Winds of the Storm

by Beverly Jenkins

  A smile touched Domino’s lips. “Okay. If you put it that way.” Offering a nod of thanks, Domino joined them.

  “So,” Sable said, once they were all settled in, “welcome to New Orleans. Are you enjoying the city?”

  “I am. It’s very vibrant here.” That Sable had once been enslaved made Zahra alter her preconceptions about the gens de coleur Le Veq family. She looked over to find Archer watching her, and her core tightened of its own accord. She looked away only to behold the still grim face of his eldest brother, Raimond. Unlike his wife, the dark-skinned Le Veq didn’t appear to be happy with the charitable invitation.

  Zahra told him, “Mr. Le Veq. My apologies for embarrassing you. I know you are a member of high standing in this city, and my dining with you has to be awkward.”

  “It is,” he said, meeting her eyes, “and I appreciate that you at least realize it, even if no one else here does.” He glowered at Sable and Archer.

  Her mind made up, Zahra gracefully pushed back from the table, then stood. “Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Le Veq, but I must go.”

  “But I thought you were going to join us.”

  “I did too, but I can’t. You shouldn’t be sullying yourselves with the likes of me.” Zahra turned to Archer. “Which way is the kitchen?”

  He stood, saying, “This way. Come, I’ll show you.”

  “Thank you.” Domino then said to Raimond and Sable, “It was nice meeting you both.”

  They inclined their heads, and Zahra let Archer escort her away.

  Once Domino and Archer disappeared through the kitchen door, Raimond said to his wife, “Oddly enough, I like her.”

  “I do, as well, and I don’t believe she’s a real whore either. Let’s hope Archer can get it all sorted out. She’d make a nice sister-in-law, I’m thinking.”

  Raimond stared. Sable smiled serenely, then turned her attention to the waiter arriving with their food.

  In the kitchen, Archer stood back and watched Domino make the usual ill-tempered Aristide melt like pralines in her hand. That Aristide seemed as awed by her as every other male in the city was always surprising, because as far as Archer knew, Aristide was awed only by Aristide, yet he fawned over Domino like royalty come to visit. She then thanked him with a kiss on the cheek that made the fair-skinned chef turn apple red.

  She was still smiling when she met Archer’s eyes, and he thought his heart would swell out of his chest. Her smiles were as rare as diamonds on the streets of the city and twice as priceless to a man who had no business wanting her.

  Archer offered to drive her home. “Unless the giant is outside waiting.”

  She shook her head, and her eyes sparkled from within the emerald mask. “No, he isn’t, I took a cab. So a ride back would be appreciated.” Zahra wondered if he or his brother knew anything about the Death Books. Because of their government connections and their prominence in the city it was highly possible that they might, but until she could devise a way to ask without giving everything away, she chose to rely on the plans she’d already set into motion.

  Outside, the day was bright and sunny, and the temperature higher than it had been in weeks. By no means was it close to being summertime, but at least the cold winds seemed to have disappeared. Riding with him through the crowded streets, she basked in the warmth of the sunshine. “It’s a beautiful day.”

  “It is indeed.” For Archer everything seemed even brighter with her at his side. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  The uncontrollable warmth his presence always seemed to ignite rose in immediate response. “Your place or mine?”

  “Mine.”

  “Then your place it is.”

  Their smiles met, and he turned his attention back to his driving.

  When they reached the house, there seemed to be some kind of commotion on the steps. The girls were yelling and arguing with, of all people, Lynette Dubois and an older woman dressed in a black mantilla and a black gown, whom Zahra did not recognize. “Looks like we have guests,” she drawled. Alfred and the men were out in the streets of the city searching for clues to the Death Books, but the girls appeared to be holding their own in the argument.

  As soon as he pulled the brake, Zahra threw the door open and stepped out. “What’s going on here?” she demanded as she walked up.

  Matilda said, “We found these two sneaking around outside the house.”

