Sweet Unrest (6 page)

Alex’s mouth tightened and the tips of his ears pinkened adorably, but he remained stoically silent, not admitting or denying the truth behind his concerns.

“Of all the things. Here, I will show you how to do it.”

“Me?” he asked, confused.

“Yes, of course. How else do you expect me to sit in front of the camera? You may think me a witch,” she said, trying to suppress a smile, “but I assure you, I have no magical powers to work that piece of equipment from across the room.” She pointed to a lever on the side of the camera, pleased with how calm her voice sounded. “When you are ready, you simply depress this. After three minutes, lift it back up.”

With a deft swish of her skirts, she moved to a chair set in front of a wide sweep of velvet drapery and arranged herself. “Whenever you’re ready, sir, you may begin.”

Alex examined the camera before depressing the lever. He watched her for a moment and then turned his attention back to the room. “Monsieur Lyon, he paints as well?” He pointed to a portrait of a young slave girl that hung over a low-slung settee.

“Yes, but that one is mine.”

He turned, surprised. “You painted this?”

“And the rest,” she told him, careful to keep her mouth as still as possible.

“Remarkable. You have an eye for color and motion.” He gazed at her then, his admiration clear. “You have a remarkable talent to be able to capture this girl as you have—to show the haunted quality in her beauty. The pain in her eyes, even as she holds herself with a sort of quiet grace. It is quite … ” He waved his hand, as if unable to come up with the right words.

Absurd pleasure bloomed in her chest. Few but Jules knew she painted. Fewer had thought to comment on her talent, but this man had done more than comment. He’d looked at the portrait of a girl who most people in the city wouldn’t even
see
—really
looked
at it. And he’d
understood
what she’d attempted to do with a bit of canvas and paint.

She felt unaccountably thrilled in that moment. And unaccountably exposed.

He didn’t speak again, and so they sat in silence, Alex focused intently on the paintings hanging on the wall, and the girl focused on him. I could feel her long for him to turn and to look at her, to understand her as he had understood her painting. I could sense her despair at knowing he never would.

He turned back and found her watching him. “Please forgive me, but I must ask you. You said you were not Madame Lyon?”

A feeling precariously close to hope bubbled up in her. “My uncle,” she murmured. It was an easier explanation than the truth.

“I see,” he said. The short minutes of exposure time stretched on until she grew hot and breathless under his gaze. After what felt like an eternity, he closed the aperture.

“Now what happens?” he asked, turning back to her.

“Now, monsieur … I’m sorry, I didn’t think to ask your name.” She walked over to where he was standing and began to remove the camera from its stand.

“Alexandre Jourdain. Please, you must call me Alexandre. And you are?”

She looked up at him. “Armantine. Armantine Lyon.”

“Armantine. A charming name.” He smiled and brushed a curl back from her face, shocking her with the intimacy of the gesture. “What happens now, Mademoiselle Lyon?”

“Please,” she said, pushing aside custom and swallowing down everything in her that was screaming
no
. “You must call me Armantine as well.”

That’s when I woke up.

“Are you even listening to me?” Chloe’s sharp tone cut into my thoughts and brought me back to earth.

“Yeah?” I didn’t even sound convincing to myself.

“Right,” she said dryly, her arms crossed and her hip kicked out to show her displeasure. “Are you going to tell me why it’s so important that you go see Mama Legba, or not?”

I thought for a second, measuring how much I thought I could tell her without coming off as completely insane. “Remember how I asked Mama Legba about dreams?”

Chloe nodded.

“I thought maybe Mama Legba could tell me how to figure out whether a dream means anything or not.”

“What have you been dreaming about?”

I didn’t like to talk about the Dream. Describing it, somehow, made it feel more real. But this new dream wasn’t any easier to talk about. “Well, lately about Alex.”

“Who’s Alex?”

“He works here.”

Chloe’s brows drew together, like she was confused. “I don’t know an Alex. He must be new.”

“Really? He made it sound like he’s worked here for a while.”

She shrugged. “Is he hot?”

“You could say that … ”

“As hot as my Piers?”

“No one could be as hot as your Piers,” I told her dutifully.

“Good answer,” she said, fighting back a grin.

“So you’ll let me come?”

“Lucy, you’re killing me here,” she moaned, but I could tell she wasn’t really angry.

“Please?”

She thought a minute, but then shook her head. “Look, Luce, I don’t want to spring you on Mama Legba again, so not this time. But I’ll ask her about next time. I could ask her about dreams, if you want me to?” she offered.

It was going to have to be good enough. I tried to smile brightly at her. “Sure. That would be great. I really appreciate it.”

“And even if she doesn’t want to include you in the lessons, y’all still have to come to St. John’s Eve this weekend. You can always talk to her there, okay?”

“Okay, fine. Just be sure to ask Mama Legba more about dreams.”

“Anything specific?”

