Blood Ties (Creole Nights)

by Phoenix Daniels

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Gideon stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared up at the elegant French Quarter hotel he owned with his brother. La Maison d ’Auriette was one of the oldest hotels in the quarter, and it had housed some of the most influential figures throughout the ages. The hotel was best known for its traditional French and Spanish architecture, its historical significance to the French Quarter, and overindulgent amenities.

  “What now?”

  Gideon didn't bother to turn around. He could hear the irritation in his twin’s deep voice.

  “I was thinking stained glass,” Gideon mumbled.

  “You're always thinking up something. Come on, Brother, the counsel awaits.”

  Gabriel patted Gideon on the shoulder before walking past him to enter the hotel. After making a mental note to contact their architect, Gideon followed his brother inside. He strolled through the elegant lobby, conducting a quick assessment of his staff. The desk personnel were smiling and seemingly courteous. However, Gideon knew better than any that behavior tended to improve when the boss was nearby.

  “Good morning, Mr. Toussaint.”

  Gideon looked down at his smiling assistant and smiled in return. Other than his brother, Glenda knew him better than anyone. She was nearly his age, but because wolves aged differently, most humans would believe her to be around forty. She was smart, funny, efficient, and mated. For Gideon, there were no other candidates worthy of the position as his assistant.

  “Good morning, Glenda. What you got for me?”

  “You are not gonna believe this but, after this meeting…you have nothing.”

  Gideon’s smile dropped. He knitted his brow and stared pointedly at his assistant. Surely, he hadn't heard her correctly.

  “Yep. I said that you have nothing. Gabriel rescheduled your two o’clock for next week. So that leaves you with a free afternoon.”

  Gideon hadn't had an afternoon that wasn't filled with meetings in at least four years. He didn't have a family, but work was definitely his mistress.

  “Wow. Well, okay. Thank you, Glenda.”

  “Don’t pass out from the excitement,” Glenda mumbled.

  “You know that I have no life,” Gideon chuckled.

  “That I do. So, I made you an early dinner reservation at Henrietta’s.”

  Gideon wrapped an arm around the tiny woman.

  “For such an itty-bitty thang, you sure don't have a problem carrying me on your shoulders.”

  Glenda giggled and handed Gideon his tablet.

  “Now, if we could only get you mated.”

  “All right, young lady, I got a meeting to attend. Go do some work,” Gideon dismissed before entering the conference room.

  As the Alpha of his pack, Gideon sat at the head of the table. Sitting on the other end was Gabriel, the pack’s beta. To the small number of humans in their employ, they were having their monthly budget meetings. Only the shifters among the staff were aware that the counsel of wolves were convening. Twelve of the most powerful wolves in the world made it their point to meet with the most powerful pack in the United States.

  “I hear that I have a light afternoon, so let’s get to it,” Gideon initiated, still staring at his tablet.

  “What’s up first, Boone?” Gabriel asked.

  Alvin Boone ranked wolf number three in the south. He was the ambassador of information. It was his job and talent to stay on the pulse of what was happening in the world of non-shifters. And, he was the best at keeping up with the outside world.

  “The priestess is dying,” Boone announced.

  Gideon’s eyes flew to Boone. He had definitely secured his attention. News of Marie Roux’s impending death was unnerving. He liked the old woman. Marie had the temperament of royalty. She was even-tempered and fair, but powerful enough to ensure compliance. Boone’s announcement was disturbing indeed. But no matter how upset Gideon was, he knew that his brother was bothered even more than he. He looked up at Gabriel. To the untrained eye, he seemed strong and focused. But Gideon knew that every time a woman from that ancestral line died, a small piece of Gabriel died with them.

  “What of our enemies?” Gideon asked, switching gears.

  They are many,” Tomas offered, stating the obvious.

  “No shit!” Gabriel snapped.

  Gideon, knowing that his brother was on edge, intervened. “What of the humans?”

