“Well, not too proud because he told me last night that he was almost done making a sculpture of me.”
“What? The bastard,” seethed Jade.
“But I’m still here. He hasn’t ‘entrapped’ my soul or whatever. By the way,” she continued, “why did Etienne know about Mateo? Did you tell him your theory about Mateo’s sculptures?”
“I told him that I thought Mateo was a dangerous pathokinesis, so he could keep an ear to the ground for me. See if he heard anything. As quiet as Etienne is, he gets a lot of intel from chatty patients. I didn’t tell him about the soul-capturing sculptures, though. I kept that to myself because I wasn’t totally sure about my theory.”
“Well, I know now that Etienne is a Traiteur.”
Jade smiled. “Luke and I were wondering when you two would figure that out.”
“Of course y’all already knew! Well, he helped me with the Passing. You gotta tell me now, though, who else has magic?”
“Not as many or as few people as you think,” responded Jade.
“Real helpful response, Jade,” said Ophelia with an eye roll. “Is this part of your magic? Speaking in silly riddles too?”
Jade chuckled and pinched Ophelia’s side. “Stop it, you tall-ass baby.”
Their giggles settled. Ophelia and Jade sat in silence for a minute, mulling over all the information. The air conditioning unit kicked on in the living room, providing a soothing hum.
“Jade, what if he’s the Cutthroat Killer?” The thought had been lingering in the back of her mind for a while, but her gut told her it wasn’t Mateo.
Jade hummed. “What makes you say that?”
“Timing and my tiger. I met him at Red Dress Run, not long after Delphine’s murder, and that afternoon I had an unsettling dream where my tiger tried to warn me of him. Then at Eva’s bach, we hung out in the Quarter the night of Lauren Cash’s murder. I saw my tiger that night too.”
“I see. Your tiger could have just been warning you about his soul-succubus ways.”
“I know.” Ophelia scrubbed a hand down her face. “Even my gut says it’s not him, but I can’t rule him out. How fucked up is it that I think I’m connected to the murders?”
“It’s not. There are some unexplainable similarities. I get it, but I sense it’s eating you up inside.” Jade wrapped her comforting arms around her best friend and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t lose yourself to the obsession.”
Ophelia released a long breath. “I’ll try not to.” The two sat in comfortable silence thinking. Ophelia became drowsy and closed her eyes, listening to Jade’s heartbeat and soothing breaths.
After a couple of minutes, Jade broke the silence. “Mateo’s showing is this Thursday night.”
“It is,” agreed Ophelia. “But only if he has art to show.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
There was no one crazier, bolder, more maniacal than Jolie Rose Oubre. In the Oubre family, Ophelia was the leader, Evangeline was the sweet one, and Jolie was chaos incarnate. Their poor mother had had her work cut out for her during Jolie’s teen years.
Once, Jo’s friend, Lana, had given her the alarm code to her house so Jolie could feed her Yorkie while Lana and her family were on vacation. Jolie hosted a rager at Lana’s while they were out of town. Police were called. “Whoops,” said Jo after. It was always whoops.
Spray-painting random buildings, carving vulvas next to all the penis drawings around school, the occasional act of arson in the woods behind their house, crashing their mom’s minivan into her ex-best friend’s new VW Beetle.
Whoops.
As an adult, Jolie had discovered healthy ways to deal with her destructive streak, like frequenting the local ax-throwing bar and creating beautiful hand-thrown clay pieces, but Ophelia knew that Jolie would still be up for a challenge, so to speak. Perhaps a way to tap back into her inner child. As Ophelia sat in her rocking chair on her front porch, she called her middle sister.
“Sup, hoe?” was Jolie’s greeting, along with the smack of gum.
“I need your help.”
“Are you okay?” Jolie could sense the anxiety in her voice.
“Yeah. I need you. Can you come over sometime today? Um, preferably now?”
