by Karina Halle
“So where is the bar?”
“It’s not too far from here.”
“And are you sure it’s still her bar?”
He nods. Then starts walking off down the road.
This time he doesn’t hold my hand.
I follow him, feeling the nervous dark energy roll off of him and wash over me, and I’m suddenly so fucking scared that I wish we could just turn around, get back in the car, and drive back home. Forget about Rose, just get out of here intact. I left Jay, I didn’t need to see him, why does he need to see her?
But I have no control here and that’s what bothers me. I’m used to having some control. I’m used to being the one keeping him alive. But right now, I have no power anymore. If I told Max I was leaving, he wouldn’t come with me. He would stay behind. He would just…cease to exist. And there wouldn’t be anything I could do about it.
Fuck, I hope to god that Rose is worth it.
The bar is further away from the touristy section of Bourbon Street, and it looks like the real deal. Sultry jazz music spills out from the open French doors, the lighting dark inside.
“This is it,” Max says, but he didn’t even have to say it. I could feel it. There is energy in this place. Probably has a lot to do with Rose being like me. I wonder if she can sense me.
I want to reach out to Max, to give his hand a squeeze or a look of encouragement, but he’s already walking inside.
I follow.
I feel like if I don’t keep up with him, I’ll lose him for good.
The place is fairly busy. There are two bartenders serving at the bar, there’s a couple of waitresses bringing out small snack plates like fried pickles and okra along with the drinks, and most of the customers are seated at tables, facing the stage where a couple of jazz musicians do their thing.
The place is actually really cool and I wish we were here under different circumstances. Seems like a fucking rad place to get a drink and something to eat and watch some live music.
Max looks around, trying to spot Rose. I’ve never met her. I don’t even know what she looks like, so I’m looking around for someone that might be looking at him like she’s seen a ghost. But, so far, no one is paying us any attention.
“Do you see her?” I ask him.
“No,” he says slowly. “But it’s pretty early for this place. She used to not come in until later. And it’s a Friday night too.”
“So should we, like, sit and have some food or something? I’m not really hungry, but I’ll feel like a lush if I keep drinking.”
“Darlin’, you are a lush,” he says, but he sounds distracted.
“Staying for dinner?” a woman asks from beside us. She’s got curly brown hair, big smile.
Max stares at her for a moment, as if trying to figure out who she is. “Just drinks.”
“Great, I have a small table just over here.”
She leads us to a table for two facing the stage, closer to the back. We take our seats and she takes our order for two hurricanes.
I watch as she goes. “Do you know her?”
He shakes his head. “No. Could be all the staff has changed. It’s been…four years.”
“You were dead for three.”
He gives me a sheepish look. “I know. But I hadn’t been in here for a long time before that. When I said that we were on strange terms…”
“Ah,” I say. Another reason for him to be extra anxious. It’s not like he died while they were in the middle of a passionate love affair.
The waitress comes out and brings us our drinks while I look over the menu and pretend that I’m eventually going to order food. Then the music ends.
When the musicians are off the stage, a new singer steps on.
And I feel like I can’t breathe.
It’s her.
It’s the demon lady.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, watching as she walks across the small stage and stands in front of the microphone, wearing a white cocktail dress, a red rose tucked into her hair. But the rose is bleeding, the blood running down her cheek and dripping onto her dress.
She looks right at me.
Then right at Max.
I tear my eyes away to see him gripping the table so hard I think he’s going to rip it in half. His eyes are absolutely lost to flames.
“Max,” I whisper frantically, pressing my hand onto his thigh, trying to keep him grounded. “It’s her. It’s her.”
I don’t even know if he’s breathing. He’s frozen, mouth agape in horror.
“Thank you all for being here tonight,” the demon lady says, her voice rich, normal, looking over the crowd, smiling at them. “I’d like to start with a special song. This is called the Song for the Dead. And it’s dedicated to our own dead man walking, Mr. Maximus Jacobs.”
Her gaze comes to our table and she holds her hand out toward him in gesture. Everyone in the bar turns in their seat to look at us, and if they notice the flames in Max’s eyes, they don’t seem to care. They smile and nod at us and then look back at the demon singer.
She smiles right at me.
Winks.
And then bluesy music starts to play from nowhere, the low hit of a double bass, the sinewy call of a sax. She gives the crowd a big smile, really a show of teeth.
Demon teeth.
“It’s late enough to go driving,” she starts to sing, holding the mic with both hands and crooning into it, “and see what’s mine. That’s a study of dying, how to do it right.”
“Max,” I say, louder now, trying to break the spell the woman has me in. She definitely has Max in her thrall. In fact, I think she has the whole place in the palm of her hand.
“Max, please.” I put my hand on his and he’s not snapping out of it. It feels like my energy is hitting a wall and bouncing right back into me.
Then I go against his wishes and lift my fingers, ready to place it at his temple. He’s not blinking, I’m afraid the flames might spread from his eyes and take over his whole face, burn him up, take him right back to Hell.
