by Amy Patrick
A red neon sign in the window of a cafe advertised “Free Smells,” which made me laugh. New Orleans was certainly a city of “smells.” I’d passed a few rather unpleasant ones on my walk to the square, but here, the scent of strong chicory coffee combined with the aromas of food, both sweet and savory, made my mouth water. All of it was underscored by the ever-present odor of alcoholic beverages.
The crowd around me was a blend of vacationing families, hand-holding couples, and raucous groups of young twenty-somethings, already wearing beads and silly hats and walking around with open bottles of their beverages of choice, though it wasn’t even dark yet, only seven-thirty. Loud, colorful, and full of energy, this was the New Orleans I’d heard about, read about, and always wanted to see.
I crossed the park toward St. Louis cathedral, an old and imposing triple-spired structure that overlooked the square and provided a calming contrast to the circus atmosphere surrounding it. The French Quarter reminded me somewhat of Europe, which was good—and bad. It was beautiful, but as I stepped into the cathedral’s deep shadow, I nearly reeled from a surge of despair and a sudden, intense longing for Nic. Even here, five thousand miles away and ten months after his death, he was still with me somehow.
Stop it Macy. You’ve got to move on.
Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply and regrouped. At least it was cooler here—maybe fifteen degrees cooler than it had been in the direct sun. I leaned against one of the pediments, resting and checking the paper map I’d bought at the bus station, getting my bearings before making the hike to the youth hostel I’d pinpointed during my internet cafe session back in New York.
The people-watching here was spectacular. It seemed no group had been left out. Preppy college kids, artsy bohemians, moms in workout gear pushing strollers, white-haired senior citizens holding tour maps, the tattooed, pierced, and dreadlocked free spirits, nicely dressed people dining in the open-air restaurants and sidewalk cafes that bordered the square, a few homeless people. All mingled together in close proximity, here to either entertain or to be entertained.
It was a good place—a place I could stay for a while. I knew no one in the city. No one knew me. I’d see the sights, pass some time, find some temporary work to earn more traveling money, and then move on to the next place, taking my U.S. map and my brand new checkmark with me.
Pushing away from the column, I squatted to lift my heavy backpack from the sidewalk, preparing to set off in search of the hostel. Hopefully it was air-conditioned and there was an available shower. Thank God I didn't know anyone around here. I was a sweaty mess, and the all-day bus trip had left me no opportunity for freshening up.
Hefting the bag and standing in one move, I took a step out into the end-of-day sun but stopped abruptly. Blinded by its low angle, I’d collided with another pedestrian who was no doubt trying to get out of its harsh rays.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, barely glancing at the tall guy whose chest I’d just face-planted into. It was a nice chest, and very nice-smelling. I scooted to the side, embarrassed and eager to escape, re-adjusted my bag, and kept moving.
“Macy?”
The guy’s voice, somewhat familiar sounding, caused me to spin back to face him. The prototypical California boy stared back at me—tall, tan, and blond, with sky blue eyes and the kind of dazzling white smile that made you forget your name for a minute. His hair was clipped short, and there was just a trace of light blond scruff on his handsome Elven face.
“Anders? Oh my God—what are you doing here?” My mind swirled from the shock of seeing him again.
The ultra-blue eyes widened at the sight of me. The wrinkly, sweaty, dirty-haired makeup-free sight of me. Great. I looked horrendous. But then, it didn't really matter, did it? I lunged forward and hugged him, astonished by how good it was to see a familiar face for a change.
He laughed and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me tightly before sliding his hands to my biceps and setting me back a bit so he could look at me. “Wow. How are you? Where have you been? Don’t tell me you walked all the way here from California?”
“No. I’ve taken a few bus trips in between hiking. What are you doing in New Orleans? Is the band playing in town?”
Suddenly I was very excited to see all of them again. The realization washed over me—I’d been lonely. Seeing Anders after all this time was like a jump start to a stalled engine. My heart whirred in my chest, feeling joyful and awake.
“No. It’s just me. We’re on a break from touring. Nox has some ‘official business’ to tend to in L.A., and the rest of us are doing some writing, getting ready to go back into the studio. I’ve got a side project I’m working on, too.”
“That is awesome. So your side project is here? Dabbling in jazz now?” I teased.
“Oh, I’ve always loved jazz, but really, I could work on it anywhere. I’m just here to gather some inspiration.” He pulled at the front of his t-shirt. “And apparently some perspiration. Man, this place is hot.”
“You’re not kidding.” I fanned myself. “I was just about to head to my place and shower.”
“Yeah, I need to find a hotel pretty soon, too. Which one are you staying in?”
“It’s not a hotel. It’s a youth hostel. Much more affordable.”
“Is that safe?”
I snorted. “Well, since I’ve been living in them for almost the past two years now, I’d say yes.”
He nodded but squinted, not exactly appearing convinced. “Listen, I’m starved. Want to grab a bite to eat with me? I was thinking of hitting up Cafe Du Monde—check out the famous beignets and cafe au lait, you know?”
