by Arden, Alys
“That wasn’t my intention. I simply meant, things are complicated… more complicated than anyone should have to deal with. Especially a sixteen-year-old girl as sweet as you.”
Her words induced another wave of nausea, but there was nothing left in my stomach but pain. Somewhere deep down inside me was a little girl who wanted the comfort of her mother, who wanted to cry into her sweater and confide everything, but I had no recollection of what a mother’s comfort was. There was nothing my mother could do to help. The horror would continue unless I took care of it myself.
“I can’t do this,” I mumbled and walked down the foggy street, wiping tears and snot onto the back of my hand.
It was my turn to make a move, but I didn’t know the play.
* * *
I managed three blocks alone before I saw Isaac coming towards me in his work boots and barely-there ponytail. Yesterday I would have crossed the street to avoid him, but my issues with Isaac didn’t matter anymore. All of my energy had been used up hating myself.
He stopped when I got close.
“Not now, Isaac,” I said, defeated.
“Your dad just texted me. I know I’m the last person you want to see, but I just want you to know that I’m here for you. Okay?” He pushed the loose hair from his face, revealing concern. I was already tired of getting that look from people. I didn’t deserve sympathy – if they only knew what I’d done.
“Okay.”
“He’s looking for you. Mac. Check your phone.”
I nodded and hurried away, hoping the dense morning fog would quickly hide me from the worried gaze I could feel on my back.
* * *
The shrill of Désirée’s car alarm being activated made me wince. I squinted at the watch on my trembling hand. It was light out… I hadn’t even noticed the sun rising. I’d only been sitting on the stoop at Vodou Pourvoyeur for twenty-three minutes, but I hardly remembered calling Désirée. The entire morning felt like a dream. A bad dream.
“Jesus Christ, Adele! You’re shaking,” she said, crouching down in front of me. “Why didn’t you ring the bell? Gran would have let you in.”
I tried to think of an answer, but the question felt overly complex, and I just ended up staring at her blankly. She helped me up from the cold cement step and ushered me inside.
When she reached out to lock the deadbolt behind us, the metal snapped shut before her hand touched it. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask questions. Instead, she motioned for me to follow her to the back room.
I collapsed next to the fireplace and concentrated on taking shallow breaths while she bent to light the hearth. Again, I beat her to it.
She looked at me as the bright orange flames leapt higher. “You really need to try to calm down, okay?”
I nodded and shut my eyes. The memory of begging my father – forcing him to return us to town – suddenly became very vivid. This could all have been avoided had I just stayed in Paris. At boarding school. With my mother. With Émile.
Émile. Emilio?
My stomach twisted. Had all of this really started in Paris, just like it had for Adeline? My memories spun. Sneaking around Paris with Émile. His promise to see me soon, when I left France. The Waffle House. The crow attack. The convent. The rain of metal as the nails dropped to the ground. The shutter flapping, drawing me closer and closer. Controlling me. Crashing. The whoosh of energy as the monsters whipped past me.
Me.
So stupid. So naïve.
Only now was I starting to recognize that sensation of supernatural energy.
Désirée waved her hand in front of my face, and a sharp scent filled my nostrils, followed by sweet notes. Citrus.
“What is that?”
“It’s just oil: sandalwood, blood orange and sage. It should help you calm down.” She sat down on the floor across from me, and I closed my eyes as her warm fingers rubbed the oil into my temples.
Breathe.
The fire crackled. The warmth from the flames made my face tingle. It felt like it was defrosting.
“She warned me,” I said, still shaking. “She warned me last night, on my way here, but I didn’t know they would act so fast. I should have listened… done something, but I didn’t know what to do.” My voice cracked. “Even Nicco told me they were going to retaliate, but I was so tired. I fell asleep when I got home.”
“Who warned you?”
My throat croaked, fighting the tears.