  “They were trying to hide this in the rose garden,” Chloe said, showing Zahra a small urn. Zahra lifted the top and saw what appeared to be ashes.

  “Then there’s this,” Stella added, handing Zahra a brown porcelain jug. Zahra removed the top and saw something wedged inside. She fished it out and held up a small, crude doll wearing an even cruder domino where the eyes should be.

  “You’re much prettier,” Adair tossed out, sipping coffee from the cup in her hand. She then made a face. “Fooling with them has made my coffee go cold.”

  Zahra assessed Lynette’s angry face, then turned and showed the items to Archer, silently asking for an explanation.

  He walked up. Giving Lynette a withering look, he said, “It’s called Doll in a Jug. The jug with the doll is supposed to be taken to a cemetery and buried in the breast of a grave. What’s in the urn?”

  “Ashes.”

  He turned cold eyes on Lynette. She curled her lip but looked away. “The ashes are supposed to be buried in the backyard of the victim to hasten the spell.”

  “What’s it supposed to do?”

  “Kill you.”

  The old woman, her face lined by time, asked the simmering Lynette, “Is this the whore?”

  Lynette met Zahra’s eyes. “Yes, Tante.”

  The old woman began murmuring a singsong incantation accompanied by movements of her hands. Before her performance could gain any momentum, Zahra reached for the coffee mug Adair was holding and calmly tossed the lukewarm contents in the crone’s face.

  The woman howled with outrage, and the wide-eyed, angry Lynette looked about to pounce until Zahra pressed a gleaming, pearl-handled, straight-edge razor against Lynette’s trembling, pale neck.

  “Now,” Zahra said to her softly, “if you come around here again with this silliness, this root in my hand will come to your house in the middle of the night and slit your childish throat. Do you understand me?”

  Lynette nodded elaborately.

  “Good. Now take this old woman home before she comes to harm.”

  The two left hurriedly. Both were furious, but Zahra was putting the now-folded razor back in the sheath she wore below her garter and didn’t care.

  Straightening, she noticed that the girls were all staring in wonder and awe. “What?” she asked.

  Adair said, “Domino, if I ever questioned whether you were a real madame or not, I do beg your pardon.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Zahra met Archer’s eyes and saw that he was watching her, too, but what he might be thinking was impossible to tell.

  The girls flowed back into the house, happily rehashing the incident, leaving Zahra and Archer alone.

  He said, “A pistol, and now a razor. Are you always so well armed?”

  “Most times.”

  “You’re a formidable woman.”

  “These are formidable times.”

  “Do you still wish to have dinner?”

  “Yes, but it will have to be after we close.”

  “You can’t slip away.”

  “The last time I slipped away with you, I wound up trysting in the rose garden.”

  “Is that such a bad memory?”

  Desire licked at her like a flame. “Not in the least, but slipping away with you always involves something else.”

  He gave her that grin. “I told you before, you were made for pleasure.”

  Her senses bloomed under his intense dark eyes. “Are all of your brothers as audacious as you?”

  “Yes, madame. It’s in our blood.”

  Zahra had to admit she’d
never met a man quite like him. She gave him a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for driving me home. I’ll see you this evening.”

  Once she was in her room, Zahra stripped off her gloves and tossed them onto the vanity table. Her anger over her confrontation with Lynette still simmered. Being from the swamps, Zahra had plenty of respect for the old ways and those who lived their lives according to the tenets, but Lynette and her bumbling attempt to manipulate the forces of life and death drew nothing but Zahra’s contempt. She hoped she’d scared the young woman into thinking twice before trying to hex someone else, because if it happened again, Zahra was not going to be nice.

  That evening the house opened for business and the customers began arriving with grins and handshakes for their male acquaintances, and smiles and kisses on the cheeks for the scantily glad girls. Zahra standing on the balcony noted the entrance of Mitchell Isenbaum. As usual, he was alone. According to Matilda, he was twenty-five years old and unmarried. He’d grown up the wealthy scion of one of the state’s largest sugarcane plantations and boasted of having owned three hundred slaves before the war.

