by Ali Vali
“Not bored, no, but I don’t understand so much of what’s happened to me.” The sun was rising higher, and her blood was circulating through her like a swarm of bees around a flower. “Why give me the ability to live so long, train me every day, only to keep me here? I thought you and your Elders wanted me to fight for you?”
“We’ll have this much time together only once, and we’ll share it in peace until you’re ready.” Morgaine moved closer, bringing with her the unique fragrance Asra could never pinpoint. “When the time comes, I’ll respect your desire to go do what you wish when you aren’t fulfilling the Elders’ wishes.”
“You’ve been waiting for me to ask to leave?” She followed Morgaine to the sand, sitting on the crest of the dune and allowing Morgaine to sit in front of her on a small blanket.
“I’ve been waiting for you to feel ready to leave, and only you’ll know when that is.” Morgaine leaned back into her, running her hands from her knees to the edge of her loincloth at the top of her thighs. “Do you think you are?”
“We’ve been over the drills so often I can do them without thinking.” Morgaine’s right hand slipped under the flap covering Asra’s sex, and she instantly wanted her. In their time together she’d learned as much about pleasing Morgaine as she had about killing the monsters that supposedly prowled the night, but neither subject ever got old.
Her morning runs were a sort of prayer ritual to connect with her father. She whispered her secrets from the top of the desolate place, hoping the wind would carry them to wherever he was, even if he never answered. The passage of time since Raad’s death had eased the pain, but she still ached, missing him. The memory receded only when Morgaine touched her like this, and when Morgaine’s fingers landed on her hard clitoris, she closed her eyes and thought of nothing but the pleasure of having Morgaine so close.
The first intense pain came from her leg, where Morgaine opened a gash from her left knee to the top of her thigh. It was so deep she couldn’t move to stand up and defend herself, and with her hand over the wound, she couldn’t stop Morgaine’s next strike to her chest. The last blow, to her neck, sent a spray of blood so far that it seemed to dye Morgaine’s skin and hair red.
It had been difficult to adjust to this type of training, but when the sun reached its highest point she had completely healed. She would have been dead without the elixir, and Morgaine’s message had damaged her ego so thoroughly she spent the day at the top of the dune alone.
By sunset the temperatures had dropped significantly, but the cold wind didn’t bother her as she stared at Morgaine’s fire in the distance. In the quiet stillness, she finally accepted the reality of her situation and headed back down to her watcher.
“I hope you know I took no pleasure in hurting you.” Morgaine spoke without turning around, seemingly fixated on the fire.
“This gift, like the one Abez accepted, has its limitations, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, and because nothing in life is foolproof, you always must be vigilant.” Morgaine faced her, pulling her light cloak closed at the throat. “You will live forever, Asra, but that doesn’t mean you’re free from capture or suffering.”
“You did that today to prove I can trust no one?”
“I’m sure the only person you’ve had complete faith in was your father.”
She nodded, unable to talk around the stone that had formed in her chest, as if all her sadness and mourning over his loss had fused into a mass.
“He’s irreplaceable, but I’ll never betray you. As long as we have sunrises, I’ll treasure our friendship and do nothing to bring you harm.”
“Then why almost take my head off?”
“The night you saw Abez for the first time, the sight of him was hideous, but not all of Ora’s children will present themselves like that. Many of them are beautiful, and if you allow that face to cloud your senses, they’ll exploit your greatest weakness.”
“Total darkness.”
Morgaine smiled but still looked melancholy. “That’s right. They will rob you of what feeds their power, which proves the balance in all things. Never let anyone close to you without having something to defend yourself with.”
Asra had taken for granted that the difference in their sizes would always put Morgaine at a disadvantage. That’s why she laughed when Morgaine dropped her cloak to reveal she was as naked as that morning. “You are beautiful, but I won’t fall for the same trick twice.”
“You have my word that I have no blade. If you can subdue me, I will give you my blessing to leave.” Morgaine stood with her feet apart and her hands in front of her, as if she were about to pick up a large vase. “You may go when you please, but I will believe you’re ready to do so only when you can defeat me.”
*
Kendal had forgotten some aspects of her life because the nonimportant things had faded with time, but the glee in Morgaine’s eyes when she accepted her challenge was still as fresh as the night it happened. She had stood there trying to determine how to grip Morgaine without hurting her when Morgaine flipped her into the fire. Her loincloth burned until it fell from her body.
She smiled at the memory of the next twenty years in that isolated place as she learned what the world now knew as martial arts. She had quickly mastered her skills, but the extra time with Morgaine had transformed her into more than a warrior. Asra of the house of Raad was now the Genesis Clan’s most skilled and successful slayer—the perfect killing machine who had kept the balance heavily tilted in the Elders’ favor.
“Do you need anything else?” the attendant asked.
“No, thank you,” she said softly, since everyone around her was sleeping.
The scenery below her hadn’t changed much so she concentrated on paperwork, trying to spot every loophole in the delinquent loans. The Marmande family business was still operating because of an old friend at the bank. Unfortunately, the boards of directors of financial institutions disregarded friendship and loyalty. The old-fashioned qualities seldom had anything to do with business, especially when it came to money and its repayment.
