The Casquette Girls (23 page)

Ren leapt onto the hood of a previously drowned car and paused for dramatic effect as he prepared himself for
la grand final
e
.

“New Orleans came to be thanks to the real
crème de la crème de la société Parisienne
. And by that I mean the thieves, crooks and murderers. That’s right, folks, New Orleans started as a penal colony. These fine founding citizens were convicts from La Bastille who had been granted pardons by the King in exchange for building the grand capital of New France. So, early on, the city was a cesspool of scoundrels and scalawags, which means not much has changed since.” He winked and then took an exaggerated sip from his flask.

“These unruly Frenchmen survived hurricanes, indigenous swamp creatures, and the cannibalistic ways of certain native tribes, but how could a population of only men evolve into the society meant for such a fine city? They demanded, pleaded, and begged the King to send over women! Being a reasonable man, the King emptied the female correction houses and raked the streets for ladies of the night, who were then shipped to New France like a platter of beignets, though not nearly as sweet.

“Now, King Louis XIV was on a mission for
La Nouvelle-Orléans
to be the Paris of the New World. Propaganda was launched across France to arouse adventurous men to seek their fortunes in this new land of opportunity. In response, a new class of Frenchmen made the grueling journey across the Atlantic Ocean – only to find a giant swampland full of mosquitos, alligators, and serpents.

“Of course, it wasn’t long before they, too, demanded the King send ladies! Having already ridden the French streets of extra undesirables, King Louis scavenged hundreds of virtuous young French women from convents and orphanages to send to these opportunity-seekers. He gave the girls a small dowry and sent them on their merry way to marry the colonists and propagate the burgeoning city. The small chests, or cassettes, given to the woman to hold their wedding dresses looked very similar to caskets and earned them
each the titl
e
la fille à la cassett
e
,
or simply, the casquette girls, as the locals say.”

“And what does the Ursuline Convent have to do with any of this?” asked a voice from the crowd.

“Excellent question! Now, for as much of this city’s soul is built on Hoodoo traditions, Native American spirits, and everything in between, the Catholics also dutifully staked their claim into the soggy soil of
La Nouvelle-Orléan
s
.
And there was no better example of that sense of duty than the sisters from the Order of the Saint Ursula.

“The Ursuline nuns came to New Orleans with the duty of opening
L’Hôpital des Pauvres de la Charité,
or Charity Hospital, which is the second-oldest running hospital in the country – or at least it was before the Storm. But the sisters were not content to simply run the city’s only hospital, for their real mission was education. Before leaving France, they made a deal with the bishop: they would gladly make the perilous journey across the Atlantic to a bayou country full of savages and pirates, and tend to the sick, if – and only if – they were also allowed to open a school. And so they did on the property that stands before you, a school that served only girls
–
al
l
girls, regardless of race, color or social class.

“It’s said that it was the Ursuline sisters who took in the casquette girls when each shipload from France docked in the French Quarter. They stored the girls’ cassettes in the convent attic for safekeeping, and then housed, educated, and chaperoned them until each was married off.

“As things go in New Orleans, scandal struck when the first marriage proposal was accepted, for when the sisters went to fetch the girl’s cassette they discovered, to everyone’s dismay, that it was empty. No dowry from the King. No wedding dress. Nothin’ but cobwebs. Every cassette in their care had been emptied.”

Ren switched to an unidentifiable Eastern European accent.

“Legend has it that the casquette girls had smuggled
strigoi
across the ocean in those casket boxes, and these vampires had been sleeping in the attic during the day and running amuck at night, feeding on anyone they fancied. New Orleans was the perfect cover. Between the crime and the disease, death rates were already astronomical. Who would bat an eye when another dead body turned up? Who was going to notice another missing ex-con or prostitute?”

I began to wrap and unwrap my chain around my fingers.

Blue eyes. Dead, blue eye
s
.

Ren looked around the silent crowd. “And that’s the story of how the vampires came to New Orleans. To America.”

“Riveting,” said Gabe, looking at the blonde, who seemed oddly somber.

“So what’s the deal with that attic window?” I blurted.

The group turned to see who had spoken.

“I’m so glad you asked, m’lady. If you walk around the French Quarter, you will quickly find that every set of attic windows is permanently latched open. Can anybody guess why?”

“Because of the heat,” Niccolò answered dryly.

“Exactly correct, my fair-faced friend! It gets hotter than Hell here in southern Louisiana, and in the early eighteenth century there was no central air. Since heat rises, the attics were the hottest rooms in these Creole cottages, and they were also where the children often slept. The shutters on the attic windows were kept permanently latched open out of fear they’d swing shut in the middle of the night, leaving the dreaming youngsters to cook to death.

“However, as you can see, the attic windows of the Ursuline Convent are all latche
d
shu
t
. Legend says that when the empty cassettes were found, the Ursulines contrived a plan in the name of the Lord and went to work. Nine thousand nails were sent from the papacy in Rome, after being blessed by the Pope himself, to secure the shutters of the attic windows. They closed up the attic completely to protect their convent and the citizens of New Orleans from the attic’s deviant denizens.”

The blonde’s eyes lit with excitement. “Ha! Like za Catholic Church could imprison a clan of vampires!” she said with conviction.

Was her accent Frenc
h
?

