Chapter Text
“Happy birthday, Mary Jane!”
Though she’d known all about the preparations for her party, she was still so very touched to see everyone down there, on the first floor of Fontevrault, with a flute of champagne raised to her, Mary Jane Mayfair, who stood at the top of the staircase.
All of her cousins.
All of her loved ones.
Those she had grown to care about so in the five years since she and her grandmother had allowed themselves to leave home and rejoin proper society and the Mayfairs at large.
Michael Curry had his beloved Rowan Mayfair on his arm and was about to come help Mary Jane down, but Bea Mayfair shuffled forward past him, in her pretty pink suit. It was a pink, tweed number—Chanel, Mary Jane knew, which was a favored brand of Bea’s.
Bea still looked very good and had recovered since losing her love Aaron Lightner to that terrible “accident”. She had grown thinner, but the years had been kind to her. The years and discreet visits to a plastic surgeon who did marvelous work on her so that she looked ageless. She could be anywhere between her fifties and seventy and one wouldn’t have a clue.
“You look divine, darling,” said Bea, as she helped Mary Jane down the stairs. She held onto the railing with one hand, the other elbow connected with Mary Jane.
Mary Jane had gotten used to this kind of look. Gone were the days of her Daisy Dukes and dirty boots. She was now A Lady. A Mayfair Lady. And Bea had insisted that she learn to dress the part. Even for her own birthday party, Mary Jane had not been allowed to pick out her clothes. Instead, she was given a figure-hugging black dress with a plunging neckline. Her blonde hair had been pressed and styled by a hairdresser brought in from Napoleonville. She had even gotten used to the high heels and the pearls and the rings and the designer bags. In fact, she had a walk-in closet upstairs! A real walk-in closet like you only saw in movies.
“Happy birthday, Mary Jane,” said Rowan, giving Mary Jane a big hug and a kiss.
She smelled like flowers. Rowan was a calming energy. A light in the Mayfair family. A beacon. She looked very smart with her pale, blonde hair parted in the middle, bone straight and stopping at her shoulders. She wore a simple green dress that matched the Mayfair necklace that she now wore almost all the time. Even as she pulled away from Mary Jane, she stroked it seductively with her elegant fingers.
Michael pushed his cheek towards Mary Jane next and she placed a kiss on it.
He still looked delectable despite now being in his fifties. But then it was always like that for men. His hair had gone a bit grey and he now wore horn-rimmed glasses all the time. But he was tall and strapping and manly and his biceps were—
“Now, now, Mary Jane,” said Rowan, wagging her finger at her. “I’ll tell you exactly what I told Mona—he’s mine.”
Someone passed Mary Jane a flute of champagne—they clinked glasses—and Mary Jane continued to say her hellos to everyone.
“I just know your grandmother must be looking down on us and smiling, my dear,” said Bea, seamlessly guiding Mary Jane through the crowd of Mayfairs.
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Mary Jane, taking a big swig of her champagne and finishing it in one gulp. “She never liked pomp and circumstance.” She reached for another glass that was on a tray, carried by one of the wait-staff that had been hired for the party.
“Dear Dolly Jean loved to tease that she didn’t like all this Mayfair-ness. But when you two were on Amelia Street, you know she loved it all!” protested Bea.
Mary Jane smiled as she thought of her grandmother. And then the memory of her grandmother’s funeral flooded her mind—it had been a simple affair with only Mary Jane, Mona, Rowan, Michael and Bea herself in attendance.
On her deathbed, Dolly Jean Mayfair had made it explicitly clear that she did not want whatever Bea would have planned for her. Instead, she wanted something small and private and to be buried nearby and if they must have a wake, they would have a wake but there would be no big hoopla of a funeral for her no matter how fine Rowan Mayfair and Michael Curry had made Fontevrault. They could remodel the house until Thy Kingdom Come but they would not make her have a big funeral with Mayfairs all in black, invading Fontevrault with their perfumes and their pearls and their rosary beads.
But she knew Granny loved the Mayfairs in her own way.
