Niall laughed and ran a finger along his lip. “Ok. Bourbon Street it is. I’m hungry anyway.”
“Me too.” Sinclair was amazed she hadn’t thought about food sooner. Neither of them had eaten anything since leaving Florida.
“You will have to circle around to Barracks because Bourbon is one way.”
When they got on Bourbon Street, Sinclair liked how the street was narrow, and where they were was tree lined. Most of the buildings looked old and were made of wood and brick. The area had an old feel, which she hoped would be present everywhere they went.
Niall drove slowly, unsure of where to stop. Since Bourbon Street was one way it took several attempts of getting on other streets to get them further back from Esplanade. He eventually parked near a little place that boasted it had European fare and Jazz.
Sinclair got out of the car and looked up and down the street, her lips curving into a smile. She felt like a child who had been transported to some kind of magical place. Even with her bright red lipsticks, and often pink clothing; Sinclair secretly loved all that was gothic, and there was something definitely gothic about New Orleans. Blame it on Anne Rice, but there it was, and all she wanted to do was soak it in.
She lifted her head and nearly giggled aloud as she scanned the upper balconies of the building beside them and the one across the street. Beautiful wrought iron decorated the balconies and potted ferns dangled beneath. She could imagine herself on a hot sticky evening leaning over one of those balconies, watching the night life crawl to life.
Slatted doors were painted green, and the sidewalk was made of laid brick. The place had a seedy, almost dirty look, which spoke deeply to her. It told her that beauty isn’t always what we expect it to be, and she understood the message immediately.
Niall tried to see what had Sinclair so captivated. New Orleans was an interesting place, but she was looking at things like she was in Disney World. It was a street, and they were in front of a bar. So what? Sinclair slowly lowered her head, and smiled at him, her body still, one foot turned slightly, and her hands clutched her purse in front of her. Niall suddenly forgot what he had been pondering and only wished he had a camera. He wanted to capture what he was seeing forever. He had enough money from Enrique to splurge a few hundred on a digital camera. Maybe it would be useful for the job.
Niall suddenly remembered the camera in his phone and held a finger up to Sinclair.
“Stay still.”
She tilted her head to the side, which only added to Niall’s mesmorization. He took two pictures, before sliding the phone into his back pocket. He would have taken a dozen more, then begged her to allow him to make love to her, but he couldn’t find the words.
I’m losing my mind.
Two men passed them going the opposite direction on the sidewalk. One was tall, a light skinned black man with dreads, the other short and stocky with pale brown hair. They both looked at Sinclair appreciatively, the man with dreads looking over his shoulder at her as they passed. Niall felt a bubbling in his chest, and it made his throat raw. He grabbed Sinclair by the wrist and jerked her forward with a scowl.
“Hey!” The happy look she had was now wiped clean.
“Come on. I’m hungry.”
“So am I, but I’m not acting like a total bitch about it!”
Niall ignored her complaint and he ignored her scathing look from her hand to his profile as they waited to see if they needed to be seated. Niall was still holding onto her hand loosely, and that was just fine. It was safer for them to appear as a couple. Safer for Sinclair. He grit his teeth sharply as he continued to silently tell himself lies.
The interior was dark, but slender windows let in light that gave the bar a shadowy feel. Sinclair could only imagine what it looked like at night. The chairs and bar stools were upholstered black and the floor was wooden. The wood had a grainy almost greasy look from generations of feet walking across it. She wished she could know the exact age of the building. She wished she could know who built it, and for what purpose. History was an interest she never quite shook, but was told would never take her anywhere in life. “Push forward! Don’t look back!” Her mother would always say. But Sinclair didn’t know how one was supposed to learn anything if they didn’t occasionally look back. How do you learn from your mistakes if you don’t?
Sinclair looked at her hand within Niall’s again. She tried to jerk it away as a spunky woman with caramel skin and corkscrew red and black curls came to greet them, but Niall held onto her hand tighter.