I hesitated. “Yeah,” I said after a moment. If Mama Legba wouldn’t see me, I might have only this one chance. As vivid and enchanting as the dream about Alex had been, it probably wasn’t anything more than my subconscious’s understandable fantasy about a guy I’d been thinking about a little too much. It wasn’t really
disturbing
, not in the way the Dream was. If I only had one question, I knew what it had to be.

“Ask her about reoccurring dreams,” I told Chloe. “See if she knows if there’s a way to tell whether they’re about the past or the future.”

Chloe raised a brow. “You’re not talking about the dream you had about this Alex, are you?”

I shook my head. “No. That one’s more recent. The other one … ” I didn’t know how to finish.

“How long have you been having it?”

“For as long as I can remember.” I tried to suppress a shudder at the thought of those cold waters, but Chloe noticed it.

“It must be one heck of a dream.”

“Something like that.”

“Look, I’m late.” She’d finished pulling on her regular clothes, and I walked her out to her car. “I’ll ask Mama for you, but I can’t promise anything. She seems to have a mind of her own when it comes to our lessons and what she’s willing to talk about.”

“I owe you,” I told her.

“Damn straight,” she said as she got into her car. Chrome flashed in the sunlight as she closed the heavy steel door and drove off.

As her car kicked up a cloud of red dust tearing down the oak-lined drive and through the ornate gates to the main road, I wondered if I’d asked the wrong question. I wondered what the right one would have been.

Not much later, as I was sitting on the front steps of the employees’ dorm thinking about the way that Alex had found his way into my dreams, Piers came around the corner of the building.

“Hey, Luce. How goes it?” he asked, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“It goes.”

“That good, huh?”

I shrugged.

“Hey, have you seen Chloe? I thought I’d surprise her with some good news, but I don’t see her around anywhere.”

“You just missed her. She was heading into the city.”

His looked disappointed. “Mama Legba?”

I nodded.

“Did you get to talk to her last week?” he asked me as he leaned against the porch railing.

“Yeah.”

“And? What did you think?”

“She seems okay. A little intense maybe, but she doesn’t seem dangerous.”

Piers frowned. “Sometimes the most dangerous things out there seem like the most innocent. One thing I’ve learned is when people start dabbling in the occult, you can’t be too careful. I’m not sure Chloe understands that yet.” His tone had a seriousness to it that made me think there was something he wasn’t saying.

“So … what’s your good news? Or do you want to save it to tell Chloe first?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just wanted to let her know your dad gave me a job with the university’s team at Le Ciel this summer.”

“That’s great! Are they going to suit you up in the whole three-piece costume the guys around here wear?”

He laughed. “No, I got lucky. I’m going to be working behind the scenes on some of the excavation work. Working with your dad, actually.” He looked a bit awed, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“You’re into history too, huh?”

He grinned. “Actually, I’m finishing up a degree in cultural anthropology. I study how societies use different rituals.”

“Nice.” I nodded my approval. That explained his interest in Mama Legba and in Le Ciel.

“Well, I’ve gotta get back,” he said with a smile. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

I watched him walk off and imagined Chloe would be more than happy to have her man around for the summer. I got up, brushed the dirt from my seat, and started walking back toward my family’s cottage. Beyond it lay the trees, and beyond that, the pond. I couldn’t help but wonder if Alex would be there sunning himself again.

I put the thought away, though, and climbed up the steps to our cottage, leaving Alex and my thoughts about him behind.

Eight

That night, I dreamt that the Mississippi was on fire. Yellow-gold flames jumped high into the dark sky and transformed the murky waters into a street of light. The smell of woodsmoke and sulfur filled the air, and when the wind shifted, a haze blew across my vision and stung my eyes. Captivated by the sight, I was drawn closer to the banks. Slowly, carefully, I picked my way through the brush and walked toward the river. Only as I got nearer did I understand that it wasn’t the water that burned, but small bonfires lining the shore.

As I approached, a girl waved to me and I felt suddenly calm, elated that she recognized me from such a distance.

“Armantine!” she called happily.

At her greeting, I knew I was back in Armantine’s body. I wanted to look around to see if Alex was there as well, but the eyes I saw through remained trained on the light-skinned young woman. She wore a worn but fairly tidy dress, and her dark hair was plaited close to her head.

“You came! I didn’t think Jules would ever let you out again.” She was sitting with others, a few yards away from the fire to escape its heat. In the flickering shadows I could make out makeshift tables laden with food and large gourds and jugs filled with dark liquid.

I could feel Armantine’s pleasure at the girl’s greeting, her sincerity when the two embraced. Her guilt that it had been so long since last they’d visited. “He needs my help most days with the project he is been working on,” she told the girl. “Documenting some of the important families in town.”

“That so?”