“It doesn’t matter now, Adele. There was nothing you could have done.” Her arms circled around my shoulders. “This is not your fault.” She rested her forehead against mine and held my head up with hers as I cried out the remaining tears from my system.
The pungent aroma soaked in, making me feel a little high; I straightened my back, wiping my eyes, and inhaled deeper. She took both of my hands and whispered unfamiliar words under her breath, almost like a chant. My mind began to drift.
Suddenly her grip tightened, and her big, almond-shaped eyes popped open as she gasped.
“What just happened?” I asked. “I feel really light.”
“Nothing, I just transferred some of your energy.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but I thanked her anyway. I didn’t exactly feel chipper, but the physical pain had numbed, like someone had given me a jumbo dose of morphine.
“We have to break the curse,” I said.
“Either that or we have to kill all the vampires.”
My heart nearly stopped. I knew that she knew.
Chapter 32 The Brothers Three
My nose nuzzled into a soft, warm fabric. I felt safe, and for a few seconds I was awake without remembering the nightmare that had become my reality. Then, as I sat up from the cocoon of brightly colored blankets and pillows, it all rushed back to me like a boulder to the chest.
Where the hell am I?
My stirring caused a head to peek through a fuchsia velvet curtain. “Finally, you’re awake,” Désirée said, dropping to her knees next to me.
I focused on my watch. “Holy shit! It’s six p.m.? How did I sleep that long? Did you drug me?”
“No. Yes. No. Well, kind of. I went digging through Marassa’s grimoire and found this herbal tea concoction. I’d like to take credit, but I think in your case it was mostly extreme exhaustion. The tea just helped ease your mind so your body could rest.”
I rubbed my eyes.
“I think the original recipe came from Cosette Monvoisin. Pretty sweet, eh?”
“Yeah, I kinda feel like I know those girls.”
“Well, not all of them. Two are still total mysteries. While you were sleeping, I tried to read Adeline’s diary. Epic fail. So I jacked your journal to read the translation in English.”
“That’s fine,” I said, surprised by my lack of sensitivity towards Désirée Borges, of all people, invading my privacy. I still kind of felt like I was in outer space.
She exited through the curtain and returned a few minutes later with a cup of coffee and a bottle of mouthwash, which she threw at me. “Pretty sure you were puking earlier.”
“Thanks.”
I forced my stiff body to stand up, lifted the shroud, and reentered the land of the living (well, mostly living).
Only after washing my face did I feel brave enough to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. My eyes were red and swollen, and my hair resembled that of a 1980s monster ballader. I looked only half-alive, and my stomach was back in its semi-permanent knot, but the sleep had done wonders for my mind. As the lingering effects of the tea wore off, I felt alert, focused, ready for the battlefield.
But as soon as my mind became more active, misery flooded back in. I thought of Bertrand and Sabine Michel. How could something so horrible happen to the sweetest, most wonderful people I knew? My gut wrenched, recalling the warning I’d received, but I forced myself to push all my emotions to a deep, dark place so I could concentrate on protecting the people who were still alive. I shuddered thinking about Jeanne
or Sébastien getting hurt – they were the closest thing I had to siblings. I couldn’t even think about something happening to my father.
I pulled out my phone as I reentered the tiny altar space behind the curtain – eighteen text messages and way more missed calls. How had I slept through that?
Sébastien 5:37 a.m. Adele, you disappeared. Are you okay?
Sébastien 5:51 a.m. The detective is gone; you can come back now.
Dad 6:00 a.m. Adele, where are you?
Jeanne 6:12 a.m. Où es-tu? You’re scaring me.
Dad 6:15 a.m. Come home now, sweetheart. The streets aren’t safe.
Dad 6:25 a.m. Adele, where are you? Please tell me so I can come and get you.
Dad 6:40 a.m. Please call me.
Sébastien 6:53 a.m. You don’t have to return, just let me know that you are okay. I’m about to call the detective back.
Isaac 7:00 a.m. Your dad is freaking out. I’m coming to look for u. Don’t be pissed if I find u.
