Page 75 of The Child of Rue Royale
I sneer, and he kisses my head again in apology. Then his eyes grow serious as a snake about to strike.
“And when you ask me to make love to you, I’ll do it soft and tenderly, and when you ask me to fuck you, I’ll take you hard and hungrily.”
Within seconds, I pull his head to mine, kissing his mouth where my lips beg to always be. It’s so easy, how he can slide me next to him, like we’re magnets, a pull we can’t resist nor do we want to. He’s not as strong since he’s been human, but he still can push and pull me around at his will, my body yearning for it. The push and pull of him. Just to be next to him, just to feel his warmth. His hands on my back, his legs wrapped around mine. He’s my home, and if I could just live in every word he just said, if I could pitch a tent and never leave, we would be okay, we would be perfect.
THE AIR IS THICK ANDheavy tonight like a storm could break out at any moment. Early September in the French Quarter is quieter, the unrelenting heat keeping tourists away. Thankfully, the alley is mostly empty with fewer people than usual walking through, keeping to themselves.
Mother has Aven, and it’s like I can feel her anxiety from my house. We all want this to work so badly.
Bastian and I look down Pirate’s Alley from the Royal Street side, named after pirate deals Jean Laffitte supposedly made in the new, swampy city. But now, it’s a wide alley with robust, black lampposts and a view of Jackson Square on the other end.
Bastian’s hand is sweaty in mine, but it’s not from the humidity, it’s from what we’re about to do. I smell his cologne, Chanel Pour Monsieur, the same one he wore back when he was just turned, applied on purpose for the occasion.
“It’s okay, it’s not a test,” I say. “We’ll just stand where you remember standing, and we’ll go back and hear what she said.”
But there’s so much at stake. He knows it, I know it. And now that we know who our enemies are, we hope this is the missing piece. Whatever we hear from my grandmother will be the answer we need to this fucked up puzzle.
He runs a nervous hand through his brown locks, his eyes exhibiting that tortured look I’ve come to recognize since I brought him back. The anger, the rage that lies inside him. Dormant most days, but still very real and raw, so close to being let loose like a caged jaguar.
I place a hand over his heart, trying to release an aura of calm over him, but he’s so wound up, I feel the resistance.
“It was farther down.” He points. “Between the Cathedral and the Cabildo. We were against the Cabildo…your grandmother was walking up from Royal Street.”
“Let’s go.” I grab his hand again and lead him all the way down, his feet stopping once we reach the back of the Cabildo.
“Here, yeah. I’m pretty sure it was here.”
I look down the alley where Jackson Square opens up. If it were daytime, we would hear the instruments of the street performers, see psychics set up at their tables.
“Okay, I think you should lean against the wall to keep you from swaying. Remember the last time we did this?”
“You mean when I threw you to the ground and went hysterical, blood tears and all?”
“Yeah, that time.”
“Yep,” he clips, his face hard as stone. “I remember.”
“It was the start of us, Bastian. And you’re not going to bite me this time. This time, there’s nothing traumatic to see.” But my heart suddenly pulses from the idea of seeing my grandmother as a little girl. There’s a buzzing in my stomach at the thought, and he can tell.
“I remember her slightly, she was bossy and bold,” he whispers. “But that’s just when she would come by Nightwalkers with your mom. Why didn’t she ever talk to me again? It makes no sense.”
“I have no idea. But I’m ready. I’m so ready to see her through your eyes.”
Bastian leans against the wall, pulling me hard against him, stealing my breath. My stomach presses against his, his arms snaking around my waist until they clasp at my back.
“I’ve re-read Cassius’s entry a hundred times. I remember being here, the conversation, but what she said in my ear—it’s still blank. God, I’m nervous,” he whispers, his eyes darker than ever, his teeth skating against his bottom lip. “I don’t want you to see me like that, how I used to be.”
I slide my hands up his chest until they stop over his heart. “I love every part of you. And I’m proud of who you are now and what you’ve overcome. And besides, I will be seeing through your eyes. I won’t see you.”
He swallows, eyes scanning my face with what I’ve come to recognize as fear. “What if I didn’t hear? Or I don’t remember? Or it doesn’t work?”
“Then we’ll do what we always do. We’ll figure it out. We’ll find another way. But we have to try this first. Come on, baby,” I say with a wink. “Let go.”
A slow smile spreads on his face at that. “All right, all right.” He laughs, gently placing a kiss on my forehead then holding me tight once more. “Using my own words against me.”
“Worth a shot.” I grin, kissing his chin, but back away from his embrace. “Now. It was a December night in 1956. You had just fed from a drunk man, so you were blood drunk, seriously blood drunk. Close your eyes and go back there.”
He breathes out gently, his minty breath warming my face. “I’m trying to remember, it’s so fuzzy…”
