by J. D. Horn
“It’s all right,” Alice said. “We’ll help you.”
Evangeline could not begin to imagine what any of them could do. How could Alice not sense that the woman was too far gone?
A sound caught between a snarl and a scream sounded from the woman’s gaping mouth. The few teeth left in her mouth chomped together as her head jerked from side to side. She strained, trying to bite Alice—then, failing to connect, she tried to drag herself free of Alice’s touch.
Nicholas grabbed his daughter’s arms, pulling her away with a hard, rough tug. Alice was flung backward. She took a few stumbling steps before Vincent caught her and pulled her into his arms, placing his hand over her head and forcing her to look away.
Evangeline felt her own eyes drawn back to the sight that Vincent was trying to spare his niece from witnessing. Nicholas now squatted by the woman’s writhing form, the largest chunk of the broken tomb clasped between his hands. He hesitated, but only for a moment, then brought the stone down with full force against the woman’s temple. Evangeline heard a crack as the woman’s skull splintered and broke open like an eggshell.
Nicholas dropped the stone, then stared down in horror at his own hands, spattered with brownish blood and whitish bits of brain. He fell back, wiping his hands on the ground. His eyes rose and locked on hers, and she only had an instant to wonder if she’d ever be able to look at him again without reliving this moment. Then a shadow passing overhead drew her eyes to two jet-colored ravens swooping in and perching atop the cemetery wall.
TWENTY-ONE
Surreal. That’s what it was.
Twenty minutes earlier, Alice had watched her father and uncle scrape up what was left of Delphine Brodeur. They’d returned her remains to the very tomb she’d tumbled from, the coven joining their magic together to repair the broken and blood-spattered stone of its seal.
Now, catering assistants in crisp white uniforms circulated through the ornate great room of her grandfather’s house, offering the civilians—non-witch neighbors and, Fleur had earlier informed her, important members of the non-magical community—tiny bites and strong drinks. Alice, caught up in the servers’ wake, followed them from the great room into the library, where the guests’ expensive floral perfumes clashed with each other, overriding the scent of the old, decaying books. It gave her some much-needed comfort to trace her finger along their spines.
Nicholas had gone home to wash off the splatter from Delphine. Vincent had gone to collect Gabriel and Julia. But the non-magical mourners gathered around her didn’t seem the least bit surprised by the conspicuous absence of Celestin’s sons. Alice got the sense that after generations of living in the midst of the Marin family, they’d all been taught not to be surprised by anything. Just grab a cocktail and enjoy the ride.
Still, Fleur—impressed, she’d said, by Alice’s ability to keep calm—had deputized her to help represent the family, at least until Nicholas and Vincent arrived. Alice slipped from room to room, acknowledging the condolences offered by stranger after stranger, all of whom seemed to recognize her, though their ability to do so could, perhaps, be credited to the process of elimination. Under circumstances that even approached normality, Alice felt sure that Fleur would have leaned on her own daughter to assist with hosting duties. But Lucy had been reduced to a shaking, sobbing six-year-old by the horrific scene at the cemetery.
Pale Frank hovered at the edge of the party, still scandalized that the once great Delphine Brodeur should have received such an ignominious and anonymous interment. Strangely, he didn’t seem the least bit concerned about how the living woman might have ended up tortured then sealed in a tomb at Précieux Sang, but now that she was well and truly dead, he seemed to feel a responsibility toward her. Earlier, in the cemetery, even as Frank offered her father a monogrammed handkerchief to wipe stray bits of Delphine from his hands, he had extracted a promise that the united covens would return soon to offer up their proper respects to her.
“The elders of the coven,” her father’s euphemism for the only remaining members with whom Alice didn’t share blood, were in a panic. Their drawn and ashen faces in the cemetery had testified to that fact. As they circled around the tomb debating whether the ball should be canceled, and how best to alert the other covens to what had just happened, Alice had been surprised to hear even “the Ancient Wall of Jeanette” speak of her childhood memories of Delphine Brodeur. The sturdy sergeant at arms had expressed shock that the once great witch had been brought low in such a horrible fashion. To Alice, it seemed impossible Delphine could have been a dominant figure as far back as, and evidently long before, Jeanette’s childhood. Then again, her husk of a body had resembled nothing better than an unwrapped mummy.
