by Angie Sandro
Eulie is the first of my ancestors to be buried in the town cemetery. Her mother, Zouzoute, and her grandmère, Calixte, are buried in the Savoie cemetery. Calixte was Gerard Savoie’s mistress, born somewhere on the Ivory Coast in Africa. I could’ve walked across her grave yesterday, and I never would’ve known since there aren’t any tombstones. I’m a seventh-generation LaCroix—the seventh daughter.
Eulie was my grandmère Cora’s grandmère. In fact, the tombs of my ancestors surround me: Great-grandmère Dahlia rests sandwiched between her children: Grandmère Cora and her twin brother, Gaston. Uncle Gaston died during the Vietnam War. He’d gotten blown up after stepping on a land mine. Dahlia’s twin sister, Auntie Magnolia, will probably be buried with her mother, Eulie. Mama and I will be buried together someday ’cause, judging by the way the plots are laid out, the women in our family don’t have a great track record of keeping a man longer than for procreation.
“Is dying alone the price the women in our family pay for our gifts?” I whisper, letting the wind blowing around my body take the words to whoever might be listening. “Are we cursed?”
No answer seems forthcoming. Either Grandmère Eulie doesn’t know or she isn’t willing to share the secret with me.
Across the field of stone crypts stand two men who hold pieces of my heart—Landry and George. Yet I can’t touch either one. It’s like I sit in a bubble, separated from the rest of humanity by a thin membrane that I can’t pierce. I see the world through a filmy haze. But none of the emotions spilling over from the mourners touches me. Not directly, not here in my isolation. No grief, no joy, and especially, not love.
I lightly trace my fingertips over the stylized cross carved into the plaster of the tomb. It seems kind of prophetic that, after slavery, my ancestors who practiced hoodoo had named themselves after one of the loa, Baron LaCroix, the spirit of death, and carved his symbol into their resting places. This crumbling cross beneath my fingers symbolizes the LaCroix family line—death and resurrection. Did the women in my family always have an affinity for the dead, or did some unknown ancestor ask this god for the power? And if the power was given, could it be taken away? If I pray real hard, could I be freed to live out my life with the man I love and be buried with him and my children around me? Could I break this curse?
Someday I’ll know the answer.
Surrounded by a long line of strong LaCroix grandmothers, I can’t sit around and cry about my fate, or I’ll insult the women who lived and died with the same questions. And these ancestors are strong. Their power fills me. I inhale their strength with each breath. Eulie, Dahlia, Cora, and Gaston LaCroix are powerful enough to keep Lainey’s spirit from bugging me. For that gift alone, I sit upright in pride and relief and feel sorry for Landry as, every so often, he rubs his arms like he feels a chill.
“Hello,” a voice calls. “What are you doing up here?”
I turn around so fast I almost topple off the side of the tomb. “Oh, Georgie,” I say, hand to my heart. For the split second it took before I recognized his voice, I thought Eulie had finally decided to answer my questions. “You scared the spit out of me.”
George raises a copper eyebrow, and I flush.
“Sorry, you frightened me.”
He threads his way through the graves and settles on the step below me. He waves toward the dispersing crowd of mourners. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know, but I had to come.” Or go crazy.
“Everyone’s heading over to the Princes’ house after the service. Landry will be too busy with his family to talk to you.”
“Maybe I can catch him before he leaves.”
“Or you can stay with me,” he says with a smile.
I take a deep breath to clear the sudden fog from my brain. Whoa, Georgie. I squint, studying his face. Why is he being so nice all of a sudden?
“Don’t burn a hole in my forehead,” he says, tipping his chin upward. “We’ve got company. Try not to embarrass me.”
“As if…” I mutter beneath his laughter. We turn toward the footsteps heading in our direction. Ms. March and her brother, Georgie’s father, George Sr., stroll toward us arm and arm. So sweet. Every time I see Mr. Dubois, I’m struck by how different he and his son are in appearance. Georgie takes after Ms. March. They’re both all sunshine and light, while Mr. Dubois is a handsome older man who embodies darkness. Brown hair glitters with silver at the temples, and he stares at me without cracking a smile, like always.