Now that he mentioned it, my stomach let out a long, low growl. The delicious coffee-and-sugar smell I’d detected earlier was without a doubt coming from the other side of the square, where the iconic New Orleans landmark, Cafe Du Monde, stood sending out its siren scents and drawing a steady stream of tourists and locals alike to its green-and-white awnings twenty-four hours a day. It was one of the first places I’d wanted to visit in the city.
Prompted by one more growl, this one even longer and louder, I said, “Sure, why not?”
By the time we’d trekked across the square, I found out why not. The line to get into the place was incredible. I groaned.
“It’ll take hours to get a seat. Want to just go over there?” I asked, pointing at another shop across the block, which had no line at all. “That place says it has donuts and coffee, too.”
“First of all, they aren’t donuts—they’re beignets. Big difference. Secondly, that is not Cafe du Monde. Let’s just get in line. I bet it’ll clear out quickly.”
“I don’t know. It’s sweltering,” I whined, eying the long line stretching far down the steamy sidewalk.
Anders grinned and steered me toward the end of it. “Trust me, will you?”
We’d been standing there all of two minutes when someone started shouting a few feet away. “It’s Taylor Swift! Taylor Swift is signing autographs and taking pictures with people right over there on the other side of the square.”
People in the line around us started straining to see the scene across the block, chattering with excitement.
“She’s giving away free samples of her new album,” the town crier added.
Now the people in the Cafe du Monde line started leaving the line, heading for the gathering crowd on the other side of the square. As people left the queue, Anders and I moved forward until there were only two couples left ahead of us.
I looked up at him in wonder. “Wow. That is so weird.” But then I looked across at the mass of bodies on the opposite side of the square with a twinge of longing. Only the top of the tall, blonde singer’s head was visible.
“You want to meet her, too, don’t you?” Anders asked, showing remarkable perception.
I peeked up at him. “I do like her. But the line is gone, and I know you want your beignets… maybe you could get a table and I could—”
“Hold on a sec.”
>
The host indicated for us to follow him, and Anders did not hesitate, taking my elbow and steering me toward the shaded outdoor table the host indicated. Once the guy left, Anders smiled at me from across the small, round table.
“How about this? Beignets and coffee now—Taylor later.”
“What?”
Grinning, he pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled down to a number, then tapped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.
“Hey! How the hell are ya? Great. Listen, dude, would Taylor have a few minutes later tonight to say hello? Yeah, of course to me, but I just saw her in L.A. There’s a friend of mine here in New Orleans who’d love to meet her. Yeah? Great, that’s awesome. Sure, nine o’clock would be perfect. Great, see you then.”
He set the phone down on the table and looked up at me, a wicked smile decorating his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“What just happened?” I asked when I’d managed to pick my jaw up off the table.
“Beignets and coffee now. Taylor later. Like I said.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal. As if he hadn't just picked up the phone and dialed Taylor Swift’s manager or boyfriend or whomever he’d just spoken to in a best-buddy tone and arranged a private meeting with one of the world’s biggest musical stars. Then it occurred to me—maybe he was her boyfriend.
“Are you… dating her?”
He winked. “Not anymore. Actually, we were just friends.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer before adding, “I only date human girls.”
I gasped. “She’s…” But actually it made perfect sense.
A waitress came to our table, and we placed our orders. Less than ten minutes had passed since we’d first gotten into the line. The whopping line that had all but disappeared as soon as we got into it. Now we were seated, and food was on its way.
“So… you were right about the line clearing quickly,” I said, suspicious now. “Did you know she was going to be here or something?”
“Nope.”
“Did you sway them all to leave?”
“Nope.” Then, looking sheepish, he admitted, “But I knew the line would move fast.”
“How? Have you been here before? Are there, like, a thousand tables at this place?”
He shook his head, looking up at the hazy sky overhead. “No. I just… don’t wait in many lines. It happens all the time. It’s just my thing, I guess.”
“Your glamour, you mean.”
His eyes flickered back to mine. “Uh, yeah. That’s right. I’m not used to discussing it around humans. I keep forgetting you know everything already.”
“Well, not everything, but some things. I know about glamour. So, what is yours exactly—the ability to clear a room at will?”
He laughed. “No. Though sometimes when I start telling jokes…” His expression sobered a bit. “It’s luck. I have exceptionally good luck.” This was followed by a soft laugh that was somehow devoid of humor.
“That must come in handy,” I said with caution, sensing there was more to the story than he was letting on.
“Yeah. It’s not bad. Especially when I’m as starved as I am right now.” His eyes lifted to the plates of food being delivered by our waitress.
“Platter,” was the more accurate word when it came to his plate. Where I’d ordered three beignets—two for now, one to save for later—Anders had gotten an even dozen. Flaky and square-shaped, each was sprinkled with powdered sugar and emitted a steamy sweetness that begged me to dig in. I might not have one left over after all.
“You are never going to eat all of those,” I told him as he picked up the first one and took a bite.
Anders chewed and swallowed then offered me a sugar-coated smile. “Challenge accepted.”
