by Arden, Alys
An image of Gabriel ripping into Lisette’s throat flashed through my mind.
“Hey,” he said, looking at me. “Me pissing off the Medici clan enough to get them to chase me is the only part of this plan that’s guaranteed to work.”
Désirée scoffed, but then said, “True. You do have that effect on people.”
“All right, I’ll be waiting on the convent roof,” I said. “You better fly out of that window fast.”
I tried to give him a smile so he couldn’t tell how nervous I was to have his life in my hands.
Breathe.
Isaac cracked his knuckles.
Désirée strapped on her miniature backpack of witchy goodies. “I’ll see you at the rendezvous point when it’s done,” she said, just as sure about our victory as she was that the entire senior class wanted to take her to the homecoming dance. “And Adele, if you see Gabriel tonight, kick him in the balls for me.”
“Will do.”
Isaac cringed. With a cock of her hip, Désirée took off before we could have any kind of coven-bonding moment.
“How does she do it?” I asked. “She looks like such a badass.”
“She does look like she was born to slay vampires.”
I tensed up. He noticed.
An awkward silence crept over us as we realized we had been left alone. Possibly for the last time.
“Oh, I have something for you!” I pulled the chain from my bodice and started to unlatch the silver feather. “I think you dropped it on our steps that day we were figh—”
“No need.” He wrapped his fingers around my hand.
“Why?”
“Because I made it for you.”
“You did? Why?”
“Adele, are you kidding me? You are the girl of my dreams. Literally. I almost had a heart attack the first time I saw you through the window of Café Orléans. Watching you make coffee all those days… I thought I had entered some kind of alternate universe in New Orleans.”
My cheeks burned, but my eyes didn’t move from his. “I think you kind of did.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Um, can I get that on record, please?”
“Plus, I like seeing you donned in feathers.” He dragged his fingers across my ostrich skirt, sending shivers up my spine. Only then did I realize how many feathers I was wearing. “Even if it’s just for tonight,” he quickly added.
The plume atop my head swayed as I gently nodded, unable to get even a thank you out.
“You ready?” he asked as he gently brushed the glitter on my cheek.
I nodded again. “I’ll see you when it’s over,” I said, beginning to get nervous. “Promise me you won’t do anything too stupid?”
He slowly nodded, and we both turned in opposite directions into the thin crowd.
I got four steps away when my arm was jerked back.
Isaac pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me.
His forehead gently knocked into mine. I took a deep inhale of his musky scent and committed his warmth to memory. My heart pounded wildly, reminding me what it meant to be alive.
“I really, really want to kiss you, Miss Adele Le Moyne. One of those epic just-in-case-it’s-our-last-chance kisses.”
“But that would be like sealing our fate.”
“Exactly.”
“So, then let’s get out of this alive, okay?”
“I promise we will.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks, remembering the magic of our first kiss – something I hadn’t allowed myself to think about because of a certain Italiano. Isaac tilted my head and kissed my temple. The touch of his lips nearly made sparks fly from my fingers. Is it the effect of the elixir? We parted a second time, both wearing my glitter.
A surge of confusion hit me as I feverishly walked towards my post. Am I really going to die tonight? As a sixteen-year-old virgin with only one passport stamp and no driver’s license? My breathing picked up, and I was shocked to find myself wishing I had kissed Isaac. What if that really had been our last chance? I spun around. There was still time. He couldn’t have gotten that far. My neck craned as I rushed back through the thickening crowd to find him. But I slowed when he came into my sightline. He was shaking hands with a dark-haired guy, and he didn’t seem happy about their agreement, whatever it was.
The guy turned to leave, and I abruptly halted .
Niccolò.
“What the hell?”
My feet flipped back around, and I quickly walked away. They hate each other! My wings whipped behind me as I gained speed. What could they possibly have been agreeing on? And tonight of all nights?
All morning, I had wanted nothing more than to hunt Nicco down so we could watch his stupid art-house film, limbs intertwined. If I had to restrain myself from fraternizing with the enemy, then what was Isaac doing with him?
