by Arden, Alys
“What have we here?” a voice bellowed, and suddenly a large white man was standing right behind them, outrage visible in his eyes.
Fear flooded Marassa’s face, and we shrank back, hoping he hadn’t seen us in the sugarcane.
“Surely, the makin’s of marooning,” the foreman yelled. “Just wait until the governor hears about this!”
With one solid shove, Makandal pushed his sister into the stalks toward us and yelled to the foreman. “This is no concern of yours.”
The white man’s lumbering fist pounded onto Makandal’s face, and blood gushed from his split nose. Cosette’s hand went around Marassa’s mouth to muffle her screams.
“Take her now!” I whispered. “I will be right behind you. Be safe!”
The disgusting man continued to assault Makandal, who did nothing to retaliate.
My senses were drawn to a rusty blade that had been left lying on the ground in the stalks – a tool used by the slaves to hack down sugarcane. Blood sugar. Anger rose inside me like a growing fire. Could I really kill a man? I could not let Makandal die in a sugar field helping his sister.
There was no more time for thinking, only for action.
I focused on the machete, and it slowly rose from the ground. Up and up it floated until it was high above the crops. Then, with a flick of my wrist, I sent it plunging down over the man.
I watched in astonishment as the blade pierced the earth, missing the foreman – and yet he still landed on the ground with a bone-crushing thud. A flash of teeth gleamed before they sank into the flesh of his neck, spraying crimson across the tall stalks.
The sun began to rise, throwing a million shades of pink across the sky as the blond head bobbed up and down, feeding, feasting, finishing off the foreman. Goosebumps tore through my flesh. I told myself to run, but my legs seemed paralyzed. I hardly want to admit it, but I was oddly exhilarated by the display of sheer power.
“What have I done?” whispered Makandal, barely conscious but gazing at the creature with horror.
I rushed to him, promising that his sister would be safe with me. “Please don’t be frightened,” I begged, but my fingers trembled as I squeezed his hand.
The blond looked at us with rabid eyes as crystalline as the Caribbean Sea. He remained in a crouched position and edged our way, squinting in the dawn light.
Protectively, I hovered over Makandal, but the monster pushed me aside with one sudden movement. I protested, but my words tapered when I saw he wasn’t looking for a second course. Instead, the vampire looked kindly into Makandal’s dark brown eyes and said in a soothing hum, “Everything went as planned. You succeeded in your mission to get your sister off the island. She is going to be fine. You are free to do great things.”
An aura of triumph washed over Makandal’s face, and his breathing slowed.
The monster drew his own wrist to his mouth, bit down deeply, and then held the bleeding punctures over the boy’s mouth. He waited patiently as the blood dripped over his lips and seeped down his throat. I found myself inching closer in amazement as the boy’s ribs began to snap back into place and his wounds began to heal.
My senses were wildly confused as the vampire rose and I finally saw his face in the light. He looked so much like a man, and not at all like the hideous creature I had dreamt about all of those nights at sea. The burning in my hands pulsed as if unsure what to do.
He looked at the foreman’s corpse and then back to me and said in perfect French, “Every species has their monsters.”
I nodded and stood. “Are you the man— do I call you a man?”
“Well, I’m certainly not a woman,” he answered and taunted me with a devilish smile.
“Are you the man who met the triplets on our last night in Paris?”
“Si, signorina. Stubborn, those three.” He smirked and licked the foreman’s spilled blood from his own hand. “Mmmm… sweet… tropical.”
He focused on the task for another moment before raising his head back to me. “Luckily for me, I found someone else willing to oblige. Unfortunately, my brother wasn’t as lucky.” He searched my eyes for acknowledgment, of which I gave him none. “But don’t fret; I’m sure he found a willing passenger on the next boat out from Paris. My brother can be very… persuasive.” He walked closer and reached for my hand. “But apparently, so can you. Gabriel Medici. Enchanté.” He gently kissed it.
