CHAPTER ELEVEN
didn’t think I would. All thoughts of who he was and what he had done before we met him evaporated under the weighty idea that—for better or worse—Remy, powerful witch and icon in New Orleans, had been killed.
What the hell do we do now, came to mind more than once following his death, though I found myself unable to do little more than worry Remy wouldn’t be able to sleep with the rest of his family. What the hell do we do with him was a more valid, pressing question in urgent need of an answer.
But a letter had arrived at my house the very next day, almost as if by magick, outlining exactly who to contact in order to facilitate his burial. The letter, written in Remy’s own hand, had been signed just a few months ago. In it, he outlined the steps he had taken to ensure ownership of his family’s vault would follow him through the decades and centuries through the clever use of aliases and forgeries of his own personal documents.
That he had acquired a family vault back in the day, considering his origins as the descendent of slaves, was impressive enough, but that he had made it follow him through the centuries was even more impressive. Remy was prepared and thorough, and he had contingency plans established surrounding his death.
He knew it was coming; the only question for him was when.
The fact it arrived at my doorstep so soon following his death led me to believe that, sometime after I arrived in New Orleans, he had started to make plans for this eventuality. Whether he thought I would kill him, or that I would be the death of him, I didn’t know. But he did. He knew he would die, and soon.
Per his request, there had been no service, no eulogy. I was the only one there. Remy had left instructions for no one else to be present at the burial, and I had fought hard to honor them. The caretakers then sealed the vault up, all in silence, and that was that. In a year and a day, the vault would reopen, and Remy’s corpse would have turned to ash.
After his burial, many of the witches of New Orleans gathered at the Scarlet Cat where he wanted us to have one last drink on him. It made sense. He wasn’t the kind of guy to have wanted a group of somber witches, all clad in black and circled around his vault, watching his body get interred like a pizza into an oven. He wanted a celebration, with alcohol, merriment, and most of all, Jazz.
And that’s exactly what we gave him.
A live band was playing some of his favorite Jazz tunes, plates of boiled crawfish were being served by the dozen, and the bar was churning out Hurricanes like it was Mardi Gras. The only problem were the people. Everywhere I looked, no one seemed to be enjoying themselves. In fact, the people in the club were almost as still and as quiet as statues, drinking their alcohol and eating, but not talking to anyone else.
I understood why; what had happened the other night had been a horrific tragedy, and while Remy had been the only fatality, many witches had been seriously injured. Some had gotten away with scrapes, bruises, and bites, but others were in the hospital recovering from life-threatening wounds—Nicole’s mother, Jeanette, among them.
She had been in the main entrance hall when the vampire first showed up. One had gone for Nicole, but her mother had jumped in the way, thinking she had magick to protect herself. By the time she realized her magick was failing, the vampire was on her, drinking deeply from her jugular. Nicole had to rip him from her neck, but in doing so she had hurt her mother further. It was a miracle she survived.
Nicole was at the Scarlet Cat now, but like many of the other witches present, she hadn’t turned her head up in almost twenty minutes, staring into the bottom of her now empty glass like it held the power to tell her the future. I wished it could, for her and the others. I knew I would want closure for the injured at a time like this.
It wasn’t Nicole or anyone in my coven who came to speak to me as I watched the room from my booth, but Nina.
“Mind if I sit?” she asked, pointing at the empty space opposite from me.
“Sure,” I said, “How are you?”
“I’m doing okay. Better than what can be said for most folks.”
“Tell me about it. And Harvey?”
“Recovering. He’s sorry he couldn’t be here, but the doc has him on some strict pain medication for his arm. Goddamn vampire broke it in three places.”
I winced. “I’m sorry, that sounds awful.”
“It is, but others got it worse, so we’re grateful. How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay… I’m pissed this happened, pissed at how useless I was to defend myself. To defend us.”
Nina reached out her hand and held mine. “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t be so hard on yourself, okay? Let this be about Remy. Everything else can come later.”
I smiled weakly and nodded.
“Speaking of which,” Nina said, “How about you say a few words?”
“Me?” I asked.
“You may have only known him for a few months, but you knew him better than anyone else in this room.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You turned Remy away from the dark path he was on and helped him get on the path to redemption. No one ever succeeded in doing that before you came along, obviously. So, who better to remember him than you?”
I shook my head. “I really don’t know, Nina. I don’t think anyone here wants me to speak right now.”
Nina looked around. “Look at them,” she said, “They’re waiting. I promise you.”
I turned my eyes up at her, then allowed myself a moment to take in the room. She was right. I had to say something to them, had to rouse them from the daze they were in. Remy had spoken about unity and togetherness the night he was killed. Now, more than ever, they needed to hear that message again. We were under attack, and we had to stand up to it together. We had to be strong.
“Alright,” I said, and I stood without thinking about it for a second longer. Before I knew it, I was walking up to the stage where the band was in full swing. I asked them to take five with a flash of my palm, not wanting to wait for the set to finish before being able to speak, and as the music began to die out, the crowd began to wake up.
I walked onto the stage, and the lead singer adjusted the microphone stand for me to speak through, but I shook my head and told him that wouldn’t be necessary. I didn’t want to speak through the PA; I wanted the witches to gather close and hear my voice.
