Paula Morris (30 page)

"The only people who can see you," Rebecca continued,
"are other ghosts, and girls from the Bowman family. Girls who are your
age, just about to turn seventeen. It's been that way for the last hundred and
fifty-five years, right? The girls can see you, just before it's their turn to
die."

"No!" Lisette shook her head. "I mean -- that's the
way it's been in the past. But I thought this time maybe it meant something
else. Helena was my age, she belonged in the big house. You're not from here.
You're not old enough. You didn't scream when you saw me, the way the others
always did."

"But you must have known," Rebecca insisted. "Why
didn't you warn me? If the only girls who can see you are the ones about to die
..."

She choked up, unable to finish her sentence. This just wasn't
fair. Even if her father had lived here years and years ago, he'd changed his
name and renounced his, inheritance. Rebecca wasn't part of this place. She
didn't belong here. The

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curse had nothing to do with her, but somehow she was at risk from
it, just as Helena was. For all Aunt Claudia's reassurances last night, Rebecca
felt incredibly nervous about next Friday. What if
she
was the one the
curse decided to take?

"I just don't know if I can trust you anymore," she
finally managed to say. "Maybe everyone else has been right all along --
you're some kind of evil spirit."

"I'm your friend!" Lisette protested, jumping up from
her seat on the steps. "You know that!"

In the distance, Rebecca could hear the murmuring of the tour
group, the high-pitched voice of their guide, the crunch of their footsteps.
Lisette must have heard them as well, because she reached out a hand to
Rebecca: If Rebecca took it, she'd be invisible.

But she didn't want to take Lisette's hand. Rebecca just didn't
trust her anymore. Maybe Lisette always told Bowman girls she was their friend
-- right before they died.

"I don't know anything anymore," she muttered, sniffing
away the tears dribbling down her face. "I don't even know who I am."

"I can prove to you I'm your friend -- let me show you!"
Lisette took a step toward her; Rebecca backed away. "Maybe I can help you
somehow! Maybe I can ..."

The tour group rounded the corner, headed toward the Bowman tomb.
Lisette glanced at them, and Rebecca decided this was her cue to leave. She
turned, walking as fast as she could without breaking into a jog, refusing to
look back to see if Lisette was following. All she had to do was get through
the gate and onto Sixth Street as quickly as possible, because that was a place
Lisette could not go.

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The gate was in sight now, just a few paces away. But someone was
stepping out from behind the Dumpster filled with trash and sawed-off tree
limbs, moving in front of the open gate.

Anton.

He must have been lying in wait for her. There was something
menacing about him today: He was all in black, and his face looked drawn,
sunken beneath his high cheekbones. He loomed over her like some kind of
sinister vampire, blocking her escape route.

"Rebecca -- I need to talk to you." He placed one hand
on the gatepost to stop her from squeezing past.

"Then why don't you just call me, like a normal person?"
she demanded, using her sleeve to swipe the tears off her face. She was in no
mood for another interrogation from Anton. "Or how about you come knock on
my front door? Please get out of my way."

Rebecca tried to duck under his arm, but she was too tall, and he
was too strong; she just bounced back into the cemetery. He was breathing hard,
she noticed. His pale face looked haunted, as though
he
was the one who
could see ghosts.

"I know why you're here in the cemetery," he blurted,
the words running together. "I know you can see the ghost, OK? I believe
you. You were talking to her at the Bowman tomb just now, weren't you?"

So he was spying on her and following her, not just lying in wait.
Rebecca was incensed: She couldn't trust herself to speak. Did Anton want her
to know he "had" something on her?

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"I didn't believe you at first," he said quickly; there
was panic in his eyes. "But just now -- I heard you. I know I shouldn't have
been sneaking around...."

"No, you shouldn't."

"Look, I'm just really stressed-out and worried right
now."

Worried about his friend, Helena,
thought
Rebecca.

