Penumbra (The Midnight Society #2) (15 page)

Forget about it all.

Fuck, who was I kidding?

I couldn’t get that girl out of my mind. I loved her.

I tried picturing a life with her—once all this was over—and the prospect seemed welcoming. But I just couldn’t shake the feeling that our road to a happily ever after was paved with broken glass and razor blades, and, at some point, one of us was going to stumble and fall and paint the dirt with our blood.

#

Chapter Sixteen

Aria

“It’s a beautiful Saturday you two love birds! Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”

The boisterous enthusiasm coming from Beau, this early in the morning, felt like nails driving into the side of my skull.

I must have finally fallen asleep during my struggles to fight off my own self-inflicted horniness while lying next to Lincoln. He was awake now too and looked as if he wanted to slap the lips right off of Beau’s grinning mouth.

“You damned well better have some eggs and bacon,” he said as he sat up on the sofa bed, rubbing his eyes with the base of his palms.

“Cereal and milk?”

“What kind?” Lincoln asked.

“Captain Crunch.”

Lincoln seemed to nod with approval. “Good man.”

“You two better eat fast. I just landed us a meeting with Mr. Friday at noon, right by Jackson square,” he said, still smiling as if he had just performed a miracle. “Kind of poetic, if you think about it—we’re meeting Mr. Friday on a Saturday.”

I gave Beau a puzzled look. “Seriously?”

“I admit, I’ve always enjoyed a bit of corniness in my life,” he smirked. “My lady always said that I could feed a field of crows with all of my corn.”

I grimaced at the very mention of crows.

“When’s the meeting?” Lincoln asked, in between a yawn.

“Two hours.”

“I guess we best get ready then. We wouldn’t want to keep Mr. Friday waiting.”

Beau nodded in agreement. “No you do not,” he replied. “You’re better off burying a knife in your gut now if you’re thinking of pissing him off.”

“You’re making him sound like a monster,” I said.

“Why darling, you don’t even know the half of it,” Beau said. “Mr. Friday might just be the devil in disguise.”

I shivered.

#

The sunshine and liveliness of Jackson Square lifted my spirits, and for a moment I forgot that we were meeting with a man who was described to me as the Anti-Christ.

Rows of eccentric works of art, displaying various colorful flavors of New Orleans, hung from the steel gates bordering the square. A few pieces in particular caught my eye—black and white silhouettes of jazz musicians painted against the backdrop of a bright orange sky; various renditions of the fleur-de-lis constructed from leaves and twine; and large scale portraits of Bourbon Street painted with brilliant water colors.

Meanwhile, the music continued to play. It seemed like music was always playing here.

I turned my attention to the center of the square where there was a magnificent bronze statue of a man, who I presumed to be Mr. Jackson. He was riding triumphantly on a horse, while holding his hat and giving a salute to the entire city. St. Louis cathedral was a magnificent backdrop, making it all seem perfectly picturesque.

“Well, that’s a pretty picture if I ever saw one,” Beau said as he walked over to me.

“It is,” I replied. “Jackson Square is quite the lovely tourist attraction.”

“I was talking ab
out you,” Beau said with a grin.

I shook my head and smiled. “You try this with all the ladies?”

“Only the ones that pique my interest,” he replied.

“I’m with –” I was about to say Shadow, but I caught my tongue just in time. I wasn’t with Shadow anymore. He no longer wanted me.

And then Lincoln strolled over, cool and calm, as he always was.

“I’m with him,” I said, tilting my head towards Lincoln.

Beau shrugged. “You can’t blame a lonely soul for trying.”

Lincoln seemed to have caught the tail end of the Beau’s sentence. “And what are you trying?” he asked, amused.

“This here gal sure has her loyalty in order,” Beau said. “I tried tempting her with my southern charm, but she turned me aside like a Jehovah Witness.”

Lincoln looked at me and nodd
ed. “Yes, her loyalty towards her lover is absolutely unflinching. I love her for it.”

