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

by Weis, Alexandrea

  “I would very much like to know how you discovered that?” he demanded with a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

  She put her slice of bacon back down on her plate. “My friend at city hall, the one who told me about your trust fund; he pulled up your birth certificate. Why did you use her name?”

  He shrugged, seemingly satisfied with her explanation. “Whenever I have to change my identity and file a new birth certificate with the city, I always use her name. It’s my way of honoring her memory.”

  “When did she die?”

  “July of 1853. Every family across the entire city was affected by yellow fever that summer. Everywhere you turned there was death. People hurried to get dead bodies out of the city. Many did not receive proper funerals but were tossed into common graves dug at the edge of town. I’ll never forget the smell in the city during that time. The devastation of Katrina smelled the same way to me.” He looked down at the piece of toast in his hand. “After the storm I was haunted by memories of that summer.”

  Jazzmyn noted the profound sadness in his eyes, but this time she was not moved by it. “Do you miss your family?”

  “I miss having people around who knew me, like your family knows you. My father was the last to live on well into the years after Eve’s curse, but we were never close.” He took a bite of his toast.

  “Did he know about the curse?”

  His eyes frosted over with indifference. “He knew. He stayed away from me after that. When he fell ill and was at the end, he asked for me, but I never went to see him. I didn’t even attend his funeral. Whatever relationship we had died when I became what I am.” He dropped the toast in his hand on her plate.

  Jazzmyn shifted her gaze to the cup of coffee Julian had put on her tray. “After my father became sick, I remember he once told me that the pain of what he had done to me was much worse than the discomfort of his cancer. He felt guilty because I had left graduate school to care for him and his restaurant. He said he wished it could have been different, but he didn’t know what he could do to make things right for me.” Jazzmyn raised her eyes to Julian. “Maybe your father stayed away because he didn’t know how to make things right for you. What you became was a result of his ambitions. If he had not wanted to attach himself to the socially prominent Livaudais family, you would never have been cursed.”

  Julian smiled and the coldness in his eyes vanished. “You remind me of my mother. She was always turning the worst of situations around to make me see the best in them.”

  Jazzmyn picked up her cup of coffee from the tray as the diamond ring on her left hand glistened in the early morning light. “I would have liked to have known her. But I’m sure I’m not quite the wife she envisioned for you.”

  Julian stood from the bed. “Speaking of which, I know you wanted to wait to get married, but I’ve been thinking…after we get our joining ceremony out of the way tomorrow night, we should quickly marry. I don’t want to wait. Once I’m human again, I will want to make sure you’re completely mine.”

  The possessive nature of his statement made Jazzmyn’s body recoil. She lowered the coffee cup from her lips and glanced up at Julian. “You act as if this ceremony tomorrow night is no big deal. From everything I know of voodoo, I would have thought lifting a curse would be a rather scary proposition.”

  Julian picked up his gray shirt from the Napoleon chair next to the bathroom door. “It’s just a voodoo ritual, Jazzmyn, not open-heart surgery. Anyway, the hard part is already over. I’ve found you. The rest is simply a formality.”

  She put the cup of coffee on her tray. “Somehow I don’t see a voodoo ritual as a formality.”

  He shrugged his shirt over his shoulders. “I’m sure the priestess I found will explain it all to us tomorrow night.”

  “You found a priestess? Who?”

  “Lucinda La Cre,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I know it sounds very theatrical, but she’s supposed to be the best.” He nodded to the breakfast tray. “Eat up and get dressed. Then I’ll drop you at the restaurant. I have to head over to my house this morning to meet with a real estate agent.”

  “You’re really selling your place?”

  He gave a curt nod. “I’m done with it. I want to live here with you in this fine old mansion. I also plan on putting my other homes in Europe and New York on the market. But I’m keeping the Malibu place. It would be a shame to get rid of it. It’s absolutely beautiful there.”

  Jazzmyn picked up the fork and debated on where to begin on her plate.

  “Why did you put that gun under your pillow last night?” Julian calmly inquired.

