Augusta Fern's Blog - Posts Tagged "blood"

During day-stasis I am again plagued with visions of Babet and given the recent events involving Estella she too was featured. Dusk can’t break fast enough, this is my torture. If I give in to my primal nature I would later come to regret it. The monster inside only lasts momentarily and once it’s subsided; you are faced with your despicable actions. With Estella it is easy, and complicated. I can be free to give in, not a care that I may hurt or kill her. Her durability a match with my own, but I am not what she truly wants. It’s not as if I am unaware of her use of me tonight, for if I was honest with myself I would admit to using her in return. If I can’t have Babet, I can pretend with Estella.

Before I go to Morte’ I go into the bayou. By now Penelope would have had her daughter re-stock my freezer and I was in desperate need. The Voodoo priestess wasn’t home and on rare occasion she isn’t when I drop by. I was in and out quickly, quenched my thirst and made my way toward the club. “Dig” by Mudvayne permeates the hall, I quickly motion to Estella.

“Look, don’t make this weird Cian, it was just sex.” She yells over the music, chastising me before I have a chance to speak. I lean into her ear; a tray perched atop her hand hovered overhead improving the acoustics as I explained gently that I too appreciated her visit to my humble abode and that she wasn’t exactly my reason for stopping by tonight. She is visibly taken aback, but recovers quickly.

“The other night I didn’t get the opportunity to speak with Madliene regarding the paperwork she generously left me.” I pull away and Estella is unaware of my receiving such paperwork, scrunching her face. I don’t want to disregard her, but if the Queen is being secretive with her own children and staff, I may need to gird what I divulge. Estella gets called away to a table sauntering off and I of course can’t help but admire her assets. She blows back to my side and we depart to one of the quieter spots of the club.

“When was the last cleansing?” I ask and Estella slowly places the tray on the floor, her face thoughtful.
I am suddenly very curious to what the Queen has planned in the very near future. Occasionally Madliene will hold a cleansing to thin our population; and I thought if anyone knew it would be Estella, she has a very special immortal gift. Estella can read the energy of a location, the events that have transpired, and the people involved. Her visions are inaudible; fortunately she has the ability to use her sense of smell. Our sense of smell are our eyes and ears if need be.

We all have a supernatural gift or talent when we are made into vampires. Something that lingers from your human life is magnified during the transition from mortal to immortal. I, in my human life was a warrior or soldier. My job as a human was to defend and protect my family and my village from anyone who dare cross our borders. In my immortal life that talent is enhanced and I am a demonic killer. Being vampire I am already granted speed and strength, my skin is impenetrable and I can attract any human to my table without much coercion but the years of service to my father and the opportunity to participate in almost every major war since I was made has granted me the knowledge and skill to hunt and kill anyone or anything. I enjoy this gift. I am a killer. I always have been. I only know of one other fierce killer who didn’t have the history of battle like me, but a demon in her own right.

A night like any other at Morte’, the lights danced and the music throbbed while Madliene held court, a catastrophic scuffle broke out among a vampire and a human. The cause of the fray happened to be Angelique, a mental seductress in everything she is. She was flaunting her wilds around the tables, her job as it happened to be, before she became the gaunt rogue she is now. In bloom Angelique was as beautifully treacherous as her maker and Madliene saw Angelique as a muse among the inhabitants; an inspiration to others, human and vampire alike. That’s her talent, to inspire them to drink, fuck, suck and act hedonistically; as she would elegantly put it.

Angelique is never to involve herself once the inspiration took hold, but the night in question, she had grown tired of the job and decided to have her own fun. Madliene grabbed Angelique long before Sophia was born. Angelique is, was the oldest child in a family of sixteen, Sophia being the sixteenth. Years in between pregnancies, organically Angelique could be Sophia’s mother. When Madliene took Sophia; Angelique went rogue.

Estella takes a deep breath, casting her green eyes to the ceiling and crossed her arms hugging them close to her body for comfort. Little did I realize what I had asked her to recall. To re-account the night Sophia was made and Angelique broke her heart.

The secret arrival of vampires in the area had not left my list of priorities, nor the Icelandic clan’s lack of gracing the Queen with their presence. I checked out a few leads and came up short, all provided by my Queen or her minions. There was something more to all of this. Why send me to look for non-existant vampires or search out vampires who may or may not begrudge our Queen.

I decide to contact Estella for an audience; she was always straightforward with me regarding Madliene. She owed an allegiance to The Queen true enough but being held prisoner and made to work for the rest of your immortal life is a different thing entirely. I knew Estella wanted out, but wouldn’t leave without Angelique and Angelique wasn’t leaving without her sister, who was so deep with The Queen that it was ridiculous to think otherwise. Sophia was still “young”.

I had arrived through my usual means of entry, hastily locating the Queen to discuss with her, her theories regarding the dead ends I kept coming to. Through the grapevine and cohorts I employ on the rare occasion I need information, I learned few things. Flannaghan, Alistair, two of the vampires still in existence, their names on very few lips these days, but there were a few.
And the few vampires that weren’t, old world vampires that were long gone. I followed the Queen and her two human minions back to her haven to discuss these matters in a less than hostile environment. The music in Morte’ definitely drew a large crowd this evening as the masses writhed methodically about the dance floor. Tonight’s playlist must have been an angry sort as Korn’s “Dead Bodies Everywhere” thumped heavily.