I thought about Lincoln’s touch—that dark animalistic magnetism that pulled at me—and I felt myself blush almost immediately. A smoky warmth kindled within my heart and slowly spread across my body.

“What a shame she can’t be tempted,” Beau sighed.

Lincoln shrugged. “It’s an endearing quality about her,” he said. “Now, if we’re done fantasizing about getting into Lucy’s pants, let’s concentrate on finding Mr. Friday.”

Beau shrugged. “Yes sir,” he replied. “Apparently, the instructions were to find the woman with the three eyes to her name and give her exactly four dollars and forty-four cents.”

“What?” Lincoln asked, incredulously.

Beau shrugged. “Those were my instructions.”

“Why that exact sum?” Lincoln asked.

“Maybe the three-eyed woman wants a sandwich,” I chimed in.

Lincoln sighed. “And this three-eyed woman is supposedly in Jackson Square somewhere?”

Beau nodded. “Indeed, she is. But I have to warn you, time is of the essence. We need to find her within…” he stopped and looked at his watch, “…seven minutes before she disappears on us. Otherwise, we’ll have to wait another week to get in touch with Mr. Friday.”

“Does Mr. Friday operate on weekends only?” Lincoln asked.

“You keep asking me questions which I don’t have answers for,” Beau said. “I’m just the messenger. Make that six minutes now.”

“You could have told us earlier,” Lincoln said. “We could have arrived earlier.”

“Sorry chief, my head was still in a whiskey fog when I spoke to Mr. Friday’s lackey,” Beau said. “It didn’t dawn on me until we showed up here.”

“Shall we split up to find her?” I asked.

Lincoln looked apprehensive to the idea. “We should keep together, Lucy,” he said. “I don’t want you disappearing on me in New Orleans.”

“I’ll be fine.” I gestured to the crowd of people around us. “It’s a busy place. I doubt anyone will try to make a move on me with so many eyes around.”

“I’m more worried about how many of these eyes we can trust,” Lincoln said.

I leaned in and whispered in Lincoln’s ear so that Beau couldn’t hear. “Don’t forget, I’m a Crow Killer. I can handle my own.”

“Were you this stubborn with Shadow?”

“Of course,” I said.

Lincoln glanced at his watch, and reluctantly nodded.

“You still have the disposable cell phone I gave you?”

“Yes.”

“Have my number punched in and your thumb on the dial button,” he said. “The second there’s any sign of trouble, call me and I’ll come running.”

I nodded before adding, “The same goes for you. I’m more than ready to shoot trouble in the ass.”

Lincoln laughed. “Where do they make girls like you?”

I thought about my dad and everything he sacrificed to raise me with toughness and confidence.

“We’re running short on time people!” I heard Beau shout.

“You heard the man. Let’s find the three eyed-woman,” Lincoln said.

It felt like a mad dash as we sprinted off in separate directions, my eyes scouring the throng of people, hoping to catch glimpse of this mythical woman.

I pushed through a horde of tourists, busy taking pictures of the Jackson monument and the Cathedral, my eyes darting back and forth seeking a woman with an extra eyeball. I tried examining the expressions on people’s faces as well. Surely there would be some type of negative reaction if someone saw a woman with a genetic deformation on their forehead.

And then I saw the bright yellow display lined up against the gates of the square. It read “Isadora’s Infinite Inspirations.”

We must have misinterpreted the information. It was the woman with three ‘I’s to her name, not a woman with three eyes. 

Sitting in front of a small table was a stunning woman with beautiful blue eyes (only two of them) that looked like diamonds plucked from the ocean. Her skin was almond colored and her hair was braided in an exotic fashion, which gave me the impression she was from an island paradise worshipped by the sun.

She was wearing a beautiful white dress that seemed out of place amongst the other artists, who were dressed in gnarly clothing.

I quickly dialed Lincoln’s number on the cell phone.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I found her on the west side. Look for her sign, Isadora’s Infinite Inspirations.”

I heard him groan.