  Jazzmyn’s eyes shot up to his face. He was standing at the end of the bed with his arms folded over his broad chest, observing her.

  The constant burn of apprehension that had been hounding her quickly intensified. “I’ve always slept with a gun under my pillow. Force of habit,” she answered with a nonchalant shrug.

  “Or last night you were afraid,” he countered in a firm voice. “There are some benefits to being what I am, Jazzmyn. I have an acute sense of smell, an ability to sense other people’s emotions, and an uncanny talent for never being able to die. If you were planning on using that gun on me, you would have been sorely disappointed.”

  She tossed her fork down on her plate. “If that is what you think, I’m surprised you still want to marry me.”

  “I need you. You know that, and I will do whatever it takes to free me of this curse. So leave the gun in your purse from now own. You know as well as I do that no one will ever hurt you as long as I am here.”

  Jazzmyn moved the tray away from her lap. “What if you become angry with me, Julian? What if you turn into that monster and come after me? What do I do then?”

  “There is only one way to make sure that doesn’t happen, Jazzmyn. Don’t make me angry.” He turned and walked out of her bedroom, leaving the door open to the hallway outside.

  Jazzmyn listened as his heavy footsteps made their way down the stairs to the first floor. When the sound of his footfalls finally faded away, Jazzmyn wrapped her arms about her body and fought back the urge to cry. All her life she had been proud to be from such an old New Orleans family, but for the first time, she hated her family name. If she had never been born a Livaudais, she would never have come to know the evil that existed inside the likes of Julian Devereau, an evil she feared would one day destroy her.

  ***

  Matters in Jazzmyn’s life only seemed to go from bad to worse when she entered her restaurant an hour later. In the kitchen, she found Carl covered from head to toe with flour while Ms. Helen was dancing around him with a soup ladle in her hand.

  “I call on the gods of cookin’ to give this boy your power,” Ms. Helen cried out. “To raise up the winds of the east to carry your power across the land to him. Make him a great chef. Make him wise in the use of spices and make him the master of the fire from the stove. All great things we ask of you gods of cookin’. Build him up, and make him one of your own.”

  Carl’s long face was hanging on Ms. Helen’s every word.

  Ms. Helen stopped dancing and put the ladle on the desk next to her. She took in some deep breaths. “All right. Now you’re blessed.”

  “That’s it?” Carl asked.

  “That’s all I got, son.” She nodded to the prep table to her right. “Go and cook with confidence.”

  Carl began wiping the flour from his red T-shirt. “I can feel it working already,” he happily declared. He scurried to the far side of the kitchen, picked up a long knife, and began hacking away at several whole chicken fryers on the table before him.

  Jazzmyn stepped into the kitchen curiously eyeing Ms. Helen. “Should I even ask?”

  Ms. Helen nodded to Carl. “Just givin’ the boy some confidence.”

  “From the gods of cooking?” Jazzmyn dubiously questioned.

  “When you were twelve you asked me to cast a spell on a boy you liked in school. You wanted me to help him win hi
s peewee football game. I called on the gods of football then, but you didn’t seem to pay no mind, either.”

  Jazzmyn watched as Carl ripped apart the chickens. “Well, I’m up for anything that will help him cook better.”

  “I didn’t say he’s gonna cook better, he’s just gonna cook with confidence, that’s all.” Ms. Helen’s eyes traveled up and down Jazzmyn’s figure. “You could use some good juju, child. You look like someone who’s got a lot on her mind.”

  Jazzmyn twisted the engagement ring around on her finger. “I think I may need more than juju, Ms. Helen.”

  “He give you that?” Ms. Helen pointed to the ring.

  She held up her left hand for Ms. Helen to see the ring. “He says he loves me.”

  “But you don’t love him, do you Jazzmyn? You’re afraid of him.” Ms. Helen took a step closer to her. “You should be afraid. That man’s cursed.”

  Jazzmyn felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “If you’re so convinced he’s cursed, maybe you should do for him what you just did for Carl.”

