Infatuate (37 page)

Lance had begun building the trees for the cemetery portion of the float and drafted me to help him. “Try not to saw off an arm, okay?” he said as he planted me in front of a table saw.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. He thought about it for a moment.

“Yeah, never mind.” He shook his head. “Just look busy and when it’s time to nail these together and paint then we’ll put you to work.” That sounded a little more doable.

Someone tugged on my sleeve and I turned around: Emma stood beside me, a clipboard and pen in her hands. “Okay, you two. Costume committee,” she said. “I’m taking a poll. Should we be skeletons or some sort of zombie-like creatures or lost souls or . . . ?” We both stared at her blankly. “What do you want to be? On the float?”

I was on the way to the community garden with Dante the following morning when I found another bottle waiting for me next door. The message inside:

H—

Whatever you’re thinking, I don’t approve, but I promised to help you. They always begin their sprees at Congo Square, midnight. I suspect they’ll be going tonight. Please promise me you will be careful. It kills me that I can’t be there to guide you. Leave word here tomorrow so I know you’re all right.

As for the other matter: I’ve been asking around and I have it on good authority from those who were there that neither you nor Lance committed any of those heinous acts. You were spectators but not participants. For the most part, those in your group have been exceptionally strong and haven’t been active players in the crimes during their tagging episodes.

Yours,

L

30. Don’t Say Another Word

Dante fortified Lance’s fleur-de-lis charm and reinforced mine. “You’ll be fine all night, but at sunup, or in any direct light, you’re obviously in trouble,” he warned, as Max looked on, his expression grave.

Connor had come by before we transformed to wish us luck. “Just be smart, guys, okay? If you’re in danger of being detected, bail out,” he ordered. A crease had begun to form between his eyes in the past few weeks, a sign that the weight of this war was taking its toll on him.

“One last thing,” Max piped up. “This is something we’ve been working on. It’s not there yet but if you scatter this at their targets right before they’re attacked, it may protect them. That’s our hope, at least. Test it out for us, okay?” He handed each of us a red-powder-filled bag.

As there were no other directions to be given, Lance and I looked at each other. “Ready?” I asked. He nodded. He put one hand on the leather bracelet at his wrist and bowed his head. I held my pendant and focused as I felt my form slip away into that haze.

We made our way to Congo Square, stealthily creeping along the more deserted streets, blending into the night so that we could barely even see each other; Lance and I were just dark smudges. If we stayed away from lamplight, we really were invisible. Our greatest challenge would be to not lose each other throughout the course of the night.

As we neared the meeting place, we heard the murmur of voices. Ahead of us, a few figures made their way over the top of the gates. But just because we were camouflaged didn’t mean we could go slipping between the bars of the park’s fence. As Dante had explained it, “It’s like a paper bag has been thrown over you— you’re still there, but you just don’t look like you.”

So, as we had so many times at the cemetery, we scaled the entryway. We ran up to the gate and grasped at the metal bars, trying our best not to rattle them. I heard Lance’s soft footsteps land on the pavement on the other side. Mine followed a second or two after. The light of the archway caught his shadow for a moment and the sight comforted me. We ventured farther into the leafy park until we happened upon them at last. There were at least two dozen people huddled together, talking, chanting, swaying as though to the same silent beat. Spirits bright, they had the buzzing pulse of a crowd waiting to be revved up and set loose.

Stragglers joined the Krewe: an older man walked up from the direction we had come and with each step closer his form metamorphosed from gray-haired and hunched over to vibrant, young, and strong. He greeted them with handshakes. Others leapt catlike into the trees, then dropped down onto nearby benches, only to spring up again onto other branches. Many shape-shifted before our eyes, assuming entirely new physiques. A familiar man, blond and slim, wandered in on the arm of a tiny figure shrouded in black; as they neared the light, we could clearly see Sister Catherine transforming into Clio, assuming the young demon’s enviable statuesque form, even borrowing her usual costume of minidress with cowboy boots. Her escort was our own fallen compatriot, Jimmy. I reached for Lance to point this out, but it took several tries until my hand grazed what I thought to be his shoulder. I felt him squeeze my arm in understanding as Jimmy took his place beside a guy with a familiar blue streak in his hair: Brody. Jimmy smacked him on the back as they spoke, like he was giving him encouragement. Ever so slowly, Brody morphed from the long-limbed, laid-back skater we knew into a musclebound all-American quarterback with a square jaw and short-cropped red hair.

