"Up early that morning, Spy Boy ready

I got my machete, Ooh na nae

What they say? We on our way

Downtown Indian, Uptown Indian

West Bank Indian, Back o'town Indian

Lord I'm pretty, my Big Chief Pretty

My whole gang pretty, we the best in the city"

Shotgun Slim – "Injunz Comin'"

The soft patter of rain woke Celeste up.

She hadn't been asleep for long. The darkness outside hadn't lightened up enough to herald the coming of dawn and she guessed it was only a little after two a.m., maybe close to three. Terry slept beside her quietly, his right arm thrown over her waist. She untangled herself and tiptoed into the kitchen to drink water. Dehydration caught up to her after the third vigorous sexual union of the day with Terry. The aches and pains of lovemaking wore out her back, neck, and inner thighs with a dull soreness. She did much better this time around, better than their first time together the night before.

The man had kinks. Spanking. Biting. Rope binding using the red satin Shibari rope she'd bought for her fetish content. She rubbed her wrists from the indentation marks the rope made. They spent all day Monday making love, smoking weed, talking, munching cookies, and napping in between. She had eaten no food for over twenty hours, and now she was hungry and thirsty.

She feasted on the leftover food Terry didn't eat from Durand's and then stretched her legs to get them used to walking again since they lived in her bed for nearly two days. Nicotine cravings called to her, and she straggled into the living room to find a pack of smokes. She lit up and inhaled, blowing a smoke ring out toward her French doors.

The fuck?

She froze, staring at her curtains.

The shadow of someone standing in her backyard shocked her, even more so when it looked like the profile of Terry…naked. She gasped, and the figure turned to face her…started floating toward the double doors. The lingering effects of the weed in her system had her doubting reality.

"Why are you up?"

"Jesus!"

Celeste jumped out of her skin when she heard Terry's voice. He slid his hand around her waist.

"Don't scare me like that!"

"I wasn't tryna scare you, just wondered where you went. I woke up, and you were gone," he said.

"Do you see…"

The shadowy figure disappeared.

"What?" Terry asked.

"There was someone standing out there."

Terry moved her behind him and strode toward the double doors naked. He pulled one curtain aside.

"I don't see anyone, Celeste."

He unlocked one door and stepped out. Her motion sensor light came on bright, illuminating the yard. She walked behind him and avoided stepping outside. A light drizzle of rain fell on him.

"We're naked…get back in here!" she said, pulling on his arm.

"Give me a minute," he said.

Terry inspected the area thoroughly and walked back inside, locking the door behind him. His damp body trickled in water on the hardwood floor.

"It was probably a cat or a possum," he said.

"Shaped like a man?"

"There's nothing and no one out there."

She peeked out of the glass. Perhaps it had been an elongated shadow from a tree. The floodlights would've come on if someone was there and they didn't for the first time. Not until Terry went out and activated the motion sensors.

She let it go and snuffed out the cigarette.

"Come back to bed," he said.

A devilish twinkle in his eye signaled he was feeling horny again.

"No more sex. We need to rest and save our energy for tomorrow."

Terry pouted, pushing out his lips that she loved to ride on and kiss. She hugged him around the neck, enjoying his warm, wet body touching her.

"You can pout all you want mister, but we're done for the night."

He spanked her right butt cheek and lifted her off of her feet, carrying her back to the bedroom. She rested her head on his chest once they settled in for the night.

How long would this last?

After Tuesday, he'd probably head back to see Miss Irma before going back to where he came from, which was about a five-hour drive away. A long distance relationship wasn't something she envisioned for herself.

She watched him sleep.

He reminded her of a handsome prince in a deep slumber waiting to be kissed and awakened from a spell like some fairy tale. She loved the wideness of his nose and how it matched the proportion of his soft lips. She loved how his ears stuck out, giving him a jovial, big kid look when he smiled.

His body took up most of her double bed and she thought about ordering a king-sized bed to accommodate him better. Would a king-size mattress even fit in her bedroom? That thought jolted her. Was she seriously contemplating new furniture for a man she just met?

"My God tuh-day," she mumbled.

The absurdity ruffled her feathers. In the sobering reality, after all the mind-blowing sex, Celeste wanted to put a lid on any thoughts of a future. Every time she felt a way about a man and started making plans and setting boundaries, nothing came to fruition, and she always ended up with heartbreak or bitterness. She resolved to keep it cool with Terry. This was fuck buddy fun. Plain and simple.

