“Are you saying this is ours? This huge place?”
“I am, my angel. And we will fill it with our friends who are our family. It is empty because much of the new furniture pieces have not arrived. And I know you must have some beautiful antiques you will want to have around you. But wait till you see this.” He picked her up again and ran to the other side of the house.
They stopped in the middle of a garden, surrounded on three sides by a white rock wall. Within the center, a four-tier fountain bubbled over a soft blue light. In fact, blue lights shone all around the grounds, but they were unnecessary. They highlighted the most magnificent evening bower of white flowers, varieties that appeared to glow in the dark.
“Am, did you do all this? White because you cannot see the colors in the day, yes? Night blooming jasmine. And ah, moonflowers. Over there is, what is that? Evening primroses? Darling, you’ve included Four O’clocks and Night Phlox. Amazing.” She walked around the garden, laughing and touching every flower. Only later she noted the bare spaces.
“You see what’s missing, my heart. I will add blue roses to the white ones. White for my mother’s family and blue for ours.”
The thought of the roses brought her back down from her delight.
“If they survive. You know they are wilting and dying, Am. Maybe that means I am, too.”
Immediately he had her in his arms, and pulled her close against him. His mouth slammed over hers needing to breathe her, taste her, smell her, and feel everything about her. How desperately he hungered for her. Her blood, her body, and shamefully he admitted to himself, even her death. But only because he hungered for an eternity beside her, to share his night with her.
“You will not die, my rose. I will not let you.”
She smiled wistfully and then remembered the wind chimes.
“But Am. The chimes. We put them around the old home, but there are none for here.”
“I’m cleverer than you give me credit for, Rhea. Listen.”
She closed her eyes and shut out the sounds of the bayou. As she willed her heart to slow and to listen to the depth of the darkness, she heard the deep tones of tenor chimes, slightly swaying and playing in the wind.
“I added two more to Victoria’s warding, and the rest of the house is in line with the other two. We are warded here as at the old house.”
Rhea frowned. “But what about all your other renovations, why now?”
“I discovered I do not own my home. My family does. I wanted something that was ours. Or yours. This is your home. In your name.”
“I love you,” she said and nestled into his embrace.
“As I love you, chérie. After Dra’s wedding, we will move into our new home, your home, The Evening Bower. Our Halloween gala will be here and serve as a housewarming party too.”
He took her hand and put his other hand on her waist. Together they danced, light as air, across the lawns. In his arms, she never felt tired. In his eyes, she knew only truth and joy. They, two spirits in one fiery soul, might not be doing a fire song but their love echoed loudly just the same.
Across the lawns in the old house, Sondra drank a large glass of ice water and watched them from her upstairs window. She would have to be cautious moving forward and keep an eye out. Trouble visited Drahomira tonight. Sondra expected more. Everything happened in three’s.
Everyone knew that.
AN HOUR BEFORE dawn, Drahomira and Reaper appeared in St Louis Cemetery No. 1. One particular mausoleum offered space, security, and comfort where she could spend her days without an endless parade of visiting tourists. She liked the place because it wasn’t far from her club, and the confusing maze of tombs offered challenging game time for Reaper.
Occasionally, a tourist might catch Dra perched like a bird atop a tomb. Devil or demon, her red hair and red leather lent an air of truth to vampire legends, especially if those neon green eyes focused on you. Yup, it was her kind of place. Unfortunately, tonight she was getting married, and instead of crawling into one of her favorite crypts, she and Reaper patrolled the rows of silent friends before she ended up in her Club Malachite apartment.
Reaper gamboled down the club stairs and left his mistress in her apartment. Steel and Seth fussed behind the bar as they finished the re-stock and Keta shut off the kitchen lights. She squealed when Reaper loped over for sloppy kisses.
“Hey, boy! I’ve missed you. Where ya been?” The fifteen-year-old Keta giggled as Reaper licked her cheek and she scratched his ears.
“Well what d’ya know,” Seth pointed at the hound. “Looks like boss lady is here tonight.”
“How in the hell does she get in and no one notices?” Steel asked and stopped to look around.