“Adeline Saint-Germain,” I whispered. The brush of his cool lips sent a shiver up my arm, clashing with the fiery defenses wanting to leap from my fingers.
“Of course,” he said. “We all know who you are, bella.”
“Medici?” I stuttered, not understanding why a vampire would know who I was. “That’s quite a famous name.”
“Si.But not nearly as infamous as yours.” He took another step closer, his leg brushing my skirts.
“You know, I had everything under control here.” I tried to assert myself, but my voice cracked at an unfortunate moment.
“Si, si. I didn’t kill that man because you were in over your head, signorina Saint-Germain. I killed that man so you wouldn’t have to.”
He licked the rest of the blood from his teeth, and my heart pounded so deep I felt like I was standing on top of a Kongo drum. His fangs slowly retracted, making him appear even more like a normal man. He came one step closer, causing me to step back. My shoulders knocked against the tall sugarcane stalks, but closer still he leaned until it was more than my skirts that he touched.
“I am sure one day you will have to kill a man, but there is no need for that day to be today.”
“Merci beaucoup,” I whispered, trying not to choke on my own breath.
A loud whistle grabbed my attention. “The boat is boarding!”
When I looked back to Gabriel, all I saw were the sticky stalks of sugarcane bending in the breeze.
I lowered down to Makandal and kissed the top of his head.
“Vive la révolution,” he whispered beneath the tremors of a breaking fever. He brushed my cheek, and his eyes rolled back as he began to chant words over me.
“We will be like sisters,” I promised, giving his hand one final squeeze before I took off running.
My lungs stung, pushing the humid air in and out as I raced to the ship. Frantic, I told myself Captain Vauberci would never set sail without me.
When I arrived at the dock, everyone was waiting for me. The governor and captain were talking by the boarding ramp – both looked relieved when I approached. I apologized for being late and told them I had decided to take one last stroll in the beautiful garden and lost track of time. The captain glanced at the state of my dress and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. The governor accepted my excuse with good cheer and took me aside to present a gift he had loaded onto the boat for you, Father, as a gesture of goodwill. Six giant barrels of sugar, along with the message that you are welcome in the Caribbean any time. Papa, the vastitude of your reputation never ceases to amaze me.
When the crew weighed anchor, I hoped that, by some miracle, our stowaways had seen this tropical oasis and decided to stay on the island, but the chills that rippled up my arms as the boat set sail told me otherwise. As horrible as it sounds, I hoped that at least they had left the boat to feed. We still had five hundred leagues to go. At one time I would have celebrated this, but now that we had been forced back into the role of caged prey, every league might as well have been a lifetime.
That night when I dreamt, our monster’s face was no longer horrid. His face was Gabriel Medici’s.
(cont.)
For four weeks we hid Marassa in my private cabin with little effort. That was until one morning when the vessel jerked to a halt and flung us both from my bed.
I lifted myself up, and she rolled from underneath me. “Désolée,” I apologized. “I should have strapped myself with the rope.”
I quickly threw on my cloak and boots and ran out to see what had caused the jolt.
Half the crew, including
the captain, were leaning over one side of the ship, while others flooded up from below deck.
“Captain, looks like we hit a sand bar,” said one of the men. “Good thing the winds are calm. No speed. No damage.”
Our vessel might not have incurred any damage, but we were indeed stuck.
Hours went by as the crew attempted to maneuver the ship without getting it to so much as budge. Finally, the captain ordered the men to start tossing things overboard to lighten the ship’s load and float us off the sand.
First, he ordered the thirty-seven barrels of pirate rum to be thrown over. Watching the crew lament the spirits, you would have thought they were throwing over their own mothers. Sadly, it was done in vain. Next went forty-two barrels of wine. When this didn’t change our fate, the captain ordered the cannons overboard. I stayed on the deck and focused on each of the iron weapons, lifting them up just enough to take some of the burden off the tired crew. Two more stagnant hours went by. People grew restless knowing we had abandoned our weapons, also in vain.
