The Casquette Girls (67 page)

He leaned in, crushing my left shoulder and right hip
— a bolt of pain surged through me. My body tried to lurch into a sitting position as Désirée rammed my arm back into socket, but Isaac kept me pinned down.

The scream that came
out of my mouth sounded more like the pathetic whimper of a dying animal. And then my eyelids fluttered in shock as my brain registered that my arm was now reattached and the pain was actually a good thing. He shifted his weight off me, and everyone was silent for a minute.

I curled the fingers on my right hand, and Désirée let out a loud sigh.

“Breathe,” Isaac whispered, brushing my hair off of my face.

I nodded, inhaled deeply, and the convulsions slowed.

“
Merci beaucou
p
,
Dee.” I sucked in a few more breaths, utterly exhausted. “Now can I take a nap?”

“Not if you want to avoid the hospital,” she snapped.

“
Ça va! Non hôpita
l
!
”

“We still need to torch the convent, Désirée,” Isaac said. “If she’s too weak to light the fire from here, I can go down and do it myself.”

“No fire!” I rasped. Suddenly, consciousness was not an issue.

He squeezed my hand.
“Don’t worry… we can handle it. We’re almost mission complete.”

“We are
not
burning the attic!” I repeated, jerking my hand away.

They stared back at me with wide eyes. The surprise on Isaac’s face slowly morphed as he came to his own conclusion about why I didn’t want to burn the attic.

He was only half right.

I didn’t want to kill Nicco, even if he
had
tried to kill me, but, more importantly, my mother was trapped in that attic, thanks to me. I had already nearly burned her to death by accident; I couldn’t do it on purpose – even if she was a vampire. Even if she had killed those two students twelve years ago.

“We are not burning the attic,” I
yelled and looked at Isaac, expecting him to cave and take my side.

He didn’t.

There was no way I could tell him about my mother; he hated vampires. There was no way I could tel
l
anyon
e
.

“If she says we aren’t roasting the vamps, then we aren’t roasting the vamps
. I mean, arson is a little seventeenth-century witch-hunty, anyways.”

Thank you, Dee.

“This is
not
the same as dark-ages witch hunts. Those witches were
innocent
. These are cold-blooded killers. Vampires!”

I gave Isaac a look, letting him know there would be no forgiveness if he took matters into his own hands.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But we have to do something. It’s not safe to leave them like this.”

“He’s right,” I said. “They’ll die, not being able to feed—”

“That’s
not
what I meant.”

“We can cast the same Slumbering Spell that Cosette Monvoisin did back in the day,” Désirée suggested.

“Do you think we’re strong enough?” I asked.

“We’re only three, and they’re now six,” said Isaac. It took all of his strength not to gloat. “That’s two additions to the original bloodsucking attic crew.”

Seve
n
,
I thought.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Désirée grabb
ed our hands forming a circle.

My fingers slid around Isaac’s, and I rubbed his thumb, begging him not to be mad at me. He attempted to crack a smile, but barely glanced at me for a second.

Désirée began to chant the French words of the long-since-dead triplet, and soon Isaac and I joined her, repeating the ethereal phrases over and over again until they felt as natural as saying our own names.

The pain in my body began to subside as the wind swirled around us in a swell of paranormal excitement. I don’t know if it was the elixir, or the delirium, or the magic, but I swear a harmony of girlish voices began to sing a lullaby from the sky. I smiled, knowing that either way,
les filles aux la cassette
s
were with us in spirit.

The air had stilled, and everything felt totally peaceful.

“How do we know if it worked?” I asked.

“We don’t
. Unless you want to open the attic door and—”

“Not happening,” Isaac said, just in case she wasn’t joking.

She smiled deviantly, causing his chest to puff, and then she started laughing.

I unwrapped Isaac’s bloodstained shirt from my neck, ripped a strip of fabric from my wings, and tied it into a bow around my neck. “I have an idea,” I said, poofing my hair to further conceal the herb-packed slashes. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“So this is where everyone ran off to,” Isaac said as we turned the corner into the
Faubourg Marigny.
Jackson Square had become desolate, but Frenchmen Street was filled with zombies, screaming children, and revelers of all levels of intoxication, drinking and laughing under the sea of ghosts. Musical scales tooted from horns as musicians warmed up the Second Line.

Two old geezers chased each other down the street with sparklers, squealing with glee. “Looks like the wormwood is still active,” Désirée murmured. We all let out a short laugh.

“Dead Green Faery?” a placid voice said. “Awesome costume.” I turned to see Theis approaching, with Ren on his heels.

“Merci beac—”

“Oh, thank God,
bébé
!” Ren cried, bending over me, but Isaac intervened.

“No hugs.”

I chuckled.

Ren understood and made a crack about Isaac’s hunky chest, who in turn quickly fastened the two buttons on his vest
, while Theis wolf-whistled.

I spotted the twins passing out small white candles in red Solo cups.

“I’ll be right back,” I said and walked over to them.

“Adele!”
Sébastien yelped, his lit candle fumbling to the street. “You disappeared. You scared me half to death!”

I picked up his candle and sniffed a tear away. “Sorry about that.”

“Why are you covered in blood?” Jeanne asked, genuinely concerned.