Upon arrival at her grandfather’s house, the elders had pushed their way through the civilians, sequestering themselves behind the door of the delicate oval-shaped salon that had once served as a ladies’ card room. Father . . . no, Nicholas had pressed Hugo into service, charging him with keeping an eye on the elders. He even mandated, much to Hugo’s delight, that he employ his pharmaceutical knowledge and bartending skills to keep the old guard from coming entirely undone.
Hugo had leaned in, a wicked smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes, to whisper in Alice’s ear. “I always wanted to have my own coven to play with.” Then he’d reached into his pocket and slipped out a small plastic pouch filled with white powder. “A few toots of this fairy dust, and even ‘Mr. Perruque’ will let down his hair.” The smile had slipped away as he slid the envelope back into his pocket. “Most definitely not for you.”
Her father’s act had been a mercy killing. Alice kept trying to convince herself of that. Nicholas had weighed Delphine’s chances of recovering, of returning to a normal life—whatever a normal life might have been for Delphine—before bringing the stone down on her skull, extinguishing her final spark. Vincent had caught hold of her and tried to prevent her from witnessing the incident, but she’d slipped out of his embrace. She’d seen Nicholas’s face. Watched his expression as he killed the woman. It had been a look of disgust, not compassion.
Alice realized she’d lost track of Evangeline in the chaos. Had she made it to the event? Perhaps she’d simply divorced herself from the proceedings and taken off home. Alice wouldn’t blame her if she had. Given her choice, she’d claim as many of these books as she could carry and leave, never to come back.
Alice had yearned to return to this place—home—for so long. The way these witches were scrambling for the merest wisps of magic, leeching the dregs out of each other’s remains, made her feel sick, soiled. A moment of clarity washed over her. Unlike the elders, unlike her father, she wasn’t defined by—refused to be defined by—her magic. She couldn’t be a part of what these witches were doing to each other, piling horror on top of horror.
“Alice, dear.” Fleur’s voice wrested her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see her aunt waving her forward with one hand. Alice drew near, but a stranger was offering her aunt an expression of sympathy, so she hovered slightly to the side. The woman caught sight of Alice on the periphery and turned to face her.
“Oh, our little Alice,” the woman said with what seemed a heartfelt familiarity, though Alice couldn’t place her. “It’s so good to see you again, even under such circumstances.” The woman released Fleur and grasped Alice’s upper arm. “Before you take off again, I do hope you’ll come for tea. Tell me all about your boarding school experiences. My son and his wife are considering boarding school for my granddaughter, and your insights would be most appreciated.”
Alice almost laughed. Of course the magical community was aware of what had happened, of where she’d been. But the civilians would’ve required a cover story. Wouldn’t do for them to know she’d been locked up in an asylum. Locked up just as her grandmother had been. They probably didn’t know that her grandmother had gone mad either. There must’ve been another myth created to explain away her absence. Couldn’t risk the stain of weakne
ss on the Marin family name.
Alice’s eyes flashed on Fleur, who gave a slight shrug. Tell them. Tell them all. Tell them everything, Fleur’s expression said. “Your father would like that,” Fleur said, her tone explaining that the lie fell at his feet. Of course it did. They stood there, eyes locked together long enough for the moment to pass. Alice would play along with the lie.
“You should join the others, dear,” Fleur added. “Your father and Vincent want to speak to us all about tomorrow’s plans.” A nod in the direction of the oval room. “Just knock twice.”
Alice nodded. “Yes,” she said and smiled at the woman who still clutched her upper arm. “Excuse me.”
The woman lowered her hand. “You will stop by?”
Alice smiled. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” She turned and plastered an insipid smile on her lips, making her way down the hall, past tight packs of guests, their condolences sliding off her like water.
