4. Evangeline
4
EVANGELINE
PERSONAL JOURNAL—Alex Cross
[10 years ago]
Found her in the bayou today. Such raw potential in her grief. The organization wants me to eliminate loose ends, but I see something better—a chance to craft the perfect weapon.
Sarah Deveraux died with her sister. What rises from those ashes will be my masterpiece.
The soft glow of candlelight dances across the walls of my cramped apartment above Madame Laveau’s shop, casting long shadows that seem to whisper secrets of their own. I lean over the cluttered table, maps and notes spread before me like a tapestry of vengeance. The air is thick with the scent of incense and dried herbs—the same scents that filled my grandmother’s home the night everything changed.
“Focus, Evangeline,” I mutter to myself, but my hand strays to the locket at my throat. Inside, a small photo of Celeste, smiling, alive. Beautiful. Gone.
The memories rise unbidden, as sharp and clear as broken glass...
I pressed myself against the cold brick wall of the organization member’s office, heart thundering in my chest. Sixteen, stupid, and too grief-stricken to care about consequences. I’d spent weeks practicing Celeste’s signature, perfecting her walk, learning to pitch my voice just like hers. But getting the documentation I needed to assume her identity? That required a different kind of skill—one I didn’t possess.
Yet.
“You’re holding your breath,” a voice said from the shadows—rich, amused, dangerous. “Dead giveaway for an amateur.”
I spun around, nearly dropping my lock picks. A man emerged from the darkness like he’d been born from it. Tall, elegant in a predatory way, maybe ten years older than me. His eyes caught the streetlight—sharp, assessing, intrigued.
“Interesting technique,” he continued, nodding at my pathetic attempt at breaking and entering. “Sloppy execution, but the instincts...” He circled me slowly. “You’ve been following Councilman Davis for three days now. Quite impressive how you managed to stay unnoticed. Well, unnoticed by everyone except me.”
My voice caught in my throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His laugh was soft, dangerous. “Oh, but you do. Just like you know exactly whose identity you’re trying to steal.” He stopped in front of me, head tilted. “The question is: why would Sarah Deveraux want to become her dead sister?”
The sound of my real name hit like a physical blow. “How did you ? —”
“I make it my business to know things, little girl. Like how you blend into shadows without training. How you’ve been ghosting through the Quarter, learning your sister’s habits, becoming her echo.” His smile showed too many teeth. “Watching you try to become Celeste’s shadow... it’s been quite entertaining.”
“I’m not entertaining,” I spat. “I’m getting justice.”
“Justice?” He laughed again. “You can barely pick a lock. You think you can take on the people who killed your sister?”
“I have to try,” I whispered, hating the tears that threatened to fall. “She deserves that much.”
Something shifted in his expressio— interest sharpening into intent. “Perhaps,” he said softly, “you just need the right teacher.”
He extended his hand, and in that moment, I should have run. Should have seen the danger coiled behind his offer. But all I saw was an opportunity to become what I needed to be.
“I’m Alex,” he said. “And you, my little shadow, are going to be magnificent.”
“Lesson one,” Alex said, moving behind me with fluid grace. “Lock picking is an art, not a race.” His hands covered mine, adjusting my grip on the tools. “Feel the mechanism, don’t fight it.”
I tried to focus on the lock, but my awareness kept slipping to his presence—the dangerous heat of him, the faint scent of gunpowder and expensive cologne. Everything about him radiated lethal competence.
“Steady breaths,” he murmured, his voice hypnotic. “Let the shadows embrace you. You’ve already proven you know how to become one with them.” His chuckle brushed my ear. “Three days following the councilman, and not even his security detail noticed. Natural talent, if a bit... unrefined.”
The lock clicked open under our shared touch. A small victory, but my heart soared.
“Good,” Alex stepped back, studying me with those predator’s eyes. “Now tell me, little shadow, what was your plan once you got inside? Assuming you managed it without getting caught.”
I lifted my chin, refusing to be cowed. “Celeste’s birth certificate. Social security card. The basics I need to ? —”
“To become her,” he finished, that dangerous smile playing at his lips. “To step into her life like slipping on a coat. But you’re forgetting something crucial.”
“What?”
His hand shot out, catching my wrist in an iron grip. I tried to twist away, employing the self-defense moves I’d learned in school. He countered effortlessly, using my own momentum to spin me against the wall.
“That,” he said calmly, releasing me, “is what I mean. You can forge her signature, mimic her walk, even steal her documents. But can you fight like her? Can you protect yourself the way she could?”
I rubbed my wrist, anger and humiliation burning in my chest. “Then teach me.”
“It won’t be easy,” he warned, but I could see the decision was already made in his eyes. “I’ll break you down to build you up stronger. Harder. Better.”
“I don’t care about easy,” I said. “I care about justice.”
Alex laughed—a real laugh this time, genuinely delighted. “Oh, my dear little shadow, justice is just the beginning. When I’m done with you, you’ll be capable of so much more.” He gestured to the open door. “Shall we begin? Or would you rather fumble around in the dark alone?”
I knew I was making a deal with the devil. Could see it in the hungry way he watched me, the calculated kindness in his smile. But in that moment, with Celeste’s death still raw in my heart and vengeance burning in my veins, the devil seemed like exactly what I needed.
“Teach me everything,” I said.
His smile widened. “Follow my lead... little shadow.”