“Seriously?” Keta asked and fell over giggling. Hello, vampire? She thought the guys had trouble with the idea of the boss as a nightwalker.
“Hey, kid, enough with the puppy love. Get the last of the trash outside before Janice comes back and reams our hide for staying open past hours. It’s almost six as it is.” Tyler shoed her away.
Keta grabbed the three big bags by the kitchen door and dragged them to the back. The rear door opened to a delivery space behind the club. Right around the corner, the dumpster waited. She clattered and made so much noise that even Reaper huffed.
Seth winced as something metal hit the floor. “She’s an accident waiting to happen, man.”
“Ah she’s a good kid, and Janice likes her,” Steel said and then looked at his watch. “Say, did Janice ever come back? She left with that guy, and I never saw her again. I might have missed her going in the office though. Lemme check upstairs.”
While Steel did his nosey business, Tyler finished mopping the floors and put things away. Seth turned off the lights and headed to the back door. It had been a long night, and Seth was ready for sleep. Steel grated on his nerves, needed to calm his ass down, and stop harassing the customers with his wild theories about the fire. Keta needed to stop worrying about the boss lady. Tyler? Well, Tye-dye kept to himself unless he broke up a fight. Frankly, Seth craved a little peace and that meant distance from these partygoers.
Seth was about to yell at Steel to hurry up when a high-pitched scream punctured his eardrums. Keta! Several more screams rocked the club followed by a mournful howl.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what the hell?” Steel thundered down the stairs as Seth and Tyler ran out the back.
Drahomira heard it too, and she beat them outside. Keta leaned against the alley wall, sobbing and whimpering. Dra stood over a bunch of trash, fury, and hatred glowing in her eyes. The guys slowed when they saw angry boss lady.
Keta ran to Seth. She cried too hard to make sense of her words. Seth’s eyes narrowed, and he attempted to see what horror waited in the dim light.
“Call the police,” Dra’s ordinarily cool voice was oddly flat and empty. She paused by Keta before she went back inside. Keta sobbed harder as Dra left them.
“What is it?” Steel whispered, fearful of what his gut told him but not too afraid to look. He moved some trash and Keta screamed for him to stop.
“No don’t touch,” she whispered. “It’s…Janice.”
“Oh shit,” Steel whispered and stepped back, curling his fits.
“She’s right. Don’t touch anything. Back inside. I’ll call the police.” Seth motioned them away.
They moved like zombie shadows, but Steel did catch a glimpse of Janice’s shoulder. An ugly mark was cut deep into her skin. He gagged as he turned away and then kicked a garbage can aside. Someone hated her a lot to mess her up like that, and he believed he knew who it did it.
Dra sat upstairs in the lounge’s semi-dark. Steel trudged upstairs and nervously approached her. She listened as he confessed his part in what happened the night before, and apologized for the brief altercation with Janice’s boyfriend. He also told her what he knew about the fire at Victoria’s and why he thought it was related to Janice because of what he glimpsed on her body.
She sent him away and tried her best not to lose her cool. Her mood blackened by the minute. Murder was easy. Killing was easy. Doing nothing was agonizing and everything she hated at the moment.
Before the police arrived, Dra called Rhea and told her about Janice. She kept Keta with her upstairs, the abused street urchin who Dra rescued out of the gutter. Reaper stayed with the girl. Keta fell asleep with her head on his back and her arms around him. Dra finished her calls while the girl snoozed.
For the next several hours, police and the county examiner crawled over every inch of her club. Finally, Detective Bayone lost the coin toss and climbed the stairs, asking to speak with Drahomira. From the minute he set eyes on her, he knew that the whispers about her were true.
The detective had too much Cajun in him not to understand the depth of her shadows. The rumors didn’t faze him. For that matter, the truth didn’t either. He was seasoned, and this was New Orleans, after all. Voodoo, Hoodoo, Conjurers – he touched them all here and there. He knew how to tread carefully and wasn’t afraid. Wary, sure. He wasn’t a stupid or a rookie.
