Manon straightened. She put her hands on her hips and gave the creature a look. “Gervais, don’t tell me…you did, didn’t you?”
The alligator started coughing like a cat with a hairball. After a few seconds of heaving, he brought up an iron ring with several skeleton keys on it. Manon wrinkled her nose as she picked it up, shook off the gator spit, then tried one key after another until she found the one that opened the cage’s lock.
All this time, the mermaid inside remained motionless. The only sign that she was alive was the way her rib cage expanded ever so slightly as she breathed.
The swamp queen bent down to her. “Ava? Child, it’s me, Manon. I’ve got Sally, Jean, and Esmé with me. We’ve come to get you out of here.”
“What’s the use?” Ava asked in a small voice.
“Did you get the ruby ring?”
“Yes, but Traho took it from me. I failed.”
Manon gently moved a few of Ava’s braids out of her face. “Oh, Ava, failing’s just failing. It’s not a reason to quit,” she said. “I fail all the time. Why, I failed a hundred times since yesterday. I failed to pack enough food for this trip, I failed in my choice of traveling attire—”
“Manon, we should go. I hear something!” Lafitte whimpered.
“—and I’m failing to keep this whiny pirate quiet,” Manon finished, glaring at him.
She turned back to Ava and took her face in her hands. “Just because you failed today doesn’t mean you’ve failed forever. Falling down doesn’t mean anything. It’s the staying down that does you in.”
Ava rolled onto her back. “It’s over for me. Please, Manon, just go.”
Manon rose. She took a deep breath. “Child, are you dead?”
Ava shook her head.
“Then it’s not over. But it will be if Traho catches us here. Now get up!” Manon said, hauling Ava off the floor. She led her out of the cage, then stopped. “Where’s that little monster of yours?” she asked, looking around for Baby.
“They killed him,” Ava said, tears welling in her eyes. “They didn’t have to. He was only trying to protect me. H-he was so little.”
Manon’s eyes flashed. Her chin jutted.
“Uh-oh,” Lafitte said ominously. “Swamp queen just got angry.”
Manon gave a low whistle, and twenty more alligators came crawling out of the cypresses.
“Pick ’em off, boys,” she said. “Tent by tent. Just don’t get yourselves shot.”
The alligators grinned, then crawled off into the camp.
“Armand!” Manon called out.
The largest alligator turned back to her.
“Catch up when you’re done, you hear? I still need you boys.”
Armand nodded, then swam to catch up with the others.
“You ready?” Manon asked.
“Where are we going?” Ava asked.
“To your friends in the North,” Manon replied. “We’re taking you there, Ava. Since Baby can’t.”
“Wait a minute…the North?” Lafitte said, a look of horror on his face. “You never said anything about going north, Manon Laveau! I hate the North!”
“It’s cold there. There’s snow and ice!” Sally protested.
“And there aren’t any pickled crayfish, or spiced shrimp, or cups of cattail coffee!” Esmé cried. “I’ll never survive!”
“You don’t have to. You’re dead,” Manon said. Then she put her arm around Ava’s shoulders. “We have to move. Have to make the Gulf by morning, just in case my gators don’t get every last one of those no-good death riders. You ready?”
Ava nodded. Manon was glad to see a little spirit trickling back into her.
“Where there’s life, there’s hope,” Esmé said sagely.
Manon arched an eyebrow. “Like you would know?”
There was a shout, sharp and surprised. It was quickly cut off.
“I told those boys to be quiet,” Manon said, clucking her tongue. “They’re going to get themselves in a world of trouble. Come on, cher,” she said, tugging on Ava’s hand. “We’d best be going.”
And then the two mermaids and three ghosts disappeared into the dark swamp waters.
ASTRID KOLFINNSDOTTIR looked different.
Her fur parka was gone. And so were her braids. The skirts of the beautiful black sea-silk gown Orfeo had given her swirled around her like tidal currents as she swam down the long hallway.
She’d put the gown on earlier that morning—unwillingly, but she’d had no choice. Servants had disposed of her own clothing while she slept off the effects of the painkiller.
As soon as Astrid had finished dressing, a maid had come into her room. She’d made Astrid sit at a vanity table; then she’d fluttered about with a brush and comb, smoothing Astrid’s long hair. The styling session had irritated Astrid, who didn’t like primping. When the maid—Bahar—had started working her silvery blond lengths into braids, Astrid had asked her to stop.
“No, no,” Bahar had insisted. “The master likes his guests to look presentable.”
Without hesitation Astrid had picked up her dagger from atop the vanity, and—to the maid’s horror—sliced her braids right off.