I hadn’t worked at the cemetery since that dreaded evening of my attack and I wasn’t especially looking forward to it today. I stopped by River’s room to see if she wanted to walk over with me, and Tom opened the door, silent and still sleepy. Somewhere in the background, River called out, “This weather blows. Forget it, I’m skipping today.” Why does it never occur to me to skip anything? I wondered to myself. Nevertheless, I headed out into the wet morning.
The downpour picked up as I crossed Rampart Street, pelting me in sheets, my umbrella mounting no real defense against the onslaught. I was soaked, head to toe. I was so busy fighting the elements, I didn’t even bother to wonder until I reached the church office to procure that tucked-away key what I was supposed to do when it rained. I certainly couldn’t paint in this weather.
“It is nasty out there, isn’t it?” Susan greeted me from behind her desk. “I’ve got some indoor projects you can help me with. I would love for you to touch up some of the gold leaf in the sanctuary. If you want to go ahead and change into your painting clothes, I can toss these in the dryer for you.”
“Yeah, that would be great, thanks.” It meant a trip back outside, to the caretaker’s cottage, but it was probably better than spending the day like this.
“Sorry to send you out there again.” She smiled.
“No problem, but that reminds me—if they’re going to close the cemetery gates early, I wish they would look and be sure no one’s in there. I had left something the last time I was here and went back, and the gates were shut while I was still inside.”
“That’s very odd. I’ll certainly mention that,” she said, jotting it down.
Something else occurred to me. “Oh, well, maybe don’t say anything to Sister Catherine, though. I know she mentioned not to be there late. I don’t want her thinking I didn’t listen.”
Susan smiled gently, as though dealing with someone who was certifiably insane. “You’re very sweet to ask for Sister Catherine. I’m afraid I haven’t seen her in quite some time either. Hopefully at some point she’ll come back for a visit. I know she would be so impressed with all that you’ve done here.”
My mind had gotten stuck on jagged bits of what she said. I needed to smooth it all out again before going on. “Come back to visit?”
“I admit it’s not the same here since she got the calling to the Ninth Ward.” She looked concerned now. “Haven, dear, are you feeling all right?”
“Sure, yes, of course. Just remind me again, exactly when did she leave?”
Her eyes fixed on the ceiling as she thought about it. “Oh, let’s see, her last day was your first, I believe.”
“But she drops by the cemetery almost every day . . . to check on me . . .” Susan was looking at me now like I had a life-threatening head injury. “I meant, she’s there . . . in spirit.” She nodded at this—a big, overexaggerated nod—so it must have been the right thing to say. I said a hasty goodbye.
I shot my umbrella up into the gray sky again, sheets cascading down on me, and made my way behind the church and across empty Basin Street. All the while, I ran through that conversation in my head. I hadn’t hallucinated this—I had seen Sister Catherine on a regular basis, almost every time I’d been here. But the Ninth Ward was nowhere near here. It didn’t make sense that she would be dropping by that often if she was stationed there all this time. Lost in thought, I turned into the cemetery, digging the key out of my pocket as I stepped through the gateway. As soon as I reached the caretaker’s cottage, all other thoughts drained from my mind.
Slumped in a heap on the doorstep lay a rain-soaked Sabine.
A scream rang out from my lungs, a reflex I couldn’t stop. I dropped the umbrella and lunged for her, falling to the ground to be at her side. She wore that sequined dress she had bought on our shopping trip together. It was soaked through and muddied. Her hair hung in wet strips matted flat against her head. I grabbed her wrist to check her pulse and leaned down to try to hear her breathing. It was nearly impossible to make out any sound above the crackle of rain hitting against the cottage. But I caught her shallow breath and felt a steady pulse. She was alive.