Dim lighting upstairs maintained the mysterious ambiance designed for intimacy. Still, there was no way not to notice the haunting light in the woman’s eyes partially due to fury as much as anything.
“Miss, I’m Homicide Detective Bayone, and I need to ask some questions, Miss…?”
“I know who you are. I am Drahomira Premysld.” Dra never moved, but her eyes followed him.
Mace sat down across from her, flipped open his notebook, made a few notes and set it aside.
The conversation went a little like this: Did you know the deceased? Yes. Did she work for you? Yes. How long? Since the opening a few years ago. Do you know where she was last night? No. Did you fight with her? No. Was she in any trouble? Unknown. Did she have a boyfriend?
And that’s when Mace swore he glimpsed teeth. Pointy teeth.
“I don’t know who she was with last night, honey. I’ve heard tell it was an old, old acquaintance of mine but who knows? By the Beng, if I knew anything useful I would tell you. Or maybe I wouldn’t be here talking to you. Maybe I would be out hunting down the guilty. But she’s dead, I am here, and I don’t know.” Dra shrugged and tapped a long fingernail on the table. “Tell me what the bastard did to her. Exactly.”
Mace picked up his notebook and slipped it into his pocket. “From his brief exam in the alley, the coroner said she has a broken neck, possibly sexually assaulted, certainly mutilated or carved up for a ritual.”
Dra sat forward. “What do you mean for a ritual? You mean magic?” she growled under her breath.
“The mark on her shoulder looked like a charm or a symbol. Not unlike one found at the explosion down the street. We think the same person may have drawn both.”
“Really.” It wasn’t a question. “Show me.”
“I’m sorry. That’s confidential.” He waited for more, but she lapsed into silence. “Is there anything else you can tell me? I’ve spoken to most of your staff already.”
“No.” Dra sat back in the chair again, her arms resting on the chair’s arms, her face falling into the shadows. Her fingers curled tightly around the chair’s edges.
“If you think of anything, here’s my number, Miss Preml, er, Miss Presml,” he paused, frustrated, and dropped his card on the table when she didn’t reach for it.
“Will do. Goodnight, detective.”
Dawn filled up the club front as Mace went back down the stairs. He puzzled at her words and blamed her reactions on the long night and familiarity with the deceased. What bothered him was why he couldn’t figure out how the manager fit into the building fire or how much of the situation was a smokescreen for the truth. The boyfriend seemed a likely suspect, but no one knew him or knew where he worked. The other woman was just as likely to be guilty. Jealousy served as a viable motive. On the other hand, the altercation with Steel proved diverting but not relevant.
The one similarity that he didn’t like was that boy Steel showing up at both his crime scenes. Coincidence? Maybe. It was a puzzle. As for the boyfriend, undoubtedly, they would track him down, but Mace didn’t think he was going to like hearing about how or where. Not if his instincts about the club owner were correct.
RHEA HUNG UP the phone and thought she was the only one awake. Amor-el left moments ago for his enforced slumber. The girls were asleep upstairs as was Destin. Her son played most of the night and now slept soundly. Usually, she relished these few minutes alone, but this morning she dreaded sharing the sad news. Drahomira’s cold stoicism over the phone didn’t bode well, and she worried about that, too.
When she tiptoed into the kitchen, she was surprised to find Cooke busily pounding dough. Homemade bread cooled on several racks.
“Tea or coffee?” Cooke offered with another slap to the flour.
“Coffee please and something sweet and gooey. My stomach wants it even if I do not.”
Cooke set a place at the worktable, and Rhea sipped the rich chicory brew while she gazed out the back door. Dawn took her time coming awake. Maybe it needed coffee too.
“You’re up early. Was it the phone?” Cooke covered her bread dough and joined Rhea. She brought along her Irish Breakfast tea and toast. One look at Rhea’s face and she tensed.
Franklin shuffled in and was surprised to find the two women already eating.
“Good morning,” they said in unison.
He nodded, poured coffee for himself, and then joined them at Rhea’s invitation. He could tell, whatever was up, the news was terrible coming early in the morning.
The delivery was hardest. Cooke didn’t know Janice but offered condolences. On the other hand, a startled Franklin nearly upset his coffee.