Madliene glided over to the large mahogany desk ornate with old world carvings, pulled the massive chair from its cubby and carefully pushed her antique burgundy bustled gown and overlaying robe back to seat herself accordingly. I silently watched as she straightened her back and interlaced her long boney fingers littered with rings together at the edge of the desk. Her demeanor seemed jaded this evening as if I were pulling her away from something more important. She took a deep breath and stared into me with her fierce brown eyes that were growing increasingly hazel.

“You have news?” She said dryly.
“Yes Majesty there is little rumblings in the community regarding Alistair and Flannaghan...” I stopped as one of her hands flew up to silence me. She turned her eyes from me to her two minions and without a word Romeo and Damien turned and left. As soon as the door closed the Queen relaxed herself pushing the chair back to cross her legs.

“Speak freely.” And she smiled her glittering smile not many get to see. She gestured for me to have a seat; I tipped my head to her and obeyed. I began to explain my findings, her demeanor changing throughout the conversation and though I could tell she was visibly concerned or perturbed or humorous during certain parts of my brief; she offered no resolution or inclination. This gesture aggravated me and I believe it was visible to her as well.

“Begging your deepest pardon Madam and maybe I am overstepping my boundaries, but I am a warrior a fighter, an assassin. I am not a detective.” I hoped my tone was plain and not aggressive.

She sat silently and closed her eyes, taking in one deep long breath. I waited patiently for her to speak. And when she did I had no idea what was coming.

“Cian.” And she stopped as though she were re-thinking her thoughts. But she seemed to shake that feeling and continued. “You know I am old.” I bent my head to respectfully acknowledge her.
“And we have known each other for a long time.” She accentuated the word “long” and I bent my head once more.

“I come from a very primitive time and I have gained many an enemy in this immortality, some my children, some not.” She stopped short once again and her hazel eyes burst open to reveal the most prominent green barbs indicating her intense feelings. “And there are creatures like us, but not like us, have you heard talk of this?”

I relaxed further into the lavish parlor chair, “The throwbacks, rejects, primal ones…” her hand flew up once more to silence me.

“These creatures are from a time before mine, all but wiped out before I reached the century mark or so I thought.” She took a deep breath. “You know of the Benoit disappearance?” her eyes boring into me already knowing the answer to her question. I didn’t flinch but adjusted myself slightly in the chair.

It’s no secret Estella and I talk.
“I know the night that thing attacked me the Benoit man went missing. Is there a connection?” I asked her and felt this personal knowledge was enough to find her confident in me without divulging what I knew about Babet or my dangerous obsession with the wife of missing, Griffin Benoit.

“Well, he’s not missing.” She said “At least not in our opinion, his family is another subject.”

A sensation I hadn’t had in centuries began to rise in me and I couldn’t help feeling that the Queen brought me to her private chambers for more than a brief conversation. I kept the attentions on the matter currently on the table though.
“His family?” My tone exuding stupidity.
“They still consider him missing.” She said and I was immediately relieved. “After that creature left your terrible hands, alive, which by the way I was shocked and disappointed when I heard that Cian, he attacked the Benoit man and left him for dead, around Jackson Square no less. And here lies the mystery.” She said as she adjusted her skirt to cross her legs the opposite direction. “Either this creature is so primitive it has no idea what it’s doing, in which case I am very surprised it has survived this long. Or it’s being kept, over the years, by a more powerful vampire and that vampire is using the creature.”

“What about a rogue?” I asked. And the as the word slipped through my teeth, I think, “Shit, Angelique”.

She sat inquisitively her face turning stern. “Interesting, but not plausible. These things can’t survive like we can, or like others can, I know your preferences and can respect your choices. These creatures can’t lure a human in with their time-stopped beauty, they have none. They cannot sweet-talk the humans; they have to attack from the shadows, literally. I realize we live in the darkness to the majority of human kind but these creatures are all about the element of surprise. Once changed these creatures lack any humanity. Very different from us, our humanity lingers ever so slightly in the first few days after our transformation, not so with the creatures. They are vicious, cruel and extremely dangerous.”
“Primal.” I say aloud, momentarily forgetting my company.
“Primitive.” She said in a somewhat ominous tone. And we both sat silent for a moment.

“Understand Cian, I am well aware of your job description.” She said smiling again. “You have exhibited yourself time and time over the years to be a master of your craft. Some incidents I have witnessed, but as I prefer it the most I have not.” She says this with a thoughtful smirk across her pale pink lips. I knew her smile indicated jest on part of her comment. The Queen wasn’t fooling anyone; she was as bloodthirsty as the rest of us. Another short silence sat between us.

“I want to know who is keeping this creature. If there has been vampire admittance into this territory without my knowledge that will be an easy verdict, the Icelandic clan doesn’t concern me. I spoke with Linde four nights ago, we are at peace. Other scenarios,” she stopped, “Such as Alistair and Flannaghan,” she stops again, their names like poison in her mouth. “Could prove to be more difficult to execute. I have the utmost faith in you.”

I stood to leave and bowed to her Majesty. I was almost out the door when she called me back.

