by Arden, Alys
5th July 1728
I am beginning to suspect that they want more from me than just silence, and yet my intuition tells me it’s not my blood they are after. At night, I can feel them following me. Watching, waiting for me to waver. What they expect from me I have no idea, but the simple fact that they have never tried to harm me leads me to believe that whatever they want is very important to them. There is something about the way they said my name—Jean-Antoine, just before his carriage took off, and Gabriel that night in the fields—that makes me wonder if it has something to do with you, Father. I lie in bed at night wondering what they are after. Unless it is simply you they want?
19th July 1728
I feel like I am going mad, Papa. Marassa made me a necklace she calls a gris-gris. She fears I need protection, and says that this little satchel strung on a ribbon will help repel evil. The girls are all beginning to suspect that I need protection. I don’t know how to explain it, but I have this looming feeling that darker days are coming. Perhaps this is because Louis, the dog, has gone missing. I haven’t seen my furry companion in days, which saddens me. I always felt safer with him near – he seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing when danger was lurking.
In more disturbing news, a boy from one of the local tribes – the only son of the chief – has gone missing. His family suspects foul play, and they are causing quite a stir here in town, trying to find the culprit. His sister, a stunning girl named Morning Star who attends the religious class on Sundays, has taken to questioning me on the street. I don’t know why she thinks I know something about her brother’s disappearance, but her interrogations bring me to tears. I can only guess what, or rather who, has caused her brother’s sudden disappearance, and I can’t help but feel responsible. If it wasn’t for me, the monsters would be at the bottom of the ocean instead of terrorizing the population of La Nouvelle-Orléans.
I know something needs to be done, but I am not strong enough on my own, and I don’t know if I can jeopardize the lives of the five girls I hold so dear. I don’t know what to do, Papa.
Your silence is making me fear the worst. You should have arrived by now. I tell myself I should be used to your unpredictability… I never gave a second thought to your erratic behavior in Paris, but here, where everything is unknown to me, it’s unsettling.
I pray you are well. You always are.
1st August 1728
The day I feared would come has finally arrived. Lisette received a marriage proposal from one of the local townsmen. I wanted so much to share in her joy, but my heart ached, knowing the sparkle in her eyes would fade when she realized her dowry was missing.
Fearing for their lives, I followed the nuns to the attic to retrieve her cassette. With each step, I couldn’t help but remember walking up the stairs to the deck of the S.S. Gironde,the first witness to the pirate massacre. My heart pounded like death knocking, and the temperature rose so high that by the time we got to the last room of the attic, I swear we had left the Earth and entered Hell. The Mother Superior opened Lisette’s chest from the King.
At once, all of the holy sisters gasped.
But nothing happened.
Nothing was awoken.
Nothing sprang forth.
They must have been out feeding. I breathed a sigh of relief. How horrible is that, Father? I was thankful they were out feeding on other humans! What kind of monster have I become?
The sisters scattered like a flock of geese, pecking at each box to examine the contents. “We’ve been robbed,” said one of the novices when all of the boxes produced only air.
The local nuns panicked, but the postulants who had traveled on the S.S. Gironde did not. I watched misplaced guilt flush each of their cheeks. Though none of them dared say the words aloud, I could see suspicions in their eyes about why the boxes might be empty. No matter how strong their faith, they could not deny the supernatural events that had occurred on our voyage from Paris. Mother Superior said something in Latin and fell to her knees, with her hands clenched together, and the others quickly followed suit.
I fled to find Lisette.
7th August 1728
Today has been one of melancholy, Papa. I so wish you were here. When I got home tonight, I found the front door ajar and, while nothing inside seemed to be awry, there was a disturbance in the air. I wanted to yell for Martine, but the surge of energy tearing through my body and threatening to bolt from my fingers kept me silent. I dropped my bundle of flowers and ran through the silent house.
A strange sense of déjà vu dizzied me as I entered the parlor and found her. And him.
The vampire Gabriel.
He was bent over Martine, who was splayed on the floor. Even my presence in the room did not distract him from his meal. I yelled repeatedly for him to stop, but he barely moved—his eyes shifted to look up at me, but his lips remained locked on her neck.
“Remove yourself!” I screamed, running to them. I grabbed his shoulder and attempted to pull him off, but my touch only scorched his clothing before his shove sent me sliding across the slick wooden floor. Keeping the flames from rising from my hands caused me great pain, but I couldn’t risk it. He was too close to her. Not to mention the possibility of setting fire to the entire town. For a moment, I just stood, terrified at the perverse sight.
He finally unlatched his teeth from her throat and then staggered as he tried to stand, nearly falling backwards. “Madonna mia,how much does this woman drink?” he slurred. “Opium too. There are more toxins in her blood than in a Parisian sewer.”
“You monster!” I screamed, which didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. My eyes welled as guilt clutched my throat – it was obvious that she was dead.
“Oh, my sweet, don’t be angry with me,” he said as if the offense he had committed had been eating the lastmacaron. “She begged me for it. You should thank me for putting her out of her misery.”
