The Casquette Girls (60 page)

Breath
e
.

My chest loosened.

I began to move again through more ghosts, but this new batch was less anonymous. These were painted and adorned with scarves, Spanish moss, and photos, almost as if they were life-sized Voodoo dolls. They had descriptions and birth dates.

They were no longer unnamed.

I could feel a crying fit coming on, so I sped through the open-air homage, promising to come back later to pay my respects.

* * *

With one more turn, I stumbled upon
the Krewe de Boo,
dressed in what might have been the most shocking costumes I had ever seen in my years of parading: every single man, woman, and child was sporting their Sunday best. I had gone from a river of ghosts to a sea of suits.

What planet am I on?

Feeling like I might have accidentally passed through some kind of vortex, I tapped the back of a man in a tawny tweed. “Sir, what exactly is this year’s theme?”

He turned around, and I let out a short scream at the sight of his milky white eyeballs and rotting flesh. He buckled over with laughter, and I was back to breathing exercises.

“We’re Marching on Washington tonight,” he said, pointing to his float: a giant papier-mâché Capitol Hill, which peaked in a very, er, mocking manner. Their satirical response to the government's recovery efforts made my smile slip out. I gave him two thumbs up and moved on.

The marching crowd might have looked unusually corporate, but the noises of revelry reeled with familiarity. My soul sponged up the trumpets, trombones, and resonant tones of the tuba as if this was the last time I would hear them. There were so many things about this parade
that were out of the ordinary, it was hard not to gawk. Instead of mule-hitched wagons, each float had been constructed from a Storm-destroyed car, truck, or boat whose top had been chopped off. Two long poles protruded from the sides, with drones of stiff-limbed zombies standing by to manually push them down the parade route. A short line of horses ’n buggies waited to carry the local celebrities who had made it back to New Orleans. Partially returned dance troupes clicked their fringed tap-boots and flipped batons to entertain the crowds. There was a twinge of lighter fluid in the air. I had never seen the Flambeaux out for any occasion other than Mardi Gras, but tonight the torchbearers were dancing wildly in the streets with their heavy flaming poles, and not accepting so much as a penny from the crowd for lighting the way.

The only things missing were the tourists, of which there were none. This was truly a night of celebration for locals
, who were starting to pack the street, singing, dancing and shouting for the parade to start.

Through the mask, I watched the costumes become
more crass and more nonexistent, until they were not much more than fishnets, pasties, neckties, and gobs of ghoulish makeup. I paused to laugh at a kissing couple dressed as a witch and a vampire.
Be
h
,
I thought, just as a hand grabbed my shoulder. Before I could protest, a second hand grabbed my arm and hoisted me into the air. Almost as soon as I started to kick, I was back on my feet, on top of the royal float.

“Your chariot,
Mademoiselle
,” yelled Blanche, holding her hand out to the converted swamp boat.

“At your service
, ma chérie.”
The king took a deep bow.

“Ren! Is that you?” His hair was slicked back and tucked. And with fake glasses, loafers, and a pocket square, he looked weirdly normal.

“Watch this!” he said, and pointed a large gold scepter towards the sky. A blast of funny money and doubloons whooshed out over the crowd, who instantly roared and scavenged the treasure in a melodramatic style.

“My King,” said Blanche
duGovernor, Queen of the Dead, as she placed a gold-sprayed crown made out of banged-up soup cans and chicken wire on top of Ren’s head. Her own tiara of spoons was nestled in a tall bouffant wig that mocked the governor’s outdated hairdo. Blanche was also nearly unrecognizable in pumps and a bulging fake ass underneath a red skirt suit. Only her signature glitter-swept eyelids remained in her usual style. “My little Addie,” she shrieked, “I could just eat you up!”

“Or drink ’er up!” chimed Ren, laughing at his own joke.

“Hold this, baby,” Blanche yelled, handing me a roll of wide red ribbon. She held the other end and twirled around. The crowd began to cheer as she became mummified.

“Ha!” I yelled. “Amazing!”

“I’m gonna die caught up in this red tape, baby!”

Behind the royal couple was a giant papier-mâché bobble head of the president, whose approval rating was non-resuscitable after the way he had handled the national emergency.

“How do you like our krewe of stiffs?” asked Ren.

“Pun intended?”

“Triple pun!” His eyes led me to the giant phallic symbols capping the pushing poles.

“Got it!” I was now thankful for the mask. “Everything is awesome!” I yelled. “How did you know it was me?” I gave my mask a quick flip.

“Honey, I’ve known you since you were born.”

“Besides, who else would be running around the Marigny Triangle in couture and those nasty sneakers?” replied Blanche.

“Ha!”

“
Bébé
, you’re all grown up! I’m getting a little teary.” Ren gave me another twirl, and a breeze kicked up my wispy wings.

The float jerked forward. “Ren, I need to get down! The parade is starting!”
The words choked me, knowing that this might be the last time I ever saw him.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Blanche yelled, pulling me back. “You’re our little princess!”

Police sirens blared, and the drum major’s whistle shrilled out the tempo for the marching band.

“Heave-ho!” roared the crowd, and the wheels jolted forward as the zombie krewe pushed the old swamp boat onward.

“Wave to your constituents,” Blanche instructed, maneuvering one of her forearms from the tape to do her best impression of the Queen of England. The mask gave me enough anonymity to stand tall before the debaucherous throng.

High on the madness, I felt strangely like a princess.

The bleak populous of New Orleans squealed with schoolchild delight as the crowd of zombie drones pushed through them. I’d never stood in a parade before, nor had I imagined how fun throwing Tootsie Rolls at familiar faces would be. Maybe it was the times, or maybe Désirée had activated the wormwood, but everyone seemed extra crazy, or extra loaded, as they staggered about, pointing at things in the air.

