Darkness Becomes Her

Eight

SEBASIAN FILLED ME IN AS WE WALKED ACROSS THE SQUARE. Flanking each side of St. Louis Cathedral were two enormous historic buildings. The Presbytère, on the right, had been converted into the Novem’s swanky private school/college, which Sebastian was supposed to attend but ditched on a regular basis. And the building on the left was the Cabildo, which remained a museum as it had since pre — New 2 days, but the second and third floors had been taken over by the Novem as their official place of business. This was also where they held the Council of Nine meetings, attended only by the head of each family.

And each family had apartments and private offices in the two Pontalba apartment buildings that ran along both sides of the Square.

Apparently, Jackson Square was Novem central.

With every step across the square and toward the building, my muscles became more tense. I craned my neck to stare again at the tall spire of St. Louis Cathedral. “So how far back does your family go exactly?”

“The first Arnaud came to New Orleans in 1777. He was the third son of a noble family from the Narbonne area in France.”

A trio of musicians played near the benches in front of the cathedral. The wind picked up, and low clouds blocked the sun. The air turned damp and cold with the threat of rain. A few drops started to fall just as we ducked under one of the archways of the Cabildo building.

A hollow, hushed atmosphere greeted us on the inside. There were a few permanent exhibits, but I didn’t exactly have time to look around as Sebastian ushered me to a flight of stairs.

The second-floor landing had been retrofitted to resemble a fancy office building, complete with a central receptionist desk. Sebastian let go of my hand as the guy behind the desk glanced up, recognized him, and gave a faint nod before returning to his work.

Our footsteps echoed loudly over the polished wood floors as we made our way down the long gallery fronting the building. The stormy light from outside poured through the arched windows, illuminating the space in an eerie glow. Halfway down, a hallway intersected with the gallery.

Sebastian turned. I followed. No windows. No artificial light. Just a corridor that got darker and darker the farther in we went.

We stopped at the last door on the right. My pulse drummed steady in my ears. Josephine Arnaud had paid my mother’s co-pay. They had to have known each other. She might even know my father. I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying not to get too hopeful. But I was so close.

The waiting room we entered was just as old and sacred as the rest of the building. The furniture looked way too expensive to sit on, and the paintings on the walls were probably worth a few million. I wished there was some sort of piped-in music, something other than this ominous quiet.

A man looked up from his desk as we approached. He was handsome, in his thirties probably, and not what I’d picture a secretary looking like. Dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. A widow’s peak. Very classic features.

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing on Sebastian. “Have you come to your senses yet, Bastian?”

Sebastian stiffened. “My senses are right where they should be, Daniel.”

“I hardly call ditching classes and living in some rotting old Garden Dis—”

“Just tell Josephine we’re here.”

Daniel’s dark eyes held Sebastian’s for a long, tense second before they fell on me. “So you found her,” he said, sizing me up and probably wondering what the hell the old lady wanted me for anyway. “Madame will be pleased. You can go in.” He picked up the phone and mumbled quietly as we crossed the room to a set of double doors.

Sebastian turned to me, giving me an eye roll that said, This is about to be loads of fun before pushing open the door. I drew in a deep breath and prepared to meet the person who might have all the answers.

A raven-haired woman put down the phone and slowly stood, tugging down the bottom edge of a rose-colored blazer over a matching skirt, a crisp white blouse underneath. Her dark hair was up in a twist, and she wore pearl earrings and a cameo necklace. Very old money. Very old world. And, from the looks of her, very not a grandma.

“Bonjour, Grandmère.” Sebastian leaned in to kiss both sides of her cheeks.

My eyelids fell closed for a moment, and then I shook my head, wanting to laugh. Really, how much more screwed up could this get? That woman had to be in her early twenties. There was no way in hell she was his grandmother. Any fool with half a brain could see that.

Sebastian moved back. Josephine’s gaze zeroed in on me.

He’d lied. He’d fed me a bunch of bullshit and I’d believed him. God, how stupid could I be? All I felt was idiocy, idiocy for believing some jerk of a guy. And why? Because he was cute, because he had shown some interest in me? “Whatever,” I muttered, then spun on my heel and marched to the door, trying like mad not to feel hurt.

I didn’t know what game he was playing, but I was done.

“Ari.”

