Chapter 8: Advice and answers

IT TOOK ME a solid hour to settle after Joss left. The idea of going out to the diner had lost its appeal, but my stomach was still grumbling. I called down to the hotel restaurant and had them send me up a burger, fries and a beer. As an afterthought, I added a chocolate milkshake to the mix. What the hell.

After I inhaled the food, I settled onto the sofa with my beer, picked up my cell and called my grandmother.

"Rafe, twice in one week? Are you homesick?"

I smiled. My grandmother didn't fall into the sweet, sentimental old lady stereotype. She was hard as steel, the toughest lady I'd ever known, and there was no one I'd rather have in my corner.

"No, I'm still having a good time in New Orleans, Gram. Just checking in. How are things in King?"

"Nothing new here. Your grandfather has gotten it in his head to add some sort of fish pond down in the lower gardens, and he's been busy with that. I'm helping the Guild with the Autumn Festival. Lucie's tackling a big project. She's updating the family tree. All very boring, I'm afraid. Tell me what you've been up to."

I smirked, safe in the knowledge that Gram couldn't see me and catch on. I couldn't exactly say, Well, Gram, I've been fucking anything in a short skirt that crosses my path for the last month or so. And then taking care of their memories so they can't bother me after. Oh, and I get shit-faced drunk about every night, too.

"Just, you know. Sight seeing and eating in a lot of new places. The food here is incredible."

"Yes, I'm sure food and museums have been high on your priority list." Gram's tone was arch, letting me know I didn't fool her. "Are you going to tell me you've been going to daily Mass at St. Louis, too?"

I bit back a grin. "Actually I did go once. I followed a pretty girl who was wandering around Jackson Square, and it turned out she was heading in there for the service. I tagged along. It was beautiful."

"Rafe." Gram sighed, and I pictured her shaking her head. "Well, enough of that silliness. Tell me why you've called."

"It can't be just because I miss you?"

"It could, but it isn't."

"Okay. I met someone."

"Oh?" There was a world of surprise and hope in that one simple syllable.

"Not like that. Well...not completely like that. I mean, I met a girl. We went out to dinner, and she's...um, nice. Smart, really smart. And it turns out she works for a company that wants to recruit me."

I didn't miss Gram's quick intake of breath. "Tell me all about it. What is this company? Why do they want you?"

"It's called Carruthers, and Joss—um, Jocelyn--says they tried to hire Dad, too. Did you know anything about that?"

There was a silence on the other end, and then Gram spoke. "Yes. In college. I didn't know about it at the time, but he did tell me some years later." I sensed she had more to say.

"Why did he turn them down?" I swallowed the end of my beer.

"Oh, I'm sure it was for many reasons. He didn't see the need for what they offered, he was suspicious of their motives." She paused a beat. "I hadn't thought of it in years, really, but you're the second person in a few weeks to mention Carruthers to me now. I wonder..."

Curiosity made me frown. "Who was the other person?"

"Oh, just someone else from King. I only heard it in passing."

I knew my grandmother as well as she knew me, or just about. And I could hear that she wasn't telling me everything. But I also realized that pushing the issue wasn't going to make her come clean. My stubbornness was a family trait.

"Hmm. Well, according to Joss, Carruthers has been watching me for years, but they just now decided to act. I don't have any details, but I wanted to run it by you and Gramps. Find out what you think."

I expected her to give me the standard Gram talk, basically tell me that I was old enough to make these decisions and that she would support me no matter what. Gram always gave me her opinion, but she never made her love and support conditional on me listening to her advice.

"I think you should tell her no. Tell her you're not interested."

My mouth dropped open a little. "Okay...why?"

"Because you know nothing about these people and what they want, Rafe. You said yourself this girl didn't give you details. Why would you jump into something like that?"

"I don't know. It was just an idea. It sounded like a way to...move on. To have a future."

Gram heaved a breath into the phone. "Rafe, you were accepted to every college you wanted and even a few you didn't. Opportunity is all around you. What more do you want?"

"Maybe a chance to do something meaningful. Or have a little fun. I can't keep roaming around the world forever, right?"

"You don't have to do that. Come home. Tasmyn's at school now, so there's no worry about running into her. We'll plan your next step."

The idea of going back to King wasn't even remotely appealing. Even if there wasn't the danger of running into her, the memories were too close, too recent. Nope, that wasn't an option.

"I still like it here." I spoke slowly, considering. "I'm not ready to come back yet, Gram. But if you really think I shouldn't mess with this Carruthers deal, I'll stay away."

"Thank you." I heard her relief. "Think about what comes next, Rafe. I won't pressure you, but with a phone call or two, you could be at any college you choose by next semester. It's a way to start over."

"I will, Gram. Thanks. I love you."

