The air in New Orleans was still abuzz with the strange tension Ophelia had noticed on their journey to the morgue, but as they made their way home, it felt slightly different. The idea of saying goodbye to their mother had surrounded her with a fog of feelings so thick she had only been thinking of grief before. Now, however, she saw that New Orleans was in rare form tonight.
The streets of the Garden District were darker than usual, despite the lingering rays of the evening sun. The heels of Ophelia’s boots clicked on the cobblestones of the sidewalk as she and Genevieve meandered down the road. Usually, the streets would still be packed with carriages and tourists heading to and from the Quarter, jazz music humming somewhere in the distance. Instead, the street that stretched before them was still, drenched in shadows and a quiet that was loud and clear to Ophelia: something insidious was in the air.
“We need to get home,” Ophelia urged to Genevieve as her gaze darted around them. “This is not right.”
“What are you talking about?” Genevieve asked with a raised brow. “Nothing seems wrong to me. No one’s even out tonight.”
“Exactly,” Ophelia muttered. “It’s tourist season—why is it so quiet?”
“It was quiet earlier, too,” Genevieve pointed out. “Maybe everyone decided not to risk being caught out in the rain. Those clouds are getting awfully close.”
Ophelia tilted her head back to peer up at the billowing, gray clouds in the distance. Maybe Genevieve was right, maybe no one wanted to risk the rain. But that still didn’t explain the pit in her stomach. Or why the branches of the live oaks lining the street seemed more twisted than usual, the moisture in the air more suffocating.
Ophelia’s pulse picked up its pace as something skittered deep in the shadows beyond the intricate wrought-iron fencing of the houses to their right. Ophelia huddled closer to her sister as they slowed to a stop next to a café at an intersection, a breeze fluttering through her thick, gray skirts, the familiar smell of fried pastries and powdered sugar hitting her nose a moment later.
“Oh!” Genevieve grasped onto Ophelia’s forearm, tugging her toward the café. “Give me a moment, Ophie, I see a friend.”
Before Ophelia could protest, Genevieve was entering the café, squealing a greeting to a girl Ophelia had never seen before. Ophelia pressed closer to peer through the door’s glass panel as it swung shut. She watched as her effervescent younger sister threw both arms around the stranger with a familiarity that caused a lump in her throat. There wasn’t a single person in the world, other than Genevieve, that Ophelia knew well enough to offer such a greeting.
But here was Genevieve, talking animatedly to this girl with flaxen hair, a sparkle in her vibrant cerulean eyes that had been long absent in Ophelia’s presence.
While you were stuck inside, assisting your mother with calling upon the dead, your sister was making friends, the Shadow Voice told her. Don’t you hate her for it? Don’t you wish you could make her hurt? Make her bleed? They think she’s perfect, and funny, and pretty, and you’re—
“Stop,” she whispered aloud, reaching out to tap her knuckle against the glass.
One, two, three.
The voice evaporated.
“… you hear? Farrow Henry claims he’s entering. He’s not going to make it two whole nights in that place if the rumors are true,” a deep voice said from behind her.
Ophelia twisted around to see two men, about her age, heading toward her from across the intersection.
“Richard Henry’s nephew?” The other laughed. “He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. I bet twenty silver pieces he leaves the first night because his room isn’t luxurious enough.”
“He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t die from a heart attack in the first two hours,” the first man agreed.
The first man, the taller one, barely spared Ophelia a glance when they made it across the street and shouldered past her into the café. The other took one look at her haunting eyes and flinched. They ambled right up to Genevieve, and she swallowed as her sister tilted her head back with a laugh, grasping onto the taller one with affection at whatever he had said. Despite the convincing show her sister was putting on that everything was just fine, Ophelia knew Genevieve well enough to see there was a mask to hide the pain. The news had not likely caught fire in New Orleans’s social circles quite yet, and Genevieve was certainly not one to sour a good time with such a somber revelation.
Ophelia had to look away from the scene. Genevieve had an entire life outside of Grimm Manor. People she had made connections with, memories with, that Ophelia didn’t even know the names of.
Before she could spiral too deep into that train of thought, a flash of light reflected in the glass from behind her. She stumbled back from the door and spun around, nearly choking at what she found.
There, a few feet away, was an Apparition. Its form was haloed in the same icy blue haze as the others she’d seen. Grimm Blue. Of course.
The Apparition tilted their head at her.
Ophelia swallowed. “I’m not her.”
The Apparition hovered closer.
“Go away.” Ophelia shooed the Apparition with a wave of her hand. “I’m not her, she’s gone. I’ll never be her. Leave me alone.”
Because in New Orleans everyone knew the prolific Necromancer Tessie Grimm. Even the dead. Especially the dead.
The Apparition opened their mouth as if to argue with Ophelia’s claim, but before they could utter a word, someone walked right through their transparent body. They blew away like smoke on the wind.
“It’s come here, I swear,” the man who had just unknowingly walked through the Apparition insisted to his partner as they strode by, heads bent together. “Out past the old cathedral, where the cemetery used to be. Emma said she saw it there yesterday.”
Ophelia’s senses stirred at the man’s words. She had been right. The fact that the only thing in this strange quiet was hushed rumors surely meant something wicked was in the air.
Ophelia turned back to the café and pulled open the door. As she approached, Genevieve and her friends didn’t even glance up from their conversation. A very hushed conversation.
Ophelia cleared her throat. “Genevieve?”
Genevieve stopped her whispering as her gaze shifted to Ophelia, a glint of surprise in her eyes. Like she had forgotten Ophelia was there at all. “Oh. Ophie.”
“It’s almost dark,” Ophelia said. There was no need for any other explanation. Genevieve was well aware why that simple statement incited urgency.
