A New Orleans Haunting: #1 in the Suzy's Adventure Series (NOW COMPLETED!) (Paranormal Fantasy & Erotica)

by Dorian Mayfair

That’s weird. Suzy was sure the lights in the ceiling had been on when she had drifted off, but the chandelier above the bed was dark. She could barely make out the outline of the furniture and the paintings looked like black, empty rectangles.

  Suzy sighed and leaned back as she tried to gather the resolve to get out of the bed. She still felt drowsy after the bath and the sleep, and the air was hot and heavy with scents. Music still floated though the window, so there was at least one place still open – unless it was a private party. If it was, Suzy considered herself invited. She would not sleep away her one night here.

  She started to rise, then stopped, narrowed her eyes and looked around the room. Something was out of place, as if a shadow in the corner of her eye had shifted, but she couldn’t tell what it was. The door to the bathroom stood open as she’d left it, so she could see the whole room from where she was. There was no one there except for her. She could make out the bolt on the door to the corridor, still in place. Even stranger was that she felt entirely calm, even though she knew she should be worried.

  There’s nothing there, you idiot, Suzy told herself, then gasped when she heard a clink from the tray of bottles on the chest of drawers. She snapped her head around, and her frown disappeared. Her eyebrows shot upwards as she stared the bottles.

  They were moving.

  Or at least one of them was. Suzy felt her jaw slacken as she gawked at a bottle rising of the off the tray and levitating towards her.

  “What the…” she mouthed, breathless. Raised on nearly two decades of supernatural flicks and novels, she automatically looked for wires from the ceiling but saw none. Other possible explanations raced through her mind as the bottle approached, and then she settled on the obvious answer.

  Of course. She was still asleep. The mysterious house and all the talk of magic was lingering in her head, and now it filtered into her dreams. She was slightly annoyed as this meant she’d miss the clubs after all, but as dreams go, this was rather cool. A small voice deep inside her reminded her of that she usually didn’t know she was dreaming, but Suzy brushed it away. She didn’t want to miss what happened next.

  Small reflexes of the light outside struck off the bottle as it came to as stop, just an arm’s length from Suzy’s face. There was an oily fluid inside that smelled vaguely of roses. She smiled at the bottle, confident now that she knew she was dreaming, but she still flinched slightly when her towel slid open and exposed her naked body, as if someone had pulled the edges apart. The bottle slowly tipped to the side, pouring a fine trickle of oil onto her breasts, then bottle swept to the side, covering her with a zigzag pattern of oil, before it came to rest on the table among the other bottles. Then Suzy felt a shift on the mattress, as if something other than her weighed on it, and she gasped as she felt fingers stroking her body.

  What in the name of… There was something, or someone on the bed; she felt a cool presence brush the inside of her thighs, as if someone was kneeling between them, and she felt the physical presence of a body close to hers.

  Ah, she thought. It was one of those dreams.

  Suzy swallowed hard and felt a smoldering lust wash through her. She couldn’t remember having dreamt a dream as intense as this, but it felt good. Cool fingers traced the curves of her breasts, painting figures with the oil in her skin, and then went on to stroke upwards, pinching her nipples softly but firmly with each caress. Suzy gripped around the rounded wood behind her head and groaned while fingers continued to explore her body, tugging gently at her nipples and rubbing the oil in with long, tender strokes. She bit down hard on her lip when what felt very much like a soft mouth close on a nipple, kissing her while the hands continued to stroke her.

  After what felt like hours, the hands left her breasts and slid down between her legs where they continued to massage her, pressing on her thighs. She parted her legs, breathing hard. The cold, invisible lips wandered down her breast, brushing over her belly, a ghostly tongue circling and kissing, finally finding its way where she wanted it to be. Unseen hands held her thighs apart as Suzy shuddered under the treatment, twisting in the bed as each stroke of the imaginary tongue sent jolts through her body. Her eyes flicked open for a second and something registered though the red veil of her pleasure, a faint hint of an outline in the air, no more than a disturbance of the hot air hovering over her. And behind it, something else, a small oddity inside a greater strangeness, too vague to understand.

