“Yeah. No, thank you. I think I’d rather take my chances with your grandmother than rob some woman’s grave and grind up her bones.” A small shudder went through me as the waiter returned with our order.
“Scared?” He poured cream into his coffee. “You haven’t lived until you go grave robbing.”
A laugh spurted through my lips right before they touched the rim of my coffee cup. “Whatever you say.” The hot liquid was just the thing on a cool January day in the French Quarter. After a few sips, I set the cup down and picked up a beignet. It steamed as I pulled it apart.
“Suit yourself,” Sebastian went on. “Dub is one of the best robbers around. You should see some of the things he’s found.”
“Dub. Dub robs graves. Are you shitting me?” The beignet melted in my mouth. I groaned — damn, they tasted good.
“A lot of kids do it. We all have to make money somehow. Crank runs the mail. I work for the Novem. Henri clears buildings of rats and snakes. And Dub robs tombs and sells stuff to tourists and antique shops.”
“That’s pretty sick.”
His eyebrow lifted in agreement. “Well, we don’t exactly spend our time thinking about sports, hormones, or partying, either.” He made the same half bow I had earlier. “Behold, a product of New 2.” He laughed. The sound was deep and infectious, and there were those incredible dimples again. …
“So tell me about the nine, the Novem.” I took another bite, wanting to change the subject from corpses and graveyards, and definitely from my growing infatuation with my tour guide. “Why do they still act so reclusive?”
“Not reclusive. They just don’t care about the outside world like you all do.”
“What do they care about, then?”
“Preserving the city”—he spoke between bites and chewing— “the history of our people and those like us, offering refuge to like-minded individuals, a place where you’re not judged or turned into a lab experiment.”
“Lab experiment?”
He propped both elbows on the table. “New 2 is home to a lot of what the Novem call ‘gifted’ people. What do you think would happen if Violet or Dub — or I — lived beyond The Rim?”
Easy. “If they couldn’t hide their abilities, life wouldn’t be so kind,” I answered in a quiet voice, thinking of my own experiences.
“Exactly. New 2 is a place where you don’t have to hide, but if you want to, that’s okay too. No one is going to judge you because you’re different. That’s what the Novem wanted all along.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Because they’re different too.” They weren’t just old families with old money, they were different.
His chewing slowed as he thought over his answer. “They’re able to do that, yes.”
I wanted to believe him, to believe that the Novem wasn’t behind the man who’d attacked me in Covington, that they were on my side and were actually a decent bunch of people. But I’d learned over the years that it was better to suspect the worst. That was a hell of a lot better than trusting someone, giving them the benefit of the doubt, and then having them stab you in the heart.
We sipped our coffee and finished the plate of beignets. Sebastian paid the bill. “So you think you’re ready to see Josephine?”
I stood and tossed my backpack over one shoulder. “I guess now is as good a time as any.”
Eight
SEBASIAN FILLED ME IN AS WE WALKED ACROSS THE SQUARE. Flanking each side of St. Louis Cathedral were two enormous historic buildings. The Presbytere, on the right, had been converted into the Novem’s swanky private school/college, which Sebastian was supposed to attend but ditched on a regular basis. And the building on the left was the Cabildo, which remained a museum as it had since pre — New 2 days, but the second and third floors had been taken over by the Novem as their official place of business. This was also where they held the Council of Nine meetings, attended only by the head of each family.
And each family had apartments and private offices in the two Pontalba apartment buildings that ran along both sides of the Square.
Apparently, Jackson Square was Novem central.
With every step across the square and toward the building, my muscles became more tense. I craned my neck to stare again at the tall spire of St. Louis Cathedral. “So how far back does your family go exactly?”
“The first Arnaud came to New Orleans in 1777. He was the third son of a noble family from the Narbonne area in France.”
A trio of musicians played near the benches in front of the cathedral. The wind picked up, and low clouds blocked the sun. The air turned damp and cold with the threat of rain. A few drops started to fall just as we ducked under one of the archways of the Cabildo building.
A hollow, hushed atmosphere greeted us on the inside. There were a few permanent exhibits, but I didn’t exactly have time to look around as Sebastian ushered me to a flight of stairs.
The second-floor landing had been retrofitted to resemble a fancy office building, complete with a central receptionist desk. Sebastian let go of my hand as the guy behind the desk glanced up, recognized him, and gave a faint nod before returning to his work.
Our footsteps echoed loudly over the polished wood floors as we made our way down the long gallery fronting the building. The stormy light from outside poured through the arched windows, illuminating the space in an eerie glow. Halfway down, a hallway intersected with the gallery.
Sebastian turned. I followed. No windows. No artificial light. Just a corridor that got darker and darker the farther in we went.
We stopped at the last door on the right. My pulse drummed steady in my ears. Josephine Arnaud had paid my mother’s co-pay. They had to have known each other. She might even know my father. I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying not to get too hopeful. But I was so close.
The waiting room we entered was just as old and sacred as the rest of the building. The furniture looked way too expensive to sit on, and the paintings on the walls were probably worth a few million. I wished there was some sort of piped-in music, something other than this ominous quiet.
A man looked up from his desk as we approached. He was handsome, in his thirties probably, and
He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing on Sebastian. “Have you come to your senses yet, Bastian?”
Sebastian stiffened. “My senses are right where they should be, Daniel.”
“I hardly call ditching classes and living in some rotting old Garden Dis—”
“Just tell Josephine we’re here.”
Daniel’s dark eyes held Sebastian’s for a long, tense second before they fell on me. “So you found her,” he said, sizing me up and probably wondering what the hell the old lady wanted me for anyway. “Madame will be pleased. You can go in.” He picked up the phone and mumbled quietly as we crossed the room to a set of double doors.
Sebastian turned to me, giving me an eye roll that said,
A raven-haired woman put down the phone and slowly stood, tugging down the bottom edge of a rose- colored blazer over a matching skirt, a crisp white blouse underneath. Her dark hair was up in a twist, and she wore pearl earrings and a cameo necklace. Very old money. Very old world. And, from the looks of her, very
My eyelids fell closed for a moment, and then I shook my head, wanting to laugh. Really, how much more screwed up could this get? That woman had to be in her early twenties. There was no way in hell she was his
