Page 96 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

Gabrielle laughed. “No. Just come. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

So it was that a short time later, Regina was at the small bayou cottage of the most eccentric old lady she’d ever met. And Regina had met some weird witchy crones in her time.

No, Louise Rivard, better known as Tante Lulu, was no witch, but she was a traiteur, or folk healer. Cajun to the bone, and she was a bony little five-foot-zero thing, with tight purple curls, a pink tank top covering nonexistent breasts proclaiming in gold sparkles, “I GOT MY CAJUN ON!,” lavender running shorts, orange ruffled anklet socks, and white orthopedic shoes. She had on enough makeup to plaster the Sistine Chapel. In other words, she was rather adorable.

“Welcome, welcome,” the old lady said, reaching up to kiss Gabrielle on both cheeks, then surprising Regina by doing the same to her. Gabrielle introduced Regina, and Tante Lulu said, “I been ’spectin’ you fer days.”

Huh?

“Girl, me and St. Jude been pals fer decades now.” She pointed to a life-size statue of the saint who held a birdbath in his hands in the middle of the yard. “Me and Jude heard yer thunderbolt of love all the way down here in the bayou.”

Huh?

“Tante Lulu has a theory about the thunderbolt of love hitting people who are destined to fall in love,” Gabrielle explained. “Once it hits you, you’re a goner.”

“It sure happened to you ’n that rascal Ivak, guar-an-teed!”

Gabrielle just smiled.

Regina wasn’t buying this crap. “Hmpfh! I haven’t felt any bolts lately.” Just a stab through the heart.

“Sometimes ya jist gotta be open ta love,” Tante Lulu said, patting her on the arm. “Why doan ya sit down there on that bench next ta St. Jude and have a little chat? I’m gonna take Gabrielle over ta mah little garden patch ta pick us some okra.”

“Where’s your visitor?” Gabrielle asked Tante Lulu.

“He’ll be here by and by,” Tante Lulu replied.

Regina glared at the two of them as they walked down the yard to Tante Lulu’s garden, which was really a rather large garden, or at least a compact one jam-packed with lots of different vegetables. Soon the basket Gabrielle had brought with her was filled not just with okra but tomatoes, string beans, beets, squash, various lettuces, cabbage, radishes, carrots, and whatnot.

Sitting down, Regina glanced around the peaceful setting. It was a cute cottage with a wide back porch, its several rockers facing the bayou stream. Steam heat rose off the water, and it was not yet noon. Normal humid temperatures for this subtropical region. Regina realized in that moment that she could be happy with a simple place like this. She could see herself gardening, which she’d always enjoyed, even when it was only to grow witchy herbs and minimal subsistence vegetables in the cold Norselands. The peacefulness of the setting could fill some empty gap in her lost soul. Maybe.

She glanced up at the statue, which seemed to be staring down at her, with pity, or was it compassion? Same thing!

“So, St. Jude, what’s up? I hear you’re the patron saint of hopeless cases. I pretty much fit into that category. Any idea what I should do about it?”

Nothing. No magical words from above, or from the statue’s frozen lips.

“I’ve forgotten how to pray. I know, I know. Vangels should have praying down pat, but I’ve been too busy being snarky and bitter and . . .” She shrugged. She really did feel hopeless.

“I’m tired of being so bitter and unhappy,” she confided. “In truth, I don’t really want Zeb to be hurt in any way. He’s a good man. You should be helping him. Not me.” She felt better having said that, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Oh, she was still deeply hurt, but hatred had been eating away at her for days. And she didn’t hate Zeb anyway. Not really. If anything, she hated herself.

“Like I said, hopeless, that’s me,” she said to the statue. “I’m looking for a sign here, Jude. How about a little cooperation? Something to show you’re listening.” She laughed out loud at her silliness.

But then, she heard a roar and almost jumped off her seat. A huge alligator had come up behind her, and just as she was about to run for her life, Tante Lulu yelled out. “Useless, behave yerself.” The old lady reached into a lidded milk can beside the bench and tossed some orange pellets at the gator, who caught them midair. Over and over, Tante Lulu tossed the treats until the gator was apparently full, and turned away to amble back to the stream. “Thass Useless. Mah pet gator. Holy crawfish, but he does love his Cheez Doodles.”

Regina’s jaw dropped.

But then, her jaw dropped even more as another car pulled into the driveway, and Tante Lulu’s “visitor” arrived. It was Beauregard Doucet, the former Lucipire.

His brown hair was pulled off his handsome face and clubbed at the neck into a small ponytail knot. He wore a white T-shirt tucked into blue jeans, and flip-flops were on his bare feet.

“Chère, Ah’m so happy ta see you again!” He reached out and pulled Regina into a warm embrace. “When Tante Lulu tol’ me you were here in Loo-zee-anna, Ah jist had ta come over.”

Regina glanced at the old lady, who was beaming with pleasure at reuniting what she must have considered old friends.

While Gabrielle and Tante Lulu went into the house to get some spices, Regina sat down beside Beau to catch up.

“They’re all gone, you know. All the Lucipires,” she told him.