When I got to my turn, I just kept walking straight, all the way down Bourbon to Esplanade, and then continued straight out of the French Quarter. I felt an immediate sense of relief when I crossed the neutral ground of the avenue I knew they couldn’t cross.
I didn’t stop until I got to NOSA. No progress had been made on the campus since the last time I was there, but the familiarity brought me a slight sense of calm. It was too difficult to sit in my costume, so I lay on a patch of grass underneath the ballerina.
Deep breaths went through my nose and gushed out of my mouth. After a few more tries, I felt more in control. How the hell did I get into this? How is this my life?
All signs pointed to the Storm.
I wondered what would happen if I just kept walking… out of the Marigny, through the Bywater, out of Orleans Parish. Surely someone would pick up a sparkling hitchhiker? Could I make it on my own? In some new town? Away from all of this… I opened my eyes and stared up at the changing sky. The sun was almost completely gone, which meant the vampires would soon come out to play. One of them already had. Goose bumps invaded my flesh.
I stood, brushing grass from my skirt.
Who am I kidding? My heart and soul is in this place. They need to leave. The vampires. And currently, there were only two ways to make that happen.
Kill them all, or close Pandora’s Box.
A flame rose from my hand so I could take one last look at the Mardi Gras-masked statue. I envied her anonymity.
I hovered the flame over the ends of the thin metal mask, heating it just enough so I could pop it off.
“I’ll return it later, promise.”
I pulled one of the extra laces from my corset bow and used it to tie the disguise over my own eyes.
When I looked up through the mask, I found my mother staring back at me, perfectly re-created in bronze.
What?
She had been hidden by a mask.
Frozen in time.
With me all of these years.
I had never known the ballerina was modeled after her.
Could anyone ever love someone as much as my father loved my mother?
Chapter 40 Night of La Fée Verte
I ran back towards the Quarter. And when I say ran, I mean ran.
Like all magic, the elixir felt wholly natural and utterly unnatural at the same time. The effects were physically instinctual, but shocking to my psyche: the amount of weight my muscles could handle, the speed my legs could carry me, the depth of my vision. Every tree root splitting the sidewalk became an obstacle as my mind struggled to keep up with the super-charge.
I slowed down and paused from the sprint, bending over my knees to give my lungs a minute to catch up. The head-rush was exhilarating. When I waved my hand in front of my face, my eyes had trouble following the blur of motion.
In the next few minutes that all changed, too. My vision became sharper, and the pounding of the distant bass drums felt like they were deep in the pit of my stomach instead of half a mile away.
Is being a vampire like this? Times ten?
As I continued the trek back through the Marig
ny, my internal systems synched, my coordination became more natural, and my confidence grew. The music pulsed louder into the fresh dark of the night, and the scenery whipped by as if someone had hit the fast-forward button. A soft, billowy material hit my face. I stopped mid-stride, nearly wiping out.
“What the…?” I was surrounded by hanging fabric.
I waved my hand with the intention of bringing a small flicker of light from my finger, but a giant flame shot from my hand, setting one of the flowing linens ablaze. The light showed the sea of ghosts that surrounded me. So, this is what everyone in Ren’s hood had been prepping their sheets for. I strained my neck, looking up at the floating heads, which had been crudely made by stuffing tufts of newsprint in the center of the linens and tying them off with twine. They were strung across the useless power lines, creaking, dancing in the breeze.
The fire quickly flamed out, and the ashes of the singed ghost blew away into the damp night. I carried on my way.
The closer I got to the Quarter, the more of them there were: hundreds, thousands of ghosts casting oblong shadows, backlit by the tin-can fires in the street, the tiki torches on lawns, and the altars of candles on porches. Weaving in between them, faster and faster, I became paranoid by the shifting shadows. I pushed one sheet away only for another to fall in my face. Drowning in a river of ghosts, I broke into a sprint.
