion of being outdoors on the front lawn at night. The oak trees are fake too, and so is the grass. I’ve heard of places like this. Businesses can rent this area to host private parties and events.”
“A fake house.” Evangeline raised an eyebrow at him. “With fake grass and fake trees. So people can pretend to be outdoors.” She sighed with resignation. “Come on. Let’s get closer and see if we can figure out what’s going on here.”
They tiptoed behind the line of floats, drawing nearer to the house and lawn, stopping far enough away to keep a safe distance between them and the men. They crawled beneath a float embellished with an immense jazz musician rising from the front of it.
Evangeline peered through the colored foil fringe bordering the bottom of the vehicle.
“Why are we hiding?” Julian whispered, kneeling and peering out alongside her. “I want to find my mother.”
Evangeline frowned. “You’re not very good at this stalking thing, are you?”
“No. Not really. With the development of the modern grocery store, we no longer possess the need to hunt for our meals.”
She gave him a glare.
“It looks like they’re gathered for some sort of formal event,” Julian observed. “What does this have to do with my mother?”
Evangeline had no idea, but the midnight hour was ticking ever closer. She couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time she told him about his mama’s condition, before things started happening. And things were definitely going to be happening. She took a deep breath. “Julian. There’s something very important I need to tell you. You’re not going to like it, and I’m very sorry.”
“Now what? I’m in no mood to hear more of your make-believe stories.”
She cast a glare at him. His rudeness had just spared her the effort of trying to sugarcoat her next words. “Your mama was bitten by an alpha rougarou.”
“A rouga-what?”
“A rougarou. A swamp werewolf.”
He stared at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes and turned his attention back toward the artificial lawn.
“Did you hear what I said?” This boy was so exasperating. “Your mama was bitten on the night of the last full moon. That’s why she’s been so sick these past few weeks. Now it’s the night of the following full moon. Come midnight, the cycle will be complete, and she’ll make her first transformation into a vicious beast with an uncontrollable need to kill. There will be no way to reason with her. She won’t even recognize you.”
Julian remained silent, keeping his eyes on the gathering of men.
He was going to need protecting from his mama. Evangeline sorted through her satchel, but there wasn’t much she could offer from her meager supplies. She took out the stalks of rye and the sprigs of mistletoe and tucked them into each of his back pockets.
“Hey!” He lunged away from her. “What are you doing? Invasion of personal space!” He reached into one of the pockets and pulled out the mistletoe.
Evangeline narrowed her eyes and pointed a threatening finger. “You keep that in place, or so help me . . .”
“Fine.” He stuffed the sprig back into his pocket.
“When the change overcomes your mama at midnight, if she makes a human kill, she’ll morph into a rougarou on the night of every full moon hereafter.” Evangeline sat cross-legged and pulled out the red gris-gris bag meant as protection for Mrs. Midsomer. The chances of getting it to her now looked very slim. She handed it to Julian. “Keep this until we can attach it to your mama. Tuck it into your right front pocket.”
Julian sighed loudly as he did so, but Evangeline wasn’t deterred. She had things to say, and by golly
, he was going to listen. “Once a person becomes a rougarou, the only way they can be cured is to destroy the alpha who infected them. However, if we can keep your mama from making her first human kill tonight, we can break the alpha’s blood hold. It’ll be tough for her; I won’t lie to you. She’ll still morph at midnight, but if I can get her properly weaken-bound, she’ll survive and revert to her permanent human form come sunrise tomorrow.”
“But wouldn’t it just be easier to lock all these infected victims in a windowless bank vault until morning?”
Evangeline shook her head. “You don’t understand. Even without sight or feel of the moonlight, the change would gradually overtake them anyway. The drive to draw blood and kill is maddening. If any of them were imprisoned, they would greatly injure themselves trying to escape, maybe even self-mutilate while in the throes of their frenzies. They’d most likely end up dying as a result of their wounds when they returned to their frailer human forms at daybreak. The weaken-binds are the most humane thing we can do for your mama.”
Julian put his hands to his face and wearily rubbed his eyes, muttering something Evangeline didn’t quite catch. But it didn’t matter. She had no time to argue with this ridiculous boy. From her satchel she withdrew the bottle of holy water, and the small jar of aconitum tumbled onto her lap. She held up the bottle of liquid to Julian.
“What’s that?”
“Holy water. If we can find rope or some other sort of binding material, I can use this to try and create a set of weaken-binds.” Her shoulders slumped. “But since I’m not a haunt huntress, I don’t know if my efforts will work.”
Julian didn’t appear to be listening. “What’s this?” He picked up the small jar of purplish-black extract.
“Don’t touch that!” She snatched it away. “That’s deadly aconitum.”
He wiped his fingers on his shirt.
“Also known as wolf’s bane. Fatal to the human touch, and fatal to a rougarou. Extremely effective when smeared on the tip of an arrow and fired into a rougarou’s heart. Death is instantaneous.” With a sigh, she cast a glance at the homemade crossbow hanging over his shoulder. “Too bad your toy weapon isn’t the real thing.”
Julian gave her a frown.
Evangeline continued, “Of course, shooting a rougarou through the heart with a silver bullet is also quite effective.”
“Ah, another of your quaint superstitions, the old-world belief in the supernatural power of silver.” He gave her the patient smile of an adult about to explain a complicated idea to a kindergartner. “Did you know people once believed the moon was made of silver? In early Roman times, women wore silver moon crescents on their shoes to ensure they gave birth to healthy babies. Here’s another fun one. If you bake a silver coin inside a cake on January first, you’ll have good luck throughout the year.” He leaned in closer, fixed his eyes on her, and spoke his next words very slowly. “All of them the false beliefs of frightened, ignorant people.” He sat back and steepled his fingers. “Silver simply doesn’t have magical powers. And werewolves don’t really exist.”