Pointing at me.

Suddenly something knocked me off balance, and I nearly fell backwards – without the boost of the elixir, I would have. Esplanade Avenue. But this time it wasn’t just a warble as we crossed the neutral ground to those old streets of th
e
Vieux Carré;
the protection ward was significantly stronger than before, which meant Dee was on track and should be passing the baton on to Isaac soon.

Ren wavered in place, mumbling, “I knew I shouldn’t have sampled any of that moonshine.”

“It’s going to be a wild night,” I said, to which he cried,
“Laissez les bon temps rouler!”
as if we were riding into battle.

We kind of were riding into battle. At least, I was.

As he continued to hoot and holler, my peripheral vision caught sight of a lonely figure on the street corner. Sébastien’s face glowed pale under the light of a flood lamp that had been set up on the neutral ground. As the float passed him, I ran to the edge, clasped his hand, and yanked him onboard. The crowd cheered as the momentum nearly knocked us to the bottom of the boat, but I managed to hold us both steady.

“Adele, how did you do that?” he asked in disbelief, pushing his black glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Do what?” I yelled, overjoyed to see him.

“You just lifted me into the air!”

Remembering the elixir, I scrambled. “Adrenaline!” But I could tell he was already mentally calculating weight, leverage, and torque.

I looked into his baby blues and felt a swell of happiness in my chest. My expression seemed to make him forget about the illogical occurrence and return my smile. Before I knew it, my arms were wrapped around him, awkwardly smushing his elbows against his sides. He turned pink as I rested my head on the side of his shoulder and yelled, “
Je’taime!”
squeezing him harder than I should have been able to. I couldn’t help it; it was as if love was radiating from my arms.

“Moi aussi, je t'aime, mon chou,”
he said, baffled, but he squeezed his left arm out from underneath mine and rubbed my shoulder.

Then the emotions swung, and I felt overwhelmingly sad.
I had killed Sébastien’s grandparents. Jeanne is going to hate me forever. Forever might only be the next few hours…
The thought of never seeing the twins again became too much to bear. Concern washed over Sébastien’s face; he unlatched my arms and turned me to face him.

“Adele, are you okay? Are you high?”

Adele, get a grip! It’s just the elixir.

When I didn’t respond right away, he shook my shoulders and yelled, “Did someone give you something? I think you’ve been drugged.”

The thought of getting caught made my heart pound. We’d come so far. “I’m not high, silly!” I slipped my hand into his and turned him outward. “Wave to the crowd!”

His shy smile crept back
over the warm reception, and soon he was lost observing the chaos of the streets. That’s when I saw Gabriel slowly walking through the crowd, keeping up with the float. Our gazes locked, and he eyed me like a predator who enjoyed the hunt more than the prize. My head swung to the other side of the street, and I spotted Lisette pushing through the crowd with annoyance.

I twisted around.

About fifty feet behind Gabe, was the curly-haired woman from the bar, skipping along, who, if I was adding up Adeline’s history lessons correctly, was Martine Dufrense, vampire diva. I assumed the others weren’t far. My heart thumped.

Not only was I surrounded, but I had pulled Sébastien into the bull’s-eye.
So much for giving me until midnight.

Jackson Square was in sight.

A high school band filled the amphitheater and went into an encore. The crowd chanted out the next ominous verse as the royal court came into the final stretch.

“And when the moon turns red with blood,

Lord, how I want to be in that number…”

I leapt off the float and made a run for it.

“When the Saints go marching in”

* * *

Just last night, this square had been a private stage for me and Isaac to juggle fireballs long after the shroud of curfew. Now, everyone back in town from the Mississippi River to Lake Pontchartrain filled it. I tried to tail Lisette’s blonde locks, pushing my way through groups of drag queens, gutter punks, and suburban invaders. The elixir helped, but every person who stopped to pet my costume or yell, “It’s the Green Faery!” slowed me down. Then one caused me to come to a complete halt.

“Well, aren’t you just the belle of the ball?” asked Annabelle Lee Drake in the guise of Jessica Rabbit. She was a knockout in the sparkly, formfitting gown, with her deep auburn locks swept across her right eye, but her ear-to-ear grin set my nerves on edge.

Why is the Queen of Uptown giving me recognition?

Thurston looked less than pleased to be dressed as Roger Rabbit. It still blew my mind how Annabelle so easily controlled everyone and every situation she came into contact with. The world just bowed down to her. Sexy Cop and Sexy Robber stood on her right, and Sexy Cowgirl on her left. Most of the lacrosse team was sneaking beers behind them, and the freshmen Little Sisters (a gamut of sexy) completed the group.

Everyone was looking at me, waiting for a response.

“Have you seen Désirée?” I asked, knowing full well they hadn’t.

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing,” Annabelle said. “I just texted both of you.”

“Oh, sorry. Left my phone at home.” I held up my hands in innocence. “No pockets.”

“Don’t you think Tinkerbell is a little childish?” asked Dixie.

I tried not to imagine myself clawing her eyes out. It didn’t work. “I’m gonna go and look for her. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“No way. We’re going to Le Chat Noir,” said Annabelle.

Voilà.
Rick must have cracked down on fake IDs, and now she needed me to get them in. And she was not happy about needing me. She forced a smile, which made me want to vomit on her Jimmy Choos.

“Umm…
” I squirmed, frantically scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Lisette’s head, trying not to panic over losing her. “I kind of have plans—”

“You can bring your friends!” Bri yelped like a little lapdog.