I didn’t stop. Sebastian’s hand closed around my arm. I whirled on him, fist clenched and wanting to take a swing. “Is this some kind of game to you, Sebastian? What, you had a free day and nothing to do, so why not mess around with the new girl? Have some fun? See how far you could lead me on? Get off me.” I wrenched my arm away, not meeting those false gray eyes. “Just forget it.” I made for the door.

He appeared in front of me, blocking the door.

I gasped, drawing up short, my face draining of blood. He’d moved way too fast.

Somewhere I heard my brain telling me to run, to hit him and make for the stairs, but I couldn’t move.

His eyes held worry and regret, and maybe even a little pleading. His jaw flexed with frustration. “I’m sorry, Ari,” he said under his breath. “I thought”—he rubbed a hand down his face—“I thought you’d be okay with it. Look at what you’ve seen so far. Remember what I told you in the café? About the doué, about being different? I wasn’t lying. We are different.” His eyes rolled to the ceiling. Both his hands clamped onto my biceps. “I’m trying to help you. I swear to you, she is my grandmother.”

I took a step back and blinked hard, trying to shake away the mental fuzziness that was invading my head. Yeah, I’d been handling all the weird shit pretty well so far. So sue me. Now it was falling down like a freaking deluge and I couldn’t escape it, couldn’t put it all into a neat little compartment and ignore it. “What exactly are you?”

A lock of black hair fell over his eye, and he shoved it back with a deep sigh. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His jaw went tight, and it seemed like he truly didn’t know how to answer my question.

“He is an Arnaud,” came a sultry, French-accented voice.

Sebastian’s lips stretched into a grim line, as though he wished he was anything but an Arnaud.

“Come, sit down. Both of you,” she said.

After a good glare at Sebastian, I turned and went to one of two empty chairs in front of Josephine’s desk. Fine. Whatever was going on. . didn’t really matter. What did matter was getting answers about my mother. After that, I was out of there.

“Well,” she began, scrutinizing me from head to toe, “except for that mark on your cheek, you look very much like your mother.”

My eyes went wide. One hand gripped the back of the chair and the other went to my stomach. Those words sent a tidal wave of shock through me. I had fuzzy memories, sure, but always questioned them. Always wondered.

Finally a question of mine had been answered, and it left me with an odd sense of happiness and hurt.

“Please sit.” Josephine sat back in her own chair and studied me with a calculating look.

Breathe. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sebastian take a seat. My pulse was going too fast, and my limbs had gone weak. Maybe sitting down was a good idea.

“When Rocquemore House called me, I didn’t believe it. But”—Josephine spread out her hands and smiled, which obviously was a rare event, because it looked like her skin was about to crack—“look at you. Here you are.”

“So you knew about Rocquemore. You knew my mother was there.”

“Your mother fled New Orleans against my advice. It took a few months, but it wasn’t difficult to find her.”

“And then you just left her there.”

“What would you have suggested, child? Her mind was slipping away. She needed constant monitoring. The hospital was the best place for her. Unfortunately, by the time we found her, you were already lost in the system, or else you would have had a home here with us.”

Sebastian let out a small snort.

“How did you know my mother?”

“Eleni came to me for help a few months before the hurricanes struck. Your mother was a very special woman, Ari. You must know this already, oui?”

“If by ‘special’ you mean cursed, then yeah, I know.”

Josephine shrugged like it was tomatoes or tom-ah-toes.

“And my father?”

“Your father was a secret that Eleni kept to herself.”

The bitch was lying. And she wasn’t trying to hide it either. I crossed my arms over my chest. “And who are you exactly?”

“I am Josephine Isabella Arnaud. Daughter of Jacques Arnaud, founder of this family, the first of us to step foot in New Orleans.”

I laughed, sharp and loud, an on-the-verge-of-a-mental-breakdown kind of laugh. “So you’re the daughter of a man who came here in 1777? So that’d make you what? Three hundred plus years? You sure you shouldn’t be at Rocquemore yourself?”

A throaty chuckle rumbled in Josephine’s throat. “You have more spirit than she did. More. . attitude.”

Frustration welled in my chest with every passing second. “Why did you help my mother?”

“She was afraid. Alone. The only one of her kind, she said. I sensed she was different, but not until later did I truly understand the magnitude of her power.”

“Which was?”

