I desperately wanted to stop talking about Sabine and yet I found myself asking, “Where is she now?”
“Watching some TV show.” He shrugged, as if the topic bored him. “Oh, wait.” He lit up. “I’m supposed to ask you a question. There’s some concert coming up she wants us all to go to. Zydeco or something.” He gave me a look that told me he had been paying attention to my trivia question the other night.
“Oh really?” I smiled back. “And what do you know about zydeco?”
“I know plenty: Creole origins, Clifton Chenier was the granddaddy of it.” He turned over and crept toward me.
“I’m impressed. What else ya got?” I said, just coquettish enough.
“He designed that crazy washboard sorta thing we saw the other night—”
“Is that right?”
“I can keep going. But I’d really rather listen to some.” He pulled out his phone and it was cued to a clip of a zydeco band playing “Happy Birthday,” washboards and all. He had me from the first few notes. “Happy birthday, Haven”—he looked at the time—“in two minutes and twenty-five seconds. I have something for you.” He lunged for me, giving me the kind of kiss—slow, sweet, nearly endless—that would have been enough. Then he pulled a small, red-ribboned box from the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.
“Really?” I wasn’t so accustomed to getting gifts from guys. I wanted to savor this.
“It’s your birthday. What kind of boyfriend would I be to show up without a present?”
I slipped off the bow and lifted the lid to find a golden fleur-de-lis pendant nestled inside. “I love it, thank you.” I beamed at him, petting it delicately.
Lance adjusted his glasses, shy for a moment. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I mean, if it’s good enough for French royalty—” I twinkled.
“Right. And Charlemagne and that crowd—” he finished my thought and helped me free the pendant from its box.
“Then it’s definitely good enough for me.” I smiled.
“Here.” He gestured for me to turn around. I held my hair up above my neck as he unclasped my necklace, sliding the pendant on the chain and fastening it again. “I actually got it back home, which I think makes it even cooler, since these aren’t as easy to find there, you know?”
It secretly thrilled me to think of Lance spending time looking for something for me. I pulled it in front of the angel wing charm and looked at the two together.
“It’s so perfect.”
“Like you,” he said with a kiss.
When I had seen Tour of Superdome on the schedule for my birthday, I thought that sounded like a fine way to spend the day, even if I wasn’t the biggest sports fan. Who wouldn’t want to see that place? We would be hosting a huge group of area school kids to meet some of the Saints players and get a tour of the stadium, from locker rooms to skyboxes. I hadn’t expected that our visit, at least for the dozen of us, would begin at four in the morning. A uniformed security guard, cap pulled over his dark hair, had let us in, making no eye contact. He hadn’t said a word as he led us to the floor of the arena, depositing us there and giving Connor a nod.
And I certainly hadn’t expected this view.
“Two hundred fifty-three feet,” Lance informed me, grunting. His muscular arms were about to surrender at any moment.
“Well, at least we’re not at the very top.” I struggled to speak while still maintaining my slowly slipping grip. “We’re probably, what, two-thirds of the way?”
Beside me, on this long metal track below the central scoreboard, the rest of the group dangled.
“What’s two-thirds of 253?” Dante asked.
“That would be 168.67, rounded up,” Lance answered, instantly.
Every tendon and bone in my hands gripped with a ferocity I didn’t know they were capable of, but still I felt my sweaty palms sliding from the metal. I tried not to look down.
The official tour, the wrangling of children, the good times, all of that would come later this morning, Connor had informed us. First, we had some fears to conquer.
“C’mon! Y’all look so scared. The only way down is to jump,” his voice boomed in the loudspeakers, his commands richocheting around the empty stadium. “So you might as well jump. That’s the point of this, you know.”
It was a hard thing to get used to, this idea that we really couldn’t be hurt.
Brody went first, howling the whole way down. The BOOM of his body hitting the ground echoed in a way that wasn’t particularly encouraging.
