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R
B
N
U KEN
A Ruined NOVEL
Pau l a M o r r i s
Point
PROLOGUE
With every nervous pat, he gives himself away: They can tell
that hes carrying something precious, something unfamiliar
in his pocket. Perhaps its money; perhaps its something valuable he can sell or trade. Perhaps its something hes stolen
himself.
He crosses the broad, muddy expanse of Rampart Street,
dodging carts and carriages, soldiers on horseback, washerwomen balancing bundles of laundry on their heads. A
dark-haired, burly man follows him, taking care to keep up.
On the far side of Rampart, they both disappear into Trem,
the old neighborhood built decades earlier for New Orleanss
free people of color. Theyll both end up in a small house on St.
Philip Street, fighting over the tiny piece of hidden treasure in
the boys pocket.
Neither will make it out alive.
CHAPTER ONE
century. She wished the wind werent so icy and willed Ling to
hurry up.
Rebecca wasnt sure how long the boy with blue eyes had been
standing therejust a few feet away, leaning against a cast-iron
lamppost. But once she realized he was staring, Rebecca felt
incredibly self-conscious. His eyes seemed to bore into her in
the most brazen way.
She tried staring back at him, to shame him into looking
away, but that didnt work. When she caught his eye, the boy just
smiled. He was good-looking, she thought, in a gaunt, emo-ish
way, and his eyes were as intensely blue as the East River on a
sunny day. But Rebecca had no intention of getting into a conversation with some random stranger.
Hed probably come there trying to scam tourists, or maybe
he was planning on asking her for money. He didnt look any
older than seventeen or eighteen. In his scruffy dark jacket and
trousers, he looked much more ragged and unwashed than the
stockbroker types marching by en route to their waterfront
lofts, ties flapping in the wind. There was something desperate
about him, something pathetic, even as he continued to smile
at her.
She was relieved to spot Ling clattering toward her across
the cobblestones.
When she glanced back to look at the boy again, hed
disappeared.
Did you see that guy who was standing over there? she
asked Ling. He was staring his eyes out at me.
Was he cute? Ling wanted to know. If hes cute, you can
take it as a compliment.
And if he isnt cute? Rebecca linked her arm through
Lings, shivering as the wind from the river cut through her
thin jacket.
Then hes a freak or a pervert, of course! Ling laughed.
Ling was short and athletic, her glossy black hair cut into a
sharp bob, and her explosive laugh was infectious. Rebecca had
been friends with her since elementary school, when Ling was
the smallest girl in their second-grade class and Rebecca was tall
and awkward, all sticking-out knees and elbows. These days
they werent so freakishly different in height, but Rebeccas
long brown hair was as wayward and wavy as Lings was smooth
and straight.
Ling wanted to be an architect, and Rebecca wasnt sure at all
about what she was going to do with her lifethough clearly,
becoming a concert pianist was not an option. Shed been
thinking about studying art history in college, even though she
was only taking the subject for the first time in school this year.
Rebecca had always loved going to the Impressionist rooms at
the Met, and listening to her fathers stories about the lives
of the artists: wild Van Gogh in the sunflower-filled fields of
Provence; Gauguin in barefoot exile in the South Pacific;
city any time soon. And she was a hundred percent positive she
didnt want to deal with anything involving ghosts and curses
ever again.
Rebeccas dad was waiting for them in the tiny restaurant, at
the end of a row of brick houses in the shadow of the Brooklyn
Bridge. Hed been in the area anyway for work, so Ling had
suggested Rebecca invite him along. Rebecca appreciated how
well her dad got along with her friendshe never seemed
stuffy or unapproachable like some other parents she knew.
The three of them sat by the window, at a scrubbed wooden
table, and they each ordered chowder as an appetizer. But later,
whenever Rebecca thought about this particular evening, she
could barely remember what else they ate. One minute she was
unfolding her napkin, and the next she was looking straight
into the piercing blue eyes of that strange boy.
Through the steamed-up window she could see his pale face,
out there in the cold street, gazing in at her. Rebecca let out an
involuntary squeak and almost knocked her water glass to the
floor.
Are you OK, honey? her father asked. All Rebecca could
do was shake her head and stare at the window. One moment
the boy was there, his angular face bright as the moon, and
then he was gone.
What is it? Ling peered at the steamy window, following
Rebeccas gaze.
I dont really have so many friends there, Rebecca mumbled. Ling looked at her as though she was crazy.
Hello? What about Anton? Tall, cute, rich, texts you all the
time? The one who helped you with that house-rebuilding
project inwhere was it again?
Trem, Rebeccas father told Ling. Rebecca was glad he was
doing the talking, because just the mention of Antons name
suddenly rendered her tongue-tied.
Why the Quarter? Rebecca asked. Her father was looking
at her so expectantly, she had to say something, even though her
head was reelingNew Orleans, Anton, the boy outside the
window...
Your Aunt Claudia knows a place we can rent there. Trem
is just a short walk away, Ling, if you want to see the house
Rebecca and Anton helped fix up. Maybe there are some other
projects you girls could help with. Theres still plenty of
rebuilding work to do.
It would be my absolute dream spring break, Ling enthused.
I think it would be good for us as well. Her father shot
Rebecca one of his trademark Meaningful Looks. Starting
over again with the city, in a way. A fresh start. Able to come
and go without...w ithout fear of anything.