  Zahra watched him approach Matilda, who greeted him with her patented sultry smile. Isenbaum, with his dark eyes and curling hair, was quite handsome, Zahra had to admit, but only on the outside. His ties to the White League made him ancillary to the deaths of hundreds of Blacks in the state, and the numbers were rising daily. The New Orleans newspapers were filled with reports of the killings and atrocities committed in the name of supremacy, yet Isenbaum appeared as cool and detached as a prince of the realm.

  He whispered something in Matilda’s ear that made them both smile, then she took his hand and led him away. Now that Zahra and her people were shadowing his moves, it wouldn’t be necessary for Matilda to continue her discreet search for information. Zahra would tell her that in the morning, but in the meantime, Zahra planned to keep an eye on him.

  Since leaving Domino’s after the ill-fated Lynette incident, Archer was filled with the nagging sense that he was supposed to remember something, but he had no idea what that something might be. Dressing now to go and get her for their late dinner, the feeling gnawed at him like a bad tooth. Tying his tie in the mirror, he cast his mind back to the commotion on the steps. In his memory he relived their arrival, then the confrontation with the coffee cup, and then he saw Domino slide the razor back into the sheath around her thigh. Suddenly the hair stood up on the back of his neck. It was the razor! Where had he seen it before? His mind raced; seeking, sifting, frantically searching for the answer, and then he remembered a fetid Georgia barn and a remarkable woman. The enormity of the theory stopped him cold. Could it be? But how many women carried pearl-handled razors in thigh sheaths? His broad smile reflected in the mirror. What in the world was the famed Butterfly doing in New Orleans posing as a madame? He couldn’t believe he’d actually stumbled onto Domino’s true identity, but he knew as sure as his name was Archer Antonio Le Veq that Domino and the Butterfly were one and the same.

  She’d saved his life that night in the barn. There was no doubt in his mind that had she not been sent to fetch him, his mother would be mourning not only their brother Gerrold’s death but Archer’s as well. He couldn’t wait to thank her in person.

  “Oh my sweet papillon,” he said softly, translating the word “butterfly” into his native French. “What a night we’re going to have.”

  Grinning like a kid at Christmas, Archer finished his preparations, then, whistling like the pleased male that he was, left his suite to collect his carriage.

  Chapter 9

  After having taken a quick bath to rid her skin of the smells of men, liquor, and cigar smoke, Zahra stepped into the gold gown she’d picked out to wear for her meal with Archer. As always, Wilma had designed the neckline to be low and teasing. The edges were scalloped and the gown itself sumptuous enough for royalty.

  Knowing he would undoubtedly entice her into engaging in that “something else” they’d made reference to out on the steps this afternoon, she’d boldly left off her corset in favor of a gossamer, waist-length shift instead. Society would call her shameless for forgoing the traditional undergarment, but that was how Archer made her feel; shameless, reckless. In truth, she never wore a corset in her role as laundress, but being Domino meant forcing herself into the cinching garment day after day, having the whalebone cut into her flesh and the binding hinder her breathing. Tonight she’d be able to breathe in as deeply as she wanted, and knowing Archer, Zahra was certain she’d be needing each and every one.

  Giving herself a final approving look in the mirror, she picked up her handbag, gloves, and shawl, then went to wait downstairs.

  As she descended the staircase, she saw that he’d already arrived and that he was formally dressed. He was talking to the twins. Now that they were done performing for the night, they were wearing long flannel nightgowns. The two looked prim enough to be the daughters of a pastor, but Zahra and half the men of New Orleans knew better.

  When he glanced away from the conversation for a moment and saw Zahra, he stood, and his smile of greeting warmed her insides. “Good evening, Archer,” she said, crossing the room to where he and the twins were, “or should I say good morning?”