I grabbed her arm, shaking her with one hand. Then I rummaged in my bag for my phone and dialed 9-1-1. “Sabine! Hey! Wake up! Please!” I shouted. I shook her and shook her and even slapped her face, which I felt bad about, but she wasn’t waking up. Her slick limbs were lifeless and heavy, as if they were the stuffed beanbag arms of a doll. And then, just as the operator picked up, I noticed a marking. She had what looked like a fleur-de-lis made of flames on her shoulder, but it appeared to be a thick scab. I hung up and called Connor instead.
“Sit tight, I’ll be right there,” Connor told me. “And don’t call anyone else.” I didn’t put up a fight. Maybe I would have if we had been back home and I knew that we would be able to go to Joan’s hospital with doctors I’d worked with and trusted, but here I couldn’t trust anything or anyone. I wanted to drag Sabine inside the cottage—who knew how long she had been out here— but I was still scared to jostle her just in case there was some deeper internal injury. Her skin, which I would have expected to be cold and clammy in the rain, felt surprisingly warm. I just wanted a sign, any sign, that she was really in there and making her way back to the surface of consciousness.
Suddenly, Sabine’s eyes fluttered, her long and clumpy mascaraed lashes like chubby insect legs dancing; they had left trails of black streaming down her cheeks. They opened, tiny slits letting slivers of the world in. She squinted, shielding them from the rain, and let out a mournful moan.
“Sabine! Are you okay? Tell me how to help you.”
“I’m so hot.” She groaned.
“Can you move at all?”
Eyes closed again, she nodded. “Yeah.”
“If I help you, can you get up?”
“Where am I?” she asked woozily.
“You’re at the cemetery.”
“Really? How’d I get here?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Huh.”
“Do you want to try getting up?”
She nodded. I put her arm around my neck, held her by the waist, and slowly rose to my feet, taking her with me and hoping not to slip in the mushy, saturated ground. She felt like a lump, content to be dragged, unable to contribute much strength to our efforts. I dug in my pocket for the key and after unlocking the door, I kicked it open and we stumbled in. I set Sabine down in the desk chair. She slumped there, looking like she might slide right off onto the floor.
“I don’t know what happened or how I got here, but all I know is . . . it was amazing, whatever it was.” She sounded dreamy for a moment.
“Amazing?”
“Yeah.” She fixed her eyes far away and shifted in her seat, settling in again. “I feel like I’ve been flying. I can almost still taste it, but . . . something about it has worn off, you know? And I just want to get it back.”
“I guess,” I said. “So . . . you’re really feeling okay? Because it looks like you might’ve been outside for a while.” I didn’t know whether to say anything about the tattoo just yet.
“Oh yeah.” She flitted her hand. “I’m actually feeling better than—” She stopped short of finishing her thought and her face fell, a seriousness taking over her features. She slowly raised an arm to point. “What’s that?” she asked, skittish. She focused on the space at my feet. I looked to the ground and saw nothing more than my beat-up sneakers and two sets of wet footprints. “That. There! What is that?!” She said it more frantically this time.
“What is it, Sabine?” I asked, looking all around me but unable, for the life of me, to figure out what had her upset.
She let out an ear-piercing scream that startled me so much I jumped. “Get him away!” she shouted. She turned her head, looking back over her shoulder, then squeezing her eyes shut. “Him! Get him out of here!”
“Who? Sabine, who?” I felt powerless.
She opened her e
yes again, focusing on the ground to her right. Her lips looked like they were struggling to form the words. Finally: “What . . . what’s going on here?” she stammered, looking at me like I had betrayed her in some way.
“What do you mean?” I stepped toward her. She lifted her legs up on the chair, hugging her knees. “What happened to her? What have you done to them? Who are they?” She shook her head, closed her eyes, and screamed once more. I ran to her and embraced her, trying to calm her down. I didn’t know what to do. I wished I had called an ambulance after all.
“Shhh-shhhh.” I tried to soothe her. “It’s gonna be okay. Can you tell me what you’re seeing?”
She cried softly into my wet hair, sniffling. At last, gathering herself and finding her voice: “Bodies. How did they get here? Who are they? What happened to them?”
