by Jan Eldredge
Julian nodded, his sight never leaving the pages of his book.
She narrowed her eyes. Why didn’t this boy care about his mama? It was almost as though he didn’t mind she was in such a bad way. Could he somehow have been responsible for her attack? It was a crazy thought, and Evangeline started to shoo it away, then paused, studying him a little closer. He was smart, that was for sure. But was it possible he was some sort of heartless, evil genius?
“He owns a chain of floral shops,” Julian muttered, startling her. He was still reading his comic book.
“What?”
“Laurent Ardeas. He owns a chain of flower stores, and an antique furniture shop, and a bunch of other local businesses. He’s always bringing white roses. Randall Lowell always brings food. Some of the others bring get-well cards and small gifts.” He shrugged. “That’s what people do when someone is sick.” He kept reading.
Evangeline nodded. The folks back home would do the same if she or Gran were ever bedridden. “Do they work on a boat with your daddy?”
Julian looked up, his eyebrows squishing together. “My father doesn’t work on a boat.”
“But Mr. Ardeas said they were crew members. I thought—”
“Krewe members, with a k. Not crew with a c. They’re part of the Krewe of Circe, a Mardi Gras social club, a brotherhood of sorts. Laurent founded the group a couple of years ago and invited my father to ride with them this past season.”
“Oh.” Evangeline’s cheeks warmed with a tinge of embarrassment.
Reading her expression as one of confusion, Julian set his comic book down and folded his hands on the tabletop. “While there are many parades rolling throughout the Mardi Gras season, Mardi Gras day itself is a daylong celebration of parades and revelry occurring on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday—the day on which Catholics repent of their sins by having a priest ceremonially mark their foreheads with ashes in—”
“I know what Mardi Gras is, for goodness’ sakes, even if I’ve never been to a New Orleans one.” Evangeline crossed her arms. “And I am most certainly knowledgeable about Catholicism. A haunt huntress is well versed in all forms of faiths—” She stopped herself, resisting the urge to glare at him for causing her to spill more information about her and Gran.
“You shouldn’t feel embarrassed about your hobby.” He picked up his comic book and resumed reading it.
“Hobby?” Evangeline clenched her fists and narrowed her eyes.
“I enjoy constructing models of medieval siege weaponry, most specifically trebuchets, catapults, and ballistas, though I abhor violence. The sight of people engaging in physical combat severely elevates my anxiety levels, sometimes causing me to vomit.” He turned a page of his book. “I recently completed construction of a marble-shooting crossbow. My mother says I possess a keen talent for design.” The corners of his mouth turned down, and his eyes took on a sad, faraway look.
Camille strode into the dining room carrying the gleaming silver tea service before her. She set it down on the mahogany buffet, then pulled a pearl-handled silver teaspoon from her apron pocket and held it up to Julian with a smile. “Now it’s all nice and shiny.” She placed it beside his glass of milk and returned a moment later with an armful of silver pitchers and vases glinting beneath the light of the crystal chandelier. Humming to herself, she arranged them in their proper places behind the glass doors of the antique china cabinet. On her way out she paused, squinted at the silver teapot, then pulled a cloth from her pocket. After giving the shiny surface a quick buff, she resumed her humming and headed back to the kitchen.
Frowning, Julian watched her go. “She just polished the silver a few days ago.” He shook his head. “I fear she may be going a bit overboard with her housekeeping duties.”
A horn tooted outside.
“Julian!” Mr. Midsomer called from the foyer. “Your ride’s here.”
“Excuse me.” Julian closed the cover of his comic book and set it on the table. He wiped the powdered sugar from his mouth and fingers with his linen napkin, brushed a beignet crumb from the lapel of his school uniform jacket, then left.
Evangeline watched as Julian straightened his tie, grabbed his backpack, and headed toward the front door. She’d been wrong to suspect him of any misdeeds. Just the mention of his mama a moment ago nearly made him go teary eyed.
