“The City of the Dead?” She looks at the closed gates of the oldest cemetery in the city, a little starry eyed. “It’s been closed since, well forever. Since before I was born. Bash, this is so amazing,” she says excitedly, trying to open her door. I jump out and rush around to the other side before helping her to her feet.
“Don’t jump out, ok? Wait for me—it’s safer that way,” I say and she rolls her eyes. “I thought you might like a little history lesson, if you’re up for it.”
“Yes, Sebastien. A million times yes!” I can’t believe how excited she is. I was hoping for something better than the disdain I usually get but this is more than I could have asked for. I reach out, take her hand in mine, and lead her to the gates.
“We’ve seen Marie Laveau and that pyramid that was never used, but what I really wanted to show you is over here.” I pull her through the rows and rows of aged tombs. Coins andtrinkets sitting outside of them for blessings and protection. “Did you know the voodoo priestesses and priests have been entombed here for far longer than Marie Laveau? Their names are lost, but practitioners still come here to clean their tombs, leave offerings, and ask for protection. Witches, too. A lot of the people who were laid to rest here are unknown. There are even tales of people being buried in the ground under the tombs—mass graves for yellow fever victims,” I trail off to give Elina a chance to ask a question or offer a thought.
“What about vampires? Before the Shadow Kingdom and the Blood Ravens, I mean.”
“Let me tell you a story while we walk. In 1740, a man appeared at the court of King Louis XV and began to work for the crown as a spy and a diplomat. He traveled to different courts and engaged with kings and princes across Europe. At the time, he claimed to be 100 years old. He traveled all over the world for the French throne.” I look over and see her rapt attention on me, her eyes following my mouth. “He hosted parties where he neither ate, nor drank, only partaking in thick red wine. People who encountered him, years—even decades—apart claimed he was an alchemist and used magic to avoid aging. In 1784, he was reported to have died in Germany, though no one ever saw his body and the funeral observation was never completed.
“In 1810, a man matching every description—even his name—appeared in the war camps of Napoleon and talked war strategy with General François-Joseph de Saint-Hilaire, attempting to turn the tide of the Napoleonic wars. He was unsuccessful. And sometime in the 1910’s, a man named Jacques St. Germain, a wealthy European aristocrat, showed up in New Orleans. A man who, supposedly, did not age despite looking decades younger than his purported age, who never ate or drank. Have you heard of him?”
A gasp. “Wait, I know this story. He threw lavish parties all night until, one day, a woman threw herself from his balcony claiming he attempted to bite her. Then, he disappeared. They later discovered wine bottles full of blood, presumably human. His house is on my tour. He was New Orleans' first vampire.” She turns her wide eyes on me. “Was he actually a vampire?”
“Imagine. Vampires are real and exist right here in this very city?” I feign surprise and excitement. Elina looks at me confused for a minute before breaking out in laughter.
“Did you just make a joke?” she asks me incredulously and I’m momentarily caught off guard that she has never heard me joke. I guess it makes sense since we didn’t talk much at the bar.
“Yes,Tesoro mio, I did. Stop looking so surprised, I’m actually quite funny. Now look, this is what I wanted to show you. St. Germain may be the reported ‘first vampire’ in New Orleans, but I assure you, we Italians have been herea lotlonger than that. This is theSocietà Italiana di Mutua Beneficenzatomb. It's the largest, most elaborate tomb in the cemetery and was built specifically for the benefit of the Italians who settled in New Orleans in the mid and late 19th century. At the time, we were ostracized and pushed out of society by the French settlers. Even then, there were Malvani’s here. The Black Hand mafia boss, Luciano Matranga, was not one of us, but he hadvampiromuscle that ran the streets at night. They lie in rest here.” I stop speaking to give her time to take in everything I’ve shared with her.
This time, she grabs my hand and drags me down Conti Alley until we reach Alley 10. Among the vaults, she stops in front of one that reads the name Girard. I realize that, because she has never been here, she has never seen this tomb before but she knew exactly where it was.
“We’ve been here a long time too,” she whispers, leaningagainst my arm and taking a breath that sounds a little like she might be crying. I don’t move, for fear that she might get spooked. I want to ask her how she knew where to go, but this moment feels heavy, important, so I just stand quietly. After what seems like a long time, she lets go of my arm, steps back, and claps her hands once.
“Ok, time to go. What’s next?” and the moment is officially broken.
“To the car,Tesoro mio,” I say and I lead the way back out toward the street.