For two years Mary Jane and Granny had lived in New Orleans while Michael restored the house. Those had been a fruitful two years. Mary Jane had always known that her family was large. But knowing it and being around it were two very different beasts. There was an endless parade of parties, lunches, visits and funerals. For most of that time, Mary Jane hadn’t even had the time to find a job!
Not that she needed a job anymore anyway—Rowan and Mona had seen to that. A trust had been set up for her to see about herself and her grandmother. Though Mary Jane took her allowance and invested it in all kinds of things that had only made her wealthier.
She had thought herself to not be like Bea. She hadn’t quite seen herself as being a Society Lady. She was going to do something with herself, she had thought. But she was now twenty-five and she hadn’t done much of anything beyond her investments. Which were something! She had the foresight to know exactly what to invest in and what to avoid. She had even shared some of that knowledge with Mayfair & Mayfair and they had been grateful.
But then Granny had been so sick and didn’t want anybody to see about her that wasn’t Mary Jane herself.
“Pierce! Ryan!” crooned Bea, kissing each of them on both cheeks.
Pierce and Ryan—of the Preppy Mayfair variety, as Mary Jane described them, with the slicked back hair and expensive suits—beamed. Mary Jane and Pierce exchanged a mischievous look too. They had been playing this game for several years now. Mary Jane could almost feel Clancy Mayfair’s—Pierce’s wife’s—eyes on her.
It had started innocently enough.
When Mary Jane had first moved to New Orleans, they had initially been thrown into each other’s company because of Mona, who was Pierce’s first cousin and arguably Mary Jane’s favorite. So when Mona wasn’t around, Mona would dump entertaining duties on him and he was a great host and they had struck up a friendship.
She had liked him. She had found him very charming, actually. Yes, they were very different from one another—she was the Country Cousin—but he had rather liked her wildness. Mona was too young to go to any of the bars so who else was she to drink with than with Pierce and some of the other young Mayfairs. Though at the time, Mary Jane had been too young as well; but she had mastered the art of persuasion with her telepathy, so that she never got carded).
Pierce had rather liked how she could down shot after shot after shot. He had said that she should be in college with a thirst like that. Which she agreed with. But she hadn’t the education.
“You’re a Mayfair, Mary Jane. That’s not a problem,” he’d said.
He found her a tutor almost at once—it felt as if within a day of that conversation, he had gotten her the best one in town—and she got her GED in those two years she lived in New Orleans. And when the diploma was in hand and Rowan had thrown a grand party for her on First Street, and they were by the pool, away from everybody else and enjoying a shot, he tried to kiss her. In fact, he did kiss her. With his wife just a few feet away, in the house.
But she told him she had principles and all. And on account of Clancy being kin and him being married, she couldn’t do what he was thinking—even without her mind-reading power, she knew what most men thought about her.
But they still shared that secret kiss.
“Oh, how you stand to live in this big house by yourself is beyond me,” said Pierce’s father, Ryan, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his champagne. “You must be terribly lonely without Dolly Jean now.”
“I am,” said Mary Jane.
“But at least the house is beautiful,” said Pierce.
“It is, isn’t it?” said Mary Jane, looking around.
Even after years of living in the refurbished house—three now—Mary Jane still marveled at all the work that Michael and his team had done to make it into a beautiful country mansion yet again. It was all elegance. Elegance and decadence. There had always been some finery hidden in closed, unused rooms at Fontevrault (which Michael restored and placed all around the house) but then more had been added to it. Ancient pieces that cost more money than most people would see in a year.
Though money was no object to the Mayfairs.
Mayfair cousins said that Fontevrault had returned to its glory days as opposed to the tilted, damp mess that it had been for years. That it was now fit to be used for entertaining, more so than First Street. Certainly more than Amelia Street. And then Fontevrault did belong to the Amelia Street branch of Mayfairs more than anybody else, didn’t it? But even so, First Street had raised it back up! Perhaps it should go back to Rowan…
“Mary Jane Mayfair! As I live and breathe! You sure are throwing yourself some kind of shindig!” screamed Mona Mayfair in a fake country accent, bursting through the double doors.