When she turned the knob of the door to the oval room, a shock like a strong burst of static electricity caused her to give a slight yelp. She drew her hand back, staring at the knob as if it had intentionally set out to shock her. Then she remembered her aunt’s instruction. She knocked twice and tapped the knob with a single finger. This time the door opened at her touch.
She slipped inside, reaching back to shut the door behind her.
Rose Gramont took notice of her entrance, pushing up from her seat and shuffling along at an angle that prevented Alice from slipping past her. “Oh, Astrid,” she said, “I am so relieved you’re here. I was worried about you.” She caught hold of Alice’s arm with her free hand, her grip icy but as strong as a vise. “Certainly you’ve heard what’s happened to Delphine.” She froze, her watery eyes opening wide. “Oh, Astrid. Your hair. What have you done to your lovely hair?” Rose started snatching at her, a piercing wail escaping her lips.
“Rose,” Guy, who seemed to have appointed himself the addled witch’s keeper, jumped up to rush to her side. “Rose,” he said again, pulling her hands down and drawing her into a tight embrace. He looked at Alice, his features hardening. “What did you do? What did you say to her?” His tone was severe. “You should know how upsetting this day has been for her.”
“But I didn’t—” Alice began, but Guy had already turned and begun leading Rose away.
“It’s okay,” he said, running his hand down the back of Rose’s hair, like she was a girl and he her father.
To Alice’s relief, Lucy caught her eye and gestured furiously for Alice to join her beside the bar.
“Okay, what the serious hell was that?” Lucy said, looking like she was doing her best to appear unshaken, though still trembling. If the day had been hard on anyone, Alice decided, it had been her cousin.
“It’s okay. It was nothing. Ms. Gramont got a bit confused.” Alice glanced over at the old woman, who kept looking back at her, eying her with suspicion. “Again,” she added, as she turned away.
A double tap landed on the door, and Alice looked back to see Fleur approaching them. Her aunt took one look at Lucy and snatched the half-full glass of red wine from her hand. Instead of setting it aside, as Alice had expected her to do, she refilled it at the bar and handed it back to her daughter.
“Martini. Dry. Twist,” she said, addressing the command to Hugo.
“Well, all right,” he said with a large smile. He held out his pack of white powder to her. “A little candy to go with that?”
Fleur cast a guilty sideways glance at Lucy. “You know I don’t mess with the serious stuff.”
Hugo placed his hand over his heart and assumed an expression of mock horror. “No, of course not. What was I thinking?” His look of shock deflated, and he gave Alice a quick wink. He poured a line of powder onto the bar, then bent over and snorted it up. He made a show of running his tongue around behind his closed lips, then slipped the packet back in his jacket. He turned to Fleur. “Up?”
“Of course. We may be sacrificing each other for power, but I still choose to hold on to the illusion we’re civilized.”
He mixed gin and a touch of vermouth in a stem glass, then grated off a sliver of lemon peel.
“Join me, Alice?” Fleur said, taking a seat at the bar.
“I don’t know,” Alice said. She had been, from time to time at Sinclair, allowed wine with dinner or the occasional hard cider, but her gut told her today wasn’t the day to take off the training wheels. “I think maybe I should keep a clear head.”
“Suit yourself,” Fleur said, taking a very ladylike but effective sip of her drink.
“You’ll probably be the only one of us with one,” Hugo said. “A clear head, that is.”
Alice glanced over at Guy, who was still doing his best to calm Rose. “I don’t think you should give her any more of your ‘candy.’”
Hugo laughed. “Oh, dear sister of mine,” he said, leaning over the bar. “She’s pokey all on her own without any help from me.”
Fleur had somehow managed to finish her drink. She handed the glass to Hugo. “Another,” she said. “Make it fast; I can feel Nicholas and Vincent arriving.”
“Vincent,” Hugo said, “may have to rethink his theory about Delphine’s involvement in the relic trade.”
“I don’t know,” Fleur said, tapping the rim of her empty glass. “Delphine is most definitely involved in the relic trade, or at least parts of her are.”
Hugo laughed, refilling the glass, this time measuring with much less precision than he’d made a show of doing the first time.
