My name is Veronica.
I barely slept that night, tossing and turning through the hours, anticipating the meeting. When I woke up, all I thought of were the different scenarios of what could happen. The woman would confess her love to me, or that she was some kind of long lost relative. Or maybe she was just a crackpot who wanted to worm her way into my life. In all the images, I found myself being unresponsive because I was afraid I’d break and not know how to pick up the pieces. At the last moment, I almost stayed in my hotel room. However, something made me face my fears and go to meet this woman named Brenna. Even the sound of her name seemed to hold power over me. It was only on my way to our designated meeting place I let myself utter it aloud.
The sun was high. I squinted against the brightness of it as I tried to stay in the shadows. I’d come out a bit early, eager for her encounter, and now the sun was starting to make me itch. I tried to ignore it as I stared at the passersby from behind a column of St. Louis Cathedral in front of Jackson Square, watching the crowd getting duped into having their fortunes told by vendors who sold the future as if it were cheap jewelry. I’d been told by some of the local shop owners that most of the readers were charlatans, preying on drunks and misguided souls by divining the mysteries of time and space. I believed only a select few possessed the gift to predict the future, and they didn’t exploit their abilities to entrap others. These true psychics were like the gypsy woman who read my palm years ago.
Alone in Boston Common, I had been approached by an old woman dressed in a patched skirt and a black shirt that drooped on her shrinking frame. Her dark eyes were hidden by wrinkles. I imagined she had once been beautiful, but age and harsh living had worn her down. Silvery hair escaped from a kerchief and hung about her face.
She had appeared out of nowhere, but I was not afraid of her. Her aura was grandmotherly, so when she motioned for me to follow her, I did so without hesitation. I sat next to her in the grass while she studied the lines of my palm, tracing a few with her finger. After a moment, she clasped my hands in her own and stared into my eyes. When I returned her gaze, she didn’t see me. She saw something in a distant time and place.
“Child,” she said, her voice cracked with age, “you must not let him fool you. He’ll be your death.”
I stared, wide-eyed, not understanding why she told me this. ”I don’t know what you’re talking about. Devon is wonderful. He loves me. He—”
“Already he drains the warmth and gentleness from your soul. There is still time, but I fear you’ll think me crazy and not listen. Years from now when decades have passed, you’ll remember the gypsy woman who told your fortune. Alas, it’s too late. I already see his mark on you.” She pointed at my neck.
I cringed and fumbled with the collar of my blouse, covering the bruise Devon had given me. He had gotten carried away and bit my neck during our last encounter. He apologized and told me he was just eager for us to be wed.
“Wait! What do you mean?” I asked. She shook her head, got up, and walked away, but I jumped up and ran after her.
“Child, the face you wear is sincere and pure, but soon, the light in you will extinguish. You’ll crave the darkness, shunning the kindness of humanity and killing everything in you that is human. All for him.” She paused and then patted my cheek. “In the end, you’ll meet another who will deceive you, but will bring you back into the light.” She let go of me and strolled away.
I started to go after her, but something held me in place. I thought it was my disbelief in what she’d said, and yet as she moved away, I realized it was something more. Part of me believed her, even though I told myself Devon would never hurt me. Who was the other she spoke about? She confused me, so I turned from her, dismissing her advice. I went back to my home, letting the sunshine lift my spirits and the thought of Devon’s kisses drive her predictions from my mind.
If I’d listened to her and walked away from Devon then, I would be a different creature now. I was too lost in my own stupidity and happiness to see beyond. Now my heart was doomed to be cold and barren forever. I hadn’t found the strength or courage to be close to another. Maybe Brenna could reach into my soul and bring me back to life. Maybe she was my salvation. Maybe she was the one the gypsy had spoken about, the one who could bring me back into the light.