“Oh and Cian, the creature has been seen around the Benoit residence, somewhere in the French Quarter.” I bent my head to her and closed the door behind me.
I made my way down the haven corridor to the sounds of the club’s system; One Inch Punch’s, “Pretty Piece of Flesh”, and I fling the large carved doors open to reveal the night’s patrons. I am met with hoards of vampires bending to feed from the volunteered humans just aching to get close to the immortality of us. Little do they realize, all the gory details. Until it’s too late.

I scan the crowd for Estella who was engaged in conversation with a frequent elder. She catches my eye and I tilt my head motioning to her that I needed a word. I needed Estella to accompany me the next time I went to Babet’s. Her immortal gift would be of great assistance to me in locating the creature.

“Cian, you look more serious than usual tonight, what’s up?” She said placing her oval tray on an empty table. Her uniform for the night consisted of a tight white tank top tucked into a red, green and blue plaid school girl skirt; a mini matching tie adorned her neck and knee high combat boots. Her strawberry blonde curls tied up into pigtails on top of her head.

I scanned her head to toe admiring her outfit. I grazed the outside of her thigh, wrapped in fishnet hose, with the backside of my finger, “Nice.” I said with a smirk and she smiled back at me. I straightened up and asked her to accompany me to the French Quarter after her shift at Morte’. She seemed taken aback and before she had the chance to “shut me down” I stopped her. I smiled at the emotions circling her at the moment.

“Listen, I know what you’re thinking and the fact of the matter is I need to utilize your gift, should you be open.” I said my smile widening at her blushing.
She adjusted her stance and said, “Oh, sure, when are you trying to head over there?” her tone disappointed.

“The Queen asks that I stake out the area for a while to see what I can find out about the location of a primitive creature terrorizing New Orleans.” I admit the words seemed overdramatized.

“A primitive creature?” she asked suddenly serious. “I thought they were all gone?”

“So did Madliene, however a new development has proved otherwise and I think you might be interested in the family?” I say, but her facial expression and body language indicate she already knows.

Estella stands, her hand turned in toward her face as her thumb nail bounces between her glittering teeth as she thought. She looks up at me and assuredly says, “When do we leave?”

“As soon as you’re free.” I smile at her hoping that the gesture would come across as friendly.

“I’ll see what I can do.” And with that she grabbed the oval tray off the empty table as soon as a wary human couple sat down. She smiled a grin at them that glinted in the lights and they flinched ever so slightly. Estella headed back to the bar to relieve Sophia who seemed perturbed at my monopolizing her co-worker. I waved and she shot me a sarcastic smile, I bowed to her for her forgiveness but she rolled her eyes and continued working.

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“Come in Cian.” I smiled to myself, thinking how ridiculous I must have seemed to the vampire who can read the energy and events of any place at any time. Still smiling I pushed the door open just enough to slide myself in. There she stood in the middle of her stone cell, fresh from the bath. Her strawberry blonde hair was pinned, piled high on her head so it wouldn’t get wet. She was a vision wrapped in white terry cloth, the towel contrasting her pale skin; I stood staring at her beauty. She allowed me to gaze at her immortal bounty while she slowly removed her towel leaving it a pile on the floor, reminding me, revealing even more of her to my ancient eyes. I returned my thoughtful eyes to her face and asked if she was ready to go back into the library. She removed the binding in her hair, shaking it loose.

“Madliene requests my presence this evening, so you’re on your own tonight,” she said as she slipped her feet into and pulled up the black body suit she would be displaying at the club, sliding her arms through the tank top straps, securing them to her shoulders. “I want to help you,” and she trailed off continuing her sentence in a slightly lower tone, “more than you know.”

“Have you heard from her?” I rephrased to deter any insinuation of my desire to see her again. “When will you be checking in on Babet then?” I asked exasperatedly.

“Not yet, I haven’t heard from her. Cain, think you can handle it?” She replied cautiously, then with a hint of humor.

I stood watching as Estella bent over to grab a pair of black stiletto lace up heels, admiring her assets. I loved Estella, I have always loved Estella. Of course my obsessions for the time being had turned elsewhere.

“You better be glad you are so fucking exquisite.” I said ominously before turning to leave, she stopped me cold but I didn’t turn back to face her.

“Thanks Cian.” A sweet smile in her voice. I bent my head and closed the haven door.

I can admit that since the night I met Estella I had been obsessed with her, but I am not what Estella normally desires, and what Estella desires, Angelique, has been a recluse since the taking of her sister, Sophia. But this current lack of respect for our common knowledge of her preferences was infuriatingly… satisfying?

I shook these thoughts and smiled at the thought of Estella, nodding to her as I made my exit from her chamber. The heavy door clasped and I made my way back down the hall to the stone cylinder where the spiral staircase sat. I rounded the floors until I got to club level, stepped out of the staircase, crossed the foyer and flung open the large wooden doors, revealing Morte’ in its pre-glory. With the house lights up; there was no mystery to the vampire club. I noticed Sophia as I crossed the “dance floor”, she was dressed in the same black cat-suit that Estella had graciously, in my presence, dressed in.

She flashed me a weak smile and I returned one to her as I walked out the door. I decided to make a quick trip to my haven to acquire a meal and additional components should I need them tonight.
I was to check in on her….Alone. This fact made me feel delightfully uneasy, giddy even. Should that thing find her, I would be prepared. I reached my own warehouse, took the elevator up and gathered what I needed. I suspect I moved a little stealthier knowing I would be in the presence of Babet, and possibly her children, alone.

