She lifted her chin to Kyle. “Your position is unchanged, Kyle. You know the risk of going out, especially now.”
“I’ll have Liam with me and we have soldiers stationed around. No one would dare get near us.”
Someone would dare.
I knew that in my heart.
I knew that someone intimately, and currently, my only concern was for his safety. As far as for Kyle and Liam, my concern was waning by the minute.
As Kyle said goodnight to Jezebel, I wondered about subtle distinctions.
What is the difference between confidence and cockiness?
My husband radiated confidence.
I saw that quality the first night our gazes met across the bar. I was drawn to it. Others saw it, too. I recalled the way the sea of people parted when he walked through the crowd. Rett’s position made him the king of New Orleans, and he wore that title proudly. He didn’t need to say a word; his assuredness was on display like a royal mantle. His crown was invisible, but it was there, seen by all those who served him and those who didn’t.
Kyle saw it, whether he wanted to or not.
Staring at my brother, I saw a boy trying to play a man’s game.
It wasn’t the difference in their ages. It was the differences in their maturity, experience, and understanding. Kyle said I didn’t understand.
I believed I did.
It was he who didn’t.
According to our mother, the prophecy was that she was carrying a child to rule New Orleans. The city had been co-ruled for generations. As crazy as Rett sounded when we first met, I now saw that he was right; he’d been right all along.
And so had the prophecy.
It was Kyle who was wrong.
Jezebel and I sat un-talking after Kyle went back inside the house. The resounding silence faded as the insects and toads resumed their chorus. It was as if Kyle’s visit had prompted an intermission and the overture they sang meant it was time for the second act.
Two cars came from around the side of the house. Their tires rolling on the hard-packed earth and the hum of their engines momentarily replaced the natural melody. And then, like the glow of their red taillights, they were gone and the sounds of nature were back.
As the night noises created their own lullaby, my eyes grew heavy. The day had been long, and the more we sat, the less uncomfortable I was wrapped in the scratchy blanket.
I may have nodded off.
I saw images and scenes, disconnected, such as discarded clips of a movie. They came the way one sees things in dreams. As they progressed, I was less present, more a voyeur.
Rett’s dark stare glistened in the candlelight as we dined and his deep voice relayed stories about his family. And then he faded away. However, I knew I was still in his home. It was their voices I heard first. We were in the sitting room with the large fireplace in Rett’s home. Of the women present, I’d only met one—Miss Guidry. Yet I recognized the other two from their portraits, Delphine and Marilyn. Though the three ladies were conversing and I couldn’t hear what they were saying, I felt their emotions of worry, concern, and maybe even fear. A smile came to my lips as they held each other’s hands. The house faded away. The streets of New Orleans were filled with people, chants, and candles. Liam was there, watching. His emotions didn’t fit the others. He was apart from them. His anger seemed palpable. The others were sad and worried. I wanted to ask what had happened.
Had someone died?
I woke with a start, unsure of the scenes that had slipped somewhere between my conscious and subconscious.
I also wasn’t certain how much time had passed when Jezebel spoke.
“You hear them, don’t you?”
I turned to her. “Hear who?”
“The spirits. They’re unusually loud.”
Was I hearing them?