"Would you let me pass, please?" If she had to punch and
kick her way out of this cemetery, she would. "I have to get home. Unless
you just want me to get into trouble again."

Anton hung his head.

"Don't ride in Septimus," he muttered.

"What?"

"Don't ride in Septimus."

"Why shouldn't I?" Rebecca was outraged. Who did Anton
think he was, telling her what she could and couldn't do? Was she such a leper,
such an outsider, that her very presence on a Septimus float would sully the
parade?

"I ... it's just that I have a bad feeling about it. I can't
explain." His eyes bored into her, so intense they were almost manic.
"Tell Marianne you can't ride."

"Are you insane?" The parade was in less than a week. It
was too late to pull out, simply because Anton had some unspecified "bad
feeling." Probably a bad feeling that Rebecca didn't have enough family
money or blue-blooded connections. If only he knew who she
really
was!
She had just as much right to ride in that parade as Marianne and Helena.

And anyway, she had to ride: Aunt Claudia had said so. Miss
Celia's prophecy would be fulfilled when Rebecca's float passed Helena's house,
when Helena looked out and saw

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Rebecca in her costume of glittering flames. The curse would
end--Aunt Claudia was convinced of it, even if Rebecca wasn't. She could tell
Anton none of this. He didn't deserve any honesty from her; he was as
unreliable and shady as Lisette.

Anton was staring at the ground now, opening and closing his mouth
as though he wanted to say something but didn't know how to get the words out.

"You've said what you wanted to say," Rebecca told him.
"I have to go."

"Please!" Anton looked up at Rebecca, his eyes red, his
face twisted in some secret pain. "Please don't ride in the parade."

"Whatever." Rebecca was too exhausted to feel angry
anymore: She just wanted to get home and shut the door. She was tired of people
pushing their secret agendas, of hiding the whole story. Obviously Anton -- who
seemed tongue-tied all of a sudden -- wasn't going to explain himself. Maybe he
thought that seeing Rebecca ride in her place would be too much for poor,
fragile Helena. No wonder he was reluctant to say more.
Please don't ride in
the parade, Rebecca -- the sight of you makes Helena sick!

Helena,
Rebecca thought.
My cousin.

Anton sighed, staring over Rebecca's head at something in the
distance -- maybe someone walking in the Washington Avenue gate on the other
side of the cemetery. Now was her chance. She slithered under Anton's arm and
ran down the street, relieved that she'd left the door unlocked. She didn't
look back, so she had no idea whether Anton was following.

She should have listened to Aunt Claudia that first night

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in New Orleans.
Stay away from the cemetery.
It was the
place Rebecca had come to associate with the two people she really cared about
here, Lisette and Anton. And she couldn't trust either of them anymore. In
fact, she'd been a fool to trust them at all. This place had brought her
nothing but secrets and sadness and confusion. Rebecca was sick of it. Today,
she decided, would be her last visit to Lafayette Cemetery.

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***

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

***

Although septimus did not roll until seven p.m. on Friday night,
Rebecca couldn't go to school at all that day: There was too much to do. Miss
Karen waved away Aunt Claudia's objections, telling her Principal Vale wouldn't
mind one bit, and of course Miss Karen was right. The Krewe of Septimus took
precedence over the teaching staff of Temple Mead. And anyway, Rebecca and
Marianne weren't the only ones who needed to get ready. The school's dance team
-- the Temple Mead Tappers -- and majorette squad were marching in that night's
parade, leading out the St. Simeon's band, so they didn't have to come to
school, either.

Rebecca was told to arrive at the Suttons' house by eleven, to get
her hair sprayed and backcombed into giant geisha-like rolls, after which layers
of thick, theatrical makeup would be applied by a guy in paisley pajamas and
velvet slippers who called himself Mr. Stevie Jay.