This prospect in itself would be a violation of our current vampire code. No vampire is to be in the presence of children, alone or chaperoned. The sweet smell of their innocent blood can send some of us into frenzy. I began think positively regarding tonight, straightened myself as I made my trek.

I thought, “Fortunately, I am old enough to be aware of the danger I pose for Babet and her children and being as I still harbor humanity”, I felt confident in myself. Then the terrible came through. And I began to think that in spite of my age, I am still a vampire and a primal being by nature. This enlightenment invoked thoughts of taking this woman and sexually ravaging her, ingesting her crimson flow and never let her out of my sight.

Thoughts that frightened even me spiraled in my mind as I reached the entry to the unit of Audubon Trace townhouses where the Queen had “stashed” the woman and her two children. Just like I had stood outside of Estella’s chambers, I found myself doing the same, staring at the door to the townhouse. Inside a confused young woman and her small children wait to be instructed by a coven of vampires, one of which is their descendant.
What where we doing? Why had we become involved? Normally, we would let the chips fall where they may as far as humans are concerned, if a human is victimized by a vampire; that is just how it is. This woman was different somehow, to me, to Madliene, but especially; Estella.

The Audubon Trace community is even more Stepford at twilight; a conglomerate of townhouses inside the French Quarter, a location central to almost everything for Babet. She would be within distance of her studio now gutted by flame and ash. Not only would she be able to settle the affairs of the burnt out frame of the building, but she would be able to transport Scarlet to and from school without driving too far.

All the units in the Trace were designed differently; including Madliene’s…or Babet’s. I stood staring at the double stacked bay windows on the front of the townhouse which gave it a feel of real homeliness inside and out. No lights illuminated the top bay window or the bottom. I immediately get a suspicious feeling, my guts wrenching inside with extreme anxiety when I realize her car is not in the lot.

I climbed the few step and knock on the door, there is no answer, I knock again slightly harder and with the fervor of feeling something was amiss. I raised my fist and beat the door to the ground, causing a devastating crash inside. The small stained glass window shattered on the floor at my feet. I do a quick recon, the only sign of Babet, Scarlet or Henri, was the twenty shopping bags at the bottom of the staircase.

I bound up the stairs, the four poster cannon bed looked as though no one had slept in it. I crossed the hall to the secondary bedrooms and the same result. As if they hadn’t stayed here during last night. I am agitated, disturbed and furious. I quickly text Estella, who by now should still be getting ready for work.
“TELL ME YOU HEARD FROM HER?!?!”

Immediately I get a reply.
“Where are you?”

God, she infuriates me more than my current predicament.

“AUDUBON!!!!” I reply

“CHRIST!”

It’s five, grueling minutes before I get another text from Estella and it’s obvious she is less concerned than I as I am wearing a path into the dark wooden floor.

“She is at her friend Frankie’s house.”
Frankie, the petite blonde at the presentation, I roll my eyes…..women! I text Estella back and it’s clear I am not in the mood for “around the bend”.
“ADDRESS!!!”

There, that should spark a bit of a fire under the vampire great (who knows how many) aunt. My phone rings.

“What.” I am short and stern with Estella.

“Cian, I don’t think she is in any danger spending the evening with her friend. She’s lost a lot and I am sure she could use some familiar bonding.” Estella is optimistically cautious with her words. I am silent.

“Cian? You there?”

I sigh, “Yeah, yeah I’m here.”

“Look, I gave her your number, if she needs you she’ll call.”

I decide to keep my dark theories to myself tonight. But the fact of the matter is, if she’s dead before she can reach the phone, we may have a problem. Her friends can’t protect her like we can, at least physically. I am very sure that Babet is taking in quite a bit of mental protection talking and spending, how did Estella put it, “Familiar bonding” time and I understand, we are extremely unfamiliar, but we intend to have her best interests at heart.

Then I begin to think about seeing one of us in action, yes she would be impressed but I am sure frightened. To see someone you trust with you and your children’s safety rip someone in half to do so may come as quite a shock. I realize I haven’t responded to Estella.

“I broke the door at Audubon.” I am ashamed at my fervor.

Estella laughs heartily before saying, “You do have it bad!”

“Just tell Madliene.” My tone is exasperated as I push the button to hang up on a laughing Estella.

I cross the foyer to the great room, plopping down on the overstuffed furniture. Can this be true, vampire bounty hunter; Cian has nothing to do for the night?! It’s an unsettling thought but a welcome one. I smile to myself looking around the starkly decorated townhouse. The Queen really isn’t much for grandiose décor when in her own home I suppose, considering the club is so ornately decorated.

I wasn’t clear on how much time the Queen even spent here; she has a vast chamber and all comforts of home at Morte’. I also suppose that for someone who has property all over the world, keeping up with modern décor would be quite a chore. I am easily bored, so I take the time to inspect the townhouse, conveying its tiniest details to memory.

The walls are of course, red and adorned with local art; paintings and sketches, pottery and photography, including a modest shot of the Moonwalk taken by Molly DuBois. The cream crown molding and baseboards are immaculate of dust. The furniture is overstuffed yet modern, in a large beige hounds-tooth print. The floors throughout are dark wood and the majority of it is covered in the great room by a geometric rug. There is a small dark pub table with four bars chairs in a corner off the great room. The stone fireplace houses a large mirror on the mantle.

