JESSIE
I'm at Louise's cafe, but I'm seated outside, enjoying my glass of milk while I stare at the blank notebook. The book is small, and I carry it around to write my story ideas or my poems. Any idea I get, I just insert it into this tiny, tiny book of mine.
I'm looking at the blank pages. I brought it out because I had a poem idea, but I can't seem to put it into words. The idea is still there, but I can't seem to figure out how to end it, let alone how to start.
Which is weird because when Sebastian De La Rosa inspires me to write a poem, all the words will pour into my book at the speed of light. Sebby is and has always been my muse. He's the one who inspired me to write two of my books.
And he's always been such an inspiration that writing a novel or writing a poem comes easily to me. But right now, I can't seem to figure out what to say or put down.
"Oh my God, he still loves me," I say to myself, ignoring the jazz band next to me right now. In a normal sense, I would go there to bob my head, but I don't feel like it. Usually, jazz soothes me, but at this rate, it doesn't because I just can't seem to think straight, which is another thing Sebastian De La Rosa is capable of doing.
How the fuck is he still in love with me? It's been years, I thought he'd be over me by now. Although I can't say that I'm surprised, because according to Antoine, he has refused to have sex with anyone, and according to Sebby, he hasn't dated or had a romantic connection with anyone since me.
So why did he lie about having sex with different people if he hadn't done that for five years? Holy shit, he's been waiting for me to come back? He's still in love with me, and he has been waiting for me to come back.
"Fuck you, Sebastian!" I say in my head because at this point, I don't care if he hears me. Let him hear me.
This is depressing, this is truly depressing. I thought he might have moved on. I thought he might have found a woman or man and fallen in love with them and forgotten about me. Turns out that's not the case.
He has been waiting for me for the longest time now, and I feel so guilty. Why am I the one who feels guilty? He's the one who should be guilty here.
But wait a minute for what? He's not the one who left New Orleans without a proper goodbye. He's not the one having steamy dreams, and he's not the one who got over me; it's the other way around.
Or have I gotten over him?
No, yes, I have a boyfriend now and he's sweet. I have a life in New York now, and I should get back to that life after I've had this werecat shit figured out.
I close my book out of frustration, sit back on my chair, grab my glass of milk, and start drinking. I used to be lactose intolerant; drinking milk used to make me physically ill. And now here I am drinking it, drinking it doesn't make me nauseous, it makes me stronger.
Camilla did say drinking milk improves a sense of smell, strength and flexibility. So the more I drink milk, the stronger I become.
This is crazy. Too crazy.
My phone rings and I expect it to be Jeremy, but it's not, it's Alison Baker, my literary agent. I pick up immediately.
"Hey, Ali."
"Hello, sweetheart. How are you? How was the funeral? You okay, buddy?"
Alison Baker is ten years older than I am. An enthusiastic millennial who loves books, publishing books and marketing books. She's like a mother to me in New York and has supported me in wonderful ways. I love her so much, but sometimes she can be a bit too much.
I'm one of he favourite authors, and I get that she likes to treat her favourites like her children, but sometimes her care can be a bit smothering. But I get it, her heart is in a good place.
"Yes, Ali, everything's good here. I'm just staying here for a while to comfort my mother."
"Oh no sweetie, I didn't call you to ask about your next book, no no. You can have your rest, sweetheart. I just called to check up on you because I care, I truly care."
And I know that.
"Well, I'm fine, Ali, thank you for checking up on me."
"Always my dear. You know, there are a lot of people who are still talking about your book on TikTok," she says, and I knew it, I knew there was a catch. I roll my eyes at this, but I try to keep my voice as casual as possible and not snappy.
"Ali, I have told you I am not going to join TikTok," I say, and she lets out a sigh. I don't really like social media. I have Instagram, and that is enough to advertise my books. I'm not going to be joining TikTok.
It's quite funny how a millennial loves social media and can use it more than I. I'm not really a fan of it. Social media is messy, it's loud, and people on there seem pretentious. I'm happy to use social media as a tool to market my book, and I hope my readers use social media to talk about my books, but I am not going to join social media. I love to live in the moment.
"Okay, dear. But if you change your mind."
I'm not going to.
"Alright, Ali, I'll think about it."
I won't.
"Okay, sweetheart. Enjoy New Orleans. Take your time on your new book, there's no rush."
"Alright, Ali, thanks for calling."
"Anytime, sweetheart." I hang up immediately. I let out a sigh.
Oh Lordy Lord. How the hell am I going to work this out right now? There's no thinking about a new book anytime soon because I have a lot of baggage right now. For one, I am no longer human.
Book lovers are going to love this, I swear to God, especially fantasy lovers.
Okay, now I am paying attention to the jazz band. My eyes are looking straight at the saxophonist. The way he plays that instrument with so much passion it relaxes me.
I remember when my mom and I would just come here to listen to the band or watch them, and we'd just sit here eating some food while they played. We only did this when Dad was drunk and passed out. It was our way of escapism.
But when we'd get back, the fantasy would disappear, and then we'd remember that we've come back to reality and living in a house with an angry man was our reality.
That is what the jazz band is doing for me now. I feel so at ease, and it could probably lead to my writing something in my book.
Something catches my eye, a cute cat, a mau cat to be exact. And at first I thought, how cute that she's staring at me, but then I hear her speak to me. Like, actually speak to me.
Her eyes turn a bright emerald green, and it feels like we're both having a conversation with our minds. It's strange, how can a human be talking to a cat? But then I'm no longer human? And what I am right now is connected to cats.
The cat lets out a meow and then runs across the street. I stare at her, and then I get up from the chair and follow her. At first, I think this is absurd; she doesn't want me to follow her.
That's until I see her just standing at the side of the road, and she looks like she's waiting, and she wants me to hurry up. She meows again as if to say, "We don't have time." Then she moves forward, and then I follow her. I follow this cat wherever. Anywhere this cat tells me to go, I'll follow.
I find myself in the Saint Louise Cemetery. It's evening already, and I never thought I'd be back here in the evening. The last time I was here, I was here with Sebby, Elsa and Sofia, but we weren't here in the evening, we were here in the dead of night, and it was scary as fuck because I think we saw a demon just standing there and staring at us.
Which, come to think of it, was probably a demon because while the girls and I went on running, Sebby didn't look scared, he looked angry, like he was going to launch at the demon and kill him himself. The way he just stood there staring at the shadowy figure, you could tell that he wanted to do something to that thing.
I had to tug on his shirt for us to get the hell out of that place. So we ran.
Oh my God, that was a demon.
So why the hell did that cat lead me to this place if this cemetery is filled with demons?
I look around me for the cat, and she's nowhere to be found. It's almost like I never saw her in the first place, and I imagined it all.
God, I hope not.
Holy shit, why me?
The cat really has disappeared.
What the fuck?
I have to get out of here. I'm going straight home. I've had enough already.
So I turn around to leave, but my ear twitches, and I can hear someone whimpering. They're in pain. I turn back around with the instinct to help that person. Why the fuck do I have that instinct? The last time I had that, I froze when I saw a nocturne drinking that woman's blood.
That was the first time I saw a demon.
Maybe this time I won't freeze. There's a reason why that cat led me here.
"Oh shit." I groan, and I go looking for where the whimpering is coming from.
That's when I see in the corner, a woman lying on the floor and a demonic creature sucking the life force out of her.