“I’m goin’. Who’s with me? Birthday girl?” Dante asked in a cracking voice, his strength draining.
“Uh, strongly considering it,” I offered, sweat dripping down my face.
“Me too,” said Lance.
“I’m in,” Max said.
Sabine yelled and let go, with no warning. I found it shocking that she could be so helpless on the swamp boat and yet so gutsy here. So, I went for it too, gasping as I fell. For a moment, I enjoyed the speed and the wind and the rush of it. The air whipped at me, my nerves and skin tingling.
I had planned to land on my feet, but I hit the ground so hard, the impact knocked me over with enough force to make me roll several feet. I finally turned onto my back, panting and proud. I ached, but I was alive when I otherwise shouldn’t have been. A good lesson, to be sure.
13. I Couldn’t Stay Away
Dante and I had spent much of the next day elbow-deep in soil at the community garden in the Mid-City neighborhood. It was a relief to have a less strenuous day for a change. Half the kids who came over from the nearby elementary school had seen their homes flooded by Hurricane Katrina, though we never would have guessed that from their smiles and the joy they brought to digging in the dirt. I couldn’t help but think that if I had lived through that disaster, I would have had trouble pushing its memories out of my mind. I had experienced my share of trauma and I felt like I thought about it in some way every day. My horrors lurked at the back of my mind, hovering, always prepared to spring out. But they also, I supposed, pushed me forward.
With their small, curious hands, the kids built cylindrical tomato cages. We staked the structures into the soil, training the plants to grow up through the wires and out. On another strip of land, we planted basil, thyme, sage, rosemary, and a host of other herbs, and at the day’s end, we sent the kids home with packets of seeds, all donated by the New Orleans Botanical Garden. When the last of the students had left and we had cleaned up after hours of digging and watering, soil matted under our fingernails, Dante pulled from his pocket a few star-shaped, quarter-size, deep red seeds, a handful of turquoise pinwheels, and a trio of violet reeds the size of cigarettes. He nestled them all in a section of the garden camouflaged by a protective wall of begonias.
“Are those from where I think they’re from?” I asked.
He nodded, pushing each specimen into the soil and covering it up. “They’re the last of their kind—or at least, I’m not planning to go harvesting in the underworld to try to get more.”
“Will they grow here?”
“They’d better, because every recipe, every spell I know, requires some combination of these things.”
“Well then, abracadabra.” I waved my fingers over the soil. “Poof.”
“Thanks, yeah, I’m sure that did the trick.” He laughed.
Since Dante and I were on night watch later, we got to opt out of tutoring for the day. Connor picked us up and took us home. We showered and I walked Dante to Mariette’s, where he had promised to put in an hour or two in the evening, and then wandered back to the house on my own. I had had so little time to myself since arriving here, I felt like I saw the city differently when it was just me walking through it and I could breathe.
As I passed the LaLaurie mansion, the muted glow in the front window ensnared me: that candle. If I hadn’t been alone, would I even have seen it? Could I just ignore it? Would I dare try to go in? I stood out on the sidewalk staring at it for so long, I thought m
y gaze alone might extinguish it. But finally, since I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it, I made my way up to the door. I placed my fingers on the handle and with only the slightest push it creaked open. I took a deep breath and stepped slowly inside.
It was perfectly silent, nothing like it had been that other day with so many machines rattling and roaring. The foyer grew dimmer by the minute as the sun set. The flickering votive beckoned me. And once again, I spied a corner of alabaster paper poking out beneath the holder. I pulled it out, unfolding it. Inside it read, simply: Hi, Haven.
It was his handwriting again, I was sure of it. The blood rushed to my head and my heart.
I then felt the lightest tap at my back, like a leaf falling from a tree. Shivering, I touched my shoulder.
And found a hand there. Strong fingers perched gingerly.
I spun around and gasped.
Lucian.