  Ms. Helen shook her head. “I can’t help him. He needs to make amends to the one who cursed him.”

  “But how would he do that?”

  “There’s a ceremony that needs to be performed in the presence of the one he wronged,” Ms. Helen began. “It must always be done at the height of the full moon when the doors between the world we can see and the world we can’t see are open. He must then right the wrong he has done. It’s the only way to truly make amends.”

  Jazzmyn mulled over her words for a moment. “What do you mean by ‘right the wrong’?”

  “Whatever he did that brought ‘bout the curse he must undo,” Ms. Helen explained.

  “What if it is something he didn’t do? Like failed to go through with a commitment of some kind.”

  “Then he must go through with the commitment. He must right the wrong,” she insisted.

  “But what if that person is dead? How does he right the wrong then?”

  Ms. Helen’s warm brown eyes briefly shrouded with concern. “He must right the wrong with the kin of the person who has died. He must find someone who carries their blood and perform the ceremony with them.”

  “That’s it? He performs this ceremony and the curse ends?”

  “It’s not that simple, child,” Ms. Helen cautioned. “The ceremony is only part of what needs to be done. For a curse to end, there has to be a sacrifice.”

  The color drained from Jazzmyn’s face. “A sacrifice?”

  “There’s a price for everythin’, Jazzmyn. Somethin’ one treasures must be exchanged in order to receive that which a person desires most. The universe has to know that you’re willin’ to give up somethin’ you love in order to get somethin’ you want. That’s where the power comes from. It’s the fuel that makes magic possible.”

  “What would Julian have to give up?”

  Ms. Helen shrugged her shoulders. “Only the universe knows the answer to that question. It’s different for every person. It must be somethin’ that demon values. Only at the moment when he truly makes amends will the sacrifice be revealed.”

  Jazzmyn’s head began to spin. She stepped over to the wall and rested her forehead against the cool sheetrock.

  “Your satyr man’s been walkin’ this earth for a long time,” Ms. Helen stated as she came up to her side. “He’ll have to make a great sacrifice in order to get the power he needs to end his curse.”

  Jazzmyn wheeled around to face her “You knew?”

  Ms. Helen nodded her head. “From the first moment I saw him sittin’ at the bar. Yeah, I knew who he was.”

  “What do I do?” Jazzmyn asked, her voice thick with trepidation.

  “You must end this. Otherwise, he will go after your children and then your grandchildren, until he gets what he wants. He has eternity on his side, but you have somethin’ far greater.”

  “Greater?” Jazzmyn threw her hands in the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What on earth could I possibly have to fight him?”

  Ms. Helen lovingly patted her hand against Jazzmyn’s cheek. “All in good time, Jazzmyn. All in good time.”

  A piercing scream suddenly rocked the kitchen. Ms. Helen and Jazzmyn turned to see Carl standing by the main prep table holding his hand as blood poured from it.

  Jazzmyn cursed and ran to his side.

  Ms. Helen laughed, flooding the kitchen with her raucous cackle. “I guess I gave him a little too much confidence.”

  ***

  The evening dinner rush was lighter than the night before and Jazzmyn feared it might be due to Kyle’s absence. As she shadowed Carl, helping him lift frying pans or prepare plates due to his injured finger, she felt the edginess that had been bothering her all day grow even worse. When Jerry, the dishwasher, dropped a wet plate to the ground, her nerves shattered.

  “Goddamn it! I’m going to have to start charging you for those, Jerry!” she shouted.

  “Hey!” Scott called to her from behind the prep table. “We’ve got customers who can hear you.”

  She turned and scowled at Scott. “I know that!”

  “What’s your problem?” He came around the side of the table. “You’ve been yelling at me and everyone else in this place all evening.”

  She pointed to the dining room door. “If you haven’t noticed, we have a much smaller house tonight than last night, and it’s Saturday, Scott. We’re usually packed on Saturday nights.”

