Chapter Thirty-two
John opened the passenger door, but before I could climb in Adam spoke. “I don’t want him sitting behind me.”
John did as Adam indicated without comment, opening the back door for me, then climbing in next to his several times great-grandson. I still couldn’t get my mind around that.
Adam used one hand to drive, leaving the other free to hold a gun on John. I didn’t have to ask if the thing was loaded with silver bullets. Adam didn’t mess around.
Casting a sidelong glance at John, Adam made a U-turn and headed for the road that would take us over Lake Pontchartrain toward the swamp.
“What happened to your accent?” Adam asked.
“I couldn’t keep talking like you and expect people not to connect the dots. Especially with Sullivan snooping around.”
“True enough. Still, it can’t be easy to put aside over a century of habit.”
“I had plenty of time behind silver bars to practice.”
There were a lot of dots I was connecting myself as I listened to them talk. John had been incarcerated somewhere in Montana. There were hunters out there, of which Adam seemed to be one. And someone named Edward, whom I would meet very soon, was in charge of it all.
“You had a Cajun accent?” I guessed.
” Oui,” John said.
I recalled the few instances he’d slipped into French, an occasion or two when he’d called me cher. The one time he’d used “de” for “the” I’d merely thought him overtired.
For the most part he’d been very convincing, speaking with no discernible accent and interspersing his dialogue with Spanish now and again. Calling me chica had helped. He wouldn’t have to bother anymore.
“You said your whole family was dead.”
“I said a lot of things.”
“Did you tell her how they died?” Adam asked.
“You didn’t kill them, did you?”
“Not directly, no.”
“Men in our family often choose to eat a shotgun barrel rather than become like him.”
“How many?” I asked.
“Too many,” John said in a voice that was both haunted and detached.
“Sullivan checked out John Rodolfo,” I continued. “‘He exists.”
Adam glanced over, then back at the road. “How’d you swing that? Eat de guy, then assume his identity?”
“Not this time.”
“How did you do it?” Adam pressed. “You aren’t exactly a computer-hacking genius.”
I bet not. The thought of all that had happened in the world since John had been alive made my head spin. I started to wonder how much of a gift immortality might be.
“I had help with that too,” John explained.
“Edward’s lost his fucking mind,” Adam muttered.
We were silent for the rest of the drive to the Honey Island Swamp—at least half an hour, maybe more, I lost track. Out here, away from the Quarter, the damage from Katrina was still visible. Sure, they were working on putting some places back together again, but others appeared as if they’d never been touched
—except by a hurricane.
Miles upon miles of abandoned apartments and houses, collapsed walls, broken windows. Hundreds of cars beneath the overpasses, filled with silt, white with dust and corrosion. Empty strip malls, Wal-Marts, McDonald’s. Ghostly parking lots, deserted streets without a single moving vehicle. As we rolled past, all I could do was stare and try not to cry. I’d seen it on the news, but nothing could have prepared me for this.
At last, Adam turned off the main road and we sped down a two-lane highway, before turning into a long dirt path shrouded by huge cypress trees, which should have been dripping Spanish moss but weren’t.
Instead, new growths had sprouted where the old had been torn away, spiky tendrils that resembled melted steel wool.
The sun burst over the horizon, causing the dew to sparkle like fireflies on every blade of grass.
I’d read the swamp had been devastated by Katrina, with hundred-year-old trees being ripped from the ground and tossed about like matchsticks, houseboats driven into the mud up to their decks; a lot of the wildlife had died. For quite a while the only living things in abundance were the vultures. But I could see the swamp was coming back much more quickly than the strip malls ever would.
Around a tight bend a house appeared. More than a house, really, a mansion, as they’d said.
“How on earth is that still standing?” The structure appeared to have been built before the Civil War.
“Cypress wood.” Adam stopped next to several other cars. “Doesn’t rot.”
“What about the hurricane?”
“We were very lucky,” was all he said.
I saw evidence of recent improvements, or perhaps repairs. The porch was new, the windows and roof as well. A coat of paint was in order, but first things first, I suppose.
A light mist shrouded everything, making the place appear spooky, even in the sunlight. There might have been a yard once, maybe even some crops somewhere, but the swamp had spread nearly to the front door, the only solid area a small circle around the house and the slightly higher hard-packed dirt driveway.
The gentle, peaceful lapping of water filled the air, broken occasionally by a splash as fish jumped.
Larger, heavier splashes made me wonder how close to a house an alligator might roam.
“The gris-gris,” I murmured.
Adam turned with a lift of his brow. “What gris-gris?”
“There was one under my pillow—actually two. Someone familiar with voodoo said it was meant to repel werewolves.”
“Who would have done that?” Adam kept the gun trained on John.
“I did.” John continued to stare at the house.
“Why?” I asked.
“From the minute I heard your voice, I was—” He broke off. “Never mind.”
King had said my voice called to him. I’d relished the idea that he couldn’t see my plain face, my average body, that all he knew was the essence of me. But John had been able to see me all along. I wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“You tried to keep yourself away from me,” I guessed. “But why?”
“Why do you think?” John said tightly. “I’m a werewolf, Anne. I don’t know if that will ever change. And even if it does…” He rubbed his forehead with one beautiful hand. “I’ll always be haunted by what I’ve done. I’ll never deserve a life after all the lives I’ve taken. I can’t give you anything you should have. I can’t be a husband, or a father. I wasn’t much of a human being even before I became an animal.”
“Why did you hire her if she was so irresistible?” Adam asked.
“I didn’t.”
“King did,” I said slowly. “He said I’d be useful. I thought because of Mardi Gras.”
John glanced away. “He had the crazy idea that if I fell for you it might help.”
“How?”