Through the hall behind the couch is an updated kitchen, with granite counter-tops, cherry cabinets and a deep farm style sink. The access to the back yard is through a set of French doors that lead to a covered porch. I come back through the hall and round the corner to climb the steps. I stop on the small landing at the very top, directly in front of me a closet housing washer and dryer and to the right a master bedroom, decked out in a dark wood colonial four poster cannon style bed, draped with damask bedding and littered with pillows.
Dark matching bedside tables; a chest-on-chest and dressing table tucked into the corners of the grand room. I go in, on the far left are double doors that open to a spa-style bathroom, a basin tub backs up to a shower stall with travertine tile and river rock accent, a glass door and glass sink basins inside granite counter tops.

I leave the master and my boots clomp down the hall as I inspect the two secondary bedrooms. Both have similar bedroom suites, sleigh beds covered in modest white bedding. A single tiny nightstand accompanies a single chest of drawers. There is a communal bath in the hall, similar to the master. I look beyond the glass shower door and see a small whale baby bath toy, Henri’s.
I smile at the thought of the, no doubt, spry little boy, sleeping angelically in his mother’s safe arms. I feel the vibration and hear the default ringtone as my phone buzzes in my back pocket; I pull it out and see a number I am unfamiliar with. I grab the tiny toy and answer my phone.

“Cian.” I say as dull and serious as possible because this may be a job.
“Hi…..um, this is Babet.”

An enjoyable rush comes over me; I am elated and floored at the improved sound of her voice.

“Hello.” I can feel the enchantment in my voice looming.

She laughs and I almost crumble to the floor, it’s a magnetizing sound. I feel my teeth run out.

“Henri….put that….thank you,” Her voice sings at the final words. “Sorry about that…..um, I just wanted to call and apologize for not being at the townhouse when you arrived, I….desperately needed…some, familiarity.”

Estella words return to haunt me and I am silent before reassuring her, “Understandable, I accept.”

“Accept…..what?”

“Your apology.”

“Oh, yes.” She laughs, I die inside.

“Thank you. Again, I am very sorry.” Her tone is genuinely apologetic.

“I’m glad you are receiving the support you need and please tell your friend we would like to meet her at her earliest convenience.” I am struggling to remain calm and not demand the address of her friend.

“Well, she will be back in town on Friday; she left for North Carolina this morning. A little worse for wear, I admit, after we show up on her doorstep….” She trails off.

I am growing increasingly frantic but I have to curb my primal instinct to lash out over the phone. How can I be overbearing when she has no idea the lengths we are willing go to in order to protect and preserve her and her two children. I must quiet the fire and turn the charm on full high to rectify the situation. She must realize that what she is confessing is in complete disregard for the calculating steps we have set in place to help her. I take a deep breath and I get the feeling she is aware of my irritation.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” She asks sheepishly.

“Mad can mean many things. Would you mind if we discussed this face to face?” My reply is calm, cold maybe, but it’s what is required.

“Um….” She is wary and apprehensive, the same as she was last night. “I think Frankie would be okay with it. Sure.” Her tone turns positive.

I hang up with Babet and make my way down the stairs, glass littering the floor at the bottom. I secured the door to the best of its ability and leaving Audubon I realize that there is a basement level I wasn’t able to inspect. But for now I will assume it’s the, impenetrable by light, space reserved for Madliene.

“Our history has shown that in the past, to lure a human into submission, an immortal will slowly eliminate what the desired human has holding them to the mortal world; such as family or a business. One by one, taking the things that ground a human. For once those things are gone, the ties that bind. A vampire’s proposal is not as easy to disregard. We believe that this vampire (I wasn’t about to explain that the creature is not exactly like us) wants you for his or her self and is slowly severing your ties to the mortal world.” I stopped, gave her a moment to absorb what I was telling her. She looked down at her hands.

“May I ask you a question?” I said regarding her carefully.

“You just did.” Her dazzling smile throws me off kilter, not to mention her joke.

I smile at the floor, as I lift my gaze to meet hers; she is now regarding me carefully.

“I realize you left the Queen’s residence due to your lack of comfort in unfamiliar territory, but…” I had to gage my words cautiously, “your safety, your children’s safety is not just our mission, it’s our utmost priority.”

I stop and allow her to again absorb what I am trying to convey but before I have an opportunity to complete the thought she did it for me.

“And when I am not where you put me, you get unhinged?” she mutters.
“Precisely, but regardless of that, it means we aren’t doing our job, proper.” I am aware of her discomfort.

“Oh, Griffin.” she whispered to herself, looking out the blackened windows, which in the pitch of night only reflected two blurry figures sitting on couches.
I decide to change the subject for both our sakes.

“Tell me about him, how did you meet?” I said and her face turned up to me in surprise at the request.

“It’s a long story.” Her face turned down to her hands as she emphasizes the word ‘long’.

“I’ve got time.” I replied smiling, revealing a little teeth and she smiled in return. She took in another deep breath and shrugged her shoulders indicating she would proceed with the tale.

