3. Simone
“Ihave to get out of here,” I mutter under my breath.
The dense foliage of the bayou presses in on me, a choking green shroud that seems to swallow all light and sound. Spanish moss hangs from the gnarled cypress branches like witch”s hair, dripping with the same dank moisture that soaks my tattered shift and plasters it to my skin.
Every breath is thick and labored, the humid air coating my throat like swamp water. My bare feet squelch in the muddy earth as I stagger forward, each step a herculean effort.
The soft ground sucks at my soles, reluctant to release me, as if the very swamp conspires to hold me in its clammy embrace. Around me, the standing water is dark and listless, marred only by the occasional ripple as some unseen creature disturbs the surface. Each splash makes my heart lurch, imagination conjuring gators, snakes, or worse - the furious pack on my scent.
Finally, a weathered shack materializes out of the gloom and I lurch towards it, grasping the splintered wood like a lifeline. Dragging myself to the sagging porch, I paw through the detritus littering the interior, desperate for anything to cover myself.
Miraculously, I unearth a moth-eaten calico dress and a pair of men”s brogues two sizes too large. Tugging them on, I wince as blisters rub raw against the stiff leather.
Turning to leave, a glint catches my eye - an old coin purse, half-buried in the dirt floor.
Inside I find a few tarnished coins and a crumpled ticket stub. I smooth out the faded scrap.
”Crescent Queen Riverboat to New Orleans” it proclaims in an elaborate script. A spark of hope flares in my chest.
“Of course,” I breathe. “The riverboat.”
A howl shatters the heavy silence, far too close. Icy talons of fear rake down my spine.
They”re coming. Abandoning all caution, I run, crashing through the underbrush towards the promise of escape. Thorny vines grab at my legs and low-hanging branches whip my face, but I pay them no heed, intent only on putting as much distance as possible between myself and my pursuers.
My dress begins to unravel as I race through the unforgiving terrain, the coarse fibers disintegrating with each brush against jagged bark and prickly palmetto fronds.
But I would gladly run naked through the swamp if it meant making that boat.
At last, I stumble onto the bustling wharf, awash in golden lantern-light that burns my shadow-accustomed eyes. The Crescent Queen rises before me, a floating confection of whitewashed filigree and cut-glass windows. Moneyed pleasure-seekers swathed in silks and gemstones throng her decks, their dulcet chatter and chiming laughter a surreal counterpoint to the primal terror nipping at my heels.
I falter, abruptly conscious of my wretched appearance. Caked in muck and clad in the tattered coll of a dead man, how can I hope to pass unnoticed among such finery? As my gaze darts around, I spy a distracted debutante wearing a froth of lemon organza and cream lace.
Moving with a desperate swiftness, I steal a delicate lace parasol and sweep towards the gangplank, hoping the scrap of netting and a hefty dose of bravado will bluff my way to freedom.
I keep a low profile in line, keeping my eyes down until I reach the hulking enforcer guarding the gangway, his stony mien wavering between suspicion and disdain as he takes in my ragged finery and wild-eyed mien.
“Alright, where’s your ticket,” he demands, stepping in front of me and denying me passage.
”How dare you, sir!” I hiss, voice dripping with icy disdain. ”I am Mademoiselle Simone Delacroix, of the Natchez Delacroixs. Surely even a lummox like you knows better than to keep a lady of quality waiting on a rickety gangplank!”
I draw myself up with a haughty sniff, praying my pounding heart won”t betray me. I thrust the old ticket at him as if it were a royal decree, hoping he doesn’t notice how old it is. ”I trust this will suffice as a reminder of your place. Now kindly step aside before I take my business to a more genteel establishment.”
He blinks, nonplussed by my sudden transformation from bayou ragamuffin to haughty debutante. He glances at the money, then back at my unwavering sneer. With a grumbling sigh, he steps back and gestures for me to pass.
I silently thank the old and new gods that the only thing to do at home was read and sweep past him with a dismissive toss of my tangled hair, willing my knees not to buckle. The gangplank creaks as I hurry across, fighting the urge to glance over my shoulder.
A towering figure prowls past, a slip of shadow against the inky night. He grips the rail, his broad shoulders speaking of coiled power and ready violence. For a queasy instant, his profile seems to waver between man and beast, but I blink and the illusion passes, leaving only another denizen of the dark, drawn to the New World”s promises.
I pause to catch my breath, marveling at the riverboat”s unexpected elegance. Gleaming brass fixtures and polished mahogany rails hint at a world of privilege I”ve only glimpsed through the cracks of my tumbledown existence. The decks bustle with dapper gentlemen and ladies in frothy lace, their tinkling laughter and clinking champagne flutes a jarring contrast to the blood and terror still fresh in my mind.
I hug the shadows, weaving between strolling couples and liveries porters until I spot a narrow door marked ”Staff Only.” With a furtive glance, I slip inside, finding myself in a dim service corridor. The comforting scents of linen and cedar envelop me as I sag against the wall in relief.
Creeping down the passage, I spy a small linen closet and silently thank the gods.
Burrowing behind a stack of crisp sheets, I make myself a hidden nest, wincing as I peel the ruined dress from my bruised skin. Mud-streaked and shivering, I cocoon myself in the clean linens, desperate for their whisper of refinement against my wounds.
As the riverboat”s mighty paddles churn to life and we cast off toward an unknown fate, I curl into myself, lost in a daze of prayers and desperate schemes. The elders” damning decree reverberates in my skull. Hexeblood. Abomination. The words taste like bile, singeing my tongue.
But beneath the terror pounding in my ears, something new kindles - a spark of furious determination. I will master this curse. I will find a way to turn their hatred back upon them tenfold.