But look at that face!

The thick eyebrows and heavy lashes softened the sculptured forehead and chin. His goatee gave him a dashing look of a rogue, and it matched his energy in bed. She ain't never had a man talk her through so many orgasms. When she rode him like the pony express, bouncing so hard that her cheeks clapped against his thighs with the power of cymbals crashing, she was already planning long luxurious vacations with him to exotic resorts on the other side of the world. All because his voice sounded like it came from the top of a mountain heralding the coming of the Lord.

His dick was a magic stick that had her talking in tongues in the key off brreb-bababy-ah-ashantay by the time they finished their last entanglement. Was it crack? Did this negro have crack in his penis? Cuz babygirl was definitely hooked. Even with a condom on, that dick still had her spellbound, satisfied, and doing full splits on it like she was Simone Biles.

Sleep finally overtook her disjointed thoughts, and she slumbered through eight restful hours. She woke up on a sunny Fat Tuesday morning grinning, smelling the odor of cooking that she wasn't doing coming from her kitchen. Wearing the afterglow of heavenly lovemaking, she threw on a robe and sauntered into where Terry stood at her stove sprinkling grated cheddar cheese inside an omelet. He'd already taken a shower before she got up. With only a dark blue towel draped around his waist, he looked like a tawny Greek Adonis.

"Morning. Did you sleep well, beautiful?"

Butterfly wings fluttered in her belly every time he called her beautiful. He always showered her with pet names and compliments. If he was bread crumbing her for more sex, she was falling for it. She was a sucker for love bombing and all the fortitude she built up before she fell asleep yesterday went out the window. She hugged him from behind.

"I slept like a lazy cat."

"Listen, I have to run back to my B&B to get fresh fits. What time do we have to roll to see your grandfather?"

"Big Chief will be outside before nine."

"I'll go get dressed and we can ride over in my truck."

"Okay."

"Sit, I'll fix you a plate and then I'll bounce."

Celeste propped herself in her kitchen chair and ogled Terry's backside wrapped in the towel. So taut. Round the way she liked it. The muscles in his back flexed and her gaze followed down his spine to where the towel hung on his tapered waist. The gods of body blessings built him to perfection. She rested her cheek on her hand and studied everything on that man. He folded the omelet over and slid it onto a plate of fried alligator sausages.

"There you go," he said, serving her the plate.

She puckered her lips, and he kissed her.

"Thank you, sir…wait, you're not joining me?"

He placed a mug of fresh coffee on the table next to her fork.

"I ate while you were still snoozing, so I could get outta here on time. Be back before you know it. Enjoy breakfast."

He left her in the kitchen and she didn't like watching his wide back move away from her. Digging into the omelet, she was delighted to find he cooked onions and diced tomatoes in it, too. The hot and spicy sausage woke her up completely, and she took a moment to sip the coffee and glance out of the kitchen window, grateful no rain would hamper the day.

She enjoyed a long shower and rubbed her body down with jasmine and honey blossom lotion. Slipping on comfortable underwear, she worked on her make-up and face-painting first, choosing an avant-garde style that mimicked Mardi Gras colors with a West African geometric flair, turning half her face into living art. The other half she glued a partial green carnival mask that had three slender purple feathers sticking out from it like a hand fan. She pulled her carnival outfit from the closet in her sewing room and checked for any last-minute re-stitching she needed to do. Celeste had painstakingly decorated the purple and yellow keyhole halter top with sewn-in cowrie shells she hand-painted a shiny, metallic gold. A pair of sequined gold shorts she bought online rounded off the ensemble and had her booty sitting up. She'd added Mardi Gras beads on the sides of the shorts to make her shimmies and shuffles on the streets extra dramatic. Reaching behind her neck, she untied her black satin hair wrap and released her locs. The last task was to pick footwear to run the streets in. She had a nice pair of neon yellow sprinting shoes she used for track in highschool, but there was also a cool pair of green Chucks. Choosing the sprinting shoes that were less bulky, she laced up and threw a crossbody sling bag across her shoulders, stuffing her cell phone, keys and cigarettes inside. Digging in her nightstand, she tossed a couple of joints in the bag, too. It was Fat Tuesday, after all. She could repent on Ash Wednesday at St. Augustine Church.

