by Tonya Nagle
They scattered across the table, and she took several minutes examining each group and individual piece. Looking up at David, she said, "I'm telling you this first.
From you, I do not accept the blood in payment. I require more."
He took a deep breath. "What do you want?"
"When you bring Laura back, I want her to stay in New Orleans to protect the city."
"I can't promise that. Only a few days ago, she asked me to take her home to New York. You can ask her when I bring her back. If she decides to stay, then I'll stay too."
"Your staying is not an asset," grumbled Mama Joe.
"I will always be wherever Laura is. You don't like me, do you, Mama Joe?"
"It's not that I don't like you, but you do not fear my power like the other vampires. That can make you either a dangerous enemy or a powerful friend. So I'm thinking that if Laura doesn't stay, I will ask for something else instead. Someday I will have need of you, and I'll tell you then."
David frowned. "I won't kill for you. I won't be an assassin. Laura would not want me to do that."
"Laura has had quite an influence on you. You haven't tasted human blood in over a year, have you?"
The hairs went up on his arms. "How do you know that?"
"There are things I know. You don't believe in magic, and maybe that will save you. Maybe it won't." Mama Joe looked down at the table. "There is a lot of danger ahead, and you must defeat the Keres, who are the ancestors of all vampires. The way to 63
do this is not clear. There is a man you must find. He must help you, but he must choose to help of his own free will."
"Who is this man?"
"Laura's father, Donovan Dupre."
"But Laura's name is . . ."
"Juliette changed her name back to Cordelais after Donovan disappeared, leaving her with a two-year-old and an infant. When the girls were eight and ten, Juliette found a well paying job in New York City and they moved there."
"Do you know where this man is?"
"Orlando, Florida."
"And Brilla?"
"She's at her house in Big Pine Key, near Key West. It is a green house that faces the gulf. There's a clamshell by the door with the number 8 on it. This was Brilla's family's house, left to her now. There's a lot of magic there, and she will see you coming."
"Is Laura all right? You can see that, can't you?" He ran his hands through his dark hair.
Mama Joe smiled. "She is fine. Brilla will not hurt her. She will, however, kill you to keep you from Laura."
"I get it. I may not survive," he said, his face grim. "But it doesn't matter, because I am destroyed without my wife."
Mama Joe pushed the shirt button across the table to him. "You'll need that.
That's the shirt you were married in, isn't it?"
"How did you know that?"
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She smiled. He was expecting some mystical explanation.
"You were reluctant to tear it off. It pained you a little when you did, and I haven't known men to care that much about clothing unless there was some attachment like a lucky shirt. It's too formal for that. You see, there are some things that are magic, and there some things that are just common sense." She laughed.
David put the button in his pocket. "Why are you really helping me against Brilla?"
The old woman put on her sunglasses and smiled. "You'd better hurry back to Marchon's, David Hilliard. I can feel the sun on the horizon."
As he rose from his seat, he nodded with resignation. At some point, David figured he would find the answer to the question she avoided. But for now, he knew he wouldn't get anymore from her. Thanking her, he left, carrying the bag with the bottles into the fuzzy gray mist just before dawn. The blowing wind had stopped. The city around him reeked of death, the sun a breath away.
***
It was a short flight to Marchon's place, and he was safely through the door with the sun rising behind him. The bar was closed. The tread of his feet made the only sound on the stairs. With the sun up, his powers were gone. A single lamp ran by Marchon's generator cast a dim light over the room. On the night table sat a black bottle of blood. David opened it and drank. His heart ached. Climbing into bed, he stretched out over its emptiness. He closed his eyes and imagined Laura in his arms.
"Please, come for me, David." Tears streamed down her face.
"I will," he said, kissing her soft hair and inhaling her sweet fragrance as he reached for the dream.
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Chapter 6
"David!" Laura sat up in the small bed, but he wasn't there. She could still smell his aftershave. She could still taste his mouth on hers. Anger cleared her mind in a flash. Instantly she leapt up, threw on her clothes, and ran. Through doors and rooms, she raced. The mambo was nowhere in sight.
The night outside called. This was her chance to escape. Laura rushed for the front door. Excited, she stepped out and slam! Laura fell backwards onto the floor. An invisible wall. She screamed and pounded and used her strength as a vampire. Still she couldn't get through it.
Laura ran through the house to the kitchen. She stopped abruptly. Several jars of herbs were on the wooden table along with a stone bowl. Her heart sank when she saw them. If they were left out, it meant Brilla wouldn't be far away.
The rickety green, screened kitchen door with peeling paint opened easily. Laura stepped out onto the soft sand into the warm night air and walked straight ahead to the bonfire on the beach. Flames licked the black sky, and the surf hushed the crackle.
Brilla sat on the sand beside the fire. She sorted through some buckets of fish and created a smelly mess. Then she handed a thermos bottle to Laura. "I thought you'd be hungry."
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Laura was. It smelled salty but she drank some anyway. "Ew. What kind of blood is this?"
"Fish blood. Don't worry. We have plenty."
Laura gagged. "Oh, that's great."
The mambo laughed as she stood. "It's a good night to practice."