Without warning, Clio sprang up into the air, landing atop a bronze sculpture, which was the bust of a jazz musician. She perched on his head like a bird, her legs crossed, gazing down at her followers, that manic smile playing at her full lips. Lance tugged me to the base of the nearest tree. We stood invisible beneath its full canopy, free to watch.

“
Bienvenue!
” she greeted them, and they called back the same welcome. “I see some have begun celebrating before the work has been done.” She pointed in our direction. Dangerously close to us, beneath another nearby tree, an embracing couple locked in a kiss appeared disengaged from the gathering. “Wylie, you should know better,” Clio said playfully. He stood now, bowing his head at her respectfully. “Save that for later. It’ll be even sweeter after the thrills that lie ahead.” Barely breathing, I drifted nearer to the couple. It was that woman, the tall one with the cascading brunette mane.

“You all know about the quota, right? While we always need new members, we need supplies as well. Choose wisely,
mes chéries.
Save the best, use the rest,” Clio trilled as though it were their own personal advertising slogan. “New recruits, don’t be shy. Enjoy, and I’ll see y’all back home with your trophies,” she said in the sweetest drawl—if you didn’t know better you’d think she was the perfect southern belle hosting a garden party. She clapped twice, which seemed to be the signal they had all been waiting for. They let out a communal roar, and then scattered into the night like a pack of wild dogs, everyone racing to throw themselves over the gate.

It took Lance and me a moment to move, overwhelmed by the sudden mass exodus into the Quarter. Together we darted out from our spot, trailing Clio. She pushed to the front of the group until they reached Bourbon Street. Then her masses fanned out, like planets orbiting the sun. She circled a trio of men clutching beers as they walked down the middle of the street and made eye contact with one, then skipped ahead of him and glanced over her shoulder, lassoing him with a look that begged him to follow. And he did. The closer he got, the faster she walked, backwards, smiling, weaving through crowds, leading him along as she darted down street after street. Within just a few blocks, she had maneuvered him into an alleyway between a pair of storefronts. Alone. We hung back and I flattened myself against a brick wall and felt for that bag of powder, getting ready to throw it.

“You caught me,” she said to him.

“I guess I did. Hi. What are you doing out all by yourself in a place like this?” he slurred.

“You from around here?” she asked, running her fingers along the wall, as she walked slowly toward him. She glided, trancelike, until a quick loss of footing made her trip—but she caught herself with a smile. Her quarry was so transfixed he probably didn’t notice. But my stomach dropped as it occurred to me that she must have stumbled over a shadowy Lance.

“You’re a cute one, aren’t you?” she purred at the man. He was barely her height and his body was soft, without being plump, rather just encased in a layer of insulation where muscle tone may once have been—someone perhaps who had replaced playing sports with watching them. She wound her arms around his neck as though about to kiss him, but something shiny glinted in her hand.

It happened too fast, all at once. I reached into my pocket, gathering a handful of the powder to throw as the masses descended. One of her female followers knocked right into me. I dropped the powder just as Clio plunged a knifelike spike into her victim’s neck. I tried to stifle my gasp, stumbling away from the pack. Vultures, they swooped in, picking him apart. Then just as fast, they dispersed, some transforming into various alter egos.

But a few hung back. “Clio, I almost thought you were going to keep him around.” It was the girl who had bumped into me. Her long hair hung in a wispy braid swept to one side.

“I know.” Clio sighed, lighting a cigarette with her index finger. “I thought about it. He seemed kinda sweet. But I prefer to start the night with a body, not a soul. Just sets the right mood, y’know? Plenty of captures out there to be had. They need to be really somethin’ special to be one of us.” They seemed to float back out into the night. The man lay on the ground in a pool of blood, his chest split open. I wished I hadn’t looked.

