Nentres

Eddy and I went so far back, I couldn’t even remember when I’d met him. We’d been neighbors. His home still stood abandoned next to mine. The earliest memory I had of Eddy was when we’d brawled over a skateboard I’d found on the street. He’d claimed it was his when, in fact, the name on the skateboard was Larry Hudson. We both knew a Larry Hudson from the house down the street, but Eddy insisted everything on his lawn belonged to him.

Let the record show I’d found the skateboard, so it was mine. Eddy, two years my senior, beat me up and took the board. To this day I wondered what made him come to my house the next morning and ask me to play ball with him, but I went. We’d been inseparable until sometime in high school when his parents divorced and Eddy had left the private school for public school. His mom moved out, and I hadn’t seen much of Eddy after that, apart from brief glances in town, where we both pickpocketed the tourists. I did it because it was fun; he did it because he needed the money.

In town, I rapped on the boarded-up door of a former all-day breakfast place on St. Ann’s Street. An eye appeared in the small peephole, and, after a pause, a deep male voice asked, “Who’re you?”

“Tell Eddy, Jonatan Broussard is here to see him.”

I tucked my hands into my coat, kicked some dirt under my shoe, then counted to fifty so I wouldn’t break the door. Patience wasn’t my forte. I lifted my fist, ready to bang again, when a man swung open the door and got out of my way. Entering from the back, I walked the long hallway into the kitchen, where curious people paused their prep to stare at me. I moved into another hallway and finally got to the main restaurant floor.

Eddy sat in the corner of the restaurant, pretending to read something super interesting so he wouldn’t appear like he got here just to receive me. He’d grown a beard and shaved his head. He’d also gotten tattoos on his face. I guessed it made him look tougher, but I knew, way down deep, Eddy would do the right thing. If he liked you, he’d do you a solid.

Eddy lived a few doors down from here, and I could’ve landed on top of his roof, but that would make him change locations, and I liked it just fine that he believed I had no idea where he slept.

I sat at the table and pushed an invitation to my ball at him.

He folded his superimportant reading material—a decade-old menu—and raised an eyebrow. “Hello to you too, old friend. Here to give me back the Confederate coins you stole with that cheating poker hand?” Eddy still lived in the fantasyland where he knew for certain I’d cheated at poker, which got me his Confederate coins. I had cheated. But I was pretty sure he’d stolen that particular batch of coins from Hudsons’ down the street when they fled the area. So I didn’t feel bad for him.

The batch he’d claimed before the one I’d stolen off him was bloody. I would bet on it. In any case, I had no intention of admitting I cheated at cards.

I tapped the paper. “Seen three or three hundred of these?”

He picked up the invitation as if he needed to read it.

I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, I seen these,” he said. “Why?”

“I need them.”

He eyed me sideways. “They came from you, didn’t they? It’s an invitation to some sort of a masked ball where you’ll be picking a bride.”

“Yeah, I’m not having a ball, and I’ve found the bride.”

“Too late. The women are already scouting for dresses, making masks, and I ain’t gonna tell them it’s canceled.”

I leaned my elbows on the table and narrowed my eyes. “You’re not listening. I ain’t having the ball. If they come, they’ll kiss the gate.”

He mimicked my posture. “You’re not listening. The invitations are out. At least two hundred of us are coming.”

“Who is us?”

“A suitable bride and a chaperone.”

“No chaperones.”

He lifted the invitation and pointed at the tiny print at the bottom.

* Invitation good for one prospective virgin bride and a chaperone.

Amy, Amy, Amy. I recalled specifically telling her no chaperones.

Eddy smirked. “What’s the matter, Casanova? You don’t want us lowlifes inside your pristine mansion?”

“I don’t want anyone inside my mansion.”

“So then you won’t mind when I tell you I don’t want anyone inside my town.”

“This ain’t your town.”

“It sure as fuck ain’t yours.”

My beast didn’t like the challenge. My skin stretched, and I thought I might just go dragon on Eddy’s ass. I gritted my teeth lest I bite him. Eddy paid me no mind and continued. “I haven’t seen you since before the Age, so as far as I’m concerned, New Orleans is my turf. I own the streets, I protect these people, and I provide for them. So fuck off back to your glamor nest. And we’re all coming to the ball. People are treating it like Mardi Gras. It makes me look good.”

“Mardi Gras?”

“Mm-hm. They’re planning a parade down Charles Avenue all the way to your house.”

“It’s October.”

“They don’t care.”

I scrubbed my face. “Fuck me. How many brides?”

“Seventy at the very least.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Eddy laughed. “You asked for it, man.”

“Let’s make a deal. I’ll give you half those coins you lost, and you cancel the parade.”

Eddy looked around and jerked his head. The pair of guards at the front cleared out, leaving us alone. He spoke in a low voice. “We need this fucking ball, asshole. I’ve gotta lift these people’s spirits, and you know booze and a safe place to stay the night is the way to go.”

I snorted. “I’ll give you booze.”

He shook his head. “No deal.”

“What do you want?”

“Quit flying over my head. It’s scaring my people. I got enough problems with the damn Cy.”

I raised both eyebrows. Nobody had problems with the Cy. They practically didn’t exist for those of us who lived outside of the habitats, and even in the habitats, people rarely saw the aliens. “You mean problems with the cyborgs.”

“Not unless cyborgs are visiting me.”

I blinked. “Visiting you,” I repeated. Eddy might’ve lost his mind. Outlaw life was a hard one, and he’d been hustling even before the Age. I recalled his father had been rumored to be mentally unstable. Maybe Eddy got the gene.

“Yeah, motherfucker, visiting. They come and take my people, rip them right from their homes. We never see them again.”

When I leaned back, seriously considering Eddy was nuts, he took it as a sign to continue, even leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t fucking look at me like I’m crazy. I got a witness saying she saw her mom being lifted out of bed, carried through the air, out the closed window, and into the sky.”

“Sorry, man, but that’s some crazy shit.”

“Yeah, because a man who turns into dragon is normal shit.”

“Good point.”

“You believe me now?”

“No.” Lance had seen the Cy inside the habitat so we knew they’d touched ground, but Eddy was clamming something altogether different.

He shook his head and leaned back. “Like I said, quit flying over the city, shrieking, and scaring people off the streets.”

He was talking about the dragon me, not the man me. Having a beast got confusing even for me. “I can’t do that. This is my turf.”

“Hell of a job you’re doing on your turf when the Cy are taking people out here.”

“That Cy thing is from the bad alien movies, Eddy.”

He shook his head.

I continued. “About the damn ball…”

“You stop flying over the city, and I stop the parade.”

“This was a waste of my time.” I pushed the chair back and put my palms on the table. “The girl who gave you those invitations—”

“Is a fine piece of ass.” Eddy whistled.

“Do you want to die?”

“She’s your turf too?”

“That’s right. Mine.” With that, I walked away.

Right before I hit the door, Eddy called out, “Hey, man, does Mary still make her gumbo?”

“Nah, not for a long while.” And I didn’t know why I said what I said next, but I said it anyhow. “When she does, I’ll send you an invitation.”

He pointed a finger at me. “I’ll hold you to it.”

What an unproductive afternoon.