The Satyr's Curse (The Satyr's Curse Series Book 1)

by Weis, Alexandrea

  He grinned and then stepped around her.

  As he confidently strutted into the house, Jazzmyn was not sure what bothered her more; his self-assurance, or her abject desire to make sure that he got everything he wanted from her…and more.

  Chapter 11

  The following day the restaurant was filled with tourists in town for a teachers’ convention. Jazzmyn spent the entire afternoon in the dining room, helping the wait staff clear away dishes as she showed the steady stream of schoolteachers to their tables. Even Scott was coming out from behind the bar to take customer orders, help clear off empty tables, and put down new place settings. Kyle never left the kitchen, and Jazzmyn thanked the forces above that he had been too busy to visit the bar. Even Ms. Helen, who usually went home after the lunch rush, stayed on through the dinner crush to pitch in with the food prep in the kitchen.

  It was after ten in the evening when the tables started to empty and everyone got a break. Jazzmyn was resting her tired feet at the bar with a glass of water when she saw Julian coming in the front door of the restaurant.

  Her heart fluttered with excitement as he strolled in, wearing a dark blue business suit. When their eyes met, she felt as if it were only the two of them in the crowded room.

  “How does he do that?” she mumbled as he approached the bar.

  “Hello.” He leaned forward and pecked her cheek. “You look beat,” he added as he pushed a wisp of brown hair that had fallen from her ponytail away from her face.

  “We got hit with a boatload of schoolteachers in town for a convention,” she told him as he took the red leather barstool next to her.

  “You want your usual merlot, Mr. Devereau?” Scott asked as he stood across the bar from Julian.

  “Evening, Scott.” Julian took a seat on the stool next to Jazzmyn. “Perhaps just a nice cabernet sauvignon tonight.”

  Scott nodded his head. “I’ve got a bottle in the back. I’ll go and get it for you.”

  “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” Jazzmyn remarked as her eyes followed Scott’s figure walking away from the bar.

  “I wanted to see you,” Julian softly said. “After last night, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  Jazzmyn turned to him. “You seem to be occupying my thoughts a lot lately, as well.” She nervously ran her hand over the back of her neck. “That’s kind of a new experience for me.”

  “Get used to it,” he whispered. “When can I see you again?”

  Her mind stumbled through the days of the week. “Tomorrow and Saturday are the busiest days for us, but Sunday should be pretty slow.”

  Julian nodded. “In the meantime, I will have to take up my usual spot at the bar so I can watch you from afar.” He quickly browsed the thinning tables behind him. “Why don’t I pick you up Sunday and we can head off to visit a few plantation homes? There’s one particular house I would like to show you by the river in St. Charles Parish. The property once belonged to our family, and I used to visit it often as a child.”

  She gave him a quizzical glance. “Your family used to own a plantation home?”

  “It belonged to my mother’s family, actually, and it’s not one of the grand homes you think of along the river. Fairview was a much smaller residence as compared to the homes at Destrehan or Oak Alley.”

  As she took in his dark eyes, Jazzmyn realized how little she knew about Julian’s past. Her concerns about the man’s intentions began to edge back into her thoughts. “You never mention your childhood. Why is that, Julian?”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Not much to tell really. I had a pretty typical childhood.”

  “Where did you got to high school?”

  He rubbed his hand along his chin. “It was a small private school in the French Quarter. It does not exist anymore.”

  “What did your father do?”

  “He had a few businesses in the French Quarter.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She was a housewife.” He paused and frowned. “Why all the questions? Are you having second thoughts about us?”

  Jazzmyn shook her head, suddenly feeling foolish. She silently berated her doubt and blamed Kyle’s influence for her sudden cross-examination. “I guess I just wanted to know more about you. I know so little about your past.”

  “All you have to do is ask, Jazzmyn.” He furrowed his wide brow with concern. “What about Sunday? Would you still like to spend the day together, or do I need to submit a resume for any further dates?”

  She eased back on her stool, relieved by his whimsical response to her interrogation. “I would love to spend Sunday with you, Julian.”

