Beth could hardly contain her excitement when Alastor told her about their vacation. It was all she could talk about until June 8th, and aside from her schoolwork, all she could do was prepare for the trip. She packed her swimsuits, snorkel and goggles, digital camera, books on marine life and lore, and her entire allowance. Eager to make the most of their time, she researched everything about Chant de la Muer and created a list of activities she wanted to experience.
When the big day finally arrived, they woke up early and set off on their journey. While Beth radiated joy, Alastor's feelings were more complicated. He was excited to spend the summer at Chant de la Muer, but it had been so long since his last visit that it stirred up old memories. Alastor didn't like to dwell on the past, as it often made him sad, and he couldn't afford to feel that way—especially not for Beth's sake. He had to be happy.
"Are you okay?" She asked during the car ride.
"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well you've been way too quiet. Normally, you're talking up a storm when we're in a vehicle this long."
"I guess I just don't have anything to talk about."
"How about I give you something to talk about? Why don't you tell me what it was like living down there with Mom?"
"I was so young when I lived there, I don't really remember."
But he did remember—almost everything about those happy times, those wonderful moments he tried so hard to forget and pretend didn't happen.
"We moved when Mom remarried." He continued.
"But didn't you still take vacations there?" His sister asked.
"I was eight the last time, and honestly, I don't recall much."
"Do you remember it being fun?"
"Let's change the subject, Beth. We'll be here all summer, and I'll be working for Ms. Calhoun. What will you do to keep yourself busy?"
"They have these new marine biology classes for kids. They take students to the beach to study marine life and then out to sea for scuba diving. It sounds fun, and I read it looks great on college applications. Can I take the class? Please?"
"How much does it cost?"
"It's a public class, funded by the government."
"In that case, I don't see why you can't sign up. But I need to speak with the instructor to ensure you'll be supervised at the beach and out at sea. Speaking of which, we need to go over some rules."
"Oh God, no."
"First, no going to the beach unless I'm at the house or there's an adult with you."
"Why not? I swim in the creek by myself all the time."
"Yes, and I never liked that idea, but I eventually let it slide because the creek is shallow. The ocean is different—it's deep, rough, and has strong currents."
"I'm a good swimmer."
"Even good swimmers can drown. I'm serious, Beth. I'll take you to the beach, but you need to be careful. No swimming alone. Is that clear?"
"Fine."
"Now for the other rules: no talking to strangers, no going out after dark, I need to know exactly where you are at all times, and no smuggling animals into the house."
"Okay, deal. I'll be careful and follow the rules."
"Good."
It was midday when they arrived at Chant de la Muer, and the sight was utterly enchanting. This oceanfront community, nestled in natural beauty, boasted a lush maritime forest, serene marshes, and pristine beaches. At its heart lay a charming town and port, brimming with shops, stands, markets, a church, a school, and a theater. It reminded Beth of the stunning landscape paintings she had admired in museum galleries and online, yet no artwork or photograph could compare to the reality before her.
"This is incredible." Beth exclaimed. "I can't wait to see the house."
"First, I need to check in with Ms. Calhoun. Our stay hinges on her decision to hire me."
"Where does she work again?"
"At a cabaret called the Clair de Lune."
"Like the song? That's neat! Where is it?"
"According to the directions Mr. Calhoun gave me, it's just around the corner and down past the theater."
Alastor turned the car in that direction, passing a peculiar area that caught his eye. A large, colorful big-top tent, adorned with purple and red stripes, dominated the space. Posters depicting strange creatures were plastered around the tent, and festive music floated out from within, yet no one was in sight. After all, how often do circuses operate during the day? Nighttime was typically their domain.
At the entrance of the tent stood a sign that read:
Valentino's Circus of Voodoo Tricks and Cajun Freaks.
"That's a circus, right, Al?" Beth asked.
"Yep. That's why Ms. Calhoun needs my assistance." He replied. "She's losing customers to that poor excuse for entertainment."
"I've never been to a circus. What are they like?"
"Painfully dull. They're just scams run by con artists who substitute ridicule for talent."
"It looks kind of creepy."
"Best to steer clear. Mr. Calhoun says his cousin isn't particularly fond of circuses."
After passing the circus and walking three more blocks, they arrived at;
The Claire de Lune.
It was a Persian blue-painted cabaret by the port featuring navy blue shutters and windows adorned with white lights and tea roses on the sills. This charming establishment exuded a rustic yet subtle elegance. Its design conveyed modesty while still radiating class—an aesthetic that Alastor often liked.