“Um, ok, well….where do I start? Well, I escaped to North Carolina, after high school, due to my status in the community; I along with Frankie and our other friend Molly went to school up there. We met some unsavory characters and spent time in some even worse places. I returned home pregnant with Scarlet while my friends stayed in NC. Scarlet’s dad’s name is John. That is a whole other can of worms, but once we got back into the fold of New Orleans John, Scarlet and I lived in a large five bedroom house with three other people; we had the East wing of the house and the other three had the West. Things had been trying for some time between John and me; financially, physically and emotionally because I miscarried the second baby I became pregnant with. We ended up working opposite shifts, hardly ever seeing each other as one of us was either with Scarlet or working.
“One of the other roommates, Mark, had a friend, Griffin, who was having domestic problems and needed a place to stay. Mark offered to move Griffin into his room and split the rent. Because Griffin and I worked the same shift hours at our jobs, we got home at the same time every day. Trying to be a good roommate I, along with Scarlet would hang out with him, he would play with Scarlet and we would talk about the things that bothered us about our partners and over time Griffin and I became friends. So much so that when John’s car wasn’t running, Griffin would pick John up from work as favor to me.” She paused looking intently at me to signify I could stop her should I get bored. I slightly bowed my head in her direction, indicating she could continue.

“OK, well, uh….things got so bad with John that he moved back to his mother’s house in North Carolina. We remained copacetic as parents while we were separated, but I was drawn to Griffin and well, things got very complicated. Every day I went back and forth with the decision to end things with John. I mean we had a child together and what was I going to be doing to my daughter leaving her father? But it was him or me. I was very unhappy and Griffin was such a rock.” The last word creaked from her throat and tears welled in her eyes.

I was a statue on the couch, I knew how to comfort a woman, but this woman was insanity for me. I could slide across to her on the couch and take her in my arms, let her cry and sob until she fell asleep. But my primal nature would slide over to her, become intoxicated and rapidly extinguish her life, regardless of my vows. But she didn’t give me a chance to do either; she exasperatedly jumped from the couch, wiped her tears and began pacing the floor, she brought her hand in a loose fist up to her face and turned it, parted her lips and bounced her thumbnail between her teeth. I thought to myself, “Estella”. I already held many questions in my mind as to the details Babet divulged, but I would have to recall them at another time, hopefully tonight. I hate to drag on the prior night’s conversations at later dates.

I could feel the tension rise in Babet and she sharply turned to face me, her eyes wide and questioning, “My children?”
“Are also in danger” I said truthfully and she began pacing again. “Babet” and it was one of the few times I had uttered her name in her presence and as it fell out of my mouth a twinge of rampant hunger came over me, I begin to salivate. I hastily regain composure at the same moment she turned her attentions back to me, “Where is Scarlet?”

“She’s staying at her friend Monica’s house tonight; I swear those girls would become Siamese twins if you let them.” Her smile faded, “Oh God, you don’t think…”

http://www.amazon.com/Revelations-Cia...Revelations of Cian

I stood up and against my better judgment took her by the shoulders, this would be difficult, but I felt the need to comfort her. I stopped her in her tracks. I looked into her eyes, hoping to squelch her worry. She gazed up at me, her face inches from mine, her scent captivated me and I could feel the hunger mount inside me, my eyes began to darken and my face began to change in front of Babet.

I could see the fear, an interested fear but fear none the less, in her eyes and I turned away from her, “Excuse me.” I stepped away, retreating toward the back of the palatial residence, I opened the French doors beyond the back of the dark sunroom, I stepped into the shrubbery enclosed brick courtyard; closing the door behind me. The security motion light came on and I lifted my head to the sky taking deep breaths of crisp clean air until I felt my face return to normal.

I turned to face the door and saw the reflection staring back at me like an illuminated picture. The six foot four man with broad shoulders and a messy mop of raven black hair was staring back at me. He was slender but muscular, dressed in a black t-shirt, carpenter jeans and black boots. I stared at the reflection taking it all in when the picture began to move. Babet stepped through the door and I turned away from her.

“Are you okay?” she asked sympathetically and I was baffled once again. I hadn’t expected this kind of reaction. I envisioned her snatching Henri from his bed and bolting out the door, into her car and as far away from all this as she could get. Which is what she would do if she were smart; but she didn’t, she was genuinely concerned for me. Me.

I stood back from the door not making eye contact and said, “It wouldn’t hurt to call and check in on your daughter.” I didn’t look at her, still immersed in the evening air above me. She turned to go back into the house, closing the door and I focused on her through it. She began to roam around and I watched as she pulled a thin red cell phone from her pocket, dial and wait for an answer.

I overheard her say, “Scarlet, it’s Mom. …Nothing honey, I just wanted to check in on you. …..Oh, cool, was it good?” she began to laugh heartily at whatever her daughter was saying. “Okay, well….have fun and I love you.” She pressed the button on the phone to end the call, stared at it for a moment and then looked back at me through the glass door.

She looks intently in my eyes as she slid the door open again, “Scarlet’s fine, they went to that new Hibachi place downtown.” She smiled as she replaced the phone in the back pocket of her jeans.

She turned on the ball of her left foot and padded back to the couch, plopping down once again, this time sitting on her left foot. I stepped inside the frame of the door, closing it behind me and joined her on the other side of the couch. I felt an awkward moment pressing in on us; I am reminded of my search for knowledge of Frankie and Marcus W.

