Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 02 - Dark Carnival

Copyright © 2012 by Nancy K. Duplechain

All rights
reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by
any means—whether auditory, graphical, mechanical, or electronic—without written
of both publisher and author, except in the cased of brief excerpts used in
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work is illegal and is punishable by law.

The characters and
event portrayed in this book are fictitious.  Any similarity to real persons,
living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Visit author
website: www.NancyKDuplechain.com

For Mom, who always told me that I can be anything I want
to be.

I noticed
countless eyes following me.  They belonged to shop-keeps closing up for the
night, the homeless watching me from their makeshift beds, call girls
pretending to wait for their next tricks on the corners, but all the while,
wary of my every move. I didn’t belong here and they knew it.  I could feel Les
Foncés all around me, too, watching me from behind the tombs of the
cemeteries, waiting for me around the corners of St. Louis Cathedral.  With
each breeze that floated off the Mississippi, I could feel their breath on my
neck. 

“Everybody
have a dark side.” – Papa Mulogo

Contents

1

The Next
Step

2

Voodoo and
Beignets

3

Meeting the
Master

4

When You’re
a Stranger

5

Nadia

6

Another
Saturday Night

7

Rough Ride

8

A Day for
Sun

9

A Dark Night
in City Park

10

Ain’t No
Sunshine

11

Heroes and
Villains

12

Noah’s
Labyrinth

13

A Sacrifice

14

Carrie Comes
to NOLA

15

A Grim Rule

16

The Lion’s
Den

17

Ruby’s
Reprisal

18

Back to
Acadiana

19

A Request

20

The Line

EPILOGUE

I had never seen a
funeral for a priest until now.  Death in the Deep South is a spectacle.  Funerals
are black-tie events with friends and relatives carrying on with laughter,
tears, food and alcohol.  This seems especially true in Acadiana, that region
of Louisiana which makes up Cajun country.  I’ve seen too many funerals in my
twenty-six years, burying mostly family—grandparents, parents, brother and
sister-in-law.  I can only imagine how many funerals my grandmother, Maw Maw
Clothilde, had seen in her lifetime.

The
ceremony for Father Ben Olivier was held at St. John’s, the church where he was
the pastor for over fifty years.  The church was decked out in white and gold,
and hundreds of faithful parishioners, nuns and priests showed their respect by
attending the service.  The archbishop himself led the mass, impressed by the
dedication of God’s representative, who now rested in a mahogany casket in the
center aisle.  He was laid to rest in the cemetery behind the church.  
“The
dead speak,”
Father Ben had told me once on that same hallowed ground.  I sadly
wondered if he would speak again one day.

I
was never a religious person and not even a spiritual one until a few months
ago when Father Ben and my grandmother first informed me about my destiny.  I was
to follow in their footsteps—the path of the paladin.  Ben had told me the
story of the paladins, those holy knights, descendants of Charlemagne and his
twelve retainers; bestowed with great gifts to aid them in battling Les Foncés,
the Dark Ones.  My grandmother and I, as well as my orphaned, ten-year-old
niece Lyla, were from Charlemagne’s bloodline, while Ben came from the knight
Oliver’s bloodline.  Our gift was that of healing.  His was that he could see
the future.  I wondered if he had seen his own death approaching.  After
battling the forces of evil most of his life, it was a heart attack that
finally took him.

The
funeral reception was held in the church center to accommodate everyone.  Had
it not been for the dominant black hue in the crowd’s attire, the gathering
could have easily been mistaken for a wedding reception from the buffet table
alone.  Pies, cakes, fruit and vegetable trays, at least four different kinds
of meat and a gigantic punch bowl took over every inch of the table which
spanned nearly half the back wall.  I noticed Cee Cee Baptiste, Clothilde’s
friend and fellow paladin, near the dessert table.  She was a Creole of Color from
New Orleans, and I would soon be staying with her for awhile so I could train
as a Traiteur, a healer in the Cajun culture.  I had yet to meet my trainer,
but Clothilde assured me that he was the best one to teach me.

After
the reception, I drove Clothilde and myself back to her house in Abbeville
where I had been staying since I moved back home from Los Angeles.  The
two-story house with the chipped white paint and the large pond in front was my
second home when I was growing up.  Now it was my primary home, sharing it with
Clothilde and Lyla, though I sometimes longed for a place of my own when the
generation gaps affected me most.

Lucas,
my late brother’s childhood friend and partner in the Lafayette P.D., was
waiting for us to return.  He babysat Lyla and his son Jonathan while we
attended the funeral.  It was a little rough between Lucas and me for awhile.  When
I found out I was a paladin, I had to keep it a secret from him, but he soon
found out and then discovered that his own little boy was one, too.  Ever
since, we’ve been dancing around each other with considerable awkwardness.  I
guess it wouldn’t have been as awkward if we hadn’t shared a couple of intimate
moments.

