by L. C. Son
“Are Claudius and Corbin with you? Are they on their way?”
“I’m sure they’ll be here soon enough. But please stop evading.”
“I am not evading you, DeLuca. It’s just that Chalmette thought Claudius had arrived.”
“Oh and I suppose she will be saddened to only find me here instead,” DeLuca responds, lowering his eyes.
“That is not what I meant. What has gotten into you? Why are you so glum all of a sudden?”
“Glum? All of a sudden?” DeLuca gazes back at me irritated again, but this time he shows no signs of running off. “I don’t know where should I start? Oh, I know let’s start with why you are here with Dalcour Marchand.”
“Even more, let’s start with why you are saying his name as though you two were familiar. Do you know him, DeLuca?”
“Do you?”
“What? I am here, aren’t I? In his house no less.”
“Yes, my friend that is the curious part. How exactly did you wind up here? And with the likes of a Marchand.”
A Marchand? DeLuca’s choice of words concerns me.
“You say that name as though it were not the first time. What do you know of it, DeLuca?”
Narrowing his eyes in a steely stare that locks with my own, I know my friend will not respond without some provocation from me. He wants to know what I know but I am afraid to tell. Dalcour’s secrets are not mine to share. Even worse, I fear DeLuca has secrets to tell all his own.
“DeLuca!” The loud tenor of Dalcour’s voice calls from the hallway, breaking us from our growing stand-off. Walking to the threshold of the parlor, Dalcour smiles wide with his hand outstretched in greeting. DeLuca quickly rises from his seat, nearly throwing his palm into Dalcour’s grip. He forces a brief smile as the two lock hands. Dalcour casts a wary gaze back at me but brightens his expression as he looks over at DeLuca and continues smiling. “I thought that name sounded familiar. Would you be from Biloxi? I knew of a small coven—the DeLuca’s. Are you of some relation?”
“Yes, my lord.” DeLuca’s pensive posture doesn’t go unnoticed by Dalcour. With a firm grip at DeLuca’s shoulder, Dalcour softens his stance as he gestures for DeLuca to return to his seat. As the two sit, DeLuca casts an awkward glance my way, but with Dalcour’s eyes pinned on me, I remain unmoved.
“So, you are from Biloxi?” Dalcour asks.
“Not quite, my lord. I was raised there, but Biloxi isn’t my birthplace,” DeLuca quietly responds.
“Oh?” Crossing his left leg over his knee, Dalcour folds his arms across his chest and leans back, intrigue filling his face.
“Actually, I was orphaned. The DeLuca’s took me in when I was a tot. I don’t know much about my birth family and I left the DeLuca’s and struck out on my own when I was nearly sixteen.”
“I see,” Dalcour says, rubbing his chin. “Well, it has been a while since I’ve ventured to Biloxi but from what I recall, the DeLuca’s were a spirited bunch but a rather nomadic folk.”
“Yes, sir. We were a very itinerant family, as it were,” DeLuca laughs, forcing a sly smile. “I haven’t seen everyone for quite some time.”
“Interesting,” Dalcour replies in a low tone. Pushing himself upright, he lowers his crossed leg to the floor and props against the arm of the chair. “So how do you two know one another? I don’t think Chartreuse has ever ventured far from Louisiana.”
“From the saloon, my lord,” DeLuca mutters back, his gaze still wary.
“Oh?” Dalcour asks, raising his brow. I know he wonders whether DeLuca is a former customer and the thought of that frightens me.
“No, it’s not what you think,” I quickly interrupt. “He supplied the port and rum. We’ve known each other since we were young.”
Looking back and forth between me and DeLuca, Dalcour searches our faces, likely looking to decipher anything more between us. A crooked smile dances at the corner of his mouth and he forces a light laugh and stands from his seat.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing the two of you are already acquainted,” Dalcour says with a bright yet mysterious smile as a calculating dance churns behind his crimson eyes. “It will be good for Chartreuse to have someone she knows and trusts be with her to help her navigate what comes next. Besides, I am sure having another Altrinion around will come in handy when she’s turned.”
