Darkness Becomes Her (9 page)

A
MELLOW JAZZ TUNE PLAYED COMPANION TO THE STEADY
thud of Sebastian’s heart, the piano notes meandering through my waking mind like a tranquil breeze. Dull remnants of pain clung to the curve of my skull, a reminder of my breakdown in the middle of Dumaine Street and the arms that held me—that
still
held me.

The right side of my face pressed against the soft cotton of Sebastian’s T-shirt, my ear over his heart. One of his hands cupped the back of my neck, his fingers tangled in my loose hair. His other hand was splayed on my lower back, palm against the bare skin where my shirt had ridden up. Warmth surrounded me. His warmth. His smell. His arms. His legs were braced on either side of me, my hip snuggled squarely against his crotch.

The more I woke, the more my rising pulse drowned out the beat of Sebastian’s heart. A cool sensation swept into my stomach. Every nerve ending came alive from being that close … and being embarrassed as hell that I’d clung to him for this long.

Might as well get it over with.

Drawing in a subtle breath and biting down on my lip, I lifted my head and opened my eyes. Using both hands, one on Sebastian’s chest and the other near his shoulder, I pushed myself to a sitting position between his legs as the weight of my hair fell around my face. I’d never had my hands on a guy like this. Never felt the warmth and the muscle and the give of skin beneath my palms.

Once I was up, my eyes landed on Sebastian. For once, I was glad that my hair was down and shielding my face. At least then, I could hide.

Sebastian’s head rested back against the dark green seat, his body snuggled into the V of a corner booth. A bartender polished a bar top as a piano player played, and a waitress served drinks to the only other couple in the dark room. The front door was open to the street outside.

When I returned my gaze to Sebastian, his eyes were half-open and fixed on me in a quiet, unreadable way. The color seemed to smolder like smoke, a mist of gray and silver. His lips had become deep red in his relaxed state. His head still rested
against the seat, and his pale throat bobbed in a faint swallow. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

For once, I wasn’t embarrassed that my hair was down. My mind became calm, totally at ease, though my body was another story. Blood thrummed through my veins at the speed of light. Small shafts of tingling energy shot out randomly from my stomach.

Sebastian lifted his hand and gently threaded his fingers through my hair. My heart thudded hard when he took the same hand and brought it to my cheek, sliding it through my hair and cupping my head, guiding me to him.

It was as though I still slept, still existed in dreamland.

And it seemed the same for him, because his body was completely at ease. There was no pause, no hesitation, just a slow unstoppable journey to his lips.

My stomach did a three-sixty as my lips hovered above his for a feathery moment, so close our breath mingled. Then my lips brushed his.

A shot of cool adrenaline swept through my system. The pressure of our lips increased. His parted. Mine followed. The slide of his tongue against mine made butterflies in my stomach.

Butterflies. Now I understood what that meant.

He pulled me closer, tighter, deepening the kiss, as though starving, yet taking the time to savor every second. I knew how to
kiss, knew the mechanics involved, but this was the first time I’d ever lost myself, ever wanted it more than breathing, and wanted to keep doing it until time stood still and the earth faded away.

I was alive. Not just existing, but truly alive.

“Oh, shoot!” came a shocked voice at the other side of the table. I broke away with a gasp, just catching the waitress’s grin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. I can come back later. …”

Sebastian straightened, rubbed a hand down his face, and then dragged his fingers through his hair. I cleared my throat, finally feeling that embarrassment I’d been missing earlier, though it did nothing to swamp the heat from our kiss, heat that felt insanely good and tense and enthralling all at the same time. “It’s okay,” I managed despite my ragged breathing. “I’d love some water, if you have any.”

Of course they have water. What an asinine thing to say.

“Anything for you, Sebastian?”

“Water, too, Pam. Thanks.”

Pam left the table as Sebastian’s hands settled on my hips. “How are you feeling?” Pink blushed his cheeks for just a second. “I mean your head.” He laughed at himself. “Does it still hurt?”

“No. It’s fine. Thanks, though … for helping. Where are we?”

“Gabonna’s. A block over from where you collapsed. I come here all the time. Does that happen a lot?”