When
we got back home from the service, Clothilde and I walked into the house to
hear Lyla laughing and saw Jonathan lifting Lucas high above his head.  He
certainly didn’t let his Down syndrome slow him down.  

“Son,
you have until the count of three to put me down!” ordered Lucas.  This brought
on a fit of giggles from Jonathan.  “One…Two…”

That
was as far as Lucas got when Jonathan gently put his father on the floor.  Lucas
gave his best stern face to Jonathan, who just kept giggling.  Lucas looked at
me helplessly.  “He keeps picking me up! I don’t know what to do.”  I tried to
hide my grin.  I looked over at Lyla who was still laughing, and that set me
off into a fit of laughter.  Lucas angrily stared me down.

“Ya
give him a good swat on his behind and he’ll stop,” said Clothilde, who did not
put up with any such behavior from a child.  

“I’m
not hitting my son,” said Lucas.

“I
didn’t say hit, I said swat!  If you don’t correct him now, he’ll walk all over
you.”  She eyed Jonathan and beckoned him with her finger.  “Come here, little
boy.”  Jonathan’s giggles stopped short, and he shook his head, his mouse-brown
hair swishing from side to side, and he quickly hid behind his daddy’s legs.  He
knew Clothilde would correct him, so he was sure to keep his distance.  Ever
since he discovered his super strength, we couldn’t let his regular sitter
discover his secret ability, so Clothilde took over watching him when Lucas had
to work.

“It’s
okay, Miss Clo.  I’ll have a talk with him later,” said Lucas.

“Talk
don’t work with children.  But you his daddy, so what do I know?  I have to go
make supper.”

“Didn’t
y’all eat over there?”

“Too
many people,” I said.  “I wasn’t hungry, anyway.  I don’t know how people can
stuff themselves after someone dies.”

“It’s
all part of celebrating the soul passing onto the next life,” said Clothilde.

“I
noticed you didn’t eat anything, either.”

“Pfft!
 None of them old women can cook worth a shit!”

Lucas
rolled his eyes.  Lyla and Jonathan burst out in a fit of giggles again, and
Lyla comically fell to the floor, holding her gut.

“Maw
Maw!” I scolded.

“Mais,
it’s true!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t say
that in front of the kids?”

She
muttered something in Cajun and then announced that she was going to start
preparing supper.  She walked out the back door, probably to get some
ingredients from the garden shed which she had long ago converted into a
makeshift outdoor kitchen.  Lucas and I both shook our heads at the kids still
laughing on the floor.

“All
right, Jon.  You ready to go?” said Lucas.

“
Nooo
!
I want to stay and play some more!”

“Why
don’t you stay for supper?” I asked.

Lucas
looked me in the eyes briefly and then looked away.  “I … I don’t know.  We
should, uh—”

“Please?”
 I hoped he would stay.  I wanted to get back to normal with him again, if
there was such a thing as normal anymore with these new realities of ours—realities
where the impossible was possible, like his six-year-old son having super
strength, and Lyla and Clothilde and I being able to magically heal the sick
and injured.  Although, out of the three of us, Clothilde was the only one
skilled enough to do that.  Lyla could only heal animals at the moment, and I
couldn’t heal anything without Clothilde’s help.

“Well
… okay.  Jon?  You want to—”

“YAY!
 We’re staying for supper!” cheered Jonathan.  I smiled, relieved.  Lucas
smiled too, but he still looked uncomfortable.

“Lyla,
why don’t you go help Maw Maw Clo get what she needs from the outdoor kitchen,”
I said.

She
grabbed Jonathan by the hand.  “C’mon.” The two of them ran out the back door,
and for a second they looked like brother and sister and everything seemed just
fine in my world.  I felt like I had a family.  My parents and brother were
gone, but ever since I moved back to Louisiana, I regained that sense of
family, living with Clothilde and Lyla.  And for this split second, I felt that
family extend with Jonathan and Lucas, even if Lucas was still hesitant.  In
truth, when I thought about him being part of the family, part of me was
uncomfortable, too.  I would love for him to be with us always, but I didn’t
know in what capacity.  Just as Lyla’s godfather?  Or in a deeper relationship
with me?

“So,
how you been lately?”  His question brought me out of my deep thought and, when
I looked at him, I was surprised that he was looking at me now.

“Uh,
good.  And you?  How’ve you been lately?”

He
shrugged.  “Still trying to get used to all of this.  I wish that I could
understand what it’s like for him.  For y’all, too.”

“Well,
I feel the same.  I’m still human.  So is Jon.  Maybe you should just think of
it as him being really good at a certain sport, but his particular sport is
weight lifting.”

He
grinned.  “Weight lifting.  Yeah.  So, you ready to go to New Orleans?”

“I
guess so.  Cee Cee said she’s excited to have me over.”

“You
don’t sound so excited.”