“Mesdames et Messieurs,” said the captain. “I was hoping we could avoid it, but it appears the time has come when we have no choice but to throw the passenger luggage overboard if we are to stand a chance at survival.”
“Isn’t there something we can do?” I whispered to the triplets.
“Unfortunately, I can only persuade the hearts of men, not sand,” Cosette responded, looking at me with hopeful eyes. “Can you not?”
“I don’t see how a fire is going to help get us out of this one.”
Being ladies of God and not attached to their material possessions, the nuns volunteered their luggage first. The orphans wept, realizing their cassettes would be next. The long boxes containing their gifts from the King were the only security they had going into the New World.
After the nuns’ luggage was tossed and the ship still didn’t move, the captain ordered the cassettes to the deck. The girls tried to hold back their emotions, as they knew our survival was more important than their dowries.
“But what kind of life are we surviving for?” one of them cried and burst into tears.
The men emerged from below, carrying the first wooden box as if they were casket-bearers. The mood was somber as they passed the mourners on the deck.
That is when everything suddenly made absolute sense, Papa.
I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. On our last night in Paris, Monsieur Cartier, or Medici, or whatever his real name is, had asked if I would hide him in my luggage. The blonde man, Gabriel Medici, had asked Cosette if he could stow away in hercassette. How many other vampires had visited how many of the other orphans and tricked them into giving them passage – and meals?
I recalled the crew moving the cassettes from the S.S. Gironde to the pirate ship and then to our current vessel. These vampires had made it so far, and now they were about to inadvertently walk the plank. We would finally be rid of the monsters for good!
My head spun with images of Sophie and Claude dying, and the bloody massacre on the S.S. Gironde–but also the compassion Gabriel had shown Makandal that night in the sugarcane field. Was it even possible for such a creature to have compassion?
“Wait!” I suddenly found myself yelling. “Attendez!Stop!”
All eyes on deck turned to me.
“Oui, Mademoiselle Saint-Germain?” asked the captain.
“Le sucré! Le sucré!” I gasped, running to help the men keep the first box from tipping overboard. “The sugar! Throw over the sugar! You have to at least try before we toss their dowries.” My heart pounded, knowing that Gabriel might be inside la cassette.
A flitter of relief rippled through the orphans, and a smile spread across the captain’s face. “You heard the lady: bring up the sugar!”
The men finished dumping the governor’s golden gift overboard, and all the passengers ran to one side of the boat to redistribute the weight. We anxiously waited as the rudder fought, but it wasn’t enough. Another half hour went by, and we were no freer than before.
I could feel the hearts of each passenger begin to sink when, all of a sudden, a wave rocked the boat, and then another. They grew in strength, and the boat lurched, knocking everyone to the floor.
I gripped a thick net and hoisted myself up. It was difficult to see through the wind and splashing water, and at the time I could hardly believe it: the sand was taking on the shape of the waves and parting, allowing the ship’s release.
“A miracle,” one of the nuns rejoiced, crossing her chest. Another jolt knocked me back on to the deck, and that’s when I saw her. In the crow’s nest, with her arms held out to the sand bar, head rolled back: it was Marassa, speaking into the wind with the red bird singing loudly from her shoulder.
My confounded gaze brought everyone’s attention to the Kreyòl girl.
“Who is that?” yelled one of the orphans.
“Stowaway!” shouted one of the crew.
“What is she doing?”
“Who smuggled the contraband!”
“Witch!”
The crowd gasped.
“Witch!”
“Come down here, girl!” yelled the captain. “We won’t hurt you.”
The nuns pulled out their beads and began to pray. Panic spread throughout my body as Marassa slowly came down the pole. Her feet hit the floor, and she took off running; the first mate raced behind her as she fled below deck. The captain yelled for order, but I flew past him with the triplets in tow; we chased them into the first-class cabin marked “DuFrense.”
