Infatuate (40 page)

I was reading it when Dante burst in my room, no greeting, just talking. “I’m having a voodoo emergency!” He had that crazed skittishness of someone who’s been cramming for finals in classes he’d zoned out in all semester.

“So this party is mandatory, I guess, right? Even if you’re supposed to be saving lives that day?” I dropped the invitation on my desk. He ignored me.

“I need some last-minute ingredients. I just got these ideas.” He was pacing, not looking at me. “Things I want to add. Even though they’re not usually in voodoo spells. But these are
my
spells. And Mariette says I need to follow my heart and my impulses and experiment. And I need more than sage and jalap root and dragon’s blood resin already, you know? I need to branch out. I need something more exotic to complement the herbs from the underworld.”

I shrugged. “Well, that certainly makes sense.”

“Can you get them for me?” Now he stopped moving and looked at me with his wild eyes.

“What?”

“Max is busy tearing up all my stuff at the community garden,” he said, fluttering his hands. “And I don’t know who else to trust. I just need this as strong as can be, with flowers potent enough to go with the underworld blooms.”

“Don’t send me back down there!” I blurted out. I couldn’t go back to that crypt right now. I couldn’t risk it so close to Metamorfosi Day.

“No, aren’t you listening? I’ve got those covered; the flowers are
here.
” He rifled through the books on my desk, tearing a sheet of paper from my notebook and scribbling a list.

“Oh, okay. I’ll go to the florist over by the French Market.”

“
No.
I need you to go to the botanical garden. Like, tonight. And take some clippings.”

“Isn’t that kind of, I don’t know, theft?”

“All’s fair in love and war—this is war.”

I couldn’t disagree with that.

“You’re better at breaking and entering than I am, Haven. This’ll be a snap for you. And with all I’ve got going on at Mariette’s, I need every minute I can get. You’ll see. Take Lance. And this.” He held the list out to me with nearly a dozen flower names and descriptions.

By twilight, Lance and I were standing outside the gates of the botanical garden, the leafy expanse stretching out endlessly inside and just a ten-foot wall of metal bars keeping us out. No problem. With minimal rattling, we were up and over it, not even breaking a sweat.

“Not to celebrate too soon, but we’re getting really good at that,” I joked.

“I was thinking the same thing.” Lance smiled. He pulled the map Dante had given us from his back pocket and studied it as we wandered back along the paved path, past proud towering oaks, blossoming rosebushes, an array of palm trees whose thick, broad leaves whispered as they brushed against one another in the cool evening breeze. In the distance, the glass dome of the conservatory sparkled, reflecting the lights from the security lamps. Even in the dim glow, the sprawling grounds, with their leafy wonders and bursting blooms, made such a peaceful oasis I almost forgot there was business to tend to. I dug Dante’s notes out of my bag. He had ordered his shopping list from most vital ingredients to least.

“I vote we hit the tropical section first.” I leaned over Lance’s map. He had flipped on a tiny flashlight and shone it on our target.

I read the list out loud to myself as Lance navigated, our footsteps and the chirping cicadas providing the only soundtrack. We spoke in hushed voices, as though in a church. “There’s this starred one, ‘Voodoo Lily, smells like rotting corpse.’ That’ll be a fun one. We’ve got a couple orchids. Yarrow, it says here, for healing—”

“So Dante thinks this stuff is somehow gonna be even more potent than what we used on the Krewe the other night?” he interrupted. He adjusted his glasses in that nervous way of his, then pointed at the path around a reflecting pool.

“Here’s hoping, right?” I continued reading: “Hyssop to ward off evil spirits. Thorns from a few unusual hybrid roses. Love-lies-bleeding—” I stopped. “Whoa, that sounds ominous.”

“Wonder what that would look like.”

“It says here, ‘small red blooms, weeping, looks like a broken heart.’” My mind wandered, the name of the flower sticking in my thoughts, held there by the thorns of the past couple months. I realized neither of us had spoken for a while. Lance watched his feet as he walked. I felt the weight of silence, nerves setting in as the minutes stretched. I wondered if he was thinking what I was. I stared off into the distance, tropical plants fanning and waving several yards away.