George rises. “Service over so soon?”
Impatience settles across Mr. Dubois’s familiar features. “Your absence at the end of the service was noticed.”
“I doubt it,” George says as if his mouth is full of rocks. His jaw flexes, and I stand so it doesn’t feel as if Mr. Dubois looms over my head like a stone gargoyle.
Ms. March shoots me a sidelong glance with a slight roll of her eyes toward her brother and nephew, and I stifle a giggle. Silver curls bounce on her shoulders. She pats her brother’s arm. “Leave the boy alone, G.D. I’m sure you’ve met Mala LaCroix. She helps me out around the house. I wouldn’t know how to get along without her.”
Mr. Dubois nods but doesn’t stick out his hand for me to shake. “Everyone’s heading back to the church. I’ll drive.” He half turns as if expecting George to follow.
“I have to go,” I say, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at the man’s back. “Ms. March, I’ll be seeing you later this week. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Mr. Dubois.” I grab the box and start down the tomb stairs, hoping to catch Landry before he leaves so I can tell him about Lainey’s baby.
“I’ll walk with you,” Georgie offers, holding out his arm for me to take. I almost pass out in surprise.
Senior’s brows draw downward. “Your mother’s expecting you.”
“No, she isn’t, Dad. I told her that I have to head back to work after the funeral. Come on, Mala.” Georgie takes my free hand and places it on his arm. Tension bunches the muscles beneath his suit jacket. Whew, his daddy has pissed him off good.
We walk away, leaving the Dubois siblings arguing. From their raised voices, Ms. March seems to be giving him hell for being such a rude prick.
George slants a glance down at me. “I can tell when you’re upset. You get quiet and start chewing on your bottom lip.”
“Yeah, I’m predictable.” I wish I had the ability to hide my emotions. I want to tell him about the vision I had of the baby, but I can’t think of a way to say “I see dead people” without sounding like a loon. Rational folk don’t believe in ghosts.
I decide to take the cowardly route and leave my confession for a later time. Besides, I need to warn Landry first. I don’t want him blindsided by the police about his nephew being murdered. He needs the truth from a friend. At least I finally figured out who the him was in FIND HIM. Lainey had been asking me to find her son. He should be buried with his mother here on hallowed ground, not in some unmarked grave somewhere. Under red roses…
“I’m surprised you came today,” George says, interrupting my train of thought. “I thought you’d be at the hospital.”
I give his arm a little squeeze. “They kicked me out. ’Sides, Mama’s drugged up on painkillers. She’s not much company, and I felt like I needed to be here.”
“For Landry?” George raises an eyebrow. “Clarice seems to be quite capable of supporting him. She’s been glued to his side all afternoon.”
“Are you trying to be nasty?”
“Trying to get you to recognize the obvious—Prince is using you.”
I pull my hand from his arm and take a giant step back before I smack him upside his fat head. My high heel digs into the soft ground, and my ankle twists to the right. My body falls to the left. George’s arm wraps around my waist, and I end up with the box sandwiched between our chests.
“Whew, Georgie. Once again you’ve kept me from falling flat on my face.”
“When are you gonna give up on heels? You’re dangerou
s on them.”
“I’m no quitter. Plus, heels are sexy. Don’t you think?”
“I guess.” The doubt in his voice makes me cringe. I free myself from his arms with a wince. He bends over and runs his hand down my left leg. I try to hide the quiver that spreads up my leg and through my back. My knees wobble.
George picks me up and sits me on a tomb. “Does this hurt?” he asks, feeling my ankle.
“What do you think?”
“Gosh, you’re testy when you’re injured.”
“It hurts!”
“Look, you can’t walk on this. Sit here while I go get my car and park it closer. I’ll be back for you.”
“Promise?”
He taps the end of my nose with his finger. “Cross my heart.”
The last of the mourners file out of the cemetery in groups as the sun dips in the sky, creating deep shadows beneath the trees. The air cools and I shiver, rubbing my arms. Where in the world did George park, Outer Mongolia? Either he’s stuck in traffic or he forgot and left me here—alone, in the dark, with the dead.
