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Chapter 5

The weather was nice, definitely much hotter than New York, and Rogue suddenly realized how much she had missed it. In a certain way, the mansion in Salem Center, Westchester County, New York would always be home for her, but for a southern gal there was no place like the South. She wanted to start all over again, and New Orleans seemed to be the right place to do it.

"Well, here we are, petite," said the driver in a thick Cajun accent as the cab stopped. He turned to face Rogue. "That will be twenty-five dollars."

His voice interrupted her thoughts and Rogue looked up. The car had stopped in front of an old, white mansion with a white balustrade porch at Prytania Street and Sixth, in the heart of New Orleans Garden District. She took a look at the place as she handed the man a couple of bills and waited for him to help her with her luggage. However, not seeing much of a choice in that matter, she did it herself. As soon as she closed the door, the car took off, leaving her in the middle of the street. Hesitantly, Rogue opened the main gate and walked towards the front door.

"Well, here I am," she said to herself in a whisper. "Welcome home, Marie."

The inside surprised her greatly; it had more room on the inside than from what it looked like on the outside. The first thing she saw was a wide staircase with wooden banisters that led up to the second floor. Through one of the windows, she saw the back yard and made a mental note to cut the grass and plant some new flowers. What Rogue loved the most was a little pond at the back of the garden. Suddenly, Rogue thought she could actually be happy here and felt glad to be the sole heir of Aunt Irene.

Aunt Irene. How do you think about an aunt you don't remember? No matter how hard Rogue tried to think about the woman, neither a memory nor an image came to her mind. Truth to be told, Rogue didn't have many memories of her childhood, and the few she possessed were now merged with stolen memories from all the people she had absorbed in the past. Her mind was quite crowded, and even after the Cure, she often found herself reliving events she didn't recognize. So, as for Aunt Irene, there was nothing she could say; there was no feeling she could harbor, except maybe gratitude.

She had rather vague memories of the woman, and to be accurate, they weren't memories of her, but of her father mentioning her. He considered Aunt Irene a crazy, old woman and used to insist that his mother had been an only child. Truth was, he wasn't very accepting of the fact that she was 'different', something that had nothing to do with the fact that she was blind, but with her strange manners and odd behavior. Deep down, Rogue's father knew Aunt Irene was a mutant, but little did he know about his own daughter's mutation. Ironically, the last time Rogue had heard about Aunt Irene had been little before her powers first manifested.

Sniffing softly and holding back the upcoming tears, Rogue walked through the tiled hallway and to the kitchen, frowning a little when she noticed that all the curtains had been pulled down and replaced with some kind of thick gray paper. Rogue blamed the insurance company and made another mental note to call them and demand they fix it. However, when she entered the immense kitchen she couldn't help but let out a gasp.

"What the hell!"

The kitchen was a complete mess. It looked like it had been ransacked. Dirty dishes and glasses filled the sink. A couple of broken cups laid in pieces on the floor. Breadcrumbs were spilled everywhere, and there were some half-eaten fruits here and there. Pots and pans, which clearly used to hang over the counter, were on the stove and several empty bottles of bourbon were all over the place.

As she walked around the kitchen, she peeked into the trashcan and saw even more bourbon bottles and leftovers. The dinning area was covered with a bunch of papers and some type of large knife. No matter how weird or crazy Aunt Irene could've been, this wasn't her doing, especially since she had been dead for a month! Rogue cursed the insurance company and the damn contractors, or whoever was responsible of this.

"Guess respecting the place 'til I came here was too much to ask…"

Rogue went back to the living room and checked on the furniture. After what she'd just seen in the kitchen, she was more than determined to see if there was any more damage to her legally inherited property. Fortunately, the only 'damage' was in the kitchen, so she went upstairs.

After picking the room that was clearly the master suite, she set her luggage down. The queen-sized bed had a precious, antique brass base and the room had an interior white tiled bathroom. She could definitely get used to it. Then her eyes landed on a dresser at the far end of the room. She had seen it before. Somehow, she remembered it.

Carefully, she opened one of the drawers and the smell coming out from it brought back a bunch of blurred and long buried images of her childhood. She must have been around six years old and a nice, yet pretty odd woman was standing next to her, showing her some old photos. Rogue blinked, unable to retain the memories as they blurred, leaving emotions she couldn't name.

Suddenly she didn't feel like unpacking anymore. In fact, what she wanted the most was to get some air and clear her head. The sun was beginning to set. Soon the night would come, and with it, the soft glow of the moon and the distinctive sounds of the southern night. Unpacking could wait until tomorrow. Rogue decided to go out instead.

Bourbon Street was the heart of the French Quarter nightlife. It was crowded, full of bars, restaurants and jazz clubs. It exuded life. Walking down the street, looking for a nice place to eat, Rogue realized she'd forgotten how much she really missed these kinds of places; nothing like these up north. The smell of authentic southern food wafted from the restaurants and jazz music oozed through the club walls and into the night. This wonderful city was going to be her home for a while now, so what a better way to live it than being a part of it.

Finally, Rogue entered a nice little restaurant. It was rather simple, in comparison to the others she had seen, but it was the least crowded and, apparently, hardly known to tourists. Not that she was afraid of crowds, not now with her powers gone. It was just that after years and years of fears and seclusion, some habits were a big part of her, even to the point of defining who she was.

Shortly after taking a seat, a blonde girl in her late teens and dressed in black shorts and a white t-shirt with the restaurant's green logo, came to take her order. She smiled at Rogue and her ponytail swayed from side to side.

"Can I take your order?" she asked with a smile, pulling out a little notepad and a pen.

