Angel’s Promise by Aleatha Romig

Emma

The screen door opened and Kyle appeared.

He’d changed his clothes from earlier, now wearing a blue suit, crisp striped shirt, and a silver tie. “We’re going out.”

Jezebel lifted her chin. “Stay safe. I assume this has to do with business.”

“Yes, we’ve received word about something.” His gaze came to me.

“Something to do with Rett?” I asked.

Kyle shook his head. “Not exactly.” He looked back at Jezebel. “I also promised Emily some fun. Killing two birds.”

The shake of our mother’s head was almost imperceptible, but I saw it. “The time is near, Kyle. Don’t let down your guard.”

His blue stare came to me before turning to Jezebel. His fingers balled to fists at his side. “I don’t understand how you two are just sitting here.”

Our mother looked up. “What is troubling you?”

“Her.” He pointed at me. “She didn’t take the sleeping pills. She married him. She doesn’t understand any of what’s happening and you’re...fucking socializing.”

“Emma is my daughter, the same as you’re my son. When you arrived here, we talked.”

His head shook. “She’s not with us.” He narrowed his gaze my direction. “I see it. Liam sees it. She chose her side and that decision is as obvious as the fucking rings on her finger.”

Despite Kyle’s outburst, Jezebel remained perfectly calm. “When you first arrived, you had questions.”

He inhaled.

Jezebel explained, “Emma is in a different position than you were when you woke here, in my home.”

“Yours? I thought it was ours?” Kyle ran his hand over his hair, stirring the waves he’d combed back, before turning his heated blue stare my way. “It feels like Emma’s the damn prodigal son. I’ve been here, doing every goddamned thing you ask, taking care of you, making my name known and...fuck.”

“Do you love Emily?” Jezebel asked.

My eyes opened wide. Even though I wasn’t directly part of this conversation, I felt the shift in the atmosphere. Kyle was also obviously taken aback.

“Yeah, we’re engaged.”

I couldn’t help but think of what Miss Marilyn had told Rett. Asking for a hand in marriage was the easy part; being married was when it became difficult.

“Have you told her?” Jezebel asked.

“Of course.”

Jezebel nodded. “And she’s told you in return?”

“Yes, what does this have to do—?”

“Could you love her,” Jezebel asked, “if you weren’t absolutely certain of her feelings?”

I sucked in a breath, realizing how this question related to me and Rett.

Kyle walked to the railing and back. “Yeah. Maybe. Hell, I’m not sure.”

“If you were to have children, could you love them and her?”

“Yes.”

“Because love isn’t an emotion in limited supply,” Jezebel said. “It’s infinite.” Before Kyle could respond, she asked, “Now that Emma is here, are you doubting my love for you?”

“No, but fuck, I’m your son. I’m the rightful heir to Isaiah Boudreau. I need to be seen, Mother. Me. Isaiah.”

Jezebel’s grip of the rocking chair’s arms tightened each time Kyle used that name. Besides her discussion of love, this was the first display of emotion I’d witnessed from her. While mostly covert, it was still there. In the mosaic she’d painted, one that lacked emotion, the blanching of her fingers as her grip tightened was a neon sign.

When I looked up, Kyle was looking back into the house, unaware of what Jezebel had done.

“Why change your name?” I asked.

I supposed the question could go to both of the people with me, but I was directing it at my brother.

His attention snapped to me. “Kyle died.”

“Okay. Why choose the name you did?”

“Study our father, Em. Learn about his power and control.”

“Do you emulate him?” A man who would forcibly rape a woman in the company of others to prove his point and his power. Even though I didn’t add the last part, I couldn’t understand how Kyle was unable to connect the dots.

Kyle looked at Jezebel and back to me. “He made mistakes, but his mistake made us. I can’t really be upset about that, now can I?”

“And you think that if you change your name to his, you’ll suddenly have the power and influence he had?”

By the way Kyle shuffled his expensive shoes on the porch and the tendons in his neck pulled taut, I knew my questions were not welcomed.

“I’m taking his power and control,” my brother said. “It is my birthright. You have the same blood, Em. When I rule, I won’t forget that.”

“When you rule? Why shouldn’t that be us or me?” It wasn’t a question I’d ever posed before, not even to myself.

Kyle’s laugh disappeared out into the dark bayou. “You’re funny, Em. You think you can ride into New Orleans, the people will slaughter the fatted calf, create hashtags, and like the magic they practice, you’ll suddenly have control?”

“That’s not what I said.” And I was having difficulty connecting all of his metaphors.

His blue eyes narrowed. “What the fuck do you know about ruling New Orleans?”

“More than you think.”

“Right,” he said with a scoff. “This is bullshit. I’ve spent the last four years learning and infiltrating this city. I’ve been in every fucking parish, every ward.” His volume rose. “I have a reputation. You’ve been here for a few weeks and want a spotlight. Your husband may think he’s in control, but let me tell you, he’s not. No wonder he’s using you for attention. It won’t work.”