My fingers hover above his skin, afraid to take the plunge, and already I can feel the darkness licking my skin like fire, just a taste at what’s going on inside him.
The dark.
So much dark.
So much emptiness that I think I might die from it.
And I’m not even touching him.
“Max, I don’t want to,” I whisper…
I close my eyes.
My fingers coming closer to the pain.
CRASH.
Suddenly the sound of breaking glass fills the air.
It’s so loud it seems to ricochet inside my brain.
I jerk my hand away from his head and even he stirs, turning his head enough to meet my eyes.
The flames still dance, but he’s there now. He’s back. In control.
Looking at me with an expression I can’t read.
Then he keeps turning his head to look behind him, in the direction of the broken glass.
I turn my head too.
There’s a woman standing there behind us, a tray in her hands, broken glass shattered at her feet.
She’s pale, blonde, hair pulled back in a low bun, wearing jeans and a tube top, staring at Max like she’s just seen a ghost.
Her mouth drops open, closes. Opens again.
“Max!?” she exclaims, voice trembling.
Looks like we found Rose.
Sixteen
“Time wounds all the heals as we fade out of view.”
– I Sat By the Ocean
Rose stares at Max.
Max stares at Rose.
I look back at the stage to keep an eye on our demon singer.
But she’s gone.
There’s no one there at all. The music has changed, coming from the speakers, and off the stage I can see a group of four musicians sorting out their instruments.
I look back at Max, the flames fading away.
Now he’s blinking at Rose.
Oh g
od, I already feel like I shouldn’t be here, like this is too intimate for me to witness. Why did he bring me here again?
Oh yeah. He doesn’t have a choice.
“Rose?” our waitress says to her. “Are you okay?”
The waitress looks over her shoulder at us for an explanation, and Max finally gets up to his feet, towering over everyone.
“I’m sorry,” he says to the waitress. “I’m an old friend she hasn’t seen in a long time. Think I gave her a scare.”
He then meets Rose’s eyes and gives her a faint, somewhat hopeful smile.
But Rose can only shake her head, unable to comprehend. Can’t say I blame her. Perhaps it would have been better to call first.
“I see,” the waitress says. She puts her hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Hey, why don’t you go and talk to your friend? I’ll clean up this mess. The office is empty if you need, you know, privacy.”
The waitress gives us another odd, slightly protective look. I smile to try and ease her mind.
Rose just nods dumbly, still staring at Max with wide eyes.
It’s then that I notice her left hand.
A big ass fucking diamond ring on it.
Oh shit.
So that’s real.
I’m not sure if Max has noticed yet.
Then again, both of them are locked in some sort of standstill.
Okay, someone has to take charge, or this staring contest will continue for the rest of the night.
“Hi,” I say to Rose, approaching her. “My name is Ada. Max has told me a lot about you. How about we go to your office so we can get all caught-up? I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
Rose blinks at me, swallowing hard. But then she nods.
I reach out and put my hand at her elbow, turning her toward the back of the bar where it seems the employees would go, guiding her there. I glance at Max over my shoulder, jerking my head for him to follow.
We reach the office and step inside. It’s small, just a desk, two chairs, and a bunch of cleaning supplies and filing cabinets.
All three of us step inside and I close the door, leaving it open a crack so that Rose doesn’t think we’re about to rob her or something like that.
“Max,” Rose says, taking a step toward him. “How can this be?”
She reaches out to touch him, her fingers trailing down his arm, then up to his face, pressing her hand against his cheek.
I immediately avert my eyes, feeling like I shouldn’t be seeing this.
“I came back to life,” Max says. “Surprise.”
Her hand falls away and she turns, walking to the filing cabinets, leaning against them, shaking her head. She wraps her arms around her chest like she’s cold. “I don’t…I don’t get it. I don’t believe it. Are you a ghost? Is this a joke?”
“It’s not a joke,” I tell her, even though it might not be my place to speak up. “And he’s not a ghost.” Well, not really. “We came all this way to see you.”
She frowns at me. “I’m sorry, your name is Ada?”
“The one and only.”
“Your name sounds familiar.”
“You’ve met my sister,” I tell her. “Perry. She and her husband were in New Orleans. With Max. You know, when your mind got jellied by that voodoo cult. Before Max died. Oh, and he died because of them too. They’re the reason he went to New York and sacrificed himself. So you probably don’t like them very much. But don’t worry, I’m different.” I finish my rambling with a big smile.
She raises her brows at me, and then looks back at Max. “What…what happened? How is this possible? You did die, didn’t you?”
Hmmm. For some reason, I expected more of a “oh my god, you’re alive, I love you,” scene followed by some savage making out. Not that it wouldn’t kill me to see it. But Rose is really keeping her distance. She must be shell-shocked. Or maybe that ring on her finger is majorly complicating things.
Then again, Max is also holding back. I also expected some dramatic proclamations of love on his behalf.
“I did die,” he says carefully. “For three years. I was dead as anything. Then Ada was able to pull me out of the Veil.”
“You were in the Veil?” she asks.