  His eyes glistened with a hypnotic light that momentarily distracted Jazzmyn. “Perhaps on the way back from the plantation, we could stop by this little farmer’s market I know on River Road. I could pick up a few things and fix you dinner.”

  “At my place this time,” Jazzmyn insisted. “You haven’t seen my house, and I don’t have quite as many satyrs hanging around everywhere. I must admit they were kind of creepy.”

  “Then I will get rid of all of them. I want you to feel comfortable in my home.” He removed something from his inside jacket pocket. “But I do have one more for you to look at. I promise it’s not as creepy as the ones in my house.” He placed a small white box on the bar in front of her with a bright red ribbon wrapped around it.

  “Julian, what is this?” she asked, reaching for the box.

  “Something I want you to have. To remind you of me.”

  When she opened the box, Jazzmyn discovered a small gold satyr on a gold chain. The figurine was only about an inch high, but the detail in his face, the small horns on his head, and even the flute in his hands was exquisite.

  Julian took the necklace from the box and undid the clasp. He stood from his stool, moved behind her, and then gently lowered the chain over her neck. When he took his stool again, he admired the small satyr hanging about her neck.

  “Now you can keep me with you always,” he added with a smile.

  “Julian, I don’t know what to say, but thank you.” She inched forward and kissed him on the lips. An exquisite charge of electricity zoomed through her when their lips touched. Her body was reluctant to pull away from him, but her mind fought to regain control. When she leaned back on her stool, Kyle was standing beside them.

  “You’re back, eh?” Kyle declared with a scowl on his face.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Julian returned in a rather chipper voice.

  Kyle folded his arms over his chest. “We’ve been so busy today, I never got to ask Jazz about your date last night. Where did you cater dinner from?”

  “I didn’t cater dinner, I cooked it,” Julian told him with a cheeky grin.

  “You?” Kyle almost broke out in a fit of laughter. “You hardly look the type who would be handy in the kitchen, Julian.”

  Jazzmyn knew what Kyle was up to and figured she better shut him down before he challenged Julian to a duel. “Julian prepared a wonderful vegetarian meal for us, Kyle. Better than many vegetarian restaurants I have been in.” The two men glared at each other as she spoke.

  “I’m sure it wasn’t better than mine,” Kyle asserted. “But Julian has never let me cook for him, so he wouldn’t know how good my food really is.”

  Julian patted Kyle on the shoulder. “Well, tonight is your lucky night, Kyle. Why don’t you whip me up some broiled tomatoes with a light rosemary sauce and some roasted potatoes in olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt?”

  “Maybe you should leave the menu up to the chef?” Kyle griped.

  Jazzmyn stood from her stool. “Kyle, you’ve been wanting to cook for Julian, and here’s your chance. Now go and see to his order,” she directed in a sharp voice.

  “All right, boss. I’ll get right on that.” Kyle angrily spun around on his tennis shoes and dashed for the kitchen door.

  A wave of relief washed over Jazzmyn after he had left the bar. “You don’
t have to eat any of that, Julian. I know he can be an ass at times, but he really is a great chef.”

  Julian’s eyes danced with merriment. “No, let him prepare my order. You never know, we might want him to cater our wedding.”

  “Cater our wedding?” Jazzmyn grimaced at the thought. “Heaven forbid. If that day ever did come, I fear Kyle would end up being the wedding chef from hell.”

  “In that case, perhaps you should make sure he does not put rat poison in any of my food,” he remarked, and then nodded toward the kitchen.

  Jazzmyn gave Julian one last perturbed look. “You drink your wine and I’ll check on Kyle.”

  “Yes, boss,” Julian quipped.

  Jazzmyn attempted to give him an angry scowl as she turned for the kitchen, but his bright smile made her grin instead. After she stepped inside the kitchen door, she saw Kyle at the prep area, barking orders at poor Carl, and her lighthearted mood quickly disintegrated.

  “No, get the big, fat tomatoes I placed in the walk-in by the polenta,” he loudly commanded and shoved a plate of tomatoes at Carl.

  Carl ran past the prep table and back to the walk-in refrigerator down the hall.