“Does what happen a lot?”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “The screaming in the street. Falling to your knees. Crying …”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure how to answer. I’d been having migraines more frequently lately, but nothing of
that
magnitude before. The waitress returned with the waters. I chugged half the glass. The cold liquid woke me up and cleared my head. I set the glass down and then twisted my hair into a knot.

“You should wear it down.”

My cheeks were still warm, but I was smiling as I fixed my hair. “Is that a compliment?”

“It is. I like it. It’s …”

“Weird? Bizarre? Different? Yeah, I get that all the time.” I rolled my eyes, finishing.

“I was going to say pretty.”

“Oh.” Great.
Way to go, moron.
It was obvious that I sucked in the guy department. I hadn’t exactly had much practice with the whole flirting and boy thing. Most of my time had been spent avoiding guys or fighting with the ones who refused to
let
me avoid them.

“Sorry,” I said, deciding to be honest. “Look, I don’t really do the guy thing. Or the kissing thing …”

“So no boyfriends back home?”

I couldn’t tell if he thought it was funny or if he really wanted to know. Looked like a mix of both. “No.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, guess I haven’t come across many who can think beyond sports, hormones, and partying.”

“And you don’t do those things?”

I shrugged. “Maybe I would have in another life. The things that are important to the kids my age stopped being important to me a long time ago, or never were.” I made a half bow. “Behold, a product of underfunded, nobody-gives-a-shit social services.”

He laughed. “It’s almost lunchtime. And as good as the food is here, I have something else in mind. What do you say we get out of here?”

“What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Beignets.”

My stomach rumbled at the idea. “Now
that
I can do.” Sebastian returned my grin with one of his own. And then it dawned on me that we were sitting there smiling at each other like two idiots. I broke eye contact and scooted from the bench, grabbing my backpack as Sebastian dug into his front pocket for a few dollars to leave on Pam’s table.

Clouds had gathered outside, but nothing to suggest a storm brewing. The shade was a godsend, because I was pretty sure, after my migraine from hell, that my head wouldn’t be able to handle bright light anytime soon.

Outside Gabonna’s, Sebastian whistled to one of the carriages plodding down Saint Ann Street. The driver waved, made a U-turn in the street, and then pulled up alongside us. “
Bonjour, mes amis.
Where can me and Miss Praline take you on this fine day?”

He had an infectious white smile, which I returned as I climbed into the back of the creaking carriage. I hadn’t imagined my foray into New 2 would involve a tourist ride through the French Quarter, but I was glad for the distraction … and the company. “Jackson Square,” Sebastian told the driver as he sat down beside me.

“You hear that, Miss Praline? Jackson Square.” The driver flicked the reins over her large rump, and Miss Praline lengthened her stride.

We wouldn’t get there in record time, but I supposed that was the point; go slow and savor the sights and sounds of the French Quarter. Sebastian’s shoulder leaned into mine, so I took his cue and relaxed against him. Weird, but I liked it.

I needed a break like this, needed to forget all the dark things for a little while, so I listened to the driver point out places of interest and followed Sebastian’s finger whenever he showed me something he thought I’d like.

“And this,” the driver said as we rode slowly past a three-story house on the corner with double porches and wrought-iron
railings, “was said to be the home of Alice Cromley.”

The name, the same name Jean Solomon had said, prickled my skin. I exchanged a quick glance with Sebastian, and then bent forward to ask the driver, “Who was Alice Cromley?”

The driver angled in his red padded seat, eyes alight and eager to tell a story. “Who was Alice Cromley? Now ain’t
that
a question? Alice Cromley was a quadroon, the greatest Creole beauty the Vieux Carré had ever seen. Why, she had a bevy of suitors, but she knew about them too, ya know? Knew things a mistress ought
not
know, if ya get my meanin’.” He chuckled. “You see, Alice Cromley was what they call clairvoyant. Made a fortune telling people what they wanted to know. And she was never wrong unless she
meant
to be. One day, she just up and vanished. Just like that. Couple weeks later, they found two bodies floatin’ in the Mississippi. Hard to identify ’cause, well, they’d been there for a while. But some say one of the poor departed souls was wearing Alice’s finest gown.” He laughed and clucked to the slow-moving mule. “One of her lovers made her a tomb in a cemetery round here. Nobody knows which one. It’s said he placed both bodies inside, figuring one of them had to be his beloved Alice.” The man shrugged. “Guess he figured one out of two ain’t bad.”

