Infatuate (7 page)

“Haven. Hey, didn’t expect to see anyone up this early. I’ve got a paper due. What’s your excuse?” He crunched into his apple.

“Just, you know, in the middle of a good book.” I held it up. It could’ve been the truth.

“I like a girl who gets up early to read. That says something about you, you know?” He nodded in praise. “I knew what I was doing when I drafted you at the hospital.”

“Yeah, guess so,” I said, thinking about how he also had recruited Sabine but saying nothing.

“Anyway, make yourself at home. And just lemme know if you need anything.” He waved his apple as a goodbye.

I leaned against the counter, thinking, then called out, “Connor?”

He popped his head back in.

I did my best to sound nonchalant. “So what’s the deal with the house next door?”

“Ahhh, the haunted one?” he asked, in a loaded way. “The LaLaurie pad? The tourists love it, of course. But it’s just some well-marketed folklore. Nothing to worry about.”

“No, totally, I know,” I said, trying too hard to sound cool. “So is it, like, abandoned?”

“Right now, yeah. But actually it’s gonna get fixed up soon. Some of you guys will be working on it, as one of the group projects.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“House meeting at nine o’clock,” he reminded me, then ambled down the hall, polishing off his apple. I poked around inside the fridge and opened the cupboards in the hopes that some sort of comfort food would appear and soothe me. I found some of those single-serve packs of Oreos, like Joan used to put in my lunches in grade school, and couldn’t resist tearing one open.

That’s when I heard the scream. It came from somewhere out front: a male voice, deep, expletive-laced, accompanied by rattling metal. Then footsteps running through the hall. I lunged out of the kitchen.

“You heard it too?” Connor asked. I nodded. “Stay here.” He jogged down the mirrored hall to the back entranceway.

Despite his instruction, I trailed behind him. The sun had only just begun its ascent, the sky brightening to a deep indigo as we clomped down the wooden staircase to the courtyard and through the lantern-lit archway to the locked front gate. One of the guys from our house, the one I had seen yesterday with a basketball, stood there, hands clasping the metal bars, trying to get in.

Connor slowed his pace, his alarm lessening. “Jimmy, dude, what’s the deal? What’re ya doin’ out here?”

“You gotta let me in. Lemme in, lemme in!” He was frantic.

“Where’re your keys? If you lost ’em already, we’re gonna have to charge you,” Connor said, unhitching the lock and opening up. I hung back in the shadows of the archway.

“Call nine-one-one,” Jimmy said. He raced in, letting the gate crash. He ran right past us.

“What are you talking about?” Connor called out to him.

Jimmy paused just a moment, shouting back from the courtyard, “There’s a body out there. An eff-ing body!” We could hear him stumbling up the steps and slamming the door. Connor and I stood stunned in the lantern-lit haze. He sighed and scratched at the back of his head, like he was psyching himself up, then unlocked the gate once more. Silently, he stepped out onto Royal Street, as I followed a few paces behind.

By the time I reached the sidewalk, he was walking back toward me stone-faced. With a firm voice, he ordered: “Haven, go back upstairs.”

It was too late. My eyes flashed to the ground, and a scream, involuntary and raw, escaped my lips. My hand rose to my mouth. In front of our house lay a battered body in a pool of blood. Much as the sight shook my every nerve, I still couldn’t manage to look away. The victim looked like he could’ve been a college student, or someone we’d seen last night at the welcoming party or run into celebrating with the masses as we shuffled home. He wore jeans and a T-shirt with the remnants of a hooded sweatshirt in tatters around him. In the brightening morning light, as the city still slept, our block felt so tranquil, not the kind of place you would expect to find this. It just didn’t belong. The asphalt of Royal Street had been hosed down since last night, all traces of the evening carousing wiped clean.

Connor pushed me back, away from the scene. “C’mon, we’re going back upstairs,” he said. I took one last look and something glinted back at me. Just beside the man’s flung-out arm, some kind of wispy plumage, a few white feathers, had gotten matted to the ground, blood working as the adhesive.

So, there’s a midnight curfew here now. And you just have to keep your wits about you. New Orleans is a great place, but it’s still a big and wild city,” Connor said with a furrowed brow and in a voice that made him seem much older than he actually was. “Be smart, guys. And if you need anything, I’m here.”