“So,” I said waving my hand around, “What does your friend do for a living, this place is….” I trailed off.

“Ostentatious, is the word you’re looking for.” Babet’s sarcastic tone mirroring that of Estella’s and I smile at the similarity of the distant relatives, I am caught by Babet.

“What?” she asks on the verge of laughter.

“You are a lot like her.”

“Estella? Yes, I recognized a couple of similarities myself last night.”

“And still you ran?” I realize my tone is accusing and with that the jovial mood of the room deteriorates.

“I don’t expect you to understand.” She mumbles quietly, intending for me not to hear.

“Try me.” I say as sincerely as possible. For as little as I know of this woman, she knows less of me and my own trials and tribulations. How I entered this world, so long ago. Why I felt the need to alter my entire life history with one rash decision.

“Well, first you asked about Frankie? Right?”

“Yes.”

“She is a well respected, highly educated hair stylist and salon owner. She has four salons here in New Orleans and two in North Carolina, one in Raleigh and the other is at Atlantic Beach, Emerald Isle area.”

“Which salon is she visiting in North Carolina, Raleigh or Atlantic Beach?”

“She’s in Raleigh now, The Gallery, Salon. I think she will rent a car and drive to Atlantic Beach, it’s only about two and a half hours from Raleigh.”
I nod and then pry further, “Is she married?”

“Yeah, Her husband works for the state of Louisiana, he’s a scientist. Marcus is a great guy, he’s her second husband. The first was a leach. Marcus makes her very happy. It’s just the two of them for now, but I know she wants children eventually. She had grandiose dreams of her empire, now that it’s basically established I think they will start trying. She is Scarlet and Henri’s godmother.”

“What does the W stand for?”

“Weller. You know I feel like I am in an interrogation.” Her tone humorous.

“I apologize, it’s imperative I have some Intel about you and your past. Something back then could have influenced the situation you are in today. Do you understand?” I try not to sound like my father.

She takes a deep breath and widens her eyes before beginning again. “Next question.”

I smile, she is finally being cooperative but before I can ask my “next question” she interrupts my train of thought.
“Estella says you have “one of those faces” but she’s wrong. I know I have seen you before, in the Quarter maybe, in Jackson Square possibly?”

“I do live in the warehouse district…” what the fuck am I doing, tradecraft 101, never reveal your home base. “But I am rarely out during the day in the Quarter.” I smirk at my own hilarity.

“No, I know….you were at the annual Beauregard Family home….thing, right? I feel like I saw you there, I know Estella was there, she got up and left during my,” her tone mocking, “most prestigious presentation.” She said imitating a British dame. She laughed her glorious laugh and I am enraptured by the sound.

“Yes, I was.”

“And?”

“And, what?”

“Did you enjoy my presentation?” She didn’t let me answer her. “Kidding, don’t answer that.”

“I did, it was one of the more enlightening evenings I have spent in a long time. You are a brilliant artist.”
She begins to blush, but quickly straightens herself.

“Enlightening how?” She says, not missing a beat. She’s a quick thinker this one; another revelation into Babet Benoit. I had to keep from mentioning my observations of her friends.

“I was unaware of Estella’s connection to PGT Beauregard until that night. I also was quite intrigued at the history of the Beauregard property. I was a soldier, once upon a time. Recently I have become quite the modern art lover though, especially after your presentation.” My tone is becoming whimsical but she sees right through it.

“Jesus, I have been making that speech since I was in middle school. I swear I wish my mother would find some other way to show off our family. When I was in North Carolina I was free, free of the pomp and circumstance. Free of the money and fake friends, I swear those Junior League bitches are still after me. Not after me, like this…but they want me to join. I know a lot of those girls from school and that’s part of the problem, but the other is they want in on anything philanthropic in New Orleans and what I do for the community is not to exploited or used for advertisement. Two of my favorites were at the presentation, they always are.” Her rant runs out of steam but it answers a couple of my questions but creates another.
“What is your philanthropic contribution to New Orleans?”

“I organize a “Future Artists” festival every year. A lot of other local artists, like Molly, have booths displaying their art or games for kids; we give away free art supplies and offer classes. Frankie also has a booth; she teaches styling technique and sells hair art. Those girls, the Junior Leaguers, every year try to weasel their way in.”

“Do you think they burned down your studio?”

She laughs, “No, I mean those girls are evil, but not that evil. The best way to explain it is that they are still in high school. Desperately trying to be everything to everyone, I wasn’t and I’m not interested in that. I want to be everything to me, not others.”

“Like I said, it was one of the most enlightening evenings. Of course I hope to have lots of enlightening evenings with you.”

“Oh?” She is wary.

“Well, yes. After all, I know virtually nothing about you.” Except every inch of your delicious naked form; I am aware of the monster still hovering in the back of my mind.

“Okay, should we continue where we left off?”

“If you like.”

“Where was I?”

“Your status in the community; what prompted the escape to North Carolina?”

“My upbringing was relatively normal, for a rich southern girl, until my father died. I was 10. My mother says from that point on I was a handful. I got in trouble at school, a lot, people began to treat me differently because of the strange circumstances surrounding his death. Frankie and Molly were the only ones who stood by me and continue to stand by me.”