Paige Mayfair—in her crisp, navy suit; Mona was wearing a pin-striped one of the same design—trailed behind Mona and collected a flute of champagne. She raised it to Mary Jane before she shuffled off to talk to other relatives.
“Mona!” squealed Mary Jane, tumbling into her cousin’s arms.
When Mary Jane had met her, she had been a little thing of thirteen. She was still short, though a bit taller than she had been when they’d first gotten to know one another. But she looked tired, she looked drawn, she looked thinner. Something wasn’t right with her.
“Mary Jane, you better stop that,” said Mona, looking up into Mary Jane’s blue eyes. “Stop it right now.”
“Have you been eating out there? Has Paige been feeding you?
Mona Mayfair—the financial genius Mona Mayfair—hadn’t been back in the South since Dolly Jean had died the year before. Instead, she had been in New York. Yes, they emailed each other everyday. But there was nothing like having Mona Mayfair in your arms, thought Mary Jane, taking in the scent of Mona’s dazzling red hair.
“Nothing like being in your arms either,” said the eighteen-year-old redhead. “And yes, I’ve been eating. But I’m just overworked. You know, being the youngest stockbroker on Wall Street isn’t for the faint of heart.”
“Mona! We didn’t even know you were coming,” said Rowan, appearing with Michael. They both took turns hugging Mona.
“I wanted to keep it a surprise,” said Mona, with a slight shrug. “What can I say? How are things at Mayfair Medical? And Great Expectations?”
“Nothing to report,” said the couple in unison.
Mary Jane and Mona laughed. They acted like such an old married couple.
Mary Jane loved Rowan and Michael. Having been a bit of an outsider to the Mayfairs herself before she’d come to New Orleans, Rowan had been so welcoming to Mary Jane. And Michael too. They were almost like her big brother and big sister.
In Mona’s case, things were more complicated, Mary Jane knew. To her, they were more akin to a mother and father (her father having died within a year of her mother when he stumbled into oncoming traffic, drunk as ever).
There was that business of Morrigan.
That Michael and Mona had made her together.
But then Morrigan wasn’t around—she only existed in letters sent to Mona via a private courier that waited for Mona to write a response which he would then carry right back to Morrigan, keeping her address a secret.
Everyone who could had determined that this courier had no idea where Morrigan was. He was one of many people who would get the letter to Morrigan. An unbroken chain of people. Mona had suggested following him and she and Mary Jane had done it once. But they had lost him. Private investigators had all been unsuccessful. Mona had been so desperate to find her girl that she was even willing to turn to the Talamasca! They must know. They always knew. But Rowan and Michael had told her that she should do nothing of the sort. That Morrigan was a Taltos—a Walking Baby, as Dolly Jean used to call them before Mary Jane had ever heard the word “Taltos”—and that Morrigan was responsible for herself.
“But she’s my heir!” Mona had protested. “She’s a Mayfair!”
“She is and she isn’t, hon,” Mary Jane had heard the child’s father say, in as soothing a way as he could.
Michael.
But in Michael, Mary Jane sensed no lust. She sensed pride and love. Pride in the fact that Mona had gotten into Tulane at fourteen and had been highly sought after in the financial world. That Mayfairs would live comfortably for generations to come off of Mona’s genius. The love was that of a father to a very mischievous child.
How they had wound up having sex was beyond Mary Jane. The girl—for Mona, despite being precocious was still a girl at that time—could not have been so seductive. Mary Jane knew that there had to have been more at play. Oncle Julien or someone else playing tricks!
Or maybe Michael was just like every other man. Men had gone after Mary Jane from the moment she developed her own breasts at twelve. Or at least that was when she had first noticed. Even men she had known her whole life had suddenly begun to look at her in a different way.
It had been difficult to understand as a girl. But her mother—Tallulah Mayfair—had said this was how the world worked. That her childhood was finished and once she had gotten that first bra, she was now a woman. And men would see her as a woman. And she should learn to be a woman, for better or for worse.
Was Michael capable of such lecherousness?