“Using me?”

Kyle went on, “There are people, a lot of people, loyal to our father who even seven years later aren’t willing to stay in step with a Ramses.”

“And when you take over,” I asked, “those faithful to Ramses will bow at your feet.”

“It’ll take time, but it will happen. This city needs to come together.”

I stood, taking the blanket with me. “Interesting.”

Kyle shook his head. “Don’t act like you understand.”

Pursing my lips, I nodded. “The truth is getting clearer by the moment. I understand that you’re missing the fucking point. Here’s a hint, Kyle. I’m the point. And I’m standing right in front of you.”

He shrugged. “So?” He paused, turned his attention to Jezebel and back to me. “Jeez, Em, you’re talking in riddles like Mom and Edmée. This city doesn’t need riddles. It needs a leader who will unite the city.”

Unite the city.

A Boudreau and a Ramses.

I wasn’t sure how many times Rett had given me a similar speech. Of course, his was delivered differently. And yet for me, this was the moment it all came together. It was as if the nighttime sky parted and rays of sunlight shone down. Maybe that was the metaphoric spotlight Kyle meant.

Kyle was wrong.

I hadn’t sought that.

As I stared up at the darkness, I lifted my chin to the sky, feeling the invisible warmth shining from above.

No, I hadn’t sought the spotlight for the uniting of the two families.

It found me.

Inhaling, I nodded, sat, and looked at Jezebel.

She lifted her chin to Kyle. “Your position is unchanged, Kyle. You know the risk of going out, especially now.”

“I’ll have Liam with me and we have soldiers stationed around. No one would dare get near us.”

Someone would dare.

I knew that in my heart.

I knew that someone intimately, and currently, my only concern was for his safety. As far as for Kyle and Liam, my concern was waning by the minute.

As Kyle said goodnight to Jezebel, I wondered about subtle distinctions.

What is the difference between confidence and cockiness?

My husband radiated confidence.

I saw that quality the first night our gazes met across the bar. I was drawn to it. Others saw it, too. I recalled the way the sea of people parted when he walked through the crowd. Rett’s position made him the king of New Orleans, and he wore that title proudly. He didn’t need to say a word; his assuredness was on display like a royal mantle. His crown was invisible, but it was there, seen by all those who served him and those who didn’t.

Kyle saw it, whether he wanted to or not.

Staring at my brother, I saw a boy trying to play a man’s game.

It wasn’t the difference in their ages. It was the differences in their maturity, experience, and understanding. Kyle said I didn’t understand.

I believed I did.

It was he who didn’t.

According to our mother, the prophecy was that she was carrying a child to rule New Orleans. The city had been co-ruled for generations. As crazy as Rett sounded when we first met, I now saw that he was right; he’d been right all along.

And so had the prophecy.

It was Kyle who was wrong.

Jezebel and I sat un-talking after Kyle went back inside the house. The resounding silence faded as the insects and toads resumed their chorus. It was as if Kyle’s visit had prompted an intermission and the overture they sang meant it was time for the second act.

Two cars came from around the side of the house. Their tires rolling on the hard-packed earth and the hum of their engines momentarily replaced the natural melody. And then, like the glow of their red taillights, they were gone and the sounds of nature were back.

As the night noises created their own lullaby, my eyes grew heavy. The day had been long, and the more we sat, the less uncomfortable I was wrapped in the scratchy blanket.

I may have nodded off.

I saw images and scenes, disconnected, such as discarded clips of a movie. They came the way one sees things in dreams. As they progressed, I was less present, more a voyeur.

Rett’s dark stare glistened in the candlelight as we dined and his deep voice relayed stories about his family. And then he faded away. However, I knew I was still in his home. It was their voices I heard first. We were in the sitting room with the large fireplace in Rett’s home. Of the women present, I’d only met one—Miss Guidry. Yet I recognized the other two from their portraits, Delphine and Marilyn. Though the three ladies were conversing and I couldn’t hear what they were saying, I felt their emotions of worry, concern, and maybe even fear. A smile came to my lips as they held each other’s hands. The house faded away. The streets of New Orleans were filled with people, chants, and candles. Liam was there, watching. His emotions didn’t fit the others. He was apart from them. His anger seemed palpable. The others were sad and worried. I wanted to ask what had happened.

Had someone died?

I woke with a start, unsure of the scenes that had slipped somewhere between my conscious and subconscious.

I also wasn’t certain how much time had passed when Jezebel spoke.

“You hear them, don’t you?”

I turned to her. “Hear who?”

“The spirits. They’re unusually loud.”

Was I hearing them?

Were they the ones who made things clearer?

“I don’t know if I do,” I answered honestly. “How can you tell if you’re hearing them or maybe your own thoughts?”

“You listen.” She closed her eyes and continued rocking.

The night sounds combined with the rocking of chairs filled the air.

Before I could reply, a shrill scream came from inside the house.

Jezebel and I both sprang from our chairs, leaving the blankets behind as we hurried inside.