“What!” Both DeLuca and I shout back in unison, glaring back at one another and Dalcour with wide eyes and parted lips.
“You are an Altrinion?” I whisper in inquiry to DeLuca as the reveal of it all shakes me to my core.
“Vampire! Tell me you’re not becoming a vampire, Red!” DeLuca snaps back.
“You first!” I shout.
“Well, I’m only part Altrinion. My birth mother was half. My father human. At least that’s what I was told. But now, back to you—”
“Back to me? I can’t believe you never told me all these years!” Folding my arms across my chest, I stare at DeLuca both in awe and anger. Knowing he kept this such a secret infuriates me.
“What’s to tell, Red! I barely knew who I was, much less what I was. And I’m more human than anything so there’s really nothing to tell. I have no powers, no source of magic. I am just me.”
DeLuca’s words hang between us as we both observe one another with new eyes.
Forcing a faux cough, Dalcour clears his throat and walks away from us toward the hallway, holding his hand raised. “I suppose I will leave you two to sort out matters. DeLuca, if you have no cause to return to your port and pub employ, you are welcome to accompany us. I could always use a few good folk on my team. That is, of course, if Chartreuse is amenable to the idea. At any rate, it was a pleasure to meet you.”
We both keep our eyes fixed on Dalcour as he exits from our view, fearing what it means should we both turn to see the other in a whole new way.
Chapter Twelve
“Ah-hem,” Armando coughs, interrupting our shared and silent staring into the now empty hallway. Turning my attention to Armando, I try to force a smile, but only a faint grimace etches my face. Still, Armando maintains his proper and unmoved posture. “Perhaps you two should take your discussion into the courtyard—away from the bride-to-be. It would be a pity to dampen her mood with such talk.” Gesturing his hand toward the veranda and giving no room for our protest, both DeLuca and I take our leave outside.”
“Well, then Red, I should suppose you’d better soak up this sun. Dare I say, such a sight will be a distant memory for you,” DeLuca barks over his shoulder as he makes his way across the cobblestone path.
“You’re mad at me? Really, Sincade?” I sneer, knowing how much he loathes his name. “How dare you? And all this time I never knew who or what you were!”
Spinning on his heel, DeLuca’s daggered-eyed stare wrenches like a knife in my throat. “No, poppet, you’ve always known who I am. Just an orphaned kid trying to make something of his life. Yes, the DeLucas took me in and yes, I am one-fourth Altrinion. But what does that mean? Nothing good has ever come of such knowledge. As a matter of fact, I’d begun to think all the strange and eerie tales I had been told were nothing but mere bedtime stories. That is, until now.”
“You mean until you heard Dalcour’s name?” I quietly reply, sheepishly looking up at my friend.
“Well, hearing the name Marchand was quite a surprise. I had no idea you even knew the name, much less the man himself.”
Walking toward DeLuca, I watch a small smile form in the corner of his mouth and his round eyes reflect the familiar admiration to which I’ve become accustomed. Smiling in return, I stretch out my hand and he places his warm palm in mine, and we sit at a small stone bench under a small pine tree.
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, DeLuca. I’ve known Lord Marchand since my youth in New Orleans. Do you recall my mention of a family friend who helped my family and I escape danger?”
“Yes, I do. It had something to do with your sister who di
ed, right?” DeLuca questions, his thick brow raised with intrigue.
“Calida was her name. She fell in love with Dalcour’s brother, Decaux. And for their love, her proud femininity, and the darkened color of his skin, she was burned alive at the stake and accused of witchcraft.”
“Red!” DeLuca gasps with both awe and empathy. “I didn’t know.”
“I know, my friend,” I whisper back as he squeezes my hand firmly in his. A lone tear runs down my face and a tender smile graces DeLuca’s face as he stares back at me. “And now Dalcour wants to ensure Calida’s fate will never be mine nor Chalmette’s.”
“But are you sure this is what you want to do, Red? I grew up hearing the monstrous stories of both Marchand brothers. What makes you think your fate will be any better than Calida’s should you become vampire?”
