The Casquette Girls (49 page)

I continued to call her name until I sounded hysterical, but she was lost. Nothing was going to distract her from drinking. I looked to Gabriel. “What is she doing? What did you do to her?”

“Adeline,” he said
to me, “you should really leave now. You are worth more to me alive than dead.”

I shuddered violently as Martine slumped to the ground; my voice warbled with fear as I yelled to him, “I’m not leaving her!”

If you can believe it, Papa, the absurdity only increased from there. Just thinking about it gives me the urge to loosen my corset so I can breathe easier.

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the vampire said as he licked his own wounds, which miraculously healed before my eyes.

Gabriel then looked at me with such a savage tenderness it would have been impossible not to give him what he desired. Luckily, I had no idea what he was talking about when he then asked, “Where is it, Adeline?”

“Where is
what
?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,
bella
.” He slowly licked his lips. “I promise, you will not like where it leads you… but I will like it very much.”

Before any more threats could be spat, Martine’s eyes flew open
—red and insane like a rabid animal’s—and Gabriel yelled with a hunter’s smile, “Adeline,
run
.
Now!”

Every shred of my instinct told me to obey him.

Martine still seemed disoriented, giving me a few more seconds to dash for the nearest exit. When I glanced back, she was gone. Startled, I reached for the door, and there she was, standing in front of me, blocking my escape. I was barely able to stop myself from hurling into her.

From behind me, Gabriel said in a teasing voice, “You could have had a head start, had you listened to me. But listening isn’t a strong suit of the Saint-Germains, now is it?”

Martine grabbed my throat with her cold, dead fingers and lifted my entire body with just the strength of just one arm. My fingers clawed at hers, and my legs flailed in the air as she walked me back into the room.

“Marti—” I choked out. Just as I began to question whether I could fight my friend, I saw her fangs: pointed and lethal as a snake’s. My sympathy drained as I gasped for air. On the verge of consciousness, I cursed myself and, for the first time, truly regretted not allowing the captain to toss the
strigoi
overboard.

The house had become suddenly cold and dark –
 I thought it was death coming to take me. A howling wind entered the room, blowing out the hearth along with every candle and lamp.

Disoriented by the loud whistles that filled our ears, Martine dropped me to the floor. My hair whipped around my face, and the layers of my petticoats blew around me as I tried to stand.

The gusts became so strong I could barely open my eyes, but it was enough to see the sudden squall launch Martine into the air and through the glass window. It shattered into thousands of tiny shards, and she fell three stories to the street.

I whipped my hand around the room to reignite the candles.

A fire exploded into the hearth, and I found Gabriel sneering at a girl standing in the rear doorway. It was Susannah. She brought her arms down slowly, and the strong gale tapered to a slight breeze, until we were left with nothing but the soggy, summer air.

I hurried to the broken window.

Instantly, Gabriel was by my side. I leaned over the sharp glass fragments jutting from the frame to look down. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight. “
Sacreble
u
!”
I whispered as Gabriel leaned over me to see for himself.

Martine had landed on her back with such impact the bones in her legs were protruding from her skin. A circle of blood was slowly pooling in the street around her. And then
—I swear to you, Papa—despite her splintered limbs, Martine slowly began to stand up.

Above my head, Gabriel cursed, “
Maledetto
! Now I have to go and fetch her before she causes a scene.” He exited the room in a flash.

I approached Susannah, still in shock, and already feeling disappointed in my own failure to take control of the situation.

“I’m sorry, Adeline!” she said before I had the chance to speak.

Still in a deep daze, I looked up at the red-haired girl and whispered, “That was incredible.”

“We can no longer stand idly by,” she said. I nodded in agreement
as she continued vehemently. “We must take action against the vampires.”

“You knew about them?” I asked.

“Of course I know. We all know, Adeline. It is no longer just your burden.”

“Whoa,” I said out loud as I translated the last line.

“What?” Désirée asked. “Did you find a clue about the other two casquette girls?”

For hours we’d been scouring the grimoire, the half-translated diary, and even the painting
for clues that would reveal the identities of the other two members of the casquette girls’ coven or their present-day descendants.

“I think so… but that’s only the half of it. Gabe
killed
Martine DuFrense and turned her into a vampire.”

“Shut up.”

“I swear… well, at least according to Adeline’s diary. They witnessed it—Adeline and Susannah.”

“Susannah?”

I flipped back through the pages. “Susannah Bowen, from Bermuda. She was a servant in the convent, likes plants, used magic right in front of Adeline, and they let her into the coven. After Martine DuFrense turned, Susannah saved Adeline’s life by throwing the newborn through a third-story window. That’s all I’ve really gotten so far.” I handed her my journal. “Here, double-check it. My eyes are starting to cross.”

She scanned the first few pages. “Do you think Gabe and Adeline had a thing?”

“Really? Out of everything happening in those pages,
that’s
what you’re taking away?”

“It’s a totally valid question,” she mumbled and went back to reading.

When the pages in my journal became blank, she sighed in frustration, pushed it aside, and flipped to a bookmark in Marassa’s grimoire. “I want to test out some of these protection spells, considering Emilio’s ultimatum. If I’m reading between the lines correctly, I think these are the same spells the casquette girls coven used when they started feeling threatened.”