Désirée slowly walked to the convent gate and peered through the iron posts. “I agree with blondie. It sounds like there was more going on here than the work of the Lord.”

“Well, honey, you know that in the Big Easy, there’s always more than meets the eye.”

He gave us a minute to take it all in.

A history of strange or unusual happenstances flooded my head. My pulse began to race as I thought about every shadow, every creak, every unexplainable occurrence I had never given a second thought to before. Désirée also seemed to be processing something buried in her subconscious.
Maybe she was thinking the same thin
g
?
After all, we were the only two who had been born in this town where the debate between fact and fiction is grayer than the newsprint it’s read from.

“As you can see, a shutter is missing from one of the windows. I have it on good authority that it fell off only a week ago… and yet somehow, even in this time of chaos, the archdiocese managed to brick up the window right away. Whatever could cause such urgency when there are people to feed, houses to rebuild?” Ren slowly scanned the crowd. “I don’t know the answers, I just tell the stories.”

Violent chills spread throughout my entire body until my teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.

Breathe
.

“Hey, are you okay?” asked Isaac. “You look even paler than usual.”

I nodded, unable to move my eyes from the attic window.

“You’re trembling.” He put his arm around me.

On the verge of a claustrophobic fit, I quickly stepped away from him and followed Ren as he moved halfway down the block.

“Another version of the story claims that the vampires were able to move through the windows at night. Barely more than a decade ago, a college-aged couple came to town from California, with the brilliant plan to make a documentary on our extracurricular nightlife. A little home video. Capture footage of anyone who came or went from the attic windows at night. They set up their cameras and camped out in front of St. Mary’s Church, which used to be the chapel of the Ursuline Convent. The next morning, their bodies were discovered… drained of eighty percent of their blood. On their tapes, nothing but static. There was no evidence of—”

“I heard it was a woman who killed zhat couple,” said the blonde.

Niccolò moved to my side, and Ren hurried along with the story, speaking directly to her. “There were a few unreliable witnesses who claimed to have seen a young brunette bent over the bodies.” His gaze moved to me. “But there was never enough evidence to hold even a single suspect for more than a long weekend.”

He carried on with his story, but the memory of the methodical slaps of the shutter hitting the frame clogged my ears. It got louder and louder and faster and—

A sharp whistle brought me back to the present.

Everyone around me was clapping enthusiastically, cheering for Ren as he took deep bows. The tour was over. I put my hands together in appreciation and forced a smile.
It’s only a stupid story, Adele, chill out.

The blonde turned to Gabe with a smile that could only mean she was looking for trouble. “Surely zhere is something to get into tonight? It is still
La Nouvelle-Orléan
s
,
after all. How much could it have really changed?”

Definitely a French accent. Definitely trouble.

Niccolò looked at her and then to me. “How are you getting home?”

“Uh, walking—”

“I’ll walk you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Isaac said, stepping in between us.

Niccolò smirked, almost beckoning a challenge, which in turn made Gabe grin from ear to ear.

My
eyes rolled at the ripple of testosterone, to no avail. “Ren, will you walk me home?”

“At your service,
Mademoiselle
.”

Isaac shot me an exasperated look, being unable to fulfill the promise he had made to my father about not letting me out of his sight.

Gabe offered his hand to Désirée, but Isaac walked in front of it. “I got it,” he snapped, not giving her a chance to disagree, which I thought was kind of hilarious.

As Isaac pulled her hand forward, her head turned back to me. “See you at seven, Adele. And try not to be late tomorrow morning.” She gave Niccolò an obnoxious look of approval, which everyone noticed. My cheeks burned like they were on fire.

“Merci beaucoup,
and goodnight, folks!” Ren yelled with a giant grin.
“Au revoir, boys. À la prochaine!
” He spun me in the direction of my house, linking his arm through mine.

“
Ciao
,” I yelled over my shoulder to Niccolò, Gabe… and the blonde.

“Oh, to be young again and have so many gentleman callers fawning all over,” Ren said with an exaggerated Southern accent. I laughed as he let out an exasperated sigh.

“No one is fawning over me. I have even less life post-Storm than I had pre-Storm, which I didn’t think was possible.”

“Oh, child, you are growing into quite the ingénue, aren’t you?”

“Hmm… I’m not sure how to take that.”

“Or maybe you are still too hung up on the Parisian
garçon
to see the hot young things right in front of your face?”

Ugh, Jeanne must have been running her mouth about Émile.

“Can I ask you something, Ren?” Nervousness flooded from my stomach all the way to my shoulders, making them tingle. “How much of that stuff do you believe?”

“There you go, changing the subject. That means yo
u
ar
e
sweet on one of them. Which one is it? I’m going to guess the Yankee. You two bicker too much to actually dislike each other.”

“Ren!”

“So, it’s the foreign fox?”

“Stop! I
’m serious. It’s important!”

“
D'accord, d'accord.
How much of
that stuff
do I believe?” He twisted the end of his moustache. “Well, I believe bits and pieces of all of it. Legends are legends for a reason; they don’t just appear out of thin air. But over the years, they morph for different reasons. They evolve to serve a purpose of the time.”

“But what about these stories? The Carter brothers, the casquette girls, the filmmakers…”

“You mean the vampire stories?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“In the words of the great
Monsieur Baudelair
e
,
‘The greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing the world he didn’t exist.’”