Lucy looked up at her mother, a combination of surprise, pride, and disgust dancing across her face. “Was that really necessary to say?”
Fleur raised her glass in salute. “Drink up, dear. And welcome to New Orleans.”
The Twins sat nearly shoulder to shoulder in the far end of the room at a small card table—a piece, Alice suspected, of the room’s original furniture. The two were sharing a single glass of red wine. Monsieur Jacques sat across from them, holding up a small stemware glass to the light, examining the green liquid inside it.
“Absinthe?” Fleur said, a note of surprise in her voice.
“Crème de menthe,” Hugo replied with a shudder. He shifted his focus to Alice. “Straight, no candy.” He looked at the elderly man with utter contempt.
Jeanette paced along the row of curved windows, stopping every few passes and peering out as if she were expecting an arrival. Alice remembered the view was that of an interior courtyard, a small nod to Creole influence here in the American sector. Perhaps Jeanette had determined this was the most likely entry point should someone try to breach the room, and she was just being a good soldier. Guy guided Rose over to Jeanette, seeming to place the frail woman in the care of the stronger one, and then looked in Alice’s direction—taking in Celestin’s gathered offspring. Straightening his shoulders, he crossed the room to join them.
He focused first on Alice. “I do apologize,” he said, his head bowing a bit as he spoke. “I knew you hadn’t intentionally done anything to upset Rose. I guess I’m more on edge than I thought.”
“It’s all right,” Alice said.
“Sazerac?” Hugo said.
Guy nodded. “How did you know?”
Hugo reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of cognac. “It’s New Orleans. There’s bound to be one Sazerac man in any crowd,” he said, whisking through the preparation like it was a well-practiced dance. He poured one for Guy, one for himself. “Sometimes, two.” He pushed a glass across the bar to Guy, letting their fingertips touch.
Guy blushed.
“Can you ever not flirt?” Lucy said, glaring at Hugo.
“And she’s back, folks,” Hugo responded. Then he nodded in the direction of Rose, who hovered by the window, seemingly ready to take flight were she not pinned by the crook of Jeanette’s strong arm. “Too bad we can’t say the same for her.”
Guy’s hand hovered near the glass for a moment, not touching it. Then his fingers dar
ted in and snatched it up, seemingly either fearful of or perhaps hopeful for another brush with Hugo. “I think the shock may have been too much for her,” he said, then took a deep drink. “Hell, I think the shock may have been too much for me.”
As if on cue, Rose slipped from Jeanette’s grasp and rushed forward, pounding her cane into the Ferahan Sarouk carpet. “It is you, Astrid,” she said, waving the finger of her free hand at Alice. “Tell them,” she said, crossing to her with surprising speed. “Tell them,” she said again, tilting her head as she examined Alice’s face.
When Alice, tongue-tied, failed to respond, the old witch pounded down her cane and turned to address the others. “We spoke together. Just this morning.” She looked back at Alice, tears brimming the red rims of her pale eyes. “You told me how lovely it was to see me again.”
The whole room was so focused on Alice, Alice seemed to be the only one to notice the knock on the door.
“Everything all right in here?” Gabriel Prosper asked as he entered, his sister Julia following nearly on his heels, a look of absolute joy, or perhaps accomplishment, on her face.
Vincent came in behind them, his face drawn, gray.
Fleur stood, pushing her way around both Alice and Rose. “Where’s Nicholas? I thought he was going to address the coven. Formally,” she added, seeming to react to something she read in Vincent’s eyes.
“Nicholas has asked me to speak on his behalf,” Gabriel said, pressing his well-manicured hands together. “Rose, dear, perhaps you would like to sit?” He nodded at Guy, smiling as the younger witch took charge, once again, of the senile one—leading her to a chair at the table shared by the Twins and Monsieur Jacques.
Vincent joined the family at the bar. He held up a hand and shook his head in response to Hugo’s silent inquiry, then slipped his arm over Alice’s shoulder. The smile he gave her didn’t reach his eyes, but he pulled her close and placed a kiss on her temple.
