by Arden, Alys
“‘Drink,’ Minette said. Tears streamed down her face, but she told me to drink. It was the sweetest voice I have ever heard, like an angel from heaven coming to save me.
“She sacrificed her human life for my immortal life.” Her eyes dropped to the floor, and she switched back to English. “But zhat’s not the worst part.”
“What could be worse than that?”
“I love him.”
“Who?”
“The one who made me. It is impossible to explain the Maker relationship to a human. Gabriel is like my father, my brother, my best friend. I would do anything for him.” Her eyes narrowed, and she turned directly to me. “Do you understand zhat? Anything.”
My back straightened. “I’ll try not to put you in any position where you’d have to kill me… and I ask you to do the same,” I quickly added.
She shrugged off the threat and looked at me tenderly. “Oui, ma fifille.”
I laughed uncomfortably, drank my last sip of tea, and saw the Lisette Monvoisin I knew from Adeline’s diary. The girl who had been so excited about her engagement, the one Cosette had saved from a pirate, the one who would have followed her sisters to the end of the Earth. Just as I mustered the courage to ask her about the coven’s curse, I registered the sounds of clunky footsteps and voices of merriment approaching.
There was a blur of motion, and Lise’s fingers were suddenly wrapped around my throat. The teacup flew from my hand as she pushed me to the floor. Her eyes were apologetic, but her fingers squeezed with no mercy. Over her shoulder I saw Gabe and Emilio enter the room arm in arm, singing in drunken glee. I gasped for air, feet kicking.
Just my luck,I began to think, but then to my surprise Emilio knocked Lisette off and sent her flying across the room into a tall grandfather clock.
“Maledetto, Emilio! ” Gabe yelled, rushing to Lisette.
Her fangs were out, but she didn’t retaliate.
Nicco had trailed in behind them, looking sullen as ever. I coughed, wondering why he hadn’t come to my rescue. His eyes were focused on one spot: my neck. He glanced at Lise and then back to me – he was onto our charade. He was the only one who knew I could have defended myself.
“Why are you helping me?” I choked to Emilio, rubbing my neck.
“Adele, I said you have until tomorrow night.” He pulled me up from the floor and onto the couch with him. Too close – as if we were still in France. “I am not completely unreasonable.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed myself off of him.
“Don’t take everything so personally, ma chérie.I really did cherish our time togetherà Paris,” he rambled on in French, but all I could think about when I heard the word “Paris” was my mother.
“You disgust me….”
His ear lowered closer to my mouth. “Répéter?”
“You’re a monster!” I yelled. “You killed the Michels. And the Wolfman. And those two filmmaker students twelve years ago.” My entire body was shaking.
Everyone in the room stopped and stared in silence, waiting for Emilio’s reaction.
He stood, towering above me. “Oui… Oui.” He took a dramatic pause and then bent over until our noses were even. “Et, non.I might have killed the old French couple and the disc jockey.” He wagged his finger in my face. “But it wasn’t me who killed those students.”
“Stop it, Emilio,” Nicco warned from the corner.
Oh, now he is interested?
“But youdo know the killer,” Emilio continued. His eyes wandered to his younger brother. “In fact, I think the two of you are quite close.”
“Stai zitto!” Nicco flew across the room and knocked his brother to the floor again, demanding silence.
Instead of getting up and fighting, Emilio just rolled over and started laughing. “Oh, brother, you have got it bad. What’s the big deal? She’s going to find out eventually.”
“It’s not your story to tell,” Nicco spat and moved back to the couch. “We’re done here.” He grabbed my arm, lifting me from the sofa, and dragged me out of the room.
* * *
“Nicco. Arm!” I yelled, but he didn’t loosen his grip until we were down the stairs and out the front door.
I yanked my limb back.
“I’m sorry, Adele.”
I was about to yell at him again, but then I realized he wasn’t apologizing about my arm. His eyes were filled with pain. My chest tightened.
“No…No.”
“Adele—”
“No, don’t tell me!” I shouted, shaking my head. “Don’t tell me you kil—” His hand quickly muffled my voice, and I yelled the rest of the sentence into his hand.
Nicco could not be the killer who ruined my family.
After a moment, he dragged his fingers from my lips and rested them at the back of my neck. My voice rushed out in a desperate whisper. “You are the one who killed those students?”
His face twisted as his hands dropped to my shoulders. “No, it—” He stopped as my eyes welled.
“Did you,” – I slowly articulated each word – “kill those students?”
His lips remained pressed as he watched my big teardrops threatening to bubble over. The silence was torture.
“Did you do it?” I screamed and pushed him in the chest.
He didn’t move; I teetered. He reached for my elbow.
Once I was steady, the words slipped from his mouth. “I did it. I killed those people.”
I jerked away, stumbling a few steps backwards. Despite near-hyperventilation, I pulled my coat tighter around my chest.
Hearing someone is a killer never gets easier.
Despite his confession, I still didn’t want to believe him. But why would he lie about this when he’s already confided so much in me? Adele! Stop rationalizing his repulsive actions. Actions that destroyed your own mother.