“Mona! So good to see you, dear,” said Ryan, hugging his niece.
“Uncle Ryan,” she said, squeezing him tight. She hugged Pierce next.
“How’s life in the big city?” asked Pierce.
Mona shrugged in that nonchalant way she did everything. “All big cities are fundamentally the same, don’t you think? There are the cafes and bars and restaurants and shops. Certainly each one has its unique charms. But to their core, as big as a city might be, filled to the brim as it is with tons and tons of people, a city is often an escape from deep, meaningful connection. Look at your Fontevrault, Mary Jane. In the olden days, I imagine that if you wanted to have a social life, you’d have to go and find it in your neighbors. Because all you had was each other. But in the city, you can have a million people around you and never find that kind of depth. That kind of warmth. City life—big city life—is truly not for everyone.”
“You sure do know how to soliloquy, Mona Mayfair,” teased Mary Jane. “Maybe a city is just what I need.”
“A city?” asked Ryan. “Do you think you’ll want to come back to New Orleans? Amelia is always open to you.”
“And First Street,” added Rowan.
“Or you can find a little place for yourself,” said Pierce.
“Well, no,” said Mary Jane. She took a slow sip of her champagne. Everyone waited to hear what she was going to say next. “Look, I’m twenty-five and while I’ve had a lot of fun all over, I think I’d like to settle in one of those big cities Mona was just talking about. At least for a little bit. I’ve actually got some news.”
“News?” asked Michael.
“Please say you’re moving to New York!” said Mona.
“Sorry, Mona,” said Mary Jane. “I’ve been accepted into this very interesting writing program in Los Angeles. You know, I’ve always found our family entirely interesting. And I’ve put pen to paper—well, keyboard to monitor—and started writing the story of the Mayfairs. Not the truth. I’ve embellished a bit, changed names. I’m writing a southern gothic novel, if you will, following the adventures of a family of witches. And now I’ve been invited to complete my manuscript among—”
“Mary Jane, you can’t,” said Ryan, with the wave of a hand. “All this—all this witch—all this foolishness!”
“Ryan, it’s been too long for you to think it’s foolishness,” whispered Rowan. She had a finger on her chin as she stared at Mary Jane. “You must be very careful, Mary Jane. You know a lot about our family but our family doesn’t like to talk about the past. Our history. How we’ve gotten here.”
“You could make a mess of things,” said Pierce, shaking his head. “I’m with Dad on this one, Mary Jane. You can’t—”
Mary Jane raised a hand, silencing Pierce immediately
: “I apologize if this sounded like I was asking permission from anyone. Because I wasn’t. I met you all as a fully grown woman and I’m even more so now. You don’t get a say in where I go and what I do. And for your information, I’ve already thought of all that. I’m using a nom de plume. I’ve changed the name of “Mayfair” to “Chapel” in the novel. I’ve changed a lot of things. The family won’t even know it’s about us. If they would read something like that at all. My bags are already packed. This birthday party serves a dual role that Bea had no idea it did when she was planning it—I’ll be back when the book is well and finished and published and almost in stores and not a minute before.”
“I, for one, think it’s a fantastic idea,” said Mona, nodding her head vigorously. “You do what feels right, Mary Jane.”
Pierce and Ryan both had their faces in their hands, shaking their heads.
Rowan and Michael gave each other looks, as if having a conversation.
“And what about the house?” said Michael. “After all the work put into the house, you’re just gonna leave it? What about your housekeeper? And groundskeeper? What are they to do?”
“The house and grounds will still need to be kept, Michael,” said Mary Jane. “And I want any Mayfair who wants to use it to feel like they can. If they want a retreat, I guess. It’s true: I can’t live in this big, old house by myself forever. I need to go out. I’ve got a financial mind like Mona but I’ve got a creative streak too. And I’d like to explore that.”
“And there’s nothing we can say to stop you?” begged Pierce.
“Nothing,” she replied.
Mary Jane turned on her heels and walked away, headed over to a cluster of cousins. She had told the core of the family what she was going to do next. And they would have to deal.
For better or for worse