I sighed, scanning the crowd, searching for someone who could change my life. Resting my head against a pillar of St. Louis Cathedral, I tried moving further into the shadows to escape the sun. It was no good. I was in its sights and if Brenna didn’t come soon, I was going to give up. I would seek shelter indoors where it was cooler and the heaviness of the air didn’t choke me. Each ragged breath I drew seemed to be filled with cotton. I coughed, tasting the humidity and wishing it would dissipate just long enough for me to take a normal breath. This deception forced me to face my own reality.
I grew weary of the masks I wore, tired of hiding behind a curse. And then this woman came.
She intrigued me, accomplishing something I never thought another human being could do. Brenna got into my soul, hypnotizing me. For years, the darkness had kept me safe, and now I wanted to break free.
Maybe she’s like the gypsy from years ago and can read the future.
That was something I had to discover after I found her in the crowd.
Most of the tourists didn’t notice me. They were too busy looking at the sights in the square. As I watched them, none looked at ease. A few sat on benches sketching or snapping pictures of the cathedral, but none of them stood out. Even as I watched them, I wondered what it would be like to have a normal life: to think of children or friends or to take a relaxing vacation. That was why I came here. I thought it’d be a nice place to escape. The city was a mystery.
I never thought I’d meet a woman who’d turn me inside out. The more I thought of Brenna, the more attracted I was to the idea of her. There was nothing sexual about it, but I yearned to know if she was real. What did she eat? How did she brush her teeth? I wanted all the minute details. Then again, maybe the whole encounter had been something created by the darkness in my mind. It would want me to think the imaginary Brenna was a lifeline back to the outside world. Just like that small part of me that would always crave me being Devon’s perfect slave. It would give anything to make him happy.
I shook my head. No. My mind did not create her. Brenna was extraordinary in a city filled with ordinary things. When I saw her she’d be breathtaking, something from a darkened fairytale, with the quiet calm of a princess and the beauty of a wicked queen.
And then, there she was.
Brenna traversed the square as if floating above the cobblestones. A black cloak billowed around her, but black gloved hands held the hood down over her face. Copper hair spilled from the folds of the material. No one seemed to notice her. She was only a mirage traipsing through the crowded streets. I knew she was there. I heard her footsteps crossing the square on the cobblestones.
What was I going to do? Run or stand my ground? Should I try to face her, forcing words out of my mouth? She’d look into my soul and see me for who I really was. Could I face the reality of someone getting close to me?
The last time it happened, I turned into an indescribable thing.
Maybe she had seen past the darkness and truly knew what was there.
She was within steps of me, but a stupid sightseer crossed in front of her—and when the tourist passed, she had vanished.
My heart skipped. Where had she gone?
The hairs on the back of my neck rose like bodies rising from the earth. A chill ran down my spine as I wondered where she had gone, and then, without a sound, a gloved hand clamped down on my shoulder. I couldn’t help but jump. The hood covered most of her face, but the dying light snuck under it, catching her jade green eyes. She looked away, breaking contact, and put up a gloved hand to shield herself from the sun.
“Would you like to get out of the sun?” I asked hesitantly, knowing I needed to.
She nodded, drawing the hood further over her face. She stood in front of me and motioned for me to follow. I struggled to keep up with her hurried pace as she darted in between people. Each step took us deeper into the French Quarter. We entered a small café where she chose chairs in the back. I sat across from her, perched on the edge of the seat, waiting for her to make the next move.
Slowly, she slid the hood of her cloak off. Next, she meticulously worked on her gloves, pulling at one delicate finger at a time. I held my breath, drinking in her beauty. This was Brenna. This was the woman who could help me. When I had spied her before across the square, I had only gotten a hint of what she looked like, but now I knew she truly was some kind of creature out of a fairy tale.
Her skin glittered in the light from the café. I yearned to stroke it, to discover if it was as soft as it looked, to see it was a trick of the light or if it was makeup. A subtle hint of vanilla wafted from her, which made her even more intoxicating. My eyes followed her hair and neckline, settling on the rise and fall of her breasts, which were elevated by a corset. The garment conformed to her body perfectly. I knew how corsets worked and even owned two, but I only wore them while clubbing.