“Oh… this stupid girl from school thought it would be funny to have a
Carrie
moment and dumped a bucket of corn syrup on me.”
Did I really just lie to a chemist about blood? I am an idiot.
She looked at me with doubt and opened her mouth to protest, but then let it slide. My smile beamed in gratitude. Despite being caked in dried blood, I wrapped my good arm around her.
“Je t'aime,
”
I whispered.

“Moi aussie.”

“Can I get three candles,
s’il te plaît?
”
I asked Sébastien, wiping my eyes.

“Oui, mon chou.”

“Merci beaucoup.”

He smiled.
“De rein.”

I walked back to Désirée and Isaac, who were both still mesmerized by the ghoulish tribute, and handed them each a candle-poked cup. We all watched a flame magically grow from my candle, and then I kissed it to each of their wicks, lighting theirs the old-fashioned way.

The street was totally dark, other than the specks of a thousand candle flames. A solo accordion started squeezing out a song, and then a woman in the middle of the block slowly began to belt the first phrase of “Cryin’ in the Street.” The horns followed, and the crowd started moving together back towards the Quarter.

Listening to the beautiful alto voice, tears rolled down my face. I thought of Brooke, Klara, and Alphonse Jones. I closed my eyes and wished for them to come home soon.

At least my mother is home
,
I thought, surprising myself. In a weird twisted way, I really
was
glad she came back. I finally knew the truth.

I looked at Désirée and found her crying too. Everyone was.

We all linked hands and walked down the street. Our voices singing together gave me the confidence that my city was going to get better. Our city.

* * *

When we crossed Esplanade Avenue, both the warble and the close proximity of the convent made my pulse climb. Désirée signaled to me—I placed Jeanne’s hand into her brother’s— and our trio peeled off as the crowd continued its procession to St. Louis Cemetery No. 1.

For the second time that night, I entered the iron gate and walked through the overgrown hedges
, this time flanked by two witches. Nestled into a weed-covered hedge was a large metal bucket filled to the brim with the long carpenter nails that had rained down that strange morning everything went haywire. The original nails the Ursuline sisters had sealed the shutters with, blessed by the Holy Pope himself.

The convent’s front door was wide open, but all that mattered was that the attic was secured. The other two breathed a sigh of relief to see the windows still sealed, but I swear
that shutter had a slight vibration. As I stared at it, my heartbeat echoed in my chest until it felt like my whole body was reverberating to the beat.

I could still feel the elixir coursing through my veins.

I closed my eyes, and all I saw was Nicco and his not-so-innocent smile
.
I am such an idiot
.
My heart beat faster as I remembered that morning I first stepped foot through the convent gate.
Why? Why? Why?
Despite all the fires, all the hurricanes, all the crimes, hauntings and magic in this city, somehow the shutter had stayed shut tight over the centuries, until right before
I
got to it.
What was so special about this Storm?
Is there such a thing as a coincidence
?
I felt the metal stake rattling high above us.

Breath
e
.

“Are you okay?” Isaac asked.

I nodded, sucking in a big breath through my nose.

“Are you sure?”

I opened my eyes to find him standing right in front of me. All the chaos stopped.

“I locked the front door,” said Désirée, walking back to us. “We all good over here?”

“Oui. Tout va bien
.
All good.”

I smiled at Isaac, and his hand went to my face. “Just don’t go opening any more shutters, okay?”

“Oui.”
I knew he was only half-joking. I glanced back at the attic, and for an instant Emilio flashed in my head—

“Il ne faut rien laisser au hasard!
”
I yelled, and with a flick of my wrist, the old nails rose from the rusty pail and hammered themselves back into the wooden shutters.

They were both staring at me.

“Why leave anything to chance?” I asked, looking straight at Isaac.

He smiled at me without worry for the first time since we parted in the street, and then fell in beside me as I walked by. I knew he would always be there. Beside me.

* * *

In a subdued state, the three of us crossed the railroad tracks to the Moonwalk and kept going to the river’s edge, where we sat under the star-swept sky. With everything along the riverfront obliterated by the Storm, I wondered if our view was closer to how the landscape had looked for Adeline three centuries ago. I wondered if she ever left
La Nouvelle-Orléans? Did her father ever make it to the city?
The number of unanswered questions was maddening, but the one that bothered me the most was about my mother:
Was she just a casualty in the Le Moyne’s insanely magical lineage? Had I been wrong about her my entire life
?
She was the only person who could answer those questions, and I had locked her up for eternity.

Désirée finally broke the silence.

“I’m glad we didn’t torch them,” she paused, rolling her eyes. “I kinda miss Gabriel.”

Isaac groaned and leaned back on a small tuft of weeds.

I tried my best to contain my giggles as I lay back next to him. “I miss ice cream.”

“Mmm… pralines and cream,” she agreed, lying back.

“These other two descendants better be dudes,” Isaac said, and we all burst into delirious laughter.

“All right.” Désirée leaned towards me, propped on her elbow. “Time to spill it, sister. What the hell happened in the attic?”

“Yeah.” Isaac mirrored her elbow-prop on my other side. He fiddled with the silver feather resting on my stomach.

I took a deep breath and thought about where to begin. “Well, in essence,
le Comte de Saint Germain
saved me.”