Unbroken (17 page)

Ling must have had the locket on her mind, too, because she kept bringing up the subject of derelict houses on the verge of collapse.

“That town house on the corner of our street, for example,” she said, slurping the last of her soup. “It’s such a beautiful building, with all that ironwork on the galleries. But nobody’s living there.”

“I wouldn’t live on Rampart Street,” Aunt Claudia said firmly. “It’s bad enough using the parking garage there.”

“But gentrification will keep pushing its way out of the Quarter, don’t you think?” Rebecca’s father asked her. “When we were in Tremé on Tuesday, I couldn’t believe how much
money people are spending fixing up historic houses there now. In some streets you’d think you were in the Quarter.”

“Except mostly black people live there,” Aurelia said. “What? Why are you all looking at me like that? I’m just saying the truth.”

“Those houses by Basin Street High are coming down next week,” said Ling, with a significant glance at Rebecca.

“I guess you have to weigh what’s more important to a neighborhood — the people who live there now, or the people who used to live there,” said Rebecca’s dad. “And much as I love the craftsmanship and history of some of those houses, a neighborhood isn’t just about pieces of wood. As we saw after Katrina, those things can get swept away by floodwaters, or blown to pieces by the wind. A neighborhood, a community — it’s about the people.”

Rebecca thought about the burned-down Bowman mansion, a landmark for more than one hundred fifty years in the Garden District, but now gone forever. Just thinking of that night last year reminded her of Toby lurking in the city again, chasing Aurelia through the streets. What was he planning this time? Another fire? Given how much he apparently loved New Orleans, he didn’t seem averse to burning half of it down. It was bad enough dealing with ghosts without Toby entering the fray.

“But I do see your point, Ling,” Rebecca’s father was saying,
“about the importance of legacy in a neighborhood. You’re absolutely right. How much of it can you remove or replace without destroying it altogether? Like Storyville, the place that witnessed the birth of jazz. Places where Louis Armstrong and Joe Oliver and Jelly Roll Morton lived and played — all gone.”

“Do you remember Storyville, Mama?” Aurelia asked, her mouth full.

“Baby, I’m not
that
old,” said Aunt Claudia. “Storyville was knocked down when my grandmamma was a tiny little girl.”

“So that’s what I’m saying.” Ling waggled her fork in the air to help make her point. “When you take away the buildings, you take away the history of a place.”

“But history lives in people as well as buildings,” Rebecca’s father pointed out. “In traditions and customs.”

“Red beans and rice,” said Aunt Claudia, smiling.

“Gumbo,” said Aurelia, her mouth still full.

“So when we’re talking about Tremé,” said Rebecca’s father, “a much bigger concern is the one Rafael’s grandmother was talking about the other day. Prices going up may be a bigger threat to the history of the neighborhood, and to the history of the city, than houses coming down. If you take the people out of Tremé — the social clubs, the musicians, the Mardi Gras Indians — then you disperse that living, breathing culture.
Maybe you even kill it off. So you’ll be left with pretty streets lined with pretty houses, but those streets’ll be empty. Or else it’ll be like the Quarter, filling the void with tourists. And the story the neighborhood is telling, its own particular history that draws on tradition and invents new ones, like jazz, will go quiet. The soul will be gone.”

Rebecca sighed.

“This is a very depressing conversation,” declared Aunt Claudia.

“Miss Viola says her family mask as Indians,” Rebecca told her father. “She said we should ask Raf about it. Ask to see his dad’s house.”

“You don’t need to go to anyone’s daddy’s house to see Indians,” said Aunt Claudia. “You can see Indians on Friday at Jazz Fest. I don’t know — you girls, running around in Tremé!”

She raised an eyebrow at Rebecca’s father, and he nodded, as if they’d agreed something in advance.

“You know, I’ve been hearing stories at City Hall today,” he said, cutting a piece of flaky white fish piled high with buttery crabmeat. “About some things going down in Tremé at the moment. I’m wondering if you girls really need to go back tomorrow.”