  It was, after all, 2 a.m. She asked him about his attire. “Did you just come from a ball or the opera?”

  He looked down at himself. “No. It’s what I felt like wearing.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  He took her golden-gloved hand and kissed the back. “And there’s much more to follow.”

  Pierced by the desire blazing in his eyes, a pulse began beating in her throat. Noticing the twins gazing at them like two engrossed adolescents, Zahra said to them, “Go to bed. I’ll see you two later.”

  They stood, gave her a knowing look, then said in unison, “Don’t stay out too late. Unless you have to.”

  Giggling, they ran off and raced each other up the staircase.

  Zahra shook her head. What a pair. She would dearly miss them when this assignment ended.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Zahra saw Alfred standing on the balcony. “Mr. Le Veq will bring me back later.”

  The big man nodded, and Zahra and Archer departed.

  As they drove through the nearly deserted streets, he asked, “How did the evening go?”

  “It went well. The twins were in rare form. The customers were happy. A madam couldn’t ask for more. How was your evening?” she asked.

  “Uneventful until I began dressing to come and meet you.”

  “More flattery?”

  “No,” he replied casually, “just the truth.”

  A contented Zahra sat back against the seat to enjoy the rest of the ride.

  They entered his suites through his private entrance, which was accessed by an iron stairway on the back side of the hotel. In the front parlor the flames in the big fireplace danced in the darkness. The hush in the room reminded her of her last visit.

  Archer said, “Let me light a lamp.”

  Soon the parlor’s interior was softly illuminated, but the hush in the room remained.

  “How about you take a seat and I’ll add some wood to the fires. There’s a chill in here.”

  While he went about the task, Zahra looked around. The furnishings were as impressive as the last time she’d visited. A framed portrait on the wall drew her attention. She didn’t remember seeing it last time. “Who’s this beautiful lady?”

  “My mother, Juliana. The artist delivered it a few days ago.”

  The regal beauty, with her dark skin and salt-and-pepper hair, was posed at an angle so that one could see the strength in her jawline and the warmth in her eyes. The face showed wisdom and the hint of a smile. Zahra thought it too bad that she and Juliana would never meet. Mrs. Le Veq would undoubtedly be an interesting woman to know. “I’ve heard she’s a broker?”

  He came to stand by Zahra’s side. “Yes, she is. Beneath all that loveliness lies the heart of
a shark. She buys properties and bonds like most women buy hats. My brothers and I would walk through Hades for her, though.”

  Zahra continued to study Juliana’s strong face. “I’ll bet you were a trial for her growing up.”

  “No denying that. Having to raise a brood of boys alone couldn’t have been easy. Our father died at sea.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “She made the best of it, however. We never wanted for anything, and no matter how many deals she had brewing, she always had time to spend with us.”

  “She sounds like a great mother.”

  “She is. She’ll like you, I think.”

  Zahra responded with a shake of her head and a smile. “Archer, I’m never going to meet your mother. I’d never do that to her.”

  “Never is a strong word, Domino. Life often has a way of negating nevers.”

  “Well, still, don’t bet your hotel.”

  He grinned and escorted her into the dining room.

  Once again, there were candles on the table, along with elegant china, gleaming silver, and crystal flutes.

  “I didn’t think you wanted a heavy meal this time of morning, so Aristide prepared a simple bisque and baguettes.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  He helped her with her chair. “You look lovely, as always.”

  “Thank you.”

  As he took his seat across from her, he raised his flute of wine and said, “To a memorable morning.”

  Touched by his tone and the desire in his eyes, she raised hers in response.

  It didn’t take them long to consume the light meal, and when they were done, Archer cleared the table.

  “How about we move to the fire.”

  They sat side by side on the sofa. He draped his arm across the back, and she laid her head on his shoulder. Enjoying the companionable silence and closeness of each other, they were content to watch the flames.

  Finally, Archer said, “You’ve led me a merry chase these past few weeks.”

  “Humility is good for the soul.”