Their snarking undertones traveled ahead of the cart’s library arrival. Rhea swallowed a giggle and immediately felt sorry for Franklin. I must be sure to let him know how dear he remains.
“Bless you, you two. You read my mind. Franklin, everything is delightful and oh, Cooke, I have missed these cookies.” Her eyes lit up with a new sparkle.
Franklin served tea with just the right amount of milk and Cooke fussed over her plate of goodies before patting her hand. Both housekeepers lingered and waited as Rhea ate and finally set her cup and plate aside. She wished they would let her alone.
“There, see? I am refreshed. You must stop hovering. I am fine.”
Before anyone could answer, a large wolfhound bounded into the room and practically bowled Cooke over, yipping playfully. Franklin made some disapproving sounds, but Rhea stood and calmed the dog with a soft word.
“Reaper you old bag of fur. How is my favorite wolf hunter?” Cooke cooed and rubbed noses with the hound-turned-puppy. She scratched behind his ears, and that forced his tail into a drum solo on the floor. “Where is your mistress, eh?”
“Looking for me?” answered the seductive voice of the redheaded vampire who sashayed into the library, leather boots clicking on the hardwood floor. Drahomira grinned and set down the large boxes she carried with her. “I’m an elf with presents. Cooke, by the Beng, you’re a face I hoped to see again.” Dra offered a salute and a wink.
Cooke’s eyes watered at the unusually tender words, and she clucked approvingly but didn’t move to touch the vampire. Time spent with Dra taught the elderly woman that Dra eschewed any physical touch except perhaps from Rhea. But that didn’t mean the housekeeper could – or would - refrain from expressing her heartfelt affection for the princess.
“Where’s Victoria? Did she return with you?” Rhea looked around the gathering and then relaxed as Victoria trundled in behind Drahomira, carrying a satchel and a small tote bag.
“She’s moving in,” Dra announced with a lazy smile. She curled up in a vacant chair by the fire and hung her legs over a stuffed arm. Reaper made himself comfortable in front of the fire and watched the activity with a lazy yawn.
“I am not!” Victoria protested and then realized how she must appear with all her luggage. “I only wanted to be sure I had everything I needed, and I wanted to be able to change my shoes because my feet hurt after a long day and I did promise the reading, so I needed my cards,” Victoria stopped and gasped deeply, then added, “And you must be Mistress Rhea’s friend. Cooke. Cooke the friend, I mean not cook you but you are Cooke The Friend. Sorry. So pleased to meet you. Oh, and I have a present for you too. It’s in my bag, the little one. Well, the smaller one comparatively. I have some recipe cards from my grandmother if you want to see. Maybe later. Sorry. So glad to meet you.”
Everyone burst into giggles though Franklin covered his with a scowl.
“Lass, I think you’d better sit down. We’ve just met, and already you’ve made me tired,” Cooke chided with another chuckle.
Victoria plopped onto the sofa, and Franklin served up more tea as Rhea made the introductions.
“Miss Rhea I am ready when you are,” Victoria prodded. The mantle clock struck nine, and Victoria’s stomach grumbled angrily. “Sorry.” She blushed and covered her middle.
“Looks like I’m on duty. I’ll toss together something to eat. I know it’s late. Doesn’t matter. Nothing fancy now.” Cooke huffed out of the chair and followed Franklin to the kitchen.
“We will get to your reading shortly, Victoria, but first, what are all those boxes?”
“Oh, yes!” Victoria jumped up and grunted as she yanked one of the boxes over. “I told you I had a present for you. After the, um, the uh, fight,” she paused and glanced first at Drahomira, then at Rhea, “I thought you could use an early warning system. Something that others wouldn’t suspect as suspicious and that Mr. Riviere and Dra could use to their advantage.”
“Sounds intriguing, my dear. I cannot imagine what you have brought,” Rhea said with a glance at Dra.
“Beats me what she’s dragged here. Need some help, Vic?” Dra sat up.
“No, Victoria. I’m fine,” Victoria frowned at Dra because of the nickname.