“Oh, but we have to!” Rebecca exclaimed. They
really, really
had to go back to Tremé. Her father had no idea. Aurelia, on
the other hand, was watching Rebecca intently, her pretty face screwed up into a frown.

“We promised we would,” added Ling. “Just one more day.”

“I’m sure they won’t miss you,” said Aunt Claudia. “They seemed to have a lot of helpers this afternoon.”

“And it’s just not a good place for you two to be wandering around,” Rebecca’s father said.

“We’re not really wandering around,” Ling pointed out. “We’re on school property and completely supervised the whole time by Mr. Boyd.”

“And he is
really mean
,” said Aurelia. “Every single girl on my litter squad was a victim of Mr. Boyd’s unfair detention policies. They said it was practically a violation of their human rights.”

“So really, we’re
more
safe there, if you think about it.” Ling was on a roll. Rebecca could only sit back and marvel at her ingenuity. “Anyone engaging in crime within two hundred yards of a public school — well, that’s a federal offense.”

“I should have insisted on driving you home today!” Aunt Claudia said. “I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if something had happened after I left.”

Rebecca didn’t look at Ling in case a guilty expression gave them away.

“Maybe I’ll come over in a cab and get you tomorrow,” Rebecca’s father said. “I can finish up early.”

Rebecca stared down at her napkin, wishing everyone would stop freaking out. She and Ling had a lot to accomplish tomorrow, and adult interference would only make things more complicated.

Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket, and Rebecca surreptitiously pulled it free. Maybe it was Anton. Maybe he’d seen them walking into Commander’s, though — she had to admit — he’d need to be sitting on the roof of his house with a telescope to manage that.

Her dad had a strict no-texts-at-dinner policy back in New York, but everyone was preoccupied right now with the orange juice Aurelia had just spilled all over the table. Rebecca glanced at her cell phone screen and frowned: It wasn’t Anton. It was a number she didn’t recognize.

enjoying commanders?

Rebecca was puzzled. Who
was
this? The phone buzzed again. Caller ID unknown.

looking for a locket?

Rebecca stifled a gasp. Her blood was roaring in her ears. Could this be from Amy or Jessica? But the menacing tone of the texts didn’t seem to fit.

Her phone buzzed a third time; another message was blinking.

how bout looking on st philip, stupid girl????

Stupid girl.
The exact thing Toby had said to Aurelia.

Toby Sutton. This had to be Toby Sutton. Rebecca glanced around in terror. How did he know they were at the restaurant: Was he watching them? Following them? How did he get ahold of her number?

And how could
anyone
possibly know about the house on St. Philip Street?

T
he rain had stopped, but the streets were still drenched. They walked back to Aunt Claudia’s the long way around the cemetery because, Rebecca suspected, her father and aunt didn’t want her to have to pass the Coliseum Street gate. Bad stuff from the past, Rebecca thought. They had no idea of all this bad stuff in the present.

Everyone moved at a glacial pace along Prytania, wind rustling the oak trees and showering them with a spittle of raindrops. Aurelia was walking with Ling, jabbering away a mile a minute, and Aunt Claudia and Rebecca’s father were deep in conversation. Rebecca’s heart was pounding. Was Toby somewhere nearby, hiding, waiting to pounce? Why was everyone walking so slowly? Her head was jerking in every direction, following every shadow, every rustle, every passing car.

There was too much to think about. Someone — most likely Toby Sutton — was threatening her. Gideon Mason, the nasty
ghost, was threatening her. Aurelia was The Girl Who Knew Too Much, and highly unlikely to stay quiet for long. It was Wednesday night, and they were leaving on Saturday, which meant there was almost no time left to get into the boarded-up house in Tremé and find the hidden locket. Tomorrow night they’d be at the dreaded Spring Dance; much of the next day would be consumed by Jazz Fest. This was the most stressful spring break ever.