Turning back to her friends, Genevieve sighed. “I’m sorry, I have to go. But I will absolutely let you know when I’m feeling up for dinner. We’ll have a lot to talk about.”
The others nodded in agreement, eyes flickering over Ophelia in curiosity, but none of them bothered to greet her or introduce themselves. Which was just as well—Ophelia wasn’t in the mood to socialize anyway.
When they had stepped back outside, door firmly shut behind them, Ophelia asked, “Who were they?”
“Just some acquaintances,” Genevieve answered with a flippant wave of her hand.
“Where did you meet them?” Ophelia pressed.
Genevieve’s eyes slid to her sister with mirth. “Nowhere insidious, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Of course not.” Ophelia shook her head, hooking her arm through Genevieve’s to pull them faster down the street as another flash of glowing blue appeared over her shoulder. “You just never mentioned them before.”
“Are you alright?” Genevieve asked.
Another flash of blue to their right. Ophelia froze as her gaze clashed with the new Apparition’s.
“Ophie? You look like you’ve seen a… oh.” Genevieve’s eyes widened. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re seeing them now.”
“Distract me,” Ophelia urged. “What were y’all talking about back there?”
They skipped over a hole in the pavement as they pressed on, away from the Garden District.
“Oh, um…” Genevieve hesitated. “Farrow Henry! Yes. That’s right. Just petty gossip about New Orleans’s most infamous bachelor.”
“Do you know him?” Ophelia wondered. “Those other guys were talking about him when they walked in.”
“No. Yes. No.” Genevieve shook her head in frustration. “He asked me to one of last year’s balls. His father is the head of one of the Mardi Gras Krewes. Mystick.”
“I didn’t think you ended up going to any of the balls,” Ophelia commented.
Genevieve huffed. “I didn’t. I had planned to, made my dress and everything, but then that asshole stood me up and took someone else. I still made sure to show up to Mystick’s parade, though. Couldn’t resist the opportunity to make him squirm.”
Ophelia raised her brows at her sister’s boldness, a laugh bubbling up in her throat. Genevieve had a mouth worse than a sailor at times. Though, the thought of anyone hurting Genevieve’s feelings made her blood boil—not to mention it was laughable that anyone would find someone better than her sister. Genevieve would say Ophelia was biased, but the fact that there were multiple suitors sending love letters to the manor every month said otherwise.
“Well, he clearly doesn’t have a brain if he threw away his opportunity with you,” Ophelia commented.
Genevieve snorted. “That’s alright. I fucked his best friend on the back of the float as revenge.”
The sun dropped below the horizon now, and both of them instinctually picked up their pace as they passed the colorful rows of houses in the inner city. There were two golden rules their mother had taught them about roaming New Orleans after dark: the first was that if the dark looks at you, you never look back. That was a surefire way to be caught by a Devil.
Devils had roamed New Orleans as long as Witches and Vampires—longer even. Ophelia had never met one herself, and even with everything she’d learned from her mother about the insidious beings, she wasn’t prepared for an actual encounter with one. Not yet.
The second rule was that if you did break the first, never ever make any deals with a Devil. Not unless you wanted to lose your soul. A concept many overly curious tourists never seemed to learn, flocking to places like New Orleans—places rooted in magic—in search of things they knew nothing about.
Those desperately fascinated with the types of beings who lurked in the dark hardly ever enjoyed the outcome of actually finding them.
Ophelia glanced around to see there were very few other stragglers roaming the streets with them. A couple shopkeepers getting off work, and brave street entertainers just beginning their days, which didn’t help Ophelia’s nerves. But at least they weren’t completely alone.
To punctuate that sentiment, a carriage zoomed past, the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the pavement melting into the sultry notes of jazz music that were climbing to a crescendo in the distance. A couple meandering toward them shook their heads at the sight of the sisters strolling arm in arm, and Ophelia wasn’t sure if they disapproved of the two of them somehow, or if the gossip about their mother was already widespread enough for random locals to begin handing out their condolences. Regardless, the bone-chilling glare Ophelia shot in their direction was enough to make them flinch and hurry away.
“Looks like Mom’s gift of unsettling the city folk has been passed to you.” Genevieve wrinkled her nose a little. “I won’t lie, Ophie—it is a bit harder to look at you now.”
It was not shocking that Genevieve found the new color of Ophelia’s eyes disturbing. Her younger sister had always had an issue making direct eye contact with their mother and had made it abundantly clear all their lives that should Ophelia tragically pass on without any heirs of her own, Genevieve would not be carrying on the family legacy.
The way people were easily vexed by their strange little family had always rubbed Genevieve the wrong way, and when Genevieve had reached a certain age, she even began to refuse to accompany their mother anywhere in town lest they run into any of her socialite friends. None of that had ever bothered Ophelia.
Maybe because Ophelia knew this would be her fate one day. Or maybe Genevieve was just embarrassed because her friends had told her to be, and Ophelia had never really had any friends of her own for such peer pressure to occur. The few times Ophelia had pursued suitors, they had ended with quick, passionate affairs that fizzled out as fast as they began. Not a single one ever made it to the stage where she might introduce them to her family.
Ophelia couldn’t help but wonder if she was wildly unprepared to assimilate into normal society without their mother as her guide. Death she was familiar with. Living would be the real challenge.
Next to her, Genevieve suddenly shivered, turning to glance over her shoulder with a strange look in her eyes.
“What is it?” Ophelia pressed.
Genevieve hesitated. “Something one of my friends said earlier… about…” She shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s just get home. I’m cold.”
“Let’s catch a carriage,” Ophelia insisted as the night closed in. “I know we shouldn’t waste the money, but I don’t want to be out here a second longer than we have to.”