I guess, said Rebecca, and she tried to smile when he
squeezed her arm. However hard she tried to forget, her father
was also a member of the Bowman family, born and raised in
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He knew her name, at any rate, and he was saying that hed seen
Rebecca with Lisette. So did this mean he was a ghost, too? No,
that was ridiculous. It was impossible.
I saw you with her on St. Philip Street, in Faubourg Trem,
the boy went on, his eyes huge in his face. It was November.
Not the November just passed. The year before.
Uh-uh. Rebecca shook her head, averting her own eyes to
avoid the boys intense gaze. She could barely speak. How could
he possibly know all this?
Every November, on the anniversary of her mothers death,
Lisette had made the long pilgrimage on foot from Lafayette
Cemetery in the Garden District to the streets shed known as
a child in Trem.
You were with her that day, the boy was telling her, and
Rebeccas feet felt frozen to the spot. Every word he said clanged
in her ears, loud as cathedral bells. I saw you with her, holding
her hand.
Rebecca bit her lip, still saying nothing. Shed had to hang on
tight to Lisettes hand that day, because that was the only way she
could see the other ghosts of New Orleans. If shed dropped
Lisettes hand, the ghost world around her, thronged with the
dead of many centuries, would have disappeared from sight.
I saw you with her, the boy said again, a desperate edge to
his voice. Rebeccas heart thudded. Nobody could have seen her
that day on St. Philip Street, because when Rebecca held
Lisettes hand, she disappeared from view. She was invisible,
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One speedy cab ride later, Rebecca was back in her bedroom.
She was trying to calm down from her encounter with the blueeyed ghost when her phone began buzzing like an enraged wasp.
Hey, said a familiar voice. Anton. Her heart skipped, just as
it always did when they talked on the phone. Is it too late to call?
Sureno. I mean, its OK. Rebecca pushed her door shut.
Should she tell him about the ghost boy downtown? She hadnt
said a word about it to Ling or her father, but she was aching to
share the story with someone.
So, said Anton. I got your text.
Right. After the confrontation with the ghost, Rebecca had
forgotten all about texting Anton. Now, something in the tone of
his voice worried Rebecca. He didnt sound very enthusiastic.
The thing is... he said, trailing off.
What? Rebecca braced herself. He was going to give some
excuse for not seeing her, she just knew it. Too much time had
passed since they last saw each other.
Too much time since they last kissed.
Rebecca felt herself blushing. He probably had a girlfriend
in New Orleans now. This was probably going to be one of those
awkward we have to talk conversations.
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CHAPTER T WO
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The cab zoomed off the highway, swinging down the ramp
marked Vieux Carre. Old Quarter: Thats what it meant, though
it was better known as the French Quarter. And thats where
theyd be staying this week. Hopefully the house Rebeccas dad
had rented wouldnt be as weird as Aunt Claudias small yellow
house on Sixth Street, cluttered with dusty tribal masks and
voodoo charms, and practically leaning into the house next
door. Aunt Claudia hadnt picked them up from the airport
because Saturday was her busiest day of the week: She told fortunes in Jackson Square. But she was going to meet them at the
rented house and give them the keys.
This is, like, the most AMAZING place, Ling said, her
voice squeaky with excitement. Shed lowered her window to
take pictures, and the breeze that blew into the car was warm.
They were driving across Rampart Street, one of the boundaries of the French Quarter, and passing a cluster of tall old
buildings with the broad cast-iron porches known here as galleries. Some of the galleries were a vibrant jungle of drooping
ferns, but the house on the corner looked almost derelict, its
windows boarded up and its brick faade gray with dirt. It
looked as though it had been empty and unloved for a long,
long time.
Rebecca wondered why it wasnt renovated and occupied like
the others next to it, or like the similar old town houses in the
Quarter itself. Maybe it was because Rampart Street wasnt such
a desirable place to live. Aunt Claudia had always warned her to
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Rebecca, honey! she called, her voice cracking with emotion. Her kohl-lined eyesg reen and intense as the seawere
moist with tears. She pulled Rebecca into a hug, and Rebecca
felt her own eyes filling. The minute she saw her auntnot
a real aunt, but whateverRebecca remembered how kind a
person she was, how welcoming and generous. She also wore
the craziest clothes, but this was a Saturday after all, and she
had to wear her work gear.
I packed up early so I could let you all in, Aunt Claudia
murmured. Im so glad youre here. Aurelias on a school trip
today, otherwise shed be here as well.
This is my friend, Ling, Rebecca said, guiltily relieved
that her aunt wasnt wearing her most extreme gypsy costume,
and didnt smell too strongly of incense.
Ling dumped her duffel on the sidewalk so she could
shake Aunt Claudias hand. With her headscarf and hoop earrings, Aunt Claudia must have seemed a little weird. The frizzy
gray hair, the clanking bangles, the purple boots: This was a
relatively normal look for Aunt Claudia, thought Rebecca, but
Ling wouldnt know that. Lings mother worked in an office
and wore a dark suit and pumps to work every day. She carried
a briefcase, not a tatty crocheted bag with a gris-gris pouch
and a molting rabbits foot swinging from the strap.
Youre home, Aunt Claudia said to Rebecca. Weve missed
you so much!
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