Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 01 - Dark Bayou (19 page)

“How do I do it? How do I become a traiteur like you and Lyla?”

“Well,” she said, mixing some new ingredients. “Lyla isn’t a traiteur yet. That comes with a lot of training when she’s older. Right now she has what you have. It’s just the natural healing ability we’re born with, the one we inherited from Charlemagne.”

“But I can’t—”

“You
can
, but you’re blocked, mentally. Lyla can heal animals because no one ever told her she couldn’t. She’s not old enough to accept logic over faith.” She eyed me when she said that.

“So, what do I do?”

“You need to train.”

“How long will that take?”

“As long as you need until you learn.”

“Will you teach me?”

“I can’t.”

“Um … why not?”

“It’s the tradition. A traiteur can only learn to be a traiteur from the opposite sex. It keeps nature and your gift balanced that way.”

I sighed. “So, I’m basically helpless to protect Lyla.”

“That’s why you rely on your team. You work together, using the best you got. Father Ben will come tonight and possibly Miss Cee Cee. If they can’t come here, I’ll meet them at Clovis’ old house.”

“But why am I here if I can’t contribute to the team yet?”

She set the bowl and spoon down on the table and went over to the stove. She turned off the heat completely and gave the concoction one final stir. “You’re here because you’re supposed to be here.” She spoke very slowly now, taking care to choose just the right words. “You are supposed to protect Lyla. Whether or not you can use your gift yet doesn’t matter. There are other ways to protect her. And everything you do from here on out, sets forth a chain of events that will take your life down the path you choose now, the path of the paladin. That’s what Father Ben sees, anyway.”

I took in all she was saying. It was very overwhelming, but, since I’d been back in Louisiana, I felt more and more compelled to choose this path. As much as I struggled against it and wanted to back away, I could feel it pulling me in. It was like I was at a crossroads, and the road before me was clear and bright; the one of the paladin. All the other directions were hazy and out of focus, like dark mirages, leading me to desolate deserts.

“You said I had to learn from another traiteur? A man? I thought only the direct descendants of Charlemagne had the gift. That would mean I need a man from the family. There are no more men on your side of the family.”

She shook her head. “There are many descendants, spread out over the world. Charlemagne had several children.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling a little stupid for not thinking of that myself. “Where do I find a male traiteur?”

“I have someone in mind, but that will have to wait till later. We have to deal with the matter at hand first. Now go call Lucas while I finish up in here.”

I started to leave but stopped and turned back to her. “So, I’m going to be learning how to make these … remedies that you make, right?”

“Ouais.”

“Ah. Does that mean I have to I have to, um … cook with chicken poo, also?” She glared at me. I grinned at her, and I’d like to think that she cracked a smile, too, as I walked out the shed and back to the house.

I waited to call Lucas until I was in my bedroom. I was a little embarrassed to talk to him after the dream I had. I knew just hearing his voice would have me blushing in a second. I put off calling him until I was unpacked. Once that was done, I sat on my bed, took a deep breath, and dialed his number, intent on sounding as casual as possible, mentally forcing myself not to remember the lingering kisses, his hard chest, our legs wrapped—

“Hey!” said Lucas, over the phone.

I froze for a second, completely forgetting how to speak. “Uh,” I muttered.

“Leigh? Hello?”

“Hey,” I managed to spit out.

“Hey. You okay? I’ve been trying to reach you for about a half hour now. I tried Carrie’s, but she said you had already left.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I forgot I had my phone off. What’s up?” I thought I was doing a good job of faking normal, but he paused for a moment, like he could read my thoughts, seeing the lustful images my unconscious conjured up last night.

“Can you come meet me today?”

“I guess so. Why? Where are you?”

“I’m at the station. I think I may have a lead on …” His voice dropped down to a whisper. “You know who.”

I shuddered. “Yeah. Okay. You want me to meet you at the station?”

“No. Let’s meet at Don’s for lunch first, and then you can ride with me, okay?”

“Okay, I said,” not feeling much like eating.

When I pulled into the parking lot at Don’s Seafood restaurant, the sky was a little darker and there was a blessedly cool breeze. Lucas was waiting in his truck. I got out and so did he. We met at the door, which he held open for me.

Once we entered the restaurant, the smell made my stomach growl, so I ordered the fried catfish with a side of coleslaw. He had the fried shrimp and crawfish platter, offering me free reign to help myself to his plate. I gladly accepted, snatching bites here and there. We sat in a corner booth and made small chit chat for a bit. I was careful to avoid his eyes, afraid my face would flush a deep red over the dream. He didn’t seem to notice me dodging him. He was lost in his own head, trying to think of what he had to tell me, no doubt.

After my catfish was long gone, and we were casually picking at the smallest, cast-aside pieces of shrimp and crawfish left on Lucas’ plate, he opened up. “I was looking at those pictures again. The ones that were left for me at the station?” I nodded for him to continue. He pushed our plates to the edge of the table, clearing the space in front of us. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a map. He unfolded it, flattened it out and turned it to face my direction. It was a map of Lafayette Parish. There was a rough outline of some kind of design traced onto the paper, with holes marking off each point and following the lines.

I arched an eyebrow at Lucas. “What’s this?”