“Hi! Two?” She had a small gap between her to front teeth and a black lace choker. Sinclair immediately wished she could know her.
“Yes.” Niall said tightly.
“Bar or table?”
“Do you have a booth?”
“Sure do!” She said and grabbed two menus from the bar. They followed her into the heart of the restaurant/bar, realizing that it was rather large. The crack of pool balls sounded from another room that was open to the rest of the bar but could be closed off by two curtained glass doors with brass knobs.
The woman took them to the very back, probably thinking they wanted a relaxing romantic lunch. If only she knew the truth.
“What can I get ya’ll to drink?”
“I’ll have a Sprite.” Sinclair said, grateful to finally be free of Niall’s vice like grip.
“Corona.” Niall replied, shocking himself. He never drank while on the job. Not after seeing Jerry nearly decapitate himself while chasing a bounty into an abandoned mill. Now here he was, in New Orleans on the job, and drinking.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sinclair hissed at him. She leaned into the table, unconsciously pushing her breasts upward.
Niall licked his lips, his eyes darting only for a second to the peek of cleavage, before returning to her face. It didn’t escape Sinclair and she threw her body back against the booth.
“You kiss me on the plane, and now you want to hold hands. Wanna play footsies too?”
Niall bit down on his tongue, grateful the waitress was back with their drinks.
“Ya’ll need a few more minutes?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Sinclair answered for them both.
She opened the menu and looked at him curiously once more. There was no way this man was falling for her, so why the weirdness?
“I took your hand because two men were ogling you.”
“So?”
Niall coughed and opened his own menu. “I thought it might be safer for you to…”
“To what? Look like we’re together?”
Niall didn’t answer.
“Ok, Niall, I get it.” She lied. She really didn’t understand the man at all, but right then the more pertinent issue was the delectable menu. She liked how it was all written. No pictures. Words were used to tantalize and sell.
“I’m going to order the Bourbon Street burger of mayhem.”
Niall scanned the menu until he found what she was looking at. A burger with two kinds of cheese, bacon, fried mushrooms, fried onions, garlic, and a special sauce served between two buttery slices of French bread. It was like a heart attack waiting to happen, and he was going to eat the whole damn thing.
Niall and Sinclair leaned back in their booth seats and felt the nearly painful satisfaction of full stomachs. Sinclair burped softly, shook her head, and apologized.
“How about at dinner we just buy some fruit and eat it at the hotel?”
“Sounds perfect.” Niall said and leaned forward on his elbows. “We need to get to work.”
“Ask the waitress.”
“Ask the waitress what?” Their waitress asked, sliding up to the table. She crouched down and leaned her folded arms on the edge of the table, grinning broadly.
“We aren’t from around here.” Sinclair began, glancing at Niall momentarily.
“Ah, tourists. Looking for a good hot spot or maybe some culture?”
“Not exactly. If we wanted to research something…something like a stone
or trinket…where could we go?”
The waitresses grin vanished. “I don’t get what you’re asking.”
“We have a friend that we’re meeting here, and he’s not answering his phone. We knew he was coming to maybe sell something. But we aren’t sure what. He had it in a little velvet bag.”
The woman snickered. “You talk in riddles, but that’s cool. Look, if it’s jewelry or something the most logical spot would be a pawn shop. If it’s…” She lowered her voice. “Something more questionable then I really can’t help you. I don’t indulge in extracurricular activities like that.”
“We’re not asking about selling drugs.” Niall said quietly. “Whatever he has is of some value and is rumored to be of importance…special even.”
The woman’s mahogany eyes lit up, and her voice went a pitch lower. “You mean something connected to the Voudon?”
“We aren’t sure.”
She took a blank page from her ticket book and turned it over. She scribbled an address on it and slid it to Sinclair.
“Go there. It’s an antiques store up front, but in the back…well, you’ll see.”