“You are the reason for her misery! You killed her husband!” I reminded him with fury.
“Well, that was actually my cousin Renzo, but I see your point.” He stumbled back to her body and bit his own wrist, just as he had with the island boy, and then he looked back to me and said in a very serious tone, “Adeline, you should leave now.”
I refused, telling him that I was a guest of this house and it was he who should leave. He paid no attention but simply focused ceremoniously on his task. Instead of allowing only a few drops to drip into her mouth, like he had for Makandal, he drizzled the blood until her tongue moved, lapping up the sticky red liquid.
“What are you doing?” I stuttered in disbelief.
Before he could reply, she screamed as if in great pain. Her torso thrust upward, and with an indescribable desperation, her jaw clamped around Gabriel’s wrist. Dumbfounded, I screamed her name, unable to turn away from the vulgar act. She sucked on his wrist faster, harder, with the glee of an infant attached to its mother’s teat. And then her eyes rolled back in her head, as if she were possessed.
I continued to call her name until I sounded hysterical, but she was lost. Nothing was going to distract her from drinking. I looked to Gabriel. “What is she doing? What did you do to her?”
“Adeline,” he said to me, “you should really leave now. You are worth more to me alive than dead.”
I shuddered violently as Martine slumped to the ground; my voice warbled with fear as I yelled to him, “I’m not leaving her!”
If you can believe it, Papa, the absurdity only increased from there. Just thinking about it gives me the urge to loosen my corset so I can breathe easier.
“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the vampire said as he licked his own wounds, which miraculously healed before my eyes.
Gabriel then looked at me with such a savage tenderness it would have been impossible not to give him what he desired. Luckily, I had no idea what he was talking about when he then asked, “Where is it, Adeline?”
“Where is what?”
“Oh, don’
t play coy with me, bella.” He slowly licked his lips. “I promise, you will not like where it leads you… but I will like it very much.”
Before any more threats could be spat, Martine’s eyes flew open—red and insane like a rabid animal’s—and Gabriel yelled with a hunter’s smile, “Adeline, run. Now!”
Every shred of my instinct told me to obey him.
Martine still seemed disoriented, giving me a few more seconds to dash for the nearest exit. When I glanced back, she was gone. Startled, I reached for the door, and there she was, standing in front of me, blocking my escape. I was barely able to stop myself from hurling into her.
From behind me, Gabriel said in a teasing voice, “You could have had a head start, had you listened to me. But listening isn’t a strong suit of the Saint-Germains, now is it?”
Martine grabbed my throat with her cold, dead fingers and lifted my entire body with just the strength of just one arm. My fingers clawed at hers, and my legs flailed in the air as she walked me back into the room.
“Marti—” I choked out. Just as I began to question whether I could fight my friend, I saw her fangs: pointed and lethal as a snake’s. My sympathy drained as I gasped for air. On the verge of consciousness, I cursed myself and, for the first time, truly regretted not allowing the captain to toss the strigoi overboard.
The house had become suddenly cold and dark – I thought it was death coming to take me. A howling wind entered the room, blowing out the hearth along with every candle and lamp.
Disoriented by the loud whistles that filled our ears, Martine dropped me to the floor. My hair whipped around my face, and the layers of my petticoats blew around me as I tried to stand.
The gusts became so strong I could barely open my eyes, but it was enough to see the sudden squall launch Martine into the air and through the glass window. It shattered into thousands of tiny shards, and she fell three stories to the street.
I whipped my hand around the room to reignite the candles.
A fire exploded into the hearth, and I found Gabriel sneering at a girl standing in the rear doorway. It was Susannah. She brought her arms down slowly, and the strong gale tapered to a slight breeze, until we were left with nothing but the soggy, summer air.
I hurried to the broken window.
Instantly, Gabriel was by my side. I leaned over the sharp glass fragments jutting from the frame to look down. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight. “Sacrebleu!” I whispered as Gabriel leaned over me to see for himself.
Martine had landed on her back with such impact the bones in her legs were protruding from her skin. A circle of blood was slowly pooling in the street around her. And then—I swear to you, Papa—despite her splintered limbs, Martine slowly began to stand up.
Above my head, Gabriel cursed, “Maledetto! Now I have to go and fetch her before she causes a scene.” He exited the room in a flash.
I approached Susannah, still in shock, and already feeling disappointed in my own failure to take control of the situation.
“I’m sorry, Adeline!” she said before I had the chance to speak.
Still in a deep daze, I looked up at the red-haired girl and whispered, “That was incredible.”
“We can no longer stand idly by,” she said. I nodded in agreement as she continued vehemently. “We must take action against the vampires.”
“You knew about them?” I asked.
“Of course I know. We all know, Adeline. It is no longer just your burden.”
Chapter 34 Carpe Noctum
“Whoa,” I said out loud as I translated the last line.
“What?” Désirée asked. “Did you find a clue about the other two casquette girls?”
For hours we’d been scouring the grimoire, the half-translated diary, and even the painting for clues that would reveal the identities of the other two members of the casquette girls’ coven or their present-day descendants.
