by Sierra Rose
Finishing a security upgrade job for a wealthy client in the small country, the Irish-born native had decided to stick it out the weekend to see if his luck would hold up in the casinos.
Normally the 6’ Irishman always seem to have the fabled Irish luck riding on his narrow shoulders when he gambled. Ryan gambled as he liked to live, hard and fast, and it usually paid off.
While playing cards or anything, he won both the pot and the women since he’d never had trouble attracting attention from the opposite sex with his slender, rangy build and chiseled upper body. Women were usually flocking around but on this trip, he barely broke even and wasn’t even remotely interested in the few females he noticed.
“Well this night bloody well sucked.” He muttered darkly as he walked through the casino parking lot to where his car was waiting.
A naturally cocky man who seemed arrogant at most times, Ryan knew that was how others saw him and accepted that easily. In fact, he usually played into it with the cocky tone in his natural accent that came or went depending on what he wanted. He didn’t care and hadn’t for many years.
He was a single man who often looked out for himself, did his job well and played when he wanted to and how he wanted without having to care what others thought.
The warm breeze blew his thick long black hair into his smoky gray-blue eyes and he shoved it out with a rare show of bitter impatience.
Ryan accepted his poor showing in cards may have been due to his temper and impatience being higher than normal but the recent days had left him rawer than he’d been in years and he didn’t care for it or for the blasted dreams.
Almost to his car, Ryan stopped in the lot to look around. Having been in security for awhile now and having had his time in learning the ins and out of being a thief he knew when to accept that his sixth sense was warning him and right then both his sixth and seventh senses were screaming, and it was that last one that really irked him.
“Alright, we don’t really want to try this crap on me.” He spoke clearly and firmly, all the arrogance he felt coming out in the tone as his eyes shifted around him.
“You always were impatient weren’t you, luv?” the soft musically lilted tone from the edge of the dark parking lot nearly brought the strong, stubborn man to his knees. “Always knew what you wanted and went for it.”
Ryan’s breath had caught in his throat as the voice finally stepped into the mild light offered by the bright moonlight. “Annie,” he breathed, his natural accent coming back on instinct.
Facing him was a lovely girl with pale skin and nearly white blond hair that hung down to her narrow waist. Dressed in a pale blue dress with a flowered apron, she smiled serenely at Ryan.
“Can ye recall all the dreams we had, Ry?” she asked, stopping a few feet from him as her soft tone took on sadness. “All the promises you made to me about the future? How we’d wed and leave Clare behind us.”
His heart still beating wildly in his chest, Ryan’s eyes had looked away from the pale blue eyes facing him. “Aye, I do,” he whispered, fighting both the pain in his heart and the sudden pain in his head.
“You said you loved me and would love me until we died.” Anastasia Cleary spoke sadly, voice hollow. “If you meant it why did you lie to me? Why didn’t we die together?”
“Just overplayed it, mate.” Ryan’s smoky eyes started to grow darker as he lifted his head, the muscles in his strong jaw tight. “You had it right until you played that card ‘cause Annie never doubted my love for her and knew bloody well if I could have saved her I would have. Now get the hell out of my sight!”
His temper had always been a bad thing and Ryan knew it but he wanted the image away but before he could cast the spell in his mind, an invisible fist slammed into his stomach and knocked him down hard.
“Yeah, that’s right. Can’t use a girl as a weapon, so go for the magic fist?” he sneered, not positive what he was facing and not caring even as he could hear other things in his head.
Another hard blow took his breath and he felt his vision blur and his nose bleed as the power sought to hurt until his temper finally got his feet under him again.
His hand shot out to send a wave of electric energy from his fingers in a burst like the ones he hadn’t had to use in years.
“Yeah, that was productive,” he chastised himself sourly, trying to get to his feet but feeling too weak.
“You do have your father’s temper don’t you, Ryan Shawn Alaister Fitzgerald?”
Giving up trying to stand, Ryan just slumped back against a pole to see who was speaking and sneered again at the silver haired well-dressed man.
“So I’ve been told by many a person,” he replied, shifting a look, and he wasn’t surprised to see that the parking lot was still. “So, is this happening in real time or my mind?”
Pleased by the boy’s alertness, Sebastian smiled. “Let us say that none of the mortals wasting their lives inside will know of these events.
“Do you know who I am, Ryan?” he asked curiously.
The migraine was building so he had a bad hunch he did know but he’d never been one to show his hand that easily.
“Well, it’s too early to be the Easter Bunny.” He saw the man’s eyes flash in annoyance as he grinned through the growing pain. “So I’m guessing a man of your age, the silver hair, and the well-bred voice could only be Mrs. Santa Claus.”
Sebastian’s eyes flashed red but before he could react, Ryan showed he wasn’t quite as defeated as had been thought as a light shove sent the older warlock back a step.
“You may have gained Toryn’s temper but you inherited Brenna’s caustic wit, I see,” he nodded, almost pleased by the defiance. “You loved this girl once, didn’t you?”
“You picked a bad subject,” Ryan warned lowly, refusing to remember how much he had loved Annie and how much it had hurt him when someone had killed her while after him.