“Yeah, I know, it wasn’t the three eyes we were thinking,” I replied.

“I’m on my way.”

I hung up the phone and approached Isadora.

She looked at me and smiled, displaying a set of perfect, pearl-white teeth.

“Good afternoon,” she said, “May fate and magic smile upon you. The price for a reading is ten dollars.”

I rummaged through the pockets of my jeans, looking for spare change that would equal to four dollars and forty-four cents.

I pulled out a five dollar bill and threw it down on the table. “Can I get fifty-six cents back?” I asked.

Isadora looked, puzzled. “Sorry, exact change only.”

I groaned as I pulled out a handful of bills and coins. I tossed three one dollar bills at her and then scrambled to make up the remaining balance from the quarters, dimes, and pennies I had collected.

While I rummaged through my pocket change like an old bag lady at the grocery store, I heard a woman display interest in Isadora’s fortune services.

“It’s been so long since I had my fortune read,” she said to her companion.

I immediately spun around and showed them the palm of my hand, all five fingers splayed outward. “Hey, back off lady. I need this more than you do.”

Both the old woman and her husband shot me an acidic glare that could corrode steel.

“Perhaps I can serve them first while you—” Isadora began, but I spun around and directed my palm at her instead.

“I got this,” I said, returning my attention back to the coins as I frantically continued to count out change.

Damn it Beau, if you had told me earlier, at least I could have the money counted out beforehand.

“Short on cash sweetheart?” Beau strolled up behind me and lay down four one-dollar bills along with some neatly piled coins.

He looked at Isadora’s sign and then shrugged. “Well look at that, the woman with three ‘I’s to her name. And here I was frantically searching for a gal with three peepers.”

Isadora took Beau’s money and shoved it into a tin jar that lay on the table. She turned her attention to me. “There are ghosts haunting you,” she said.

“What?” I was taken aback by her directness.

“There are ghosts clinging to your neck, suffocating you,” Isadora repeated.

I thought of Justin, and how every night, he tortured me with his presence. But it was my own guilt that was haunting me, not some spooky ooga booga shit.

“Sorry lady, but I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Isadora smiled at me. “We’re all haunted by them girl, but most of us have learned to deal with them. You on the other hand, the ghosts you have will drag you far down the hole if you can’t rid yourself of them.”

Her words seeped through my head and right down into my heart.

“I can help you girl,” she said. “Say the word and I can help free you from the darkness. That is the power of my magic.”

I stayed silent, enchanted by the idea of having a good night’s sleep. But who was this woman? I had the same question about her as I did for everyone new I met since discovering the dark world of the Midnight Society—Could she be trusted?

Before I could reply, Lincoln arrived.

“Isadora’s Infinite Inspirations,” he read aloud. He turned his attention to Isadora and smiled pleasantly. “We’d like to see Mr. Friday.”

“You’re another one haunted by ghosts,” she said as she sized up Lincoln from head-to-toe.

He gave her an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“Apparently the lady is an expert on all things spooky in nature,” Beau remarked. He looked at her with a squinted eye, as if he were trying to dissect her with his gaze. “You wouldn’t happen to be Mr. Friday’s partner in crime would you, the wicked witch of New Orleans that we hear about all the time?”

Isadora laughed. “Is that what they call me these days, a witch?”

“It isn’t true?”

Isadora shrugged. “I am whatever you make me out to be. If the people are whispering that I’m a witch, then who am I to argue?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re one fine witch, if I ever did see one,” Beau said, his voice laced with sugar and spice.

“How about we get back to Mr. Friday?” Lincoln asked again.

Isadora nodded. “Drive me to my shop, and I shall take you to him.”

Beau took one step closer to Isadora, no doubt drunk on her beauty. “Well isn’t that a coincidence. I’m a small time business owner myself,” he said. “I have a quaint little shop called the Angel’s Trumpet over on St. Peter Street. I sell the prettiest little things; antiques and trinkets that I think you’ll love.”