Rebelled, an Arelia LaRue Novel #7

by Kira Saito

  "You'd like to help?"

  “Yes. This is an important cause. Arelia’s would be more than happy to provide food and water for the event.”

  “That sounds fantastic, but would it be selfish of me to ask you to co-host the event with me?”

  That was something I hadn’t been expecting. “Sabrina, I can barely lead your church in prayer when you ask. How in the world am I supposed to host a national event?” Even though I had much more self-esteem than my teenage years, large crowds still made me nervous as did public speaking. I didn’t have the magnetism that Sabrina had.

  “Arelia, you have a way with words that works magic on the hearts and souls of people.”

  “You know how I despise the word magic and anything that sounds remotely supernatural. What this world needs is more reason and logic so it can overcome its crazy irrationalities.”

  “Please,” she begged. “Let’s put aside our difference and come together. It’s for a good cause. All you have to do is follow my lead throughout the whole thing. Think about the lives we’ll change and the good we’ll do for America. If everything goes well, I’m planning on holding even bigger events in the future not just in this country but all across the globe.”

  I let out a low sigh. How in the world was I supposed to deny her request? It would make me look like a cold-hearted bitch who didn't give a damn about anyone but herself. I gave her a small smile. "Of course, I'll co-host the event with you. You don't have to ask twice."

  “Oh thank you!” She engulfed me in another puff of Givenchy before turning her attention to the choir. “I am so proud of my Little Angels! Take a quick break and then practice Amazing Grace again. I’m going to show the bride to be to her room.”

  At her words, the choir stopped singing. “Let’s go.” She motioned me towards the door.

  “How in the world do you know your way around this place?” I asked.

  “I’ve been here since six am. I hopped on a flight right after my interview. The wedding planner left me in charge of running things until she gets back from picking up some more fresh flowers,” Sabrina explained. “I guess she got annoyed that I was looking over her shoulder and questioning every move she made. Remember that summer when we were supposed to work here but never made it?”

  I followed her up a spiral staircase which had its gold railing carefully decorated with waxy white magnolia blooms. My hand grazed the surface of the delicate flower, and I saw death, destruction, and chaos. I shuddered and tried to turn my attention to happy wedded bliss filled thoughts. “I do. You forced me to meet with Tony and then you flew off to Paris and gave up on meeting a LaPlante altogether. We never made it to this place until now.”

  “Who said I never met a LaPlante? Who do you think I spent the summer with in Paris? The LaPlantes.”

  “You never told me that!” I was kind of scandalized that she had kept a fling secret.

  She shrugged. "It was no big deal. They're like any other rich family. We ate, we drank and we did things that I regret. Besides, that was the old me, and I've long forgotten how spoiled that girl was. I don't ever want to be her again. The Lord has had mercy on me and has called me to His glorious light. I have a job to do."

  An uncomfortable silence filled the air. I never knew what to say when Sabrina went all spiritual on me. Over the years, I had desperately tried to look at life through her eyes, but it never worked out. I couldn't wrap my head around the type of unshakeable faith that she had. "This old house is amazing," I said desperately wanting to change the subject.

  We passed rows of doors until we reached one at the end of the hall. "This is your room," she said as she turned the antique handle. "The wedding planner laid out your dress, shoes and everything else you'll need. My makeup artist and hair stylist will be here in the morning to help you get all dressed up. I know that you didn't bother booking your own because you like winging it at the last minute, but for heaven's sake this is your wedding, and I'll be damned if you look like a hot mess." She spoke a mile a minute, and I could tell that she wanted tomorrow to be perfect. "Tony's room is down the hall given how you two decided to respect tradition and sleep in separate rooms until tomorrow." She put on her sternest expression, the one she reserved specifically for her weekly youth group gathering.

  I rolled my eyes at the drama and motions. She made it seem as if I was a virginal bride about to be touched for the very first time. Despite everything, I smiled, and a rush of emotion washed over me. I didn't deserve half of the blessings that had been bestowed upon me. Spontaneously, I gave her a hug. "Thank you," I whispered. "I've never been very good with words. All I can say is thank you."