* * *
So, I’d been wrong. Again. Anders had a way of disproving my doubts that was almost uncanny. It was certainly irritating. I hated being wrong.
Both of our plates sitting empty before us, we enjoyed our coffee refills and leaned back in our chairs. I lifted my face to the breeze that had begun to blow in off the nearby water, relaxed and replete and starting to get very excited about the rest of my evening. I’d have to beg Anders to take a couple of pictures of me with Taylor and email them to me, since I didn’t have a phone. I cracked my eyes to see him studying me with a half-smile on his face.
“I have to hand it to you,” I drawled. “It was a good suggestion, coming here.”
“Well, you picked the city—I just picked the meal. You can’t find this in Manhattan, huh?” he said.
My full-belly languor dissolved immediately. I sat up straight and pinned him with a glare.
“How did you know I just left New York?”
“You mentioned it,” he said, but the rush of color to his cheeks supported my suspicion.
“No. I didn’t. Nox told you, didn’t he?” The suspicion morphed into a certainty, and the sugar hurtling through my veins caramelized as my blood began to boil. “He sent you here.”
Anders held up his hands in a calm-down gesture. “I didn’t lie to you, Macy. I am working on a side project and looking for inspiration.”
“But you said you could do it anywhere. How did you ‘happen’ to choose New Orleans?”
He hesitated a long time and took a deep breath before answering. “Nox sent me here.”
I stood abruptly, the metal chair scraping loudly on the patio behind me. “I knew I should have shut down that email account.” Digging some money out of my pocket, I threw it on the table. “Good luck on your project.”
I started to stomp off, but Anders leapt from his chair and captured my arm. “Hold on. Don’t leave. Why are you so angry?”
“Oh, let’s see… maybe it’s because I don’t like being tracked and stalked like some sort of tagged safari animal.”
“It’s not stalking. We’re trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting. And I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve been traveling on my own just fine since long before I met Nox—or you.”
I tried pulling my arm away but Anders held fast. “Macy.” His tone was quieter now, more urgent. “Things have changed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nox got some information that agents from the Ancient Court were in New York. They got close to you before you slipped away.”
I stilled completely, my skin going cold and goose bumps rising as he continued.
“They’ve been searching for you for some time, and he’s been keeping tabs on them. But you’ve been moving so often and leaving no real trail. This is the first time they’ve ever been reported in the same location at the same time as you. He’s worried. He never liked you traveling on your own, but now it’s not negotiable.”
“Not negotiable? What does that mean?”
“What it sounds like. It isn’t up to you anymore.”
I stared at him, finding it hard to believe my ears. “That’s ridiculous. It’s my life. And frankly, it’s not worth all that much to me anymore. They might be doing me a favor by putting me out of my misery.”
Anders looked stricken. “Don’t say that. Your life is very valuable. You’re young. You have a future ahead of you. Besides, I don't think they want to kill you. It’s more likely they’re planning to capture you and take you back to the Ancient Court. That cannot happen—for your sake, and for ours. You’ve been on the inside of the American Dark Court. You know things. That’s the only reason we can come up with that the Ancient Court is so determined to find you and bring you back. And that’s why it’s our responsibility to protect you.”
“Oh—and you drew the short straw, I guess.”
His color deepened. “No. I… I was the logical choice because I have the time to do it. Like I said, I can work on my project anywhere. It’s… not a problem.”
“It is a problem—for me. The whole point of my traveling is so I have freedom. Having an overgrown beach bum tailing my every move isn’t exactly freedom.”
I saw that my insult had hit its mark. Anders’ face contracted into a slight frown, and his eyes clouded. But instead of satisfaction, I felt a flicker of regret. He didn’t have a choice in the matter. Nox was his king. He was following orders. Instead of returning my cruelty tit-for-tat, he answered me in a very calm, very kind voice.
“You don’t want freedom, Macy. You want to run away. You’re trying to escape your own thoughts and feelings. I get it. But eventually you’re going to have to stop running and deal with reality. You could let someone help you, you know.”
My temper flared again.
“Who? You? Yeah, that’s rich. Talk about trying to escape reality—look at you. You’re what, six months, a year past Elven bonding age? And you’re with a different girl every week, no matter where you are in the world. What’s the old sailing term—a girl in every port?” I huffed. “If I didn’t know you were Elven, I would assume you’d fathered twenty illegitimate babies by now.”
He let out a short, sharp laugh, clearly shocked by my outburst. “Yeah, that’s all the world needs—a bunch of little untalented hacks running around.” He took a step toward me. “We’re talking about you—not me. We could spend days dissecting my issues, but that’s not the concern here. Your safety is. Now, are you going to cooperate and let me do my job, or are you going to make it hard on me and get me in trouble with my boss?”
I snorted. “He’s not your boss—he’s your best friend. You and Nox are like brothers.”
“Maybe so, but he’s still my king, and I have orders. I’m going to protect you whether you like it or not.”
I sagged, wiped out from a combination of the heat and the futility of the situation. “Are you sure they’re after me? Are you sure it’s necessary for you to stay with me?” My tone expressed my misery with crystal clarity.