"Practice what?" Laura put the cup back on the thermos.
"Why unwinding a storm, of course. There's a storm brewing in the Gulf."
"Is that what your spirit guides are telling you?" Laura twirled a curl of hair like a little girl. It was a familiar question from her childhood.
"That and more, La-la. The loa tell me another storm is coming for New Orleans, and God knows what would be left of the city if she's hit again hard."
"I don't know how to unwind a storm, Brilla. Mama never taught me." Laura unwound the hair from her finger.
Brilla ripped the skeleton free from a fish. "Oh, but she did. Look at what your fingers are doing. You remember when you were five and called the rain cloud for my garden. You made a braid slowly in your hair, closed your eyes, and sang, ‘Rain, rain, come to me' over and over."
Laura narrowed her eyes. "I remember." She shrugged her shoulders. It didn't mean she knew how to use her powers. "What are you doing with these fish?" Laura's eyes narrowed, while looking over the mambo's work.
"Never you mind, Child." Brilla got up and added the bones to an already ornate pattern of fish bones in the sand. Laura followed the line of bones. The sinking feeling in her stomach confirmed. The pattern of bones, fins, and tails formed a border to the property, imprisoning her, limiting her to a stretch of sand behind the house. At every 67
fifth step, a fish head poked upward through the sand as if its other half was buried. It wasn't. The dead eyes stared up accusingly at Laura, as if she had done them an injustice. This chilled her, scaring her deep down.
Laura ran to see if the macabre boundary was complete. It went past the side of the house and stopped sharply, making a right angle. The bones were lain against the front foundation of the house, across the outside dun-colored doormat, and onward to the other side. Laura leapt into the air to fly over the line. An invisible force slammed her backward to the ground.
"No!" Laura would not be defeated.
She lifted to her feet
and flew straight up. Inching forward with her arms outstretched, she reached until her fingers touched an actual wall. Laura flew higher and higher. Sooner or later she had to reach the wall's edge. Just as she felt the barrier weakening, Laura heard her name being sung on the wind. Something pulled on her left foot, dragging her slowly to the ground. Struggling against it was useless.
She landed face-to-face with Brilla. Barely able to contain her anger another minute, Laura clenched her fists. "Let me go right now!"
The mambo smiled and calmly replied, "I'll let you go, if you let me train you to use your Telkhine powers."
"If I do, you'll set me free? You promise? And I can go back to David?"
"Let you go, yes. Be with David, no." Brilla smiled.
"Why not?"
"You say that you love David, but if you go back to him the Keres will kill him. Do you want to cause his death?"
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"No." Laura's eyes filled with tears. "I don't understand why the Keres would deny us our love. Vampires love humans all the time, and the Keres don't destroy them."
"The Keres wouldn't care about relationships with humans. But a union between immortals is a different matter. A union with a Telkhine cannot be allowed."
Laura could smell dawn coming and retreated to the house. From a window, she watched Brilla continue her strange conjuring. Then sunlight streaked across the beach, and she pulled the curtains shut.
Oh, God, how I miss you. Laura leaned against the wall of her prison and closed her eyes. I want you, David. Her lips curved into a wicked expression as she imagined the way she most liked to remember him. The sheet slid slowly down revealing his strong chest, tight abs, and...
"Hum. Hum. Hum."
Damn that humming. Her delicious picture of David dissolved. Now she was more than angry. But if she said to Brilla what she really thought, she'd only make matters worse. The air conditioning whirred on, and Laura lay against the cool sheets of the bed. Tears ran down her face, as she rolled over to sleep. Laura ached for him, not only with her body for she delighted in his passion, but she adored his company. He had a way of making her feel content and deeply peaceful. People search for such a love all their lives and hers had been ripped away from her. With her mind racing, trying to think of ways to escape, grief finally exhausted her, and sleep embraced her.
Through the white mist of dreams, Laura found his arms again. She was home in their cozy Manhattan apartment, in the featherbed with its polished brass. Pink satin sheets brushed against her.
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David tugged playfully on her long blonde hair, the strands moving like water through his fingers. He gazed down into her delicate face and kissed her, first with just lips barely touching and then deeply, his tongue parting her lips and teasing her fangs.
Her fingers caressed his curls then grasped them tight as the kiss became deeper, more intense.
She tried to hold in the giggle. "I'm . . . ticklish there."
"I know." He grinned, pleased.
His fangs rubbed against her fangs again, and she gasped with delight. The rest of his body reacted immediately to her pleasure. His hands dropped down over her breasts, caressing and cradling. She moaned and her hands slid down the muscles of his strong back. She wanted him now, and hearing her thoughts, he plunged hard into her.
Laura quivered from head to toe.
Then there was humming.
"No, no." Her fingers tried to hold on. "Don't take him from me." Laura fought with every part of her to keep the dream. She wrapped the dark curly brown hair at the nape of his neck around her fingers.
The humming grew stronger.
"Oh, my God, David, be careful." She pressed her lips to his ear. "She will kill you, if she can. She's set traps and an invisible wall. Please, be careful." He dissolved like mist.
