Burning for You (Blackwater)

by Lila Veen

  “I actually was coming to see you,” I say to Erika apologetically. “I had some questions on how your system holds the NDC information.”

  She nods. “Fine, follow me. Ash, I’ll talk to you later.” Her voice is dismissive, and Ash respectfully nods at her and looks at me, not saying anything. I stare after him as he walks away, no longer heading toward the same elevator where we ran into each other.

  Erika is chilly with me but not rude, entirely businesslike and not chatty or friendly, but I’m okay with that. I’ve learned that Erika at work is very professional and very different from that first night she “helped” me by kidnapping me from Gabe at Chez George. I learn what I can from her as quickly as possible, thank her and then escape back to my desk. The moment I sit down my cell phone rings. “Hello?”

  “Was she okay with you?” It’s Ash.

  “Can you see me or something? I just sat down,” I tell him, looking around the ICU in search of him. Not as though he’s hard to find.

  “I’m stalking you, remember?” he asks. I smile, but it’s still creepy. “Was Erika rude?”

  “No, she was fine,” I reply. “She told me what I need to know.”

  “She won’t interfere with us,” he tells me. “Not when it’s supposed to be this way.”

  “You’re being cryptic,” I say. “But I feel like I’m the one interfering with her.”

  “Not at all,” he says. “She’s not my catalyst. You are, Miss Holt.”

  “I liked it better when you called me Leah,” I say quietly. There is no one sitting near me, Kelly has gone on break and Linda is probably still smoking, but I feel self-conscious flirting on the phone while I’m at work.

  “Leah,” he says softly, making my insides melt and quiver with his deep, dusky voice. “I want you to come to my family’s house this Saturday.”

  “What’s Saturday?” I ask.

  “Our Halloween party,” he says. “It’s a masquerade ball and it happens every year. It’s quite the Coven event.”

  “Sounds interesting,” I say. “Do I have to wear a costume?”

  “As long as you’re wearing a mask,” he says. “Then yes, you should wear a costume.”

  “Okay, I’ll come. Tell me how to get there.”

  “I’ll send a car for you,” he says. “It’s not easy to find.”

  “What time?”

  “The car will be there at eight,” he says. “And take you to the house for the party.”

  “And if I’m wearing a mask, how will you find me?” I ask him.

  “The same way we always find each other,” he says. “We just do.”

  Chapter 10

  Masquerade Balls are apparently a Coven thing, I find out, when I ask my mother where I can find a mask. She owns several that haven’t been used in years. All nine of them have their own silk lined boxes and each is completely different and beautiful. They have a paper mache base and some have actual gemstones with gold, silver and even ivory accents. “Sometimes it’s easier to find the costume first and then choose the mask,” my mother explains. “But sometimes you build the costume around the mask. I still have every costume I’ve ever worn with these, but they would never fit you.”

  I sigh, knowing that this would be more stressful than just showing to a party dressed up. I’m almost positive there won’t be beer in cans, either. Why Halloween? Why can’t it be just a party? “Was Halloween always a big deal for you and Dad?” I want to know. It’s not normal for a grown adult to have so many costumes, I think.

  She sits on her bed, next to where she has all nine masks laid out on display. “Yes, Halloween was special. We met at a Halloween party at Normandy.”

  “Normandy?” I echo.

  “The Lavanne estate is called Normandy,” she explains. “I was fifteen and it was my first party. My mother brought me there. Lisette Lavanne was already on her second husband, Miles, and only twenty one years old. She was already pregnant with her third child. I was in awe of her. Even six months pregnant she was breathtaking, and made me feel like a gawky teenager.”

  “Lisette is Ash’s mother?” I want to confirm. I remember my mother told me that day I broke the chandelier about how she was also Gabe’s mother. “What’s her story?”

  “I can barely keep it all straight myself,” my mother says. “Lisette has stayed a Lavanne since she married Pierre Lavanne when she was sixteen. It’s somewhat of a Coven tradition that if you marry into a certain family, you stay in that family. You marry their next oldest sibling, and so Lisette has just gone down the line of Lavanne men until there were none left for her to marry.”

