Ree retreated inside, pulling Anabelle with her.
The sun was setting as Ree led Anabelle out the back of the building. She’d thought to cover them both in old muslin caps and thick wool dresses that swallowed the shape of their bodies. They disappeared into the thick of the crowd that overtook the street. Folks passed them by on their way home for evening supper, not one sparing them a single glance. Purple twilight filled the sky. It would soon be dark.
By the time they reached the bayou house, the moon shone silver. Nan was waiting around back, holding Thistle by the reins. To Ree’s surprise, Claudette was there too, leaning against a tree, emerald eyes glittering. After learning the truth of her father, Ree hadn’t thought that L’Enchanteresse would leave her uptown house to get mixed up in her problems. When Ree and Anabelle approached, Nan wordlessly bowed.I am not your Quarter Queen,Ree wanted to say.I never willbe.
Their queen was in the house, lying as still as a statue while hexed poison worked its way through her blood. She was running out of time. But right now Ree’s problem was the one at hand, the one staring her in the face with bloodshot eyes.
“Ree—”
“Go,” Ree said, her voice gruff.
“We could—”
Anabelle reached for Ree, but she caught her hand and twisted it cruelly away. “We could not.”
“ButI—”
“Do not say it,” Ree hissed. “Don’t you dare.”
Anabelle held back her tears. Ree watched her face, that same beautiful face that just days ago made her heart leap into her throat. She’d wanted more, and she’d been a fool.
“I will save my mother,” Ree said. “And when she returns, who do you think she will punish first? You committed treason against the Quarter Queen.”
Anabelle blanched. “I had good reason!”
She did. And it did not matter. Ree could understand it, this sin. But she would not forgive.
It was better this way, Ree told herself. Marie Laveau would be out for blood. This way, she would be spared any more pain. They all would.
Ree nodded toward the horse. “Go now. Get away from this saint-forsaken city.” She held the tears from her eyes. “And never, ever return.”
Far away, in the city, the church bells were tolling. Anabelle took Ree’s hand one last time. Ree felt a strange wind cross her face and lift her curls into the night. Legba was laughing. Maybe all of the loa were. Maybe they enjoyed seeing what a fool her heart had turned her into. But Ree couldn’t bring herself to care, not in this moment. She tried to see in Anabelle’s face all the things they could not say, that they would never say to each other again. Ree tried to understand how they’d gotten here, how they’d hurt each other so deeply, so carelessly, but in the end, she could not. She let her handgo.
And then Anabelle was saddled and off, riding away into the damp dark, down roads unknown. Ree watched her go and muscled the tears from her eyes.
“You did a kind thing.”
Ree turned to see Claudette at her side. There was an unexpected softness in her face, the face that Ree had only ever seen taut and toying, the cruel perfection of a jewel.
“Then why doesn’t it feel like it?” Ree’s voice caught.
“Because the kindest thing you could do for her was also one of the most painful things you could do for yourself.” Quietly, she said, “It is not what Marie would have done. Perhaps I was wrong about you, child. Perhaps you will not be the queen your mother was. Perhaps”—Claudette turned her eyes to the long road ahead—“you will be different.”
Ree choked back a bitter laugh. She was really no different from Anabelle Dupont; they’d committed sins, caused enough pain with their games. They just played by different rules. And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Sins were never forgiven in a city like New Orleans, not truly.
In the end, someone always paid.
Chapter Sixteen
Marie
Marie clung to her side of the rowboat, searching the faceless dark. As their boat sailed along, mist rose from the black waters below in silvery folds, swallowing everything in its path in slow, greedy gulps. Everything but her fear.
Truth be told, the moment they’d pushed off from the wharf, Marie had felt a seed of dread growing in her belly, a feeling that now quietly blossomed into the unshakable panic that they were, in fact, going thewrongway. But if Jon shared her fear, he didn’t feel inclined to say. He sat beside her, his legs languidly crossed, dressed in a sharp black suit and matching frock coat, a gentleman’s top hat perched on his head.
He studied her with that self-assured tilt of a grin that made another, darker feeling grow inside of her. Marie caught his eye, then quickly glanced away, embarrassed at how easily he made her flush, the way her heart fluttered fast as a canary. Three weeks had passed since she’d started her lessons with the Conjurer. Always strictly by midnight. Always alone. But tonight was different. The hour wasn’t quite midnight, and they were far from alone now.
They were joined by the tide-turner Nonc Croc—Uncle Croc, as the Cajun boatmen knew to call him—who was kneeling at the stern, one hand holding a small brass harmonica to his mouthwhile he played a few woeful notes, the other plunged into the inky water, his fingers guiding their boat along with his magical coaxing. The old man had strange, wintry blue eyes set into the weathered lines of his brown face, and he wore a braided cord of hemp around his neck that dangled with jagged seashells, pearl fragments, and carved driftwood beads, each piece an offering to the water loa all tide-turners served—La Sirene, the devastatingly beautiful silver-tailed goddess, and Agwe, loa of the ocean, patron of fishermen and sailors.