Isaac 7:01 a.m. This is Isaac, btw.
unknown 9:17 a.m. I had no idea this was going to happen last night. It doesn’t change things, but I need you to know, bella. Sentite condoglianze. ~Niccolò
Émile 11:26 a.m. Your mother sent me out to find you. Où es-tu, ma chérie? You can’t hide forever.
Isaac 3:42 p.m. You’ve been sleeping all day. Starting to think D put some kind of Voodoo spell on u.
Isaac 3:43 p.m. That was a joke, btw.
Jeanne 4:07 p.m. Isaac found you asleep at Vodou Pourvoyeur???? I feel like I’m in The Twilight Zone.
Dad 4:21 p.m. Call me when you wake up if I am not at the Borges’. I love you.
Brigitte 4:49 p.m. Adele, I’d really like it if we could talk. There are things you need to know. Bisous.
I plopped back down on the pallet next to Désirée, whose nose was buried in my journal. “My dad is freakin’.”
“My mom talked to him,” she said without breaking focus from the book. “Oh, and Niccolò came by at least three times. There’s a good chance he’s still perched outside like a hawk, which I have to admit is something I sooner expected from that Isaac guy than him.”
A halfhearted chortle slipped out.
“What?”
“Nothing, I’ll explain some other time.”
“Whatever.”
I touched the crow’s mark on my face and felt horrible remembering our recent interactions. Isaac had clearly been trying to make amends.
“I’ll be right back. Gonna make a quick call.”
Wrapped in a blanket, I stepped out into the setting sun to get better reception. My nerves fluttered as I tapped the callback button, knowing I’d have to apologize.
I paced down the sidewalk, but before I even heard the second ring, a figure whipped down the street. Startled by his speed, I dropped my phone into the gutter. The blanket fell from my shoulders, and my feet glided on air as Nicco abruptly pinned me against the wall of the nearest house. The rough stucco scraped my back through the thin T-shirt.
“Are you okay?” he asked, jerking my head to the side.
“I was unt—”
He pushed my head again, closely examining the other side of my neck.
“That hurts, Nicco!” I still had bruises from our night in the bell tower.
“I’m sorry.” His grip loosened. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Sometimes I forget how fragile you are.”
“That’s bullshit! I can carry an egg without cracking it. Or a rabbit without killing it. Or a bird—”
His mouth twitched at the mention of a bird.
“You’re right. I’ll try to be more careful with you.”
“I’m not asking you to try. I am telling you to stop!” My fists slammed into his chest. He grabbed both of my wrists and gently lowered my arms to my sides. My arm muscles shook, trying to fight him.
“Don’t, bella, you’ll just hurt yourself.”
He was so close I could smell him. Leather and soap, just like… his brother. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him after what had happened this morning.
“I don’t understand,” I choked out, losing the battle with my tears. “Why don’t you all just leave?”
His calmness was a stark contrast to my emotional wreckage.
“Do you want me to leave?”
A sharp pain tugged in my chest. I wanted this all to go away. I wanted Nicco to be normal.Iwanted to be normal. A part of me wanted to destroy him for everything he’d done, whatever his role… For following me. For not telling me everything. For letting me fall for him. I hated myself for wanting to cause harm to someone else. I wanted him to be stronger, to change, to want the same things as me. I wanted him.
“Yes, I want you to leave,” I whispered.
My eyes looked past him.
“I don’t believe you, bella.”
My pulse raced as his irises burned into my face. I forced myself to look directly into those perfect green eyes. My vision became blurry and wet. Not being able to see him clearly gave me the courage to repeat myself.
“I want you to leave.”
I lost all ability to contain myself, to retain any sense of maturity. I didn’t want to think or reason. “Leave,” I yelled, attempting to push him away, but only ended up shoving myself backwards into the stucco wall. He barely wavered. “Leave!”
“It’s not that simple, Adele.” His tone was much sharper. “We can’t just leave.”