He squeezed my shoulder. I could feel my eyes flashing supreme fear at him. Was it even him? Or was it the Prince? “Please don’t scream, Haven. Please,” he said with troubled eyes. But it didn’t matter. I couldn’t find my voice; the shock paralyzed everything. With one hand on my shoulder and the other on my arm he pushed me back, away from the window. Was I hallucinating? Dreaming? I had the feeling I had floated up and was watching myself but not actively participating in this scene. If I’d had full control, wouldn’t I have run, or fought him, or even yelled? Wake up, Haven. I found enough strength to struggle against him, wiggling my arms, kicking my legs, as he backed me to the wall. “Please. I promise I won’t hurt you.” This wasn’t the first time he had said this to me. He had to know I was terrified. He had to feel me shaking.
He was so close to me, whispering, but he looked nothing like he had the night I’d thought I’d seen him at that party, when it had really been the Prince. He didn’t have that polish and sheen. Now he looked worn, weathered, beaten down. His dull gray eyes had lost that mysterious sparkle that used to be potent enough to be seen even in this kind of darkness. Those eyes that had always known how to lock on mine and reel me in now looked pained. He wore that same tuxedo he’d had on when I saw him last, on that dreaded night back in the spring when he had forced me to send him to the underworld, to push him through that door where he would face his penance for not having killed me. He had been too humane then to carry out his assignment and he had surely been suffering for it since then.
I couldn’t control my breathing; it heaved and echoed in my head so that I could barely hear his soft whisper. “Please listen, Haven. Be careful. Be on guard. They have you in their sights. And beware who you tell about me.” He looked away for a moment. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on my scars, which I had ignored that night in the garden. I didn’t think I could feel them stinging. “I shouldn’t be here now,” he went on. “But it’s the only place I can see you and I . . . I couldn’t stay away. I’m going to help you, but I need your help too. Please. Soon.” He let go of me and backed up, his footsteps making no sound, not even the slightest tap on the wood floor. He placed his finger to his lips, telling me to be quiet, then turned and stalked off. I watched, rooted in my spot. At one point he looked back over his shoulder toward me again and then I felt heat rise to my skin, like it used to back when I had just met him and knew nothing about who or what he was.
I heard a voice in the distance, in that murky way everything sounds from the bottom of a swimming pool. I forced myself back into the present.
“Hey there. Thought I heard someone. You’re lucky—almost locked ya in.” It was Lance’s boss. “They’re not here today, your friends. We should have ’em back next week. I was just closin’ up.”
I was almost too shaken to speak. “Oh, of course, I . . . I forgot. Thank you,” I stammered, and slipped out the door as fast as I could.
Outside, it was all I could do to keep from running. When I reached the gates to our house, I let myself clumsily drop to the ground, no strength left to stand. I had broken out in a sweat. I slicked back my wet hair and put my hands around my head, closing my eyes for a moment to keep the world from spinning.
Eventually, I gathered the strength necessary to return inside on unsteady legs. Connor intercepted me as soon as I came in.
“Haven! Come take a look at this,” he said spiritedly, gesturing for me to follow him down the hall. I hoped I didn’t look as shaken as I felt. Part of me wondered if I should tell him what had just happened, if perhaps I was actually endangering the whole group by keeping quiet. But it was just too soon; I wasn’t ready. I needed to hold it in, keep it close to me just a little longer until I could make sense of it. I wanted to believe that Lucian wasn’t a danger and I didn’t want anyone to convince me otherwise yet. Lucian. To see him again, the real him, confused my heart. It opened up that old wound, my old feelings for him stinging like salt.
“ . . . don’t you think it’s a great idea?” Connor was saying. I hadn’t been paying attention, so I simply nodded in agreement. He stopped before a room I had never been inside. “So I just finished and I think it’ll be a great place to practice,” he said, opening the door and flipping on the lights to a windowless room, every wall, floor to ceiling—floor and ceiling—padded in a layer of white cushion.
“Uhhh, how crazy do you think we are?” I asked, my fingers grazing the soft wall beside me. Opposite the door sat a basketball, dumbbell, boxing glove, and a couple books.