Her breasts rose and fell, each straining to fall out of the black, peasant blouse as she took long, even breaths. This strange woman was a phenomenon like I’d never encountered before. I craved to know all about her.
I smiled, the muscles in my face straining to remember the gesture. At first, I thought they might not respond to my mental command, but after a moment they moved mechanically.
She grinned, showing a hint of white, sharp teeth. It appeared she had fangs like mine. I didn’t know what to do next. I hardly dared breathe. Some part of me feared if I blinked she’d evaporate and float away. So I sat, staring, as she relaxed into her seat and studied me. I saw nothing but her, ignoring the mule-drawn carriages that passed outside the window giving tours of the city. I drowned out the whirring of the cappuccino machines, the employees rattling dirty dishes, and the pigeon that flew into the café and settled contently under the table next to us.
“We can sit all night if you like, but I don’t think it’s going to get you anywhere,” she finally said.
“Do you want to order something?” I asked, not ready to delve into conversation with this woman. So much had begun to change so fast, I thought that if I uttered a word everything would shatter.
She leaned over, putting her hand on my chin. The ends of her fingers brushed against my flesh, sending jolts of electricity through my face and causing the little hairs on my neck to salute. I shivered a moment, then a feeling of calmness descended over me, like someone had taken me out of a storm. I was serene and comfortable in my own skin.
“You have nothing to fear from me. All I want to do is talk with you.” The concern in her voice was genuine.
“All right,” I whispered as I tried to stop my voice from trembling.
I dared not look into her eyes again, and somehow I managed to swivel out of her grasp and stand up. I caught myself on a chair as I crossed the floor to the counter. I looked up at the menu board, but with so many coffee lattes, cappuccinos, and espressos to choose from, I didn’t know where to begin. I glanced at her helplessly.
“Two chai lattes, for here,” she said behind me.
I had no idea what she had ordered, but I trusted her. I stood as she pulled bills from between her breasts and gave them to the cashier, throwing a dollar bill into the tip cup. Brenna took the concoctions to the condiment counter and sprinkled cinnamon on top of the hot liquid before we walked back to our seats. There she settled down again and took a sip of the latte.
I picked up my drink, testing it with my tongue. The cinnamon gave it an earthy flavor, but when I took a larger swallow the liquid worked its way to my insides, warming me. As I sat sipping, the silence consumed me, making me angry. That was a feeling I related to. The darkness Devon had instilled in me reared its ugly head and slipped into my thoughts.
What am I doing here? She’s just another goth chick pretending to be something she’s not. This perfect stranger waltzes into my life and expects me to fall all over her? She doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.
My insides burned as the thoughts churned in my head. It was time to get down to business.
“What game are you playing with me?” I asked coldly.
She blew some of the steam from her piping drink, curling her nails on the hard, white enamel surface of the cup before answering.
“You caught my attention. You bumped into me on the street, and when you turned, I saw the years of pain in your eyes. It called out to me like a light in a storm. You try so hard not to remember your past. You’ve written yourself out of society, yet you find yourself here, in a city full of emotion. Just by walking down the street you cannot help but acknowledge this city has worked its magic on you. It calls to your soul. That’s what got my attention.”
I stared at her. Her answer was truthful. Every word of it. I vaguely remembered running into someone as I raced down Bourbon Street the day before. I’d thought Devon pursued me, but I had been wrong. The city had begun to work on me as soon as I stepped off the plane. The atmosphere was heavier, more mystical, shattering my finite exterior. How and why I didn’t know, but this place had changed me in the two days I had been here. The city wanted me to stay here forever. It needed me to stop hiding from the darkness in my mind. I had to stop running from the memories of my past. One of them being Devon and what he had made me into: a monster with a pretty face. If I had only known about him I never would have let him in, but his power over me was absolute from the first moment he saw me. He wanted me, so I became his.