In Marianne's serene, sky blue bedroom -- its walk-in closet as
big as Rebecca's room on Sixth Street, decorated

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with Audubon bird prints rather than voodoo talismans -- Rebecca
changed into her leotard, black with red-sequined flames hand sewn down each
sleeve. The bodice of her maid's costume would be pinned to this on the float
itself; the vast, glittering skirt was transported in the back of a van that
afternoon. Once she was lowered into the dress, Rebecca would not be able to
move at all.

"Remember, girls -- no potty breaks!" Miss Karen
trilled: She was overseeing the preparations with an unnecessary amount of
nervous energy, Rebecca thought, darting in and out of the impromptu hair salon
set up in the guest bedroom, pausing only to pat Marianne's now-huge blonde
pillow of hair, or confer with Mr. Stevie Jay about the right shade of orange
for Rebecca's eye makeup. "Once you leave the house, that's it! And don't
drink too much water today -- you're on the float a long time."

Aunt Claudia raised a sardonic eyebrow. She was sitting in a
corner, reading her book. Miss Karen had told Aunt Claudia that she didn't have
to stay at the Suttons' all day. In fact, she'd been adamant that there was
no
need at all
for Aunt Claudia to do anything more than drop Rebecca off.
Although Miss Karen was smiling like a beauty pageant contestant the whole time
she was talking to Aunt Claudia, Rebecca caught the looks she was exchanging
with Marianne and the hairdresser -- as though Aunt Claudia's caftan and
bangles and knotted gypsy head scarf were more ridiculous than the over-the-top
costumes Rebecca and Marianne were about to get swallowed up in.

This made Rebecca feel tense and uncomfortable. Today was her one
chance to play the role of Garden District

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insider, honored -- to the consternation of Amy and the entire
Roman class system at Temple Mead -- by getting asked to ride in Septimus. She
couldn't help wishing that her aunt would just go home, or go to work down on
Jackson Square, or go
anywhere
that wasn't this house.

But then Rebecca was ashamed of herself. Her aunt was here for a
very good reason, she knew: to watch out for Rebecca, and make sure nothing
stopped her from getting on that float this afternoon. She wouldn't leave
Rebecca's side until the float lurched up Napoleon Avenue, beginning its long
and winding progress past the thousands of people lining the route. And eventually,
hours later, when the floats and marching bands reached Louisiana Avenue, Aunt
Claudia would be waiting for Rebecca, to extricate her from her elaborate
feathered headdress and acres of spangled skirt, and then to walk her home. And
the very next day, Aunt Claudia had promised, Rebecca would be able to see her
father.

In Marianne's bedroom, in front of the full-length mirror, the
girls stared at their transformed appearances.

"You look amazing," Marianne told Rebecca. In fact,
Rebecca could barely recognize herself. A mask of spiky flames, red and gold
and orange, was painted around her eyes; her lips were a sparkling gold. Her
dark hair was piled so high, she felt taller than ever. She reached up a hand
to pat it gingerly: It was stiff with hair spray.

"My hair feels so weird," she said. "And it looks
even weirder."

"It has to act as a cushion for the headpiece," Marianne
explained, her voice faint and tremulous. Maybe she was

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nervous about the parade. "But most of it gets hidden inside
the cap, I think."

Marianne's hair had been sprayed with streaks of silver, and her
eye makeup was a dramatic cloud of black and gray. Her false eyelashes, tipped
with silver, kept sticking together, and Rebecca was glad she didn't have to
wear them as well.

"I'm worried about throwing the beads and everything,"
Rebecca said. She was excited about the parade, and this made her want to
chatter about anything and everything. "I'm glad you're in front of me on
the float -- I can just copy you."

"Yes." Marianne's blue eyes were glazed; she was staring
into the mirror, Rebecca thought, but not really looking. "I'll be in
front of you. The whole time."

"Good," said Rebecca. She picked at the sequins on her
leotard, wondering if Miss Karen wanted them to try on the long evening gloves
they had to wear. "I'm trying to get my head around throwing beads for
four hours. Won't our arms get tired?"