The meeting in the common room had begun much differently than anyone had anticipated. We were all ready to start the day, seated on the sofas and chairs and floor, with notebooks and pens and, now, serious expressions.

Some residents had continued to sleep through all the commotion of the morning. Others had awoken to witness the cops outside talking into radios and unfurling that bright yellow crime-scene tape; the body was finally sheathed and taken away.

Sabine had still been sleeping when I got back to the room, and my knocks on Lance and Dante’s door had been met with silence, so I had busied myself getting showered and dressed until I could finally talk to someone about what had happened. When we had all convened for the meeting, there hadn’t been nearly enough catch-up time. Lance had only managed to whisper, “Check your phone,” before Connor had launched in. I knew exactly which phone he meant.

Connor seemed understandably anxious to be done with this unfortunate discussion. “It’s easy to get into trouble in this town, take it from me. But . . . just, you know, be careful.” He paused. “So, are we all good? Any questions or anything?” He scanned the room. No one moved; we all just stared blankly. “Okay, well, I’m here to talk anytime.” He sighed. “I know it’s a pretty horrific welcome, and I’m sorry for that, but we’re gonna be fine.” He picked up a stack of papers at his feet. “All right, so let’s try to remember why we’re here: voluntourism. When I come at ya, tell us your name and where you’re from.” He made his way around the room, handing out thick stapled information packets as we introduced ourselves to the group.

Finally, Connor returned to the front of the room. “Great, so here’s the deal: there’s no shortage of community service to be done in this town. We’re gonna mix things up and let y’all lend a hand doing everything from tutoring and peer counseling to running trips for kids and building some homes for Hurricane Katrina victims who are still living in temporary quarters. You’ll find a schedule in here.” He held up the leftover packets. “Every day’ll be a little different, but no day will be boring. You’ll be all over the place, from way out in the bayou to as close as next door—where some of you will be fixing up that old LaLaurie mansion. The city’s turning it into an event space—”

I thought of anyone having to spend all day in that place, and my whole body shivered for just a second, enough that Lance gave me a curious look. I couldn’t help it: my mind flashed to what I’d seen in the window. I had been tired—had I just been seeing things? I couldn’t deal with it now. I went through my packet and looked at the maps, calendars of the next several months, listings of so many businesses and locations and contact people.

But Connor wasn’t quite done with his speech. “So, if y’all are ready, let’s roll out in five, okay?” He held up one hand. “I’ll meet ya in the courtyard. First stop: the Latter branch library in the Uptown area.” With that, we all dispersed to our rooms, buzzing about all we’d just heard, gathering our things. I climbed up to my bed in the loft to find my phone. While Sabine was occupied switching most of her possessions from one purse into another, I summoned the courage to look at the screen. A message popped on instantly, no indication from whom or from where. The time-date stamp read January 1 at seven o’clock sharp. It simply said:

Good morning, Haven. Happy New Year. We are reunited, and I hope you will find comfort in that. But I regret to have to tell you that, once again, your soul is in grave danger. Be strong, winged one. Trust your instincts and you will conquer again. Remember what you’ve already learned. Draw upon the lessons you’ve been taught, the tests you’ve mastered.

“Ready, Hav?” Sabine called. I hit the button at the bottom of the phone to clear the screen. Instead of the usual array of icons I was used to seeing on a smartphone, there was nothing but a blank screen. I tapped it again and an image appeared . . . of me. It was that portrait that had burned up at the Lexington, in the office of Aurelia Brown. In it, I was recast as the subject of a painting I loved,
La Jeune Martyre,
lying in the shallow water of a darkened ditch, a halo above my head and a shadowy figure in the distance looking on. I stopped breathing for a moment. I flung the phone in my backpack, anxious to get it out of my hands.

It wasn’t until we were on the streetcar, rattling along tree-lined St. Charles Avenue again, that Lance and I had a moment alone, so he could whisper, “Anything?”

I nodded. “Vague, but yeah.”

He nodded back. “Good.” He looked relieved that the phones were working, that no matter what might be in store for us, at least we would have some sort of guidance. Something somewhere would look out for us in even the slightest way.

