28. April

28

APRIL

JANUARY 2, 10:20 P.M.

In the seconds after the flash, I have two thoughts, certain as the close of the shutter. First, our plan worked—the Jester is here, we've got photo evidence, and we've got his attention.

And second: fuck.

Because he's coming toward me.

Instinct kicks in, waking up my feet and pushing me back down the hallway, toward the bathroom—to lure the Jester there, like we planned—but I've only taken a few steps before I stop cold.

Renee still stands on the throne, the Rougarou's grip tight on her arm.

I'm not leaving a girl behind. Not again.

I run at full speed toward her, fast and easy in my sneakers. Halfway there, Vivian steps in front of me, blocking my path with her height.

"What are you doing?" Piper snaps beside her. "We have to go!"

The Jester is pushing his way toward us, slowed by the confused, stagnant pool of the crowd, but not enough that we can waste time. Marty is coming this way, too.

And then someone else appears: Jason Broussard. He's pulled off his mask, wide-eyed with panic. Vivian flinches away from him, but he holds out a hand.

"Wait. I want to help. I—" He looks over my shoulder. "The front entrance. The staff is gone tonight."

I glance at Vivian and Piper, who look like trusting Jason is the last thing they want to do, but I'm not really sure we have another choice.

I look him dead in the eyes.

"Help her get out safe," I say, glancing at Renee. "And don't come after us."

He looks a little confused, almost hurt, but he nods. "Okay. Yeah, I can do that."

I turn to Vivian. "Should we run?"

But she's still focused on the Jester. Waiting, I realize, until he's just close enough that he'll be on our tail. That we can lure him out of here. And then, when he's only a few feet away—

"Go!" Vivian sprints toward the entrance, and we're right behind her, flying down the hallway and through the door with our skirts floating behind us like comet trails. My camera bangs against my hip bone as I run, but I grit my teeth, telling myself it's a reminder that we did it. We have proof: Marty unmasked, the whole terrifying ritual captured in tableau.

At the bottom of the stairs, Vivian shoves the door open, and we tumble into the gift shop. It's empty, lights off. Jason was right: even the cashier is gone. For Marty and the others, tonight must have been too special, too secret, to be shared with anyone outside their immediate circle.

"Everyone okay?" Vivian pauses to check on us, clearly not even winded. Piper and I, on the other hand, are breathing hard.

"Oh, I'm great," Piper quips. "Cardio? Done. Crushed it. Now what's the plan, since we've clearly deviated from the trap-the-Jester-in-the-bathroom thing?"

In answer, the stairwell door swings open, the Jester barreling through.

"Run!" Vivian shouts.

Like we needed the instructions. In a flash, Vivian pulls off her shoes, and Piper follows suit—and then we're racing again into the night. The Jester's on our tail, but we're even faster now that none of us have heels to contend with. Vivian takes the lead, and we follow her down Royal Street until she takes a sharp turn onto a narrow road. Through the adrenaline, I recognize this as Pirates Alley, a stretch of stone path between the St. Louis Cathedral and the Cabildo. It's one of the many supposedly haunted places in the French Quarter, and tonight, it looks it: deserted, lit only by the glow of the streetlamps, shadows reaching from the iron cathedral fence like claws.

Halfway down the alley, Vivian slows, and I realize that this is where we're doing this. I've barely had time to prepare myself before he's here: the Jester, standing at the opening of the alley, where we entered only moments before. His shoulders heave, probably because it's hard to run in such a ridiculous costume, which might make me laugh if it weren't for the fear burrowing deep in my bones.

For a moment, I wonder if this was a terrible idea—if we're all about to look into the eyes of the man who killed Margot, or at least a man who helped cover it up, only to end up just like her. Gone. Silenced. Three more misbehaved debutantes, girls who just couldn't be saved.

But then I remember that, for once, we have the upper hand here. There are three of us and one of him. And he's pissed, probably afraid of what would happen if my picture gets out, but us?

We're angry. Enraged. And we're done with this bullshit.

I step forward, camera raised. "This is what you want, right?"

The Jester comes closer. Piper flinches, but Vivian comes to my side, standing even taller. Then, after a moment, Piper follows suit, lifting her chin.

"Come on," I say. "Come and get it, then."

The Jester is close enough that we can see his real eyes behind the plastic. Blue. He takes two more steps. Another.

And then he lunges.

I rear back, almost tripping over my own feet. Vivian steps in front of me, putting herself between me and the Jester. He reaches again, but Vivian catches his arm. She grasps for his mask, almost getting it, but he shoves her, hard, to the ground. And now that she's down, he's coming at me with the force of a man who's nearly been beaten by a girl.

I want to fight back—need to fight back—but terror has seized my body, my voice, silencing every thought except that he's coming closer. Closer. I brace myself, eyes closed.

And then, a scream. Not mine.

His.

I open my eyes, and the Jester is doubled over, hands pressed to his face. Piper stands in front of him like some kind of war goddess, sparkly pink pepper spray outstretched.

But he recovers too quickly, standing up straight and glaring at us with squinting, teary eyes.

Eyes that are locked again on my camera. On the evidence inside it.

I realize what's happening at the exact moment he pounces, gloved hand outstretched, and suddenly, I'm back in my own body, and I do the only thing I can think of: I swing my camera back and crack it against the side of his face.

He falls back, legs buckling under him as he hits the ground. A shocked gasp hisses out of me, echoed by two more.

"Holy shit," Vivian breathes.

"Holy shit, " Piper echoes.

"Holy shit." I stare, gaping, feeling almost powerful. I clutch my camera, giving it a quick check for any injuries, but she's sturdy, the old girl. I allow myself a small burst of pride.

Then the panic kicks in. He's crumpled on his side, not moving.

"Oh my god," I breathe. "Oh my god, I killed him."

But then he moves, pushing himself up onto his side with a groan.

"Jesus Christ, " he hisses, locking eyes with me. "What the—"

Piper raises her sparkly pepper spray again, ready to strike, and he holds up a hand in defeat.

"Oh my god, Piper, stop, " he barks, and it's so familiar, it stops all three of us in our tracks.

He reaches with a gloved hand to pull off his own mask, and Wyatt stares back at us, a red welt already burning on the side of his face.