22
I explain the note from Jean-Luc Gerdeaux on the way, and Caleb, in turn, tells me how he knew I was up to something. “You wouldn’t meet my eye,” he says, glancing at me. “Besides, Peregrine called and asked me to check on you. She said you were being weird.”
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but Gerdeaux insisted I come alone.”
“And you just took orders from a Main de Lumière guy?” Caleb shakes his head. “Seriously, Eveny?”
“But what if he’s for real? What if you being here with me ruins everything?”
“And what if he tries to kill you?” Caleb shoots back immediately.
That silences me for a moment. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure Annabelle Marceau and Scarlett St. Pierre felt that way too,” Caleb says.
“It’s not the same thing.”
“The hell it’s not.” Caleb says. “Actually, your false sense of security is even dumber, because you’re outside the gate. I don’t have the same ability to protect you out here.”
“I know.” I gaze out the window at the endless cypress trees that line the road. They droop under the weight of hanging Spanish moss, and I think about how they, like me, are carrying more than they should be able to bear. “You can’t come with me, though,” I add after a minute. “Not to the meeting. You have to hang back. I can’t risk Gerdeaux getting spooked and leaving.”
I’m sure Caleb’s going to protest, so I’m surprised when he says softly, “All right. But you need to take every precaution to stay safe.”
I hold up my andaba-charmed cuff and then pull out my Stone of Carrefour, which is pressed against the sachet of Rose of Life petals Boniface gave me. “My armor,” I say with a small smile.
Caleb gives me a look. “If you think that’s going to protect you against Main de Lumière, you’re even crazier than I thought.”
Being back in New Orleans with Caleb sends a shiver of sadness up my spine. As we exit I-10 at Orleans Avenue and merge onto Basin Street toward the cemetery, I look out the window at the faded blacktop and squat palm trees that line the road. We’re near the French Quarter, but not in it, so I don’t have to be reminded directly of the insane Mardi Gras Possession ceremony that nearly claimed my life there. We pass the St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 on the right, and in the darkness, its chipped and faded brick wall, surrounding a small town of tombs, reminds me a bit of the wall that encircles Carrefour.
We’re silent as Caleb continues down Basin, makes a right on Canal, and then another sharp right onto Treme Street. He pulls into a parking space on the side of the road, flicks off his headlights, and shuts off the Jeep’s engine. “What now?” he asks.
I look at my watch: 11:35. “Now we wait.”
A few minutes tick by before Caleb turns to me in the silent darkness. “About Bram,” he says. “If you have feelings for him . . .”
“I don’t,” I say.
Caleb raises an eyebrow.
“I mean, I do.” I pause. “But not like you think. It’s complicated.”
Hurt flickers across his face. “Oh.”
“It’s not the same as how I feel about you, okay? What I feel for Bram—and what he feels for me—is because of an andaba charm that was cast on us when we were just babies.”
“An andaba charm? What are you talking about?”
“It’s a long story. But the feelings aren’t real.”
“Yeah, but what if your feelings get stronger?” Caleb asks. “What if you can’t fight them?”
Something occurs to me then. “You’re jealous,” I say softly. “You are, aren’t you?”
He opens and closes his mouth. After a moment he says, “Damned right I’m jealous, Eveny. From the second I first saw you, I felt something for you. And it’s real. It’s not because of some stupid magical crap. In fact, it’s despite magic. And I’ve been trying so hard to turn all of that off, because it’s the right thing to do. I know I told you to move on, but I was just trying to do the right thing. But what if the right thing is being together?”
“Haven’t I been saying that all along?” I ask.
“It’s not that simple, Eveny,” he says. “How do I accept that if I let myself love you, the protector link between us gets weaker? What kind of a trade-off is that? The more feelings I have for you, the less safe you are. That’s what I’m wrestling with, and meanwhile, Mr. Southern Prince Charming waltzes in and sweeps you off your feet because of some stupid charm? How is that fair in any world?”