“Very funny.” He rolled his eyes. “C’mon now, this took a while. What do you think? Y’all needed a place to practice your levitation.”
“Ohhhh,” I said. “It’s . . . nice. But I don’t get it. Why the padding?”
“Trust me, when you’re learning, all sorts of crazy stuff can happen. I like to be prepared. Wanna test it out?”
“Well . . .” I scanned the few objects piled in the corner. No, I didn’t really want to. I wasn’t feeling particularly powerful at the moment.
Connor seemed to sense this from my slow response. “No sweat. Didn’t mean to put ya on the spot,” he said easily. “But it’s here, so use this room anytime you like.”
“Thanks,” I said, following him out.
“And Haven . . .” He paused, as if debating whether to continue with his thought. “I hope you keep at it, okay? You’ll get it.” He smacked my shoulder in a brotherly way. “And when you do, they’d better watch out. Trust me.”
“Oh, yeah, right, thanks.” I tried to appear nonchalant. I knew Connor intended to sound comforting but for some reason I felt worse. I didn’t like being the one who couldn’t keep up with the group, someone in need of extra attention. I watched him wander the hall toward his room and, thinking for a moment, I turned back around, slipping into that odd padded room alone. I hopped on the cushioned floor. It felt like jumping on a firm mattress. Then I stood in place, my stance strong, and I focused a laser-like gaze on the boxing glove, hopeful. It shook for a second or two as though it might launch, but then it stilled just as quickly. My heart fell. I tried a few more times with no luck, then returned to my room.
I must have watched that house next door for a good hour until Dante returned home, breaking only once to glance at that stash of printed photos (finding nothing new) and to discover a new text message on my phone:
You no doubt have many questions in light of recent events. You have done well on many fronts, even if you don’t feel it. Be patient with yourself and your progress while still pushing forward with all of your strength. You will see that, physically, the results will come fast. Throw yourself fearlessly into your training and you will reap swift rewards. The power you seek will manifest in no time, and when it does, it will be almost overwhelming.
I had to pause at that. Overwhelming? I couldn’t quite imagine that. But there was more. I scrolled down.
A note on the matter of trust. You are, no doubt, having difficulty knowing who is worthy of yours these days. You are right to wonder and to worry. As always you will need to find answers for yourse
lf, but I will offer you this much to start, out of necessity: You can trust Connor, despite his methods. And Mariette. She is on your side. You may not like what she has to say, but she has your best interests at heart. Let her in.
That was all. I wanted more, though. Connor and Mariette weren’t the ones I was most concerned about right now. Why couldn’t I get answers on the one I really wanted to know about? But there was never any use in getting upset at these messages. It seemed they would always be riddles, prompting so many more questions for every answer they gave.
Before long, the group had returned. Lance gave me a kiss on the cheek and offered to take Dante’s place on night watch, but Dante, perhaps sensing my need to talk, refused him. I considered for the briefest of moments whether to tell Lance about Lucian. Each minute that I didn’t tell him felt more and more like this was a weighty, poisonous secret. The longer I waited, the harder it got to mention it. We reached his door and I decided I would let it be just mine for now. I wondered if he could tell how distracted I was as we said good night.
And so, with all that batting around in my mind, Dante and I had begun our rounds, walking the hallways together, upstairs, downstairs, and then ducking out onto the balcony to monitor the courtyard. Once or twice, to test ourselves, we steadied our jittery feet upon the wooden railing of the balcony and leapt down to the ground as Connor had instructed us to do as often as possible. Cool air whipped through my hair, giving me the illusion of flying, but I landed every time with an ungraceful, ankle-crunching thud, falling forward and scratching my palms. Dante had no better luck, but he didn’t seem to mind—he was too engrossed in stories of Mariette.
“So she’s starting me on the easiest ones: love spells,” he said after we’d climbed the stairs back inside.
Infatuate Page 13
