Shadow‘s Reach (Halloween Noir) - 8. Off You Go, Have Fun

The limousine crept along the streets of the French Quarter, careful to avoid tourists. Inside, Jacques slumped in the backseat between his friends. His tense shoulders showed he was not in the mood to joke as the city slid by.

Devon, though, was in high spirits, his voice already cutting through the awkward silence. He leaned forward, practically spilling into the front seat, pointing an accusing finger at Solomon. “Alright, Mr. Fancy Chauffeur Dude, you gotta tell us what the hell just happened back there. What’s with Lady Crystal Ball pulling her ‘you’re cursed’ routine? Is this some big New Orleans Haunted Halloween Experience™ package deal? Like, we get cursed and a limo ride?”

Marcus snorted, clapping Jacques on the knee for emphasis. “Bro, you’ve been holding out on us! Seriously, what is your Yelp review for this? ‘Five stars—would get cursed by Madame Show Me Your Hand again’? Damn, the others should have joined in on the fun… Did you arrange this show earlier this morning?”

Jacques, fighting the urge to roll his eyes, shoved Marcus’s hand off and muttered, “You two are drunk already, huh?”

Solomon chuckled then, low and soft, glancing at them in the rearview mirror. “Madame Marie does have a flair for the dramatic,” he admitted, his calm, precise voice full of dry humor. “But I assure you, gentlemen, it’s all part of the experience. After all,”—his lips quirked into a faint smile—“what is New Orleans without a touch of mystery? Surely, you came here for nothing less.”

Devon leaned back with exaggerated flair, throwing up his hands. “Touch of mystery? My man, we just followed Jacques into a cursed fortune teller’s shop in a back alley. She straight-up said he’s glowing, or something. Pretty sure we’re past ‘touch of mystery’ territory now.”

“True,” Marcus chimed in, nudging Jacques again with a grin that practically shouted you know we’re right. “So, care to explain, oh great glowy one? You hiding a secret moonlighter gig at Zombie Vampire Dating Services, Inc.?”

Jacques let out a groan, running a hand down his face. “I’m not glowing, okay? And, for the last time, I didn’t sign up for this weird-ass magic stuff. You think I wanted a creepy lady giving me the Nostradamus treatment?”

Solomon’s measured voice cut through their banter. “Now, now,” he said, his words silencing the car with ease. “I suspect it’s all a bit of theater to her, a way to enhance the charm of your holiday—a harmless flirtation with the supernatural.” He met their eyes in the rearview mirror, his calm, polished tone carrying just enough joviality to disarm their curiosity. “And judging by your amusement, gentlemen, I’d say she succeeded. Hope you tipped her well, otherwise…. She might curse you!”

Jacques glanced at Solomon then, brows furrowed. There was something too smooth in his voice, like he was deflecting without outright lying. He filed that thought away for later.

Devon, grinning like a fool, leaned back in his seat. “Alright, Jacques. We’ll let it slide. But you better tell me if that glowing thing gets you any supernatural Tinder matches. Werewolves? Witches? Tell me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jacques muttered, but there was a smile buried in the corners of his lips. For a moment, the teasing felt grounding—normal, even.

The limousine reached their hotel shortly after. Marcus threw open the door, stepping out with the confidence of a man already a few drinks in. “All right!” he said loudly, stretching as if he were emerging triumphantly from a spaceship. “Where are the others? I’m hittin’ the hotel bar. Who’s coming with me?”

Devon grinned, following him. “Hell yeah. Jacques, Daiquiri time. You in?”

Jacques waved them off, leaning back into the pristine leather seat. “Y’all go ahead. I need, like, five minutes to breathe.”

“Don’t ghost us again!” Marcus called, laughing his way toward the doors. Devon threw him a thumbs-up before both disappeared into the crowd near the lobby.

***

When the doors shut, the hum of city laughter and life faded, leaving Jacques alone with Solomon.

“Jacques,” Solomon began, turning in his seat so his sharp, thoughtful gaze pinned him. This time, his tone came quiet and deliberate. “A moment, if you don’t mind.”

Jacques sighed, bending forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Sure. Why not? What’s next? You gonna tell me I’m the Chosen One?”