Because everyone was still dawdling while Rebecca strode ahead, she rounded the corner of Lafayette Cemetery before the rest of the group. A silver Audi was zooming up Sixth Street, so fast it took Rebecca’s breath away. It swerved left onto Prytania without stopping or even slowing down, and Rebecca could make out the color of the driver’s hair — bright red. The car then screeched off into the distance, skidding a little on the wet road.

A yellow moon glinted between cracks in the clouds, beaming a sickly light onto the cemetery’s pale walls. Rebecca stood still, trying to compute what she’d just seen. An expensive car that looked a lot like the one usually parked in Anton’s driveway, driven by someone with bright red hair. Toby Sutton.

And standing on the other side of Sixth Street, looking at her with a mix of dismay and dread, was Anton.

Everyone else had gone inside the house on Sixth Street, hustled in by Aunt Claudia, despite Aurelia’s protests.

“Rebecca promised she’d talk to
me
after dinner tonight!” she grumbled as Ling steered her up the front steps. “You guys are going to see Anton tomorrow. Why does she need to talk to him
now
?”

Everyone else thought they were being so tactful and discreet, letting Rebecca and Anton have their romantic moment together out there in the moonlight while the rest of them hurried inside for a cup of Aunt Claudia’s weird herbal tea. They had no idea — not even Ling — that Rebecca was almost speechless with indignation.

She stood, arms folded, on the sidewalk, staring at the empty parking space in the Grey mansion’s cobbled yard.

“Toby was visiting
you
, wasn’t he?” she demanded. “This afternoon he was in the Quarter, chasing my cousin through the streets! And now he’s sending me abusive texts!”

“That
was
Toby,” admitted Anton. He looked utterly dejected. “He texted me and said he wanted to talk. I don’t know how he got hold of a car. I think his parents cut off his credit card so he couldn’t rent one.”

Rebecca didn’t care about Toby’s car. He was dangerous enough on foot.

“Why is he chasing my cousin? Why is he
stalking
me? What is his problem?”

“I don’t know.” Anton shook his head. “But like I’ve been trying to tell you — I think he’s really losing it. I’m trying to calm him down. Believe me.”

“I don’t know why I should believe you,” Rebecca said, fighting back angry tears. “Remember what you were saying last Sunday up at the lake? About how it’s impossible to break with the past?”

“I didn’t say it was impossible,” said Anton softly. He sidled toward her, but Rebecca backed away. “And I wasn’t talking about
me
. Toby’s the one who can’t let this thing go. He’s still really upset about what happened last year — probably because of what happened to
his
family and
her
family after Helena died. They don’t even live in New Orleans anymore. The old group is broken up. Everything is over. Maybe that’s why he can’t forgive you. Why he’s blaming you.”

“That stupid curse had nothing to do with me.” Rebecca kicked at the curb. “It wasn’t me who brought that thing down on our heads. It was all about what happened a century and a half ago! And whose fault was that?
His
family and
your
family and
Helena’s
family!”

“But Rebecca,” Anton said softly, “Helena’s family
is
your family. You’re really a Bowman, just like Helena is. Helena was, I mean.”

He bowed his head, his face pale. Rebecca may not have liked Helena much, but she’d been Anton’s friend since childhood.

“I … I …” Rebecca didn’t know what to say. He was right, of course. She was part of the Bowman family, whether she liked it or not. The Suttons, the Greys, and the Bowmans were all bound up together in the curse. Now, even when the curse had ended, they were still bound up together, one way or another. They would be for the rest of their lives.

“I should go in, I guess,” she said, swiping at her face to wipe tears away. “Everyone will be waiting….”

“Not yet.” He came close, and this time she didn’t back away. She wanted to trust Anton. She wanted to believe him. When he stood this close, it was hard to breathe. His shirt smelled of pine.

“There’s something you should see,” he said in a low voice. “In the cemetery.”