She shoved half a beignet into her mouth. Her gaze fell upon Julian’s comic book, and the sugary doughnut seemed to turn to concrete in her mouth. She swallowed hard. There on the cover, a wild-eyed, snarling man stared out. Long, silver knife-like claws protruded from his knuckles. She didn’t have to read the pages to know he was a superhero character with killer wolf-like powers. Did Julian see wolves as heroes? Would he want his mama to become one? Was his daddy already one? Did he hope to become one too, making them all one happy rougarou family?
No. She shook her head. Mr. Midsomer was heartbroken over his wife’s condition. And he was the one who’d brought her and Gran here to help. She was being ridiculous. Too much worrying and not enough resting would do that to a person.
Evangeline and Gran spent the rest of the morning preparing an assortment of potions and poultices. Then they cut some rope into the appropriate lengths and converted them into weakening binds through the application of holy water and prayer.
They were still working on preparations when a knock sounded.
“Come in,” Gran called.
Camille opened the bedroom door, a cleaning rag in one hand, a bottle of polish in the other. “Mr. Midsomer brought some po’boy sandwiches from the corner grocery.”
“Thank you, Camille,” Gran answered. “We’ll be down in a moment.”
Camille gave them a parting nod, then turned and clicked the door shut behind her.
Eager to get to lunch, Evangeline quickly threaded the last pearl onto a madness-prevention bracelet, while Gran finished filling a potpourri bag with the evil-repelling ingredient of crushed bay leaves.
As they made their way down to the dining room, Gran focused on gripping the staircase banister. Evangeline focused on the sandwiches, her mouth watering. She hoped Mr. Midsomer had brought fried shrimp po’boys rather than roast beef or hot sausage. But when they reached the ground floor and Gran released the railing, her foot shot out from under her. Her arms pinwheeled, and she crashed to the hardwood floor with a thump and a cry as her cane clattered away.
“Gran!” Evangeline rushed to her, she too nearly slipping on the slick wooden surface.
Gran lay on her side, her bad leg jutting out at an unnatural angle.
Evangeline knelt beside her, doing her best to assess the situation, but it didn’t take special skill to comprehend Gran was in a bad way.
“Oh, dear!” Camille hurried over, her eyes wide, her hands pressed to the sides of her face. “Oh, Mrs. Holyfield, are you okay?”
Wincing, Gran struggled to sit up, her face pinched with pain.
“Oh, goodness gracious! How foolish of me, how foolish of me.” Camille wrung her hands. “I forgot all about your frail condition, Mrs. Holyfield. I just wasn’t thinking at all when I waxed the floor.”
By then Mr. Midsomer had joined them. He knelt beside Gran, took one look at her crooked leg, and grimaced.
“Gran, let me help you up.” Evangeline grasped her by the hand.
But Mr. Midsomer shook his head, his brow creased with worry. “I fear her leg might be broken. I think we need to call an ambulance.”
Fader came galloping up the hallway and straight toward Gran. He rubbed back and forth against her and butted his head into her arm. Then he sat down beside her and gave a loud, piteous yowl.
Evangeline’s conscious mind blurred, muddying like water lapping the bank of the bayou. While Camille and Mr. Midsomer did what they could to keep Gran comfortable until the paramedics arrived, Evangeline raced upstairs. She hurried around the room, packing her satchel with a long length of string, a stone with a naturally occurring hole bored through its center, an
d a spray bottle filled with an infusion of elder leaves collected on the eve of May Day. She slipped the bag over her shoulder, then dug to the bottom of Gran’s valise and pulled out a vial containing a mixture of powdered moss, henbane, and vinegar.
Uncorking the vial as she went, she rushed downstairs and gently dabbed the injury-soothing mixture onto Gran’s broken leg while chanting a healing spell.
Neither she nor Gran protested when the paramedics arrived, loaded Gran onto a stretcher, and slid her into the back of the ambulance. They both knew her injury was far too severe for a haunt huntress’s type of healing. They knew it would take the skills of a surgeon to piece her broken bone together again.
The hours ticked past in the hospital waiting room.
Finally Mr. Midsomer rose from his seat. “Would you like anything? A soda? Some coffee?”