  “The least of our concerns,” Boone responded. “With the Voodoo woman on her deathbed, the vamps and the witches will run rampant. They’ve flocked to the quarter, and we have no knowledge of the priestess that will be next in line, or even if there is a priestess in line.”

  Gideon ran his finger roughly through his dark, almost black hair. Not knowing Marie Roux’s successor was a problem. Even from a distance, Louisiana witches were a problem. They could perform spells from anywhere. Only the practitioners of Voodoo could counter their powerful spells. With Marie gone, Gideon and his pack wouldn’t be able to ensure the safety of the people. The French Quarter, along with the southern end of the United States would assuredly go to shit.

  There was a time when wolves, witches, and Voodoo queens and kings worked together. But, sadly, times had changed.

  “What about Ruby?” Gideon inquired.

  “Nope,” Boone responded, shaking his head. “Ruby is an empath. That’s the extent of her gift. And unfortunately, Olivia, the one that died, was more powerful, and Ruby’s daughter has yet to show any abilities.”

  “Fuck it! Let’s kill some witches!” Gabriel blurted.

  Gideon understood that his brother had no love for witches. It was a witch that helped the humans, or what they thought were humans at the time, take away what was most precious to him.

  “No,” Gideon responded, asserting his authority. “We wait for now. That line is certain. There will be an heir.”

  Gideon knew that his brother was riled, but he couldn't allow him to unleash his inner hell on all of New Orleans.

  “Boone, stay on it. We’ll reconvene soon.”

  Boone nodded.

  Without verbally ending the meeting, Gideon stood and walked out of the conference room. No surprise to Gideon, Glenda was standing outside of the room. She was smiling and holding a garment bag.

  “What’s this?” Gideon asked.

  “Well, I was thinking that since you’ll be spending time in the quarter, you should be wearing normal clothes.”

  Gideon looked down at his navy blue, tailored suit and wondered what was so abnormal about it.

  “Just take it,” Glenda urged, before he could argue.

  She handed him the garment bag and the magnetic key to the Royal suite that he normally used when he stayed in the quarter. She turned and walked away.

  “Be normal,” she ordered over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hall.

  Gideon glanced at the bag and decided to follow the tiny wolf’s orders. He made his way down the hall, to the elevator, entering before his brother even left the conference room. Gideon carried the garment bag to the Royal suite, almost afraid of what Glenda considered to be normal.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After a much-needed shower to wash away the burden of travel, Enola slipped on a flowing halter dress, praying that a cool breeze would slip under the skirt. It could get very hot in Chicago, but in the south, it felt as if a heat blanket was placed over her. Her choice of dresses had absolutely nothing to do with fashion. It was all about comfort. The canary yellow halter was tied around her neck, eliminating the need for a bra. As if that wasn't enough, Enola was seriously debating whether or not to wear panties. But the thought of a hot, sweaty vag convinced her to slip on pair. Not to mention, Nola was about to see her grandmother, and she wasn’t going to go in commando.

  Fuck! It’s hot in Louisiana!

  Enola slip her feet into some golden flip flops and pulled her thick, wavy hair into a bun on the top of her head. She used a brush to sculpt her sideburns, and applied clear lip gloss. En
ola wasn't much for makeup. She’d watched a few YouTube videos, trying to learn how to shape her eyebrows, but she was just no good at it. So, she stuck with eyeliner and lip gloss, telling herself that if anyone had to rely on a lot of makeup, they were just ugly.

  Enola tossed the lip gloss on the vanity and walked out on the balcony. She inhaled the southern air, and stared out at the plantation.

  So much history.

  Not just her childhood, but the childhood of who knows how many enslaved children. She took solace in the fact that no other child would be exploited on those lands. She was proud that her ancestors were able to take a place that had been filled with such pain and sorrow, and fill it with hope, pride, and prosperity. And to top off that warm feeling of peace and security, there was a nice breeze that breached her flowing skirt.

  Eager to see her beloved grandmother, Enola abandoned the balcony and headed out of her bedroom. She walked the hall until she reached another set of stairs, ascended the staircase, and headed to her grandmother’s room. Once outside the door, Enola stalled. She didn't know whether to knock or just walk in, but the sound of Marie’s voice made the choice for her.

