Shadow‘s Reach (Halloween Noir) - 7. An Afternoon Reading

Jacques didn’t know what he should tell his friends. It was all too unbelievable, and he was too unsure of what had really happened. Alex, Solomon knocking him out somehow, the transformation, the legacy and his inheritance… no, he better keep quiet about it.

The low hum of chatter swirled around him like a comforting blanket, when he ducked into the dim bar their message showed. The rhythmic thump of bass and the clatter of glasses filled the air as his eyes adjusted to the low lights reflecting off the tarnished brass fixtures. Scanning the room, he spotted Marcus and Devon huddled over a small table near the back, their laughter cutting through the ambient noise. The familiar smell of stale beer, sweat, and fried food was a welcome contrast to the strange tension he’d been carrying since last night. As his friends saw him, they waved him over, their faces bright with already tipsy grins.

“Hey guys, where’s Art and the other two?” Jacques asked.

“Hey, if that isn’t the man of the hour!” Marcus crowed, clapping Jacques on the shoulder. The force of it jolted Jacques out of his thoughts, and he mustered a smile, settling in on the barstool with a small exhale. He’d been looking forward to this—just his old friends, no expectations or mystery.

“Those light-weights are off doing touristy stuff… exploring the Garden District or something,” Devon said. “Here, have a drink.”

“Guys, it’s just past noon!” Jacques said.

“So what? Thought you’d gone full ghost on us… or rather full zombie,” Devon added, chuckling as he shoved a drink into Jacques’s hand. “We’re just drowning our sorrow that you’ve dumped us. Cheers!”

“Hope ‘zombie boy’ didn’t wear you out too much,” he added, grinning.

Jacques froze, the cold rim of the glass resting against his lips. “Zombie boy?” he muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up. “It’s… complicated.”

“Oh, complicated! This sounds like a curse,” Devon repeated with a gleeful grin, leaning over the table to get a better look at Jacques’s embarrassed face.

“Nah, no curse,” added Marcus, grinning wildly and closing in on Jacques with arms wide open to embrace him. “Sounds like a proper relationship already! Congrats!”

Jacques forced a laugh, pushing Marcus away and hoping to brush off their jabs. The loud bass from the bar’s speakers seemed to shake his whole body, but the knot of tension in his stomach only tightened. “We didn’t… It wasn’t like that, it was… a weird night.”

Marcus studied him for a moment, his jovial expression softening slightly. “Alright, man. If you say so.” Then, with a theatrical flourish, he raised his glass. “To weird nights and even weirder friends!”

The liquid tasted like acid and burned in Jacques’s throat. His friends’ laughter only grew louder then. They egged him on, nudging each other with jokes about day of the dead dicks, sexy zombie busters and getting slime-d, convinced his unease was just nerves from his “first time” with a guy. Jacques sank deeper into his thoughts, trying to ignore how disoriented he still felt after meeting Alex and all this legacy and inheritance stuff. He tried to relax, telling himself it was just another day out—but his friends’ laughter only magnified the strange pull he still felt.

After a few rounds, Jacques finally shook off the embarrassment. He let his friends drag him out into the lessening daylight and the lively streets of the French Quarter.

Bourbon street greeted the trio with lively chaos. The air was thick with humidity, carrying the scents of fried food, sweet pralines, and the musky undertone of the river. Street performers wove between clusters of tourists—dancers twirling in elaborate costumes, musicians strumming soulful melodies on battered guitars, fortune-tellers beckoning from shadowed doorways. Laughter and shouts mingled with the distant strains of jazz, creating a symphony unique to the French Quarter.

Devon grabbed a to-go cup from a nearby vendor, the neon green liquid sloshing perilously close to the brim. “Now this is what I’m talking about!” he exclaimed, taking a hearty sip.

Marcus draped an arm over Jacques’s shoulders. “See? This is exactly what you need. A time out with the boys, no complications.”

Jacques managed a genuine smile this time, the lively atmosphere seeping into his mood. “Alright, alright. You win.”

“That’s the spirit!” Devon clapped him on the back. “Now, let’s find someone to take embarrassing photos with.”

They wandered aimlessly, the crowd ebbing and flowing around them like a living tide. Marcus pointed out a group of people dressed as vampires, their faces painted stark white with fake blood dripping from their lips. “Perfect! Go stand next to them, Jacques. It’ll be a keepsake.”

Jacques laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll pass.”

Devon did not let anything deter him. He waved his hands theatrically, mumbling faux incantations. “I hereby lift the zombie curse from Jacques Black!”

“Hilarious,” Jacques retorted, rolling his eyes.

As they turned a corner, Devon stopped, gawking at a street vendor selling cheap vampire capes and fangs. “Vampires… again! C’mon, Jacques, fate is telling you something here … want me to grab you one of these? Just add a bit of glitter and you’re all set for the big gay zombie-vampire romance,” he teased, wagging the cape at him.

