Oppressed (21 page)

Fury, fear and loathing took a hold of me
but I was determined not to let Edmond feed off of my emotions.
“You killed him. You killed him. You killed him,” I said the words
over and over again, finally absorbing the fact that Antoine was
really gone. “You killed an innocent man. You’re a coward. Nothing
but a coward. Only cowards challenge men who are unable to defend
themselves!”

“
He should have known his
place,” Edmond smugly replied. His cold eyes didn’t hold an ounce
of guilt or remorse for what he had done.

His arrogance drove me to madness and
I was on the verge of asking Marinette to go through with the plan
but some inexplicable force coming from deep within was robbing me
of my courage to speak the words.

“
You’re better than him.
Don’t do it, Cecile!” I could hear Antoine’s voice of reason
pleading with me in the distance not to go through with
it.

“
Say the word!” Marinette
swiftly brought the blade closer and closer to his neck. Her
ghastly laughter was so loud that it drowned out all other noise
and drove the words closer to the tip of my tongue.

Edmond clumsily rose from his chair and
took a hold of my other wrist. “You shouldn’t be wandering the
streets, sweet Cecile. It’s far too dangerous. Let me take you home
where it’s safe.” His lips fell onto mine I repressed waves of
vomit as the stale stench of whiskey entered my mouth. I blocked
out Antoine’s voice and was about to give Marinette my approval
when someone interrupted us.

“
Edmond, what are you doing?”
Lucus grabbed Edmond by his shoulders and tore him away from me.
“Have you gone mad? Can’t you see that you’re hurting
her?”

Conflicting feelings of confusion and
relief came over me at the sight of him.

Edmond desperately struggled to free
himself from Lucus’ grip. “Let go of me, cousin! She’s my placée
and I can do whatever I damn well want with her!”

Lucus tightened his grip, restraining
Edmond who was thrashing and madly rebelling in an attempt to free
himself. “You’ve had too much to drink, Edmond.” Lucus’ voice was
low, composed and slightly threating. “Go home to Elizabeth. Go
now.”

“
I haven’t had too much to
drink! Let go of me! I don’t want to go home to Elizabeth. I want
to go home with my sweet Cecile.”

I tried not to vomit at the thought of
going home with him.

“
Say the words and I can
kill them both!” Marinette offered as she danced around Lucus and
Edmond, poking them ever so slightly with the sharp edge of her
machete. “They’re both the same, are they not? Don’t be fooled by
this one either.” She viciously tore off Lucus’ top hat and
trampled on it with her bare feet while pouring gasoline on the top
of his head.

Lucus shuddered as the
foul-
smelling liquid soaked him.

“
No!” I shouted. “Don’t
hurt him!”

“
Do you hear her?” Edmond
whispered. “She’s ill. She’s been suffering from that illness since
the night of the opera and I’m only trying to help her. I’m trying
to get rid of her disease. I think she picked it up from that
savage- that slave! If I can only fix her.”

“
Maybe you’re the savage,
dear cousin,” Lucus said as he tightened his hold on Edmond. “Maybe
you’re the one suffering from the illness.”

Edmond scoffed. “It sounds like you’re
catching it too.”

“
Say it, Cecile!” Marinette
demanded. “I want to kill them both! They are exactly the same!”
She spit in Edmond’s face and slapped Lucus across the
face.

“
No! I’ll give you all of the
gasoline you want but you cannot hurt him!” I didn’t want to blame
or judge Lucus based on the actions of his cousin, because that was
a dangerous road to step onto.

I threw Lucus an apologetic look and
he nodded as if he somehow understood what I was trying to
say.

Marinette stopped and took a step
back. “Revolution needs blood!” she hissed. Her red eyes blazed
with hunger.

“
Maybe,” I agreed. “But not
tonight,” I said softly, as I placed my arms around her and held
her. “I know why you’re so fierce and can appreciate why you need
to be this way. Your life was cruel and tough. Too much blood was
shed in Haiti. I don’t want that same thing for my beautiful city,”
I said pleadingly. It suddenly occurred to me that blind revenge
wasn’t going to make me feel better, nor was it going to help
anyone around me. As much as I loathed Edmond I couldn’t and
wouldn’t allow myself to follow in his footsteps.

She released herself
from my grip, stood
in front of Edmond and looked at him in abhorrence before punching
him so hard that he fell to the ground. He writhed in pain and I
knew it was time for me to make my exit. “Thank you! I promise I
won’t forget to leave gasoline for you!”

Marinette nodded and gave Edmond another
kick in the groin before she disappeared. I turned around and ran
out of the door, not wanting to stay in that casino a minute
longer.

I was half-way down the murky street when
I felt someone behind me. I picked up my pace, thinking that I was
about to get mugged.

“
Cecile! Wait!” Lucus’
breathless voice caught me off-guard, and I stopped dead in my
tracks. Reeking of gasoline, whiskey, and cigar smoke, Lucus stood
before me with a pained expression on his handsome face. “I’m so
sorry.”

“
You heard?” I whispered,
half-surprised that he would even care.

He nodded. “He told me while we were
gambling.”

The image of Edmond scoffing and bragging
about killing Antoine as he leisurely sipped whiskey and gambled
away a few thousand dollars was too much to take. “It is what it
is.” As I said those words a chill gripped my hands, knees and
throat. An unwelcome weakness caused me to drop to my knees, bury
my head into my hands, and release a fresh flood of tears. “He
didn’t deserve to die. He had his whole life ahead of
him!”

Lucus fell to his knees and took my hands
away from my face and held me until I had run out of tears and my
sobs were thin and sparse. He lightly ran his fingers over my
closed lids and then down my tear-streaked face. “No. He didn’t
deserve to die. My cousin can be irrational and extremely
possessive. He had no right to take your friend’s life. Let me walk
you home,” he offered.