“It’s not.”
“So that’s it?” he says. “Sorry, Caleb, game over, Bram Saxon wins because he has magic on his side and you’re just some protector?”
“Not at all. My dad had someone he was supposed to marry too, and he went against everything to be with my mom instead. So it’s possible. Maybe the more you love someone else, the easier it is to counteract the charm.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t. But in my parents’ case, my mom wasn’t afraid to love my dad back. She knew she was risking being ostracized from her sosyete, and she did it anyhow, because it was the right thing. She listened to her heart. Maybe it’s time you listen to yours, Caleb, or there’s no point in talking about any of this.”
“Eveny—” he begins, but I look at my watch and interrupt him.
“It’s time. I have to go.”
He blinks a few times. “You sure you want to do this?”
“I’m sure.”
He hesitates, then leans across the seat and kisses me lightly on the lips, lingering for a second. My heart flutters with hope. “Be safe. I’ll be waiting right here.”
I can feel his eyes on me as I hurry up Treme and turn right at the corner. As I turn onto Basin to head toward the cemetery, my pulse starts racing. I looked the place up online before coming, so I know the gate is closed and locked at night, and I’ll have to climb over the wall on Conti Street.
I find a few bricks missing, and I use the gaps as footholds to boost myself up. It takes me a minute, and I almost lose my grip, but climbing over the wall in my own backyard on a regular basis has made me better at this than I should be, so I eventually manage to heave myself over the top. I land in the darkened cemetery with a thud and try to get my bearings. The tomb of famed 1800s voodoo queen Marie Laveau, which is where I’m supposed to meet Gerdeaux, should be just up ahead to the right, so I make my way there silently, doing my best not to freak out. I’m used to the Carrefour Cemetery, which is spread out and fairly well-lit by the moon at night. This one, however, is so packed with vaults and crypts that it’s hard to move.
I find Marie Laveau’s tomb easily and check my watch. It’s 11:58. The seconds crawl by as I wait.
At precisely midnight, a church bell tolls ominously somewhere in the distance, and I hear a rustling sound just a few feet away from me to the right. I gasp and turn, blinking into the darkness as a man in a dark suit emerges from the shadows.
“You’re early,” he says, his words tinged with a French accent that, under other circumstances, might actually be charming. He’s absurdly tall—at least six foot seven—with white-blond hair, ice blue eyes, and skin so pale and smooth that it seems to glow, catching the light of the moon and reflecting it. As he smiles coldly at me, his too-white teeth seem to glisten too.
I can feel myself shaking, and I will myself to stop. “You’re right on time,” I say, surprising myself with how even my voice sounds.
“I’m pleased that you chose to come.”
“If I can help save my town, I have no choice.”
I can almost feel his eyes raking over me, probing me, trying to figure out if I’m hiding something. “You brought someone with you,” he says finally, his cold smile morphing into a sneer. “Against my wishes. Didn’t you?”
I hesitate and consider lying, but there’s something about this man that makes me think he’ll see right through me. “My protector. Caleb. He wouldn’t let me leave town without him. But he�
��s not here. He’s several blocks away, waiting for me in the car. I came alone, as you requested. It’s the best I could do.”
He studies me. “You’re honest. I didn’t expect that,” he says. “Fine. Let’s not waste time, Ms. Cheval. As I said in the letter, I’m one of the leaders of Main de Lumière. I know you met one of our generals, Aloysius Vauclain, not that long ago, but let me assure you, he did not speak for our group. I am at the top of our hierarchy. When you speak with me, you speak with Main de Lumière.”
“How nice,” I say, barely keeping the acid out of my voice. “The group that’s been trying to murder me.”
“You have no reason to believe me, but I assure you, Ms. Cheval, I am not interested in eliminating you. Nor was I responsible for the regrettable murders that just took place in Carrefour.”
“What about the guy who attacked me in my garden last week?”