“Bodies?” I looked around the room: as empty and boring as it had always been. Nothing at all resembling dead bodies to be found. I didn’t know what else to say, so I just let her cry.
Connor arrived several minutes later, though it felt like much longer. He was soaked, with no umbrella, and there was tension in his expression. Sabine sat curled up in the desk chair, still hugging her knees, cradling her head in her arms.
He put his hand to her back.
“I can’t go near the bodies. I don’t want to see them.”
He looped her arms around his neck and leaned in, scooping her up. She perked her head up, tensing her body and clinging so tightly to him I wondered if he could breathe.
“You have to go fast!” she ordered him, squirming in his arms and tugging him closer to her, as though he were a tree she was trying to climb. “Step over them! Fast! Don’t step on them!”
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get you home.”
I was just locking up the cottage, rattling the door to be sure it was secure, when I felt my scars fire up into a fierce burn.
A hot claw clamped down on my shoulder. I snapped my head around and jumped back, so shocked to see her there.
Sister Catherine. Standing right before me.
“I’m sorry. Did I startle you, my child?” she asked peacefully but, if I wasn’t mistaken, wearing the slightest smirk. She stood close to me, too close. I backed up a few steps. She must have noticed this, along with the look of sheer terror on my face.
“Ah, yes, so you heard about my ‘calling.’” She made air quotes around the word, in a way that didn’t seem to fit her, and then began cackling. Slowly her laugh changed in tone. Gone was the crinkly, weathered voice of a sweet old woman and in its place, something harsher, more taunting . . . younger. I thought I might be hearing things. She stopped abruptly, watching me with hard eyes. “You know my real calling, Haven?” she asked cagily. She leaned in, that hot hand burning my forearm. “Serving the Prince,” came the sugary southern drawl of a beauty queen from her old body. I had heard it very few times but recognized it from the start. It sent chills through me and yet my feet remained rooted, not aware they should be running. “You’ll soon serve him too, if you know what’s good for you.”
Before my eyes, she transformed within that habit: taller, slimmer, blond hair peeking out. It was Clio standing in front of me. I stopped breathing, wondering if I was hallucinating the way Sabine had. But I knew deep down that this was terrifyingly real. I set off running just as she whipped around, disappearing into a burst of fire. The flame slithered to the nearest tomb, oozing into the cracks of the sealed doorway, and she was gone.
I excused myself from work and called Lance on the way home. “Hey, I can’t talk now,” came his clipped voice. I was still fragile from the episode I’d just run from, and I couldn’t help that it showed.
“Well, just thought you might like to know that I found Sabine.”
“What?” Now he seemed to be listening.
“Passed out in the cemetery. Connor came to take her back to the house.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I am calling you. Right. Now.” He was frustrating me. I had called hoping for comfort. I didn’t need this.
“Right. Sorry. I’m just . . . I’ve been worried.” He sighed. And after a pause, as though not sure he wanted to share it: “Did you hear about the bodies?”
I stopped in my tracks, wind swirling around me. “What?”
“Yeah. I heard there were a couple more around the city. Some of the guys here said they heard they were found in alleyways, courtyards, dumpsters . . .” He sounded distracted, his voice petering out. “So, I just couldn’t help thinking maybe she was one of . . . Anyway, just be careful, okay?”
25. I Can’t Handle This
Here’s how this is gonna work, guys.” Connor addressed us in his most serious, take-no-prisoners tone. He had ordered us all home, and we gathered in the levitation room. Sabine, still weak from all she had endured, barely conscious, and glistening from battling the rain and inner demons, lay in the center of the floor. “This is why I started you learning levitation from the very start. We didn’t have enough warning when this happened to Jimmy. There’s still time for Sabine. What you see here is a soul divided: there’s the real Sabine, and then there’s now another part, a vicious aspect, that was set loose by the Krewe. That part is threatening to take hold of her. She needs to fight it from the inside, or this’ll never work. But I need you all to perform an extraction from the outside, to help her along.”