“No, I’m Dra. You’re Vickie. Nice to meet ya.” Dra snickered.
“Let…me…just…get…this…” Victoria grunted, giving Dra a black look. Suddenly the box popped open and revealed a five-foot long, six-tube wind chime.
“Oh, my dear! How lovely. I adore wind chimes. Thank you. But I do not understand how these will help.” Rhea leaned over admired them.
Victoria stood up and waved at the other three boxes.
“I have four identical chimes, and I’ve warded them to play a certain tone when vampires, demons, or elves approach. All you need do is let me set them up at the four corners of the property. Then I activate them from the house’s center. The rest of the time they will naturally keep away trolls, crows, and banshees.”
“Yeah, an infestation of banshees is a real problem,” Dra agreed with a nod and Rhea grinned in spite of herself.
“Well hey, I figured it was as good a need as any,” Victoria protested.
“No, it is quite alright. Pay no attention to the fearless vampire who is afraid of magic,” Rhea winked.
“One problem to your plan, hon,” Dra began and leaned over to pick up a tube. Reaper growled, but Dra ignored him.
“Wait, no!” Victoria sputtered too late.
Drahomira hissed, dropped the long tube, and it clanged against the others, hollow and deep.
“Silver,” Dra hissed and licked her hand. Her green eyes glowed as she bared her fangs and leaned toward Victoria who immediately and wisely backed away.
“Dra. Stop. You know she did not mean to hurt you.” Rhea rose from her chair, hand out in warning as she positioned herself between the women. “Very elegant. I should have guessed you would give us something like these chimes as a safeguard against attacks,” Rhea said gently.
“I’m sorry, Dra,” Victoria whispered thickly. Large tears rolled down both cheeks.
Rhea took the seer into her arms and patted her. Dra, wounded but calmed, moved into the shadows. Reaper huffed and followed his mistress.
“It is fine. I already love them. I think Dra was about to point out that we have two vampires who come and go from here. We cannot have these going off all the time.”
“I thought of that, Miss Rhea,” Victoria explained with a renewed excitement. She offered up a tentative smile as she glanced warily in Dra’s direction. “I put a specific charm on these. I only need a bit of dirt that Dra and Mister Riviere touch and I can exclude them from the ward.”
“More magic,” Dra hissed from the shadows.
“Dra, stop. We can do that, Victoria. And I am certain Am has the survey records from which we can figure out the four corners. Then we can install your lovely, thoughtful gifts. I will enjoy listening to them knocking about in the breeze, and the sound will carry all around the property. Thank you, my friend.”
Before any other explanations, Destin’s cries filled the air. A curious Reaper bounded up the stairs followed by Rhea and Dra.
“Feeding time. Please excuse me. Victoria, please stay for supper and because it is late, stay the night. Tell Franklin I said to show you the corner bedroom. I think you will like it.”
“That’s nice of you. Thank you, Miss Rhea,” Victoria called after the departing woman.
Cooke appeared in the doorway shortly afterward, sweaty but self-satisfied. “I made a quick sausage and noodles with a fruit compote. Where is everyone?” She cast a bewildered glance around the empty room.
“Upstairs with Destin, ma’am. There’s only me.”
“C’mon lass, to the kitchen with you. I can hear your stomach begging for attention.”
DRAHOMIRA FOLLOWED RHEA into Destin’s room. Reaper was already there, hovering close and nosing the bed. Incredibly, the boy clung to the crib bars and le
aned on them as he stood. This rapid growth alarmed Rhea. However, her instincts told her that despite his size, he was yet a baby and required sustenance from her.
“By the Beng, Rhea, he grows too fast. That’s not normal, is it?” Dra whispered, shocked.
Rhea grunted as she lifted the hungry boy and settled into an antique rocker by the window. Destin barely waited for her exposed breast before he latched onto her. For a minute, the only sounds were his greedy, wet suckling.
Rhea stared down into his eyes. Startling blue eyes with orange embers flickered back at her.
