One Hundred Saints (2 page)

I had never known Grimm to smile; not until that day he sat while I played that song for him. I sighed and glanced at the wicker chair again. The reason it was my favorite piece of furniture in the entire house was because that was the only place he had felt safe enough to sit. It put him within line of both sets of doors in case he needed to run, he had said.

“Emily!” Daddy said happily as he entered the room.

And I didn’t even get to play the entire song for him before you chased him away,
I thought sadly as I got to my feet and walked over to him.

“Hi Daddy,” I replied softly as we hugged each other. Mama entered the room a moment later with a big smile on her face.

“Why didn’t tell us you were coming?” she asked, with a big smile and outstretched arms.

“Hi Mama,” I said, letting her wrap me up in her arms for a tight hug.
You didn’t stop him. You always followed him into rooms and you didn’t stop him from chasing away my friend,
I thought pulling away from her.

“Sit, sit, sit,” Daddy said, as he and Mama took their usual spots in the parlor. He sat in the huge leather chair by the fireplace and Mama sat in the maple colored rocking chair next to him. I went back to the piano bench and sat down, pulling one leg underneath myself, and wondered what to say. I hadn’t thought this far ahead yet.

“How long has it been?” Mama asked me as she rested a hand on Daddy’s arm.

“I don’t really know; maybe three or four years?” I replied, tilting my head to the left. “Four. It’s been four.” 

“And what brings you home?” Daddy asked curiously. “It’s not Mardi Gras, is it?”

I rolled my eyes even though I didn’t mean to. I knew it was rude and disrespectful, but my parents were very religious and conservative and didn’t like the whole idea of Mardi Gras.

“No Daddy,” I replied with a long suffering sigh. “I didn’t come to ‘indulge in the sin for twenty four hours and pray it away the next day.’” It was his favorite saying when it came to Mardi Gras, and I wanted him to make sure I hadn’t forgotten it.

“I know you didn’t come just to see us, did you?” he asked curiously, glancing at Mama.

“No Daddy,” I said softly.

“So why are you here?” Mama pressed.

At that point it was starting to feel like an interrogation instead of a small family reunion and I found myself wondering if I should have even bothered to stop in on them. But I wasn’t going to give up my reason to them for being here; not yet.

“It better not be to see that boy,” Daddy warned in a stern voice.

“He’s not a boy anymore, like I’m not a little girl! You can’t keep me from my friends, Daddy,” I shot back.

Mama sighed loudly as Daddy got to his feet. I met her sigh as I stood up and went over to get my bag. Once Daddy stood up in anger, that meant any conversation he was having was over.

“It was nice to see you,” he said, stepping out of the parlor and nodding toward the front door.

I stopped in front of him, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes and I felt a small sadness growing inside of me.

“I love you, Daddy,” I said softly, before he turned on his heel and went back into the parlor.

A
s soon as I told Daddy that I was looking for Grimm, he all but opened the door and shoved me out. I never really knew what he had against him or his family other than they were poor and we weren’t. It wasn’t fair and I hated that living a life of privilege was supposed to mean that everyone else was beneath me. I just never saw it like that.

I was walking down the streets toward the markets, my bag rolling noisily behind me on the rubble, thinking some shopping therapy was needed. I would be able to buy some fresh fruits from the locals and help them feed their families that way. It would also give me a chance to ask questions about the Lower Ninth Quarter since I had no way of getting there. Parts of it were still sectioned off and no one was allowed to go there, but someone had to know
something
.

When I heard the bustle and loud voices drifting toward me, I stopped walking and opened my bag to retrieve my wallet. I loved the markets in New Orleans, but the pickpockets were skilled and I had a fairly large amount of cash in it. Once I wrapped the strap firmly around my wrist, I zipped up my bag again and made my way toward the lively small area near the river. It was hotter there and the bugs were drifting toward everything from the river, but I was happily looking at the fresh fruits from the first stand I had wandered closest too.

Mm. Pineapples,
I thought, my stomach suddenly rumbling with hunger. The man that was behind the stand came over to me with a plastic bag. I asked him how much he was selling them for and he said they were two dollars each. I bought two and handed him a twenty dollar bill. He reached into his pocket to give me change, but one glance around his almost full stand and I waved it off. 