  I laugh, but realize she’s dead serious. “So how many husbands has she had?”

  “Four,” she says, and my jaw drops. “Let’s see, there was Pierre who died of a heart attack. When I met her, it was Miles, who was killed. Everyone knows that Bo, her third husband was the one who killed him, but Bo went on to marry Lisette, who was pregnant with her fifth child when Miles was killed. I’m pretty positive that Demetri Lavanne is Bo’s son, though Lisette has always claimed that his father was Miles.”

  “Wow,” I say. “So that’s three husbands. Where does Ash fall in?”

  “Ash is Gerard Lavanne’s son,” my mother continues. “And Gerard was a seventh son and Ash is a seventh son. According to the Legend, to be the seventh son of a seventh son is one of the most powerful things you can be.”

  “The mysterious Legend,” I say sarcastically. I haven’t brought up the Legend since my mother told me about my father’s duty to protect it, but the Legend doesn’t hold a very warm place in my heart knowing that it’s the reason my father is no longer in our lives. “So is Lisette Lavanne still married to…Gerard?”

  My mother shakes her head. “No, he killed himself a few years after Ash was born,” she says. “There are no more Lavanne brothers for Lisette to marry, and if she remarried she would no longer be a Lavanne, so she never has.”

  “Why is it so important for her to be a Lavanne?” I ask.

  My mother smiles. “Wait until you’re at Normandy before you ask that question. Like I said, I was in awe of Lisette Lavanne. She has everything. She’s also a very powerful water elemental.”

  “Like you,” I say. My mother shrugs.

  “Some people would agree, but I think Lisette’s abilities trump mine,” she tells me. She stands up and looks at the masks and then picks up one and puts it in my hands. “Take this one over to Ruby street. There’s a dress shop called Bella Haute that will be able to make you a costume to match. Put it on my account.”

  “Really?” I ask. “Are you sure?” She nods and I open the case and look at the mask she has chosen for me. The mask is gold with a swirl of peridots and topaz on one side that appear to look like half of a butterfly. A cut peacock feather rests behind the jeweled wings. “This is too beautiful to leave the house with,” I tell her.

  “I feel like I have to make something up to you,” my mother says softly. “I still think you should get out of Blackwater, but I feel like now that you’ve met Ash Lavanne, I can’t keep you from what you know is your path.” She smiles and looks sad. “If anyone had tried to keep me from Jared I would have died.”

  “You are apart from him,” I say softly, but suddenly I understand. My mother has been apart from her catalyst for almost fifteen years. She turns and walks out of her room, leaving me alone with nine empty masks that have seen grander days.

  *

  At eight o’clock on Saturday, I am stepping into a black Rolls Royce limousine wearing the costume that Francine, the owner of Bella Haute, helped me choose. The 1920’s flapper costume is chartreuse green, with cap sleeves and matching fringe with gold beads on the end of each piece of fringe. Francine even found gold fishnet thigh-high stockings with a matching chartreuse garter belt. A strand of black pearls that I borrowed from my mother hangs down between my breasts and to my waist, which I have knotted in 1920’s fashion. My mother has a matching clutch to go with every si
ngle mask she owns and I’ve slipped my phone, some money and my inhaler inside of the gold one she lent me. I also have a chartreuse sequined headband to match my dress, and gold heels. The only thing that isn’t very Charleston about me is my auburn hair, which I have left long and loose tonight. If I knew how to do finger waves, I would have, but I’m not exactly skilled when it comes to hair styles. The last piece is the green and gold mask, which my mother helps me secure in place on each side into my hair with a bobby pin. She fixes it in place expertly until I am confident it won’t fall off.

  The limo driver is a middle aged man with a paunch and a brown mustache named Eddie. He tips his actual driver’s cap when I approach him and holds the door open for me as I ungracefully lumber inside the limo in an unsuccessful attempt not to show my garters. The dress looks great as long as I’m standing, but climbing into a car is not really what it was intended for. Eddie tells me there’s a freshly opened bottle of champagne in the ice bucket and I can help myself. Since I haven’t eaten all day, one glass goes straight to my head in five minutes. I rest my head against the seat and watch as we drive down Center street, beyond the town limits of Blackwater. “Eddie,” I ask. “Do the Lavannes not live in Blackwater?”

