Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
“Who knows?” Allie said mildly. Disturbingly mildly. An excited shiver went through Jamie. “If you ask some people, there are vampires, werewolves, witches, everything. That’s New Orleans for you. But even if that’s true, I’ve never seen them. At least not that I was aware of. I’m not sure how I’d know for sure.”
“Vampires would be rad,” Poe said slowly.
Jamie imagined Allie’s baby as a mini vampire who’d suck her dry while breastfeeding and shivered, filing the image away for next year’s haunted house.
“What did your mom and her family think? Were there theories?”
Jamie had asked Edgar before, surprised that he didn’t have a more cohesive theory about what he saw, only to realize that answers were not something Edgar’s mother had ever offered. She had been trying to survive, trying to raise her kids in a difficult situation, and she had spent her energy making sure they knew their experiences were real.
“What you have to understand about our family,” Allie said, “is that they aren’t the most trustworthy sources of information.”
“That’s an understatement,” Poe said wryly. “They’re all drunks, druggies, and crazies. Like our aunt Alaitheia. She hasn’t been anywhere except her bar or her apartment in ten years, and she hoards broken pottery in shoeboxes.”
“She does mosaic art,” Allie said. “It’s not like she collects it for no reason.”
“Mm-hmm,” Poe said dubiously and shot Jamie a look.
“Does she see ghosts too?” Jamie asked.
“Oh yeah,” Allie said. “She doesn’t hide it either. She’ll talk to them when people are around and everything.”
Jamie was confused. In all the conversations with Edgar about his experiences, he’d never mentioned an aunt who sounded like she could be a resource for him. But why?
“People think she’s faking it,” Poe said.
“She’s cultivated a certain reputation, sure,” Allie said. “But it’s better for people to think you’re eccentric than dangerous, isn’t it?”
“I would think that it would be pretty acceptable in New Orleans?” Jamie asked.
When Edgar stiffened beside them, they realized how that might sound to him.
“Shit, Edgar, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jamie said. They slid a hand to his thigh and squeezed.
“No, you’re right,” Poe said emphatically. “As we’ve tried to tell him forever.”
“You don’t speak for me,” Allie cautioned.
“What ‘forever’ is this?” Edgar asked sharply. “Because you haven’t been around to tell me anything in six years.”
“Yeah, well—”
“Poe!” Allie warned. “I’m begging you to shut up before you make a fool of yourself.”
Poe made a theatrical bow of assent and then flipped them both off.
“Um, so,” Jamie said, “where’s your aunt’s bar? Would I know it?”
The siblings exchanged speaking glances. After a moment, Allie answered.
“Le Corbeau, over in the Marigny.”
“Le Corbeau,” Jamie said, rolling the familiar name around on their tongue. “Wait, the old Rondeau place?”
Allie cut a glance over to Edgar, who was looking at Poe with a narrowed gaze. Finally, Edgar turned to Jamie and said, “The Rondeaus are our mother’s family, on her mother’s side.”
Jamie’s mouth fell open.
The Rondeaus were legendary for anyone who’d grown up in New Orleans. Stories of their preternatural abilities were passed down from generation to generation by those who believed the family’s powers were genuine. Others believed the Rondeaus had made up their abilities to strike fear into the hearts of those who might wrong them. Still others claimed the Rondeaus’ power was real but only granted to them in exchange for horrible acts of fealty.
Things fell into place with a click in Jamie’s brain: Edgar was probably far more powerful—and far more tortured—than they had understood. Even though they had believed Edgar about what he experienced, Edgar never really described his encounters unless Jamie specifically asked. He’d say, It wasn’t a great week for ghosts or Pretty gnarly encounter earlier. And Jamie, not wanting to make him relive the horrors, tried to offer comfort without fully comprehending what Edgar was going through.
Edgar hadn’t told Jamie he was a Rondeau because he hadn’t wanted Jamie to know. Because if Jamie knew, they’d understand how bad it was. And if they understood that…what? What was Edgar so afraid of? Did he think Jamie wasn’t strong enough to handle it? That they would leave?
He had to know Jamie would never think he was crazy. Learning that some of the things they’d been fascinated by since childhood were real had been a dose of magic directly into Jamie’s veins. Unless that was the problem? That Edgar worried Jamie would want him for his hauntings and not for himself?
Edgar’s hand found theirs, touch tentative. He was seeking comfort but didn’t want to presume. Did he really think Jamie’s feelings were so conditional? Jamie was trying not to be offended when Edgar pulled his hand away.
It’s not about you, dude. His father rejected him for this. It’s not a referendum on your character; it’s a fucking trauma response.
Jamie grabbed Edgar’s hand tightly and looked at him. In Edgar’s eyes was the same fear and shame and longing they’d seen when Edgar wanted them to tell him what to do in bed. The fear that the most personal, vulnerable parts of him might be rejected in the moment he trusted someone enough to reveal them. They squeezed Edgar’s hand and let their eyes communicate: I got you. Edgar visibly relaxed.