THE TEMPTING

by D. M. Pratt

  “By who? That thing? I don’t believe you. Why is it that Eve is in any less danger than I am?”

  “She’s not like you. That much I know.”

  “No. She is like me. She’s hurt and angry because she saw me and Beau and she’s jealous. We have to find her. I want my daughter back,” Cora said.

  Cora struggled to her feet. “And if you can’t tell me how Delia is any safer with Eve than with me then …” Cora cut herself off and headed across the room.

  Zamara saw the transformation. Something inside Cora rose, flushing her skin the color of a rose blush and making her eyes flash with a wild rage. Like flipping a light switch, the waves of concern that washed over her turned from worry and guilt into anger and fury. The demon had her.

  “You will help me, Zamara. We have to find Eve and get her to bring Delia to me,” Cora said, seething as she went on, pacing the room and thinking. “Aria said she didn’t take her phone so we can’t trace her. Where would she go? Where would she go?” Cora screamed.

  “I don’t know and I don’t know where to look,” Zamara said.

  “Liar! You do. I know you do. Call Aria and Beau,” Cora said as she crossed to her closet.

  Cora entered and pulled a change of clothes from her massive closet and stumbled into the bathroom to take a shower. Cora started the water and ran her hand under it to test the temperature. When the water touched her hand her skin flushed this time even more red than before. She felt the water turn from cool to tepid, warm to blistering hot. She kept her hand in the scalding water, unfazed. Cora looked at the red glow that emanated from beneath her skin. Naked, she came out to face a surprised Zamara.

  “Why are you still standing there, Zamara? Go and find Aria and Beau and do whatever you must to find out where Eve has taken Delia.”

  Cora, stark naked, picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Millard, Cora. I need you. Come over, now. NOW!” Cora yelled into the receiver.

  “What are you doing?” Zamara asked.

  “Shut up.”

  Cora picked up the phone and this time she dialed 911.

  “Hello? Police? Yes, this is Cora Bouvier. I want to report a kidnapping. My infant daughter has been kidnapped by Eve Dowling,” she said. There was a pause. “Yes, I’ll wait until they come.”

  Zamara watched Cora’s skin vacillate between hues of gold, glowing from deep within her. She was possessed, whether by Kirakin or another Nephilim from his army, Zamara couldn’t be sure.

  Cora felt amazingly invigorated. She, or whatever she had become, had a plan to get Eve and take her daughter back.

  Zamara stared at Cora in abject horror. She’d lost her to them.

  “Go!” Cora shouted to Zamara. “Go!”

  Zamara backed out of the room. She needed to find Aria. She needed to warn Eve.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Beau and Aria stood huddled from the rain inside A.V.’s office portico. Augustus Valentine Lafayette the Fourth, Esquire was engraved in brass letters on the wooden plaque that adorned the archway to his offices, which was located deep in the heart of the French Quarter in a beautiful, hundred-and-fifty-year-old, two-story house, which had belonged to A.V.’s great grandfather’s Creole mistress, Marie De Cuire. She was known to be the most beautiful woman in New Orleans in her time and A.V. was sure his grandfather was their biracial love child, taken in by the family and passed off for white. A.V. was very proud of his possible, secret Creole heritage, and he made no bones of his love for beautiful men and women of color, jazz and African art.

  Aria looked down at her throbbing leg covered in dried blood and deep purple bruises. Beau, still weak from the encounter with Kirakin, leaned against the door frame. They waited. Again she rang the bell. It was midnight and the echo of church bells chimed from across the four corners of the city. Beau let the cool, wet night air drip against his skin and help him fight the draining fatigue that beckoned him to close his eyes and sleep. Sleep would be his only chance to forget the horrific events of the day.

  They waited. No one came to the door.

  “Where now?” Aria asked.

  “He’s here. I know it,” Beau replied and pounded his fist against the heavy wood door. “Ring the bell again.”

  Aria complied and the distant buzzer vibrated.

  Finally they heard a voice echoing down from upstairs.

  “I’m comin’. I’m comin’,” A.V.’s voice bellowed.