  Then the tongue reached lower to slip deep inside her warmth, and she gasped and half rose from the bed before falling back again. She crossed her legs in the air and felt them rest on an invisible shape – a back, she thought – while ethereal fingers ran up and down her legs. Suzy pressed up against the invisible mouth, trying to force the tongue deeper inside her while she felt her body begin to tremor, but just as she thought she’d pummel into a climax, the hands gently lifted her and the tongue ventured even further down, tracing and poking lightly.

  Suzy bit into a pillow and groaned. No one had ever done that to her, but all hesitations vaporized under the hot flare of pleasure. Every movement seemed to touch a nervous centre and her body seemed to take on a life of its own, responding beyond her control. All she wanted was a tongue, a finger, anything to help her over that threshold she kept nearing but never crossing. Then, just as she neared the verge of tumbling into a welcoming climax, she felt the presence withdraw.

  Suzy nearly screamed in annoyance. She tried to wake herself from the dream, somehow knowing that she’d pass out if it continued, but found that she had no idea how to surface. And it didn’t help that part of her had no interest whatsoever in waking up; her lust held her in a vice that left her with little control of her emotions.

  But the dream wasn’t finished with her. Strong, unseen hands rolled her over, gripped her hips, and lifted them up. Suzy, wondering what was happening, had barely time to steady herself before her unseen lover entered her from behind, its warmth filling her in a sudden plunge.

  This time she did scream, burrowing her face into a pillow to muffle the sound, and the sensation sent her flying past the brink she had been hovering at. Suzy’s body racked with the climax and she fought to catch her breath, all while the presence behind her continued to make love to her in a deep, steady rhythm, making her hold on to the woodwork and push back. Cool fingers glided up and down the back of her thighs, stroked the cleft just above where he entered her, continued onto her back to outline her spine and tugged at her hair, all the time slowly pulling out and pushing back deep into her. Suzy, overcome with pleasure, felt her consciousness start to seep away and darkness close in on her, but she soon felt the furnace of lust grow in her belly again. She would come again if she just could stay conscious. And she would, damn it. This dream was not getting the best of her!

  She shook her head and gripped the bedframe so hard the woodwork creaked, then began to push back, meeting each thrust with a low growl while pearls of sweat tricked down her spine. Suzy didn’t trust her senses, but she could have sworn she heard a soft laugh from behind her. The strong hands gripped her hips and the thrusts became more intense, forcing her to struggle to not be plunged down into the small mountain of pillows. And then the torture began all over again: the warm firmness that moved in and out of her drove her gasping and trembling to the edge of release, slowed down just as her muscles started to tauten, and then, leisurely, teased her back to the edge again. She felt lips lightly kissing her neck lightly while a finger stroked and caressed her most sensitive places, prodding and pushing gently, seeking its way inside her.

  She was pushed to the border and pulled back again and again, over and over until she felt the first signs of cramps spread in her legs. Then the thrusts suddenly didn’t slow down but intensified, becoming stronger and more determined. Suzy tossed her head back, shook her damp hair out of her eyes and let out a feral keen as she finally came, her body racking and pushing back hard, craving the heat deeper in her.

  When the last tremor had passe
d, she slumped on the bed and breathed hard. She no longer felt the strange sensation of company, but even if there had been someone in the room, she was too exhausted to turn around and look. Even breathing felt complicated, demanding her concentration.

  “Sweet bloody mercy,” she whispered into a pillow. Her body still shivered as she rolled over gingerly and stared at the roof. The dull neon reflexes in the chandelier seemed to swirls and circle, forming a whirlpool of red and white, pulling her in, drawing her closer, deeper into the current…

  *

  Suzy opened her eyes, made a face and quickly closed them again to keep out the harsh daylight. Am I awake now, she wondered? Or was she still dreaming? What was going on?

  Curtains fluttered in a warm breeze in the open windows, rippling and dancing to the tones of a deep reggae base that thumped from nearby speakers. Horns, laughter and footsteps echoed from the streets outside. Everything seemed normal. Well, except for that she’d missed out on a night out in town in exchange for the mother of all wicked dreams. She felt irked, but found that she wasn’t sure if she’d like to change what had happened. After all, that had been some experience.