Armantine nodded. “Word must be spreading. Just the other day, your mistress’s brother came to the studio. French gentleman,” she said, trying to keep the admiration out of her voice. “Must have heard about us from some of the other white folk.”

“What did he want?” the girl asked, in a voice thick with caution.

“He came to ask if Jules would do a portrait of his sister. I think he wanted to make sure the process wasn’t dangerous.” Armantine chuckled softly at the memory. “He made me create a likeness of myself first.”

“You didn’t give it to him, did you?” The girl grabbed Armantine’s arm.

“Not yet, but he did pay for it.” Armantine shrugged.

“You give it to him, you give him too much power
over
you. He own a piece of you. A piece of your very own soul.” The girl’s soft voice was low with horror.

“You know that soul-snatching stuff’s not true, Lila,” Armantine told her gently. Lila was young, barely fifteen, but she looked older than her years. She had clear, dark eyes and a nervous mouth. And she was one of the hundred or so people owned by Roman Dutilette.

Lila made a low, throaty sound of disapproval. “By and by, you’ll see. You can’t be takin’ people’s likeness without takin’ some of they spirit.”

Armantine knew she couldn’t convince Lila that the only thing harmed by the daguerreotypes Jules Lyon produced was a person’s bank account. The price the rich Creoles would pay to have one of the new portraits was amazing. But Lila still believed in the old ways. While Armantine didn’t have much faith in the old ways, she respected them enough to let the promise of good food and strong drink bring her to the banks of the Mississippi on the summer solstice. She respected Lila enough not to try convincing her otherwise.

“Oooh, look,” Lila said in reverent tones. “Here come Thisbe.”

Armantine looked up to see a row of dark shadows coming out of the trees. A woman stood at the center, and around her arm a large snake was coiled. She was old, with ashy skin hanging from her slim bones and thick lines carved into a sharp face. Armantine couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s sense of drama as Thisbe walked silently, with slow, measured steps, toward the people waiting by the fires.

Though Armantine had heard tales about Thisbe, this was the first time she’d seen the old woman in the flesh. The daughter of a local plantation owner, Thisbe had spent the early part of her life as one of his slaves, but then something had happened to make her owner free her. The stories surrounding Thisbe were as thick as the waters of the bayou and just about as clear. No one knew why she’d stayed on, even after she was free, just like no one knew what had inspired her father to free her—or what had caused him to give her a small cabin at the edge of his land. But everyone was sure it was nothing good.

This situation had given Thisbe a great deal of power and influence among the slaves along the River Road. Since she was free, she didn’t answer to the planting seasons and could help tend to the sick or ailing while their loved ones toiled all day. Since she had her own home, she could help slaves whose masters didn’t provide for them well enough. Since people believed she had the gift of sight, the slaves listened to her, and the Creoles called on her for all sorts of things. And feared her for all sorts of reasons.

The fire threw shadows across the angles of her wizened face, and when she drew near enough that Armantine could make out her features clearly in the fire-lit night, Thisbe raised her hands and chanted an eloquent invocation. When the invocation ended, a drum sounded from the darkness, and Thisbe moved on surprisingly nimble feet to the driving beat. Little by little, others joined her in the dance.

Lila grabbed Armantine’s hand. They danced through the night, and time tilted, as it often does in dreams, until the sun started to rise.

Armantine woke on one of the long, rough benches the dancers had rested on throughout the night. The fires were still smoldering and bodies were draped comfortably across the ground and each other, huddled for warmth in the almost-cool morning air.

She stood and stretched her sore limbs, swayed for a minute as the world spun, and tried unsuccessfully to rub the headache from her eyes. She had somewhere to be, she realized. Jules was not going to be happy if she missed their afternoon appointments.

Testing out her balance, she headed toward the road. Even at a brisk pace, it would take the better part of the morning to walk back to the city unless someone came along and offered her a ride. She looked back over her shoulder. Visible now in the morning light, the Dutilettes’ huge mansion rose from an alley of trees. Armantine shivered. She never did like that place, and she would do anything to get Lila free of it if she could. Lila had certainly gone back already. There were breakfasts to deliver and baths to draw for the people she served.

As Armantine walked, the stiffness of the night worked itself out of her muscles. She needed a bath herself. Maybe some breakfast. She hoped Cook would have some fresh beignets or some fruit she could eat before the work of the day began.

She was deep in thought about the day ahead, so she didn’t notice them at first as she rounded the bend. Had she seen them, she would have moved to the other side of the road. Had she been more aware, she would have instinctively avoided the two men who were crouched down examining something in the reedy wildflowers.

But she didn’t notice until it was too late to look away. Too late to move to the other side. Too late to miss Alex glancing up at her, holding a knife darkened with something unspeakable. Too late to avoid seeing Lila’s body crumpled in an unnatural pose, her eyes blankly staring at the heavens, her blood blooming dark as death from a line across her once-elegant throat, from wounds across her bared and bloodied chest.