  “Don’t thank me, Arelia. You deserve this. You deserve everything that is coming your way, and all of the blessings that the angels have to offer you. Now, go on and get some rest. I have to go and make sure My Little Angels are practicing their hearts out.” She rushed off leaving me to explore.

  Chapter Eleven

  Somewhere on the other side

  The Man in the Mirror

  The room was spacious and tastefully decorated with a canopied antique four-poster bed. Bright sunlight filtered through the delicate lace curtains which did a haunting dance in the summer wind. Above, the crystal chandelier rustled and swung in carefree joy as if dancing to the tune the jazz band played.

  I took a deep breath and felt a strange peace wash over me. Two plush satin covered chairs sat in front of an enormous old-fashioned dressing table complete with an oval mirror gilded in gold. On the edge of the mirror hung my vintage Parisian wedding gown made of lace, satin, and pearls. With its long sleeves and a simple yet elegant train, and traditional full veil, it was something straight out of a fairytale. My white kitten heels with their opal and diamond fixings sat below the dress as if daring me to try on the outfit.

  I fingered the material and had a sudden urge to try it on. I ripped off my yellow dress, which was soaked in sweat, and slipped on the gown and put on the veil. I took a long look in the mirror and admired how my raven hair contrasted against the cream blush of the gown. I covered my face with the veil and continued to stare in the mirror. I suppose I was a pretty bride. A fitting bride. Pictures would be taken of Tony and me. Snippets of our lives would be posted in the Times-Picayune, and then we would live happily ever after.

  That's what I wanted, wasn't it? To live happily ever after? Yes, it was. I stood there for a good ten minutes, convincing myself that this was it for me. This was the best thing for me and my future. Then for no rhyme or rational reason, I started to bawl like a hungry baby desperate for a bottle. I dropped to my knees and let my salty tears stain my gown. I cried and cried until my sobs were high and thin. The worst part of crying in such a dramatic fashion was having no idea what the hell I was crying about.

  A mighty wind rushed into the room and caused the chandelier to crash to the ground in a deafening thump. The scent of roses filled the room, and my tears stopped.

  “Don’t you dare cry, Arelia. A bride as beautiful as you has no right to be so upset,” a soft voice whispered.

  I glanced around the room terrified that someone was spying on me. I quickly got up and wiped the tears from my face. “Who are you and why are you spying on me?” I asked in anger as I opened the heavy door of the massive armoire hoping to catch the pervert in the act. To my disappointment, it was empty.

  "Look in the mirror," the voice urged. "It's important. Please listen. All of this is a trap. They have a red wedding planned, and a massive sacrifice is going to take place. If the sacrifice is successful, you'll never find your way back to this side."

  I threw my hands up in the air in frustration. “What the hell are you talking about, and who the hell are you?”

  “Trust me,” the voice pleaded. “I’m the reason why all of your previous wedding plans failed. I am the reason you are here.”

  I ignored the voice’s request and opened the bedroom door knowing that the intruder had to be lurking outside. To my d
isappointment, the hall was empty.

  Over the years, I had made vast amounts of progress when it came to controlling my temper, but when someone pushed my buttons to the extreme, my ugly side came out in full force. Like a demented banshee, I proceeded to open each and every one of the doors that lined the hall. They were all empty except for the one at the end of the hall.

  “Hey! What the hell!” A naked and scandalized Ivan Beau covered himself with a silk duvet as did a very distraught and equally naked Mrs. Mills. She covered her face and clutched her pearls nervously. I recognized her as the wife of one of Tony’s business partners.

  “Please don’t tell,” she pleaded, as she hopped out of bed and got dressed in a mad rush. “Arelia, I swear this was a one-time thing. My husband is always working. I felt neglected and then Ivan Beau comes along and flirts with me… with those abs and that voice how on Dieu’s green earth was I supposed to resist?" Her green eyes were wide, and she bobbed her head up and down encouraging me to agree with her.