***

Jacques rolled his eyes, feeling amused, annoyed and an odd sense of relief to be back among his friends. The normalcy, the laughs—they felt grounding. But as they walked further, something gnawed at him, an unease in his stomach. He really shouldn’t drink so early. It wasn’t even close to sunset. The garish Halloween decorations seemed to flicker in and out of focus.

“Hey Jacques,” Marcus shouted over the music from a nearby jazz band. “You still with us, or are you off in the land of the dead again?”

Jacques forced a smile, but the knot in his stomach only tightened. Something felt off, like an invisible thread tugging him somewhere he couldn’t see. But with Marcus and Devon egging him on, he tried to shove the feeling aside, determined to shake off the lingering strangeness. Almost imperceptible at first, then more pronounced, the lively sounds of jazz and laughter seemed to muffle, replaced by a heavy, dead silence. The lingering festive decorations lining the streets—the glowing jack-o’-lanterns, cobweb-draped balconies, and papier-mâché ghosts—seemed to loom darker and larger, casting long shadows across the narrow alley.

Jacques shivered, feeling a sudden prickling sensation on the back of his neck, like he was being watched. He glanced around, but saw only the empty street ahead and his friends beside him. Devon and Marcus were oblivious, still cracking jokes about “zombie boy” and nudging each other about Jacques’s “love curse.”

“Jacques!” Devon grinned, elbowing him. “Don’t ghost us again. We just got here!”

Jacques forced a smile, but the feeling of danger wouldn’t leave him. The shadows felt denser, the laughter and voices from the main street now little more than whispers, twisting like threads around him. He tried again to brush it off when a door suddenly flew open from the shop in front of them.

A woman burst into the doorway, her silver-lined hair neatly styled, her body poised regally, but her eyes wide and frantic as she scanned the street. She looked like she was searching for something—or someone. Her gaze landed on Jacques, and her face shifted from panic to a fierce determination.

“You!” she called, pointing straight at him, her voice tight with urgency. “Come, quickly! You need to get off the street!”

Jacques stiffened, surprised. Devon and Marcus glanced at each other, then burst out laughing.

“Oh, come on,” Marcus groaned, rolling his eyes. “What, now we’re supposed to follow the creepy fortune teller into her lair? Nice try, lady. We’ll take a hard pass.”

“Definitely a pass,” Devon echoed, folding his arms. “Pretty sure Jacques doesn’t need another ‘love curse’ tonight.”

But the woman’s intense gaze never wavered from Jacques. She stepped closer, her face fully emerging from the shadows inside her shop, revealing a mix of fear and urgency.

“You know better than that, don’t you?” she said quietly, her eyes locking with his. “You feel it, don’t you? There’s danger here. Come inside! Now!”

Jacques’s heart raced. He winced at the order, but something about her gaze, her certainty, struck him in a way he could not ignore. The strange, prickling sense of danger he’d felt just moments before suddenly sharpened, like a blade pressing close to his skin. He didn’t understand it, but he knew she was right.

“Look, guys, let’s just… let’s step in for a minute,” he said, his voice unsteady. Quickly, he stepped into the shop. Marcus and Devon looked at him in shock, eyebrows raised.

“Jacques, come on!” Devon called, his eyes rolling. “You’re seriously going to fall for this? It’s a scam, man. She just wants your wallet.”

“Yeah, she probably just wants to read your palm and tell you that you’re cursed. But we already know that,” Marcus added with a chuckle. But Jacques didn’t come out again.

“Please,” the woman said softly to Markus and Devon. “You’re probably not in danger yourself, but this isn’t a game. Come inside, just for a moment. This isn’t about a quick buck.”

When Jacques called them from inside the shop, they started for the door, groaning and muttering under their breaths about “obvious scams” and “fortune-teller tricks.” The woman gave them a small, relieved smile and ushered them through the door.

“Man, this is such a bad idea,” Devon muttered as they stepped into the dimly lit shop.

With a soft click and a sigh of relief, the woman closed the door behind them.

***

Inside the shop, shelves full of occult objects lined the walls and the air was heavy with incense. Rare looking books and shiny crystals drew his eyes. Complex drawing on yellowed paper deepens the atmosphere. Most of the objects had a price tag.

Jacques tensed when the woman turned and pushed all her attention on him.

“My name is Mary. As you can guess,” she said, while generally indicating her shop interior, “I work as a fortune teller for the tourists, but… Some special people consider me an oracle. For now, just assume I‘m impartial to all factions involved… even though I’m helping you right now.“

As she came over, her eyes narrowed, and she leaned in closer. A slight smile appeared on her lips as she studied his face, then noticed his missing left hand. For Jacques, the sensation was like a thread pulling tighter, binding him to something unseen.

The woman stood up straight, right in front of Jacques, ignoring Markus and Devon.

“That power surge earlier, probably at Maison Noir, that involved you, didn’t it?” she demanded, her tone almost accusatory. Jacques felt his mouth go dry, glancing back at his friends, who were now watching with wide-eyed amusement. “You’re still glowing like a lighthouse… and it puts you in danger.”