Home. Where was home? Was it the prison
where Edmond had kept me? For tonight it would have to do, because
it was the one place I knew I would be safe from him. I nodded and
allowed Lucus to wrap his arms around me and lead me down the
cobbled streets, knowing very well the scandal it would
cause.

Chapter
Twenty-One

Monsieur Can
G
o to
Hell

Cecile LaNuit’s Home,
Rue de
Rampart

New Orleans, 1853

“
Ms. Cecile! What in heaven’s
name has gotten into you?” Justine opened the door and crossed
herself when she saw the horrid state I was in. She immediately
shut up when she saw Lucus and eyed me suspiciously. “Monsieur
isn’t going to be happy,” she said disapprovingly.

“
Monsieur can go to hell!”
I hissed bitterly.

“
I should go.” Lucus took a step
backwards, clearly impacted by Justine’s disapproving
glare.

I turned to face him and for the first
time in a long time I no longer cared whether I was being
appropriate. “I know it’s not appropriate, and the whole city will
talk about us and my reputation will be ruined, but it’s already a
little too late. So please, I insist, stay for a drink and some
gris-gris, my Dinclusin,” I teased. I had to make Lucus a
protective charm in case Edmond got it in his head that he would
challenge Lucus to a duel as well. “Unless, of course, you’re
afraid that people will classify you as being ruined as
well.”

Lucus smiled genuinely and the horrors
of the day seemed to be a distant dream. “How can I say no to my
Chalotte?” He placed his hand over his chest dramatically and
stepped inside.

I lead him to the parlor where Justine
had already lit the long row of candles that rested on the space
above the fireplace and had replaced the rotting red flowers with a
fresh bouquet.

“
You’re free to use the
bathroom if you want to clean up,” I said quietly as it occurred to
me that we were alone and I was a bundle of nerves. I had no idea
why.

“
Thank you,” he
said.

“
You’re welcome.” My hands
shook as I reached out and yanked out a strand of his hair. “For
the gris-gris,” I explained.

He nodded. “Of course.”

After we had both cleaned up I
remembered to leave offerings of gasoline for Marinette.
Afterwards, I lit several white candles and anointed them
with
Fiery
Wall of Protection Oil
and sat in my bedroom and made a protective
gris-gris for Lucus. He patiently sat on my bed and watched as I
mixed together the various ingredients and placed them into a tiny
sack cloth which I attached to a string.

“
You have to keep this on
you at all times,” I warned, as I tied the charm onto his
wrist.

“
And why is that?” he
asked, as he raised his left eyebrow and eyed the tiny charm in
mock suspicion.

I glanced at him and then quickly looked
down, hoping he wouldn’t notice that my face was flustered. “No
reason.”

There was a brief silence between us.
His hand lightly cupped my chin and I looked up at him. “I’m sorry
for what my cousin has done. I wish I could make it all better
somehow. Wipe away all of the pain.” The candlelight illuminated
the sincerity behind his eyes and something deep within me told me
that one day all of this ugliness would disappear. That somehow
everything would get better. It had to.

“
It’s not your fault. You’re not
responsible for anyone’s actions but your own, and I refuse to let
you get in the middle of any of this. So please, no
duels.”

“
But…”

“
No buts, or I will send a
machete-waving gasoline-drinking spirit after you.”

He laughed and pulled me close to him. I
leaned against his chest and savored his gasoline-tinged scent. I
felt safe in his embrace, despite my experience with his cousin.
Lucus ran his fingers through my wet hair and I felt my eyes
closing and the sweet seductive call of sleep beckoning me. How
long had it been since I had slept? I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t
want to sleep. I wanted to talk about Antoine.

“
You would have loved
him,” I whispered. “You would have loved Antoine. He was so snobby
but so smart and kind. He knew the words to every single opera ever
preformed at the opera house. He despised oranges with an unhealthy
passion and believed that everyone had the right to a decent
life.”

“
Why did he despise
oranges with an unhealthy passion?”

I laughed. “Just because. He was funny
like that. He had very specific reasons and explanations for most
things in life, except oranges. ”

“
What do you despise with
an unhealthy passion?” he asked.

I took a thoughtful pause and was
tempted to say Edmond. “Feeling powerless. You?”

“
Feeling hopeless.” There
was a moment of silence and I melted deeper into him. “How many
spirits are there?” he asked.

“
Thousands and
thousands…”

“
Why are there so
many?”

“
Because there are so many
people in the world. The spirits are a reflection of us. We’re all
different. Do you think I’m silly?” I asked randomly. “Do you think
I’m silly for believing things that most people can’t see? Most
people think I am.”

“
No. How can you feel and not
believe? If you’re silly then so are all those people who
religiously attend Sunday-morning mass. ”

“
Do you feel
them?”

“
Yes.”

“
When?”

He took a thoughtful pause. “When I try to
paint or when I take a walk through the city. When I glance up at
the stars or feel the wind through my hair. When I drink too much
whiskey… And most of all at moments like these.”

A small smile crept up on my face.
“Moments like these?”

He nodded. “Moments like
these.”

“
Thank you,” I whispered.
“Thank you for being here.”

“
La vie est belle,
Chalotte.”

“
La vie est belle,
Dinclusin.”

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Scandal on Rue de
Rampart

Madame LaNuit’s Home,
Rue de
Rampart

New Orleans, 1853

Maman stiffly sipped her café au lait as
she stared at me in blatant disapproval and shame. I could smell
her anger and knew she was on the verge of tears, but she looked
stunning. Her hair was swept up in a severe bun and she was
exquisitely dressed in a gown made out of pale satin and Parisian
lace. Tiny pearl earrings decorated her ears and the spicy and
aromatic smell of her expensive perfume filled the room.