Chapter 16
After the demon bombshell dropped at breakfast, I go for a walk to clear my head and get some fresh air. My phone dings with a text message from Joelle.
Joelle:
Is it later yet?
Mikaela:
***
Joelle:
Look how short your memory is ; )
Didn’t we say we would see each other later?
I know this girl isn’t trying to flirt with me. What sort of murderer hits on their victims first? Sadistic ones, that’s who.
Mikaela:
I’m not working tomorrow.
Sorry.
Joelle:
Oh, what a coincidence: I’m not working either.
Do you want to grab lunch?
I pause. As much as I’d rather wallow in my feelings about the massive weight on my shoulders, the clock is ticking. It’s already been a week. The full moon will be here before I know it.
Mikaela:
I know a place. What time are you free?
The address Joelle sends me leads to a shotgun house just a few minutes’ drive from Tulane and Audubon Park. It’s a duplex with two identical moss-green doors complete with stained-glass windows.
As soon as I text her, she steps out of the door on the left.
Her usual 3B curls are straightened in silky layers with a bejeweled headband.
Her charm bracelet glimmers from her wrist as she reaches for the passenger-side door.
No triple-moon necklace this time. With a megawatt smile, she slides inside.
“Nice car!” she remarks.
I tuck my braids behind my ears, suddenly self-conscious of my fuzzy new growth. “Girl, you don’t have to lie.”
She motions to the green steering-wheel cover and the mini cactus hanging from the rearview mirror. “It’s got charm, and it’s way cleaner than my old car.”
“Oh, you should have seen the amount of trash my brother left in the back seat. I tossed it all before I came.”
“Well, I think it’s still cute, like you.”
My cheeks warm beneath Joelle’s gaze as I turn on my blinker and merge onto the busy street.
“So, where are we headed?” she asks. “I can listen to all the guidebooks and blogs on where I should visit, but the locals know best.”
“There’s a restaurant my grandparents loved over near City Park. Have you been there yet?”
“Nope,” she says. “Although I can stare at the trees in Audubon Park all day and still not get enough of them.”
“The live oak trees are pretty impressive,” I agree. “City Park has plenty of those, too. I was thinking we could eat and then walk around the botanical garden.”
“That sounds fun!”
She’ll likely change her tune after I’m done questioning her.
We sit in companionable silence for the rest of the drive. Joelle is glued to the window, seemingly committing every corner of the city to memory.
Mama Anne’s Seafood is located a few blocks from Lake Pontchartrain, in an unassuming squat building. The parking lot is bustling, which is normal for a Saturday at lunchtime. I find a spot near the back because the last thing I need is a dent from someone opening their car door on mine.
I extend my hand to take hers before quickly smoothing it against my jeans. This isn’t a date. I have a feeling it’s a mantra I’ll need to keep repeating in my head for the rest of the day. I wish I could take her hand in mine. Her delicate fingers would feel good wrapped between my own.
But this isn’t meant to be that type of story. Mine is a tragedy, not a rom-com.
The smell of oil hits you before you’ve even stepped one foot inside the restaurant.
The interior isn’t much, especially when compared to some of the higher-priced restaurants in the French Quarter.
Some of the booths have holes in them, and a couple of the chair legs are wobbly.
The server might hand you a sticky menu or one that’s falling apart at the corners.
But the food is what matters, and the food is good.
The hostess seats us at a table near the wall.
Sure enough, my menu looks like it has a dried ketchup stain in the corner.
Joelle, to her credit, doesn’t seem to mind.
She looks around at tables covered with full plates of steaming food and booths of chattering people smiling ear to ear, and I can practically see her mouth begin to water.
“Oh, this food is gonna slap, isn’t it?” Her tone is nearly giddy. “All right, what do you recommend?”
I study the menu myself, trying to see it through the eyes of a newcomer. “You can’t really go wrong with anything. They’ve got po’boys and gumbo, which are both pretty good. The catfish platter is my Gramps’s favorite.”
“Your grandfather seems like a wise man—he hired me, after all.” She sets her menu down and roots around in her purse, pulling out a travel-size hand sanitizer. “Plus, I love seafood, so I’ll try the catfish.”
The waitress shows up a moment later to take our orders. A catfish platter for Joelle and a shrimp po’boy with a side of coleslaw for me.