“Well, any fate is better than the road carved by either Mother or Monroe. And Calida’s death was the direct result of the bigotry of both sex and skin tone. If they could have killed Decaux they would have but they could not because he is an Altrinion-Vampire. Like him, I need the strength to protect my family at all costs—”
“You mean at the cost of your very soul, Chartreuse! Do you even hear yourself?”
“What care I for my soul? It is already forfeit and ruined! There is no good left in me!” I cry.
Taking my face in his hands, DeLuca’s narrowed gaze protests my outcry. “No, Red! That is not true. There is good in you. I have seen it myself.”
“No, you haven’t, DeLuca. Besides, if memory serves me correct, even you refused me on the first night we met. You wanted nothing to do with me.”
“That is not true, and you know it. I have always wanted the best for you. What I refused was to treat you as a harlot. You are and have always been better than that.”
Painful tears burn down my cheeks and DeLuca wipes my face clear and wraps his arms around me, forcing me into the cavity of his embrace. “Cry if you must, my sweet Red. Just know your DeLuca will always be here for you. Always.”
“Always?” I tearfully repeat.
“Yes, my dear poppet. Have I not proven time and again there is no where you can run from me? Whether you are near or far, my heart shall forever be where you are. I need you to believe me,” DeLuca sweetly says, brushing my hair from my face, trailing his thumb along my jaw.
Looking at Sincade DeLuca, I now see a fierce and resolute stance arise in him I’ve only glanced before. Perhaps this protectively staunch side of him has always been there, but I’ve been too blind to see it. At any rate, I am thankful for it.
“Even if I become a vampire?” I quietly question, casting my eyes to meet his tender gaze. The same crooked smile dances at the corners of his mouth once more and his eyes soften as I press my face deeper into his palm.
“Especially if you become vampire, poppet. I will not leave you to uncertain peril. I will be there for you no matter the outcome.”
“How can you say that? What if I try to—to eat you or something?” I mutter, feeling both silly and curious as I utter the words.
DeLuca laughs, allowing his hands to fall to his lap, clasping them together. “Well, I suppose that is something to consider. How about this: if you bite me—I get to bite you in return.”
“What?” I burst in laughter.
“No, actually, I am quite serious,” he chuckles. “Listen,” deepening his voice in a more serious tone. “Despite everything I said earlier, and while I meant it all, I do understand why you would want to become vampire. Truly, with the life you’ve lived—we both lived—I get it.”
“Thank you, DeLuca,” I say softly, searching his face and the concern I see brewing beneath his countenance troubles me. “Why do I feel a but coming?”
“That is because you know me well, Red. Like I said whether I think you should become vampire or not, I understand your reasoning. What worries me is why does Marchand want to turn you? What does he get out of it?”
Silence sits between us as DeLuca’s assertion stokes a new fear in me that I quickly hope to squelch. As his eyes glide over my face, I work hard not to show any hint of how his words fill me with doubt. Even more, I know no matter Dalcour’s reasoning, this is still what I want.
It is what I need.
Jumping up from the bench, I saunter near a thick rose bush and trail my fingers along the thickening buds.
“It’s regret,” I blurt my words, sharply turning on my heel to find DeLuca standing behind me. Frown lines invert at his brow as he twists his nose, turning his head slightly.
“Regret?” He questions back.
“Yes, regret!” I repeat with a lilt, brightening my tone. “I think it is his way of making amends for my sister’s loss and our family’s necessity to flee after Decaux lit New Orleans ablaze. Dalcour still blames himself for not only bringing Decaux to Louisiana, but also how his actions affected my family; leading us to ruin. All he wants is to right those wrongs and perhaps put me in a position where such an outcome would never happen again.”
DeLuca remains silent after my rant, watching me intently as I twine my fingers through the rosebush, carefully avoiding the thorns.
Slowly walking toward me, DeLuca’s restrained smile does little to hide his skepticism. “Everything you say makes sense on the surface, Red, that much is true. And if Lord Marchand’s sentiment serves no other purpose than to give you power enough to protect yourself from succumbing Calida’s fate or worse, then so be it. For if that be the case, it is a rare and beautiful gesture those of our status are not generally afforded. However, my dear poppet, it is my fear that you’ll someday find no matter how lovely and blossoming such a proposition may seem, there may yet be a thorn capable of piercing that which matters most of all to me. You.”