Street food would be in abundance, and every corner would have someone selling quarter waters. She waited in her living room for Terry and checked on text messages from friends wanting to gossip about the pretty man she unabashedly kept locked in her bed. All of her girlfriends were happy that she was safe. Nae Nae sent eggplant emojis, and Joyce sent water splashes and yellow smiley faces with tongues out looking like they were sweating.

A knock at the door sprung her into action. She grabbed her tambourine, swung the door open and twirled.

"How do I look?"

The man at the door wasn't Terry.

"You look like you're ready to show out. How ya doin', Duchess?"

Freddie grinned like a cat with the canary caught between his gums. His silky mahogany skin gleamed in the sunlight and so did his tangerine carnival suit with the Money Wasters Social & Pleasure Club sash slung across his chest. From the tangerine gators on his feet to the matching fedora on his head, Celeste's ex looked elegant and much better-looking since the last time she ran into him. Of course, she was cursing him out of his name at the time after receiving a break-up text in the middle of Sunday Mass.

"Why are you here? Who gave you my address?"

"Calm down now, gal. Your Mama said you were still doing poorly, and I just wanted to check on you. Us not being together doesn't mean I don't still care about you. I figure carnival morning is a good day to see ya."

"You seen me, now bye."

"Don't be like that, Celeste. Let the past be the past...today is Mardi Gras, a little buck jumping and celebrating is good for everybody's soul."

Celeste's stomach churned at the sight of him. She didn't need any turmoil today. Music blasted from various corners of her street, kicking off the bright festive mood she wanted to indulge in. Freddie leaned toward her.

"Listen, Duchess, men make mistakes. They do! Don't roll your eyes at me. They fuck up and grow from it. Six months ago, we weren't in a good place, and instead of acting like a grown man, I acted like a boy and hurt you. I wasn't ready to commit to anything or take on the responsibility of marriage."

"But you were willing to play house with me, enjoying all the benefits of a marriage without the strings? Is that how that works? See, that was partially my fault for letting it go on so long because I actually thought there was a chance you would step up and show me we were a team."

"C'mon now, you were pressuring me all the time."

"Asking where you saw us in the next five years was pressure?"

"Duchess—"

"No. We aren't doing this. If this is your way of spinning the block, you can keep on driving partna. I gave you so many chances to prove your worth, but you chose to move on without me in the bed of another woman. Go fuck that bitch…better yet, fuck all the bitches you want, because I'm done with your lame excuses. You were mad that I asked you to put up or shut up, so now deal with the consequences of your actions."

She wagged a finger in his face.

"You had a good one, Freddie, and you blew it."

"Baby, I hurt you bad…I know. I want to make amends. That's why I came here today. However long it takes to wait out the hate you have for me right now, I will do it."

A deep rumble shook the streets as a late-model gray Chevy Silverado truck pulled up behind her car. The heavy bass made her windows rattle, and she grinned so hard that Freddie jerked his head around to see what caused all the showing of teeth.

Terry stepped out of the truck sporting a Mardi Gras-themed graphic T-shirt and custom oyster-gray joggers. She noticed his walking shoes were Kuru athletic slip-ons that looked comfortable as hell.

She exhaled so loud looking at Terry that Freddie sucked his teeth.

"You good, baby?" Terry asked, his gaze locked on Freddie as he spoke.

"Ready to go. Give me a second to lock up," she said, pulling out her keys.

Terry leaned against the passenger door of his truck and waited for her. Freddie followed her down the four steps of her stoop.

"Hey…how you doing, man?" Freddie said.

Freddie held out his hand and Terry shook it, his face neutral, but not mean-mugging. However, his eyes were icy daggers. Celeste took pleasure in the height difference of the two men. Freddie had to look up at Terry's face like she did.

"Nice suit," Terry said, looking over Freddie's sartorial finery.

"Well ya know, gotta show out tuhday," Freddie said.

"I hear you. Best day of the year," Terry said.

"Better than Christmas!"

Freddie laughed, and it irked her nerves.

Terry stared at Freddie and the cool silence he gave unnerved her ex. Celeste found it delicious and didn't jump in to make introductions or anything, just let Freddie stand there with an awkward grin stewing on his face.

"Well, guess I betta head out. Y'all have fun now," Freddie said.

"Lose my address," Celeste called to him.

Freddie walked around his white Audi and grumbled something under his breath. He drove off and Celeste groaned her annoyance.

"I swear, when I see my mama, she's going to get a piece of my mind."

"She told him to come here?"

"She gave him my address. I've been living here six months in peace, and now he knows where I live."