  A.V. opened the door, his hair and clothes a disheveled mess, his eyes red and swollen from too much alcohol and not enough sleep. He looked first to Aria with an expression of puzzlement and then noticed Beau. Beau stepped forward and his legs gave way. A.V. caught him. Beau was in his arms, broken and bleeding and desperately needing A.V.’s help.

  “Whoa! What the hell happened to you? Lean on me,” A.V. said to Beau.

  A.V. looked around behind them into the street, which was blurred by sheets of pouring rain. He led Beau inside and nodded for Aria to follow, “Please,” he said, always the Southern gentleman. Aria entered and closed the door.

  “Upstairs. Come on. I have a medicine chest for that leg. Are you sure I shouldn’t be calling an ambulance or the Goddamn police?”

  “Not the police!” both Beau and Aria replied in unison.

  “We don’t need an ambulance either. Not yet,” Aria told him.

  They made it to the top of the stairs and moved down the shadowy hall connecting several offices. The largest, located at the far end of the hallway, was A.V.’s office with its cream walls, oak wainscoting and chocolate curtains, was a well-designed blend of masculinity, power and elegance. Modern furniture accented the mid-century elegance of the space. A small circular conference table ringed by leather and wood chairs sat in the corner. On the right was a comfortable couch with two swivel chairs that could be turned to face either the couch or the massive, glass desk with cabriole legs inspired by Louis the Sixteenth’s furniture. Three wall-mounted flat screen TVs displayed without sound world stock reports, a soccer feed from Italy and some local news feed.

  A.V. gently slipped Beau down onto the couch, his eyes lingering on Beau’s face. He gently covered him with a throw then watched as Aria sat, exhausted, on one of the leather chairs. She gingerly studied her bleeding leg. A.V. poured them both water from a crystal decanter.

  “Drink. That looks nasty,” A.V. said to Aria.

  “Hurts like hell too,” Aria replied.

  A.V. went into the bathroom and reappeared with a metal strong box. Inside was anything and everything one would need to handle both small and large emergencies.

  “I learned my lesson with Katrina. Be prepared,” he said as he ripped open pads, alcohol and peroxide wipes and started to clean Aria’s leg.

  “I can do it,” Aria said. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sure you can, but I’m gonna start it for you so I can see how serious these cuts are,” A.V. said studying the wound. “You’re gonna need a few stitches, young lady.”

  “Thank you,” Aria said. “I’m a nurse and if you hand me that tape I can make a butterfly bandage. I’m Aria.”

  “Good lord, yes, I remember you from the hospital,” A.V. said.

  “Yes, you came in once or twice when they wouldn’t let Mr. Beau see Miss Eve.”

  “She works for us now as Philip’s nanny,” Beau said.

  “Yes. Of course. I remember. Wait. Where’s Eve? Is she okay? Where’s Philip?” A.V. asked.

  “I don’t know. I … it … something happened, A.V. and …” Beau stopped himself. His eyes flooded with tears.

  A.V. turned and looked into his friend’s eyes. He turned back to Aria.

  “What the hell is going on?” A.V. asked.

  “Mister Lafayette? How versed are you in the ways of the spirit world?” Aria asked.

  There was a long pause as A.V.’s glance went back and forth between Beau and Aria. He finally spoke.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts, vampires or werewolves. What
else is there?” A.V, replied.

  “Possession?”

  “As in demons? You can add them to my list as well. I am not a believer in heaven, hell, the devil or God. Sorry.”

  “There are other kinds of possession. Have you heard of the Nephilim?” Aria asked.

  “As a matter of fact I have. My Grandmother had a thing for Angels and the fallen Nephilim. She read me bible stuff and I explored the rest. I know there are two schools of thought; one in the religious scriptures and mythological writings that names them as the first children of God. One third of them screwed up and got banished and then I guess humans were created and they—we—are still in the process of screwing up. Guess you could call the Nephilim a kind of failed first experiment banished to … well … wherever you banish mythological beings. The other school of thought pertains to ancient aliens who came down to rape our lovely planet and cross-breed with human women to create a new race … us. I think it was for slaves or something. Giants as I recall. There are even videos and photos I saw on the Internet of giant skeletons dug up in the Middle East. Bottom line, a bunch of salacious bullshit,” A.V. added with a smile. “Forgive my language, Miss Aria.”