I burst into Martine's room, yelling, “Get off of her!” as he grabbed the back of Marassa’s neck. The captain and Mother Superior entered the cabin, as his first mate yelled back at me, “Did you steal this contraband from the island?”
“I didn’t steal her,” I hissed. “You can’t steal a person. She’s not a possession.” My heart pounded, Papa. After all of the trouble – after weeks of hiding – we were finally exposed.
But then a voice of superiority rang loud and clear. “What do you think you are doing? Take your hands off my property at once!”
A small hiccup prevented Martine from any more speech, but she grabbed Marassa’s arm and pulled the girl to her side. Everyone looked on in shock, including me and Cosette.
“Pardon, Madame DuFrense,” said the first mate. “This girl belongs to you?”
“What do you think I spent all of those hours shopping for on the island? Sugar? Do you think I have ever baked a tart in my life?” She stood in front of the frightened girl in a protective stance.
“Our apologies, Madame Martine. You should have let us know, to ensure that she was properly added to the passenger manifest,” the captain halfheartedly scolded her, but his eyes never left me.
I made a face to declare my innocence, and I knew he had to concentrate lest he betray a smile.
“Well, add her to your documents!” Martine said. “Now, don’t you have a ship to navigate? Get out of my cabin, all of you!”
As soon as everyone but the triplets and I had cleared the room, Martine fell onto the chaise and let out another hiccup. The four of us fell to our knees beside her, showering her with thanks.
Marassa stood frozen in bewilderment.
“Don’t fret, ma chérie,” Martine told her as she poured rum into a glass and quickly swallowed the drink. “I would no sooner own a child than I would birth one on my own accord.”
Chapter 30 Plastic Cheese
The surest way to push me back into my father’s arms was certainly the sight of my mother. After the bizarre encounter at Vodou Pourvoyeur, I ran (literally) straight for Le Chat Noir. This time it made way more sense when Troy the bouncer asked me to give my father a message.
There weren’t nearly as many people in the garçonnière as the previous night, but it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet, and in pre-Storm New Orleans, that would have meant the night hadn’t even begun. I headed straight for the bar, but stopped short when I overheard Dete
ctive Matthews’ voice. He was sitting at the bar, leaning over a glass of clear-colored spirits, talking to my father, who was drying tumblers with a rag.
“… I’m just saying, it’s a little strange that she reported one of the victim’s bodies and then was first on site to another crime scene.”
Are they talking about me? I slipped beside an armoire and strained my ears to listen.
“You better not be insinuating what I think you are, Terry.” If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a bit of threat in my father’s tone.
“I’m not trying to cause trouble here, Mac. It’s my job to look at all the facts. Don’t you think it’s a little peculiar that most of this picked up right after she arrived back from France?”
Did the detective actually consider me a suspect? Of murder?
“The way the Wolfman was drained and hung over the statue reminded me an awful lot of the deaths of those two filmmaker kids.”
This time, my father wasn’t so quick to defend. He dried two more glasses before looking up. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this…”
“What is it, Mac?” The disheveled detective leaned closer to my father.
“Well, I’ve gotten wind Brigitte is back in town.”
“Your ex-wife?”
“Wife.”
“What?”
“Well, technically we never got a divorce. After she skipped town, there was never a real need to,” he paused, “and I guess I always hoped she would come back.”
“I’m sorry, Mac, but this is just too much of a coincidence. Do you know when she got back in town? Where she is staying?”
“Nope. Haven’t heard from her, so I’m guessing she’s not here to see me.” He tried not to let the disappointment clog his throat.
Whatever animosity I’d been harboring towards my father totally dissipated. He was the only person who’d always been there for me. While I didn’t appreciate him hiding things, the world was too crazy right now to hold a grudge. I sheepishly stepped out of the shadows.