“I want to help you, Ari. There are people out there who would see you dead for what is inside you. Your mother should have stayed in New Orleans like I advised, but she panicked when the storms came. She didn’t believe I could protect her, that we all, combined, could protect this city. But we did. And now we own it. She might still be alive if she’d stayed.” She fiddled with the pen on her desk for a moment. “I have asked to see you to offer my protection while you’re in our city. Together we will delve into your past and uncover this gift you have been given. But in return, you must grant your allegiance to me, a blood oath to the Arnaud family and no other.”

“Was that what you asked of my mother? You weren’t just helping out of the goodness of your heart?”

Josephine laughed. “I do not have a heart, my dear. Just ask my grandson.” Sebastian’s response was a smirk. “Do we have an agreement, child?”

“Will you give your word to lift my curse?”

“The power of the nine families can do anything. And oui, I give you my word.”

I didn’t plan on being in New 2 for very long after this thing, this curse my mother had died from, was out of my life for good. I had no intention of delving into my past with Josephine, but she didn’t need to know that. I didn’t trust a word uttered from her perfect lips. But I couldn’t deny the fact that Josephine’s name was on those hospital records. She had known my mother. There had been a disappearing dead guy who tried to kill me. Did I believe Josephine could erase this curse? Doubtful. But I was here now. There was no one else to make the attempt, and I didn’t have a problem with flat-out lying to get her cooperation. “Fine. You lift my curse and I’ll give you my oath.”

“Give me two days to arrange the ritual. You will remain under the watchful eye of the Arnaud family. Etienne will be your guard. And you may stay—”

Sebastian shot to his feet. “The hell she’s staying with you.”

“Your thoughts or desires hold very little significance in my decision making, Sebastian.”

“Etienne is an asshole.”

Josephine ignored the outburst, propped both arms on her desk, and eyed Sebastian thoughtfully. “What, pray tell, would you have me do?”

“Not burden her with Etienne, for one.”

I finally stood. Whatever. They could stay here all day and fight it out. “Thanks for the offer, but I can take care of myself. I’ll need to call my foster parents and let them know I’ll be staying a little longer.”

The only sound in the room was the faint rumble of thunder in the distance. “Fine,” Josephine said at last. “Go. I have work to do. Sebastian will watch over you. Daniel will help you with your call.” She turned her attention to the files on her desk, but then paused. “I will expect you in two days’ time.”

I was trembling by the time Daniel made the call to Memphis. The Novem had working phones. And probably Internet, too.

Daniel handed me the phone. On the fourth ring, Casey picked up. “Sanderson Bail and Bonds, this is Casey.”

I walked to the far wall. Sebastian waited by the door, leaning his back against it, arms crossed over his chest and impatient as hell to leave.

“Casey. It’s me.”

“Jesus Christ, Ari. Where are you? Bruce keeps trying your cell and all he gets is voice mail. We thought you’d be driving back by now.” She paused, and I could picture her — the two lines between her eyebrows deepening with worry, tucking her shoulder-length red hair behind one ear. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. I met someone who knew my mother. She wants me to stay for a few days. I want to stay for a few days.”

“Oh. Well. .” Her long pause told me I’d completely thrown her. “You know I want this for you, Ari. And I won’t stand in your way if this is what you want. But I am responsible for you. Is she there? Can I speak to her?”

I winced. “Sure. But before you freak out. .” Deep breath. “I’m in New 2. And I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want me going alone, but I had a lead, and it was just a quick trip and then I met Josephine and. .” I paused for air, suddenly not knowing what to say next, only knowing that I’d blown it and lied, lied to the first set of foster parents who actually gave a damn.

Silence on the other end.

Finally Casey’s exhale wafted through the phone. “I guess I had a feeling you might go after finding out about the hospital. Look, I get it, I really do. But you can’t go running off without letting us know where you are. You’re not eighteen yet. Bruce and I, we care what happens to you. I know that’s probably hard to believe sometimes, but—”

“No,” I cut her off. “I know you care. I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

“Well, besides Bruce making you clean the office bathroom and do some sparring, I think we’re okay. You know how he is about hard work making one think. Just. . don’t shut us out, okay? It doesn’t solve anything, doesn’t help anything.”

“Okay.” I’m sorry. So sorry. Didn’t matter how many times I told her, or told myself, I knew I’d never be able to relate how bad I felt inside.

