“I want to be poor, too.”
It was Adrienne’s turn to laugh. “Oh, no you don’t! It’s plain awful!”
They ate quietly.
The talent scouts hadn’t wanted her, but she’d figure out how to break into the music scene on her own. This school and its renowned vocal instructor was the first step. The money she was saving from her weekend job as a tarot card reader for Madame Estelle’s Psychic Arts, located two wards over, was second. She had almost two thousand dollars scrimped away from tips and wages. When she had enough, she could put together her first album in the hopes of catching the attention of music producers. New Orleans led the jazz music industry.
The warning bell rang, and they ate faster so as not to be late to the next class. Adrienne got lost on her way back to her locker and ended up late anyway. She tried to cover the stains on her clothes with her books as she crept into class. Everyone stared at her, and she slunk to the only open seat, which happened to be right up front.
“Nice of you to join us, Ms. St. Croix,” the instructor said. “Class, meet Adrienne St. Croix, a new transfer from New Orleans.”
“Definitely a scholarship student,” one of the girls nearby said loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“Let’s start the school year with some positivity, shall we?” the teacher chided her.
“She crawled out of the bayou to be here,” another snickered.
“Swamp girl!” the girl behind her whispered.
They laughed.
Adrienne stared straight ahead. Once they heard her sing, they’d stop laughing. Even if she never really fit in, they’d soon understand why she was there. She leaned down to her book bag to dig out the gris-gris her mother made her before she left Georgia. It was a simple cross her mother had dressed with oils and powders meant to give Adrienne strength and comfort her when she missed her family.
The rest of her day passed quickly. In the next class, another girl made a crack about the scholarship status. Adrienne went to the bathroom twice more to stare into the mirror and wait for the Red Man to appear. Was there a chance he wasn’t as threatening as the journal seemed to make him? Did he know something about her sister’s disappearance?
He didn’t reappear and she suspected she’d been imagining things.
Fortunately, Emma was in her last class and saved her a seat. Grateful, Adrienne sat near her new friend, happy to have almost survived her first day of her senior year.
Until she saw how right Emma was about the rain. It was pouring before the final class was over. Dismayed, she hurried to grab her things then walked off the campus in the sticky, Southern downpour and waited at the crowded bus stop down the street. She sank back from the road into the crowd, not wanting any of her classmates to see her and have yet another reason to ridicule her.
The bus was packed, and she didn’t get to her stop until almost five o’clock.
Rain greeted her when she reached the sidewalk. Adrienne glanced up, hoping her iPad didn’t get ruined. The money she was saving was to help her produce her own album, not replace her school-issued iPad every time it rained.
The bus let her off on the backside, far corner of the block where her father’s apartment building was located. No matter which way she went, she’d have an equal distance to go around the block. She hurried down the street.
She kept close to the buildings in the hope of hiding beneath awnings from the rain and skirting clumps of people taking refuge. Trotting past the alley acting as a short cut through the block, she reached the opposite sidewalk and paused.
If she went through, she’d end up right at her dad’s building. If she continued, she had to finish circling the block. Her eyes settled on the familiar garbage dumpster near the other end of the alley. A few bums were huddled in soaked boxes or beneath rain ponchos, but none of them appeared to be a threat.
Wet iPad or run through the alley? She asked herself.
She started down the alley at a jog. When she reached the center, she slowed some, glancing around. The rain had faded to a drizzle. She expected the guy in the red sweatshirt to appear out of thin air.
He didn’t.
Was she relieved, or did she want to see him? To ask him what he knew about her sister? In daylight, he wouldn’t be as scary. At least, she hoped he wouldn’t.
Adrienne reached the dumpster and paused again, glancing back.
Her heart leapt, and she stifled a cry of surprise.
He was there, where he’d been the night before, his features still hidden beneath a hood. Without the night to play tricks on her eyes, she was able to see his form this time. He was tall and strong, wearing the same baggy, dark jeans and red sweatshirt.
“Your daddy should’ve told you to stay out of the alleys,” he told her.
Adrienne clutched her purse to her chest, uncertain how to take his words. They were more of an observation than a threat. Hopefully, that meant he wasn’t the neighborhood serial killer.
“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing around. It was possible he lived there with the other bums, though she saw no makeshift shelters at this end of the alley. “I wanted to ask you how you knew my sister.”
“Why do you think I knew her?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “You knew her name. I thought maybe …”
He turned away as he had last night and began walking.
“Wait!” she called. “Will you at least tell me if you did know her?”
“Give me your name, sister of Therese.”
Adrienne swallowed hard.
He waited.
“Adrienne,” she whispered. “Adrienne St. Croix.”
“Yes, I knew her. Briefly.”
Emotion surged within her. Unable to sort through it, Adrienne was lost in her thoughts for a few seconds. His movement pulled her free.
“Wait!” she repeated. “Who are you? How did you know her? Did she -”
“One question, Adrienne,” he replied. “Which do you want me to answer?”
She thought furiously. Of all the things she wanted to know, she also feared learning the truth. What if her sister had been involved in something bad? Or died horribly? Was she ready to know?
“Your name,” she said.
“Jacques. People around here call me Jax.”
Jax. She’d look him up in Therese’s journal.
“How well did you know her?” she asked.
“Why?”
“I’m curious. It’d be real nice to know she had friends or something when she was here. Sometimes I think … well, I mean, they didn’t find no body.”
Jax faced her once more. “Don’t you go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“But she’s my sister.”
“Why you asking me all this? Did … someone contact you?”
“No. Like who?” she asked. “Police?”
“They have no idea what goes on around here.” Jax chuckled. “Listen, sister of Therese. These are my streets. Nothing happens that I don’t now about, and I determines what happens to people who don’t listen to me. I don’t want to hear of you asking these kinds of questions. You hear me?”
She swallowed hard.
“Do you?” he demanded.
She nodded.
“What happened to your sister is none of your business.” He turned away and began walking once more.
“I miss her,” she murmured.
“She didn’t die, Adrienne,” he replied without stopping. “Be a good girl and drop it.”
Taken aback, she watched him walk the length of the alley the way he had last night.
She’d been to Therese’s funeral, which they’d held in New Orleans. Even if she didn’t recall much about her eldest sister, the funeral was emblazoned in her memory. The transition to spirithood was a time to celebrate among the voodoo community, and there was no funeral procession like one in New Orleans. She’d been in awe of the days of magical rites honoring ancestors and gods, and the colorful, musical procession to the graveyard that featured a band of horns and the presence of every family member and friend they’d ever met. They’d had leftovers of flavorful Creole food for weeks.