I looked coldly at his stoic face.
“I told you to never trust a vampire,” he said.
I turned on my heels and walked away before the tears could fall. I wished I could be more like him, less emotional.
“Adele, wait!”
When didn’t follow me, it felt as if it was physically ripping in two – that’s when I realized Nicco somehow had a hold of my heart.
I didn’t look back.
Chapter 35 Birds of a Feather
My pace quickened until I had to consciously keep myself from breaking out into a run. How could I have been so wrong about someone? My lungs burned, and, just as two pathetically loud sniffles escaped me, everything became blurry.
“No… No. No. No,” I whispered angrily. “Pull it together, Adele. No crying.”
We only had about twenty-four hours until Emilio’s “sympathy” expired. There’s no time to worry about boys. I took a deep breath, stowed my feelings, and hoped they would stay that way for the duration of my third stop: the one I had saved for last because I knew I’d have to apologize to Isaac and inevitably admit I was wrong. Just thinking about him made my threatening tears turn into huffs as I stormed down the street.
When I arrived at Jackson Square, I realized I didn’t even know where Isaac and his father were staying. It’s not like there were any hotels open. I’d never had to find him before… he’d always just been around. I crossed the front of the Cathedral and hopped up the three stairs to the Place d’Armes, the small park in the center of the square. The surrounding iron fence had been closed since the Storm, but at this point the lock was child’s play.
I stopped in the middle of the formerly manicured garden, which now better resembled an overgrown swamp, and just waited.
“Brilliant idea, Adele,” I said to myself with a sigh. I started to whistle, as if I knew some kind of magical bird call. Nothing. I stomped on a Coke can and sent it skidding.
Exasperated, my arms flung up in defeat. “Hello? I know you’re there!”
Sure enough, Isaac walked through the gate. Even though it was the result I desired, and even though he himself had ad
mitted this insane ability – the proof still made me struggle for words.
“Hi,” I said meekly.
“Jesus, Adele! What the hell do you see in that guy?”
I gritted my teeth as anger flooded me. “Why do you have to do that? I came to apologize. Ugh!”
“You did?”
“Why do you always have to ruin everything?”
“I don’t know!” he yelled back. “Probably because I’m barely eighteen and not four hundred years old?”
I paused for a moment, biting my lip, but couldn’t help it: giggles burst out of me. “I bet that’s not something you ever thought’d come out of your mouth?”
“That’s for sure.” He cracked a smile. “But I never thought I’d pull feathers from my hair when I woke up in the morning either.” He brushed a small black tuft from his shoulder, and we both watched it float away.
“About that…,” I said. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“Yeah, and you don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who slashed your face. I’m so sorry, Adele.”
“You already apologized.”
“I know, but it doesn’t make it okay. I still feel horrible.”
“It was an accident. Apology accepted. We have a lot to get done and very little time.”
“We do? Does it involve exterminating vampires?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“I’m joking! But does it?”
“Possibly.”
My own words sliced my heart, not to mention my morals. Could I kill something? Someone? “Either way, let’s stop apologizing and move forward. Agreed?”
“Done.” He stood taller, as if a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t have like eight thousand questions,” I added and started walking out of the park towards the river. He followed.
“Yeah, I figured.”
As we exited onto the street, he dipped his hand into the water that filled one of the long cement boxes in the sidewalk. “What are these things?”
“Troughs.”
“Troughs? For what?”
“For the horses to drink out of.”
“Horses?”
“Normally there are horse-drawn carriages lining this block.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“That’s so weird.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” I laughed as we crossed Decatur Street to the concrete amphitheater. Side by side, we jogged halfway up the stadiumlike seats and then sat down on one of the cold rows. Even though it was still quite a distance behind us, we could hear the river thanks to the curfew-imposed silence. There were no trains, no barges, no music to muffle the sloshing tide.
Isaac leaned back on his elbows, seeming perfectly at ease. I leaned back too.
We stared at the empty stage.
When I was a kid, my father would bring me here and give me dollar bills to tip the street performers, all of whom I knew by name. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I finally said.
“What do you want to know the most?”
“Why were you in my house the night we returned home? How do you turn into a bird? Why do you have so many drawings of my ancestor Adeline Saint-Germain—?”
“Whoa.” He laughed. “I am completely content spending the entire night with you, but you’re the one who said we’re on a time constraint.”
I blushed.
“You’re right. Give me the abridged version, s’il vous plaît.”
“Okay.” He paused for a moment to think. “I suppose it started before we came down to New Orleans. Before the Storm. The dreams started… just after my great-grandmother died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” He smiled, taking a moment. “My dad and I were upstate, helping my grandpa take care of her affairs—”
“Wait, Upstate? I thought you were from New York City.”
“I am. I mean, I was born upstate, but we moved to the city when I was five because my mom was an actress.”
“Was?”
“Yeah, before she died.”
“Jesus, I’m so sorry, Isaac.” My hand went to his leg as I racked my brain, trying to recall if I had ever said anything horrible about my own mother in front of him.