  “Just outside, actually,” he replies. “The vineyard takes up a lot of acreage, so they technically live in Blackwater, but it’s out in the country. Same county, though.”

  “Vineyard?” I repeat. Then I recall that Isabel had mentioned the Lavannes own a vineyard.

  “Yes ma’am,” Eddie says. “The Lavannes have operated Normandy Vineyard for generations. You’re drinking their champagne.”

  I inspect the bottle, and sure enough, there are words on the label that say “grapes grown and bottled in Blackwater, MI”. “It’s very good,” I say.

  “I think so too, ma’am,” Eddie says. He doesn’t offer anything else to say during the drive, which takes about twenty five minutes until we stop at a set of giant wrought iron gates. Eddie opens his window and punches in a code and the gates slowly creep open. The driveway extends forever, and we pass what look to be the vineyards on my left and a vast expanse of dark lawn on my right. Tall trees line the drive sporadically, giving Normandy a menacing appearance. “The house, ma’am,” Eddie says, interrupting my thoughts. “On your left.” I swivel my eyes to the left window as we curve right and have to suppress a gasp. Normandy is a quaint name for a house, but entirely misleading. The grey stone monstrosity that keeps growing larger and more terrifying fills my vision overwhelmingly. Tons of cars are parked out front, including about ten motorcycles, several sports cars in obnoxious colors and a few larger vehicles. I breathe a sigh of relief to spot Ash’s black SUV as one of the more modest cars. Two lions sit on pillars on each side of the entrance to the house. Eddie slows to a stop and shuts the car off. He gets out and opens my door. I ungracefully climb out with my mouth hanging open. It’s eerily quiet outside, and I can hear every click of my heels on the cobblestones as I make my way over to the entrance. I hesitate at the door, taking in the huge circle knockers each held in the mouth of a lion, possibly offspring of the larger ones on the pillars outside. There is a small light indicating a doorbell, though, and I choose to ring that instead of attempting the arm strength to lift one of those crazy door knockers.

  My push of the doorbell is immediately answered. A tall, thin man with no hair opens the door. “Welcome Miss Holt,” he says, making me wonder how the hell he knows who I am. Loud music pours through the house behind him. “Please come in. My name is James, and I am the butler at Normandy. May I take your wrap?”

  Is this for real? “Hi James,” I say. I am wearing my mother’s mink wrap which is warm and wonderful, and reluctantly hand it to James. The house is warm, thankfully, but I could sleep naked on that wrap and never leave my bed. Anyone who ever said fur is murder obviously never was able to afford a mink anything. “Should I just walk back?”

  “If you wish,” James replies, my mink wrap over his arm. “You’ll find that although Normandy appears very formal, parties here are very…informal. You may go where you wish.”

  “I see,” I reply, though I haven’t the slightest clue what he means, but I plan to find out.

  “If you want to join the main section of the party,” James says, “the ballroom is to the right of the stairs.” He indicates the sweeping staircase behind him that divides itself into two separate directions about one flight up, leading away to two separate hallways. The chandelier above our heads is an ancient iron affair, with actual dripping candles tiered up about six levels. The dome from which it hangs is a stained glass replica of what looks like a very famous painting. If I knew anything about art, I might be able to say which painting. The walls are peppered with portraits of what could be dead relatives, or even living ones, all done in oils and encased in ornate gold frames. James walks away to the opposite direction with my mink and I head to where he indicates I should go. The music grows louder, and it’s definitely a live band, playing music that sounds almost like the era that I’m dressed for. I feel like I’m in some sort of time warp. Everything seems unreal. The floors are marble and covered in rugs similarly to my own home, though the rugs appear impeccably maintained and vivid, as though they’re new.