As if the death of my surrogate grandparents wasn’t enough, reading the account of Martine DuFrense’s death via Gabriel Medici sent me over the edge. I couldn’t stop wondering if I was going to
die
tomorrow night. The feeling was unsettling to say the least. I found myself looking back to my phone more than once, flicking open the text message from my mother, of all people. My fingers refused to respond to her plea to talk, but I did decide there were issues that needed to be pressed elsewhere.

“Cool
,” I said, “I’m going for a walk. I think there might be some clues out there in the real world.” I picked up the painting of our relatives. “Can I borrow this?”

“Sure… don’t lose it. Gran would kill me.”

And so we split up. Désirée stayed back, brewing up potions, while I went out into the night to beat the street. I wasn’t sure whether I had the right questions, but there were three people whom I was determined to get answers from.

My first stop was Ren’s house in the
Faubourg Marigny
, which meant I had to leave the
Vieux Carré.
He lived even closer than Brooke, but my father’s rule about not leaving the neighborhood still argued with my steps. Little did he know how much more dangerous the streets within the borders of the Quarter were – the inside of the bullring.

When I crossed Esplanade and felt the slight warble, I wondered whether the Storm’s destruction was worse on the other side of this oak-lined avenue solely because of topography, or because the girls’ antique protection spells had played a part in saving the French Quarter. Images of large gusts of wind flinging back vampires who tried to cross the street brought a strange smile to my lips.

It vanished as the sound of breaking glass cracked the night air.
It’s probably just looters,
I told myself, wondering if Isaac was lurking in a nearby tree. Previously, I’d found Isaac tailing me to be annoying, but I’d grown accustomed to the crow’s constant presence. I wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, but knowing he was there might have had something to do with my ballsiness as of late.

Five blocks later, I arrived at Frenchmen Street, where I knew Ren’s house to be – next to the Spotted Cat. The street was famous for its jazz clubs, but tonight it was a strange sight to behold. Laundry lines were strung everywhere, with sheets rippling in the cold night air, as if everyone had decided to wash their linens at the same time. Despite the cold weather, people were on their porches with BBQ pits fired up to cook dinner, while others stood around open fires burning in old tin garbage cans. My guilt sunk deeper because we had working fireplaces, a gas oven,
and
a generator.

“Miss Adele?” Ren called out from his porch. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He set his book and reading candle down at the base of the rickety rocking chair.

“
Bonsoi
r
!
” I yelled, hopping the steps, and then kissed him on the cheek.

“Please tell me you need advice on fabric swatches for a school project?”

“Not even close.” The severe stare I gave him squashed any further joking.

“Well, shoot.
Kommon in, béb
é
.”
H
e
looked both ways down the street before shutting the door behind us.

* * *

I’d never been inside Ren and Theis’ house before. To say it was a reflection of their personalities was an understatement. A large oil painting of their white Persian cat and a particularly gothic-looking M.C. Escher print of a skull and eyeball hung on the dark-purple living-room wall. Dozens of candles had dripped wax onto the windowsills, and a large, black pot hung over a low flame in the fireplace, filling the air with peppery notes that meshed with the smoky scent I now knew to be sage. Theis was stretched out on a red velvet couch. He looked like he was sleeping, except a harsh cacophony of sounds billowed from his headphones, and he was gently petting Fluffy, who was lounging on his flat stomach.

Ren hurried into the kitchen; I watched through the doorway as he threw a plastic tarp over a strange metal apparatus
that connected to barrels by a mess of copper coiling. It looked like some kind of homemade chem lab. Various dried herbs, flower petals, and berries were separated into loose piles on the counter.

“Ren, the cat’s out of the bag,” I said loudly, sinking into a paisley armchair across from Theis. “No need to try
to cover up Operation Bathtub Gin.”

“Your pa is going to kill me,” he mumbled from the other room.

Theis’ eyelids slid open. “Want to see my new tattoo?”

“Uh, sure.” I think it was the first time he’d ever acknowledged my existence.

Fluffy jumped down as Theis lifted up his tight black tee to reveal simple black symbols inked across his bony ribs.

“Cool. Nordic runes?” I guessed.

“Yeah, it means protection during battle in Old Icelandic.”

“Cool,” I repeated. My mind immediately spiraled, thinking about whether or not I was going to need more protection for this battle, or feud… whatever it was?

“Leftover hurricane gruel?” he offered, pointing to the pot.

“No, thanks.”

Ren sat in the chair next to me and snuck a quick sip from his flask. Theis put his headphones back on, settled back into his previous position with his eyes shut, and appeared instantly consumed by his music.

“I want to know about
ma mère,”
I blurted out.

“Your mother?” He took a larger swig. “Isn’t this a conversation better suited for your daddy,
bébé
?”

“I’m not a child anymore, Ren.
You
know something, and I am not leaving until you tell me. I can’t ask my dad… a little piece of him dies every time I mention my mother’s name.”

I said nothing else and just waited.

“
D’accord, d’accor
d
.
What do you want to know?”

“I want to know everything. What happened when she left? No one ever talks about it, but there has to be more to the story than her simply waking up one morning so consumed by her love for Paris that she just bailed on me and my father.”

He stroked his mustache. “I don’t know everything. I’m not sure anyone doe
s.
Certainly not your father. Anyway, I’ve already told you part of the story.”

“
Quo
i
?
Not possible. Like I could have forgotten that.”