Other Ann B. Morris Titles
from ImaJinn Books
The Whitcombe Legacy Series
The Vampire Jerome
Book Two
The Vampire Jonah
Book Three
(Coming Soon)
The Vampire Julian
Book one of The Whitcombe Legacy
by
Ann B. Morris
ImaJinn Books
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook ISBN: 978-1-933417-89-9
Print ISBN: ISBN: 978-1-933417-20-2
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Copyright © 2008 by Ann B. Morris
Published in the United States of America.
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Dedication
To Mike, the inspiration for Michael and Mike’s After Dark.
And as always, to Jim, who gives me the space I need to write.
Chapter One
Mid-October, 2005
New Orleans French Quarter
INSIDE THE DARK, airless coffin Julian Whitcombe sensed the woman’s presence. His waning strength revived and his heart gave an unexpected pulse. Was this really the one meant for him? He had been disappointed so many times before. Dare he hope now? The sensation of her presence grew stronger. And then the words of the Goddess Lilith, timeless as the Goddess herself, whispered to him in the cold darkness.
When The Need is great and the time is right, she will come to you. And if her love is strong enough, she will turn back Asmodeus’ curse and save you.
As his body yielded to the day’s death sleep, Julian knew without doubt that the woman he had been waiting for since the first beat of his heart was here.
SIX WEEKS AFTER the Great Hurricane swept away most of New Orleans, Mike’s After Dark looked almost as it had before the mighty storm struck. The old building, with its red-brick façade, weathered wood sides and green shuttered windows, had survived nature’s onslaught with nothing more than two damaged roof tiles.
A miracle, the residents whispered on their return to the neighborhood after a month’s displacement in neighboring cities.
Simone LeClerc didn’t believe in miracles.
She did, however, believe in luck.
What else, other than luck, could have brought her to this street, two blocks off Esplanade Avenue, where the sign in the window of Mike’s shouted: BARTENDER/ASST. MGR. WANTED?
The question immediately gave rise to another. Had she been guided to Mike’s? Had the strange, invisible pull she’d felt as she turned the corner to come here been more than her imagination? She gave herself a hard mental shake. Luck. Pure luck was all it could be.
Was it also luck that she’d taken a mixology course at The Bartender’s Institute three years ago? And what about those two electives in business management she’d finished her third year in college? She gave herself an even harder mental shake. This was no time for ridiculous puzzle solving and second-guessing. Whatever the reason she was here, those two educational choices made her qualified for this job.
With a pounding heart and her mouth dry, she crossed the street, opened the door to Mike’s, stepped inside and waited while her eyes adjusted to the tomb-like darkness. When they did, she scanned the room. At the back, behind the bar, a hulk of a man waited, as if expecting her.
She wet her lips and swallowed quickly. Stepping further into the darkness, she asked, “Are you Mike?”
“Yeah.”
“The owner?”
“No. The owner’s name is Julian.” Mike stepped from behind the bar. “Julian’s After Dark doesn’t have quite the ring that Mike’s has, wouldn’t you agree?”
As he approached, Simone could tell he was more than a few inches over six feet. And the closer he got to her, the more she felt overwhelmed, not only by his size but by a strange, almost unnatural aura that surrounded him.
He stopped a few feet from her and the dim overhead lights accented the pearly Z-shaped scar that slashed across his right cheek. He wasn’t unattractive, but he wouldn’t cause any romantically fluttering hearts either.
Coming back to his question, she agreed, “It couldn’t be anything but Mike’s.”
“I hope you came about the job and not for a drink. We don’t open until dark.”
Mike had taken a step closer while he spoke, and although she still felt uneasy in his presence, her discomfort stopped short of outright fear. Focusing on the job she needed, she told him, “I’m here for the job. And I don’t drink.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wanted to take them back. What a foolish thing to say. What kind of bartender didn’t drink? It sounded as ridiculous as a cook not tasting the food.
“I saw your sign outside,” she added quickly, hoping to take his mind off her blunder.
Mike motioned for her to take a seat at a nearby table. He took the chair opposite hers. It gave her an opportunity to study him up close, not just his physical appearance, but an underlying persona she sensed he kept hidden from public view.
He fits in here perfectly, she thought, as she surreptitiously scanned the room. She had the feeling it too had a secret personality, one that didn’t seem too eager to show itself to her at the moment.
“You from around here?” Mike asked, breaking into her wandering thoughts.
The question quickly snapped her attention back to him. “No. I was staying at the hotel down the street when the hurricane hit. I’ve been stuck there all these weeks, like a lot of other folks who can’t get out of the city.”
