The Casquette Girls (56 page)

The plan was set. There was nothing left to do with my nervous energy other than try to relax. Désirée had given me a thermos with the instructions to drink before bed. I took a giant swig and sank back into the mattress.

My body ached from the excessive magic, but it was the kind of pain that felt good. Like after going to the gym.

I took an extra-deep breath
through my nose, letting my lungs fill up until the air moved into my diaphragm, just like our drama teacher had taught us to do. As the air slowly began to leak out of my mouth, I felt big droplets rolling down my cheeks to the pillow.

Finally alone.

I thought about death. The plan was either going to work or it wasn’t; there were no other possible outcomes. Tomorrow someone was going down. The vampires or the witches. The Medicis or the Saint-Germains.

Me… or Nicco.

October 31
st

Shakin
g
.

“Adele, sweetheart, wake up.”

“Hmm… what?” I mumbled, barely able to understand the presence of another person. In the next split second, I sprang up, nearly smacking heads with my father. “What happened? He said I had until tonight!”

“Shhhh. Nothing happened.” My father squeezed my hand. “Nothing bad happened, sweetheart. You must have been dreaming. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have woken you up like that after the other night.”

“No one died?” I stammered.

“No, baby. No one died.”

A very tired Mac Le Moyne was sitting on the edge of my bed, holding a white paper bag.

“Did you just get off work?” I looked at the clock; it was nearly nine in the morning.

“Yeah, it was a late one with so many people pre-gaming for Halloween. Some of your friends, the European ones, closed the place. Apparently one of them works for your mother. But she wasn’t there,” he quickly added.

“Was Niccolò there?” I asked, not wanting to care.

He hesitated before saying yes. I could tell he wished it had been otherwise. “Although, he was brooding, while the others seemed to be celebrating something.”

“He was upset?” My eyes must have lit up too much because he frowned.

“I guess so. He wasn’t taking part in the libations nearly as much as the others, but I couldn’t understand anything they were saying. Hardly any of them were speaking English.” He chuckled. “At one point, I thought they were going to get into a fight with Ren’s band of misfits. Can you imagine?”

My back tensed. Only then did I realize what I had done – I had made my unsuspecting father the poisoner. I tried not to look panicked.

The little brass alarm clock dove off my nightstand.

He picked it up off the floor and examined it. “Weird. Must be broken.” His face twisted into a yawn.

“Dad, you have bartenders, you know?”

“Not many since the Storm. Anyway, if the place gets raided, I need to be there to take the heat.”

“Like you are going to get raided,” I grumbled, rubbing my eyes. Désirée’s sleeping tea definitely hadn’t worn off yet. “Did you say Halloween?”

“All day. Your favorite day of the year, and boy, do I have a surprise for you.”

“Surprise?”

“Please accept this token as a modification of our tradition.” The heavenly combination of sugar and fry wafted as he extended the white bag.

“What?” I uncrumpled the paper. “Oh my God!”

“Café du Monde is officially back in business – well, at least for two days a week until they can get regular deliveries of ingredients. Who knows when that’ll be.”

I shoved one of the warm beignets into my mouth and took a large bite, blowing confectioner’s sugar all over my bed.

“I know they aren’t sugar cookies in the shapes of ghosts, but—”

“This is way better than sugar cookies, Dad!” I mumbled through a stuffed mouth, inadvertently blowing more powdered sugar on him. He laughed.

My mother used to bake sugar cookies every Halloween. It was a task my father had taken over after she left because Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. With all the chaos, I hadn’t even realized the day had arrived, and I certainly wouldn't have expected to uphold our traditional baking session. I looked over at the costume I had cherished not so long ago,
but had collected dust ever since I arrived home from Paris.

“Thanks, Dad. Thank God something’s finally reopened.” Soon, all of my attention was consumed by strategically pressing the beignet so that it absorbed as much powdered sugar as possible.

“My pleasure. All right, I’m gonna try to sleep all day. Tonight is sure to be crazy. The buzz is that people have been flooding back into town the last couple of days to be home for the festivities. What are your plans for tonight?”

“Um… I’m gonna hang out with Désirée.”
Although our plans hardly involve trick-or-treating.

“You’ve been hanging out with her a lot lately,” he said with a little trepidation.

“Well, she’s the only person at Sacred Heart with any kind of tolerance for downtown. And,” I added, “we invited Isaac.”

“Oh, good. What about that boy from the bar?”

The vague reference to Nicco felt like a squeeze to my heart. “Um, probably not.”

“Costume?” he asked, changing the subject, but I caught the look of relief.

“You know it’s a surprise, Dad!”

“Okay, okay. Stop by Le Chat Noir on your way to the parade—”

“The parade is still happening?”

“Oh, yeah. In full force. It’s what people are coming back for.”

“Awesome.
Merci beaucoup pour les beignet
s
,
Dad.”

“Anything for you, baby-doll.” He kissed my forehead.

I took advantage of his close proximity and wrapped my arms around his neck. The moment he began to shift away, I hugged tighter. He pulled me in with a gentle rock until I was ready to let go.

“Everything’s going to get better, Adele.”

“I know it is, Dad.”
Especially if everything goes according to plan.

He kissed my head again, snagged a beignet for himself, and closed the door on his way out.

