Monsters & Angels

So Regal

Sorcha was shocked by the amount of supplies required for a trip to the far side of the world. She expected to bring new technology and penicillin, but bandages and stretchers? We take all that for granted. The place might be in bad shape.

When time allowed, the nurses slipped into town to stock up on items they couldn't live without. For Sorcha, that thing was lipstick. She and Zelia always stopped for refreshments across the street from St. Louis Cathedral, where the riverboat whistles serenaded them as they sipped café-au-lait.

"I'm going to miss this." In the boutiques lining Jackson Square, Sorcha found the perfect plum shade of lipstick before turning her attention to combs and barrettes. Her thick hair hung halfway down her back; a handful in the southern humidity. "Who needs fancy hair accessories in a rural hospital village?"

"But?" Zelia plunked a hand on her hip.

Sorcha held up a sapphire comb with tiny purple and green beads glued in intricate swirls. "Have to have it."

"Chér, New Orleans is finally getting to you."

"This weather sure is." Sorcha fanned herself with a restaurant menu. "I'm not breathing the air, I'm wearing it."

"I think it's hot where we're going too," Zelia said. "Good training."

"Can we walk past the back of the cathedral on the way home?"

"Yes, just remember to steer clear of strangers. If you get a bad feeling, follow your gut. Never know who's lurking about."

Sorcha watched through the wrought-iron fence as the small statue grew into a giant at dusk. Jasmine, oak and magnolia laced every breath she took.

Once they were safely home in their room, Sorcha poked Zelia's shoulder before she dozed off. "Do you think it's okay if I keep my locket on during our trip? I feel lost without it."

"You're not one for jewelry." Zelia propped herself up on one elbow. "I've been meaning to ask you about that little charm."

"It has two black and white pictures." Sorcha pulled the chain over her head and clicked the locket open. "One is me and Mum, and the other is my parents' wedding day. Adelaide and Captain Robert Alden." Sorcha's heart swelled with pride and her eyes brimmed with sadness. "British Royal Navy."

"So regal, Adelaide and Robert. You never talk about them."

"Mum was a nurse in Ireland, in 1914."

"The mystery of the Irish accent, solved," Zelia said.

"Don't hide it very well, do I?" Sorcha nodded when Zelia shook her head. "Mum met a British sailor on the hospital ward, after he was injured in a firing drill. A minor wound, according to her, but he kept making up reasons to return. I think it was love at first sight for him, but Mum made him chase her—hard."

"Did they elope?" Zelia whispered.

Not really, they got married on an emergency pass my dad begged from the admiral. But her parents were a doctor and nurse, so marrying a military man was not what they envisioned. Mum realized she was pregnant after Dad's ship was already at sea. When she got word to him, he insisted she stay with family friends in Manhattan."

"He sent her to America?"

"To flee the war. My very pregnant mother told my grandparents nothing, got on a steamer and headed west. She became a mother, and then a widow—all in about four months."

"Chér, don't you dare take that locket off. Is it gold?"

Sorcha shrugged. "So, I've been meaning to ask you what the R on your name tag stands for."

"An old family name: Roussel. It's not used much anymore. A long story for another night." Zelia rolled over and back again. "Do you know about the Bon Voyage party?'

"What party? When?"

"This Sunday night. Dr. Banitierre is hosting dinner at a private French Quarter club in honor of our mission and—well—us."

"Same restaurant we had dinner in last time?" Sorcha asked.

"No, this one's a little deeper into the Quarter."

Everything Banitierre does is a surprise. Of course I'm in the dark. "Are you sure I'm invited?"

"Um—yes. Why would you ask that?"

"Because, I have no idea what to wear."

"How about the skirt you wore on the train? I can lend you my sleeveless white blouse and you can wear that comb that you spent a month's pay on."

"Good thinking. Is Ivori going?"

Zelia flopped back into her pillow. "We need someone to protect us from the ghosts, right?"

Sorcha tossed and turned for hours, twisting bed sheets into knots from nightmares that whipped her through the uneven streets of the city. Screams filled her sleep as she clawed at the cobblestones. She kicked hard against the monster, but nothing freed her legs from the fierce grip of giant fangs. She looked at her hands, sticky with her own blood. I'm done—killer's winning.

Dripping with sweat, Sorcha bolted up clutching her throat. "Can't breathe." She clapped her hand over her mouth and froze as Zelia's snoring paused and resumed. Ivori's ghost stories must be getting to me. Or, the sip of absinthe from the bottle Angela snuck into her room? No more of that rubbish.

Breathe. Sorcha forced her eyes closed. She laid stone still and awake until dawn.