"Is that a problem?"

Terry's voice hinted at concern. She threaded her fingers with his.

"He's not a stalker. I think he planned to use this day for a chance at reconciliation, and it backfired with you here."

"Tail between the legs, huh?"

"Yep."

She glanced at his truck.

"Are you open to walking over to my grandparent's house? It's about a thirty-minute stroll. It'll warm up our legs for partying," she said.

"Lead the way."

Celeste tapped her tambourine and pranced in front of him like the Pied Piper, shaking her ass to the music bubbling up from the streets. Tons of people were already walking about, celebrating and greeting strangers and friends with smiles and excited shouts. Being with Terry enabled Celeste to see the carnival life through his eyes. It awakened a new appreciation for her culture and her people. There was always a second line every week because of funerals, social club events, or convention parties and she tended to overlook how unique it was as a local. But with Terry...it became brand new and magical.

They arrived in front of her grandparents' old white double shotgun house amongst a growing audience of paraders. The right side was where her grandparents stayed, and the left side belonged to her aunt and uncle. The narrow street teemed with family and spectators waiting for the Big Chief to come outside. Celeste introduced Terry to her cousins, and gave a proper introduction to all of her girlfriends who patiently waited to see what type of suit Big Chief had sewn all year.

Joyce and Avis welcomed Terry into their fold, unlike Nae Nae and Mercy, who remained reserved a lot longer knowing Celeste stayed in a tender place emotionally after Freddie left her. Hoots and shrieks from the left side of the street roused the throng of bodies packed around them. The ninth ward Headhunter Tribe resplendent in gold and navy blue feathers, stomped and called out for Big Chief to show himself. Other spirited shouts on the right brought forth the Uptown Indians, those from the West Bank and Back o' Town. Celeste counted five tribes in their colorful regalia waiting for her grandfather to show himself on a fine Mardi Gras morning. Terry's eyes looked thrilled to be in the middle of all the pageantry and people. She linked her arm in his, happy to have him by her side.

The front door opened on the right side.

"Here come my Big Chief!" Celeste shouted.

She ululated, and other Treme women joined her in the galvanizing sound. It ricocheted among the squawks and whoops of Black men dressed in enormous headpieces and extravagant works of folk art. With her girlfriends, who waved handkerchiefs, Celeste led the singing of a stirring rendition of "Indian Red" as her Big Chief slowly walked outside in the majestic colors of magenta and royal purple. Celeste let out a long breath of anxious air. Big Chief didn't wear all white. He was going to stay in the game for one more year.

She couldn't hold back the tears and thanked God she spent money on water-proof face paint and kept a handkerchief ready. She dabbed at her eyes, even through the partial mask on her face. Her Uncle Claude, the Second Chief, and Man-Man their Flag Boy helped Big Chief place his crown on his head. A sea of smartphones went up, everyone wanting a picture of one of the oldest Indians alive still masking. Celeste had her phone out too, snapping away from every angle. The low raspy pitch of a tuba sounded off, and soon a full on brass band Treme anthem kicked off the march around the neighborhood.

Celeste squeezed through bodies with her hand clasped around Terry's wrist. She kissed Big Chief's cheek and took a selfie with him. Big Chief squinted at Terry with curious brown eyes.

"Who your people is, young man?" Big Chief asked in his scratchy tone.

"They not from around here, sir. I'm from up north, not too far from Shelby Springs," Terry said.

"A big country boy, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

Big Chief tilted his head, but Terry stepped back to make room for Grand-mère and other tribal members wanting more pictures before her grandfather took off down the street. Bursting with pride, Celeste danced and rattled the jingles on her tambourine.

The streets crackled with high-spirited life and they merged onto other streets, taking careful consideration of Big Chief's energy level throughout the day. They arrived at the I-10 underpass and joined up with a mass of people marching and dancing.

"I like this type of carrying on better than the big parade on canal street," Terry said.

He maintained a bounce in his step, impressing Celeste with his skillful dancing despite his size. Terry shook his hips and tried to move his feet like her. He kept a smile on her face all day and eventually Nae Nae and Mercy warmed up to him after seeing how happy she acted with him.

She pointed out the parasols, baskets, and ostentatious fans she made, snapping photos with her phone and stopping to buy water along the back street route. So many white people mingled among them. Even they knew where the genuine party was at.

"She cutting up now!" a reveler called out.