Kendal would offer substantially less than Marmande owed, but she was willing to negotiate. She intended to buy the loans from the bank and secure the collateral the family had put up—Marmande Shipyard and Construction Company and all the assets that entailed. It sounded simple, but New Orleans had a way of piling unforeseen surprises in your path. This trip, she wanted to do without those, especially the nasty ones.
Chapter Three
“Did you try him again?” Macarthur Marmande asked his granddaughter Piper, his heart racing.
“Yesterday we were ready to sign contracts by next week, but now his secretary says he wants to freeze the process and review some things. He’s not available to talk to me.”
Mac, as all his friends called him, ran a shaky hand through his still-thick but white hair. He was beyond ready to leave the everyday operations to Piper, but not until they were on steadier ground. She didn’t deserve any more disasters.
She had lost first her mother, then her father, Mac’s son, not long afterward, leaving him and his wife Molly the responsibility of raising her. She was spunky and full of ambition, but Mac suspected it was a defense for the empty place left in her heart after his son took his own life, a place no one had been able to fill. Mac understood why his boy had given up, but he’d been the only parent Piper remembered. The death of Mac’s daughter-in-law had devastated two lives.
“I don’t need to explain how important this contract is to us, sweetheart.”
“It’s not enough to square with the bank, but I agreed to the deal because it’ll prove we’re still competitive and putting out the best product. Ideally not what we’re looking for long-term, but it’ll be a moot point since I can’t force this guy to take my call. We need to concentrate on who got to him and why.”
Piper stood and smoothed down her wool slacks in what Mac knew was a nervous habit, then paced to the window. The executive suites t
hat overlooked their operations were comfortable, without the usual plush surroundings of a corner office. “Without something coming in, we won’t make payroll much longer, and another credit line won’t be an option, Pops, no matter how much they love you.”
“You haven’t heard any rumors lately?”
Piper glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled. “I’ve been swamped putting this together, so I’ve missed a month’s worth of chamber stuff, and lunch out has been impossible.” She sat on the edge of his desk close enough to take his hand. “Don’t worry. I always have more than one plan, and I won’t quit until I uncover what’s going on.”
“Just remember, sometimes there’s a bigger dog on the playground than you, my little pit bull. I’m here to help, and not only as window dressing.”
“You’re always my first call, Pops, so keep your phone handy.” She kissed him, then grabbed her purse and keys from her office. Something had blown up their best-case scenario, so she had to shore up her last option to keep the bank from foreclosing.
As Piper hurried to her small sports coupe, she dialed her cell phone and asked the woman who answered, “Is he in?”
“You saved me a call, Ms. Marmande. If you’re available, Mr. Delaney wants you to join him for lunch on his boat.”
“Great,” she said, not meaning it, but she had few options left. “I’ll try his cell and tell him I’m on my way.”
“It’s a beautiful day for a sail.”
To hell, maybe, Piper thought, but kept that thought to herself as she disconnected. I doubt I’ll find the answers Pops wants in the middle of Lake Pontchartrain, but I can only deal with one crisis at a time.
*
The limo driver from the Piquant waiting for Kendal at the airport was, thankfully, not a big talker, and he led her to the car after he collected her luggage. Thus far she could’ve been in any city in the world—nothing reminded her of the place she’d left in 1728. As she felt the trunk close, an unfamiliar excitement started to build.
The ride went smoothly and Kendal studied the scenery, but still nothing looked familiar. Since she’d been on a late flight, they’d hit the interstate into the city long after five o’clock traffic and arrived at the hotel in less than thirty minutes. The five-star facility hadn’t existed either when she left New Orleans so long ago, but the staff’s hospitality made her think of those who’d been special to her.
“Your group’s already checked in, Ms. Richoux, and left this for you.”
The thick packet contained the missing pieces of their puzzle and a schedule of all the meetings Bruce and his team had already set up. “Thank you, and if you could, I’d like a copy of the most recent map of the city.”
“We’ll send it up in a few minutes.”
A tremendous amount of paper covered every table and flat surface in the outer rooms of her suite when the porter opened the door for her. “Even though it’s Saturday, we got to meet with the bank leadership,” Bruce said, as if he never could start a conversation at the beginning. “The good-old-boys’ club didn’t act interested until I told them we’d organized a reception for their board tonight.”
“An open bar and crab puffs usually grease the wheels of business most effectively,” she said, and laughed. The staff Bruce brought with him had left the best chair empty for her, but she stayed in the middle of the room with her coat draped over her shoulder. “The reception’s a good idea, but don’t set any meetings with these guys until we meet with Mr. Marmande. I’d prefer lunch with only the two of us so we don’t seem so hostile from the beginning.”
“If I can get a quick vote tonight, you don’t want me to close?” Bruce stood across from her, apparently trying to look and sound menacing.
Kendal kept what she hoped was a neutral expression because Bruce’s short stature made him appear more comical than scary. “From what I’ve read of Mr. Marmande, he deserves a healthy dose of respect.”
“You picked him this morning and you’ve never met,” he said through barely clenched teeth as he ran his hand through his thinning brown hair. “Why give him the opportunity to rebound?”