I squirmed under the covers, eager to get back to sleep. A hard-edge protruding from under my pillow poked my arm. The DVD. I pulled it out and then aggressively stuffed another beignet into my mouth.

Don’t open it, Adele.

I popped open the plastic case, and a piece of paper, folded thrice, landed on my chest. For a minute I just stared at it, trying to convince myself that everyone would be better off if I set the note on fire. But then I conceded to curiosity and ripped it open.

In otherworldly handwriting was a long Italian quote, presumably from the film. I grabbed my phone and prayed to the network gods for a strong enough signal to run my translator app. The circle on the screen began to spin. I shook my phone, as if that would give me more bandwidth. The spinning icon had a hypnotic effect, and for a moment I didn’t even realize that I was staring down at the English words.

“Sometimes at night the darkness and silence weigh upon me… We need to live in a state of suspended animation like a work of art, in a state of enchantment. We have to succeed in loving so greatly that we live outside of time, detached.”

I read the quote three more times. Then suddenly had the urge to spring out of bed, run for the nearest DVD player, and indulge in the narrative that these words, so
à propo
s
,
had been plucked from. Instead, I chucked the DVD across the room to prevent myself from any such romantic downward spiral. I fell back into the bed and slammed my still-damp pillow over my face.

What kind of twisted trick is this? Love? Is this his ploy to rattle me on D-Day?

If it was… it was working.

* * *

I awoke a few hours later with the energy usually summoned by my favorite holiday. But soon enough even the smallest thoughts made my nerves nip.
Should I even bother making my bed?

Yes
.
If today was my last day on Earth, then people would inevitably come into my room after I was dead, so I wanted it to be clean.

I flipped on the radio and nervously hummed along as I picked up dirty laundry, imagining my father tomorrow morning, sitting on my bed, crying.
Would my mother cry? Would she even care?
I had bitten the bullet late last night and texted her back, but hadn’t gotten a respons
e
.

I grabbed my phone to double-check, but all I saw were my own words staring back at me.

Adele 11:47 p.m.
What do you need to talk to me about?

“Whatever.”

I threw the phone back on the bed. My expectations of my mother were so low, a stupid text message, or lack thereof, was nothing to get disappointed over.

Last night’s memories flooded my mind.
Me, Désirée, and Isaac. Who’d have thunk it?
This power – magic, whatever it was – had made me feel electric in the past, but practicing my abilities with those two was far more ecstasy-like.

Fourteen hours later, I was still basking in the euphoric high.

Poor Isaa
c
.
At least Désirée and I got to ease into the whole cursed-attic thing. He got a crash course. Thank God I hadn’t had to drop the whole “vampires exist” bomb on him as well. Then again, being able to turn yourself into a bird would probably make it easier to believe in the unlikely natures of others. I, however, was still living in a perpetual state of semi-shock.

Isaac could always just fly away if the situation got too out of control. Although, my gut told me that if things got messy, Isaac would never bail. Dee, on the other hand… well, I hoped not.

“Ugh! Don’t think like that.
”
I kicked shoes into the closet, tossed in an armful of clothes, and slammed the door
.
“Désirée is
no
t
going to bail.”

Our plan was mediocre at best, bu
t
if we wanted any chance of pulling it off, absolute trust in each other was essential. And trust wasn’t something we had had a lot of time to build, especially as a coven.
Does three even count as a cove
n
?
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was responsible for this whole mess. Or at least, my family was.
Am I unnecessarily putting Désirée’s and Isaac’s lives at risk?
I mean, Minette and Lisette
died
getting these vampires into the attic.
Why did Lisette demand I give them what they wanted? If there is more to what they want than just breaking the curse, why the hell aren’t any of them willing to just come out and ask me for it?

“Totally shady,” I grumbled, snatching up a fresh towel and walking towards the bathroom.

Eighteenth-century grudges?

Feuds?

Curses!

AGH!

With a loud pop, the lightbulb in the floor lamp spontaneously combusted, spraying shards of glass all over the floor.

“Dammit, Adele,
chill out!”

* * *

My phone buzzed as I walked out of the steaming bathroom.

Annabelle 3:40 p.m.
D + A, where have u bitches been hiding? Everyone’s going downtown tonight 2 this Halloween homecoming parade. Guess I’ll see u there, since it’s ur stomping ground.

Oh, joy.

There were also a couple of group texts from Désirée and Isaac.

Désirée 3:32 p.m.
I “mended” the attic shutter u destroyed. Isaac is going to rehang it at the convent.

Isaac 3:34 p.m.
I already hung it, but one of the stakes for the hinge is missing, so it’s not very secure. Going to the salvage yard to try to find a replacement. Fingers crossed that they have something.

My fingers flew over the digital buttons as I hurried my reply.

Adele 3:51 p.m.
Thanks, Dee. Isaac, don’t bother, I have the missing stake. I’ll bring it tonight. Meet y’all at Le Chat. 6pm?

Isaac 3:52 p.m.
Word.

Désirée 3:53 p.m.
Don’t be late.

I typed something snarky, but before I could press send, caught sight of a paper airplane lying on my bed. That
definitely
hadn’t been there pre-shower. I tightened the towel around my chest, as my eyes darted around the room.