“Better, my love?” Rhea whispered and rocked slowly. “I do not know what is normal, Dra. He is amazing and abnormal and yet maybe normal, who is to say? He is not like anyone who has ever been alive. A phoenix but a vampire. He eats like a human, burns hot like a phoenix yet demands more blood than milk from me with his very sharp fangs. He can stay up day or night, but he’s beginning to choose to sleep during the day. I fear I will be losing him to the night soon.”
Dra moved to the window’s shadow and stared at the two of them. “You are exhausted and sick, Rhea. He seems too old for what you are doing now. Why not get a nursemaid? He’s almost as big as a one-year-old.”
“To do what? Let him feed from her? No, my friend that would be wrong. He needs what is in my milk as much as he needs my blood.”
“But if he’s a vampire then what’s the harm?”
“Because I am not ready for him to leave me and become like Amor-el.” Rhea’s voice was flat but emphatic. “Stop arguing with me.”
Drahomira shrugged and let it go. “I will leave you to it, but you need to rest little birdy. C’mon Reaper, let’s go for a run.”
“Dra, wait. I need to tell you something.”
Crimson mists gathered over the floor, and as quickly as they appeared, they dissolved taking Drahomira and Reaper with them.
Rhea sighed at the suddenly empty room and stroked Destin’s hair as he moved from milk to drawing blood. “I hope she does come back later. They do not understand that I need to protect you, my son. Your papa may claim the night, but I am the only one who manages both day and night. And until you chose your path, I must be close. Perhaps one day your mamma will join you. Then I will never be alone again, and we will be a true family.”
The rocking continued. As Rhea’s blood filled her son, another part of her body screamed for her to stop. She shivered. The cold consumed her after every feeding, a cold unlike any experienced in her long existence.
Whatever was wrong with her felt connected to her son, and that frightened her.
Three months ago
“GOING….GOING…GONE! Sold to the gentleman in the rear, number 237.”
A few envious eyes followed the auction house secretary, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who spent a shocking $17.5 million on a rock. Well, to be fair it wasn’t any rock. This bit of earth was a geo-find of major archeological significance. Sotheby’s authenticated the petrified stone as something about 9,000 BCE. Origin rumors whispered around him. Everyone in the room was thoroughly impressed, astonished and maybe secretly amused. Really, a rock? However, by the time the curious craned their aristocratic necks, the gentleman was long gone, his business satisfactorily completed.
On the front desk, the receiving hostess would find a company check and shipping instructions. Anonymity was also a Sotheby’s specialty and papers like these did not surprise her. The house’s purchasing documents in order allowed the shipment to leave for Metairie, Louisiana. All paid transactions were final, and the host passed it on for packing. A momentary flash in the pan. The rock’s importance faded in favor of the flashy diamond bauble currently under furious new bidding.
Tomorrow’s papers would cover the auctioned furniture, a royal book, and an actress’s diamond tiara. However, there would be only nominal mention of the few archeological bits and pieces. No one would notice the rock’s disappearance or even remember (or care) who had purchased it. Even the gossipy tabloids would be curiously vague, which suited the new owner. The purchaser liked anonymity because it would make the unique “gift” extraordinarily special. And deadly.
Last week
“YOUR HIGHNESS, HERE are the receiving documents from the Americas.”
The somber young man approached the massive walnut writing desk and gingerly placed the customs forms on the blotter. Truthfully, his employer made him nervous. Those long gnarled hands, the yellow glass-like nails, the silent almost statue-like stare which chilled to the bone, and never eating - all these anomalies just weren’t right to the servant’s eyes. However, the pay was extraordinary, and that bought both loyalty and silence. For now.
“Phillipe, how many times do I have to tell you that I am not a Prince or a Regent? I am a Duke.” The distinguished man with graying temples glanced up from his papers, annoyed. “Sire will do, or ‘Your Grace’, or simply ‘Duke.’ Now, where are those property purchases I required? I want to begin those renovations immediately. They will take at least six months, and I am impatient. I should like to prevent future changes. I need the insurance forms as well.”