Rogue ordered a bowl of jambalaya and some iced-tea and the smiling waitress disappeared behind the bar. She emerged a few moments later with a jar of iced tea and a clean crystal glass full of ice and then returning shortly after with her order. The jambalaya was delicious and perfectly seasoned; it was smoky and just spicy enough to savor every mouthful. After she finished eating, Rogue sat at the place for a while, just staring around, drinking her iced tea and relishing every minute.

The place was almost empty. In fact, besides her there were only a middle-aged couple to her left and two men at the back of the place. Rogue stared at them.

They were involved in a deep conversation, paying no mind to the world around them. One of them, the shorter one, had dark blonde hair, a cigarette between his lips and was dressed all in black, except for his denim jacket. His friend, on the other hand, was clearly taller and had more brownish disheveled, hair that fell just above his shoulders. He wore a brown trench coat. She couldn't see his face since he had his back to her, but the blonde one raised his eyes and noticed she was looking right at them. Obviously embarrassed, Rogue lowered her eyes when she saw the way he was staring back at her and redirected her attention to the empty glass in her hands. Luckily for her, the blonde waitress came with the bill at that exact moment.

"Anything else?" the waitress asked as she placed the bill on the table before gathering up the empty bowl.

"Uh, no," Rogue replied, as she handed her the glass. "Thanks."

She paid and walked towards the entrance, turning around one last time before leaving only to notice the blonde man still looking back and grinning cockily at her.

Back at the table, the younger man noticed the grin on his cousin's face and let out a frustrating sigh.

"Theo?" Remy asked in annoyance. "Merde, homme, are you even listening?"

"Quoi?" Theo replied absently. "Désolé, mon cousin, I've just seen the most pretty fille."

"You say that all the time."

"Maybe," Theo said finally and quit looking at the door through which Rogue had left. He smiled back at Remy. "But this time I meant it."

"Yeah, you say that all the time too," Remy said, trying hard not to lose his temper.

"Oui, mais—"

"Enough!" Remy cut him off. "We're talking about some serious issues here, homme. Pretty serious, to be more accurate."

"Désolé, Rem—Patriarch," Theo replied, embarrassed. How could he forget that Remy was no longer just his little cousin, but the Master of the Thieves Guild, and as such, he had to respect him.

"It's not an official meeting." Remy smiled. "You don't have to call me that, Theo. Besides, you know I don't like it."

"Désolé—"

"And quit saying you're sorry! I'm not your confessor." That made Theo let out a faint laugh. "Look, we need to figure out a way to help Et. Just don't mention this to anyone else," Remy said before adding, "At least not yet... Got it?"

"Oui." Theo nodded like a scolded child. "Does anyone else know?"

"Just Henri."

Both men remained in silence for a couple of minutes. The problem with Etienne's failed Tilling was a big one, especially because it didn't just affect him, but also Remy as his Registrar and Guild Master. It affected the whole family, since important decisions had to be taken. However, Remy felt Theo deserved to know before the rest of the Guild. After all, he was Etienne's older brother.

The tension in the table was so palpable that it could be cut with a knife. So after downing his drink in a gulp, Remy decided to change the subject in order to ease the moment as much as possible, and what a better subject for Remy LeBeau than women?

"So," Remy said to his cousin. "How beautiful she was?"

"Very." Theo smiled widely.

"That much, hein?" Remy chuckled at his cousin's face. Could the girl really be that beautiful?

"You must have seen her, Remy: the face of an angel and a body made for sin...but you know what?" Theo said, having second thoughts. "I'm glad you didn't see her, otherwise I'd never have a chance with her."

Remy laughed loud at Theo's words. "And what makes you believe you would? I may have not seen her today, but..." Remy then turned around and motioned to the blonde waitress to come over. "Hey chère, come here." She did as told and in an instant was standing next to their table. "The girl that has just left..."

"What about her, Remy?" the young blonde asked with a flirty smile.

"Did she say anything?" Theo asked. "Is she from around here? Tourist maybe?"

"New in town, just arrived from New York, lives a few blocks from here," the girl answered, counting each word down with a finger into the palm of her hand.

"Oh." Remy smiled. "A pretty northern girl."

The girl shook her head. "Uh-uh," she denied. "In fact, she's from Mississippi. She might have lived up north but she still has her Mississippian accent."

Remy's smile became wider then. "Nothing like a belle southerner, hein?" he said before turning towards Theo and adding. "You may be right, Theo. I'm looking forward to meet our new resident."

It was strange to wake up in a new bed and in a new place, especially after years of routine. Rogue even needed a minute to remember where she was and why she was there. It was kind of odd being the owner of an entire old house. At least that was how Rogue thought about it as she yawned and stretched.

She wasn't sure how long she had been asleep, but judging by the sunlight hitting her in the face, she was sure that it was past noon. Not that she didn't remember going to bed, it was just that she hadn't slept very well. In fact, she was sure she had heard some noises in the early hours of the morning, but she blamed it on the wind and the nervousness of her first night in New Orleans.

Rogue stretched in bed and rubbed her eyes as she sat up. It was another morning, another day in her new life, and another chance for anything to happen. Which reminded her about a little something left behind. She took her phone and dialed.

"Hey, this is Logan. You know what to do."

"Hi, Logan. It's me. Just to tell you where to pick up your bike: Newark International Airport. Sorry about that. Love you."

Rogue got out of bed, put on a pair of white slippers and a grey loose cardigan and went downstairs. The morning sun was streaming through the window, lighting up the entire place. As she left the room, she saw her luggage still packed. It was going to be a long day.