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Monroe,” he replied in a bayou accent I knew too well. “Thank you for this, Miss.”

The people here were always so kind and I hated to know that any of them struggled in anyway and if I didn’t do something about at least one of them, I’d probably lose sleep over it tonight.

“My name is Emily St. Martin. Tonight before you go home, I want you to stop by the butcher’s shop in town. Can you do that for me, Monroe?” I asked, putting a hand on his frail, thin wrist. I used my Mama’s maiden name, just to be on the safe side.

His golden brown eyes brimmed with tears and he nodded his head once. The beige fishing hat that sat on top of his head was as worn as his beautiful brown skin and I knew it was from working as hard as he did.

Before I turned to go, I glanced around for a moment. “Monroe, do you know anything about the Lower Ninth Quarter?”

“A little bit, Miss Emily,” he said, moving back behind his stand. “What’s a girl like you want with that place?”

I sighed deeply. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted; if he was still alive, I wouldn’t go see him because it was too dangerous. If he wasn’t alive, I would be completely heartbroken. I wasn’t sure what to do anymore and it hadn’t even been a full day yet.

“I had a friend that lived there before Katrina went through and destroyed it. Just wondering if there’s any chance he might still be alive,” I said quietly.

“I don’t know Miss Emily. I wouldn’t count on it though,” Monroe said, woefully shaking his head. “Here. You leave that bag with me while you go around the market. My son will be here soon and he’ll make sure nothing happens to it.”

I smiled at him and let him take my lone luggage bag from me and hide it behind his stand. I liked him, but that was a fault I had and freely admitted too. Being too trusting was something Mama and Daddy always warned me about, but it had yet to bite me in the ass.

I walked away from Monroe’s fresh fruit stand and walked down the rows of sellers. Some had meats and whole animals, others had vegetables;  there were even some card readers and fortune tellers for anyone that came to New Orleans for that type of thing.

Those folks always made me feel a little uneasy. Not the ones in the city center, but the ones that came to the markets. They weren’t flashy and they didn’t hide behind doors or curtains; they were out in the open and they always looked so serious. It wasn’t an act, I could tell. They firmly believed in themselves and that they had some kind of supernatural powers, so I always stayed away from them when I was a child.

I spent the next hour walking from stall to stall, looking for anything else I could purchase before I went back to Monroe’s stand. He smiled when he saw me and told his son that I was the one who had given him “so much money.”

“Thank you, ma’am!” the young boy said. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old, and his big, bright smile and excited brown eyes made me laugh. “Papa said we’re going to eat good tonight because of you!”

“Not just tonight, good sir. You make sure that you and your papa go by that butcher’s shop in town today before you go home. Can you remember to do that for me?” I asked, leaning down to talk to him.

“Yes ma’am!” he exclaimed happily.

“Here,” I said, opening my wallet and taking out a five dollar bill. “This is for you for doing such a good job with my bag.”

The young boy immediately came forward to hug me tightly. I laughed again and put a hand on the back of his head and smiled at Monroe.

“I have to go now, but I might be back tomorrow. You have a good day now,” I said as he pulled away and went back to his father to show him that he was now “rich.”

They both waved at me as I walked away from their stall, bag of pineapples in one hand, and rolling luggage in the other. I needed to find a place to stay for the night, since my parents were obviously mad at me.

As I made my way back toward the street, I saw something peculiar. I saw a tall man crouched in an alley with an animal struggling to get away from him. His face was angled down, the shadows hiding his upper body, and I could hear him softly saying some kind of chant or whatever, before he drew a thick blade across the animal’s throat and held its neck over a small bucket.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt and from what I could see that he had markings all over his arms, and I winced wondering how long that must have taken, and how painful it must’ve been. I figured him to be one of the locals that supplied the supernatural folk and I stopped for a brief moment to watch him curiously. When he slowly turned his head toward me from the shadows, I lowered my head and walked away as quickly as I could.