I sense Lainey’s presence before I see who she shadows.
“Landry?”
“I saw you.” He stalks more than walks toward me. A wild energy fills him, and it kind of makes me nervous, especially since I can’t run.
“Okay.” I force myself upright, placing my weight on my uninjured leg.
“It’s good you stayed back. My parents would’ve freaked if you joined the service.”
“They’re not a fan of my charm and good looks?”
Landry’s eyes glitter. “They’re not fond of you. Or your mother.”
Ouch, it’s brutal honesty day. “Is it the fact that she’s supposed to be a witch?”
“No, because she’s a prostitute.”
My throat tightens around the words I force out. “I can see how they’d disapprove of my mama given they’re Christians, but I’ve never done anything wrong.”
“Lainey died on your land.” He wraps his hand around my neck, threading his fingers into my upswept curls. His grip tightens, and a couple of bobby pins slip. “They’re angry about that.”
“But she didn’t. She was on Forest Service land. She just happened to float downstream.” I jerk my head free, wincing with pain as a couple of hairs remain in his grip. “What’s the matter with you today? Why are you being so mean? I swear I’m sick of you and Lainey haunting me. I never should’ve dragged her from the water ’cause now I can’t get rid of her.”
“She’s here with us now.” He turns in a full circle. “I can feel her.”
“Landry, you’re in full-crazy mode today.” I step away from him, but I forgot about my ankle. I let out a yelp of pain, arms spinning as I try to catch my balance. Why do I always have to be the sane one? “Damn it, Landry—”
He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me tight. His heart pounds as fast as if he sprints toward the finish line in a marathon. He presses his nose into my hair. “God, you smell so good. I want to—”
“Don’t say it! We’re not doing anything in a cemetery.” I stare up into eyes so dilated they resemble a lunar eclipse—only a thin sliver of gray remains. I thump my fist into his chest. “What did you take? How much and how long ago did you take it?”
“It’s all legal, Mala,” Landry says with a little laugh. “Doc Rathbone prescribed it for Mama’s nerves, and she shared some. I’ll be fine once I get through the rest of this night. I swear. I needed something to keep me from losing it on all those people going to my house giving out false sympathy. Nobody knew my sister. Least of all me.”
I press my palm against his chest. “Lainey did something scary today.”
He steps closer. “I’m going to pick you up now.”
“Say what?”
“I’m picking you up and carrying you to my truck.”
“Wait. You don’t have to.” I scan the cemetery for George, not wanting him to catch me with Landry, but we’re the only ones left in this section. It isn’t like him not to keep his promise.
“It’s getting dark, and you’re alone. Do you really want to be in the cemetery when the sun sets, especially with your connection to the dead?”
“Not the dead. One dead person—Lainey.”
“She’s trying to tell me something.” Landry slides his arms beneath my knees and behind my back. He lifts me like I weigh nothing. Shit. Why does crazy Landry seem hotter than normal? And why can’t I stop noticing? He tosses his head, trying to move a lock of black hair away from his face.
“Can you get that, Mala? My hands are full.”
“Oh sure, since they’re full of me.” I brush the silky strands out of his eyes and trail my fingers across his stubbly cheek. “You look exhausted. Did you sleep last night?”
Landry presses a kiss to the top of my head. “No, I’ve been having nightmares. Last night I dreamed of fire. Plus I kept hoping you’d call.”
“Really? Me too. I mean, I dreamed of a fire. I couldn’t sleep and ended up watching TV all night. I didn’t expect you to call. I didn’t even know you had my phone number until I got your message this afternoon. Thanks for asking about my mom…” I blink at him, realizing I’ve been rambling. “Do you think the dreams are what Lainey uses to warn us about the future?”
“I hope not. That’s some messed-up shit.”
The box rests against my chest like a lead weight. I have to tell Landry that the guy who shacked up with Lainey tried to kill Mama, likely murdered his sister, and buried their baby beneath a rose bush, but he seems fragile today. How do I tell him the truth when it will devastate him? Maybe I shouldn’t tell him.
Give me a sign, God, please. I don’t know what to do.
