The Tangled Bridge (41 page)

Severin's expression grew excited. “Yes, such as that. A lovely dance of chaos, truly.”

Madeleine's eyes lifted to the sylphs that now drew in around them. Graceful, gorgeous. It seemed she could smell the skin beneath the satiny, brilliant-colored down. She couldn't resist reaching up to pet one. It flew just out of reach.

Armand pointed at the sylphs and said something to Severin in French, and Madeleine realized that the sylphs had drawn her attention so that she'd already forgotten what she was doing. The material world suddenly seemed like a charming old legend. She shook off the sensation.

Madeleine said to Gaston, “I don't like it. Why does Severin want to see Cooper? We already know where he is.”

“I wager it's cuz this time the old witch is watching. She workin her spells so she see into the briar.”

“She can see us?”

“Just guessing. But probably.”

His gaze lifted to the trees, and Madeleine looked, too. And by looking she observed something she ought to have realized earlier—the coldness, the void. Always present in the briar but now it felt like it was slowly draining the very blood from her.

Madeleine said to Gaston, voice low, “But why would Severin even care what Chloe wants?”

“The old bat been spending the last eighty years figurin out how to get them devils to do her work, those river devils. She know how to charm'em. Got her own brand a devil, too—the ones that're oily and wild. Start out workin for her but over time they just go feral.”

And then Armand had turned his attention back to Madeleine. He stood far too close, sour and seething, his gaze boring into her.

“
Qu 'est-ce que tu veut? Pourquois l'enfant?
”

Madeleine shook her head. “Just want to take a look, is all.”

Because she didn't know what else to do. She couldn't let Chloe find her nephew, little Cooper, and his mother Emily. If Gaston's existence was an example of what happened when Chloe got her hands on a child of the briar, Madeleine would do whatever it took to prevent it. She'd blurted out an interest in Del's baby only as a means of distraction from Cooper.

The river devil was pointing at her, and when he spoke again he used English. “Who you follow? Zenon, or Chloe?”

Madeleine was taken aback. “What? Neither!”

“You follow Madeleine! Ha!” He grinned at Severin and gestured to the sylphs.

“
Vas-y!
”

Severin gave Madeleine a queer look but then resumed the journey. This time, Madeleine was sure they were not heading to Wolfville, Nova Scotia, where Cooper and Emily Hammond lived in hiding. This time they were headed back to New Orleans.

*   *   *

MADELEINE HAD EXPECTED TO
find a foster home or even an orphanage. Considering the fact that baby Declan had been homeless even when his mother Del was still alive, it seemed implausible that he had any relatives that could care for him. But this place was too given over to squalor to be a foster home. The woman who was looking after him had to be a relative. Probably Del's mother. Natural that the child would be placed in the care of a grandparent after Del died that day in the shooting under the Huey P. Long Bridge.

There were coupon circulars and bills on the coffee table, all addressed with the name Cassel Whalen, and so Madeleine took it as the name of this woman. And Cassel didn't resemble Del much but she did look like baby Declan—sort of. It seemed Cassel was missing most of her teeth which highlighted the fact that the shape of her mouth and chin were exactly like Declan's. A distinctive pie wedge point to the jaw line. She was smoking something hand-rolled in front of the TV and sipping from a plastic tumbler of what looked like pink wine on ice.

Madeleine moved across the living room to where the baby lay in a car seat atop the kitchen table. He was crying, and his diapers were sagging and bunched, a bloom of red sores just below his navel.

Madeleine threw a fierce look at Cassel. “Change his diaper!”

Cassel looked over toward Declan's car seat and then back at the television. Madeleine could tell the idea had registered but she seemed sluggish to heed it. Probably had had this idea on her own before but had gotten into the habit of ignoring it.

Madeleine grit her teeth and walked over to where Cassel sat on the sofa. She trained her mind on Cassel's hand as she raised the tumbler and poured iced wine down her shirt.

Blinking at her hand as though it were possessed, which of course it was, Cassel said slowly, “Fuck … my … life.”

