Page 66 of Nineteen Eighty

Free Will

At first, Elizabeth hadn’t thought he was going to accept. Though she’d initially fallen in love with Connor because of his inexplicable belief in everything she told him about herself, never once really questioning it, she didn’t really know if he was ready to be a part of it in a more direct, meaningful way.

But Connor had taken his vows with the earnestness required, and was now a member of the Deschanel Magi Collective, an honor bestowed on non-blood only when they married into the family. He insisted he wasn’t doing it simply to make her happy. That he wanted to be involved. She might never know if the truth resided on either side, or somewhere in the middle.

After, she’d kissed him and insisted she wanted to walk home. He was concerned, as anyone who loved Elizabeth had a tendency to be concerned when she did something outside her normal routine, but she kissed him again, reassuring him she was fine. More than fine. She was good. Happy. She promised him all these things, and then watched him drive away.

He’d still worry, of course. Worrying went hand in hand with loving Elizabeth Deschanel. There was nothing she could do about it, aside from remembering he chose this, and to try to alleviate as much of his anxiety over her well-being as was possible. She would do that and more, when she got home tonight. For Elizabeth had more than just a calming walk on her mind when she sent Connor on ahead.

Elizabeth fumbled in her pocket for the keys. Colin had given them to her, dropping them by in secret at The Gardens. He’d waited for the right moment and slipped them into her hands, smiling, assuring her there was no rush in getting them back. With a wink, he’d added, hopefully you won’t need to bring them back at all.

Yes, that was the hope. And the intent. It was time, even if she was in no rush to leave their cozy apartment. It was small, but it was theirs.

But this home on Coliseum could be theirs as well. Theirs, and their children’s. She wasn’t pregnant yet and didn’t have anything more specific than a guess as to when she would be, but it wouldn’t be too long before Danielle came around, and Tristan only a few years later. They needed something with permanence. More so, Connor did. She could give him the gift of a strong foundation, if nothing else. A way to show him she was committed to the future, whatever was left.

Well, she knew what was left. But she’d never tell him. Where Elizabeth found strength in this knowledge, Connor would only find despair.

Leaving The Gardens, she skipped down Jackson, toward Coliseum. From there, it was another seven blocks to the property, which backed Lafayette Cemetery No. 1. Elizabeth didn’t much like cemeteries. They reminded her of her helplessness… none more so than the one where all her loved ones were buried. But part of her new outlook involved facing her fears head-on, rather than slinking away from them in dark corners. When she sat down with the list of potential entitlement properties Colin had dropped off for her, this one stood out for that very reason. It was also close to both Colleen and Augustus, the two siblings she most needed proximity to.

When she reached the old stone walls of Lafayette No. 1, teeming with ferns and other flora peeking through the cracks, she paused. She knew the rest of the family visited the Deschanel tomb with varying levels of frequency and fervor. Mama brought flowers every week still. But unless custom dictated her presence, Elizabeth avoided the cities of death. Thousands of people were entombed in the beautifully antiquated Garden District cemetery, filling and refilling the tombs, many of which passed from family to family. But not theirs. The Deschanel tomb, which held court in the Magnolia-shaded corner of Sixth and Coliseum, was like a small city unto its own. Or a park, at least. Grass, benches, and even a small fence welcomed visitors.

Elizabeth wondered how many other places in the world viewed cemeteries as a tourist attraction. Mama often lamented that she could never get privacy with Maddy and August, because of all the “lookie-loos” huddled around their family’s place of rest. Elizabeth, who had an unusual relationship with death, was curious about the world’s morbid fascination with it. It was the same thing, she supposed, as people who flocked toward killers or tragedies.

Against her better judgment, she turned toward the cemetery. The tomb had been reopened for Evangeline’s friend Cassie in the spring, and there were laws around opening it again so soon, so there was a kerfuffle when Lisette died. But Charles had thrown a fit, in typical Charles fashion, and Augustus calmly smoothed it over, and so Lisette, too, had been sent to her final rest without observing the required waiting period.

The cemetery was closed at this late hour, close to two in the morning, but she’d always been a good climber.

Elizabeth shoved her hands deep in her pockets as she carefully stepped over the upturned ground, dodging tree roots and cracked cement. She was alone for the first time here, and she almost missed the solemn milling about of bodies as they examined the tombs that were so uniquely New Orleans.

She rounded corner after corner, meandering through the light fog descending. She was so lost in her thoughts that when she saw the man she had an immediate inclination to believe she was imagining it.

But no. There was a man. And he was kneeling at the base of the Deschanel tomb, head bowed. In his hand was a single red rose, which he placed in the concrete vase.

She recognized this man. She knew him. And this only confirmed a suspicion she’d held since Paris, that just because they couldn’t see him, didn’t mean he wasn’t there. Of course he was there! He crept around in the twilight hours, haunting evenings while they slept. He visited their tomb when it was dead to the world.

Elizabeth freed her hands from her pockets and started to run. She resisted calling his name—Tristan! Tristan!—because instinct promised her he’d run. He didn’t come here, at this hour, for confrontation, but solitude. He’d seen her future, but apparently not this moment, where it was them and only them, and she had so many questions!

Tristan perked. Twitched, like a dog picking up a scent. With a slight movement of his head, he caught her in his peripheral. And just like that, cape carrying like a wave on the wind, he bolted.

This time she did call his name. “Tristan! Wait! Please!” Elizabeth darted after him, weaving through the maze he’d created as he scaled tombs, his cloak catching the air with each leap.

He was fast, too fast for her, but she didn’t slow, didn’t relent. Elizabeth pressed herself as hard as she could, losing him at almost every turn but always finding him again, a snap of darkness against the moonlight.

Elizabeth needed to stop, to catch her breath, but if she did, she’d lose him. She knew it. She pushed on, her heavy breaths unfurling before her in the crisp winter air. When she came around to a dead end, she spun around, searching for any sign of him.

At last, she caught that peak of darkness, but only as it disappeared over the wall, and back into the sleeping Garden District.

Elizabeth doubled over. Her ragged breaths pulled at the air, stifled by her disappointment. Tristan. Here! He was really here, just as she always suspected. Watching over them. Over her.

But you aren’t meant to meet again, Elizabeth. You know this.

Her words, her dialect, but Tristan’s soothing dulcet tones.

Take comfort in knowing he’s here. Whoever he is. Whatever he is. Let that be enough.

“Enough,” Elizabeth whispered, mopping the sweat from her face. She smiled in the darkness.

She reached in her pocket for the keys, giving them a comforting pat, and went about climbing her way back out.