by Hudson, Tara
But when I opened them, the menacing face was gone. No leering grin, no cold breath, no black eyes.
Gone.
Still keeping my arms clasped tightly around what had to be a very confused Joshua, I spun in a circle, searching the crowd again. This time I saw nothing but a swaying sea of red. Besides mine, the only supernatural faces left in this club were made of plastic and glitter.
All the ghastly beings must have disappeared in an instant. Vanished, as if they’d never been there at all.
As if I’d imagined them, just as I’d imagined my father this afternoon.
At that thought my arms dropped from Joshua’s sides. My hands immediately flew to my mouth, and I pressed my fingertips to my lips, trying to hold back a gasp. Despite the effort, I started to sound like I was hyperventilating.
The entire time, I kept asking myself the same question:
Is it possible for a ghost to go crazy?
If those faces weren’t real, then I had hallucinated twice in one day. Which didn’t bode well for my sanity.
But assuming for a moment that I hadn’t totally lost it, then I was probably in even worse trouble. Because I’d seen those kinds of faces before, on the night I’d finally stood against Eli upon High Bridge.
I watched one of them swoop in like a bat, dragging Eli into the darkness. Before fleeing the netherworld for the last time, I had a conversation with another one, which—unfortunately—gave me plenty of time to familiarize myself with how they looked.
Deathly pale and unnaturally still. Beautiful at first, and then hideous.
Those were the faces of demons.
And those were the faces watching me tonight. Maybe not the same demons I’d met on High Bridge, but similar enough.
How had they found me? More importantly, how were they here? If they stayed cloistered away in what I assumed was a place even darker than the netherworld, then what were they doing in living, breathing New Orleans?
Unfortunately, that question seemed to answer itself.
A handful of demons—if that’s what they actually were—had appeared tonight because they didn’t always stay away. They didn’t always hide in places darker than I could comprehend.
Sometimes they came to the living world to take matters into their own hands.
Maybe tonight had just been a glimpse of things to come. A warning that they could find me, whenever they wanted to.
Which meant my presence served as a lightning rod for evil, putting anyone who happened to stand nearby at risk. But only one person in particular stood nearby, almost all the time …
“Amelia?”
Immediately, my head snapped up and my eyes refocused. Then I jumped slightly, shocked to find myself standing outside the club with my back pressed against the brick wall. I’d been so intently drawing my conclusions that I must have walked outside, leaned against this wall, and clawed into it as if clinging for dear life.
Judging by the concerned faces around me, I’d had an entourage while doing so.
Joshua stood closest—he’d been the one to call my name in that sharp, frightened tone. A few steps behind him, Annabel waited. She looked worried, casting glances at Joshua and then back at the club—making sure we wouldn’t be caught, even though we probably weren’t the strangest things in the alley tonight. At least, not on the surface.
“Everything okay?” Annabel asked.
I nodded and then remembered that, to her, I probably looked like a brick wall right now.
“Yeah,” I said out loud. “I just … I needed some air. That’s why I came outside.”
In front of me, the darkness of the alley hid part of Joshua’s features. When I gave my feeble excuse, the illuminated half of his face twisted.
“Really?” he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. “You screamed, then you freaked out, then you wandered out of the club without hearing me … because you needed air?”
I startled a little; I hadn’t realized that my behavior had been that frenzied.
“Um … yes?” My voice didn’t sound very convincing, but I went on, forcing a note of conviction into it. “Didn’t you notice how I was … getting sick? There were just too many people in there. I couldn’t breathe.”
“You couldn’t breathe,” he repeated in a flat, disbelieving voice. He was kind enough not to point out that I technically didn’t need to breathe.
In response, I simply gave a defensive shrug. Joshua watched me for a moment, waiting for a more plausible—or at least a more honest—explanation. When I didn’t produce one, he sighed.
“Okay,” he conceded. “You couldn’t breathe. Which probably means it’s our cue to go home.”
“My cue,” I blurted out. “My cue to go home.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll go,” I insisted. “You need to stay here and … and spend some more time with your cousins.”
Joshua tossed a quick glance back at Annabel and then shook his head. “It’s Christmas in three days—we’ll have plenty of time then. But I think you need me right now. So I’ll just come with you, okay?”
“No!”
I shouted the word. When Joshua flinched in surprise, I suppressed a curse. I took one quiet breath for restraint and then went on in what I hoped was a less desperate voice.
“I just … I need some time to think. Tonight’s been a lot to take in, you know?” I nodded meaningfully in Annabel’s direction. “It would be nice to have some time to myself. Just for a while.”
Joshua’s brow furrowed. In those dark blue eyes, I could read every one of his emotions: hurt that I obviously wanted to get away from him; fear about me being alone—if relatively invisible—on these dark, unfamiliar streets; and finally, reluctant surrender. He sighed again, and the sound was so full of defeat that the little ache in my chest writhed.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Whatever you want, Amelia. Just wait for me in the courtyard behind the town house, okay? I’ll let you in when I get back.”