Madeleine tried again, and this time Cassel rose from the sofa and slipper-shuffled to the kitchen table where little Declan lay. “Whatcha cryin for, sweet baby?”

She picked him up and patted his diapered bottom as she gazed out the window, humming.

And then a surprised look crossed her face. “Ooh, you wet.”

She laid him bare on the kitchen table and revealed that he was more than wet. Madeleine's head was swimming. The room was breathing with black briar. Thornflies crept along the hardened stems, waiting for a sign of panic or anxiety or fury. She watched as one of them stretched its wings and combed it back, using its hooked forearm to clean itself from head to wing to stinger.

Gaston stood at Madeleine's elbow, shaking his head. “I don't get it. Whatchyoo doin exactly?”

She blinked, trying to remember where she was or why she was there. She saw the pointy-chinned woman changing the pointy-chinned baby and remembered she'd pigeoned that.

“I wanted to see what happened to this child,” she said.

“I mean, what are you doin? You come here knowin the babe's gonna have it hard. Why you gotta see on that?”

“Because I'm human and I care.”

“You care because you got the stain. It ain't doin you no good, it isn't, not any. Let me clear it for you.”

Madeleine stepped back.

“I already done that.”

They looked. Zenon was standing near where Cassel was changing the baby, and his river devil, Josh, was there, too. Madeleine had never seen much of him beyond shadows and glimpses.

Zenon said, “Where you been, little sister? Hangin out with lumens by the stain in ya. I showed you how to get it out.”

Gaston said, “She ain't know where she been and she don't even know where her body is now, she doesn't. The old witch got to her.”

“Chloe?”

And then Zenon looked from Madeleine to Gaston and gave a low whistle. “Holy blue moon Jesus. I ain't seen this many briar folk in one place, ever.”

And to Gaston, Zenon said, “You look like a hairy skink.”

He and Gaston were staring at one another. Recognition in both their eyes, though Madeleine could tell it was their first meeting.

“How do I know you?” Zenon asked.

Gaston said, “We still lookin to figure that one out.”

“What do you want, Zenon?” Madeleine said.

“Got some unfinished business, ain't we?”

Madeleine narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“You remember. Gotta get rid of the rest of them lumens.”

Cassel had finished changing Declan and raised her head. Madeleine followed her gaze and saw someone walking up the drive. Cassel's man, Madeleine thought; but then she realized there was something gawky in the posture. Just a boy. Gaston's age, maybe.

He opened the screen door and Madeleine gave a start. That frizzed hair, the narrow eyes. Oyster. Of all the times she saw him he usually wore that silly bandana that covered the paint stains on his nose and mouth. Now, without it, she saw the distinctive pie shape to the chin. Just like Cassel. Just like Declan.

How stupid Madeleine had been. Of course Cassel wasn't Del's mother. She was Oyster's.

“Hey mama,” Oyster said in that strange deep voice that indicated he was still huffing.

“Hey baby.” Cassel handed little Declan over and Oyster took the infant with all the familiarity of a dad, laying him on his shoulder.

Zenon put a hand on Madeleine's arm, and she wanted to shake him off. He leaned in as though she'd whispered something he wanted to hear.

He said, “Check you out, sis. You ain't in your right mind.”

“She gone briar to the bone,” Josh said, his teeth clenched on a stick.

Zenon laughed. “I like that. Briar to the bone. Lord, I can read your intentions right now just as easy as if you were a pigeon. Only reason you come here is so your river devil wouldn't drag you on over to see our little nephew, is that it? Keep him safe from mean old Chloe?”

Severin scowled. “We go now!”

“Aw, keep your panties on. We can make good use out of these fine folks.” Zenon pointed at Oyster. “I used that little punk plenty of times. He's willing, just ain't resourceful.”

Madeleine peeled Zenon's hand from her shoulder and tried to think. Her mind was in such tumult that if Zenon hadn't reminded her what she was doing here she would have forgotten. Again.

Oyster set Declan down on the couch. “You got any money, Ma?”

“Naw, hell no. You know I ain't got nothin to give you,” Cassel said.