My eyes made a pass left and right across the club. They were watching me, now, waiting for me to speak, waiting to find out why I had cut the music. The words failed me at first, buried under the weight of the sheer number of eyes on me. This wasn’t the first time I stood on this stage to speak, but it sure felt like the first time.
“Hello,” I said, when I finally broke through the apprehension. “First of all, I would like to thank you for coming today. I know many of you are hurt, or know others who have been hurt—some who are still in the hospital recovering. It means a lot to me that you came, and I know it would mean a lot to Remy, too.”
More witches were looking at me, now; including Nicole. My heart started to thump, but I went on.
“I remember the first night I was brought here,” I said. “I had just arrived in New Orleans and bought a house very few people knew even existed. Nicole, my neighbor, offered to show me around town, to meet all of you, to bring me to this place. I was terrified. Even more so when I met Remy. He was this smooth, charming witch, the guy in charge. All I kept thinking was, Am I going to make a fool out of myself? I was worried that I would say something or do something to get kicked out of your club before even becoming a part of it. But he brought me in, made me feel comfortable, and even though it turned out he had an ulterior motive, we were able to move past that and forge a friendship, which then led to a mentorship.”
Some of the witches exchanged surprised looks, but no one spoke.
“In his last few months, Remy did all he could to help us flourish as a community,” I continued. “He wanted to atone, to make amends for the things he had done in the name of his crusade against the enslavement of our kind. He wanted to bring us all together, to unite us as one big, collective family of witches, each working together to make life better for everyone else. That’s how I want to remember him—as a man who wanted nothing more than to help the people he had once wronged. To unite us, witches and vampires, so that we can face any challenge that comes our way, especially this one.”
Someone started a slow clap from somewhere in the back. I struggled to see who had started it at first, but when the gathered witches in the room began clearing a path for the person clapping to approach the stage, I saw it was Tamara, dressed in black, advancing slowly like a panther on its prey. No one joined in with her sarcastic slow clap. Instead, they watched as she made her way forward.
“Touching,” she said, loud enough for all to hear, “But you’re wrong.”
“Excuse me?” I said, staring at her like she was some kind of unsolvable puzzle.
“Remy is nothing like the man you’re describing, child, and that unity you’re describing is the reason he’s dead to begin with.”
“Remy is dead because vampires attacked us in force, and we couldn’t defend ourselves with magick.”
“And why did the vampires attack you? That’s right, because you allowed a group of vampires to live in New Orleans unchecked, and blood attracts blood. You were warned others were coming, you were warned, and you ignored it. You’re the reason why this tragedy took place.”
“I think you should leave.”
“Leave? I don’t think so. Now, you had your chance to say a few words, and I’m going to have mine—Remy should have never changed his position on vampires. They’re a menace; a vicious, bloodthirsty plague on our existence who deserve to be dragged kicking and screaming into the sunlight where they can be judged for their actions.”
“That’s not true; they aren’t all—”
“Evil?” she asked, laughing. “Child, good and evil don’t exist; there are only choices. Vampires are driven by an insatiable thirst for human blood, which means they’re only two or three bad choices away from being murderers, every last one of them. We can only count on ourselves for support, and love, and friendship, because we know who we are; we aren’t monsters like them.”
“The only monster in this room is you,” I said, “This was meant to be a place of peace, and you’re stepping all over that. Now I’m going to ask one more time—get out, Tamara.”
Tamara cocked an eyebrow and scanned around the room. No one had made a move on her, no one had tried to force her out of the club. Seeing this brought a wolfish smile to her face. “Remy had the right idea the first time,” she said, “New Orleans is a city of witches, and it should remain a city of witches for all time. He may be gone, but I’m going to carry on his legacy and make this city safe again, by making sure only our kind exist within the city limits. Those of you who agree with me are free to help me make this happen. If you don’t agree, that’s fine too, just so long as you don’t get in our way.”
Many of the witches in the room stared at each other again, but this time there was movement, too. When the first witch stepped up to Tamara and turned to face me with defiance in her eyes, my heart began to pound and the room started to spin. That one witch, even one, had been swayed by her argument, was almost too much to take. But then more witches started falling in by her side, and suddenly most of the room had decided to accept Tamara’s vision.
Worst of all was when Nicole stood from her seat and walked up to Tamara. I thought she was coming to stand with me, to support me, but she had stopped short of the stage and was looking at me now just the same as everyone else was. My heart could have stopped then, if it wasn’t hammering in my chest like a wild animal locked in a cage.
“Nicole…” I said, “What are you doing?”
For a couple of seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity, Nicole didn’t say anything, and then she did. “My mom is in the hospital right now because of what happened last night, Maddie,” she said. “I’m so tired of having to fight off new enemies and getting nowhere.”
“You’re really doing this?”
“Things weren’t better before, but New Orleans was a safer place at least. I can’t lose my mom.”
Tamara smiled triumphantly, and seeing her smile and all the witches gathered around her filled me with the sudden need to leave. I stormed off the stage, pushed my way through the crowd which was parting too slowly for my liking, and left the Scarlet Cat on my own.