“Thank you,” I said, sounding too enthusiastic. Before I could think it through, I sprang forward and gave him a grateful kiss. Then, just as quickly, I jerked away—so fast, I wouldn’t blame him for feeling a little rejected.
With the fire of our touch still burning on my lips, I raised my eyes to his. In them I saw his longing, his uncertainty.
Considering the fact that I’d only recently discovered who I was, Joshua knew me about as well as I knew myself. He knew when I held back, and he knew when I was distracted. He knew when things weren’t quite right between us, and he knew when I was lying.
Like right now.
Realizing that my next words would be lies, too, I bit my lip, lifted onto my toes, and leaned in close to him.
“I’ll see you back at the town house,” I whispered. “I promise.”
I leaned back, just long enough to memorize the lines of his face one last time. Then I closed my eyes and willed myself away from there.
Chapter
TWELVE
Of course I hadn’t planned to materialize back to the town house. If the demons had really found me, I didn’t have the luxury of time to figure out my next move. So, by materializing tonight, I intended to follow through with my plan early: send myself away from New Orleans, the Mayhews, and Joshua. Permanently.
But my ridiculous sense of direction and my poor, weak-willed heart evidently had other ideas.
Wherever I now stood looked much the same as where I’d just been: old, shuttered buildings; elaborate balconies; crowded streets, even in the dead of night. The only difference was that now those things were out of reach, just beyond the lush, iron-fenced park in which I’d opened my eyes.
All around me, palmetto trees and live oaks defied the winter, their leaves green and full through either their own strength or that of a diligent gardener. Considering the clean paths and neat flower beds that radiated out from where I stood, I guessed the latter.
It was a beautiful place, I couldn’t deny that. Bu
t I had one little problem with the park: it lay at least ten feet below me. Maybe even twenty.
From what I could tell, I’d materialized on top of some tall, stone platform. I looked up and then stumbled in surprise. A gigantic, metal horse and rider loomed above me. I had to grab one of the horse’s extended hooves to steady myself. Once I regained my balance—and composure—I realized that the platform upon which I stood was actually the base of an enormous statue. One that looked like it wanted to attack me.
I stared back up at the statue with a grim smile.
“Any hint where I am?” I asked it.
“About to be trampled by General Jackson.” The voice called out from somewhere below in a heavy accent I couldn’t quite identify.
Before I could react, someone else drawled, “President Jackson, actually.”
“As if you remember,” the first voice snapped. “You just read it on the base of the statue.”
“As if you didn’t.”
My head jerked downward to the speakers, who, while obviously too busy arguing to pay me further attention, also obviously heard me.
When I caught sight of them, my flight instinct surged again. I scrambled, clawing backward until I’d practically soldered myself to the metal statue. A foolish effort, probably, considering how far below me my audience stood. But as I peered closer at them in the dark, I realized that maybe my instincts weren’t so foolish.
The five beings circling the hedges at the base of the statute didn’t exactly stand: their legs faded somewhere around their knees, and through the places where their feet should have been, I could see the outline of the pathway. Although their bodies appeared more substantial, the dark shapes of the trees bled through the contours of their faces.
It was those faces that finally made me realize that the demons had not, in fact, followed me from the club. Because the demons, though pallid and otherwordly, weren’t translucent. And because these figures glowed faintly in the dark.
Just like me.
“Who are you?” I demanded, although I’d already guessed the answer.
“Dead,” one of the figures said, giving me a languid smile.
He reminded me vaguely of Eli, with his arrogant features and long blond hair tied back from his face. Still smirking, he folded his arms over the breast of his military jacket. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“Yes,” I said. “But I still don’t know what kind of dead you are.”
“Same as you.” A gray-haired woman in a high-collared black dress gave me a brusque nod. “Dead is dead.”
“No, the girl is right,” another figure argued. “At first there are many kinds of dead. But those who stay become like us, in the end.”
Recognizing the strange accent of the first speaker—the one who’d told me about the statue—I leaned forward cautiously. The man caught me looking and beamed up a radiant, if slightly flawed, smile. Even through the nasty scars on his mahogany-dark skin, I could tell he’d once been handsome. Before getting into about five hundred knife fights, from the looks of his cheeks.
“Hello there,” he said, touching the brim of what looked an awful lot like a pirate hat. “Welcome to the Place d’Armes.”
“It’s called Jackson Square now,” a nasally voice corrected him. “They haven’t called it Place d’Armes since they hung people like you here.”
I immediately recognized this voice as the one that had corrected the pirate guy about President Jackson. The nasally speaker stood aloof, slightly apart from his fellow ghosts, wearing an old-fashioned tuxedo and a pinched expression. If I had to guess, I’d bet he was once a blue blood and still harbored some leftover disdain for his present company.
Which begged the question: Why was he here, with these other ghosts? Why were any of them here?
“None of you really answered me,” I said cautiously. “Who are you?”
The last of the ghosts moved forward, stepping in front of her companions. She was the youngest, probably only a few years older than me when she died. Her long black braids fell across the shoulders of a dark cape clasped at the base of her throat.