  “Come in, Cheri.”

  Without questioning how her grandmother knew that she was there, Enola entered the room. Marie’s intuition was something she’d become accustomed to. Her grandmother’s bedroom was grand, larger than her living room back in Chicago, and painted with the most vivid red, with accents of gold. She had a massive poster bed with a beautifully golden canopy.

  As Enola approached her grandmother, it was like seeing her mother again. She knew that the woman was old, but her appearance was no indication. Grand-mere Marie was beautiful. She had long hair that was still dark with no signs of graying. Her caramel skin had paled a bit, but seemed to still glow. The family trait of hazel, almost golden eyes were staring at her.

  “Nola, mon amour, you are a vision. The spitting image of my belle fille.”

  Her voice was smooth like silk, soothing Enola as it had when she was a child. Tears escaped before Enola could stop them. The thought of losing her beloved grandmother was too much to bear.

  Enola sat on the side of the bed and placed her hand on her grandmother’s soft, warm cheek. “Hey, Gran. How are you feeling?”

  “I can't complain, and it wouldn't matter if I did, cuz ain’t nobody listenin’.”

  Enola chucked. “I hear you.”

  Marie’s expression turned sorrowful. “I don't have long, Nola. I’m glad you were able to get here in time.”

  “Gran, please don't say things like that.”

  “Listen to me, Nola. There is so much that you need to learn, and so little time. The time has come for you to take your rightful place.”

  Enola knitted her eyebrows and studied her grandmother, attempting to gauge her mental state, praying that she hadn't gone senile.

  “Gran, what are you talking about? My rightful place? What does that mean?”

  Marie closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Enola admired her grandmother’s flawless complexion. Not one wrinkle marred her smooth skin.

  Marie opened her eyes and focused them on Enola with renewed determination. “Not now, child. We’ll talk tomorrow. Go. Marguerite is waiting for you. Tonight, you’ll enjoy the quarter.”

  Enola blinked, more confused than ever. “Marguerite?”

  “She’s waiting for you, chérie.”

  Enola was not surprised by her grandmother’s prediction. She had always been remarkably intuitive. There was no doubt in Enola’s mind that Margo was, indeed, waiting for her. She was relieved that her grandmother’s mind was still intact.

  Enola kissed her grandmother’s soft cheek and stood. “I’ll see you at breakfast, Gran.”

  “Breakfast,” Marie confirmed with a nod. “Have fun, and don’t let that girl get you in trouble.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Enola chuckled as she turned to leave the room.

  “Nola,” Marie called out.

  Enola turned to find her grandmother smiling mischievously. “Yes?”

  “On second thought, I think you could use a little trouble in your life.”

  Enola laughed as she left the bedroom. If there was trouble to be had, Margo could definitely find it.

  Enola walked down the long hall and down the staircase. Sure enough, Margo was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Heyyyy, cousin!” she screeched excitedly.

  “Margo!”

  Enola hurried down the stairs and pulled her cousin into her arms. As children, Margo was her partner in crime. She was only one year older, and they looked so much alike that people often asked if they were sisters.

  Enola stepped back and surveyed her pretty cousin. She, of course, had the family trait; those hazel, almost amber, eyes. Her skin was golden and her body was bombshell voluptuous. Her long, auburn African locks were secured in a high bun, and her pink romper was cute and feminine.

  “Margo, you look amazing.”

  “Girl, I know. It’s soooo hard sometimes,” Margo joked, batting her lashes.

  Enola rolled her eyes and chuckled.

  “Seriously though, Nola, you looking pretty damn amazing yourself. You ready?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Come on. Gran told you we were going to the quarter.”

  Enola tilted her head and squinted at her cousin. “How the hell do you know what Gran told me?”

  Margo smiled. “I’m gifted,” she responded, pulling Enola to the door.

  “Wait, heffa! I ain’t got my purse.”