“I’m afraid that was my fault, to an extent. He was tasked with delivering you to us peacefully, without causing you harm. I was hoping we could talk before things got out of hand.” He clears his throat. “Clearly, he failed in his mission. I apologize.”
I shake my head. “And Drew Grady?”
“He went off the rails, Ms. Cheval. When he tried to kill you, he wasn’t working under my orders. He had taken on a mission of his own. I suppose we owe your friend Caleb a debt of gratitude for ending him before he became even more of an embarrassment to our organization.”
I suddenly feel sad for Drew, who got caught up in something far bigger than himself. “So I’m supposed to feel better now?” I ask. “You have soldiers out there trained to hate me, and apparently they have the tendency to go rogue, but I’m not supposed to worry, because you don’t really mean to hurt me?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he begins to pace. I’m struck by how silent he is, almost as if his feet aren’t touching the ground. “As I mentioned in my letter,” he says finally, “Main de Lumière has split into two factions, and that’s at the heart of our problem here. But in order to understand this, you must understand how Main de Lumière works.”
He begins pacing more quickly as he goes on. “You see, we formed not long after zandara and andaba developed, and my ancestors must have been of the same mindset as yours, for they set up our organization as a triumvirate based on paternal succession.”
“But you’re not magical,” I say, shaking my head in confusion. “Are you?”
He makes a cold clucking sound. “Obviously not. We deplore magic and all those who practice it. Surely you know this already.”
“Right.”
“Now, while your order of succession is tied to the transference of powers from generation to generation, ours is simpler. A leader’s firstborn son is always next in line to a governing position, and a leader is thus obligated to continue producing children until he has a son.”
“Sounds normal,” I say. “Not a screwed-up system at all.”
He ignores me. “For more than a century and a quarter, this system has worked fine. Each leader has always had a successor, and each successor has taken over when his father reached the age of sixty-five, which is our official retirement age. It has all gone smoothly.”
“How lovely for you.”
He glares at me. “I could do without the sarcasm, Ms. Cheval.” He clears his throat. “In any case, it has long been Main de Lumière’s policy to kill magic practitioners first and ask questions later. In other words, we were operating on the principle that the practice of dark magic is inherently wrong, and thus, if a person is born with magic in his or her blood, it is our right—our duty—to eliminate that person.
“But,” he goes on, “in the last generation, Main de Lumière began to split. My father and one of the other leaders started to believe that the murder of magic practitioners was not, in fact, justified unless that person had used his or her magic in a way that was evil and destructive. The third of our three leaders—a distant cousin of my father’s—strongly disagreed.”
“Looks like leader number three got his way,” I say, “since you’re still running all over the world killing people like me.”
“Actually, there’s been a lot of infighting over just that issue. My father and Gilles—the other leader who agreed with him—condemned many of the killings over the years. But Yves—the leader who took the hard-line view that all magic practitioners deserved death—continued to order executions.
“And then,” he goes on, “for the first time in our history, we were presented with a serious problem. I was my father’s firstborn. A man named Vincent was Gilles’s firstborn. But Yves’s wife gave birth to twin sons, Bruno and Gustave. Both had a legitimate claim of succession, although Gustave is, how can I put it nicely, a bit of an imbecile. And when their father turned sixty-five, both of them claimed his vacated seat of power.”
“So you’re saying you have four leaders now instead of three?” I ask.
He nods gravely. “Which might not seem like a big deal to you. But three was always a number that worked, because we could keep each other in balance. Four, on the other hand, can be split down the middle. And that’s exactly what has occurred.
“Bruno and Gustave have separated into their own splinter group, which we’ve come to refer to as Les Jumeaux Noir—the dark twins, for they were both born with dark hair and coal-black eyes, very unusual for Main de Lumière, as you know. They’ve taken many of Main de Lumière’s chief generals and high-ranking soldiers with them. Vincent and I have kept the majority of Main de Lumière’s followers, but more and more are leaving by the day, not because they necessarily believe in Bruno and Gustave’s hatred of all magic-doers, but because Bruno and Gustave are offering rich financial incentives. They’ve been blackmailing magic-doers into creating great wealth for them and then killing them anyhow. They have amassed a fortune this way, and money speaks, Ms. Cheval. Money speaks loudly.”