She didn’t think it necessary to tell him she was a New Orleanian by birth, transplanted to Mobile by a bad marriage and an opportunity to open her own law practice. Nor did she feel compelled to tell him she had come here on vacation to visit her stepsister, Dottie, who was working temporarily in New Orleans. Some vacation. She was stranded here and Dottie was missing.
“You planning to stay in New Orleans or move on?” She had let her thoughts drift again, but as before, the answer to the question came quickly and honestly.
“It depends on a lot of things, money, mostly.”
She started to rise, certain she’d ruined any chance of getting the job, although she doubted he’d had many applicants. It was no secret that the few businesses in the Quarter able to open had difficulty finding employees, since most New Orleanians displaced by the storm hadn’t returned yet.
“What’s your experience?” Mike asked.
“Truthfully, not much.” That was certainly stretc
hing it. “But my friends tell me I make a dynamite martini. My own creation.”
Mike hitched a thumb over his shoulder, looking as if he’d like to smile but didn’t quite know how. “Make one.”
“What?”
“Make me one of your dynamite martinis. On the very dry side.”
She practically stumbled to the bar. I want this job, I need this job. She mentally chanted the mantra as she assessed the bar’s liquor supply.
Grabbing what she needed, her hands flew into action. A few minutes later she held a very dry martini out to Mike. He downed it in a few fast gulps and nodded favorably.
She must have done everything right, because Mike—who didn’t own Mike’s—slapped the top of the table, stood and looked down at her.
“When can you start?”
Bypassing his question, she posed one of her own about something that had bothered her since she’d first stepped inside. “Is it always this dark in here?”
She didn’t consider it an impolite question. After all, it was eight o’clock in the morning. And even though the one lone window was of little help to the weak morning sun, there were additional lights in the ceiling and over the bar that could be turned on.
Mike’s face tightened for a second, highlighting the shiny scar, but it quickly relaxed and he succeeded this time with the beginning of a smile. “Julian has an aversion to strong light. He just went upstairs. He works nights.”
Well, that was a switch. Usually, the boss took the early shift, but considering the bar didn’t open until dark, she decided it made sense.
As if a thought had just come to him, Mike said, “As soon as things return to normal, you’ll work most afternoons on business matters and take the early shift at the bar. So, you want the job?”
“Yes.” Figuring the interview was over, she started to rise. Then she remembered they hadn’t talked money yet. “About the pay . . .”
Mike named a salary that was much more than she expected. And the five and a half-day workweek he mentioned next sounded equally as good.
“You didn’t tell me when you could begin,” Mike reminded her.
“As soon as I find a place to live,” she answered. “The hotel has been very accommodating, lowering their usual rate substantially, but I doubt they’ll house me for free and my money is just about gone.”
“You’re in luck.” Mike cocked his head toward the back of the room. “There’s a one bedroom apartment upstairs if you want it. Free rent, for as long as you’re working here.”
A job and a place to live, all in one fell swoop? Everything was falling into place so easily it made her wonder if Fate’s hand was involved. An inner chill reminded her again of the invisible pull she’d felt earlier that had led her here to Mike’s. Maybe she should reconsider this bounty of good fortune that had practically fallen into her lap.
She quickly dismissed the idea. She was in no position to turn her back on either a job or a place to live. Not after what she’d just been through, and certainly not before she unraveled the mystery of her stepsister’s disappearance. Where was Dottie, and what had happened to her? Simone refused to consider that Dottie may have been a hurricane victim. She had to be all right. No, she was all right, Simone told herself firmly, determined to practice positive thinking.
Reminding herself that she now had a job and a place to live, so she’d be able to stay here and look for Dottie, she stood and glanced around the gloomy bar. All that remained now was meeting the boss.
At that thought, her spirits took a sudden dip and the chill deepened. Julian would no doubt be the boss from Hell.
THE INSTANT SIMONE stepped into the apartment over the bar, some of her former uncertainty returned.
The layer of dust covering the furniture in the sparsely furnished living room and bedroom didn’t surprise her. That was to be expected in uninhabited quarters. But again there was no light, and the depressingly dismal atmosphere made her skin crawl.
She discreetly sniffed the air and detected a mixture of odors. Musty was the most familiar smell that came to mind. But it was more than that. She sniffed again and, with shallow breaths, carefully drew air into her lungs. Mold. And decay.