As the wait for our food begins, I realize I’ve never asked her the myriad of basic questions one would usually bring up when they’re first meeting someone.
The last thing I want is to slip up and mention her tennis prowess when we’ve never talked about it.
The first rule of internet stalking is not to give yourself away.
I don’t want to come off as aggressive in my questioning as I did in the store.
“So,” I begin, pausing to take a long swig of my sweet tea. “You’re from Massachusetts, right?”
She chuckles.
“What’s so funny?” I demand.
Joelle places both elbows on the table and rests her face in her hands.
“I see you consulted one of the many ‘questions to ask on a first date’ lists floating around the internet. Number one: Ask about where they’re from.
” Her eyes are luminous, sparkling with a warm playfulness that sends my stomach on an Olympic gymnastics routine.
“What—No, I was just…making conversation.”
And this isn’t a date, although something stops me from saying it aloud.
“Relax,” she says. “I’m teasing you. Yeah, I’m from a little town in Massachusetts, not nearly as exciting as New Orleans.”
“You said near Salem, right?”
“Pretty close to it. The witch capital of the world.”
I lift an eyebrow. “I’d argue that New Orleans should take the top spot.”
Joelle shrugs. “I think there are several scholars who would argue that, too. From what I’ve gathered, there are a few American cities with a deep history of magic.” A dreamy look passes over her expression. “I want to study them all.”
My walls come flying back up brick by brick. No matter how much I like her, I can never let myself forget how dangerous she is. Vision or not, a mortal who craves magic will always be a threat to those who have it.
“What’s up with that, anyway?” I ask. “Why do you want to be a witch so bad?”
She takes a moment to think before answering.
“I want to preface this by saying that my life is great. I’m really blessed to have been born into the family that I was.
But there are some things I’ve always wished I could change.
” She unrolls her silverware and fiddles with the knife.
I stiffen until she sets it back down on the napkin.
“There were times in middle school when I wished I could wave a wand and make all the bullies disappear. Like the ones who teased me for being biracial or for being tall for my age.”
“Magic doesn’t work that way. Or at least, I don’t think it would if it was real,” I hastily add. “I think it would serve as more of a crutch than a cure. It wouldn’t fix everything.”
After all, it can’t resurrect the dead.
“Too bad we can’t test that theory,” she mutters ruefully.
That same thought from earlier returns. If Joelle knew I was a witch, would she resent me? Would her jealousy manifest itself as murderous rage? Honestly, it’s the only way I can see her resorting to murder. Envy does strange things to mortals when faced with a power they can never attain.
“What about you?” Her frown disappears, replaced with a gentle smile. “Have you lived here all your life?”
“I’ve never lived anywhere else.” And I’ll likely never get the chance to go anywhere. “My family tree is rooted in Louisiana, for the most part, with a small branch in South Carolina.”
“Oh!” Joelle says. “My mom’s family was originally from South Carolina. Some tiny town I can never remember the name of.”
“Small world.”
“That it is.”
A sudden thought occurs to me. Could it be possible that the world is smaller than I think?
“Do you happen to know anyone by the last name Hightower?” I ask, careful to keep my voice even.
It’s a long shot, but maybe Joelle has been put up to this by the Hightowers.
It would be an attack on multiple fronts.
Weaken the coven’s resolve with mysterious illness and death and destabilize us by ending the current line of Witch Queens.
The title has been passed through my family from the very beginning, but with me gone, the Council would be forced to consider other options.
She tilts her head. “Hmm, I don’t think I’ve heard the name before.” A playful smile appears. “Unless you count Alicent Hightower, but I’m guessing you don’t mean someone fictional.”
I shake my head. All my momentum whooshes out of me. Of course, she could be lying, but if she is, then she’s a damn good one. I can spot the signs of a liar from a mile away—shifty eyes, tense muscles—but her expression is open and warm as she takes a sip of her drink.
Not for the first time, I wonder if the vision was wrong or if I’m missing something. Joelle has been nothing but nice to me. I can’t imagine what could possibly send her down such a dark path.
Our waitress breezes in with a tray of food. She sets down a plate of steaming catfish in front of Joelle and my mouthwatering po’boy. Without asking, she snatches up our cups and disappears to grab refills.