“Because I said so,” she said, her humor gone. When Bruce got this intense, he reminded her of his father, which only accentuated how short they both were. Granted, Bruce had helped her become successful in this lifetime, but unlike his father, he never knew when to stop. His life revolved around business, but the kill shot, not the thrill of the chase, drove him.
“We could set a new record with this one,” Bruce said after taking a few deep breaths. “In and out in a few days so we can concentrate on the L.A. deal.”
“Take a few more cleansing breaths and listen to what I’m telling you.” The room became very silent and still. “If you can’t, admit it now and I’ll meet with Mr. Marmande myself.”
“I have your back, you know that.” Bruce had lost his ferocity and stepped closer. “This can still be quick after you finish with the board members tonight. No way they can resist your charm.”
“You set it up, you handle it. I might have to sit with these guys eventually, but not tonight.”
“Kendal, come on. They’ll want to talk to you. It’s not like they can read up on you like you did with the old man,” Bruce said, referring to her unbending rule about granting any media access to her business or personal life.
“It doesn’t matter if they know what my favorite color is.” She stepped around him and headed for the door. “They just care about the health of my bank account.”
“What’s more important than this?” he asked, the lid coming off his temper.
She stared at his hand on her arm until he let go so suddenly he stumbled back. Her humor didn’t return until she got to the elevator and still didn’t hear a sound from the suite.
When the doorman opened the front entrance for her it was close to eleven, but the traffic on Canal Street was still heavy. The drivers didn’t appear to be in a hurry to get anywhere, but they acted like they were enjoying the scenery even though they were locals.
“Could you have this sent up to my room? Kendal Richoux,” she said, handing her coat to the doorman.
“My pleasure, ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “Can I get you a cab as well?”
“Thanks, but I’m in the mood to walk.”
“Please be careful. This is New Orleans, after all, and as much as it pains me to say it, sometimes the streets are scary.”
She laughed, glad to drop the façade of Kendal Richoux for a while because it wasn’t the way she thought of herself in this city full of life and frivolity. “Don’t tell me, the place is haunted.”
“I’m sure more than one goblin’s running around, but I’m more worried about the ones who’re alive and armed.” He pointed his finger at her like a gun.
“That’s true, but they should be scared of me.” She laughed along with him but decided that the cargo in her coat pockets might come in handy. “On second thought, give me my coat back.”
“What, is it bulletproof or something?”
Kendal smiled as she threw it over her shoulder and handed him a tip. “Or something is right.”
As she walked toward the river, she noticed the line of cars waiting for the all-too-brief spans of green at the traffic signals. Some drivers had their windows rolled down to enjoy the cool weather, and apparently so anyone walking could enjoy the blaring music pouring out of speakers worth more than the vehicles they were riding around in. This part of the city was unfamiliar too, but each step took her back to the familiar. She welcomed it with an anticipation she could almost reach out and touch. Had the heart of the city changed so much that she’d feel lost after having been away so long?
A new aquarium stood at the end of Canal Street, near a long walkway that meandered along the banks of the Mississippi River to the cusp of the French Quarter. Water lapped against the pilings that held up the sidewalk where she was standing, and as she began to stroll toward the old section, her eyes blurred with tears as m
emories washed over her like a gentle rain.
Under the permanent gazebo built where the river made a slight bend, she stopped and gripped the railing. Kendal didn’t want to remember, but her heart wouldn’t listen. She had kept the history of her time here at bay long enough, and like the churning brown water below, it wouldn’t be held back any longer.
New Orleans, October 1726
“Master, the captain says the ship should be in port by tomorrow.” Lionel St. Louis bowed slightly, even though the person he was addressing faced away from him, his eyes on the Gulf. His master’s gloved hand clutched one of the thick ropes that held up the sails, and he seemed lost in thought.
“Not a day too soon, eh, Lionel?”
“I could’ve lived without all those waves. If I throw up one more time, I may not be able to carry the bags down the plank.” His French was almost as flawless as his master’s, causing one of the crew to stop and stare at them disgustedly. Usually, slaves barely spoke broken English, but he routinely drew attention since he wore a suit that rivaled his master’s and his French would have passed muster in the French royal court.
“Don’t worry, Lionel, we may flout tradition, but I’ll help if it comes to that.” The Marquis Jacques St. Louis turned around and smiled. As always, Lionel became lost in the pale eyes rimmed in yellow that seemed to look into his soul and decipher all his secrets.
Jacques, a tall, handsome man, owned a plantation outside New Orleans, but unlike most of his counterparts who worked their slaves into an early grave, he was known for his gentle nature. The French royal had ventured out of his comfortable life in the north of France to make a name for himself in the New World and had achieved his goal in only five years.
Oakgrove Plantation cultivated sugarcane, tobacco, and cotton on over ten thousand acres of cleared land along the Mississippi River north of New Orleans. Jacques owned more than five hundred slaves, whom he treated like his extended family instead of chattel. Many people had asked questions about him since his arrival, but he gave them only a smile and wink. The city dwellers knew only that no wife or children shared the large home he’d built, and he came to the city only to sell his harvest.