  “Maybe you should let Carl or Ms. Helen handle this,” Jazzmyn suggested. “You’re libel to do something that will get my health permit revoked.”

  “What? You don’t trust me? Hey, I can be professional, Jazz. I’m not going to let my petty insecurities interfere with my ability to prepare food.”

  “That’ll be a first,” Jerry the dishwasher chimed in.

  “I can do this,” he assured her. “Besides, Ms. Helen had to get home to Reggie, and Carl can’t do it because he’s an idiot.”

  Jazzmyn placed her hand on her hip. “Carl is not an idiot. He went to a top cooking school and has been an excellent sous-chef, but all you do is browbeat him, just like you do all the kitchen staff.”

  Kyle took a step back. “How can you say that? All the kitchen staff love me.”

  A round of snickering could be heard from Jerry the dishwasher and Leon the cook.

  Jazzmyn moved closer to the prep table. “Kyle, play nice with Julian. Don’t put Jalapeno peppers in his potatoes or chicken broth on his tomatoes, all right?”

  He sarcastically smiled. “I promise I will make you proud.”

  “That’s what worries me.”

  Kyle’s blue eyes spotted her necklace. “When did you get that?” he asked, pointing to the gold chain.

  Jazzmyn put her hand over the gold figurine around her neck. “Julian just gave it to me.”

  “Buying you little gifts already? So you did sleep with him, eh?” He picked up a frying pan from the stove behind him.

  “Jesus, will you grow up?”

  He turned back to her, holding the pan in his hand. “Why should I grow up? You sure haven’t. You’re out there drooling over the guy like he’s a red velvet cake and you’re a diabetic.”

  “Kyle, you have no right to stand there and critique my behavior around Julian when your own behavior is more akin to something one would witness on a reality show about a mental hospital.”

  “Me? I’m not the one letting my hormones hang out, sister. You’re so hot for the guy it’s embarrassing to watch.” He pointed the frying pan at the kitchen door. “How can you be interested in a guy like that, Jazz? He lives in that weird house in the French Quarter and spends all of his time at your bar, drinking your wine. What do you really know about him? He could have a wife and kids in Nebraska, and just comes down here to get a piece of ass every now and then.”

  Jerry and Leon started giggling frantically at their respective stations.

  Jazzmyn glowered at her cook and dishwasher. “Kyle, stop this.” She turned back to him. “Stop pestering me about my seeing Julian. Stop trying to pick a fight with Julian when he comes into my restaurant, and stop being a general pain in the ass!”

  He slammed the frying pan in his hand down on the stove. “I’m just trying to protect you, not pester you, Jazz; there’s a difference.” He shook his head. “Will you at least think about hiring a private investigator to look into his past?”

  Jazzmyn lowered her head and groaned.

  Carl reappeared in the kitchen, carrying a plate of tomatoes. His hazel eyes darted nervously from Kyle to Jazzmyn. “Should I come back later when you two have made up?”

  Jazzmyn waved him into the kitchen. “Get started on Julian’s grilled tomatoes and make sure he…,” she pointed at Kyle, “doesn’t screw it up.”

  Jazzmyn let out an irritated sigh and gave Kyle one more angry scowl. She turned from the kitchen and headed back into the dining room. When she approached the bar, she saw Julian sipping from his glass of cabernet sauvignon.

  “Everything all right back there, or was Kyle plying your head with misinformation about me?” Julian inquired as he turned to her.

  She took a seat on the red leather stool next to his. “He thinks you have a wife and kids in Nebraska, and that I should have a private investigator check you out.”

  Julian laughed as he put his wine glass down on the bar. “Well, at least he didn’t think I am the serial killer haunting the city.”

  “No, he has already suggested that before.”

  “Oh, I see,” Julian commented with a slight frown. “I’m glad I’m not too concerned about his influence over you.”

  “You don’t have to be concerned at all, Julian. I told you there is nothing between us.”

  “Are you sure about that, Jazzmyn?” He raised one dark eyebrow to her. “A man with that much persistence may one day break down your defenses.” He ran his finger along the curve of her jaw. “You are very important to me, and I cannot risk losing you to another, ever.”