Mercy started staggering her steps and shuffling to the music as second-line horns blared and coaxed everyone to shake their moneymaker. Celeste jumped right next to her, strutting in the middle of the street. Mercy held her parasol high above her head as she hyped Celeste up.

"Get it Duchess! Work it!"

Avis and Joyce kept yelling, "Aye! Aye! Aye!" every time she dropped low to the ground. Her cousin Micah recorded her on his phone, hot stepping with the rest.

The onlookers snapped photos and taped Celeste cutting loose like it was the last day of her life on earth. It helped that her shorts let her backside bounce in time to the music and she jumped around shaking her tambourine, moving her feet like they were on fire. Mercy worked the street with her, showing off uptown footwork, but Celeste showed the crowd how the downtown really got down. She bounced and kept her knees bucking up high, spinning and dipping, matching Mercy's high energy and showmanship, keeping her steps syncopated with the tuba, drum, and other horns. Onlookers moved closer to videotape them. Avis took Celeste's tambourine to help keep a hot percussive beat going with her steps.

From the corner of her eye, she caught the Moneywasters Social and Pleasure Club prancing in step, rounding the corner. Freddie was front and center, and he noticed her right away and she really started turning up.

Celeste put her hands on the ground and alternated lifting each foot up with the beat of a cowbell and the whistles being blown. She jumped back up knowing Freddie locked in on her and started wiggling her backside and moving backward by the power of her ass, gyrating until she broke it down further by doing her well-known sexy model catwalk. She strutted and bounced at the same time moving to the left of the street, and then back to the right. She hopped and twisted her hips around until she surrendered to the moment, her body simply a conduit for whatever African spirit wanted to experience a little bons temps rouler. Her friends were right there with her, dancing and moving their feet fast.

"Yeah, you right!" Nae Nae yelled at her.

"You wild, Duchess!" Joyce shouted.

Celeste dipped around Freddie, and her ex shook a feathered fan at her, dancing his way closer. She dropped her hands on her knees, tooted her backside, and let her hips wind, enticing plenty of people to catcall and whistle at her. The soft crush of Terry's crotch rubbed up against her ass, pleasing the cheering crowd. He blatantly cock blocked Freddie from grinding on her. Celeste marveled at how sensually Terry moved on her. That big dick print of his felt nice between her cheeks. He laced his fingers with hers, and they kept their arms up in the air together, dancing to the raucous beat in total sync, moving along with the sea of exuberant faces flowing toward another street intersection.

At a crossroads, two other tribes faced off on a street corner, singing chants and challenges about who sewed the prettiest suits. Big Chief's singing voice carried over the hundreds of heads near Celeste. It soared across the hundreds more behind them. The Wild Treme's Spyboy stopped and hollered a boastful rhyme about the prettiest chief around. She kept a smug look on her face as no other tribal suit could rival the skills of her grandfather. Her cousin Angie preened in her gorgeous tribal suit, representing the queen of their tribe with grace standing next to Big Chief.

By late afternoon, Avis passed around a flask filled with spiced dark rum and they shared oyster po'boy sandwiches from a middle-aged Korean man who set up shop on the corner of Treme and Governor Nicholls street. She finally witnessed Terry eating something when he took a few bites from her sandwich. All around them, people walked, danced, and shuffled along, following whatever tribes they could catch sight of.

"That's my church," she said to him.

Across the street was St. Augustine church. Since Hurricane Ida, the main sanctuary had closed for roof repairs. Celeste and other parishioners held Mass in the Parish Hall for the time being. She pulled Terry over to see a special part of her church, pointing out a giant rusting iron cross made of giant chain locks sitting on the ground and tilted on its side, marking the hallowed ground of the unknown slave. Several medieval-looking metal shackles hung from the body of the cross.

Terry stood a respectful distance from it. His once joyous emerald eyes dulled in solemn reverence.

"Avis, may I see your flask for a minute?" he asked.

They all thought he wanted a sip, but he stooped down to one knee, unscrewed the cap and poured out some rum. Celeste crossed her arms in front of her midsection. Her friends watched him from the side.

"Awhile back, they started finding so many unmarked slave graves that our church wanted to remind everyone about it. I was a little girl when Father LeDoux, our old priest, and the parishioners placed it here. It honors all the enslaved lost to us."

"It's a holy place," Terry said.

His voice was so soft and trembled with emotion. Celeste ran a gentle hand across his scalp and plucked a cowrie shell from her costume and placed it on top of the spot where Terry soaked the ground with rum.