  Scott noticed Carl straining to hear their conversation. He took Jazzmyn by the arm and pulled her down the hall, away from the kitchen.

  “The kid’s been trying real hard, Jazz,” Scott berated as soon as they were out of earshot. “There’s no reason to make him feel worse than he already does. Must be real bad for him to let Ms. Helen work her magic on him.”

  “How did you know about that?” she asked, rubbing her aching back.

  “He still has flour in his hair.” Scott paused and put a supportive hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got to get a grip. You can’t go shouting at everyone and still expect to have staff at the end of the evening. This isn’t you, Jazz.”

  “I know, Scott. I’m just jumpy as hell.”

  “About what?” Scott folded his arms over his chest. “Is this about Julian and the wedding?”

  She glanced back at the kitchen, evading his inquisitive gaze. “Why do you ask?”

  “Last night when he told me the two of you were getting married, you looked like you were going to rip his head off. That’s not what a man usually expects from his intended.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t want him to say anything to anyone just yet. I figured it would be something we would announce later when people would be more comfortable with the idea.”

  “By people, do you mean Kyle?” Scott shook his head. “And no to what you’re thinking. I didn’t say a word to him about you and Julian.”

  Jazzmyn breathed in a sigh of relief. “Have you talked to him?”

  Scott nodded. “Once, earlier today. He asked about you. Well, he didn’t ask, more like ranted about you for twenty minutes.”

  “He’s still pissed, huh?”

  Scott smiled at her. “No, he just misses you.”

  Jazzmyn hated to admit it but she missed Kyle, too. “Do you think he would come back?”

  Scott looked back down the hall toward the kitchen. “In a heartbeat. Does that mean you’re going to ask him to come back?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it and—”

  The crash of pans against the stove in the kitchen interrupted her.

  “Gosh darn it!” Carl cried out from the kitchen.

  “You were saying?” Scott continued.

  “I’ll go and see him tomorrow.”

  “Maybe you should go first thing in the morning, before we open for lunch,” Scott suggested.

  Jazzmyn sighed and nodded in agreement “Definitely before lunch.”

  ***

  After locking the front doo
r of the restaurant and turning out the lights, Jazzmyn stepped into the kitchen to find Scott and Julian standing in front of the prep table.

  “When did you get here?” she inquired as she admired Julian’s blue tailored suit.

  “About five minutes ago. Scott let me in the back door.” Julian came up to her side and kissed her cheek. “Scott was just telling me how it went this evening. I would have come sooner, but I got held up at my house.”

  “I’m going to head out, Jazz,” Scott said as he moved away from the prep table.

  “See you in the morning, Scott.” She smiled at him. “And thanks for the advice.”

  “Just get him back here, Jazz. We need him,” Scott asserted.

  Scott headed down the hallway to the back entrance. When the heavy back door closed with a thud, Julian narrowed his eyes on her.

  “What was Scott talking about?”

  “Kyle,” Jazzmyn told him with a frustrated sigh. “I’m going to ask him to come back to the restaurant.”

  Julian squared his shoulders, bristling with displeasure. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  She took a guarded step back from him. “I have no choice, Julian. Customers are complaining about the food, and tonight was pretty slow for a Saturday. I can’t help but wonder if word is getting out. In a week, I could have no customers left.”

  “I’m not comfortable with that man coming back into your life, Jazzmyn.”

  “For God’s sake, I’ve got a business to run, Julian. When you have people dependent on you to make a living, you have to make concessions.”

  She saw the darkness gathering in his eyes. Her stomach clenched and she suddenly regretted saying anything to him. She could not afford to make him angry.

  “I know how you feel about him,” she added, keeping her voice calm and even. “But I’m engaged to you. I’m going to marry you. Kyle is nothing to me but a chef in my restaurant.”

  He carefully examined her face as if searching for the slightest hint of insincerity. “So you say, but that isn’t how you feel.”

  She shrugged, trying to allay his concerns. “He was a good friend, of course I have feelings for him.”

  “He was also your lover.”