Sinclair smiled and tucked the paper in her purse. “You have been a great help, thank you.”
The woman sobered and she stood slowly. “Be careful if you dabble in the Voudon. Some say it’s just a bunch of myth and make believe. Some would argue it’s real.” Her tongue pushed at the inside of her cheek, and she lowered her eyes. “Those who think its real guard its secrets…and they won’t like anyone nosing around about it.”
Sinclair nodded her understanding, careful to pin a false smile in place.
“No worries. We just need to find our friend. I doubt he’s interested in that stuff. He just wants to sell his item.”
The woman nodded, but her face spoke volumes on how much she doubted their story. Niall handed her money for the ticket and her tip; careful to tip her generously. Sinclair and Niall slid from the booth, and the woman called after them, her perk returning, but her eyes still troubled.
“Come back and see me before you leave New Orleans!”
“We will!” Sinclair called back, hoping the shudder trying to run down her back didn’t show.
The waitress cleared the table and nearly ran head first into the barrel chest of her boss.
“Claude! You scared me to death!”
He stared down at her, his thick salt and pepper mustache twitching.
“What was all that conversation about?”
She shrugged one shoulder and let her eyes drop. “Nothing. Just tourists asking some questions.”
He dug thick brown fingers into the meat of her upper arm and led her quickly into the dish room. She shook him free, watered down Sprite splashing on to her tight t-shirt.
“What’s the problem?”
“I heard the word.”
“Claude, they’re just tourists. They lost their friend.”
“You wrote an address down.”
“Yes, their friend might be trying to sell an antique. I sent them to Angela’s to see if he had been there yet.”
Claude straightened from glaring into her face. She was still young, still inexperienced; she didn’t know.
“The man; you didn’t see past his mask?”
“Mask?” Jules ran a hand over the throbbing piece of skin Claude had gripped. She was sure she felt a bruise coming.
“Yes, mask. He hides it well, but I see it.”
“Mask covering what?”
“He’s a shifter.”
Jules laughed covering her mouth loosely with one hand. “Claude, you’re a riot! There aren’t any such things!”
He stepped towards her, and she felt the air get sucked away from her.
“You’ve learned recently there are many things real you once thought were not. Do I speak plainly?”
“Yes.” She wheezed, her shoulders working trying to bring more air into her constricted lungs.
“Remember that.” Claude whispered, and left the dish room.
Jules heaved air into her lungs and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Oh God.
“Where is the address?”
“Dauphine Street.”
“That may be out of the French Quarter. Pull up my phone’s GPS and let’s see if we can get directions.” He rattled off the street number above the restaurant they had just left and waited for her to plug their destination in.
“I’ll navigate.”
Niall put the Mustang in gear and began driving. He wanted to talk with her, but knew that would be fool hearty under the circumstances. Strange city where he had no idea where he was going, the talking could wait. They passed a three story hotel on their way out of the French Quarter, and he took note of where it was. Sinclair had craned her neck at it. The outside was painted a dusty rose and each tier had more of the potted ferns hanging from the wrap around balconies. It would be a nice surprise for her later.
The area of Dauphine Street was a little older looking than even Bourbon Street, and Sinclair once again took on the awe struck glow of someone enchanted. The building in question was in fact a house renovated to handle a business. The exterior was painted a deep blue, almost electric blue, and had white trim. There was a display window, which obviously had not come as part of the original architecture. It boasted a fancy teas set with one chipped mug. There was a doll with a yellowed christening gown, and a stack of antique books. Angela’s was painted in black flowing script at the top of the window.
“What a cool little place!” Sinclair exclaimed.
“Yeah.” Niall said absently. How could he explain the itch at the base of his neck, or the tingling in his eyes just from looking at the building? He couldn’t tell himself why it was happening, so he doubted she would get it either.