  I waved her away giving her an unspoken vow of silence. She escaped from the room in a cloud of Chanel 5. Losing all sense of reason I paraded up to Ivan and smacked him across the face. He simply laughed as he blew a cloud of cigarette smoke into my face and took a big swig of whiskey from the bottle that rested on the nightstand.

  “Who the hell do you think you are having one of your goons spy on me and threaten me?" It was the only logical explanation that I could think of. One of the many followers of the We Matter organization had slipped into my room and was attempting to sabotage the wedding with typical terrorist tactics of fear. I had made an epic mistake inviting him to this event.

  Ivan laughed as he continued to sip from his bottle. "Looks like the crazy bride needs a drink. Here Princess, have a seat and pour out your soul to me."

  I grabbed the bottle and threw it on the floor. My actions pissed off Ivan. He leaped out of bed and quickly dressed in an old t-shirt and a worn-out pair of jeans. His gray eyes were full of fury as they met mine. He stood so close that I could smell the whiskey on his breath and Mrs. Mill's perfume. "Look here, Princess; you invited me to sing at your wedding. I haven't done anything wrong. If my band isn't welcome here, we'll simply pack up and leave."

  Still full of rage I shot back at him with venom. “I know I invited you, but that does not give your followers permission to terrorize my bedroom.”

  His jaw tensed. "The only people who know about this gig are the band and me. For your information, I thought it would be safer that way for everyone given what happened yesterday."

  I unclenched my fists and felt like a demented bride who was suffering from the worst case of cold feet ever. “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I heard a voice in my room but when I searched the hall and the other bedrooms they were all empty except for yours. I assumed you were messing with me.”

  “Because the crazy activist has nothing better to do than terrorizing reluctant brides right before their big day.” His eyes shone as he ran his fingers through his thick hair. All of a sudden, I felt really stupid. “Now, I’m messing with you. Let’s go and find out where this mystery voice is coming from.”

  "Thanks," I muttered again. "I'd appreciate it if you'd take a look. The voice mentioned something about a red wedding and some sacrifice that was about to take place."

  “Oh shit! Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Somewhere on the other side

  The Rose of Jericho

  We both hurried down the hall until we reached my room. The overwhelming scent of fresh roses and sea breeze met us. Ivan froze as if he had been suddenly struck with some strange revelation. He opened his mouth and started to sing in that ethereal voice of his.

  * * *

  This desert flower

  No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this

  I dream of rain

  I dream of gardens in the desert sand

  I wake in pain

  * * *

  I dream of love as time runs through my hand

  Sweet desert rose

  Each of her veils, a secret promise

  This desert flower

  * * *

  No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this

  Sweet desert rose

  This memory of Eden haunts us all

  This desert flower,

  this rare perfume

  Is the sweet intoxication of the fall

  * * *

  “Why in the world are you singing a Sting song?” I asked totally confused at his random outburst even though it was hauntingly beautiful.

  "Most artists don't write their songs, you know. They get their lyrics from the spirit realm which gives the spirit a chance to express what he or she is feeling. Whenever a particular song is sung, it energizes the power of the spirit who wrote it. It's Voodoo 101. It seems that we've got some old spirits lurking around this place."

  “Oh Dieu, please don’t tell me you believe that crap.” My hopes of catching the mystery pervert were dashed.

  “It doesn’t matter if you believe in the invisible world. It exists regardless of your spiritual blindness,” he said examining the room carefully. “This spirit is telling you that you need to find a desert rose.”

  “What? We already have plenty of flowers for the wedding.”

  “Louis, please help her carry out the spell before it’s too late for all of us. We’ve lost so much time already.” The voice filled my ears again.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked turning to Ivan in hopes that he had heard the voice.

  He shook his head. “The only thing I’m hearing is desert rose. You need to find a desert rose. What are you hearing?”