  She sat up gingerly and carefully stretched her back. She could have killed for a glass of water, but the prospect of going to the bathroom was less than appealing. Just breathing was hard, and any movement beyond sitting up was out. Every limb felt slack and her back was stiff, making her wince as she turned and looked at the clock. She frowned at blinked at it in disbelief. It couldn’t ten to twelve; if it was, her flight would leave in less than two hours.

  “Shit!” she shouted and leaped out of the bed, ignoring the chorus of complaints from her sore body parts. She dashed into the bathroom, turned the taps and stood jumping from foot to foot under a blitz of icy water. How could anything be so cold when the whole city was sizzling under the sun? Back in the bedroom she threw on the clothes closest to her, cursing her love for leather pants, then raked her belongings off the bed down into her backpack. Most of her packing was lying strewn all over the room, so she crawled around frantically is search of the most essential stuff. She glanced at the clock. Five to twelve. If she could flag down a cab right outside the hostel, she should make it.

  Typically, she couldn’t find the Emily doll, her most prized possession. Under the bed? No, but there at least she found her book. In the bathroom? Nope, but she grabbed the range of soap tubes and tossed them into her bag too. This was a hotel, after all. Under the pillows? She threw them aside but found nothing. The dull ticking of the clock seemed much quicker than last night. Almost noon. Checkout time. Damn. She had to leave it behind. Maybe she could have them send it to her mom, not really wanting to know what that would cost her. If they found it.

  She sighed, slung her bag over her shoulder, stepped into her boots and made for the door, pausing only to cast a longing look at the room, the bed, the paintings and the huge windows. She knew she’d miss it, and who knew when she’d sleep in an ex-cultist mansion again? Then she unlocked the door, pulled it open, stepped out into the dark corridor, and stopped. She stood frozen in her step while her memory rewinded and replayed what she’d just seen. No. She was stressing out.

  But her memory, annoyed at being ignored, did another replay that forced her to step back into the room. She dropped her packing and walked up to one of the smaller paintings in the room, an ochre-toned portrait of Monroy next to the bathroom door. He was sitting on a chair facing the artist – or maybe himself – with the ever-present glass of wine in one hand and the other hand behind his back, as if he was hiding something.

  And that was what had caught her eye: he was hiding something. Even worse, she had admired that very painting last evening, and she could have sworn he had his other hand in his lap when she’d last looked at it. Now there was something dark and round sticking out behind his back, just where his hand would be. She leaned closer and felt every hair on her body stand up.

  Behind his back he held a toy, a small doll with a pale face framed by jet black hair. At a glance, it could have passed for an antique doll, or even part of his clothes, but the shape was far too familiar to Suzy. She could even see she black blotch on the doll’s cheek where Suzy once had spilled nail varnish.

  Suzy swallowed and touched the painting. It was dry. She blinked slowly while she did a double take, knowing that she’d have a lot more to deal with for some time than just long fights and airplane food. Then her aching legs made her recall the past night, and she shivered with pleasure. Without knowing why, a wide grin spread over her lips as she watched Monroy’s face.

  “You bastard,” she said softly. “I’m coming back for it, believe me.”

  Then she grabbed her bag and left the room, no longer terrified by the idea of missing the flight. There were other things to consider.

  The lady at the desk offered to call an airport shuttle that’d make sure she got there in time. Suzy absentmindedly accepted.

  “I hope I didn’t leave you with troubled dreams last night?” she asked Suzy, who lounged in a sofa while smiling at nothing.

  “What?” Suzy said. “No, no. No trouble at all.”

  The lady smiled and turned back to her computer. “That’s good to hear, I was afraid I had upset you. Come to think of it, many guests in that room tend to oversleep. It must be the noisy traffic outside. That’s a nasty cough, dear. Would you like a glass of water?”

  “No, I’m alright,” Suzy said and rubbed her face with her hands. “Yeah, the traffic is a kind of loud, but that’s alright.”