The inside was crammed with large cumbersome furniture, the surfaces of which were covered with trinkets and breakables of all kinds. An armoire sat caddy corner to the front door and Niall glanced at the price tag hanging from a white string on one of its door knobs. He let out a low whistle and allowed it to swing back into place. It was a whopping thirty five hundred.
A husky female voice spoke quietly from behind them. “It’s 18th century, French. There are a few scratches, or else I could get a better price.”
Niall and Sinclair turned to see a light skinned woman with pale blue eyes staring at them. She wore a belted dress of royal blue that flowed around her calves. One heeled foot stuck out further than the other. Her eyes slid off of Sinclair and lost their warmth when they landed on Niall. A slow hiss escaped between her teeth. Sinclair didn’t notice, but Niall once again took her firmly by the hand.
“What can I do for you?” The woman recovered quickly, turning her attention to Sinclair. Niall took the intentional slight, but stored it away in case he needed it later. Anger, even the smallest amount could be useful.
“We are looking for our friend. He has something…an antique…he may want to sell. A waitress at a restaurant on Bourbon Street said he might have come here.”
“I see.” The woman stepped away and touched a table with vase on top. She ran long fingers along the edge as if checking for dust. “And what is this item?”
Sinclair laughed nervously. “We aren’t sure! He kept it in a green velvet pouch and wouldn’t show it to anyone.”
The woman raised her eyes from the table to stare at an indistinct spot deeper in the store. When she pinned Sinclair suddenly with her strange eyes, she instinctively gripped Niall’s hand tighter. He responded with a light reassuring pressure, running his thumb over the soft skin between her forefinger and thumb.
“Nothing like that has come through here.”
Niall let go of Sinclair’s hand and pulled his wallet out. The security picture of Joseph was folded into a square and shoved inside. He had other copies in his bag, but this one would have to do. He unfolded it and held it out to her. She reluctantly took the paper and looked at it briefly before handing it back.
“I�
��ve never seen him before.”
“He’s the friend we’re looking for. Can I leave my number with you?”
“No. This isn’t any concern of mine.” She turned her body and stared at them steadily.
“Alright.” Niall said and squeezed Sinclair’s hand once, before leading the way to the front door. The woman appeared beside him like a shadow, her voice barely audible. Niall could smell blood and fire.
“Vous etes dans la mauvaise ville, diable.”
Niall moved through the door, pulling Sinclair with him. He felt hot along his neck where the woman’s breath had brushed over him.
Sinclair slammed her door and twisted in the seat to look at him. “What did she whisper to you?”
“I don’t know. It was French, I think.” Niall lied.
He put the car in gear ignoring the indistinct silhouette of the woman watching them from behind the displays in the front window. Her words played in his head like a loop. You are in the wrong city, devil.
Just as he suspected, Sinclair loved the hotel, the minute he pulled into the tiny back parking lot and parked. The backside was more run down than the front, but peeling paint was the only complaint he had. The front was just fine. He hoped the rooms would be clean.
The lobby had worn carpet and plants in every available corner and there was an odd incense smell, but the staff was warm and offered them a suite for ten percent off. Niall imagined it was due to a desperate need for business.
“I would have thought a place like this would have been crawling with people wanting to rent a room!” Sinclair exclaimed as they followed an elderly porter up the narrow stairs to the second floor.
He crinkled his face in a scowl, deepening the many lines of his face. His voice carried a distinctive Cajun accent. “They think there’s ghosts.”
“Here?”
“Ah yeah.”
“Wow!”
Niall would have thought her scared out of her mind to hear such a thing, but she seemed thrilled. Maybe she was one of those people who only said they believed because it was the in vogue thing to do, but really didn’t believe a word of any spine tingling tale. Either way, he was glad no more was said about it. The porter stopped in front of a dark wood door and unlocked it with the old fashioned key. No scan cards at this hotel.
BAD BOY ROMANCE: DIESEL: Contemporary Bad Boy Biker MC Romance (Box Set) (New Adult Sports Romance Short Stories Boxset) Page 21