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“I see you, Austin Broussard. I see all the ways you are. You don’t think I didn’t see you broken? You were digging your own grave when we met.” Whipping around, I pointed at him. “The mafia after you for a massive debt. Massive. You think I ignored that? You took me to your house, and I saw for myself how small and bare it is.”
Austin hung his head. “Luc…”
“I’m not saying this to put you down, Austin. I’m saying I know who you are. I see you. And I chose you anyway. I didn’t have to interact with you. I didn’t have to make love with you.”
“Luc.” He held his hands up again. People on the street gave him a wider berth, going around him and looking back. They couldn’t see me or hear me, so they thought he was crazy. Such small minds, and yet they come to New Orleans hoping for wonders that are right in front of them. “I’m sorry. So. Sorry. I won’t do anything like that again.”
“You bet you won’t.”
“Please give me another chance. Deities! Come on. I-I have something to tell you. Please…”
“Fine. But say it fast.”
“I have the last of the payment.”
“What?” How had he done it? I hoped to the afterlife that he hadn’t gambled for it and risked slipping back into Marcello’s clutches.
“Sloane gave it to me. It’s going to be enough.”
“You are so stupid.” I couldn’t let my anger go yet. “You know, I want to see every side of you. And I want to hold you. For real hold you. Not this slipping inside your body thing.” If we were doing this for real, I needed to know he was in it with me completely.
“We can have that. I swear. Let’s go and work this out with the mambo and get you that body.”
“Fine.” Giving in and calming a little, I gestured for him to go.
When he started walking, I felt the tug that pulled me to him, to the ring. If I didn’t walk with him, I would still be pulled along, but it didn’t feel good. It was kind of like standing in a hurricane but without the rain. And I’d seen real hurricanes. The worst one wasn’t that long ago and brought death along with it. I didn’t want to see those lost souls again. No, I wanted to go where Austin went. More than anything. And not because he was going back to the Voodoo priestess. Sure, I wanted a new life, a new chance. But it wouldn’t mean half as much if I didn’t have Austin in it.
I walked beside him, even passing through cars, streetlights, or receptacles, but I didn’t like passing through people. Them, I dodged. Passing through the living left me feeling icky, not cold, so much as empty. And there were many places where the crowds were thick. They dressed differently, like Austin, with denim trousers and cotton shirts that pulled over their heads, and again, the colors were riotous. Thankfully, Austin avoided Bourbon Street on his way back to Lady Geneviève’s. That area was insane. And loud. By the time he had to cross over it, we were all the way down St. Peter, where it was calmer. If anywhere in the Quarter could be considered calm. That wassomething that hadn’t changed. I had once loved the energy of the city, but now it felt too intense with my potential life hanging on the line.
I was pretty sure I remembered the little Victorian cottage where Lady Geneviève lived. The colors were different. Not nearly as garish as they once were. But it wasn’t a home I’d ever been in, either. And unlike Austin, I hadn’t grown up here. But I had spent a lot of time in the city and had known a lot of people. All of them were gone now.
“Hey, Luc…where did you live? When you were living here, you know?”
“Over on Rampart.” We had turned up Burgundy. “I think around the corner from here, not terribly far. I had a tiny apartment, but it was a great area for jazz.” My whole life had centered around music.
“Oh, I think there’s a park over there named for Louis Armstrong.”
“He moved away from here. Went to New York.”
“I don’t know much about history.”
“Doesn’t feel like history to me.” In some ways, it seemed like yesterday or a different time and place. It seemed unreal and in my face at the same time. And eons had passed while I was stuck in that grave, and the only thing I had to hang onto was Rose’s Ballad. It had become so much more than her song to me. “Here we are.” We stopped in front of the house.
“Did you know him? Armstrong?”
I shook my head. “No. I knew of him and had acquaintances in common. But I didn’t know him.” I didn’t want to talk about my past. I wanted a future. “Let’s do this.” I jumped up on the stoop. “Come on.”
He stood on the street looking up at me. “We can go there. Rampart. I bet it’s different, though.”
I sighed. “Aus, everything is different. The buildings, the automobiles. The way you dress. I’ll adjust.” I figured he was worried about how I would cope, but that was something I could figure out if I had the opportunity to.
“Okay.” He joined me on the stoop and knocked on the door.
It opened quicker than the first time we were here, but it wasn’t Geneviève who answered the door. It was someone younger but resembled her in many ways. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“We need to see Lady Geneviève.”
“You have an appointment?”