At the end of the street, I halted under a large spray-painted banner made from a molding quilt.
Blessed are the unnamed souls lost in the Storm.
You will never be forgotten.
Rest in Peace
I choked back tears, turning back to the army of ghouls floating under the moon. There were so many of them. Death. Death was everywhere. My own mortality suddenly became very comprehensible. Am I really prepared to die tonight? My chest tightened, and my throat closed. I remembered Désirée’s warning and threw my arms over my head, telling myself that the anxiety attack was just an effect of the elixir.
Breathe.
My chest loosened.
I began to move again through more ghosts, but this new batch was less anonymous. These were painted and adorned with scarves, Spanish moss, and photos, almost as if they were life-sized Voodoo dolls. They had descriptions and birth dates.
They were no longer unnamed.
I could feel a crying fit coming on, so I sped through the open-air homage, promising to come back later to pay my respects.
* * *
With one more turn, I stumbled upon the Krewe de Boo, dressed in what might have been the most shocking costumes I had ever seen in my years of parading: every single man, woman, and child was sporting their Sunday best. I had gone from a river of ghosts to a sea of suits.
What planet am I on?
Feeling like I might have accidentally passed through some kind of vortex, I tapped the back of a man in a tawny tweed. “Sir, what exactly is this year’s theme?”
He turned around, and I let out a short scream at the sight of his milky white eyeballs and rotting flesh. He buckled over with laughter, and I was back to breathing exercises.
“We’re Marching on Washington tonight,” he said, pointing to his float: a giant papier-mâché Capitol Hill, which peaked in a very, er, mocking manner. Their satirical response to the government's recovery efforts made my smile slip out. I gave him two thumbs up and moved on.
The marching crowd might have looked unusually corporate, but the noises of revelry reeled with familiarity. My soul sponged up the trumpets, trombones, and resonant tones of the tuba as if this was the last time I would hear them. There were so many things about this parade that were out of the ordinary, it was hard not to gawk. Instead of mule-hitched wagons, each float had been constructed from a Storm-destroyed car, truck, or boat whose top had been chopped off. Two long poles protruded from the sides, with drones of stiff-limbed zombies standing by to manually push them down the parade route. A short line of horses ’n buggies waited to carry the local celebrities who had made it back to New Orleans. Partially returned dance troupes clicked their fringed tap-boots and flipped batons to entertain the crowds. There was a twinge of lighter fluid in the air. I had never seen the Flambeaux out for any occasion other than Mardi Gras, but tonight the torchbearers were dancing wildly in the streets with their heavy flaming poles, and not accepting so much as a penny from the crowd for lighting the way.
The only things missing were the tourists, of which there were none. This was truly a night of celebration for locals, who were starting to pack the street, singing, dancing and shouting for the parade to start.
Through the mask, I watched the costumes become more crass and more nonexistent, until they were not much more than fishnets, pasties, neckties, and gobs of ghoulish makeup. I paused to laugh at a kissing couple dressed as a witch and a vampire. Beh,I thought, just as a hand grabbed my shoulder. Before I could protest, a second hand grabbed my arm and hoisted me into the air. Almost as soon as I started to kick, I was back on my feet, on top of the royal float.
“Your chariot, Mademoiselle,” yelled Blanche, holding her hand out to the converted swamp boat.
“At your service, ma chérie.” The king took a deep bow.
“Ren! Is that you?” His hair was slicked back and tucked. And with fake glasses, loafers, and a pocket square, he looked weirdly normal.
“Watch this!” he said, and pointed a large gold scepter towards the sky. A blast of funny money and doubloons whooshed out over the crowd, who instantly roared and scavenged the treasure in a melodramatic style.
“My King,” said Blanche duGovernor, Queen of the Dead, as she placed a gold-sprayed crown made out of banged-up soup cans and chicken wire on top of Ren’s head. Her own tiara of spoons was nestled in a tall bouffant wig that mocked the governor’s outdated hairdo. Blanche was also nearly unrecognizable in pumps and a bulging fake ass underneath a red skirt suit. Only her signature glitter-swept eyelids remained in her usual style. “My little Addie,” she shrieked, “I could just eat you up!”