“Of course you can! Surely you’re all strong enough to travel by now. You’ve all certainly had enough sustenance.” My voice lowered on the last word.
“Do you really think you are that powerful?” he shouted.
I shrank back. The raised voice of the otherwise demure Italian was far more distressing than his physical strength. He quickly quieted, but I could tell he was barely restraining himself.
“Do you really think you areso powerful that you accidentallybroke a cursesostrong it contained a group of vampires for more than three hundred years, and now they can just walk away?” He snorted. “You may have somehow opened the window, but don’t forget that parts of the curse still remain. So here they will remain, confined to the city limits of La Nouvelle-Orléans. And not even the entire city, just the part that existed in 1728, when the spell was bound.” He bit down on his lip.
“So, you are telling me that not only did I let a group of vampires escape, but now they are confined to the French Quarter?”
He rested his left elbow against the wall next to my face, and bowed his head just above mine. “Si, bella.”
“But you weren’t cursed. You weren’t trapped in the attic.”
“No. Grazie a Adeline, I didn’t make it on the ship with Gabriel and my cousins, so I wasn’t trapped in the attic with them. I can leave whenever I want.” He leaned so close it felt like we were touching.
And then we were.
His fingers brushed my face, and I let my head move slightly so that his cool hand cupped my cheek. Every part of my being tingled. Maybe out of excitement? Maybe as a warning to stop flirting with the enemy? My lashes batted shut as his face came closer to mine, and my heart pounded deep like a base drum— but then Nicco swung around.
Behind us, Émile was slowly clapping his hands. “So, this is why I’m getting the cold shoulder, ma chérie?”
In the silence that followed, I heard the faint sound of my name being shouted over and over again. “Adele! Are you okay?” All eyes went to the sidewalk, to my phone.Dammit. The call must have been connected this whole time.
Before I could reach it, Émile scooped the phone off the ground. “I’m sorry, but Miss Le Moyne is preoccupied at the moment. Can I take a message?” His French accent was totally gone, and he now sounded just like Nicco, but more bitter and slightly insane.
He moved the phone from his ear as Isaac yelled on the other end: “Go to hell, bloodsucker!”
Ugh. Isaac… Wait, did he just say bloodsucker? What the hell?
“How sweet,” Émile tea
sed, hanging up the call and handing the phone back to me. “A love triangle.” There was no anger in his voice; he was just taunting us. Smiling. “Fratello, please don’t tell me that you’re really competing with a bird for the affection of a human?”
Embarrassment boiled over inside me, and then anger, but I focused on controlling myself. One of the only things I had going for me in this nightmare was the element of surprise, so there was no point in flying off the handle and giving myself away – that is, if Nicco hadn’t already told his brothers about my abilities.
“Go back inside, Adele,” Nicco muttered, pushing me behind him so forcefully I nearly fell to the ground.
“I can take care of myself,” I said, trying to keep my balance.
He ignored me and yelled something in Italian to his brother, which only made Emilio scoff. “Of course I would get to her first, brother. Please…”
Get to me first?
“This really is adorable,” he continued, hanging a lanky but intimidating arm around each of us. An arm I used to love having wrapped around me when we rode his Vespa together. Ugh.
“Je ne comprends pas, Émile,” I said.
“Well then, let me make it perfectly comprehensible for you, since my little bro is probably being vague – it’s his specialty.” Emilio dropped the arm from Nicco and walked me away. He rested his forehead against the side of my head when he spoke, but looked straight at his brother. “As you already know, I am very direct.”
Nicco’s fangs snapped out.
I stepped away, nauseated by my own naïvety.
“Do not listen to anything he says, Adele.”
“What? Why?” I yelled at Nicco, totally sick of being in the dark. “Don’t tell me what to do without telling me why—”
“That’s my girl!” Emilio yelled. “Don’t listen to his over-romanticized, always-the-dark-knight bullshit, Adele.”