“Thanks.” His gaze flicked to my hand, which I promptly removed. “We were clearing out my great-grandmother’s estate, which wasn’t worth much, but she grew up during the Depression, and never threw anything away, so there was a lot of stuff.” He took a breath and looked at me.
“And?”
“And that’s where I found this.” He pulled out a large leather-bound sketchbook from his knapsack and handed it to me. It wasn’t the one I had previously wanted to beat him with; this one was old. Very old. My hands instantly felt alive, holding it.
“Open it.”
The delicate pages were filled with perfectly depicted scenes from a tropical island: cliffs over water, sunrises, fields of dandelions, exotic birds, and sketch after sketch of the same suntanned teenage boy. Then the images gradually became darker. Billows of smoke. Large plumes of feathers. Flames. Waves. A woman swimming underwater— no, drowning. The page margins were full of gibberish.
“This is amazing, Isaac. Your great-grandmother was an artist?”
“No, that book’s way older than my great-grandmother. It must have belonged to one of her ancestors.”
I carefully turned the pages: a decrepit ship, a voyage, scene after scene of La Nouvelle-Orleans,a convent, nuns. If Adeline’s diary was the novel, then these were the illustrations.
A page with a familiar-looking girl made me stop.
Her curls were whipping wildly in the wind, and underneath the sketch were the words:
Self-Portrait, June 1727
It was Susannah Bowen, the red-haired girl from Désirée’s painting – the Bermudian coven member – staring back at me. My pulse raced as I looked at Isaac.
“For a couple of weeks up until she died, I had been having these crazy dreams about flying,” he said. “It’s hard to explain, but when I found the book, it was like I couldn’t put it down. It felt almost painful to leave it.” His hand brushed mine as he gently closed the book to show me the cover. A small bird had been carved into the lower right corner of the leather. “My grandpa knew I was applying to art schools, so he let me keep it—”
“You were applying to art schools? Wait, you’re in high school?”
“I was a senior this year, but my dad let me drop out so I could come with him to New Orleans to help rebuild. Getting my G.E.D. was part of the deal, but since nothing’s running here, I haven’t been able to do it yet. I’m supposed to be studying when I’m at the café.”
Good lord, how much do I not know about this boy?
“Anyway, after we got back to the city, my dreams changed. They were no longer about flying, or feathers, or birds. They were about fire. And there was always this girl in a long dress, always surrounded by flames. Then the Storm happened, everything got crazy, and suddenly my father and I ended up here.
“One night, I was walking to a recovery site—at that point, missions were still around the clock—and I saw your house. I mean, I didn’t know it was your house at the time, but seeing it nearly gave me a heart attack.” He flipped the book open to a page marked with a ribbon.
“Whoa.” It was a sketch of my house – the iron gate, the long shutters, the attic windows; the Creole cottage looked exactly the same, only there weren’t houses on either side of it yet, just trees.
“Yeah. It couldn’t have been a coincidence, right? I was standing there, kinda tripping out, when I heard a noise inside. I could tell from the looks of things that the residents hadn’t returned, so I grabbed a broken piece of fence and walked around back to investigate. Everyone was really on edge back then, and I had already gotten into a couple of scuffles with looters.
“The kitchen door wa
s broken, and then… it’s hard to explain, but something pulled me inside. I’m sorr—”
“Don’t apologize.” I remembered the magnetizing feeling the shutter had had on me.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy… I don’t even know how to explain it. I didn’t find anyone, at first. Or rather, I didn’t see anyone. It was pitch black. All I had was the flashlight I still never leave home without. But I could feel someone else there. It was like they were whipping behind my back every time I turned around.
“Eventually, when I couldn’t find anyone inside, I pulled out the sketchbook to see if anything else looked familiar. No more more clues popped up, but here’s where it gets weird. I started having these pains in my shoulders and arms. My body felt like it was going to explode. Like it was warning me something bad was going to happen. When I tried to shut the book to get the hell out, a burst of wind came through the door and held the book open. I kept trying to shut it, but it wouldn’t close. If I changed the page, it kept blowing back open to the same one. This one.”
I looked down at the page he was pointing to. A black crow was painted across the centerfold, and verses in curly script filled what little white space was left.
“I started reading some of the words. I sounded ridiculous, like I was reciting poetry in Old English, and then before I knew it, I was flapping around, squawking. And that’s when I saw my first blood-binger.”
“What?”
“Yeah, it was crazy. I’d never seen anything like him. I mean, I made all-state in track, but this guy was nuts, whipping around your house at warp speed. My eyes could barely follow him. He wasn’t destroying anything, and, as far as I could tell, he didn’t leave with anything either. I guess he didn’t find whatever he was looking for.”
My brain raced. The spell hadn’t been broken at that point, so it couldn’t have been any of the vampires from the attic. That left only two possible suspects. “Who was it? Was it Émile—? I mean Emilio—”
“Wait a second, don’t tell me the latest douchebag in town is the same guy you were all hung up on when you got back from Paris? The one Jeanne and Ren were always teasing you about?”