Evangeline shook her head.
“Try not to worry. Your grandmother’s going to be fine.”
Evangeline didn’t reply.
“I understand what you’re feeling.” Mr. Midsomer swallowed hard, his voice dropping to little more than a whisper. “My wife and my son are everything to me.”
Evangeline cast a glance up at him, reading the truth of his words on his sad face. He really did love his wife, and even though he might not understand Julian, he did love him.
Mr. Midsomer cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you what. The hospital president is a friend of mine, a fellow krewe member. How about I go speak with him, ask him to make sure your grandmother will be well taken care of?”
“Thank you, Mr. Midsomer.” Evangeline returned her gaze downward. Her fingers worked at the long piece of string she’d packed in her satchel, tying knots in it and creating a cordon to loop around Gran’s wrist to promote rapid healing. Her mind worked on knotting itself with worry. She tried hard not to think of the grim waiting to escort Gran to the other side. Losing her mama had cut a hole in her heart. To have Gran die and create another such hole would leave her as hollow and fragile as a dried-out honeycomb.
It might have been a half hour later, maybe longer, Evangeline had lost track of time, when Mr. Midsomer returned. A doctor in a white lab coat arrived with him, along with a portly gentleman wearing a business suit and a bushy walrus moustache.
“Evangeline, this is Dr. Guidry.” Mr. Midsomer motioned to the man in the lab coat. “He’ll be taking care of your grandmother.” He motioned to the man in the suit. “This is Mr. Woolsey, the friend I was telling you about. He’s the hospital’s president.”
Mr. Woolsey extended his large hand to Evangeline. She took it and shook. His grip was strong, his fingers cold. “John here has filled me in on the situation,” he announced with a booming voice. “You can rest assured, young lady. Your dear grandmother will receive the very best of care this institution has to offer. You can depend on G. B. Woolsey.”
“Thank you, sir.” Evangeline’s voice sounded weak and pathetic in her ears.
Dr. Guidry spoke next, brief and businesslike as he addressed Evangeline. He spoke of the previous fracture to Gran’s femur, the large bone that ran from her hip to her knee. Surgery would be required. It had to be done, or the consequences would be dire. She could visit with her grandmother first if she’d like, just for a few minutes before they took her to surgery.
Evangeline’s mind went blurry again, and she murmured her thanks as the doctor and Mr. Woolsey left the room.
“Evangeline?” Mr. Midsomer’s brow furrowed. “Evangeline, are you okay?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes. I’m just fine,” she lied.
He glanced at his watch. “I apologize, but I really must leave. I have a previous work commitment. Don’t worry.” He started to pat her head, then stopped and drew his hand away. “Your grandmother’s in very good hands.”
“Thank you.” Evangeline nodded numbly.
Mr. Midsomer gave her directions back to the house, which was only a four-block walk, and then he was gone.
A nurse came to escort her to Gran’s room. Evangeline followed, the surroundings blurring as they made their way up the wide, brightly lit hallway, past patients in squeaky wheelchairs, past the cafeteria smelling of onion soup, past an area cordoned off with fluorescent yellow tape and bustling with construction workers. A large sign had been posted to the nearby wall announcing the addition of the hospital’s new fitness center, thanks to a generous contribution from local businessman Laurent Ardeas.
Mr. Woolsey stood in the midst of the activity, nodding vigorously and booming into his phone, “Yes, Laurent. All the plans are in place. You can depend on G. B. Woolsey. Every detail has been attended to, and congratulations will soon be in order.”
They entered through a set of double doors and turned a few more corners, and the nurse came to a stop at the end of a long hallway. “Here we are.” She opened the room door, motioned Evangeline to step inside, then set off to attend to her other duties.
“Evangeline,” Gran murmured. Her scarred face looked older, so tired and frail.
An ember of guilt burned inside Evangeline. If she had gained her haunt huntress status by now, she would be the one hunting monsters. Gran could be retired, sitting in her rocking chair back home instead of lying in a hospital bed here. She took the spray bottle from her satchel and spritzed the air with the elder leaf infusion to aid Gran with the process of healing.