“I’ve got an appointment in five. Let me talk to this Josephine person.”

Sebastian was right behind me on the stairs, yelling at me to wait, but I didn’t wait. To hell with him.

Anger and humiliation coursed through my blood. Anger at him, at Josephine, and at myself for lying. I was shit. Smelly, stinking shit, but what other kind was there really? Bruce was going to freak out when he found out. And Casey, her disappointment. . God, that stung. I’d rather have her scream at me than just accept what I’d done, be understanding, and try to move on. I didn’t deserve it. And the worst part about it, I’d broken their trust.

By the time I burst through the ground-floor door and out into the wet street, I was so mad I could’ve screamed.

A fine drizzle fell. The musicians had retired and the street was empty. Lights from the ground-floor stores of the Pontalba apartments glowed warm in the gray mist, making the area seem totally desolate.

I paced in the middle of the street, grateful for the chill, wondering if the steam coming off me was from body heat or pure, white-hot anger, which I turned on Sebastian. “What the hell are you? And don’t change the fucking subject, or offer one of your vague-ass replies. I’m serious, Sebastian; I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

I waited, hands on hips, watching him as his stiff posture gave way. “My mother was an Arnaud,” he said. “But no matter what they say, I am more like my father.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “The nine families are divided into three groups. The Cromleys, Hawthornes, and Lamarlieres are witches of great power.” He winced at the word “witches,” looking like he’d rather have his teeth pulled without an ounce of Novocain. He tilted his face to the rain and took one more deep breath. “The Ramseys, Deschanels, and Sinclairs are all some form of demigod or shape-shifter. And the Arnauds, Mandevilles, and Baptistes are what you might call. . vampires.”

A slow blink was my only reaction.

The rest happened on the inside, the sink in my stomach, the cold freeze in my veins, and the realization that every word he said was true.

Really. It all fit. People beyond The Rim just laughed and shook their heads at the reports of paranormal activity, at the crazy claims of vampires and ghosts and other sightings in New 2. And me, with my curse. The kids on First Street. Sebastian and his ability to make those two women complete robots …

“You’re a vampire.” I laughed.

Yeah, and you watched a guy disappear into smoke, Ari.

“Half,” he came back, as if there was a huge difference. “My father wasn’t a vampire. He was a Lamarliere. I’m not some three-hundred-year-old pervert who kisses teenage girls, okay? I’m the same age as you. Born just like you.”

He threw his hands up, gave me a look that said, I know you think I’m crazy, and then turned and marched down the middle of the street. Raindrops trickled down the side of my face. Ahead of him the French Quarter seemed lost in clouds and mist. Then suddenly he spun around, walking backward for a few steps, throwing his arms wide and shouting in frustration, “Welcome to New 2!”

He was in pain, and I didn’t know why. He turned once more and hunched his shoulders against the drizzle. My heart worked overtime. My body was trembling uncontrollably, from the cold and from his words.

It shouldn’t surprise me. It shouldn’t. Especially after living with my own weirdness, and hearing all the theories and stories that had gone around about the Novem. And the curse. The kids in the Garden District.

What are you going to do, Ari? Run away? Act like you’re all normal and can’t handle weird shit like this? Or stay and cope and figure out what you are?

I paced in the street like a caged lion, back and forth, my eyes on Sebastian’s form blending into the mist. I bit the inside of my cheek until blood hit my tongue and stung some humanity into me, some realness. These people still bled. They still died. They still loved, hurt, and wanted to survive. And so did the doué, the gifted ones. So did the Novem.

“Sebastian!”

I sprinted down the street.

He walked a few more steps before turning around, the rain coming down hard now. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing or why. But I launched myself into him, wrapping my arms around him and holding on tight.

At first he remained stiff, through shock or anger, I didn’t know, but then he squeezed me back, pulling me even closer, tighter, until his nose was buried against my neck.

Finally, after we were soaked through, he lifted his head and stared down at me, his hands cupping my face. “I thought you’d tell me to fuck off, and you’d leave. I thought every word I spoke was the last time I’d see you.”

“Please. I can deal. Do you have any idea how screwed up I am?”

His crooked smile transformed his face. “Yeah. I’ve got some idea.”

My belly went warm again. Sebastian kissed me, his lips wet from the rain.