“Or drink ’er up!” chimed Ren, laughing at his own joke.
“Hold this, baby,” Blanche yelled, handing me a roll of wide red ribbon. She held the other end and twirled around. The crowd began to cheer as she became mummified.
“Ha!” I yelled. “Amazing!”
“I’m gonna die caught up in this red tape, baby!”
Behind the royal couple was a giant papier-mâché bobble head of the president, whose approval rating was non-resuscitable after the way he had handled the national emergency.
“How do you like our krewe of stiffs?” asked Ren.
“Pun intended?”
“Triple pun!” His eyes led me to the giant phallic symbols capping the pushing poles.
“Got it!” I was now thankful for the mask. “Everything is awesome!” I yelled. “How did you know it was me?” I gave my mask a quick flip.
“Honey, I’ve known you since you were born.”
“Besides, who else would be running around the Marigny Triangle in couture and those nasty sneakers?” replied Blanche.
“Ha!”
“Bébé, you’re all grown up! I’m getting a little teary.” Ren gave me another twirl, and a breeze kicked up my wispy wings.
The float jerked forward. “Ren, I need to get down! The parade is starting!” The words choked me, knowing that this might be the last time I ever saw him.
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Blanche yelled, pulling me back. “You’re our little princess!”
Police sirens blared, and the drum major’s whistle shrilled out the tempo for the marching band.
“Heave-ho!” roared the crowd, and the wheels jolted forward as the zombie krewe pushed the old swamp boat onward.
“Wave to your constituents,” Blanche instructed, maneuvering one of her forearms from the tape to do her best impression of the Queen of England. The mask gave me enough anonymity to stand tall before the debaucherous throng.
High on the madness, I felt strang
ely like a princess.
The bleak populous of New Orleans squealed with schoolchild delight as the crowd of zombie drones pushed through them. I’d never stood in a parade before, nor had I imagined how fun throwing Tootsie Rolls at familiar faces would be. Maybe it was the times, or maybe Désirée had activated the wormwood, but everyone seemed extra crazy, or extra loaded, as they staggered about, pointing at things in the air.
Pointing at me.
Suddenly something knocked me off balance, and I nearly fell backwards – without the boost of the elixir, I would have. Esplanade Avenue. But this time it wasn’t just a warble as we crossed the neutral ground to those old streets of the Vieux Carré; the protection ward was significantly stronger than before, which meant Dee was on track and should be passing the baton on to Isaac soon.
Ren wavered in place, mumbling, “I knew I shouldn’t have sampled any of that moonshine.”
“It’s going to be a wild night,” I said, to which he cried, “Laissez les bon temps rouler!” as if we were riding into battle.
We kind of were riding into battle. At least, I was.
As he continued to hoot and holler, my peripheral vision caught sight of a lonely figure on the street corner. Sébastien’s face glowed pale under the light of a flood lamp that had been set up on the neutral ground. As the float passed him, I ran to the edge, clasped his hand, and yanked him onboard. The crowd cheered as the momentum nearly knocked us to the bottom of the boat, but I managed to hold us both steady.
“Adele, how did you do that?” he asked in disbelief, pushing his black glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Do what?” I yelled, overjoyed to see him.
“You just lifted me into the air!”
Remembering the elixir, I scrambled. “Adrenaline!” But I could tell he was already mentally calculating weight, leverage, and torque.
I looked into his baby blues and felt a swell of happiness in my chest. My expression seemed to make him forget about the illogical occurrence and return my smile. Before I knew it, my arms were wrapped around him, awkwardly smushing his elbows against his sides. He turned pink as I rested my head on the side of his shoulder and yelled, “Je’taime!” squeezing him harder than I should have been able to. I couldn’t help it; it was as if love was radiating from my arms.