We waste no time digging in and filling our faces. Joelle lets out a moan of delight as soon as the catfish lands on her tongue. “Oh, that’s the best fish I’ve had yet,” she says. “And these fries are hot and crispy. Thank you for this, Mikaela.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, prodding my coleslaw with my fork. Our waitress returns with refilled drinks, and I wash down my disappointment with a mouthful of sweet tea. So far, I’m getting nowhere with questioning Joelle. It might be time for more magical alternatives.
I arrange my face into a pleasant expression. “Everyone says the food is one of the top reasons to visit the city.”
“Tulane takes the top spot for me, but the food is a close second,” Joelle agrees. “But I wouldn’t call myself a visitor.”
“No?”
“Nope.” Her eyes sparkle with amusement. “I intend to make this city my home.”
We head to City Park after lunch and follow the signs to the botanical garden.
Despite not getting any clarity at lunch, I’m not going to let such a beautiful day go to waste.
And the selfish, unreasonable side of me doesn’t want to let Joelle go just yet.
If I forget about the vision, I can almost pretend we’re two girls on a date.
After paying for our tickets, we walk through the glass double doors into the lush greenery of the garden. A giant live oak is the first to greet us. Dragging Joelle away is a massive struggle.
“Come on.” I shake the map in her face. “This is one of my favorite places in the city. There’s so much more to see.”
Despite the sweat dripping down my back, I’m utterly enchanted by the beauty of nature around me. Even in a busy city like New Orleans, it’s possible to find a tiny slice of peace.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” Joelle whispers as we sit down on a bench to study a statue of a woman riding atop a giant fish perched at the end of a reflecting pool. “It’s beautiful. I can actually hear myself think for the first time in a while.”
I glance over. “Things haven’t been calm since you got here?”
“It’s not that,” she murmurs. She meets my eye for a moment before returning her gaze to the statue. “My mom is sick. Even though my aunt is there to help her, I can’t seem to stop worrying about her.”
“Oh, I’m sorry” is all I manage to say.
“It’s why I took the job,” Joelle blurts out. “I, um, needed something to do to take my mind off home until classes start.” She peeks up at me through thick lashes. “Getting to spend time with you was a bonus.”
“Oh.” Words escape me again as my pulse races. My palms grow sweaty and not from the heat.
Her hand brushes against mine as she turns, and it sends sparks quivering through me. Not the sparks of a fellow witch but those of a girl who’s capable of making me lose all sense.
She smiles and rotates her bracelet on her wrist. “Is it pathetic to admit that I’ve always wanted to stumble across some magic potion or crystal that’ll heal her?”
Sadness overtakes me, pulling the corners of my lips into a frown. Magic can only do so much. Maybe Joelle’s mom has a condition that could be healed, but at the end of the day, they’re mortals. They can never know of magic’s existence.
“I wish that for you.”
And I do. Despite the gruesomeness of my vision, Joelle hasn’t been anything but kind to me. If only things could be different.
Joelle sniffs and looks away, glancing down at the map. She’s distracted enough that I take the opportunity to break into her mind. A slimy sensation of guilt leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I swallow it down and push forward.
I need to know what her intentions are. She’s left me with no other choice.
Like every other mortal, her defenses are nonexistent. Her thoughts are completely open for the taking. I’m able to flip through them like Polaroid pictures. There’s a flash of Joelle and her mom, a brown-skinned woman with the sweetest eyes and a massive halo of thick, kinky hair.
Joelle’s voice echoes inside my skull. “I’ll do anything to save her.”
What exactly does anything entail? I’m about to search deeper to find the answer when another mental image appears. It’s my own face staring back at me, a memory from the first day we met. “I wonder how she’d feel wrapped in my arms. I hope I’ll get to find out someday.”
I inhale sharply, breaking my link to Joelle’s innermost thoughts. Everything happened in the span of a few seconds, so Joelle hasn’t noticed a thing.
She folds up the map and stands. “Come on, we’ve got a lot more to see,” she says.
I’m completely thrown off-balance. Joelle…likes me, too? There was nothing in her head to suggest even the hint of nefarious intentions. Instead of uncovering the key to this mystery, I’m left with a racing heart and even more questions.
As she walks away from me, I commit this image to memory. Her once perfectly pressed hair has grown slightly frizzy from the humidity, and her skin has taken on a reddish hue from the sun. She’s perfectly imperfect, and I wish once more that she could be mine.