Her imagination took a giant leap as she conjured up an array of insects and rodents that had met their fate inside the building. There had always been stories, too, of skeletons unearthed when the ancient French Quarter buildings were renovated or torn down. It upset her to think of what had been trapped inside the walls and under the floors of this place. And after today, she would be living with all those creepy remains. This feeling of being totally surrounded by death and decay was a new experience.
She shook with a sudden chill, but quickly threw it off. If she ended up staying here for any time at all she had better come to terms with the history of her surroundings. And with all the mysteries, both good and bad, that were part of the French Quarter.
She continued with her inspection. Dark shades covered each of the shuttered windows in both rooms. The bathroom was windowless. What was with this new boss of hers? Was he so gross he didn’t want to be seen in the natural light of day? Or even in the unnatural light of a 60-watt light bulb?
Despite her disappointment in the bleak surroundings, her instinct to flee was short-lived. Rooms to rent were at a premium in the wake of the hurricane. She should count herself fortunate that she not only had a decent place to lay her head tonight, but it was free. She also had a job to wake up to in the morning. Not many people in town had either option right now.
She gave her new accommodations a second look, this time from a more practical perspective. The dust could be wiped away and the odors killed with a good disinfectant spray—if she could find one with so many businesses still closed. The dreariness could be brightened by a couple of good reading lamps. Add to that a bright bedspread, cheery curtains, and . . .
She thumped her forehead with her finger. What was she thinking? There probably wasn’t a department store open in a ten-mile radius. And until she got a paycheck, she didn’t have money to spend on anything but absolute necessities. If she did, she wouldn’t be job-hunting in the first place.
Lesson learned? As soon as she got home she’d shift her savings to the same bank where she had her checking account. CDs in a safe deposit box were no help at all in this kind of emergency. Nor was a maxed-out credit card whose limit had already been raised twice and was at its ceiling.
If she ever had to face another situation like this one, whatever money she had would always be accessible through her checking account. Although, she reminded herself, electronic transfers had not been an option the first few weeks after the storm. Most of the banking systems in New Orleans had been out of commission.
Angela, her best friend and law partner, had sent some money as soon as the wire service was restored in the hotel, but that was a couple weeks ago and the money was almost gone. Angela was willing to send more, but she just couldn’t accept it. Angela would have to use the money left in their business account to pay the monthly expenses. Besides, Angela was having it rough financially since her divorce.
Back to the problem at hand. Her gloomy surroundings. A 100-watt light bulb for the lamp in the living room shouldn’t be too hard to find. For the time being, she’d have to be content with small comforts. Besides, she didn’t know exactly how long she would even be in New Orleans. She intended to stay until she found Dottie, but she didn’t have forever. She had several important court cases coming up in the next month that needed her attention.
While Angela was handling the most pressing and immediate work for her now, she knew her friend had a full court docket of her own. Simone figured she had, at most, three more weeks before she had to return to Mobile. Just about the time, according to the news, that she should be able to get a flight out from the airport in New Orleans. Either that or maybe by t
hat time there’d at least be a car to rent.
And then, of course, there was the most important reason of all to get home. Dottie’s seven-year-old daughter, Casey. Dottie always left Casey with either Angela or Simone when a case took her away from home, but she had never been gone this long. There was only so much Angela could handle alone. She would need either Simone or Dottie home as soon as possible to take over the responsibility for Casey.
Simone took a deep, fortifying breath. Finding her stepsister was becoming more important by the hour. And, to her frustration, she was forced to take her search for Dottie one day at a time.
But she had a job and a place to live, she reminded herself. That should make things easier.
So why did some inner instinct keep insisting that her life was about to become even more complicated?
Chapter Two
LATER THAT EVENING, Simone looked longingly at the covered windows. She didn’t dare open them. Rotting garbage, open sewers, and the stench of bodies, still being recovered after all these weeks, rode on the wind. She would have to make do as best she could.
As she applied makeup in the dimly lit bedroom, using the hand mirror she’d bought just the day before the storm struck, Simone felt a sudden shiver race up her spine, accompanied by an urgent need to turn and check her back.
She spun around. A man stood in the doorway. Her gasp echoed like a shot in the small, stuffy room.
“I’m Julian,” the man in the doorway said. “I came to introduce myself.”
She stared at him, stunned. This was Julian, the boss who worked the late shift and had an aversion to light? Julian, who was not at all what she expected, although she wasn’t exactly sure what she’d expected him to look like. However, it certainly wasn’t like this.
Fair, with long golden hair, where Mike was dark-haired and swarthy, his build lean compared to his manager’s longshoreman bulk. Julian was Mike’s antithesis. He was also the heartthrob that Mike was not.
The Vampire Julian Page 1