“Wait, so they’re using magic for their own personal gain?” I ask. “And they don’t see that as hypocritical?”
“They see themselves as well within their right,” he says. “They believe they’re using magic against itself, and that it’s therefore justified. But yes, of course they are hypocrites of the highest order. And the more power they amass, the more fearless and deadly they become. If they manage to lure a third leader to their side, Vincent and I—and the moderation for which we stand—will be dead.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. “A third leader to their side?”
“Yes,” he says. He stares off into the distance for a long time before turning back to me. “Main de Lumière was always meant to be run by three. That’s what our followers are comfortable with. If Les Jumeaux Noir succeed in adding a third, the vast majority of our remaining followers will likely join with them. And they’ll kill the followers who don’t switch to their side.”
“But how will they get a third leader?” I ask. “Didn’t you just say you need to be a firstborn son of a Main de Lumière leader to get power?”
“Usually, yes,” he says. “But if they can find someone with magic in their blood who’s willing to become their third, it will trump everything we have to offer.”
Now I’m completely lost. “But they’d never work with someone magical, would they? They hate magic!”
“Not as much as they love power. Don’t you see, Ms. Cheval? Power is at the heart of everything. Bruno and Gustave are savvy. They’ll offer a king or queen the chance to save his or her own sosyete. And in turn, they’ll be able to leverage that sect’s magic to eliminate every other sect in the world, one by one.”
My mind is spinning. “So you’re saying Les Jumeaux Noir are seeking a magical ally? And if they find someone to join them . . .” My voice trails off as I realize the enormity of the situation.
“Exactly. You and all of your magical friends will be wiped out with the greatest of ease.”
He lets the words settle, and I can feel myself beginning to shake again. “What can
I do to help you stop them?”
“I’m so glad you ask, Ms. Cheval. You see, this is a new world, and we want you to be a part of it, to help us guide Main de Lumière in a new direction. I don’t want our organization to be about punishing those who haven’t yet sinned. I want it to be about morals—about keeping those with magic in their blood from doing harm. You can help us do that.”
I blink at him. “Wait, you want me to join you? You want me to become your third?”
“How better to help us minimize bloodshed?”
“But you kill!” I exclaim. “You destroy. You murder innocent people!”
“But it doesn’t have to be that way, Ms. Cheval. If you work with us, we can change things from the inside. We’ll listen to you. We’ll respect your opinion. Our followers may finally begin to understand that magic isn’t inherently evil; it’s the misuse of magic that we should oppose. Furthermore, joining us will guarantee that we’ll leave Carrefour and Caouanne Island alone—forever.”
I consider this. I have the gut feeling he’s being honest with me, but what guarantee is there that his fellow leader—Vincent—and their followers will agree with his plan? What if he’s overruled at some point in the future, and my very involvement with him makes my two homelands more of a target? And even if that never happens, can I really work in good conscience with a group that’s done so much harm in the past, even if they’re vowing they’ve changed? “What happens if I don’t join you?” I ask.
He smiles, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s important you realize you’re not the only fish in the sea, Ms. Cheval,” he says. “You’re just our favorite fish, because we see great potential in your power, and so far, you’ve only used your abilities for good. But if you don’t become our ally, we’ll have no reason to fight for your right to survive anymore.”
I swallow hard. It’s not exactly a threat, but the message is clear. If I’m not with Main de Lumière, I’m against them. “I need some time to think about this.”
“Of course. You’re a very wise queen. But please consider our position carefully, Ms. Cheval. I’m a reformer like you are. I see a better future for all of us, one where magic isn’t used for harm, where we don’t feel we have the right to kill kings and queens just because of what’s in their blood.”
Midnight Dolls Page 18
