The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

New Orleans, Louisiana. May 1, 1984. Candles burn on the windowsill. Luc tells Addie they are made for each other, but Addie says she doesn’t belong to him. They are in bed together in the yellow house, and Addie realizes that she’s forgotten something important: none of this is real. Luc isn’t human, and their life together isn’t a life. She pleads with him to let her go. But Luc says a deal is a deal. Then he falters. Perhaps he could bend the rules a bit, he says—but only if Addie surrenders to him first. Addie refuses. “It’s just a word,” Luc says. But Addie knows better than this: Luc taught her, that night that they made their deal, that words make all the difference. How can she trust him now? Plus, Luc doesn’t really love her: He’s incapable of love.

Luc says that he’s given Addie everything, but Addie says nothing he’s given her is real. She refuses to cry, though: she won’t let him see how he’s hurt her. To this day, Addie can’t remember how the fire began. Maybe it was the candles, or maybe it was Luc’s spite. Either way, the house on Bourbon Street burned to the ground that night. And now, once again, Addie has nothing. She pulls the wooden ring from her pocket and throws it into the flames.