“Well, I was flipping through the pictures, and I decided to put some thumb tacks to mark off each location on the map over my desk. It made this.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, but it sure looks like something.”

I leaned back in my seat and rolled my eyes. “C’mon, Lucas. That’s like looking at clouds and finding shapes in them. You can see anything you want to see.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

I looked at it again. It was an equilateral triangle with one line coming down, left of center, and another line going through that one that came down into a V formation and came back up to finish near the bottom right of the triangle.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” I said.

“Maybe we can find someone who knows what it means,” he said, folding the paper and putting it back in his pocket.

“I could ask Father Ben,” I sighed.

“Who?”

“A friend of Clothilde’s.”

“Why would you ask him?”

I shrugged, not wanting to give away any information that would force me to explain an ancient secret society devoted to stopping the forces of evil. Not that I really cared if he knew or not, but I just didn’t want to be the one to explain something I wasn’t entirely sold on yet.

“Maybe it’s some religious thing,” I said. “If you want, I can check it out.”

“Why don’t we both go check it out?”

I hesitated, not sure if Ben would be able to dance around hushed secrets in front of Lucas. “Okay. We can make a pass now if you want.”

He grinned and gave a silent chuckle. “What?” I asked defensively.

“Make a pass?”

I smiled, too, at my choice of words. “I guess being back here is rubbing off on me.”

“Yeah,” he said, getting up from his seat. “I think we’re rubbing off all those palm trees and smog, getting down to the South Louisiana girl underneath.” I smiled, too, and thought that wasn’t a bad thing at all.

When we stepped out into the parking lot, I noticed the sky was darker, and the wind had picked up. “Wanna ride with me?” he asked.

“Sure.”

From Don’s, we took Johnston Street all the way to East University and hooked a left. From there, we made a right onto St. John Street, named in honor of St. John the Evangelist. It was also the name of the cathedral whose parking lot we pulled into.

The beauty of the church was a sharp contrast to the dark nature of our mission. It was majestic in its design. T
he elegant arches stood out against the vast red and white brickwork. The bell tower was an octagonal steeple high above the cathedral’s foundation. There were smaller towers on either side of the entrance, and it looked like something from a fairy tale, where maidens were held for safe-keeping while knights fought dragons in mighty battles that would one day be recounted in epic poems.

To the right of the church, standing like a silent sentinel, was a mammoth oak tree, nearly five centuries old. Its branches spread out over one-hundred feet high and over two-hundred feet wide. David and I spent many late Sunday mornings sitting under that tree, waiting for our parents to finish visiting with their fellow parishioners after mass. It was a haven for me, and I always felt safe in its branches.

We entered the church and were greeted by an elderly nun who gave guided tours. She was delighted to see us. “Bonjour! Welcome to Saint John’s. I’m Sister Aubrey.”

“Good afternoon, sister,” said Lucas. “We were looking for Father Ben. Is he here?”

She frowned slightly at this. I suspected that we were possibly the only visitors today, being that it was the middle of the week and there was no festival going on in the area, so no tourists.

“He’s out back in the cemetery. At least I saw him there a little while ago. I can get him if you like.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “We’ll find him. Thank you.”

She nodded and turned away as we walked down the long aisle that led towards the altar.
I was baptized and confirmed here. It was my home, my spiritual home. I had walked the Italian marbled floors countless times, was mesmerized by the flambeau stained glass that portrayed the life of St. John. Mass can never captivate a child’s attention, and it never did mine. I always got lost in the vaulted ceiling, the columns and arches, the magnificent golden organ in the loft, and the Stations of the Cross depicted in mosaics. It was a magical place to me then. Now, it made me uneasy to be here, like it knew my secrets, like how I didn’t believe in its power anymore.

We turned left before we got to the altar. We exited through the side door that led to the cemetery. Outside, there was a strong breeze. The white graves and headstones of past parishioners gleamed under the steel sky. In the back, near the southwest corner, was Father Ben, casually strolling among the dead. We made our way to him and, when he saw us, beamed.

“Well, hello, Leigh!”

“Hi,” I said shyly. I was a little ashamed to speak to him after the way I reacted to the information he shared with me back at Clovis’ house. “Um, Father Ben? This is Lucas Castille.”

Lucas shook his hand. Ben clasped both hands on Lucas’. “Pleasure to meet you, son.”

“You too, sir,” Lucas agreed as they released their grip on each other. “I hope we didn’t disturb you.”

“Not at all! I like to come out here a lot to listen and think.”

“Listen?” I asked.

He nodded towards a nearby headstone. “Oh yes. The dead like to talk, but no one ever listens. Problem is, once you start listening, you can’t ever get ‘em to shut up!” He laughed hard at this and so did Lucas. I smiled uneasily, wondering if he was serious. Given the tales I’ve heard from him, no doubt he was.

“Father, Leigh and I were wondering if you could help us out with something.”

“Well, I’d love to if I could. What you got?”

Lucas pulled the map from his pocket, unfolded it and showed it to Ben. “We were wondering if this was maybe some sort of religious symbol you would know about.”

Ben took the map and studied it, holding it carefully so that it wouldn’t fly away in the strong breeze. “Where did you get this?” he asked finally.

I saw Lucas’s mind wondering exactly what information he should share and what he should keep between just the two of us. “It’s just something I was working on.”