He chuckled at my gesture of what could be considered submission and fear, and it was the last thing I heard before I disappeared around the corner from the marketplace.

I
was walking out of the butcher’s shop about thirty minutes later and glanced up at the sky. The sun looked like it was going to start descending over the horizon soon so I really needed to find a place to stay for the night. With as much as I loved this city, I knew that it could be as dangerous as it was beautiful and I had no plans on becoming a statistic.

I wandered down the main street in town looking for a hotel to stay in when I came across a homeless man begging for money on the street. I watched for a moment, how people walked by him like he didn’t exist, until I had finally had enough and walked over to him to hand him a small wad of cash. I wasn’t sure how much I gave him, but I hoped it would be enough for him to have a meal and possibly a roof over his head for a day or two.

Around the corner from where I found him was a small hotel that I hoped had a vacancy. Once Mardi Gras came along, tourists flocked here to indulge in that sin that Daddy always warned us about.

I quickly crossed the street and walked toward the heavy wooden door, pulling it open. Inside was a smoky haze and I almost left, but the danger lurking out in the dark corners of the New Orleans nightlife, made me walk up to the counter.

“Yeah?” the gruff old man behind the counter barked.

“Do you have any rooms?” I asked evenly. If I let on any hint of fear or self-doubt, he would catch on and charge me much more than he should. The way he looked me up and down told me that he was going to try regardless.

“I got one left. But why a pretty girl like you wanna stay here?” he asked incredulously.

“Because I can,” I replied, undoing the strap from my wrist and putting my wallet on the counter. “Now may I please pay for the room and have a key?”

He grunted and shook his head slightly, before he pulled out a decrepit clipboard and told me to fill out my information. When I got to the first part that asked my name, I decided to use an alias. I didn’t think this the kind of place that would ask for identification and I was paying cash anyway, so I was pretty sure it didn’t matter what I put down.

Ten minutes later, I slid the clipboard back toward him and put the pen down, waiting for him to look it over and tell me how much he wanted for the room.

“Isabelle Valot?” he asked, looking up at me with curious eyes. I felt sheepish for a moment because I had used Grimm’s last name, but I didn’t know what else to put down.

“That’s right. Now how much?” I asked, unzipping my wallet.

“I haven’t seen a Valot in years,” he mused to himself. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I knew that if this opened up to a line of questioning, I would crack under the pressure. I was never any good at lying.

“You’re money is no good here, Miss Isabelle,” he said suddenly, waving me off. “You’re in room thirty seven. Here’s the key. You have any trouble you come to me, Robert.”

I bit my lip and looked at Robert. I was beginning to feel guilty because he was willing to give me a free room over a name that wasn’t even mine.

“I wasn’t born a Valot,” I confessed softly. “Please tell me how much the room is.”

“Who you married to then?” His curious question came out with a thicker Cajun accent than when he first spoke.

It was also that question that made me realize that in all of the years that I had spent secretly traversing the city’s darkest streets and alleys with Grimm, I had no idea what his real first name was. It had never dawned on me to ask him because all I had ever known him by was what he had introduced himself to me as.

“There’s only one Valot I know of that’s still alive,” he said, his voice becoming thoughtful. “Far as I know, he never took a wife.”

“A male Valot?” I inquired excitedly.

“Yeah, it’s a male. He don’t have no wife that I know of,” Robert said crossing his arms over his chest, glaring at me through narrowed eyes.

He never took a wife. Maybe it’s Grimm after all!

A small shock wave went through my body at the new found knowledge that Grimm had survived the hurricane’s destruction.

“That goes to show how much
you
know,” I quipped. “But you know what? I agree with you; a Valot’s money is no good here. Give me the key and keep it quiet in this place. I need to get some rest.”

With those words, I snatched the key he grudgingly held out to me, spun on my heel, and walked down the dimly lit hallway. Each room was numbered out of order, so it took me a bit to find number thirty seven. I slid the key into the keyhole and unlocked the door, pushing it open, and almost getting knocked over by the stale smell of cigarettes and sweat. This room hadn’t been aired out in a long time and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep in here very well. I dropped the room key and my wallet onto my bed while I debated checking out already.