“We are what is left,” she answered in a soft, vaguely French accent.
For some reason I shivered. “What do you mean ‘left’? Left of what?”
“Those who have died in the Quarter,” she whispered. “We five are the last to walk unclaimed.”
I twisted one corner of my mouth. “Are you saying that you’re the last ghosts left in one of the creepiest places in America? Because I find that hard to believe.”
She shrugged, her wide, dark eyes never leaving mine. “Your belief or disbelief does not make it any less true.”
“O-kay,” I said, drawing out my O like Joshua always did when he didn’t necessarily trust something. “Then who are your masters?”
The sound of the pirate’s booming laugh echoed off the statue. “We have none, girl. And those of us who did can’t remember now.”
I shook my head, still skeptical. “The only other ghost I’ve met was working for other beings. All the other ghosts had either gone to heaven or … someplace else.”
“Not you, though,” the dark-haired girl pointed out. “You have no masters, and you’re still here.”
“Well … yeah.” I frowned. “Not me.”
“As you are now, we once were,” she said. “Lost in the fog, without guidance. Over the centuries, we have awoken and found one another. Together, we have hidden from the dark ones.”
Upon hearing her last words, my stomach clenched. “‘Dark ones’? You mean … the demons?”
“Those things with the horrible, pale faces?” the pirate asked. When I nodded, he grunted roughly. “If that’s what you call them, demon is as good a name as any.”
I felt a chill inch up my spine. “So they are here, in New Orleans?”
“They’re everywhere, girl,” he said with a dark laugh. “The demons and their dark caves are everywhere. They hunt all over the world, for the likes of us.”
“They still come after you?”
The five ghosts exchanged looks, and then, slowly, each of them nodded.
“Them,” the pirate said, “and those damned ghost hunters. Exorcising souls left and right. Course, they’re easier to avoid than the dark ones.”
In the calmest voice I could manage, I asked, “How do you keep the demons from finding you?”
“By vanishing,” the soldier said. “Often.”
“Materialization,” I muttered to myself. Just like I intended to do. I felt a small flush of relief that at least part of my plan might go right. Louder, I asked, “How has it worked so far?”
“It’s not without sacrifice.” The gray-haired woman gestured down the length of her transparent body. “This is the result of too much vanishing. Soon, you vanish too.”
I had to repress a gasp. “Are you telling me that materializing does that to you?”
“Among other things. Too much of it and you lose whatever connects you to the living world: your body, your memories.”
“Your memories?” I sunk a little against the statue. “You lose your memories?”
“Course you do,” the pirate stated matter-of-factly. “If I remembered anything, I’ve lost it now. My life’s gone. Even my name. Hazard of the trade.”
“Is it … worth it?” I asked. “To escape the demons?”
The black-haired girl gave me a bitter smile. “If you had ever seen one of their dark worlds, then you would know that escape is your only option. Loss of memory, loss of form—they are nothing compared to those places.”
Several images instantly ran through my mind: sensations I’d remembered in my flashes; the sight of my mother in the morning sunshine; Joshua’s face, smiling at me.
Did these ghosts have such memories to weigh against the value of their afterlives? If so, then I dreaded even more the moment when I had to make their choice. Especially since that moment suddenly seemed all too close.
“Why are you here?” I
asked them softly. “With me, I mean?”
“You found us, girl,” the pirate said.
“Maybe. But none of you looked too surprised to see me tonight.”
The black-haired girl moved a fraction of an inch closer. “We are never surprised to meet the dead in this city. What is more unusual is when we find a soul that has not yet been claimed. If we see someone like that, then we try to help them. Before the dark ones come.”
The corner of my mouth pulled back again into its skeptical little twist. “That’s … awfully nice of you.”
Missing my sarcasm, the girl bowed her head as if to say You’re welcome.
The blond soldier huffed an irritated sigh, clearly bored with the drawn-out explanation of his bleak afterlife. “We’ve told the girl enough,” he barked. “Let’s finish this.”
“Finish what?”
“Finish by offering you our company,” the pirate said hurriedly, his eyes darting to the soldier and then back to me. “If you’re running … you can always run with us.”
For a moment I kept silent. All five ghosts watched me, their faces turned up expectantly.
I bit my lip and pressed my hand flat against the statue. This wasn’t my first offer of help from another ghost, so I suppose you couldn’t blame me for suspecting this group’s motive. Especially since I’d learned the hard way that ghosts didn’t take denial very well.
But … did I want to deny them?
Whatever their motive, they obviously knew how to do the very thing that I needed, if not wanted, to do: survive, in a sense. Escape the demons and keep myself—and the people I loved—from the darkness.
Even if I had to trade my memories to do so, I knew this option would always be worth it. I just had to decide how to carry it out.
And with whom, apparently.
“Thank you for the offer,” I said slowly, thoughtfully. “I hope you understand that I need a while to consider it.”
“Were I you, I would not take too long,” the dark-haired girl warned. “We intentionally make ourselves difficult to find.”