“I think so… but that’s only the half of it. Gabe killed Martine DuFrense and turned her into a vampire.”
“Shut up.”
“I swear… well, at least according to Adeline’s diary. They witnessed it—Adeline and Susannah.”
“Susannah?”
I flipped back through the pages. “Susannah Bowen, from Bermuda. She was a servant in the convent, likes plants, used magic right in front of Adeline, and they let her into the coven. After Martine DuFrense turned, Susannah saved Adeline’s life by throwing the newborn through a third-story window. That’s all I’ve really gotten so far.” I handed her my journal. “Here, double-check it. My eyes are starting to cross.”
She scanned the first few pages. “Do you think Gabe and Adeline had a thing?”
“Really? Out of everything happening in those pages, that’s what you’re taking away?”
“It’s a totally valid question,” she mumbled and went back to reading.
When the pages in my journal became blank, she sighed in frustration, pushed it aside, and flipped to a bookmark in Marassa’s grimoire. “I want to test out some of these protection spells, considering Emilio’s ultimatum. If I’m reading between the lines correctly, I think these are the same spells the casquette girls coven used when they started feeling threatened.”
As if the death of my surrogate grandparents wasn’t enough, reading the account of Martine DuFrense’s death via Gabriel Medici sent me over the edge. I couldn’t stop wondering if I was going to die tomorrow night. The feeling was unsettling to say the least. I found myself looking back to my phone more than once, flicking open the text message from my mother, of all people. My fingers refused to respond to her plea to talk, but I did decide there were issues that needed to be pressed elsewhere.
“Cool,” I said, “I’m going for a walk. I think there might be some clues out there in the real world.” I picked up the painting of our relatives. “Can I borrow this?”
“Sure… don’t lose it. Gran would kill me.”
And so we split up. Désirée stayed back, brewing up potions, while I went out into the night to beat the street. I wasn’t sure whether I had the right questions, but there were three people whom I was determined to get answers from.
My first stop was Ren’s house in the Faubourg Marigny, which meant I had to leave the Vieux Carré. He lived even closer than Brooke, but my father’s rule about not leaving the neighborhood still argued with my steps. Little did he know how much more dangerous the streets within the borders of the Quarter were – the inside of the bullring.
When I crossed Esplanade and felt the slight warble, I wondered whether the Storm’s destruction was worse on the other side of this oak-lined avenue solely because of topography, or because the girls’ antique protection spells had played a part in saving the French Quarter. Images of large gusts of wind flinging back vampires who tried to cross the street brought a strange smile to my lips.
It vanished as the sound of breaking glass cracked the night air. It’s probably just looters, I told myself, wondering if Isaac was lurking in a nearby tree. Previously, I’d found Isaac tailing me to be annoying, but I’d grown accustomed to the crow’s constant presence. I wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, but knowing he was there might have had something to do with my ballsiness as of late.
Five blocks later, I arrived at Frenchmen Street, where I knew Ren’s house to be – next to the Spotted Cat. The street was famous for its jazz clubs, but tonight it was a strange sight to behold. Laundry lines were strung everywhere, with sheets rippling in the cold night air, as if everyone had decided to wash their linens at the same time. Despite the cold weather, people were on their porches with BBQ pits fired up to cook dinner, while others stood around open fires burning in old tin garbage cans. My guilt sunk deeper because we had working fireplaces, a gas oven, and a generator.
“Miss Adele?” Ren called out from his porch. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He set his book and reading candle down at the base of the rickety rocking chair.
“Bonsoir!” I yelled,
hopping the steps, and then kissed him on the cheek.
“Please tell me you need advice on fabric swatches for a school project?”
“Not even close.” The severe stare I gave him squashed any further joking.
“Well, shoot. Kommon in, bébé.” He looked both ways down the street before shutting the door behind us.
* * *
I’d never been inside Ren and Theis’ house before. To say it was a reflection of their personalities was an understatement. A large oil painting of their white Persian cat and a particularly gothic-looking M.C. Escher print of a skull and eyeball hung on the dark-purple living-room wall. Dozens of candles had dripped wax onto the windowsills, and a large, black pot hung over a low flame in the fireplace, filling the air with peppery notes that meshed with the smoky scent I now knew to be sage. Theis was stretched out on a red velvet couch. He looked like he was sleeping, except a harsh cacophony of sounds billowed from his headphones, and he was gently petting Fluffy, who was lounging on his flat stomach.
Ren hurried into the kitchen; I watched through the doorway as he threw a plastic tarp over a strange metal apparatus that connected to barrels by a mess of copper coiling. It looked like some kind of homemade chem lab. Various dried herbs, flower petals, and berries were separated into loose piles on the counter.
“Ren, the cat’s out of the bag,” I said loudly, sinking into a paisley armchair across from Theis. “No need to try to cover up Operation Bathtub Gin.”
“Your pa is going to kill me,” he mumbled from the other room.
Theis’ eyelids slid open. “Want to see my new tattoo?”
“Uh, sure.” I think it was the first time he’d ever acknowledged my existence.