He nods. “Didn’t quite make it to where I was supposed to go. Or, perhaps I did.”
She gasps. “Were you in Hell?”
He shrugs. “Wasn’t so bad.”
I roll my eyes. My god, his machoism knows no bounds.
“So then you’re…” she says to me, trailing off.
“A demon slayer. Yeah. Max says I’m pretty good.”
She looks back to him. “Are you training her?”
Okay, this is bordering on small talk now.
“So, Rose,” I speak up, and Max gives me a look to shut up, but of course I go on ignoring him. “I have to ask you, I noticed that engagement ring on your finger. How serious are you about him, really? Be honest.”
“Ada,” Max says sharply. If looks could kill. I just hope he can control his brain because I don’t want him to Darth Vader me right now.
“It’s fine,” Rose says, though clearly it’s not fine to Max. She gives him an uncomfortable look. “Remember David?”
From the tightness in Max’s jaw, yeah, he remembers whoever David is.
“I’m sorry,” she says to him softly. “When…when I’d heard you’d died, I…my world came to a stop, Max. I didn’t know what to do, who to turn to. David was there.”
Oh. I fucking hate this David.
Think I hate Rose too.
I watch Max, expecting to see him crumble.
But he remains stoic, standing up straight, staring at her steadily. His face impassive.
“You know, we had been apart for so long and…”
“Rose,” Max says hoarsely. He clears his throat. “It’s fine. I expected it. When I saw you got engaged, I knew it was to him. Would have happened whether I was alive or dead.”
“That’s an awful way of putting it.”
“But it’s true,” he says. “I’m happy for you. Really.”
I can’t tell if that’s true or not.
“You came all the way here,” Rose says quietly. “Just to see me?”
“Just to say goodbye in person,” he says.
“Goodbye?” she asks.
“Goodbye?” I repeat.
He doesn’t look at me. He gives Rose a faint smile. “I didn’t want to do all of this on Facebook. Figured a road trip was in order.”
I try to help him out. “We came here because he needs his stuff.”
She looks at me. “His stuff?”
“Yes. His stuff. Like his passport and his birth certificate and all the other stuff he left at your house.”
Rose gives me a strange look, brings her attention back to Max, who is staring at a blank spot in front of him. “What stuff? Max, you moved out, like, six months before you went to New York. You know that.”
What the fuck? We came all the way here for that shit and it was never here to begin with? Why the fuck are we here then?
I’m staring at Max, incredulous, but he’s not meeting my eyes.
Rose turns to face me. “Ada, do mind giving me and Max a little privacy?”
I look to Max for the cue, not wanting to leave him.
He gives me a small smile, nods. “I’ll see you out there, Ada.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, going for the door.
I pull it open just as Rose calls after me, “Thank you for watching out for him.”
Something inside my chest churns and churns, a sickly feeling.
“Of course.”
I step out into the bar. Get two feet and then the door is shut behind me. I stop, watching it for a moment, wondering how far away I should go. I don’t know if I trust Rose with Max’s heart and psyche, but I don’t think she’s inherently harmful.
That said, as much as I know Max can handle himself, there’s something about tonight that makes me want to be there for
him. Not just emotionally, but physically, as if he might fade away in plain sight.
I sigh, feeling jittery, and make my way to the bar, keeping my eye on the door to the office.
The bartender asks me what I want to drink, and I get an old-fashioned just because I need something strong and I like the special cherries they come with. And just like the other place, this bartender doesn’t ID me either. Maybe I’ve aged up these last few weeks.
He slides me the drink and I get one strong sip out of it before the hair on my arms start to raise, the energy in my gut going haywire, and someone sits in the seat next to me.
I don’t even have to turn my head to know who it is.
“Nice performance,” I say, stabbing my plastic sword into the orange peel, wishing it was a real sword so I could lob off her head and be done with it.
“I could say the same to you,” comes the raspy metallic voice.
I finally look over at her. She’s still wearing the white dress, the bleeding rose in her hair, blood dripping into the martini she’s holding. I watch as the blood dances around and she raises it to her lips, smiling slyly at me.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, trying to sound strong, but honestly, looking at this woman makes me feel like my sanity is a single thread closer to unraveling.
“Playing the part,” she says, a smear of blood on her lips, which she delicately wipes off. “The savior. But you know now you can’t save him, right? You saw him. You saw what’s inside him. You know that there’s nothing there.”
I shake my head, my throat feeling choked. “That’s not true. There was something there. I saw myself.”
“You saw what you wanted to see. That will be your downfall. You should think about saving yourself instead of saving him.”
“Why should I listen to a single fucking thing you’ve said?”
She lets out a small laugh, the sound making me sick.
“You don’t have to listen to me. As I said before, I’m not interested in you. I want him. He needs to come back home. He knows it. He’s preparing for it. Just know that when you leave this city, you’re leaving it alone.”
Her words strike me like a hammer to the gut, my fingers gripping my drink so hard I’m afraid it might shatter the glass.
“Max is coming home with me. I’m not leaving him.”