Oyster pouted for a moment and it made him look so childlike. Zenon was staring at him, same way he'd been staring at Madeleine earlier. Madeleine recognized what he was doing. Reading Oyster's intentions. She followed suit. Oyster's intentions didn't stretch beyond the next few hours: Get some money. Go to the Sonic for some food. Find his friends and drink and huff the night away. Somewhere in there, he actually had a fleeting notion to take Declan to a cousin's who had a baby of the same age. Last time he saw her she gave Declan a rattle that looked like plastic keys. His cousin was a nice girl, married to a man who was hardworking but who pretty much hated Oyster. The idea of taking Declan to see her vanished. The idea to go hang out with his friends strengthened. And then something else pushed to the forefront:

Now where can I get my hands on a gun?

It startled Madeleine. She'd never before witnessed pigeonry from this point of view—seeing Oyster's drifting, passing intentions suddenly broken by a hardened idea.

“Zenon, leave these people alone. Oyster's just a kid.”

“He's a punk. Relax. It'll keep your river devil happy. That right, Severin?”

Severin looked smug. She peered at him sideways the way a cat might size someone up.

Madeleine had no idea why Zenon would implant that thought and she didn't dare ask.

Oyster went to the pantry by the refrigerator and took down a box of saltines, one-handed, then set them on the counter.

Cassel said, “Lord, whatchyoo doin with that?”

“I'll bring it back, Mama.”

“Oh, lord.”

He reached into the saltine box and pulled out a white plastic Family Dollar bag, something heavy inside. Black metal.

Severin grinned and slipped her fingers into Madeleine's palm. “A good idea to come here, so surely.”

 

fifty-one

BAYOU BOUILLON, 1933

WHEN PATRICE OPENED HER
eyes she was occupying her own body. She saw it. Felt it. The sensation had become foreign to her.

Her body was not reclining as was so often the case—returning from the briar usually meant going to sleep, straight from the world of thorns to the world of dreams. Letting one bleed into the next. But not now. She was standing on bare feet, hands pressed against wood. The walls of a shack.

She had no memory of before or anticipation of yet to come. The disorientation would pass soon, she knew, and there was nothing to do but relish this weightlessness of spirit.

She smiled, pressed her finger against a splinter just to feel a sense of pain, and then pulled away before it broke skin. Her finger was alive, her hand and arm alive, her lungs filled and released in waves. She swore she could sense the pulse points mirroring her heartbeat.

Her lips pressed and released in a voiceless
ma ma ma
, then
ba ba ba.

Behind her, a whisper: “Look. She's back.”

She turned. Confusion was lingering. She must have been in the briar a long time because there was a lady here who must have been watching over her. That meant Patrice had been in long enough for her physical body to need assistance eating, bathing, dressing, and so forth. The lady was talking to Ferrar. But although the lady looked strikingly familiar, Patrice couln't think of her name.

Patrice stared. The lady was wearing a necklace: a leather strap looped through a carved sphere with something inside. But then Patrice realized that this lady looked just like her. Exactly so. To the very mole on her neck. And below the mole and the necklace, this lady was wearing the cross Eunice had given Patrice several days ago when she'd left Terrefleurs.

Patrice looked down. She saw that she was still wearing Eunice's cross, too. As well as another necklace with a pendant, just like the one the lady wore, only this pendant was a tiny carved oak leaf, not a sphere.

The lady whispered something to Ferrar and then they both slipped out through the door.

Patrice said, “Wait!”

And she heard the door latch from the outside.

“Wait!” She tried the door and found it locked.

On the other side of the wall, footsteps were retreating down the boardwalk. Patrice pounded at the door but they were already gone.

*   *   *

PATRICE HAD BEEN WAITING
alone in the shack when the door finally opened again. The sun backlit him to a silhouette, but she recognized his posture immediately.

“Francois!”

He put his arm over her shoulder and patted. “
Bonsoir
, honey,
bonsoir
.”

And then he took both of her hands in his and said, “If we go outside you must promise not to run off. You have to stay here with me.”

A strange request, but: “Of course.”