Fury roiled to a boil inside Evangeline. She lifted her chin, her gaze boring into him. “An alpha killed my mama and my sister. I assure you, the rougarou is a real creature.” Clenching her jaw, she slipped the holy water and aconitum back into her satchel.
“I’m sorry.” Julian stared at the ground. “I’m very sorry for the loss of your mother and your sister.”
“Thank you.” Her indignation settled to a simmer. Maybe there was hope for him yet.
“But it was probably some sort of wild animal that killed them. Perhaps a bear. Or a panther.”
She ground her teeth till it hurt, fighting back the urge to holler in frustration. This boy was most definitely going to need protection, because if he kept on with his mindless jaw flapping, she was going to hurt him herself.
“Look, something’s happening!” he pointed through the float’s foil-fringed lining and across the way toward the lawn.
The men hushed their conversations and gathered at the edge of the grass. They stood facing the narrow brick road running between them and the house facade.
Off to their right and in the distance, more orange lights flared. Then slowly, the lights advanced toward them, glowing like alligator eyes in the night.
Four men emerged from the shadows of the warehouse. They marched silently up the roadway, carrying crackling torches that bathed the area with more flickering firelight.
Evangeline glanced from the torches to the firepots, mulling over the possibilities. Fire was one of earth’s four elements. It represented rebirth. Was some sort of renewal ceremony about to take place? Or were they just going to set something on fire? Or maybe worse, someone?
“Flambeaux carriers?” Julian whispered.
Evangeline furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand.”
“Over a hundred years ago, it was the job of the flambeaux carriers to light the way of the night parades so spectators could better see the floats. It’s a tradition that still exists among—”
“I know what they are! But what are they doing here?”
The fire carriers, dressed in gray pants and long-sleeved gray turtlenecks like those the kidnappers wore, drew up to the big house. Their faces remained stony as they bore their five-foot-tall iron torches before them. Oily black kerosene smoke streamed from the flames.
A sudden rumbling broke the silence, echoing off the towering walls of the warehouse. Evangeline tensed, and her hand dropped to the knife at her leg. She peered into the darkness the flambeaux carriers had emerged from, and a red tractor, driven by another man in gray, rolled slowly up the road pulling a Mardi Gras float hitched behind it. Ordinarily, such a sight would bring a feeling of happiness to the spectator, but the only thing it brought Evangeline was a heightened sense of anxiety.
The flambeaux carriers took positions along each side of the sweeping staircases. Then they turned and inserted the torches into holders in the ground and filed away to wait in the shadows beneath the large oaks.
Atop the purple, gold, and ivory-colored vehicle, a crowned king stood beneath ornate columns, scrolls, and fancy French-style gilding.
Evangeline curled her fingers around the hilt of her knife, waiting for what seemed like hours, as the rumbling tractor pulled the float to the front of the fake house and drew to a gentle stop.
The king, dressed in midnight-blue breeches and doublet, and knee-high black leather boots, turned with the formal mannerism of a ruler before his court. He faced the men gathered on the lawn. Evangeline’s mouth dropped, and her brows rose. The pale complexion, the slightly large nose, the short brown ponytail . . .
“Laurent Ardeas!” Julian hissed.
If Evangeline had just been bowled over by a high-heeled hog in a house dress, she couldn’t have been more stunned. Laurent Ardeas? The soft-spoken florist who’d quoted poetry that morning in the Midsomers’ dining room?
His nostrils flaring, Julian glared at Laurent.
“Why’s he dressed like that?” Evangeline whispered.
“It’s the typical attire of a Mardi Gras king. Only the most prominent and influential members of society are chosen as monarchs.” Julian’s glower deepened. “He’s obviously the leader of this charade and is undoubtedly suffering from delusions of grandeur.”
A sharp-toothed shame gnawed at Evangeline’s pride. Her observational skills were definitely lacking. Mr. Ardeas was what Gran would have called a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Not that any self-respecting sheep would ever wear breeches and boots.
“Welcome, my family.” King Laurent gave a slow wave of his heavy black scepter. “Welcome on this momentous occasion.”
The men in suits bowed deeply toward him, murmuring as one, “Hail, Alpha!”
“The alpha.” Evangeline’s brain went buzzy, as though it were encased in a giant beehive instead of her head. “Laurent Ardeas is the alpha rougarou?” And if he was the alpha, there could be no doubt the men bowin
g before him were his pack.
She did a quick head count. Thirteen.
Not three or four, not even five or six, but thirteen. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the world to stop spinning. A pack that large was unheard-of. If she hadn’t already been seated on the floor, she would have collapsed onto it. She peeled her eyes open and cast another glance at the men dressed in suits, men who looked as harmless as any group of guests at a cocktail party. But these men were far from harmless. “We have to leave,” she whispered.
Julian lowered the crossbow from his shoulder and slid the bag of marbles from his pocket.
Evangeline narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He dropped a marble into the weapon’s grooved track and pulled the bow back. “I’m going to exact revenge. Not from some mythological lupine threat, but from Laurent Ardeas.”
“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” Evangeline snatched the bag from him.
“Hey! Those are mine.”
“Not anymore.” She gave him a scowl. “You’ve officially lost your marbles—in more ways than one.” She stuffed the bag into her satchel. “Little glass balls won’t stop a rougarou. If you shoot one of them with one of these, the only thing you’ll succeed at is making him mad and drawing his attention to you. And trust me, you don’t want to do that.”
Pouting, Julian reslung the crossbow over his shoulder and crouched lower, resuming glaring at Laurent as he slowly and ceremoniously descended from his kingly float.
“We have to get out of here,” Evangeline whispered. “Now.”