Somehow we both decided to speak at precisely the same time.

Lance started, “So, I—” just as I began, “What do you—”

We laughed in a painful, nervous way. I nodded for him to go ahead. “I was going to say, with these battles ahead and all, that we’re sort of a team, so we’ve got to start acting like it . . . again. Or else we’ll never get through this stuff.”

I smiled softly, appreciatively. It occurred to me, I might as well go for it. “I’m going to ask a question I never thought I would have the guts to ask,” I said. “But, you know, we always get bold when our lives are on the line, don’t we?”

“I suppose we do,” he answered.

“What happened . . . with . . . us?” All the blood rushed to my head as soon as I said it, but, still, I was proud of myself for trying.

“Us?” he asked, like he didn’t know what “us” I was referring to. I worried this was going to go even worse than I had imagined. But sometimes you just need answers, even if they won’t change anything that happened and won’t necessarily change anything going forward. My life was populated with so many things that were out of my control, I couldn’t help wanting to try to understand this.

Finally Lance sighed and mussed his hair, exhaling. “I don’t know.”

It was strangely reassuring somehow. I felt emboldened enough to press for more, my gaze firmly focused on my fidgeting fingers.

“I mean . . .” I braced myself and bravely soldiered on like someone who might perish in a battle against devils in mere days, nothing at all to lose. “Did you . . . do you . . . did you”—I couldn’t get it out—“love Sabine?”

“Do you?” He parried with me. “Love him?”

“So unfair, I asked first,” I said with a fake pout, watching him from the corner of my eye. The air had grown chillier since we’d arrived, even as the heat rose in my skin. But I thought of that message last night, and about this, I wouldn’t joke. “Love Lucian? No. Not really. I care about him. I know that he doesn’t deserve what’s happening to him now. But I don’t know. I think there’s probably a difference between sort of friend-like-love and not-wanting-to-condemn-someone-to-hell-love and . . .” I searched for the right way to say it, but I had never had a conversation like this and came up short. “. . . and
love
-love. I mean, I’m just guessing.” I shrugged. “You know, from an objective standpoint.”

“You’re probably right,” he said, eyes fixed straight ahead. I could feel him wanting to say something more, so I fought the urge to fill the painful silence. “So then,” he started finally. “For instance, you might categorize your time with him as . . . what?”

“Well, aside from the official business of making good on a promise to try to break him free?”

“Aside from that.”

I smiled to myself. “Then other than that, I think I just wanted to get your attention.”

Now he smiled too, and looked at me. “Well, mission accomplished.”

“Thanks,” I said, just a hint of pride. “Is it me, or have things been kinda weird since we’ve gotten here? I mean, with us, not just, you know, demons trying to kill us weird, but
us
weird?”

“Yeah.” He sighed.

“I just laid my heart out. You gotta give me more,” I said lightly enough to hide how serious I was.

“Sabine?” he said tentatively, like he was testing out a microphone. Then, matter-of-factly: “Sabine was a momentary lapse in judgment.”

“I’m intrigued, go on.” We reached the tropical plants, their fragrance wafting out, giant leaves creating a canopy and nearly assaulting us. Orchids, in purples and yellows and reds so vibrant we could see them even in near darkness, studded the lush green landscape like jewels embedded in velvet.

“She was like an escape.” He kicked at the dirt along our path. “Maybe it’s just that she seemed kind of . . . fragile? Like she sort of needed me . . . more, maybe?” He said it in an apologetic tone, his eyes fluttering to mine occasionally like someone pleading guilty to a crime. If I tried really hard, this could almost sound like a compliment.

“Oh.” I hadn’t seen that coming. I wasn’t prepared to mount a defense.

“I was confused, you know? Everything that happened at the Lex, that messed me up.” I could see him running through the memories in his head.

“Of course. I was too.”

“No, you’re not getting—” He looked frustrated and tried another tack. “It’s pretty uncool to admit this. But in a weird way I feel like everything we went through made me weaker. When we went back to normal life, the roller coaster was too much. And I felt like I needed you to keep me stable, but I needed you too much. It’s not a normal thing for me to feel that, like, ever. It was too much . . . you were too much. And then we came here and—”

“I was too much?” I didn’t understand.

