Page 31 of The Witching Hours

She turned around for a last look and noticed the name chiseled above the vault door. Marie Aslyenne Campbell. That raised goosebumps all over her body. Had her great, great grandmother been watching over them? When she turned back toward Tristan, she said simply, “Let’s go.”

“Jen. You look different.”

She laughed bitterly. “Yeah. That’s what happens to women when they spend the night in a crypt on a hard floor and wake up with no makeup or toiletries or toothbrush or blow dryer.”

“No. I’m not talking about that stuff. Your eyes. They look… lighter maybe?”

She sighed. “It’s either too early or too late for games, Tris. Come on.”

There were five Harleys parked in the main aisle of the cemetery, but it was pretty clear the owners were nowhere around.

“What do you think happened to them?” Jeanette asked.

Tristan didn’t want to speculate. Having had no choice but to hear the screams the night before, his mind had formed images he’d love to get out of his head. He didn’t mention that to Jeanette. He just shook his head and walked past.

Tristan figured that, if the phone was working, the car might be working as well. He was right. They tracked Jeanette’s phone to within a few feet into the thicket. He was a mess, but he found it.

She wiped the mud off her phone on the hoodie he was wearing and scrolled through texts.

“Oh my God, Tristan. Mygrand-mère is in the hospital.”

As soon as they were back to the main state highway, they stopped at a gas station for coffee and donuts. The woman who rang them up was no longer interested enough in life to care about how muddy Tristan was.

Jeanette felt like she couldn’t go to the hospital without a quick shower and change of clothes so Tris dropped her at her off-campus house and promised to be back in twenty minutes.

True to his word, he was waiting, hair wet from the fastest shower imaginable in clean clothes, eating the last donut.

Celeste opened her eyes when Jeanette took her hand. “Ah. There you are.”

“Right here.”

“You’re the best of us.” She gave her granddaughter a ghost of a smile. “Everything you need is in the house, cher.”

“Everything I need for what?”

The question went unanswered as Celeste was already on her way through the veil.

Celeste left the house to Jeanette with enough funds in perpetuity to maintain it and provide for Jeanette should she choose not to pursue an income-generating career. Mrs. Guidry wasn’t pleased, but what else was new?

A couple of days after the incident Jeanette and Tristan would always call the “road trip”, the two of them were in the kitchen at Jeanette’s rent house when they heard the report on TV. Five bikers from a gang known as the Rajin Cajins from Jefferson Parish had gone missing without a trace. Foul play was suspected. Anyone with information was encouraged to call the hotline. Mugshots previously taken of each man was displayed on screen.

Tristan looked at Jeanette, who was choosing to ignore the breaking news. “I’ve got studying tonight,” she said, “but you’re welcome to stay and hang out.”

Tris lowered his chin. “We’re not gonna talk about this?”

“What’s there to talk about?”

As a formality, Jeanette was questioned by the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Department because she’d placed a call to 911 regarding the bikers the night before they’d gone missing. It was a hell of a coincidence, but keeping it real, she was a college kid with nothing to tell.

Just look at her. What could someone so innocent-looking possibly have to do with the disappearance of five members of a hard-core motorcycle gang?

Fortunately, none of the law enforcement professionals thought to question Tristan about the recovery of his phone.

At the end of the semester, Jeanette moved into the house she inherited and began updating. Her grand-mère had said everything she needed was in the house. She hadn’t understood what was meant by that at the time, but once she began sorting through cupboards and drawers, an illustrious and secretive family history began to emerge and become clear. It was a strain of history known to some family members, but not all.

It turned out that Marie had also been known by some as the Lady of the Light. She was buried close to her birthplace in Jefferson County in a cemetery of the same name.

When Jeanette’s friends asked if she wasn’t afraid to be in that big old Garden District house alone, she would laugh say, “What’s there to be afraid of?”