“I was too slow,” I heard from the shadows across the alley from me. A regretful Lance.

“Me too,” I said, the words sickening me.

“Next time,” he whispered, his footsteps nearing. “C’mon, before we lose them.” We began running until we landed back on Bourbon Street. Clio had reconnected with Wylie and his paramour, and this time we stuck close to him. He clutched the girl to his side, his arm holding her against his hip, shielding her as they wandered through the crowd, scanning faces. Bourbon Street was so bright, we had to be careful, keeping our distance from the neon bar signs. We found it was safest amid the crush of people walking in the street, near enough to Wylie to catch bits of his conversation.

“You choose, my pet,” he said into her hair. She pointed, smiling broadly, as though selecting a new puppy. And then their pace picked up. They floated toward a twentysomething woman modestly dressed in jeans, a tank top, and fitted blazer, walking with a handful of friends. She seemed the type that had been dragged along on a girls’ night out, succumbing to the pressures of the wilder ringleader of the group: a disheveled reveler, who pranced down the street singing along to one of the songs drifting out of the loudest bar on the block. I couldn’t imagine how this seemingly sensible sober young woman would be captured.

But Wylie and his partner walked past this target and quickly exchanged glances and that’s when I saw it. They pinpointed every Krewe member within a twenty-foot radius and all those eyes transfixed their prey in her place, rooting and trapping her there. She appeared at ease as her friends wandered off a few steps ahead, and then Wylie and his partner looped back around, coming up behind the young woman, and took their places on either side of her. He threw his arm around the target’s shoulder and I lunged, pushing past the bodies in front of me, to toss a handful of the dust, just as Wylie sunk something into her bicep. It looked like a long black spike, laced with poison, I could only imagine. He stabbed sharp and quick then yanked it out, tucking the evidence back into his pocket. For the briefest moment she lost her footing, like any other tipsy bar-hopper might have. But the two of them anchored her, leading her away.

I had failed again, and the night had only begun. I stopped moving for a moment, jostled on all sides by people out to have a good time amid others out to destroy them. How could we keep going on like this? I felt Lance at my side, pulling me. It was so loud everywhere, the music and the people and so many conversations happening at the same time when he spoke. “Brody looks hungry,” he said. I scanned all around and found him, this new version of him, stepping out of a bar. He stood tall, inhabiting his new physique like a coat of arms. I was certain he could outrace anyone. The transformed Jimmy was at his side.

They didn’t say a word; they just began following a petite blonde, who looked about my age. She waved goodbye as she stepped out of a restaurant, wearing what appeared to be a work uniform of a white shirt and black pants, her hair in a ponytail. It wasn’t Bourbon Street, but it was still plenty crowded—enough that she wouldn’t have noticed the pace of footsteps picking up behind her, or the two members of the Krewe among the others lazily gazing in darkened store windows as they wandered along the opposite side of the street. She pulled out a cell phone, launching into an easy, spirited chat. I took off, running ahead, not caring if my footsteps or panting were heard. I wouldn’t miss my shot this time. She passed under a streetlamp as I neared her, and I darted out, as fast as I could, throwing a handful of dust at her side just as Jimmy and Brody tripped over me and lunged at her.

The girl spun around, a beast unleashed, as she looked right at the two of them, running backwards now.
“Stay away from me!”
The words tore out of her in the most terrifying, bone-chilling scream. “Stay away!” She sped off, her feet hitting the pavement so hard her steps sounded like gunshots. Someone across the street could be heard speaking to a 9-1-1 operator: “I’m not sure, but it sounded like an attack or something . . .”

“It’s okay. You’re a first-timer. Next time, next time,” came Jimmy’s voice as he and Brody scrambled to their feet. I followed them a few blocks but by the time the sirens pierced the air, they had transformed back to their other selves and disappeared into the night. The police would never find them now.

Somehow Lance had managed to remain close. “That was all you, wasn’t it?” he whispered.