  “You know a lot,” Aria said.

  “I am wildly unhappy and don’t sleep unless I am inebriated so I spend way too much time watching the History and Discovery channels. Besides I was not allowed to play with Beau because of the ‘curse’ his family brought with him. The old folks still gossip, but those of us from the present have moved on.”

  “The curse is real, but it’s more of a genetic pact. His family was bred to be used for a kind of demonic possession and it has been carried for generations in their family blood line. He’s a human incarnation of the Nephilim and they can posses him at will,” Aria said. “He looks like this because he fought one tonight.”

  “She risked her life to help me,” Beau told A.V.

  A.V. looked at Beau and then at Aria. They weren’t smiling.

  “Please tell me this is all a very bad joke. You all did not wake me from my drunken stupor to tell me this fantasy.”

  “We should go,” Aria said pulling herself up on her feet.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You still haven’t told me where Eve and Philip are,” A.V. said sounding suddenly much more officious.

  “We don’t know,” Beau said. “She left. She saw us… something … and she took Philip and Delia and left. I don’t know where she is.”

  “Delia? Why would she take Cora Bouvier’s daughter?”

  The pained expression on Beau’s face said everything.

  “Fuck, no you didn’t. You and Cora? Aw, Beau, that first time, I understood. You thought Eve was going to be a vegetable and grief is when you are your most vulnerable, but why the hell …” A.V. said.

  “It wasn’t them she saw,” Aria shouted. “It was the Nephilim. It … they possessed them.”

  “They?” A.V. asked persisting.

  “I think there were two separate Nephilims. They’ve come back to our world and they need Beau, but most of all, they need Eve. We don’t know why, but I think she’s the key to open our dimension so they possessed Beau because his family blood line has allowed it for centuries and maybe Cora and they will use them to make her join them,” Aria said.

  Beau and A.V. looked at her, trying to absorb what she was saying and put it into some kind of logical perspective. There was none.

  “So the myths about my family… about me… are true? I’m part of that thing.” Beau said, his heart racing in his chest.

  “Stop. Whatever you think you saw. Just stop,” A.V. said to Beau. He turned to Aria. “And you know this because?”

  “That’s a very complicated answer and I will explain it if you help us,” Aria said. “If not, you need to let us get out of here.”

  “Answer me. Am I cursed?” Beau asked again.

  “You have known the truth of who you are since the day you came of age. Your parents tried to protect you but it cost them their lives.”

  “And my sister,” Beau asked.

  “Her death was not an accident,” Aria said.

  “This is insane,” A.V. said.

  “What if it’s not? What if she’s right,” Beau said, the desperation rising in his voice. “I saw what I saw and I know what almost happened to me and I won’t let him take me.” Beau turned to A.V. “Right now we need your help to find Eve and the children before that thing comes back and it’s too late for all of us. Will you help us?”

  A.V. studied his longtime friend and the young woman with the stern even gaze next to him. He didn’t know what to think. He turned and crossed behind his desk to a great mahogany ceiling-to-floor bookcase filled with hand-bound leather law books. He pulled a slender, hidden lever and the center section of ten books folded open exposing a bar filled with crystal glasses, a tiny freezer with ice and several brands of very expensive scotch, bourbon and cognac. A.V. poured from a Croiset crystal bottle, three insanely expensive, Remy Martin, Louis XII cognacs. He took one, shot it back and poured another. He gathered the glasses and crossed to Aria to hand her one. The second he handed to Beau and the third he kept. A.V. sipped as he picked up the phone and punched in a number.

  Beau could hear the soft ring inside the phone’s receiver.

  “Good morning, Sergeant. Can you patch me through to Lieutenant Mitchell Hanover? This is A.V. Lafayette calling. Please tell him it’s very important,” A.V. said into the phone.

  Aria and Beau nervously exchanged a look.

  “What are you doing?” Beau asked.

  “I’m trying to find your wife,” A.V. replied. “Yes, I’ll hold.”