Marie turned abruptly, her sharp gaze lingering on him one last time. “Stay here for a moment,” she said, her voice holding an edge of urgency.

Before Jacques could respond, she swept behind a velvet curtain, leaving him and his friends standing alone in the dim light. The incense felt thick now, almost suffocating, and Jacques struggled to clear his head.

“Dude,” Marcus whispered, wide-eyed and grinning. “She’s really laying it on thick, huh? ‘You’re in danger, Jacques,’” he mimicked, making Devon snicker.

But Jacques barely heard them. The echo of her words kept thrumming through his mind like a dark beat. He tried to shake it off, telling himself she was just playing up the drama for effect, but the events of last night and earlier today could not be denied. The weight of her gaze, the cold certainty in her voice, left him feeling vulnerable in a way he couldn’t explain. His friends still could find this amusing, but he knew he had to take her seriously.

Marie returned to the front after a few minutes with a freshly brewed cup of tea.

“Let me see your hand,” she said bluntly.

When Jacques started to raise his right hand, she quickly corrected him.

“No, not that one… the other.”

Jacques felt his breath catch, his pulse quickening as her words cut through him. He could feel something, a warmth tingling through his skin, as if her gaze alone had unlocked a part of him he hadn’t known was there. He wanted to laugh, to brush it off as some elaborate Halloween act, but something in her eyes told him she wasn’t lying.

His friends, meanwhile, looked between them, smirking but silent for once. They sensed the shift, too, a heavy tension settling over the shop like a storm cloud.

“Listen closely,” the woman said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You’re in danger. People want to know what powers you have. They want to use you—and others want to destroy you. Lucien’s powers are legendary—and to be feared.” Her fingers tightened around his wrist. “Be careful. You’re not alone in this, but you can’t face it unprepared.”

Studying his stump, the empty space where his left hand should have been, she looked lost in her own world.

Devon smirked. “Good luck reading that hand!”

Ignoring Devon, she thoughtfully let go of Jacques’s arm.

“There’s actually two hands I see. They are at war with each other. Somehow, you must let go… sacrifice your own old hand… let go… to be able to win the new hand.”

“You mean I have to let go, accept that I lost my hand and be fine with it? Most people think I did that already…”

“Your oh so happy smile can’t fool me, boy, and neither do you fool yourself… but anyway, that’s not what I meant,” she said.

“Look,” she added, “to gain the new hand, you actively have to make sure you lose your old hand. You have to want to lose it! And don’t even try to ask me how… you will have to find a way… or perish.”

“But,” Jacques said, waving his stump in the air, “that obviously already happened in the past.”

Mary just shrugged and left him alone to question his sanity.

***

After a while, she took a moment to gather herself. She relaxed and soon a mischievous smirk sneaked on her face. Turning to Marcus and Devon, she spoke to the men in an ominous, measured tone. “Now, here’s one for you two,” she said, looking directly at them. “A black limousine will soon appear in front of the shop. When it does, you must get in. It’s the only way you’ll stay safe tonight.”

Devon and Marcus looked at each other and burst into laughter. “What, are we getting VIP treatment now?” Marcus asked, nudging Jacques, who had been standing up. “Hey, look at that! You are a magic magnet, after all.”

But Jacques couldn’t bring himself to laugh. Her gaze held something different now—a fierce, unyielding determination, but also humor. “You’ll understand soon enough,” she murmured, her voice soft but unwavering. Jacques shifted under her scrutiny, feeling like he’d been given a key to something he wasn’t ready to open. Did she wink at him right now?

Just then, a sleek, black limousine rolled up, stopping precisely in front of the shop and honking its horn.

Devon’s mouth dropped open, and Marcus gave a low whistle. “No way,” he muttered. “That… that actually happened?”

Marie laughed softly, a sound rich with amusement. “Oh, you two are such treasures,” she said with a smirk. “I made the call when I went to make tea.” Resolutely, she ushered them out of her shop.

When the car door opened, a distinguished man appeared. Looking as composed as ever, Solomon fixated all of them with his eyes, but his gaze softened as he caught sight of Jacques. “I apologize for the abruptness, Master Black. But Marie expressed concern, and I thought it best to come here myself.”

Marcus and Devon gaped at the scene, stunned into silence, until Marcus finally blurted, “Master Black? Jacques, who is this guy? Since when do you have a chauffeur?”

Jacques felt the tension twist into something like resentment. This whole thing felt like a game he didn’t know the rules to. He gave Solomon a wary look. “We’ll get in the car, but you owe me an explanation.”

Solomon nodded, gesturing to the open door. “Gentlemen?”

Looking at Jacques for confirmation first, Marcus and Devon got into the limo and Jacques followed. As they slid into the car, Marie stood in the doorway of her shop, watching with a knowing smile. When Solomon turned to her, he bowed respectfully and just said, “Thank you.”

She smiled, but asserted, “We need to find out his powers… and he needs to be taught at least the basics.”

Solomon nodded again and slipped into the driver’s seat.