“I am very sorry. I know you liked her,” Rhea said gently.
“I barely knew her, Madam.” He took his dishes to the sink and paused there. “Does the Lady Drahomira know yet?”
“Yes, she was the one who called.”
Franklin’s mouth upturned at one corner for the barest second and he nodded. “Very good. Thank you. I will be outside readying the patio for the festivities.” He left them to their thoughts.
“He is more upset than he can show and I will have to watch him,” Rhea explained. “Unfortunately, we do not have time to wallow on more sadness. I need to get to work. The girls will go shopping soon, and I need to oversee the decorations. Plus we must plan a menu for tonight.”
“How many will be eating, lass? I don’t want to overcook, and I have to start the cake now.” Cooke pointed to the dough rising in four separate bowls.
“You and me, Franklin and the girls, the chaplain of course and Destin if he’s in a mood. Last night he ate some solid food. Well, he chewed on an apple. Oh, and Victoria wanted to invite her friend, but now with this sad news, I do not know if he will come. He worked for the victim.” Rhea sighed. “The other staff may also show. I am not sure.”
“No worries, lass. I’ll plan for a dozen and prepare for a small army as usual. Just an intimate army.”
With that pronouncement, Rhea met the party coordinator out back where Franklin directed the placement of urns filled with dark, red roses. Drahomira was adamant about the color. The blackest of the roses and buckets of them. Whatever the bride wanted. Rhea had to admit the large blossoms were quite beautiful and their perfume, heady.
Carpenters brought wrought iron fencing to edge the patio. Dra ordered no white anything among the decorations. White was her color for grief. Royalty used purple, but Dra refused to display it during the ceremony. “Sergei and I will wear it when it is time,” she had said.
Therefore, burgundy roses and dark greenery hung around the black awning and decorated the chairs. Franklin and the party planners hung twinkle lights over the tent, fencing, and doorway. Rhea thought it was lovely but worried about shocking the chaplain who might refuse to perform the ceremony. The setting appeared more like a ritual for Halloween than a wedding even if it was New Orleans.
Last night when Rhea suggested that the color scheme might be too gothic, Drahomira had howled with laughter. “I’ve traveled to too many chapels lined with skulls, to think a black tent is gothic,” she responded and actually giggled. The soft echoing bells of her laughter lingered long after she left them.
Rhea glanced at the clock and wondered why she hadn’t heard from her son. Quickly, she ascended the stairs and quietly opened his door. Imagine her surprise when she found Destin sitting in the window seat watching the outside construction. His ability to climb out of his crib wasn’t the shocking part. Impossibly, overnight Destin developed into a lean and lanky boy, aged five or six. His hair darkened more every day, and this morning it glimmered with black depths. She blinked back tears because his face looked so much like Am, except for his eyes that burned with little orange fires.
When Destin heard her come in, he offered a beatific smile and ran to her. “Mamma, I waited. Hungry.”
She bent down and hugged him, swallowing her shock. It was hard not to stare at a boy who aged too fast for words and suddenly spoke in sentences. She buried her surprise with a little motherly fussing.
“My darling, we will go have some breakfast. I came to get you ready. Did you dress yourself?”
Destin giggled, “No, Mamma. Sonny help.”
“Sonny? Sondra? That is Miss Sondra to you, little one.” Destin’s smile disappeared, and he nodded. “Where is Miss Sondra now?” He shrugged. “Then let us go eat, shall we?”
Immediately his face brightened, and he slipped his cool fingers into her hand. “Big glass,” he said with excitement.
“Of milk? Of course, my love,” Rhea watched him take the stairs.
“No, Mamma. Blood.”
That’s when she realized (a little sadly) that between his dual natures, the vampire dominated over his phoenix.
Upstairs, Sondra and Victoria huddled by the radio in Victoria’s room. The speaker reported the news about Janice’s body and the two women listened to the gruesome story. Sondra hadn’t any idea who Janice was, but Victoria explained and then outlined her plan.
Love and Blood (Evening Bower Book 2) Page 12