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The late-summer afternoon was sticky, as were most late-summer afternoons in New Orleans. Joliette had sent her thirteen-year-old daughter to the store for some ice cream and Cokes with the promise of making floats when she got home. If Soliel thought it was strange, she said nothing. Instead, she took the ten dollars from her mother and walked the three streets over to the mini-mart.
Soleil knew there was something different about her mother, something off. Ever since she had gone to the Hendersons' one evening six months before, she hadn't been the same. Joliette had begun locking her bedroom door at night, and in the morning, her wrists and ankles were marred with bruises. The scariest thing for Soliel were the noises.
From behind her mother's closed and locked door, she could hear snarling, hissing and screaming. She could hear Joliette crying as well as another voice, a much darker, nastier voice. But Soleil knew her mother was alone in the room. During the day, however, Joliette was almost normal, save for the bruises and dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep.
More than that, Joliette had begun spending more and more time at church. Sometimes, Soliel went with her. She liked exploring the cathedral while her mother met with the parish priest. She remembered looking at all the stained glass, wondering how the faces were painted onto the different panes. Soliel also found a calming peace about the cavernous interior.
None of that made sense until she was older. She didn't understand anything of what happened with her mother until it was too late.
Soleil would always remember returning from the store and finding four police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck all parked outside the modest house she shared with her mother. She could still feel the bags of soda and ice cream slide out of her fingers and hit the pavement so hard one of the cans exploded. She remembered running, but never seeming to reach the house and the way she had screamed at Father Michaels to let her see her mother.
She remembered crying into his shoulder when he tried to explain that her mother had had an accident, and would be in the hospital for a very long time. She remembered the numb clarity with which she packed a duffel bag because she would never go back to that house again. She remembered passing people with rubber gloves and cameras in the upstairs hall. She remembered looking into her mother's room and seeing the pentacle of unlit candles in the middle of the floor before being ushered to her room by Father Michaels.
She dimly remembered the drive to the church and the sofa in his office he had made up for her with sheets and blankets. Then, there was the drive to Cocodrie. She didn't say a word, just looked out the window as the trees dripping with spanish moss rolled by. It had been years since she had seen Nana, but the old woman was the only family she had left. Soliel's father had bailed on them before she was ever born. She had no other siblings, no aunts, uncles or cousins that she knew about. She was thirteen and if her grandmother hadn't still been alive, Soliel would have had no other place to turn.
It was May. Soleil had just turned twenty-seven. It had been fourteen years since she had been back to New Orleans, and time had not been kind. The house she had once called home was a condemned ruin, just another victim of Katrina. The bank had long since foreclosed on it, and with the amount of work it needed, not to mention the economy, it would probably fall in on itself before someone bought it.
A blue '85 Ford 150 rumbled down the street in front of the once-white, two-story house with its screened-in front porch and green storm shutters. Windows were boarded up and weeds taller than she was had taken over the postage-stamp front lawn. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to feel. It was strange seeing it again. She wanted to think of only the good memories, but it was the not-so-good ones that had brought her back.
She wanted answers. She had been a Hunter since Nana had passed almost eight years ago. Thanks to the old woman's teachings, Soliel could pretty well hold her own. She had traveled from one small town to the next, hoping to escape her past, but it always seemed to haunt her. Literally.
Seemed like everywhere she went, she came across something: werewolves in Witchita, poltergeists in Philly, and even a banshee in Billings. Thing was, she was the only one around who knew how to deal with those problems. And rather than answer squicky questions, Soleil just packed her truck and hit the road. Most of the time, she didn't have any set destination in mind, just went where the road took her.
But something always bothered her: no one would ever tell her the truth of what happened with her mother. Her grandmother had always changed the subject, and she hadn't seen or heard from Father Michaels since that road trip to the bayous. It was time to change all that. She wanted answers, now.
Soleil knew there was something different about her mother, something off. Ever since she had gone to the Hendersons' one evening six months before, she hadn't been the same. Joliette had begun locking her bedroom door at night, and in the morning, her wrists and ankles were marred with bruises. The scariest thing for Soliel were the noises.
From behind her mother's closed and locked door, she could hear snarling, hissing and screaming. She could hear Joliette crying as well as another voice, a much darker, nastier voice. But Soleil knew her mother was alone in the room. During the day, however, Joliette was almost normal, save for the bruises and dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep.
More than that, Joliette had begun spending more and more time at church. Sometimes, Soliel went with her. She liked exploring the cathedral while her mother met with the parish priest. She remembered looking at all the stained glass, wondering how the faces were painted onto the different panes. Soliel also found a calming peace about the cavernous interior.
None of that made sense until she was older. She didn't understand anything of what happened with her mother until it was too late.
Soleil would always remember returning from the store and finding four police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck all parked outside the modest house she shared with her mother. She could still feel the bags of soda and ice cream slide out of her fingers and hit the pavement so hard one of the cans exploded. She remembered running, but never seeming to reach the house and the way she had screamed at Father Michaels to let her see her mother.
She remembered crying into his shoulder when he tried to explain that her mother had had an accident, and would be in the hospital for a very long time. She remembered the numb clarity with which she packed a duffel bag because she would never go back to that house again. She remembered passing people with rubber gloves and cameras in the upstairs hall. She remembered looking into her mother's room and seeing the pentacle of unlit candles in the middle of the floor before being ushered to her room by Father Michaels.
She dimly remembered the drive to the church and the sofa in his office he had made up for her with sheets and blankets. Then, there was the drive to Cocodrie. She didn't say a word, just looked out the window as the trees dripping with spanish moss rolled by. It had been years since she had seen Nana, but the old woman was the only family she had left. Soliel's father had bailed on them before she was ever born. She had no other siblings, no aunts, uncles or cousins that she knew about. She was thirteen and if her grandmother hadn't still been alive, Soliel would have had no other place to turn.
It was May. Soleil had just turned twenty-seven. It had been fourteen years since she had been back to New Orleans, and time had not been kind. The house she had once called home was a condemned ruin, just another victim of Katrina. The bank had long since foreclosed on it, and with the amount of work it needed, not to mention the economy, it would probably fall in on itself before someone bought it.
A blue '85 Ford 150 rumbled down the street in front of the once-white, two-story house with its screened-in front porch and green storm shutters. Windows were boarded up and weeds taller than she was had taken over the postage-stamp front lawn. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to feel. It was strange seeing it again. She wanted to think of only the good memories, but it was the not-so-good ones that had brought her back.
She wanted answers. She had been a Hunter since Nana had passed almost eight years ago. Thanks to the old woman's teachings, Soliel could pretty well hold her own. She had traveled from one small town to the next, hoping to escape her past, but it always seemed to haunt her. Literally.
Seemed like everywhere she went, she came across something: werewolves in Witchita, poltergeists in Philly, and even a banshee in Billings. Thing was, she was the only one around who knew how to deal with those problems. And rather than answer squicky questions, Soleil just packed her truck and hit the road. Most of the time, she didn't have any set destination in mind, just went where the road took her.
But something always bothered her: no one would ever tell her the truth of what happened with her mother. Her grandmother had always changed the subject, and she hadn't seen or heard from Father Michaels since that road trip to the bayous. It was time to change all that. She wanted answers, now.
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