We slipped into the building like wraiths, Alex showing me how to move silently, to navigate security systems, to become one with the darkness. Every lesson came with a story, a technique, a glimpse into the deadly world I was choosing to enter.
“Your instincts are good,” he observed as I successfully lifted a keycard from its hiding place. “But instincts alone won’t keep you alive. You need discipline. Training. A complete transformation.”
“Into what?”
He caught my reflection in a darkened window, his eyes meeting mine in the glass. “Into someone capable of wearing your sister’s identity without flinching. Into a weapon sharp enough to cut through the corruption in this city.” His hand squeezed my shoulder. “Into my perfect little shadow.”
The nickname settled over me like a cloak, both comforting and constricting. I didn’t know then how those three words would come to define me—the girl who learned to follow silently, who mastered the art of becoming invisible, who stepped into her dead sister’s life like a shadow given flesh.
But that night, in that moment, all I felt was hope. Dangerous, intoxicating hope.
“Again,” I said, ready for the next lesson. “Show me again.”
The next few hours were a crash course in becoming someone else. Alex moved through the building like a ghost, teaching me not just techniques but a whole new way of thinking.
“Every identity has layers,” he explained as we accessed the records room. “Surface details—signatures, mannerisms, the way Celeste took her coffee. Then deeper: her fears, her dreams, the nightmares that woke her at 3 AM.”
Something in his tone made me pause. “You knew her.”
His smile was enigmatic. “I know everyone worth knowing in this city, little shadow. Your sister...” he trailed off, something dark flickering behind his eyes. “She was particularly worth knowing.”
Before I could press further, he gestured to the filing cabinet. “Show me how you’d approach this.”
I moved forward, trying to apply his earlier lessons. “Check for alarms first,” I murmured, running my fingers along the edges. “Look for signs of tampering or surveillance.”
“Good. And?”
“And...” I studied the lock. “This isn’t like the door. It’s older, probably ? —”
“Probably still using the original mechanism from the 80s,” he finished. “Which means?”
I smiled, reaching for my picks. “Which means it’s about to have a very bad night.”
His laugh was surprisingly warm. “You’re a quick study, little shadow. But remember—overconfidence ? —”
“Gets you caught or killed,” I finished, focusing on the lock. “You’ve mentioned that. Several times.”
“And I’ll keep mentioning it until it’s carved into your bones.” He moved closer, watching my technique. “Just like Celeste. She never did like being told to be careful either.”
The lock clicked open, but I barely noticed. Every casual mention of my sister sent daggers through my heart. “Tell me about her,” I whispered. “About... about who she really was.”
Alex was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice had lost its teacherly tone. “Later. First, let’s make sure you can become her convincingly enough that no one ever questions it.” His hand squeezed my shoulder. “The best disguise isn’t just about documents and signatures. It’s about believing it so completely that others have no choice but to believe too.”
I nodded, pushing down my questions for now. “What am I looking for exactly?”
“Birth certificate, social security card, school records—anything official that makes Celeste real on paper.” He began systematically checking files. “But more importantly, you’re learning how to move in this world. The shadows, the secrets, the power that flows beneath this city’s surface.”
“Like you do?”
His smile turned predatory again. “Oh no, little shadow. I’m going to teach you to move through this world in ways entirely your own.” He pulled out a file, holding it just out of reach. “But first, let’s see how quietly you can get us out of here. Consider it your first official test.”
I took a deep breath, centering myself the way he’d shown me. “And if I fail?”
“You won’t.” His certainty sent a shiver down my spine. “You’re a natural shadow, Sarah. You just need to learn to embrace it.”
As we made our way back through the darkened building, each step a lesson in stealth and precision, I felt something shifting inside me. The grief was still there, a constant ache in my chest, but now it had purpose. Direction.
Alex was right—I was becoming a shadow. His shadow, Celeste’s shadow, a shadow of justice in a city of secrets.
And shadows, I was learning, could be far more dangerous than anyone suspected.
The memory fades like morning mist over the bayou, leaving me alone in my candlelit apartment. I trace my fingers over the maps and notes before me, seeing them with new eyes. Every technique, every carefully planned move—they all carry echoes of that first night with Alex. The night Sarah began to fade and Celeste’s shadow took shape.
“Some lessons,” I murmur to the darkness, “are carved deeper than others.”
I reach for my locket, the familiar weight both comfort and curse. Inside, Celeste’s photo seems to watch me with knowing eyes. She’d understood the city’s darkness better than I’d known. Had that understanding gotten her killed?
I never questioned.
I only ever needed to know who killed her, not why .
Standing, I move to the window, watching the New Orleans night pulse with life and secrets. A street performer’s saxophone wails a lonely tune, and for a moment, I swear I can hear Alex’s voice: “The best disguise is believing it so completely that others have no choice but to believe too.”
I’ve become so many people since that night. Sarah. Celeste. Evangeline. Each identity a shadow cast by different lights, each one real in its own way. But sometimes, in moments like this, I wonder which shadow is casting all the others.
“I’m not your little shadow anymore, Alex,” I whisper to the darkness. “I’ve become something else entirely.”
The candles gutter in a sudden breeze, making the shadows dance across my wall of evidence. Tomorrow, I’ll put my plans in motion. Tomorrow, I’ll take another step toward the truth about Celeste’s death. But tonight, I acknowledge the girl I was—young, broken, desperate enough to let a devil teach her how to dance in the dark.
Some debts can never be repaid. Some lessons can never be unlearned.
And some shadows, once cast, never really fade away.