Gran motioned her to come closer. “You must get back to the swamp. Call Percy to come fetch you and Fader. There’s no time to send a cardinal; use the telephone.” She pointed to the beige-colored phone on the bedside table that was just out of her reach. “Gather our things from the Midsomer house and leave as quickly as you can. You’re in danger here, and I can’t protect you while confined to this hospital bed.”
Evangeline felt around inside her satchel and pulled out the holed stone potent with special healing properties. She tucked it beneath Gran’s pillow. “Gran. I can protect myself.”
“Listen, and don’t interrupt. Get Julian and Mr. Midsomer out of the house. Secure Mrs. Midsomer with the weaken-binds. Place protections all around her room. It’s the best we can do for her. Then you must leave with Percy. You mustn’t be anywhere near Mrs. Midsomer when the midnight hour arrives.”
But Evangeline wasn’t afraid. She had been training for this moment all her life. Her heart warmed with pride. “Gran.” She stroked her grandmama’s lined forehead. “I might not be an official haunt huntress yet, but I was born to a haunt huntress and raised by one of the best. I can’t turn my back on this family. I have a job to do.”
Gran squeezed her eyes shut. For a moment, Evangeline feared she’d been overcome by the pain in her broken leg, but when Gran opened her eyes, they were filled with sadness, and strangely enough, shame.
“Evangeline, there’s something I need to tell you.” She paused, seeming to search for the right words. “I’ve kept things from you. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Raising a child is the hardest job in the world, far harder than hunting monsters. There’re so many questions, so many directions to take, and the right way is never clear.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I did what I thought was best. I guess time will tell if I was right.”
“Gran?” Evangeline’s pulse thudded. She didn’t like the direction this conversation was heading.
“We weren’t assigned this New Orleans job. I volunteered for it.”
Evangeline already knew that much. A needle of guilt jabbed at her conscience for having read Gran’s letter from the council.
“It’s a job that was personal to me—and to you—a job I thought I’d finished nearly thirteen years ago. But I was wrong.”
The door opened, and a nurse came in. She checked the bag of IV fluid hanging on a pole beside the bed. She turned to Evangeline. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave now. We’ll be prepping Mrs. Holyfield for surgery soon.”
Gran lifted her index finger. “Just a moment longer, please.”
The nurse frowned. “All
right. But only a few more minutes.” She turned and left, her white shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor. The door clicked shut after her.
“Back then, we had a dangerous rougarou situation on our hands,” Gran continued. “An alpha had taken up residence in the swamp. He’d already infected four men, and word was he planned to expand his pack even more, maybe even add a mate. The council had no choice but to call a meeting to devise a way to destroy him. But we were betrayed. One of their human familiars told the monster what we were planning.” She paused and fixed an eye on Evangeline. “You know all about their human familiars and how to identify them, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Evangeline recited from memory. “The human familiar serves as an attendant to his rougarou master, not only providing physical protection but also functioning as a spy and confidant. The rougarou’s familiar can be identified by the two small tattoos worn on the inner wrist: those of a black fang and a single red droplet.”
Gran nodded. She paused for another moment, then gave a sad sigh. “Your mama was making her way to our gathering that night when she was ambushed by one of their familiars.” The corners of her mouth turned down and her voice dropped. “The familiar tore off your mama’s silver talisman and flung it away, and that’s when the alpha attacked her.”
Evangeline’s head went light, but her limbs seemed to suddenly fill with lead. Gran had never revealed this particular information to her before. She touched her mama’s talisman hanging around her neck, hoping to draw comfort from it, but her eyes welled up anyway.
Gran drew a shaky breath. “After the attack, his human pack members marched into our meeting, dragging your injured mama after them.” Gran swallowed hard. “They threw her and her dying familiar to the floor. They ordered us to cease our plans to destroy their alpha and their family. Then they left, warning they’d strike again, killing more haunt huntresses if necessary.”
Gran’s lip trembled. “Her injuries were so severe. We tried to save her and the baby, but we couldn’t.” Tears filled her eyes.