Landry adjusts my body higher in his arms. Hot breath sighs across my cheek, and I shiver.
“Stop squirming before I drop you.”
“Sorry, I got excited.”
“About what? Dreams of a future that may or may not happen? Or about me kissing your neck?”
My head tilts, and I close my eyes as he nibbles on the soft flesh beneath my jaw. “Mmm…” Focus, Mala.
“You taste like roses,” Landry whispers, his breath tickling my ear.
I shudder, pulling my head back. “What did you say?”
He frowns. “I said—”
“Roses. You said roses, but it’s not me.” Now I smell the cloying scent. I begged for a sign, and I’m receiving it loud and clear. She’s after me again. “It’s Lainey. She’s why I came.” We’ve almost reached the road bordering the cemetery. I have to tell him…now. “The reason why we smell roses…Lainey showed me a vision of a baby—her dead baby, buried beneath roses.”
Landry drops my legs, pulls my arm from around his neck, and steps back. Surprised, I barely catch my balance. “Damn it, Landry. Did you hear what I said?”
“No…stop,” he begs, backing away. “Don’t say any more. Not today, please.”
I’m too scared to hold onto this secret alone. “Lainey delivered a baby boy. Landry, he was murdered—buried beneath roses—probably by the same man who tried to kill my mama last night. Afterward, he trashed her room looking for something.” I hold the box out to him. “I found these. They’re Lainey’s belongings—”
Landry slaps the box out of my hand. It hits the ground, spilling its contents. “I said leave it alone!”
“Don’t you get it? This is another clue. This guy’s desperate to keep his identity secret, but we’re closing in on him.” I take a deep breath, studying his face. “I thought you’d be happy—”
He laughs harshly and waves toward the open grave behind us. “You thought I’d be happy about hearing my sister’s baby was murdered?”
“No, I-I…that came out wrong.” I limp toward him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”
He brushes my outstretched hand aside. “Because I’m the Frog Prince in Mala’s fantasy world, a cartoon character whose feelings you don’t have to think about. Right?”
; “That’s not true! I totally didn’t mean it that way. I almost didn’t say anything, but Lainey—”
“Why couldn’t you just let it go for one day?” He spins around, hands covering his face. “Clarice, my father, everyone is right about you being a witch. You put a spell on me…”
“God, Landry, you’re not bespelled. Those meds you took have you spun out.” He has me seconds away from yanking all my hair out by the roots. Why won’t he let me explain? Karma again. Hell, this must be how he feels when I flip out on him. “You know what Lainey can do. You’ve seen her ghost about as much as I have, and if that makes me a witch, what does it make you? A warlock?”
His mouth opens, then closes. Tension stretches between us like a rubber band about to snap. “Seriously, a warlock?” he finally says. “Worst comeback ever.”
Yeah, it was pretty lame, but it distracted him. Maybe he’ll actually hear me this time through his drug-induced fog. “I’m sorry I laid this on you today, but Lainey took me down hard when she gave me that vision. I had a bloody nose, and I passed out after she attacked me. Then I saw Ruby’s obituary. The woman really died from being possessed. So I convinced myself that it would be okay to tell you. I thought you’d want to know. You came to me, remember? You asked me to figure out why Lainey’s haunting us, and I did.”
He rubs his eyes. “You’re right. I asked and you got hurt again. We’ll talk about everything…Lainey, the murderer, the”—he chokes on the word—“baby. Just not right now. I can’t deal with this shit, or you, right now.”
Landry’s leaving me. I want to call him back, but again…stupid pride. It’s getting me in all kinds of trouble. I cross my fingers, hoping he’ll turn and run to me with outstretched arms. He’ll sweep me up in a hug or nibble on my neck. We’ll forgive each other’s sins and solve the mystery of Lainey’s murder and Mama’s assault together, because I’m too exhausted to do this alone.
Landry passes beneath the cemetery gate and crosses the street to a limousine parked beneath a moss-draped oak. When the doors open, Reverend Prince and Doc Rathbone climb out. It’s obvious they had a clear view of our argument. The rev—as Mr. Acker calls him—sends a look full of hatred in my direction.