After I hit the end button, I sat for a long time, staring down at the phone in my hand. I felt...deflated, somehow. I'd been furious at Joss for lying to me—okay, for misguiding me—no doubt, but at the same time, the idea of doing something new and maybe a little adventurous had definitely piqued my interest. I knew Gram had a good reason for being so adamant. I just wished I knew what it was.

I went out that night to my favorite bar on Royal Street. It was a miniscule hole-in-the-wall, dark and just a little musty-smelling. But the bartender was friendly, the music was live and the liquor was quality. It wasn't a place to pick up women, and that was okay. Tonight I just wanted to get smashed and forget everything. Again.

I managed to make it to Café Du Monde for my beignets the next morning—and the next one after that—but though I lingered longer than usual, I didn't see Jocelyn. I wondered if her previous visit had been only to keep an eye on me. Part of me was tempted to just show up at the door to her hotel room, but I didn't.

On Thursday, restless and bored, I took a riverboat up to Chalmette, the site of the Battle of New Orleans. I hadn't been lying to Gram—I had done quite a bit of sight seeing in the city—but I made sure to buy a postcard and send it off to her that afternoon, proof that I was doing more than wasting my time.

The national park was quiet, with only a few other visitors wandering the fields and grounds of the plantation house. I climbed over a makeshift post fence, running my hand over a cannonade, and stood beneath the Spanish moss-laden tree. Closing my eyes, I opened my mind, reaching back into the history and depth of this place, falling into a tangle of grief, pain, jubilation and fury.

I'd heard of people in King who really could travel in time, at least mentally. All I could manage was tapping into the emotions of certain spots, feeding on the energy as I pulled it within me. It gave me a strange sort of high, and for a moment, I just stood.

"It's almost like you can see them here, isn't it?"

I jumped, the voice at my elbow scaring the crap out of me. A small woman stood next to me. Her hair, twisted up on her head, appeared to contain every color of the rainbow, and her eyes stared ahead, almost unfocused.

"I mean, the history is so close. I feel like I could reach out and touch a red coat. Although, maybe not. From what I understand, they were moving kind of quick that day, eh?" She shifted her gaze up to me, eyes twinkling.

"Um, yeah." I moved away just a step. Something was up with this lady; I felt something buzzing around her, though I couldn't put my finger on what it was. Not exactly power, but something different.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. Were you having your own communing time with the spirits on the battlefield? You just had a look on your face, and I thought to myself, He feels exactly what I do! But I should have been more respectful. My husband is always telling me I need to stop talking to strangers."

She pivoted and waved her arm in the direction of the main house, where I saw a short man standing, watching us. He returned her greeting, with a great deal less exuberance.

"No problem. I was just enjoying the...energy. Places like this, with all the history, they kind of have a buzz to them, you know?" I didn't know why I was talking so much, but I couldn't seem to stop my mouth from moving.

"Yes!" She clapped one small hand on my arm, beaming. "That's exactly what I mean. I don't see ghosts, of course. Not my gift, I guess. But I can feel something here, just as though it were bubbling close to the surface."

My arm tingled where her hand lay, and I frowned. Something wonky was going on. I probed her mind just a little, but I only felt...normal. The typical frenetic busyness of a human brain uncomplicated by supernatural abilities. She was talking again, her arm sweeping in front of us.

"...and I said to my husband, why, we need to go down there, to that battlefield. He didn't want to leave the city, of course, because he's only here for the food and the eating. He's a gourmand." She whispered that last sentence, with a little bit of awe.

"New Orleans is the place to be if you like food," I agreed, trying to move away a little more. Her hand gripped my arm, keeping me in place.

"Of course it is, and I've gone around to every last obscure little eatery, eaten the most outlandish stuff you can imagine. So I told him he owed me at one day of history. You can't come to New Orleans and not take a taste of the past, you know."

"Yeah, I guess that's why I'm here, too. The past."

"'Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it.' Who said that? Whoever it was, he was right."

"George Santayana. He was a philosopher. It was actually, 'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.'" I swallowed hard. I had read his Reason in Common Sense during my last semester of high school, and in the wake of losing Tasmyn, I'd written a particularly embittered commentary on the quotation. It had gotten me an A+ in the class, but it didn't make me remember Santayana with any great love.

"The best way to stop from repeating the past is to leap into a completely new future. That's my philosophy." The woman dug me in the ribs with her elbow, grinning. "And speaking of pasts, and futures, I better get back to my husband before he decides to leave me here with my precious history." She scanned the area around us. "Don't tell me you're not here with some pretty young thing. A handsome boy like you?"

I lifted one corner of my mouth. "Not today. All on my own. Unless I can steal you away from your husband?"

She pinked, smiling and fanning her face as she took one step back. "Oh, my goodness, aren't you a flirt! No, dear, go off and break the hearts of girls your own age. I'll stick with Edgar." She turned and navigated through the fence before she glanced back at me.

"Remember what I said. Leap into that future!"