Connor waved us all off, and we filed out into the pretty perfection of the leafy Uptown streets. The sun lit up the morning sky now, the air already moist and surprisingly warm. Walking just a few blocks, I could feel sweat glistening on my forehead, though it may not have been entirely from the temperature. That text message was the surest of signals that we had to be on guard now.

Lance and I walked silently, the rest of our group chatting around us. I imagined his mind was racing as much as mine was. Dante managed to break away from Max and sidled up to me. He watched his feet as he walked. If he was quiet, there always had to be a reason.

“Hey, Hav,” he finally said. He kicked at a rock, knocking it along the sidewalk. “Are you, like, I don’t know, kind of freaked out? By everything here, already?”

“Um, yeah.” I laughed, knocking into him with my shoulder. “I think that’s a pretty normal reaction.” I thought for a moment. “So, are you getting the messages now too?”

“Yeah, omigod, what’s the deal with these? Didn’t you guys used to get these all the time? Why don’t they tell us things straight up? Where are they coming from?”

“I wish I knew. Believe me, it would make all of this a whole lot easier. But you’ll get the hang of how to follow them and they will start telling us useful things.” I wasn’t sure which one of us I was trying to reassure.

“I guess I’m just a little, I don’t know,
scarred
from before.”

“And rightfully so. But we’re tougher now, you know?” I offered. We followed the group up a walkway toward what looked like a mansion set back from the road on a patch of supremely green grass.

“Yeah.” Dante didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. This time around we have the advantage of knowing that everything is suspect. We’re looking through different eyes, more educated eyes. That’s got to help us. Right?”

He just nodded. Connor held the door open and we strolled inside, gathering in a dark wood foyer with a sweeping staircase. The rooms on either side of us were filled with racks and racks of cataloged books, but the grand estate certainly wasn’t like any public library I’d ever seen. It was empty save for two gray-haired women shelving books from a cart. I grabbed a fact sheet from the stack on a table near the door.

“Pretty awesome, right, guys?” Connor said in a loud whisper, waving to the ladies then leading us up the creaky wooden staircase.

“Totally,” Max said.

Lance craned his neck, trying to take in every bit of the place.

“Is this French?” Sabine asked, running her hand along the curved banister. “I love all the French stuff here.” I glanced at the sheet of paper I’d taken.

“You would think either that or Spanish, given the influences when New Orleans was settled, but the architecture and styling are Italianate,” Lance said with the joy of someone unwrapping an unexpected gift.

“Former home, gifted to the city to be used as a library,” I read aloud.

“Add this one to the list, Hav. I would live here too,” Dante said. I nodded, but I was too busy listening to the harsh, hushed voices quibbling behind us. I peeked over my shoulder to see the redhead—Emma was her name—arguing with Jimmy. He still seemed on edge from this morning, and I couldn’t blame him.

“ . . . but what were you
doing?
” she snapped. “Where the hell were you all night?”

“I was at the party and then, I don’t know.”

“I can’t believe you don’t even have the decency to be honest with me. Is that it? Is that how you treat me after a year?” Expletives followed, then she brushed past me, hustling up the stairs to Connor’s side. Jimmy put his head in his hands like he had just been struck with a monster migraine.

“This is sorta our headquarters,” Connor announced as we reached the second floor. “All the tutoring and counseling happen up here.”

We followed him down the worn carpeting to a room with a half-moon-shaped window looking out onto the grounds, a high ceiling with delicate moldings, and framed paintings of pale people from the Victorian era. Long folding tables and chairs were clustered in a heap at the center of the room, waiting to be set up. A bare metal bookcase on wheels sat in a corner. Connor handed us each a lengthy checklist and explained that we would be spending a few hours here every afternoon for any local kids, elementary through high school, looking for homework help. A few nights a week the room would also be used for a teen crisis hotline. And, indeed, a row of desks in the back was outfitted with a quartet of very ancient-looking phones.

“As you may have noticed, today’s a holiday—they let us in here special to set up. You folks over here”—he pointed to where I stood—“take a look at this list of books and gather a copy of each to stock our little library up here. While you guys”—he gestured to the rest—“are going to set up the workstations. Hop to it, folks!” He clapped, signaling us to start.