  She reached for his hand and lowered it from her face. “Most men are usually aloof and distant with their emotions. They never want to let you know how they feel or where you stand. But you…from the moment we met, you’ve been open with me about your feelings and intentions.”

  He gripped her hand. “I want you, Jazzmyn. I’ve wanted you for a very long time, and I’ve told you before, I don’t play games.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Kyle yelled from the kitchen.

  Jazzmyn let go of his hand. “I’d better go and see what that was about.” She stood from her stool.

  Julian reached for his glass of wine, smirking. “I think I already know.”

  Jazzmyn grinned with happiness as she walked away from Julian. She reached up and patted the gold figurine necklace. This was starting to get interesting.

  ***

  Friday morning, an exhausted Jazzmyn slowly made her way into the back door of the restaurant. When she entered the kitchen, Ms. Helen was in her usual morning spot by the prep table, chopping up vegetables for the day.

  “Did you make coffee this morning?” Jazzmyn asked as she rested her hip against the stainless prep table.

  Ms. Helen nodded. “Out front by the bar, where it always is.” She eyed Jazzmyn up and down. “You didn’t get any sleep again? That’s two nights in a row. What’s up with you, child?” Ms. Helen put her knife down and placed her hand on Jazzmyn’s forehead. “You gettin’ sick?”

  Jazzmyn shook her head. “I’m just not sleeping well. As soon as I fall asleep, I start having these nightmares about this funny looking forest where the trees are made of stone and I’m being chased by something I can’t see. It’s always the same dream, and it wakes me up every time.”

  “Perhaps you got some bad spirits floatin’ ‘round you. You want me to give you a juju?”

  Jazzmyn held up her hands. “God, no. I don’t need one of your stinky amulets around my neck, Ms. Helen. I think it must be stress. The way Kyle and Julian keep going at each other every night when Julian comes by is probably starting to get to me.”

  “That dark man’s just protectin’ his property. That’s why he’s spendin’ so much time here.”

  “I’m not his property,” Jazzmyn scoffed.

  Ms. Helen picked
up her knife and pointed it at the gold satyr figurine around Jazzmyn’s neck. “He’s marked you. You’re his property, all right.”

  Jazzmyn placed her hand over the figurine. “It’s a token of affection, Ms. Helen.”

  “It’s bad juju and you know it. The man’s marked you for somethin’ and I can guess he’ll be wantin’ to make you his real soon.”

  “Make me his?”

  “Take you to bed. When a dark spirit wants to possess you, that’s how they do it. They get you to commit to them body and soul.”Jazzmyn paused for a moment. “Did you put some rum in your coffee again this morning?”

  “That ain’t got nothin’ to do with this,” Ms. Helen balked. “You just be careful with him, ‘cause I have a feelin’ he’s gonna make his move real soon.”

  “God, I hope so. He’s driving me crazy. The more I’m around him, the more I want….” She stopped when she saw Ms. Helen’s eyes go wide. “I’ll just go and get some coffee.”

  She darted out of the kitchen and headed toward the bar. On the bar she noticed the morning newspaper spread out next to Ms. Helen’s half-empty cup of coffee. Jazzmyn was about to walk around the bar to the coffee maker when a headline on the front page caught her eye. She stopped and perused the article.

  “It’s ‘bout them girls who were killed back in the seventies,” Ms. Helen said behind her.

  Jazzmyn pointed to the article. “One was named Susan Livaudais?”

  “Yeah, I saw that. She was a chef from New Orleans and they—”

  “A chef?” Jazzmyn said, cutting her off.

  “That’s what the paper said. She was the last victim they found before the murders stopped in 1973.” Ms. Helen watched her reaction. “She any relation to you?”

  “There are a lot of people named Livaudais in New Orleans. She could have been some distant relation, I guess.”

  “Well, the guy that wrote the article thinks there was somethin’ special ‘bout her death, ‘cause of her bein’ the last one and all. He seems to think the murders from the seventies, and the recent ones ‘round town, are connected.”

  Jazzmyn searched the article for the writer’s name. “Harry DeMonte? I went to high school with a Harry DeMonte. I wonder if it’s him?”