At his words, my forefinger catches on a thistle and a sharp prickle thrusts through my skin. I wince as it does and DeLuca gently pulls my hand out from under the bush, resting it softly on his lips as he kisses my throbbing finger. As he does, a stream of emotions overload and confuse me. Never have I thought of DeLuca’s affection toward me beyond friendship, but today his ardent devotion rings aloud.
Cupping my entwined hand with his, he holds it beneath his chin and shoots his typical boyish grin at me and laughs softly. “All better now?” he asks, deepening his charming gaze.
“Yes, all better,” I breathe back, still entranced by his regard for me.
“Excuse me, Madame Chartreuse and Sir DeLuca,” Armando yells from the threshold of the terrace door. “The DeVeaux’s have arrived.”
“After you,” DeLuca says softly with his hand extended toward the house.
My mind is a muddled mess as we make our way inside. Still, I do my best to push aside DeLuca’s allegations. I have to believe Dalcour’s intentions are genuine.
He only wants the best for me.
Thankfully, Chalmette’s loud squealing shriek breaks me from pondering the worse.
“Sister! Sister!” Chalmette exclaims, running down the hall to me as soon as I round the corner. Claudius stands near his father wearing a caring smile as his doting eyes mirror my sister’s movements across the floor. “Look what Claudius gave me!” she shouts, extending her tiny fingers as a sparkling emerald encased in a shimmering gold band meet my eyes almost blinding me.
“It is beautiful,” I reply, nuzzling her chin and kissing her cheek.
“Isn’t it?” Chalmette continues, still admiring the jewel. “It was his grandmother’s.”
“Yes and it has been in my family for more than three generations,” Corbin adds with his chest filled with pride as he firmly grips his son’s back.
“And it is my honor for my betrothed to now wear it. She is now family,” Claudius says with a wide smile, stretching his arm toward Chalmette as she runs back into his hold.
“Well, it would appear that all things are settled,” Dalcour declares as though he were an adjudicator.
“What about the wed
ding?” I curiously ask.
“After discussing it with Lord Marchand we all agreed it best to handle the nuptials here with a priest. A small and intimate wedding would be best.”
“Oh and is that what you want, sister?” I question Chalmette.
“Yes, Treuse, it is quite all right with me. As Dalcour explained earlier it is more believable for everyone to believe it was Claudius and his father who helped us escape from the saloon.”
“Ah, I see,” DeLuca starts, sharing a knowing glance with me as he winks one eye. “So you are betting on folks thinking you two were so lovesick you married right away!” He says, rising to the balls of his feet as both Chalmette and Claudius nod in gleeful affirmation.
Dalcour casts a wary nod in my direction, likely hopeful I’ll share in the merriment, but the idea doesn’t seem realistic to me. “And you expect people to believe this? Really, my lord?”
Just as Dalcour parts his lips in response, DeLuca makes his way in front of me and takes my hand in his, lightly squeezing my thorn-pricked finger. “Well, now poppet, it may come across a bit Shakespearean, but convincing still. And with Monroe’s high debts and sullied reputation, most will stand to believe the word of Corbin DeVeaux over that louse Monroe any day. Wouldn’t you agree, my lord?” DeLuca says with a raised brow. A witty smile crosses Dalcour’s face and I can tell his surprisingly impressed with DeLuca.
“Please, sister say you understand,” Chalmette pleads, coming to my side and blocking my view of Dalcour.
“Of course, I understand, Chalmette. As long as it is what you want then I will be satisfied,” I reply as she lifts her wide doe eyes up at me.
“Thank you! Thank you, sister! You shall be satisfied indeed, nor shall you regret it!” Chalmette merrily yelps.
“I will take care of her. I vow to be a good and faithful husband to her, Chartreuse,” Claudius says now at Chalmette’s side.
“You most certainly shall,” I whisper, searching his face for one last look of impropriety. Thankfully, and to the benefit of both he and Chalmette, I find nothing but the one thing I too long for.