“I’m
just not sure what to expect.  I’m not that good at … you know,” I said,
meaning my ability.  Lucas nodded, understanding and suddenly more
uncomfortable.  I was temporarily relieved when the back door swung open and
Lyla came running in, until I saw that she was near tears, with Jonathan right
behind her.  She hid behind me and Jonathan hid behind her.

“What’s
going on?” asked Lucas, his voice edging on worry.

“I
was just trying to help!  Don’t let her switch me!” pleaded Lyla.

Clothilde
came in through the back door, hurrying as best she could with her weak knees, a
lock of her snow white hair in her eyes, carrying a switch with her and looking
for Lyla.  “Come back here, little girl!” she scolded.

“What
happened?” I asked.

Clothilde
caught up to us as Lyla remained behind me, cowering.  “I was going to make a
chicken gumbo for supper!”

“And
…?”

“And
every time I tried to kill a chicken, she’d heal it!”

“Oh,
my God,” I said, rolling my eyes.  “Do you
have
to kill a chicken?”

“Well,
how else do you expect me to make a chicken gumbo?”

“There’s
chicken in the freezer.  I bought it yesterday.”

“From
the store!”

“It’s
perfectly good chicken!”

“Ladies,
let’s just calm down, okay?” said Lucas.  “Miss Clo, now I know you’re the best
cook in Acadiana, and I’m sure that you can work miracles with store-bought
chicken, can’t you, darlin’?”  He smiled at her with his hazel eyes, and she
melted like she always does with him.  And who wouldn’t?  He was tall, handsome
with sandy blonde hair, in great shape and, more importantly, a Southern
gentleman.  If Clothilde had her way, he and I would be married by now.

“Well,
I suppose,” she said after more coaxing from him.  She even set down the
switch, making it safe for Lyla to come out of hiding, but she still gave her a
stern look to let her know she meant business.  Lyla knew better than to say
anything else about chickens that night.

After
supper, Lyla and Clothilde did the dishes while I walked Lucas to his truck and
helped him put a sleeping Jonathan in the seat.  Lucas buckled him in and
gently closed the passenger door.  “Thanks for inviting us for supper,” he
said.

“Y’all
hadn’t been in awhile.  We missed having you.”

He
nodded.  “I missed being here a lot.  So did Jon.  I …”

I
looked down at the ground, waiting for him to collect his thoughts.  He shuffled
his feet and for a second, it looked like he was a high school kid again
instead of the thirty-year-old man before me.  I looked up at him and him
looking at me.

He
kissed me right on the corner of my mouth then, something I wasn’t expecting.  It
was short, but I felt like he wanted it to last longer.  I didn’t know what to
say.  I was in utter confusion and it appeared he was too, because he suddenly
couldn’t look at me anymore.  I could see his breath puffing up harder around
him in the still January night.

“I’ll
see ya later, Leigh,” he said, and walked around to the driver’s side, got in
and left.  I stood there, staring after him as his tail lights faded in the
dark and he drove onto the highway, out of sight.

I
stayed for awhile longer, now looking out onto the large pond in the front
yard.  The wind picked up a little, rippling the half moon’s silvery reflection
in the water.  
He kissed me
.  He kissed me and I had no idea what that
meant.  It wasn’t a full-on mouth kiss.  It wasn’t a kiss on the cheek.  It was
on the corner of my mouth.  
What the hell does that mean?
 I found
myself wanting it to mean that he wanted to be with me, but I was afraid of
that.  There was too much I had to deal with, trying to learn the art of the
Traiteur.  I didn’t even know how long I was going to be in New Orleans.  If he
was interested in me, would he wait until I came back?

“Come
in here before you catch your death!” ordered Clothilde from the porch.  I
shivered and ran up the steps where she held the front door open for me.  “That’s
a good way to catch a cold, that,” she fussed.

“You
can’t catch a cold from being out in the cold,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“We’ll
see,” she said, stubborn as always.

I
decided on a different tactic with her.  I turned to her and hugged her.  “Good
night, Maw Maw.  I love you.” It worked.  She was taken aback and barely
muttered the same words to me.  I grinned devilishly before releasing our
embrace.  I went upstairs to my room and got ready for bed.

I
had just settled under the covers when there was a small knock on my door.  I
recognized it as Lyla’s because Clothilde wasn’t the knocking kind—she just
barged right in.  “Come in,” I said.

The
door opened a crack, and Lyla stuck her head in, her long brown hair down
around her small shoulders.  I smiled at her and she opened the door wider and
entered, wearing a lavender night gown with a white kitty cat on it.  She was
ten years old, but acted much older at times.  I guessed it was because she was
forced to grow up after her parents died.  I tried to protect her because I
wanted her to enjoy being a child for as long as possible.  Lately she had been
acting like a normal kid and that pleased me, except when her pre-teen
sassiness rose up and collided with my inner child.