And her bones, according to Jean Solomon, could tell me the past.
Yeah. Fat chance of that.

The carriage rolled by St. Louis Cathedral and into Jackson Square.

I forgot about Alice Cromley for the moment to admire the tall spire of the cathedral as Miss Praline pulled us down the length of the Pontalba Apartments. They were the oldest apartments in the United States, with long, cast-iron balconies, red brick, and ground-floor stores. The statue of Andrew Jackson atop his horse stood in the center of the square. There was energy here, energy that seeped into my soul and gave me a much-needed boost. Colorful. Vibrant. Beautiful. There were fortune-tellers, jewelry makers, artisans, musicians … it was an eclectic mix of everything.

Then it was toward the Riverwalk and Decatur Street, where the carriages parked.

After tipping the driver, Sebastian helped me down from the carriage and kept hold of my hand as we headed across the street to Café Du Monde. I didn’t pull my hand away; it felt good. And if he wasn’t letting go, neither was I.

The smell of freshly baked bread and coffee made my stomach grumble again as we found a seat outside under the green-and-white-striped awning.

Sebastian ordered a plate of beignets and two coffees. I was too busy people watching and admiring all the details of the square, surprised by how much green there was.

“I bet your mom brought you here.” Sebastian broke through my sightseeing.

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his dark lips. “If she lived in New Orleans, she would’ve come here. It’s kind of a fact of life.”

That was probably true. I wasn’t even a local, and I knew that everyone went to Café Du Monde. “You’re right,” I responded softly, looking around at the café. “She probably did bring me here.” If only I could remember. What would it have been like? Coming here with my mom, sitting at one of these tables …

“So, you want to find Alice Cromley?” Sebastian asked, changing the subject. He tried to hide his amusement, but lost that battle pretty quick.

“Yeah. No, thank you. I think I’d rather take my chances with your grandmother than rob some woman’s grave and grind up her bones.” A small shudder went through me as the waiter returned with our order.

“Scared?” He poured cream into his coffee. “You haven’t lived until you go grave robbing.”

A laugh spurted through my lips right before they touched the rim of my coffee cup. “Whatever you say.” The hot liquid was just the thing on a cool January day in the French Quarter. After
a few sips, I set the cup down and picked up a beignet. It steamed as I pulled it apart.

“Suit yourself,” Sebastian went on. “Dub is one of the best robbers around. You should see some of the things he’s found.”

“Dub. Dub robs graves. Are you shitting me?” The beignet melted in my mouth. I groaned—damn, they tasted good.

“A lot of kids do it. We all have to make money somehow. Crank runs the mail. I work for the Novem. Henri clears buildings of rats and snakes. And Dub robs tombs and sells stuff to tourists and antique shops.”

“That’s pretty sick.”

His eyebrow lifted in agreement. “Well, we don’t exactly spend our time thinking about sports, hormones, or partying, either.” He made the same half bow I had earlier. “Behold, a product of New 2.” He laughed. The sound was deep and infectious, and there were those incredible dimples again. …

“So tell me about the nine, the Novem.” I took another bite, wanting to change the subject from corpses and graveyards, and definitely from my growing infatuation with my tour guide. “Why do they still act so reclusive?”

“Not reclusive. They just don’t care about the outside world like you all do.”

“What do they care about, then?”

“Preserving the city”—he spoke between bites and chewing—
“the history of our people and those like us, offering refuge to like-minded individuals, a place where you’re not judged or turned into a lab experiment.”

“Lab experiment?”

He propped both elbows on the table. “New 2 is home to a lot of what the Novem call ‘gifted’ people. What do you think would happen if Violet or Dub—or I—lived beyond The Rim?”

Easy. “If they couldn’t hide their abilities, life wouldn’t be so kind,” I answered in a quiet voice, thinking of my own experiences.