He had us sit in a circle, evenly spaced around her. We all watched Connor hovering over her, each face around the circle wearing variations of the same terrified, confused expression. Slowly he moved toward the door. “You’re all going to focus your energies on her, as though you’re trying to raise her, like any of the objects you’ve been practicing on.”
“How do we know if we’re succeeding?” came Lance’s concerned voice. He sat opposite me and I felt that sting looking at him. It was as though I no longer existed to him and he had transferred all of that care to this other person, who quite literally now lay between us.
“I’ll be watching. If she lifts for any period of time, it’s that diseased soul being pulled out. We go until we run outta steam,” he said, like a coach. “This is grueling stuff, guys. But Sabine needs you, and one day each of you may need the same treatment.”
With that, he turned off the lights, so we sat in suffocating darkness. Finally, he signaled, with that same foreboding tone of someone proctoring a standardized exam: “Good luck. You may begin.”
Almost immediately, a flash flared and something hard and heavy smacked against the padded wall across from me, where Brody had been sitting. Footsteps rushed over and then Connor whispered, “You okay, man? . . . Okay, that’s why you gotta learn to control this. You’re done today. Hang back and rest.” Gazing around the circle now, I saw soft hazy light, beginning to connect from each person to Sabine, like spokes of a wheel.
I closed my eyes. The petty side of me thought of holding back. Would Sabine have given herself so fully to me if the situation were reversed? But I had no choice. It would forever haunt me if I didn’t try my hardest. And I channeled all my strength as I had so many times before in this room. I felt a pressure collect in my head behind my eyes. And then I felt a breeze behind me, blowing my hair around in my face. I let my eyes open a sliver: I was moving. A soft glow illuminated the space in front of me, where Sabine’s reclining form now hovered a foot above the ground. That light seemed to be pushing me, back, back, back until I reached the padded wall with a firm shove, but nothing like what had happened to Brody. Eyes closed again, I kept up until, without warning, I felt all my strength drain, the well dry. I toppled over, lying on the floor, as I heard Sabine hit the ground. I opened my eyes to a pitch-black room.
The lights went on—so bright, as if they were screaming at my eyes. I squinted and found everyone lying on the ground, spent.
“Good work,” Connor said. He helped Sabine onto her feet. She seemed so much steadier than I would have imagined. Maybe j
ust because I felt so entirely depleted, I couldn’t fathom anyone having any energy at all.
“Where am I?” she asked as he walked her out. We all stayed in there until one by one, we regained enough strength to lift ourselves up and go back to our rooms. For me, it felt like hours. I was the last to go.
I heard the voices before I even opened the door to my room.
“But you told me to meet you. How can you not remember that?” Emma prodded gently.
“I told you, I can’t remember a damn thing,” Sabine responded, hostile and biting. “Why won’t you back off? I should be mad at you for not showing up. If I told you to meet me somewhere and you didn’t come, then maybe this is your fault.” I lingered in the hallway, wanting to hear more.
“I can’t believe you would say something like that.” Emma sounded hurt now. “Like I would want you to go through something like this? Like it’s not enough that I’ve already had this happen with Jimmy?”
“Whatever. Let’s just forget about it.”
I couldn’t wait any longer. I wandered in, pretending, of course, that I’d heard nothing. “Hi.” I addressed Sabine tentatively, as though approaching a tiger in her cage. Her weekender bag lay open, disgorging clothes and personal items, waiting to be stuffed shut. She and Emma stared at me blankly. “So . . . how are you feeling?” I tried.
“I’m fine,” she shot at me. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and appeared freshly scrubbed since I’d last seen her.
“Good, that’s great,” I said. Emma gave me a wary look as Sabine knelt to zip her bag. I could tell she was going to make me ask. “Um, so are you going somewhere?”
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