“You seemed to assimilate into this new existence easier, this angel status, like it was something you had to do, so you did. I didn’t get it. Once I finally felt good enough to get outta bed, after everything that had happened, the fire, that whole battle, I felt like it was someone else, not me, who had done all that and lived through it. I couldn’t imagine having to do anything like that again.”

“Join the club. I mean, are you kidding? It’s kind of not the easiest thing to adjust to. I’m messed up too. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Not the most impressive thing to tell your girlfriend.” He rolled his eyes behind those frames.

“Well, you would have discovered that I felt—and still feel—completely out of control. If it’s any consolation.” It felt good to say that and to have it be okay that I felt this way.

“Yeah, I guess.” He smiled. “So all I’m saying is, hanging out with Sabine seemed like an escape. But there is no escape. I know that now. And when you got tagged—” He paused a moment. “I realized . . . a lot.”

I soaked it all in for a moment, not wanting to speak too soon, letting the heft of his words have space to breathe. We had stopped walking. Who knew how long we had been standing here amid these orchids, lost in thought. Lance turned to face me, smiling shyly now.

“So, I laid my heart out there. You gotta give me something.” He nearly repeated my line, with finality. I just grabbed his shirt and pulled him to me, my lips finding his, his arms closing in around my waist, holding me tightly.

When we got back to the house, I tracked down Dante in Max’s room. I unpacked my many Ziploc bags, handing over so many clippings of all shapes and sizes, dictating each as I went along. When I got to love-lies-bleeding, he smiled, giving me a mischievous look I knew too well.

“Oh, it turns out I don’t need that one after all,” he said with a smirk.

33. All Hail, Queen Haven

After our escape from the crypt, I had left Lucian a note thanking him and asking what I needed to do on Metamorfosi Day. I checked day after day for his reply, but each time I was greeted by a dark window. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been caught helping us and because of it, he was now gone forever. At last, that Sunday, on the way to the warehouse to put the finishing touches on our float, I found the candle burning and this note snuggled into one of those familiar bottles:

H—

I’m just glad I was there to help you both. Thank you again for what you’re about to do for me. I can’t begin to tell you what it means to me. I’ll meet you at our usual place in the morning on the day of metamorphosis. Until then, I know that you should follow Clio that evening. She will lead you to your nemesis. Lance should do the same with Wylie. I wish I had more for you right now, but it has grown increasingly difficult to learn anything new. They are too wary of me. I will try with all my heart to collect more by the time I see you.

Yours,

L

The next couple of days were a blur. I could feel a shell hardening around my body and soul, protecting and strengthening me. Nothing, it seemed, could surprise me anymore. Case in point: We had called in another anonymous tip to the police to search the crypt Lance had built, and sure enough, they had dug it all up only to find absolutely nothing. If I hadn’t explored those corridors with Lance, I might’ve been convinced I had dreamed the whole thing. While we were at it, we called the authorities again and again—River, Drew, and Tom all doing the honors this time—warning of threats on Mardi Gras. At least the police would be out in full force, even if they hadn’t been able in the past to fight the demons.

But it was another call that had been far more nerve-racking: the one I owed Joan. I had managed to avoid her long enough, plying her with short, harried e-mails and texts, letting her calls go to voice mail, and blatantly and boldly ignoring every mention of her potential travel plans. But, curled up on my bed now, two days until what could be my last on earth, I couldn’t wait any longer. She answered immediately.

“Why, hello! You’re a tough lady to get a hold of!” she greeted me.

“I know, I know, sorry. Things have been . . . crazy.”

“Yes, crazy, crazy, aren’t things just always crazy for you. Too crazy to call home,” she said, upbeat enough that I knew she wasn’t really angry. Yet.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Never mind, sweetie. It’s fine, I know you’re busy.” She paused for a moment, as though searching for an adequate segue, which made me nervous.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, but, well, now, don’t be mad . . . but I have a surprise,” she eased in.

“Ohhhkay.” I braced myself.