“You have much of your father in you, Ryan. Toryn and I were bitter rivals but I respect the way you’ve handled yourself here.” Sebastian watched the boy closely to see he had his attention. “I offered your father a choice long ago. A choice that had he accepted your family wouldn’t have been torn asunder like it has been.”
That caused Ryan to look closer and he missed the warlock’s look. “I can offer you the same choice and by accepting I can give you back your lost love,” Sebastian motioned to the now still image of Annie Cleary. “She died in your arms didn’t she? It was after some self-styled boy who fancied himself a witch attempted an attack on your life. I can return her to you, whole and like she was.”
The night sky had darkened and the calm winds had suddenly began blowing harder but Ryan was only hearing that the only woman in his life that he’d let himself love could be his again.
However, as much as that appealed to him, Ryan had been a gambler since he’d been thirteen years old and knew that such an appealing offer always had a catch.
“What’s the offer?” he asked casually, feeling the weight on the Trinity medal he wore actually heat against his skin.
Confident of his win, Sebastian smiled easily. “Just join my cause, Ryan Fitzgerald,” he held up a smooth hand to help his would-be apprentice to his feet. “Accept the offer your father so stupidly spurned that day on the island when he could have saved your mother and his self by letting fate have its day and all that you wish can be yours.”
Looking fully at the figure of his almost fiancée for a long time, it took a couple minutes for those last words to break through and he looked up.
“So all Da would have had to do was let the brat die that day and he and Mum would have lived and…”
“And your family would still be together,” Sebastian nodded. “You were never told of the awful curse brought on your family the day your brother was born and it would have been lifted if your father would have listened to me and not the woman.”
Staring at the hand offered him, Ryan slowly accepted it but even as the ancient
wizard’s fingers closed on his, his eyes went to slits and he tightened his grip.
“The only curse my family had was at times having these powers and the only one who gets to call my baby brother a curse is me.” He gritted, knowing he didn’t have the power to defeat the man responsible for his parents’ death but could sure shake him up.
“My father and mother died to save their son and maybe you thought you could reason to my own fears and weaknesses, the one thing you don’t do is mock the real reason my Da gave his life,” Ryan’s eyes flashed and shoved Sebastian away in shock. “My father gave his life to protect his wife and son and he kept you at bay for fifteen bleedin’ years so why don’t you go back to hell!”
Sebastian’s eyes blazed red as his anger took hold, not believing he had lost this round to this mortal witch. “Fool!” he screamed, throwing a hand out to lash out, and blasted Ryan off his feet and hard to the concrete. “You could have had it all and spared yourself!
“You were born of the five. Five into one, one to become five but it only takes one weak one to fall to break the circle,” he sneered as he opened the portal to leave. “You’ve refused my offer boy, but the weakest one will fall as secrets have yet to be revealed and I know how much guilt he still harbors for the breaking of your family.”
As the wizard disappeared and things began moving in real time again, Ryan was finally able to push himself back up to his feet from that last blast that he was sure gave him a few cracked ribs.
“Damn.” He gritted, lifting his shirt to see the singe marks and bruises then sat against his car hood to consider the last words.
Not always considered the brightest of the five sons Toryn Fitzgerald and his wife brought into this world, Ryan was smarter than he let on and right then he knew it didn’t take an Einstein to figure out what the ancient witch had been muttering about.
“Roarke. He means the brat.” He whispered, slamming a fist on his hood as he thought about his younger brother and knowing that it had been Roarke his parents had died to save that day and apparently it was time to face it again.
“That’s just bloody great,” he muttered, easing his aching body into the car and keying his cell to call one of his operators.
Hearing the blare of loud music, Ryan literally winced. “Olav, turn that bloody crap off!” he snapped, letting the bright red Lamborghini roar to life and squealed from the lot.
“What’s up, boss?” the big blond Swede asked after turning his music down. “Want the schedule?”
Considering things, Ryan sighed and made a choice that, for once in years, wasn’t based on himself. “No, family stuff’s come up. Tell Andi she’ll have to handle the upgrade to the Baron’s place and all of the coming stuff until I get back in touch with you.”
Surprise was clear as Olav Vanhoove, one of the security agents who worked with Ryan, took this in and knew that rarely did his boss ditch jobs. “You need help?”
“Not unless you know a bloody good demon hunter.” Ryan laughed, and then turned serious. “If I do, I’ll call; and mate?” he paused to remind the man. “Tell Andi not to slap anyone this time.”
His friend was laughing as he hung up but Ryan could not get rid of the dull pain in his head, swearing under his breath. “Damn it all to hell! That brat better be worth this.”
The French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana:
Legends about New Orleans, Louisiana, and the French Quarter have abounded since the city first came into creation. Tales of ghosts walking the streets, and roaming the halls of the historic and colorful homes were also plentiful as well as other undead creatures.
Many put the stories off to legend or just colorful tales to please the flocks of tourists. One visitor wasn’t sure how true the stories were but considering some of the things he’d seen and done, a few ghosts didn’t bother him. So long as they weren’t his own.
Relaxing on a bed in one of the French Quarter’s more colorful townhouses, Roarke Fitzgerald felt at ease. Something he hardly ever was on any given day.