"Father LeDoux passed on five years ago. But he left us this memorial to cherish."

"Sister Celeste, I thought that was you."

Father Mbenga, the new priest recently assigned to St. Augustine, pushed his glasses up on his nose and gave her a warm smile.

"Father Mbenga," Celeste said.

Her friends slipped away across the street, avoiding any church talk while they were tipsy, leaving her alone with Terry.

"I will see you tomorrow in the Parish Hall no doubt?"

"I'll be here."

Terry rose to his feet and wiped his hands. He held Avis's flask behind his back.

"Father, this is my friend Terry. He's visiting from out of town."

Father Mbenga held out his hand. Terry was hesitant at first, but he offered his free hand.

"Young man, you are very welcome to attend Mass. We have a wonderful Ash Wednesday service and newcomers always have a church home here."

Terry nodded and gave a weak smile, humoring the man.

"Don't let me hold up all your fun. I wanted to say hello since I heard your voice."

Celeste tugged on Terry's arm and pulled him away.

"You don't have to go with me tomorrow."

"He invited me. I'll go with you."

She grinned, happy that he wanted to stay longer with her.

"Don't you have to see Miss Irma tomorrow, too?"

"I'll see her. Thinking about staying a little longer."

"Yeah?"

Celeste's cheeks nearly touched the sky with happiness.

"You not tired of me yet?" he asked.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed her nose against his.

"Not yet," she whispered.

He lowered his lips and kissed her out in the open. After the sweet moment, she pointed out parts of the church building, especially the refurbished bell on top of the belfry, and proudly bragged that it was the first Black Catholic Church in the country.

"You love this church, don't you?" he said.

"I sure do. We're hoping the main sanctuary will open back up in the fall. I can't wait. So many memories here. Weddings. Christenings. My confirmation. It's been standing here since 1841. Hurricanes still can't knock it down. In a couple of decades, it'll be 200 years old. Imagine being around for that long, huh?"

Terry glanced at her, and a weird expression washed over his face. It passed quickly, and he held her hand tight.

They rejoined her friends to mingle and drink until the sun lowered. The Quarter jumped and so did they, bar hopping all night. Celeste knew it was time to pack it in when Terry kept rubbing on her booty and nibbling her ear, whispering nasty things that warmed her face up. He exuded so much charisma that people stepped out of their way wherever they went just to watch him pass by. Even she fawned over him, feeling like she had won the lottery with such an attentive man.

Doubt crept into her mind as they interacted with people and the liquor in her system marinated on her brain. Other women flirted with him when they thought she wasn't looking, and an uncomfortable and familiar sensation pestered her. Insecurity. He was a complete stranger blowing through the city. There might be an entire complicated life hidden away somewhere, with women and kids involved. Once, while they were in bed listening to music and sharing random thoughts about life, she asked Terry if he had any social media. He said he didn't like being online. She let it go. Watching him move confidently through the party atmosphere and drunken revelry, she didn't want to trust anything shining like gold that fell into her lap easily. There might be a lump of coal in the middle of it. Freddie had been charming and attentive, too. He'd said all the right things. Gave her good sex. Women had flirted with Freddie when they were out, but this thing she witnessed with Terry was different. He caught the attention of everyone. Men and women. Queer, straight, and everything else there was to be in the world. Every color, creed, and nationality folded when he was near.

Celeste's insecurities got the better of her and she reasoned that their union couldn't last. Men that fine knew it and used it to their advantage. The sooner she conceded to that fact, the easier it would be when he left New Orleans. Whatever fantasy she made up in her head lying in bed with him had to go. Her first step would be to stop sleeping with Terry. She would let him return to his B&B and give her pussy a rest.

Eventually, the time came to say goodnight to her friends. Terry insisted on walking Joyce back to her car to make sure they all got there safely. She had parked in a gated and fenced hotel lot for a fee. They exchanged hugs and kisses with sloppy drunk goodbyes. Joyce had stopped drinking once they hit the Quarter, and she was good to drive back uptown. Celeste and Terry stumbled on a circuitous route back to his B&B. She was determined to drop the magic stick off at his spot and walk home alone to sober up. The further away they moved from the major action of the Quarter, the fewer people they ran into. Even the sound of music dwindled until they arrived at an eclectic little neighborhood B&B with two courtyards and lots of cool roof statues on top of the three little bedroom cottages, two bungalows, and a carriage house. A large Batman figure overlooked the street, along with funny-looking owls with googly eyes, and a couple of squat yellow minions from the animated movie "Despicable Me". Celeste pulled out her phone to snap some pictures of the roofs.