  “So you enjoyed your stay then?” the lady asked.

  “Oh yes,” she said and grinned. “A lot.”

  She sighed and stared at a huge painting above the exit. The motif showed a black-clad Monroy leaned against a railing, looking down on her with a knowing smile on his pursed lips.

  Am I crazy? Was it a dream? Can any dream be that real? And where’s my doll? A long string of burning questions was lined up in her mind. A lingering heat filled her body. There was only one way to find the answers.

  “In fact,” Suzy said and turned to the lady, “can I make a booking for three weeks from now? The same room, please.”

  *

  The bar was hidden between a seafood takeaway and a jazz bar in an alley near the water. While located close to Royal Street, few found their way here apart from locals and music enthusiasts who were armed with maps and precise directions. Inside the dark main room, the air was heavy with the scents of fried fish and the notes of a slow blues. Lamps hung down low over a short chrome bar fronted by tall steel chairs. Above the lamps, a large fan circulated the hot air but didn’t do much to cool it.

  Behind the bar was the manager, a discreet woman who served the best drinks in the quarter. Busy with arranging clean whiskey glasses on a shelf, she never looked up at Caiban or any of the other patrons, although she knew instantly when someone wanted their glass refilled. To the right of the bar was a discreet door with a small red-lit window.

  Caiban touched his whiskey and No one here drank beer; this was a venue for connoisseurs who sought finest drinks and a quiet place for exchanging information. He’d never been through the door with the red window but knew what hid behind it. Those who thought fortune telling was a sham would have a revelation if they ventured through that door. He’d never been tempted to go inside; the door was simply an oddity among many others. More peculiar than the man four streets down who could talk to cats, but nowhere as strange as the statue in Greenwood Cemetery that poured liqueur from its marble pitcher during full moons. In New Orleans, secrets hid in every crevice and shadow.

  No secret, however, was as important as the one that had brought him there.

  The front door opened and Misha entered the bar. In his long, green and expensive coat and black beret, he looked like a Special Forces commander dressed by a good designer in a sinister mood. Caiban suspected that was deliberate.

  Seeing Caiban, he nodded and took a seat next to him. “Cai
ban,” he whispered. “And on time, too. I thought I saw a pig pass overhead.”

  “I don’t lose my way on purpose,” Caiban protested, his voice hushed. “What happened last night? Tell me, quickly.”

  Misha looked surprised. “You mean you didn’t spy on her?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Cai looked affronted. “I would never do that. However, I had planned to watch the hotel’s exit, but Greene came to New Orleans last night.”

  “So he finally got his tall behind out of the woods. About time, if you ask me. What did he want?”

  “To talk.” Caiban sipped of his whiskey, looked around and lowered his voice even more. “He’s worried. Apparently, he’s spent a lot of time reading the signs lately, and he agrees that the ritual is broken.”

  Misha scoffed. “Reading,” he said. “You mean he’s been staring into his ponds and puddles.” The manager placed a whiskey in front of Misha so smoothly you had to stare not to miss it. Misha raised the glass, inhaled, and nodded in approval.

  “To him it’s the same,” Caiban said. “As you do know. He also said that Suzy is set to meet him soon.”

  Misha frowned. “No, she isn’t,” he said. “The Champion isn’t set do to anything. Is Greene planning to go to her? That’s completely against all tradition. You have to tell Greene to keep away.” He cursed and rolled his eyes. “Gods, I wish the Champion this time was less pretty.”

  “Greene isn’t doing anything,” Caiban said quietly. “He heard from a contact the Suzy is a planning to

  “That’s just – bizarre,” Misha said, struggling to keep his voice down. “For what reason.”

  “To party, apparently.”

  “Now I know you’re not serious.”

  “Her friends has a house,” Caiban explained. “Right next to where Green makes his home. And before you ask what the odds are, I agree that they are small. Too small, I might add.”

  “You’re saying Suzy is drawn to us?” Misha asked. “But tradition says she will seek us out. She must gather the knowledge, do the research, find the clues, and – ”