At twenty-six years of age, he’d been many things so far in his life. The more colorful included a singer, a spy, a security engineer, and his current favorite hobby, ghost buster.
Tall at 6’2” with a slender athletic build and long legs that carries his natural agility well, he wore his jet-black hair long as it often passed his shoulders, or pulled away from eyes that were often a smoky grayish blue color.
Right then those eyes had drifted closed as he lay under an antique white lace canopy that matched the quilt on top of which he had stretched his lean frame. Roarke kept his eyes closed as he let his other senses roam the room, but smiled as he centered on the other occupant in the room
Roarke had come to the Big Easy to visit friends and do some casual tourist things for once. That had included earlier that day, helping a small boy just learning to play guitar for street money, a few chords.
“That little boy will probably be talking about you for weeks,” the soft British accent spoke from the side of the bedroom where a mirrored vanity was located. “If not him then at least his older sister will be.”
That thinly veiled comment made his smile grow slightly since he knew what the opposite sex saw in him. He’d been told for awhile he had an elegant face with an English nose and high cheekbones. He often wished he were plainer looking.
However, right then the attention caused him to grin since he knew it made his friend more than a little jealous. “She was sixteen or younger, a stor (‘My Dear’). She was a little too young for me.”
Without even looking, he knew the young woman sitting at the vanity was rolling her blue eyes at him. “Jealous?”
“There a reason to be, Romeo?” Jessica Hadley countered with a laugh as she continued to brush her long auburn hair but was pleased to hear Roarke’s laughter.
Her friend had been quiet for a long while and his voice had lacked its usual soothing or musical lilt that came from his Irish accent, and that worried her.
“No, never any reason to worry about that.” He replied, finally opening his eyes to watch his twenty-six year old friend.
A British girl with natural pale skin and soft blue eyes that tended to change with emotion, Jessica shared many of his own interests so they’d bonded quickly when they’d been kids.
She owned an international company that did quite well but unknown to many others was her work in the anti-terrorist field. It was a job for the United States DEA agency that had brought her and her main subsidiary team to New Orleans and after it was over, they’d asked Roarke to spend some time.
He had known without Cameron telling him that the main reason he’d asked him down was that Jessie was hurt and something else was wrong. That was something else they shared.
Rolling over so that he was now at the bottom of the bed, Roarke let his eyes roam the room before again settling on his friend. “You know, that’s one of the few girly-girl things I’ve ever seen you do.”
Little lights flashed behind her blue eyes but Jessie just narrowed a look at him through the mirror. “Brushing my hair is a way to relax. Just because I don’t have a closet full of designer clothes or shoes doesn’t mean I couldn’t compete with some of the tramps you’ve dated.”
“Don’t doubt it, a gra,” Roarke smiled, easing his shirt off since he knew it was just the two of them. “Especially considering I really only plan on dating one woman.”
“Flattery won’t help you now, Roarke,” Jessie countered, going back to brushing her hair but watching her friend’s reflection and again seeing the white scars that littered his back from years earlier, and knowing where the many others were. “Roarke, are they hurting?”
Rolling off the bed to go close the balcony doors to stop the street noise, he paused next to her to meet her eyes in the mirror. “Let it go, luv.” He read her concern easily, lightly pressing a soft kiss into her hair. “I’m fine, just a slight headache.”
A mild lie, he knew, but Roarke knew if he to
ld Jessie the headache had been with him for the past several days and had turned into a full-fledged migraine tonight that she’d worry, and he didn’t want her to worry.
He sat back on the bed to watch Jessica finish what he knew was a nightly routine. Roarke was silently considering how to go about conning his friend into spending the night in his room, which was something they’d never talked about before, when something from the mirror made him look.
The mirror on the vanity was a large oval one that was almost one hundred fifty years old and was sure to look different in varying lights, but as Roarke’s eyes narrowed to study it harder he found it more difficult to see Jessica’s reflection as it began to cloud over.
“What the bloody…?” he whispered, easing forward on the bed as a form began to take shape in the mirror and he found himself looking into green eyes that he remembered so well. “Mum?”
Jessica had been finishing brushing her hair, wincing as a wound on her shoulder pulled slightly, she glanced back to see if Roarke had noticed when she frowned at him. “Roarke? What’s wrong?”
Her friend was sitting up in the center of the bed; his one hand flat on the bed while his other was reaching toward something.
Roarke’s skin had always been a healthy tan from his time outdoors but right then it was a near sickly white while his eyes were almost dilated as he stared at her mirror.
“Roarke, what’s wrong?” she asked, shifting on the seat to look at him fully and not liking the sudden feeling in her room. “Roarke!”
After trying to get his attention for several minutes but failing and feeling an uneasy sense of dread getting closer, Jessica keyed the in-house intercom while keeping her eyes on her now trembling friend. “Cam! I need you and Nick up here, now!”
Not able to hear the response from her friend as a sudden squealing came from the radio, and looking at the radio to check it, she felt the cold before she saw the shadow. “Shit!”
Jessica started to swing on the stool to face the growing shadow but didn’t have a chance to move or defend herself as something cold gripped her throat, stilling her scream and her powers.