  “Damn!” Margo huffed. “Hurry up!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was a warm, breezy night. Since his hotel was located in the French Quarter and only three blocks away, Gideon decided to walk to Henrietta’s. After a plate of the best shrimp and grits in town, Gideon was ready to enjoy a cognac and some live blues at his friend’s jazz bar, Maison Bourbon.

  Bourbon Street was crawling with tourists. Loud music escaped from the bars, and the smell of Cajun food was in the air. Gideon maneuvered through the sea of people and marveled at how much the quarter had changed since he and his family arrived at, what was then, a French colony. Since the quarter was developed, it had always been perceived as an area of ill repute. There was no shortage of booze, brothels, and burlesque halls, but there was still a modicum of class. However, as Gideon walked the crowded street past strip clubs that boasted, “Barely Legal,” he realized that discretion and decorum was a thing of the past. Honestly, what kind of man would want a barely legal bedmate?

  A fucking pedophile!

  Gideon entered the patio bar. Since it was still pretty early, the band hadn’t begun to play. He surveyed the crowd as he headed straight for the private corner reserved for Alice, the owner. He took a seat and slid across the soft leather and looked around for his friend. Alice was a tough bitch. Because of her beauty, many had mistakenly underestimated her strength, but Alice could hold her own in business and battle.

  “Gideon, hello,” Mona, the waitress, greeted as she wiped the table down.

  “Mona,” he acknowledged with a nod. “How are you tonight?”

  “I’m just fine, sir. Would you like your usual?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’d like that very much.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Mona smiled and winked flirtatiously before departing. Gideon sat back in his seat and watched the alternating bounce of her round sexy ass. Mona was a looker, and Gideon found himself wondering why he had never taken a bite out of her apple.

  Gideon rarely got involved with natives of New Orleans. The city just wasn’t big enough, and certain women could be hard to shake.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here on a weekday? Don’t you gotta job, boy?”

  Gideon looked up, recognizing Alice’s voice. She tossed a towel over her shoulder and threw her hands on her hips. Her bright green eyes sparkled with mischief, and her fiery, red hair was tossed over one shoulder. She was wear
ing a lime green tank top and tight leather leggings. Alice was not only beautiful, she had presence. Even as Gideon patted the seat next to him, he knew that all eyes were on his friend.

  “Sit down and shut up!”

  Even though Alice sat as instructed, she narrowed her eyes and said, “Don’t you be tellin’ me what to do in my own place, wolf!”

  Gideon kissed the top of her head. “How are you, bebe? How are things?”

  “Same ole shit, different toilet. Really? What brings you out?”

  “Had a light afternoon, so I had dinner over at Henrietta’s.”

  “Well, it’s good to see you. Every time you bring your handsome tail in here, you do wonders for boosting my female clientele.”

  “Well, I’m here to serve.”

  Gideon chuckled, looking around, noticing a few eyes on him. But before he could make eye contact with a willing and eager tourist, Mona returned to the table with a bottle of his favorite cognac. Before he could show his appreciation, his limbs suddenly went stiff. His skin became uncomfortably heated, and it felt as if he was being pricked by thousands of tiny needles. Gideon clutched his chest, attempting to calm his racing heart. What he was feeling wasn’t pain, but an ache, a longing. In that instant, he could no longer smell the intermingling of perfumes and colognes. He could no longer smell the booze and beignets. The customary aroma of the French Quarter was no more. Only one scent filled the air, but it was unfamiliar.

  “Gideon?” Alice called out. “Gideon, darlin’, are you okay?”

  “Wh–what’s happening to me?”

  Gideon jumped to his feet, knocking the bottle out of Mona’s hands. It crashed to the ground, prompting others to look in his direction. Gideon sniffed the air and searched for the cause of his body’s strange reaction.

  There she was.

  She was standing no more than ten feet away, staring at him with big, beautiful hazel eyes. She was wearing a bright, yellow dress that showed just enough cleavage to startle Gideon’s cock. In that instant, he knew she was the cause.

  “Gideon?”

  “I’m fine, Alice. I just need some air.”