***
David woke with Laura's tears on his face and in his hair. He inhaled her scent.
Laura always smelled like spring flowers. Her words of warning repeated in his head.
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He shook with rage at having her ripped from him like that. David didn't know what kind of spell Brilla had on Laura, but he had to break it.
After throwing on jeans, a buttoned blue shirt, and sneakers, he went downstairs.
Marchon had maps spread out across the kitchen table. It looked like his friend was plotting an invasion. The door to the cellar opened, and Catalina came into the room carrying several plain black bottles. She packed them into a black duffle bag on the counter.
David sat at the table, and Marchon poured him a glass from a plain bottle.
"Thanks." He took a long refreshing swig then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Now what's all this?"
"I've been planning out your quest to rescue Laura." Marchon tapped his fingers.
David chuckled. Even though he'd known Marchon for years, it amazed him how his friend romanticized life. It was one of Marchon's better qualities. "So what's the plan?"
"You fly to Tallahassee and go to 124 West Main Street, Apartment 4B. You'll meet my friend Antoine." He pointed to a spot on the map. "He's expecting you. The next night, you fly to Orlando. I'm afraid you'll have to use the phone book and hope Dupre's listed. I can't think of any other way to find the man."
David's jaw tightened with worry. "Have you flown to Tallahassee before? I won't know what it looks like from the sky?"
"I can give you several landmarks that are lit up and visible." He gave him a reassuring nod. "Orlando is different. Between the airport and the lights from the theme parks, you'll find it easily." Marchon sipped some blood. "There's something 71
else. I saw how you were at Mama Joe's. You don't fear her magic. That's admirable, but don't make the mistake of underestimating the powers of voodoo."
"I hear it only has power over you, if you believe in it."
"Voodoo comes in many forms. Don't underestimate her. She'll make you sorry."
Catalina's eyes held fear as she placed her hand on Marchon's shoulder.
David sensed Marchon's concern, though he covered it with a smile. "Well, my friend, the night is young and you should be off." He opened a closet, took out two large black coats with hoods, and handed them to David. "Catalina and I meant to give these to you as wedding presents. There are gloves in the pockets. If you keep the hoods up, you will find yourself well-protected during the day."
"They're wonderful. Thank you and Catalina."
Marchon's companion smiled. She hugged David goodbye. "Be safe."
David shook hands with Marchon. "Thank you for everything you've done for me, for us."
"That's what friends are for. I know if we're ever in New York, we can depend on your hospitality."
"Absolutely." David put on one coat and put the other in the bag with the bottles.
He lifted the bag to his shoulder and listened as Marchon repeated the landmarks for Tallahassee. Together they walked out into the night. They stood in the middle of Bourbon Street. The eerie quiet was broken by the somber sound of a lone saxophone player, the one sound in the city of jazz and blues that refused to die.
"I thought of going with you, but Catalina started to cry, saying I would get to wandering and forget where home is. She is right you know, and for some inexplicable reason, I care what she thinks."
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"Why, you don't think you're worthy?" joked David. It was an old joke between them. For over a thousand years, Marchon joked that love didn't find him worthy. Now he had Catalina.
The two men laughed.
"So I say goodbye, my friend. May the ancestors see things your way! If not, well, let them all go to hell then. Before us, yes?" joked Marchon.
"Yes." David nodded.
The two old friends hugged. Then David lifted straight up into the air and going against the current flew eastward. He had to concentrate to stay on course, and that was hard to do when he ached for Laura. Brilla's humming made it harder and harder to hear her.
***
/> It was almost two hours when the lights of Tallahassee came into view. He touched ground in the center of the city. The sky grew pale, as he arrived in front of the concrete and brick apartments on Orchard Street. On the doorstep of Apartment 4B, he lowered his hood. A tall, black man with a neatly trimmed beard opened the door. He smiled clearly revealing his fangs. "Who are you?"
"Hi. I'm David Hilliard, Marchon's friend."
"I'm Antoine. Please, come in." The living room was dark but filled with luxurious white fur throws on the black leather sofa and chairs. "I've been waiting for you, since I got word from Marchon." He hurried to walk ahead of David and led him to the guestroom. It looked like any other bedroom, except for the ebony coffin, the heavy purple drapes on the windows, and the blood red walls. "Is this okay?"
"It's great. Thanks." David put his bag on the floor beside the coffin.
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"I've made some refreshments. You must be tired from your flight." Antoine led him out of the room and down a hall into a spacious, stainless steel kitchen with a black lacquer table already set for dinner. He opened the fridge and took out a plate of raw steaks and put them on the table. "Please, have a seat. You have your choice of drinks.
I have rose wine, bags of fresh blood from this morning, or cow's blood."
"I'll have some cow's blood." David sat down.
"Hmm. Something against human blood?"
"No, just a preference."
Antoine poured it into a glass and handed it to David. Then he sat opposite his guest.
"Thank you."
"Rough trip?"
"Not really. I'm just not used to spotting landmarks from the air."
"How is everyone in N'all Orleans doing?" Antoine smiled. "I've been watching the tragedy on the television."
"Yes, the city's in dire straits. I didn't realize you were from there."