  I repeated what the voice had said. Ivan turned deathly pale as he absorbed my words. “Who the hell are you?” he asked the empty air. The voice had struck a nerve.

  “I love you, Arelia. You’re the one whom my soul loves and will always love. Tell Louis that I’m a helpful soul who means no harm. Tell him I love him too, and I want to make things right. Please trust me and follow my instructions carefully.” The voice lured me to the mirror.

  “Who are you to tell me that you love me?” The words were ridiculous.

  “Take a leap of faith, Arelia and I promise you that life will always be la vie en rose.” Anger surged through me not technically because of what the voice had said but because of the reaction I felt to its words. Suddenly, marrying Tony was the worst idea ever. I looked down at my ring and knew that this symbol of our love did not have my soul behind it. There was no la vie en rose to our relationship, and there had never been. My impending nuptials were perfect on paper, but maybe that was the best any of us could hope for.

  “Shut-up!” I shouted. “Shut-up!” I pounded my fist against the mirror hoping to smash the voice into silence. I figured if I pushed it away it would disappear. If I said nasty, horrible things to it, the voice would get angry and tell me that he had changed his mind. I wanted to sabotage what my heart was feeling, but my soul wouldn’t let me.

  “What is the voice telling you?” asked Ivan eagerly.

  I repeated what I had heard. Ivan lit up a cigarette. He examined me calmly for a few seconds before speaking. “Who the hell are you and what kind of game are you playing?”

  “Look, I’m not playing any games. I’m as confused as you are. What kind of game are you playing?” I asked turning the tables on him. There had been a reason why he was so impacted by the voice as well.

  He continued to puff on his cigarette. “I had family members who were slaves on this plantation.”

  "Oh." I didn't know what to say, so I reverted to my teenage habit of staring at my bare toes.

  "Anyway, I suppose there is nothing I can do about that little fact except fight for a better future. In my professional opinion, it looks like someone went and hoodooed you. What you're suffering from isn't a classic case of wedding jitters. Someone is out to get you, and the result isn't going to be pretty."

  On
ly yesterday, I would have laughed at him and kicked him out of the room, but there was no other explanation that would accurately explain what I felt. “Should I listen to the voice?” I asked desperately, for advice.

  “What does your soul tell you?” he asked.

  “It tells me that I have bills to pay, a restaurant to run and a fiancé who is willing to marry me tomorrow. There are also a million guests down there, reporters, as well as my best friend who has been practicing for this ceremony the night I got engaged.”

  “Those are all lovely superficial boxes that you can check off of your boring before I die list, however, you haven’t answered the question. What does your soul tell you?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged.

  “Look in the mirror,” he ordered.

  “Don’t make me,” I whispered.

  “Do it, Princess.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked Ivan.

  “Hey, you invited me here, remember?”

  “Only because you’ve got one of the most beautiful singing voices I have ever heard.”

  "That's bullshit, and you know it."

  “It’s true!” I argued.

  “No. It’s not. The real reason you invited me here was in hopes that my terrorist friends and I would make peace with the rich privileged few, and we would end up singing Kumbaya together. Alas, those folks have no idea what that phrase means."

  “It means come by here, my Lord in Gullah. Kum by (h) yuh, my lawd. The song was sung in Gullah on the islands of South Carolina between Charleston and Beaufort. It was sung by slaves before it got highjacked by the Boy Scouts who made it sound like some naïve, unrealistic utopian society.” I had no idea where that piece of information randomly popped into my head from. “It also means redemption when transliterated from Hebrew.” I covered my mouth. A strange and familiar chill overtook me as I reflected on my new-found knowledge. I shook it off as being a side effect of having watched one too many of Sabrina’s impassioned sermons. But she never spoke of redemption or uttered any words in Hebrew. Her sermons were usually focused on uniting as one pulse and resetting this millennial generation’s hearts for Bon Dieu. I was not only confused but utterly terrified as well at where I had gotten this wisdom from.