  The entrance to the ballroom is open, revealing the source of the music. Sixty or more people are gathered, all masked, chatting, dancing, laughing, eating and drinking. The band is indeed a jazz band, with a drummer, a trombone player, a clarinet player, a pianist, and a bass player. Waiters are peppered around the scene with trays of hors d'oeuvres, champagne and wine. Tables are set to the side with more food, including decadent chocolate covered strawberry trees, petit fours, trays of caviar and toast pointes, and various other finger foods. I immediately grab a glass of red wine and follow it with some puff pastry thing that appears to be filled with crab and heroin, considering how badly I want another. I need to eat more to sober up, but the alcohol makes me bold. I find myself immersed in the crowd, moving to the music and looking for Ash. I recognize no one. The costumes are so ostentatious that I feel understated, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I’d hate to be the one to stand out considering the company. My one peacock feather in my mask couldn’t possibly rival the woman dressed in a peacock costume, covered in feathers from head to toe. I find myself turning in circles and taking in everything, sipping on my wine and entranced by outrageousness of the scene. I get a sense of what James meant when he said that parties at Normandy are informal. Across the room I spot a woman and a man in a passionate embrace. The man’s hand covers the woman’s breast which is out and accessible from the low neckline of her Playboy bunny corset. Next to them, a girl who couldn’t be more than sixteen is dancing enthusiastically to the jazz music, arms waving in the air, her butterfly wings of her costume flailing with her arms. There’s much more debauchery and craziness and it’s all wonderful and anonymous, making me question how many people will go home angry or go home at all when it’s over.

  I turn around, thinking I will explore more of the house and I bump right into a woman dressed as though she just came off of a production of Swan Lake. She wears a white feathered skin-tight corset. Her slim legs are encased in white feathered boots that go all the way up to her hips. She has a mask and cap decorated in white feathers, and she wears a choker with what is probably the largest diamond I’ve ever seen sparkling at the base of her throat. The only part of her not decked out in white are her lips, painted in a red so dark and deep, they look black. “I’m so sorry!” I exclaim, thankful I didn’t spill any red wine on her beautiful costume.

  “You’re Leah Holt,” she says without hesitation. She is close to my height and I can see directly into her eyes, which are so blue, they’re practically colorless. They’re like taking a clear glass of ocean water and holding it up to the sunlight. “You’re looking for Ash.”

  “I am,” I agree, startled by her forwardness and accuracy. “Who are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
r />   “Olivia,” she replies. “Ash’s older sister. Though not very much older,” she adds jokingly. I laugh.

  “Nice to meet you,” I tell her. “Your costume is beautiful.” I notice her cap doesn’t cover her whole head as I originally thought. Her hair is so white, it looks like part of the cap. Small curls have escaped and frame her face angelically.

  “Thank you,” she replies, curling her black lips into a small smile. “I love yours. It goes well with the band.”

  “I thought the same thing!” I laugh. A waiter comes by with more wine and we both take a glass and I give him my empty one. Thankfully it’s white wine this time. “How did you know who I was?”

  She shrugs. “I just know everything.”

  “Everything?” I repeat. Then it hits me that she’s not bragging. “Oh, you’re a water elemental, aren’t you?” She nods. “Figures.”

  She smiles. “Your mother is one too, right? So is mine.” She sips her wine, managing to look bored in the midst of the craziest party I’ve ever seen. “You’re not, though.”

  “No,” I agree, smiling. “I’m not.” I smile, thinking of Ash. Suddenly, I feel the need to be with him, at this weird and wonderful party, affirming my ache for him. “I’m going to continue in my search for Ash. Have you seen him anywhere?”

  “Oh, he’s around,” she tells me. She leans over to whisper in my ear. “Prince Charming isn’t very far at all.”

  “Prince Charm-?” Olivia slips away before I can ask her to clarify. I see her stroll over to a handsome looking man with dark skin and a pirate costume, grazing her hand across his chest possessively and seductively. She even gives me a chill to watch as she sizes him up, looking catlike and ready to pounce. I tear my gaze from her and turn to walk in the other direction. Then, as if we were magnetic opposites, I bump directly into the chest of a masked Prince Charming. “Ash?”

  “M’Lady,” he says, bowing.

  Chapter 11