Phillipe disappeared and returned with a large manila folder. “The contractor sent the blueprints, Your Royal, I mean, Your Grace. I’ve marked the additions for him, as you required. With your approval, I will mail them on the morrow.”
“Don’t forget the copy to the solicitor’s office.” He scanned the pages, a lean finger tracing the outline of every room. Satisfied, he waved away his secretary and allowed himself a brief indulgence of a daydream. After several moments, a miniature charcoal portrait drew the elderly man’s cold green-eyed stare. The vehement whisper was too quiet for mortal ears.
“Soon my foolhardy protégé. I indulged your mother. I tolerated her betrayal and her abandonment. Enough. Now, I will rectify everything. It is time for change, time for the family to unite and return home. We will purge you and welcome the new blood. We shall be reborn and then I will either forgive you or kill you.”
THE NAME RIVIERE was old and distinguished, highly respected, and recognized in the business community. However, Amor-el never found the need to do business in person, at least not in New Orleans proper. Most of his dealings were accomplished by the law firm that represented the family for nearly a century. Given that he could not venture out during the day, much of his work happened via extensive correspondence. However, there were occasions when it suited him to remind his lawyers that he was real, like tonight. That’s when he appeared as Jean-Louis.
He arranged a business meeting late Friday evening with the excuse of returning from a trip and “on his way home.” A long-standing relationship with the firm allowed him the odd requests when the overlarge monthly retainer from his financial manager permitted the eccentric whims. Jean-Louis understood this too but preferred the more refined viewpoint. He smirked at himself as he pulled up and parked his car.
His solicitors’ offices were always a fresh source of amusement to him. The building rose up in the newer sections of New Orleans, the modern, gleaming, bristling-with-yuppie-life part of town. However, despite the shiny locale, the firm of Albright and Prescott was as old-fashioned as his great grandmother’s doilies.
Their building was a modernized townhouse (believed to be nearly as old as he was) that survived storms mainly due to the raised stone foundation and the marble columns surrounding a wood and stone porch. Jean-Louis suspected the place was once an elegant home but now served as lucrative offices with the ability to offer sleeping quarters if clients required. Before this location, the then Albright, Duchoume and Prescott, operated in the French Quarter. Hurricanes and fires (not to mention mold and mildew of the once all paper files) drove them into better accommodations.
Jean-Louis paused out front, admiring the old edifice, appreciating the solid construction akin to the steady relationship he felt with the two gentlemen inside. His expectations for the meeting were high, and he entered with confidence.
The l
awyers asked few questions though they knew something was “wrong” with the aristocratic family whom they served for so many years. After all, no family survived as long or as well as the Rivieres. However, who were they to question? The money helped as long as it was green and silent. The barristers held no illusions, and their silence ensured decent profits. An arrangement which served the current (and the only) Riviere well.
Anonymity was also valued but today was an exception to the vampire’s usual rule of behavior. Today he needed to venture out into the city, make contact with his legal team, see to certain contracts on several properties, and complete his purchase to begin the next phase of his surprise for Rhea.
Jean-Louis’ plans included securing all 150 acres of the bayou land around his family home. Thanks to an old friend, Rhea recently purchased about twenty-five acres to the east of his family estate, land visible from his property where a new dream could begin. Together, he and Rhea planned a home somewhere as magical as their love. His heart called it “her bower.” A place where they could leave behind the death that tried to destroy them. A new place where the blue roses and their son could grow in peace.
He intended to secure their safety and her dreams with this last purchase of long-vacant and neglected properties. Privacy and secrecy his final gift, land to surround her bower, and keep them protected from those who meant them harm.
Disappointment shadowed him.
“I am terribly sorry, Monsieur Riviere, but someone purchased that particular parcel. The other properties to the west and south might be available, but I’m afraid that northern tier, specifically the seventy-nine acres you asked me about last month, is gone.” Albright, the senior partner, all but whispered the news.
Green eyes flashed in annoyance and then the air crackled with Riviere’s displeasure. The spirit within him churned with latent fury. He rose, his figure casting a long shadow beyond the lawyer’s desk.
Love and Blood (Evening Bower Book 2) Page 5