Solomon didn’t laugh. He remained steady and cool, like nothing Jacques said would faze him. “You are many things, Jacques. Chosen, perhaps, is not the word I’d use.”

“What does that even mean?” Jacques snapped.

“It means,” Solomon continued smoothly, “that there is history written in your blood. When your lips met Alex’s, Jacques, it triggered something—something dormant. Magic, true magic, is like a beacon. And now… you are visible. Too many. Those who would seek to manipulate you, to use you. Others who would seek to destroy you.”

Jacques stared at him, practically recoiling from the weight of the words. His mouth twitched, a dozen protests springing to his mind, but Solomon raised a hand as if to stave them off.

“You don’t need to understand everything now,” Solomon said, his tone measured but firm. “I left you this morning because I underestimated the depth of what’s already happened. But Jacques—you are no longer as hidden as you once were. For better or worse, the world now knows that Lucien Noir’s bloodline is alive and there’s an heir.”

He reached into the glove compartment and withdrew something silver and glinting: a chain. Solomon handled it with reverence, his long fingers delicately holding up the amulet at its center.

“This was Lucien’s,” Solomon said softly. “Your ancestor. He died pursuing this.”

Jacques stared, frowning. “That’s... okay, not gonna lie, it’s cool and all, but… what’s it do?”

Solomon held it in front of Jacques. “Protection. It will shroud you, make your presence less... glaring to those who might watch. It’s enough to keep you safe.”

Even without knowing that it belonged to Lucien, the amulet was obviously old. Strange, intricate patterns and symbols glinted in the dim light of the car interior. They looked somewhat Native American to Jacques. At the center of the amulet, there was an empty space where once a gemstone must have been.

Jacques hesitated as Solomon placed the amulet and chain carefully around his neck, but the amulet’s cool weight against his skin was oddly grounding. He nodded finally, looking out the window. “Does it even work without the center stone?”

Solomon’s voice lowered, almost conspiratorial. “It’s meant to hide its wearer, or rather their magic, just as much as it hid the stone itself. But the stone is a topic for another day.”

“Jacques,” Solomon said, obviously uncomfortable, “we didn’t get off to a good start, but there is something else you must know. When Lucien entrusted the Soigneurs with his son, Pierre, he placed a curse on us and him. If a Soigneur deemed it extremely necessary, he could give an order to a Noir / Black and that order would be followed without question. An order like this must be given with the clear intent to trigger the magic. If used casually, it would have dire consequences. That is why no-one had ever triggered that magic until I used it in the cemetery to put you to sleep.”

Jacques nodded. That at least explained that episode.

When Solomon continued, one could hear the pain in his voice. “Looking at how you reacted to other orders from me after the cemetery and — it pains me to say, me actually giving you several orders — makes me guess that there is something seriously wrong with the curse. I issue orders without thinking or wanting to and you follow them, even though it is clear that you don’t want to. But even looking further back at your life, you always seemed to follow orders rather unquestioningly and I always gave orders that were obeyed… . I think I just made it much worse now, but the old curse must have been malfunctioning all your life. Maybe even a curse must be maintained from time to time, and more than 200 years is a long time… .”

“Anyway, be cautious tonight, Jacques. I refuse to order you to come to Maison Noir tomorrow, but… be aware of your weakness. And look around carefully. When you really look, now that you are aware of things, you will see a lot of things you will not like.”

“This city... it needs you more than you realize. If you choose to leave, things will get worse here… and for you.” He paused, and for the first time, something tender passed his features.

Jacques, who was silent all the time Solomon spoke, asked, “What about Alex?”

Solomon’s expression softened. “Typical you, thinking about others first. Alex should not be your concern tonight… make this solely about you. That’s all one can and should ask.”

Solomon offered Jacques his hand in parting. “Your ancestral home will always be waiting for you. Tomorrow… or any other day. But now, off you go, your friends want to have a last fun night in this city. Don’t let them waiting.”

Jacques left the car, his thoughts a whirlwind. Decisions, decisions. Sure, it will just be a fun night with his friends.

***

Back at her shop, Marie shuffled a deck of cards absentmindedly, the incense swirling through the dimly lit space. And then she froze. Jacques’s signature—his magical presence—had vanished.

“Solomon,” she murmured, her lips quirking into a sly, knowing smile. “You sly old fox. What have you done now?”