"We should've walked to your place first to get my truck," he said.

"We can still walk over there for you to get it and come back here. I'm just three blocks down, remember?" she said.

"Or you can spend the night here with me and enjoy these silly roof statues?"

She smirked. Nope. She wasn't going to fall for it. Her buzz still had her floating, but she wouldn't be a sucker for some dick.

"What statue do you have on your roof?"

He thought about it for a second.

"I have a courtyard room, and I think it's some anime character. I don't know. They all have a movie theme. Let me run in here and grab a jacket for you and I'll walk you home."

"I'm close by. I can live without a jacket."

"You're shivering…been shivering the last fifteen minutes we were walking. I'm getting you a jacket. C'mon."

He clasped her hand. She pulled away.

"I'll wait here. I have to go to church at eight-thirty and I'm not falling for any tricks to keep me in bed all day."

Terry slapped her butt and walked onto the property. Celeste took another photo of an inflatable green dragon with cartoon eyes and Mardi Gras beads strung around its neck. She ended up taking another picture of it since the first one came out blurry. The flash revealed a statue hidden behind the twisting tail of the dragon. An ornate, yet grotesque looking gargoyle appeared stuck on the slope of the roof. Its three-foot wide stone body showed ornate wings curled into a ball, shielding it from the glare of decorative white string lights hung around the eaves. It blended in perfectly with the roof's russet coloring. She might've missed it if the dragon picture hadn't been so bad. Slanted stone eyes looked down toward the street in a menacing way.

"Ugly little thing," Mercy said under her breath. "Don't even match the aesthetic."

Terry returned and draped a heavy jacket around her shoulders. Celeste bounced as she walked to the strained sounds of music coming from a house several blocks away.

"Today was so much fun," she said.

"I had a good time."

"I promised you would."

"You made it ten times better."

Celeste sang some fun chants for him and once she stood back on her stoop, she pulled the jacket off her shoulders. Handing it to him, she kept her back toward the front door.

"Call me and I'll pick you up in the morning," he said.

"Just come by at eight. I'll be ready."

He climbed the first step and kissed her forehead.

"Rest well," he said.

She watched him climb into his truck and drive away, feeling proud that she had willpower. Regardless, her limbs were exhausted. There was no way to enjoy him bending her like a pretzel again with sore joints.

"Oh, thank you Jesus," she said out loud to the stars and the moon in the sky.

Grateful for a joy-filled day, she entered her home and took a long, hot shower.

Toweling her hair in the living room, she reached for a joint inside the crossbody bag and turned on the TV. Tucking her locs under her satin hair scarf, she caught up on the news segments showing the celebrations all throughout the city and smoked. She flipped through channels and paused on a late night news broadcast because of two faces highlighted on the screen. The two white guys from the Quarter that tried to lure her away from her friends.

Carl and Jacob.

She turned the volume up and learned that they were missing since the night she met them. Despite authorities finding their rental car abandoned near Lake Pontchartrain with no signs of foul play, their family insisted that harm had come to them.

Celeste sat on her sectional recliner, reeling from the story. Had those men convinced her to party with them, she might've ended up missing too. It creeped her out that she may have been one of the last few people to see them before they vanished. Terry, as well.

She turned off the TV and finished smoking her joint, letting it relax the anxiety fighting to control her thinking about Carl and Jacob. In the dark, she rested on her recliner, too lazy to walk to her bedroom. Shifting onto her side, she glanced at her French doors and bolted upright.

A moving shadow. She could see its curved shape behind the curtains. Grabbing a long rain stick she had lying against the wall, she unlocked the doors and ran out to knock whoever it was upside the head. Her motion sensor lights came on and she swung the rain stick wildly about, hoping to strike down the intruder.

A breeze rustled the leaves of her neighbors tree and the flood lights cut out since she wasn't moving anymore. Celeste noticed the shadow of the tree branches moving across her nightgown and doors. That's all it was. The damn tree.

Nothing was out there. Just like the previous night when Terry checked her yard.

She walked back into her cottage, locked the doors and kept the rain stick next to the bed. The weed allowed her to drift on a magic carpet ride of untroubled sleep.

"No more weed," she whispered to herself.