  “You believe us?” Beau asked.

  “I don’t know what I believe, Beau,” A.V. said. “If you’ve nutted out on me, I’ll have the both of you certified later. Right now I just want to help you find Eve and the kids. She’s probably furious at both you and Cora and I for one don’t blame her.”

  It was at that moment that Aria looked at the TV and saw Eve’s picture.

  “Turn it up! Turn it up!” Aria said pointing.

  Beau and A.V. saw the SIG alert. Pictures of Eve, the two children, her name and the word ‘kidnapped’ ran under her photo. Then it cut to the crushed guesthouse at the Gregoire estate. In the rain, multiple emergency vehicles, their lights flashing, surrounded the remains of the guest house.

  Beau sat back down as did Aria, their eyes glued to the screen.

  “Dear, Lord, Cora has good reason to be pissed that Eve took her daughter, but she did not do that to the guest house,” A.V. said.

  “No, she didn’t. The Nephilim did that when we escaped,” Aria told him.

  “Hang up the phone,” Beau asked. “Please.”

  Beau could hear a click and a voice coming through the phone. “Hanover here.”

  A.V. looked at the TV screen and the image of the smashed guest house he’d stayed in many times as a teen. More police cars and fire engines, their lights flashing across the crushed remains, filled the frame as news camera trucks rolled in behind the on-camera reporter who did her best to explain the unexplainable phenomena.

  “Hello? Hello? A.V.?”

  Slowly, A.V. hung up the phone.

  “How’d you get here?”

  “In Eve’s car,” Beau replied.

  “Give me the key. I want to pull it into the garage until I can get my head around this insanity,” A.V. said.

  A.V. took one more look at the image on the TV and the tiniest shadow of belief in what they were saying registered on his face.

  “No,” Aria said. “We have to go to my mother’s house behind St. Anne’s Cemetery. I’m going to hold a séance to bring another Nephilim named Gathian in to help us.”

  “I am already not liking this plan,” A.V. said.

  “You must understand how dangerous this is Mister Lafayette,” Aria said. “Your life is in mortal danger the moment you walk out this door with us.”

  “I need you, A.,” Beau s
aid, his eyes pleading for help.

  A.V. looked at Beau. These were the words it seemed he’d waited his whole life to hear Beau say.

  “Then, let’s do it!” A.V. said.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Eve read to the children from an old copy of Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs and Ham. It seemed highly infantile for them, but they seemed happy with the story. She lay with them until she was certain they were asleep. Eve was beyond tired and wanted nothing more than to join them in sweet repose, but she knew she needed to talk to Mac and decide their next steps.

  A distant rumble of thunder echoed through the patter of falling rain. The sound relaxed her. She’d always loved the Louisiana rain, especially when it fell in the late afternoon and cooled the hellishly hot days of summer. But this was the beginning of a storm that was coming at them from the Caribbean.

  Eve dragged herself out of the warm bed, kissed the children and headed downstairs.

  Mac sat at the table with two GoPhone’s in case they became separated and needed to contact one another, two glasses and a bottle of scotch. He poured her a drink. They clinked glasses and nodded a wordless toast. In silence they savored their drinks. By the third drink Eve felt the tension in her muscles release. She closed her eyes, let her head fall back, and took her first full breath since she had fled the Gregoire guest house with the children. It ended in a long, slow sigh.

  “Well, well. Now I know it takes three scotches to get you to breathe,” Mac said with a smile.

  “Four shots of scotch sounds about right,” Eve said.

  “That was only three.”

  “Are we counting? More important, are we stopping?” Eve asked and laughed, holding out her empty glass.

  Mac laughed with her and poured another glass. For a second they were like a young, married couple who’d gotten the kids to bed and were taking a moment for themselves. Eve felt comfortable. Mac’s house, filled with simple things that didn’t have to be the best, the biggest and the most expensive, felt homey. She appreciated finery, but refurbishing the Gregoire Mansion had been overwhelming even with all Cora’s expertise and hordes of decorators. This little house felt like a home: safe … safe. She looked at him, studying in detail the man who sat before her. How could it be that Mac always made her feel so incredibly safe?