The interior was equally impressive. The walls were painted a striking scarlet red, providing a bold contrast to the exterior. Picture frames adorned with photographs of boats, beaches, sailors, and navy officers decorated the walls. The floors were covered in garnet carpet, and a well-stocked bar showcased an array of drinks and glasses. Tables, set with candles and tea roses, filled the space. The pièce de résistance was the mahogany stage, draped with luxurious velvet curtains.
"Good structure." Alastor remarked. "Excellent decor."
"It's pretty." Beth replied. "I really like the roses."
"Thank you. Not everyone appreciates the creativity I've poured into this place."
At that moment, the owner of this fine establishment entered: Rosie Calhoun. A vivacious woman with ginger hair, she wore a casual yet flattering cherry red dress. Though she was clearly middle-aged—evident from the few streaks of gray in her hair—her skin and figure still held traces of youth. And she knew she still had some youth, and she knew how to use it, all while maintaining her grace as a lady.
"I see you have good taste." She said, approaching him with graceful steps. "What can I do you for, honey?"
"Are you Rosie Calhoun?" Alastor asked.
"That's what my birth certificate says."
"Hello, I'm Alastor Boudreaux. I work for your cousin, Raymond Calhoun."
"Oh yes, Ray. He mentioned you were coming down and that you'd arrive early. He wasn't lying."
"He told me I could spend the summer working for you. That I could put together an act."
Rosie circled Alastor a few times, her eyes scanning him from head to toe, appraising his physique.
"Well, you are definitely good-looking—good enough to draw em in. But are you talented enough to keep em?"
"I believe I am."
"What are your talents?"
"I can sing, dance, tell jokes, advertise, and I'm quite the whiz in the kitchen."
She continued to look at him.
"I beg your pardon, but have we met? You look familiar to me."
"No, ma'am. I can't recall ever meeting you."
"I suppose not, but that face... There's nothing wrong with it, mind you, but I swear I've seen it before. What's your name again?"
"Alastor Boudreaux."
"Boudreaux? Any relation to Jameson Boudreaux?"
"He was my father."
Out of nowhere, a twinkle sparkled in Rosie's eyes, and a bright smile spread across her face.
"Oh my heavens! You're little Ally!"
"Excuse me?" Alastor replied, confused.
"You probably don't remember me, sugar. After all, you were just a baby the last time we met. Oh Lordy, look at you! You've grown so tall and handsome, just like your father."
She placed a hand over her chest and swooned.
"What a man."
"You knew my father?"
"And your mother! Miss Daisy Lee used to sing at my cabaret, and she was by far the best act I ever had."
"My mother sang here?" Beth asked, her excitement evident.
"Ms. Calhoun, this is my sister Elisabeth, but she prefers to be called Beth." Alastor introduced.
"Oh, well, she's a pretty one—with a pretty name to match."
"Thank you."
"You seem like a nice woman, Ms. Calhoun." Alastor said. "But my mother never mentioned you."
"I'm not surprised." Rosie replied. "We lost touch after your daddy died, and by the time I learned of your mother's passing, I had missed the funeral. I apologize for that."
"It's no big deal." Alastor assured her.
"Since you were good friends with our mom, does that mean Al gets the job?" Beth asked.
"Now hold on there, sweetie." Rosie said. "While I will always hold Jameson and Daisy Lee in high regard, I don't give jobs based on personal connections. If he wants to work as a performer for me, he'll need to audition like everyone else."
"I couldn't agree more." Alastor said.
"I have a busy day ahead, so why don't you come by for an audition tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM?"
"That works for me."
"Wonderful! I have the keys to your house right here. They were dropped off as soon as Raymond paid the mortgage, and Niffty should have everything ready for you."
"Niffty?" Beth asked.
"She's one of my waitresses and the best housekeeper in town. I asked her to ensure that everything in your house is in top condition. See you tomorrow, and welcome to Chant de la Muer!"
"Thank you, Ms. Calhoun." Alastor said.
"Please, call me Rosie. 'Ms. Calhoun' makes me feel so old."
Rosie handed Alastor the keys to the house, and at last, they arrived at his childhood home, just as he remembered it. Perched on a hill not far from the beach, the house boasted daffodil-colored walls, a cream-colored roof, stained-glass windows, cedar shingles, and wooden brackets. Although Alastor had never favored bright or sunny colors, this house was the one exception—mainly because his mother adored it.
"It's even more beautiful than I hoped." Beth exclaimed. "I can't wait to see the inside!"
She leaped out of the car before Alastor could even put it in park, racing toward the door. Her brother chuckled, having anticipated her excitement.