“Where does Molly live?”

“She has a loft in one of the renovated warehouses off the river. She has a spectacular view in the evenings.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a photographer.”

“Molly DuBois?”

“Yeah, you know her?”

“I know her work.” I am very interested in Babet’s connection to Molly DuBois.

“She’s always had an eye, even in school. She could hold the camera up and shoot, develop the photo, it’s a masterpiece; makes me sick, but I love her. Those girls are like sisters to me.”

“So both women returned to New Orleans after college?”

“Molly did, but Frankie stayed to open her first salon in Raleigh. Molly says there is no other more photographic place than New Orleans, home. Frankie came home after her Atlantic Beach location was settled and fully staffed. By then she was married to Christof.” She began to rise from the couch and in turn I too start to get to my feet, but quickly realized what I was doing. She made her way toward the kitchen but not before calling out to me, “You want something to drink?” I heard the words and I could feel her wince at what she was asking, she then verbalized it upon returning with a glass of ice water for herself. “Sorry.”

“No, I am content.” If she was really offering? Oh; would I.

“Speaking of…” I feel it coming.

“Estella said you don’t drink from humans, but you do drink human blood. How is that possible?”

“I suppose it’s my turn to enlighten you.” I said melodically.

“She said I could ask you anything, but whether or not you would answer truthfully was an enigma.”

I am taken aback by what Estella has said to Babet, what else has she warned her against? “I believe she was kidding.” I say dryly.

“I hope so; it was the condition of your involvement in my situation. Estella, I can concede to, she’s family. You, on the other hand are a virtual stranger, to me at least.”

“I can only hope to rectify your apprehension of my involvement; Estella is a very important person in my existence.”

“Are you two…?” She trails off, not wanting to say the words.

“Not in the way you are thinking.”

“How do you know what I am thinking?”

“You’re human; your thoughts are only on the inevitable. I don’t mind; it’s natural.” I can tell by the look on her face that I am right.

“Okay and what inevitable scenario am I thinking of?” She is clearly goading me.
I decide to squash this, “You imagine that Estella and I are concupiscent in our relationship.”

She is clearly embarrassed and I am victorious until she ups me once again bringing me back down, “Not to change the subject, but for someone of your caliber you are quite loquacious.”

“And what caliber are you referring to?” I am managing to not utter her name after ever sentence I speak. The sound and feel of it in my mouth makes it water salaciously.

“Estella said you were a bounty hunter of sorts; I don’t know many bounty hunters that speak as eloquently as you do.”

“You know many bounty hunters? Never mind, I don’t suppose she told you how old I was?” I mutter. “The same could be said of an artist.” I retort

“She didn’t give me a number, but she said you have been around for a while. Oh, and I have been instructed by the most influential educators in the curriculum of etiquette, including cotillion.”

“A while, yes…that is a very nice way to put it. Thank you Estella. Cotillion, huh?”

She raises an eyebrow, “Yeah….So?”

“So?”

“Are you going to give me a number?” Her tone became something different; almost seductive.

“No, probably not.”

“I can do probably; it’s ‘no’ that always gets me.” She smiles one of the most genuine smiles I have ever seen and apparently I am gawking.

“What?” She says as she strokes the back of her ponytail.

“Sorry, you have a very fine smile.” I hear my diluted brogue deepen.

“Thank you.” And we are silent; occasionally she glances my way as I seem to be in deep thought. Realistically I am volleying the monster inside who is intently interested in Babet and my dialog. I must break this dead silence.
“You asked how I maintain myself without acting on the deviously obvious, well the answer to that is I have an arrangement with a good friend who provides an alternative source of sustenance. I made the “change of life” so to speak after an, I suppose repressed, atrocity three decades ago.” She begins to laugh.

“Three decades? You don’t look old enough to talk about thirty years.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Surprise me.” Her tone is teasing and tantalizing but I say nothing. I can feel her working up something else to ask. “Okay, how long have you been in New Orleans, after all, your accent…”

I begin to wish Estella had divulged more about my age to Babet, “I settled here after the second World War and as far as my age goes…put it this way, I am old enough to realize the ramifications of feeding off the protected. Furthermore I am jaded enough to relinquish all humans from my dietary repertoire. I partake in the voluntary donated,” she seems confused, “Blood bags.” I finally say.

“It’s just…I know some people who are donors, live donors.” She says her green eyes peeking up at me through lacquered lashes.

I am once again taken aback by her bluntness, but she quickly eases my mind. “The art community is very receptive to the unusual; in fact we thrive off it. Griffin and I went to a few parties where vampires had been in attendance.”

This revelation has my mind racing and it proves my theory about the pasts of individuals returning to haunt them. Could one of the parties the Benoit couple attended be the source of our current mayhem? Babet notices my arresting stance and I return to the here and now.

“Revelations.” I say quietly to myself but Babet picks it up.

“Revelations?”

“Apologies, I was just piecing things together.” I say nonchalantly shaking off the reverie.

“You talked about an atrocity, what was that?”

“It’s repressed whatever it is, but yes it forced me to completely retract from the hunt. All I recall is standing in a parish hospital, practically drenched in blood and a staggering sorrow, guilt and utter dishonor in myself. Whatever I did, I didn’t want to do it again or feel the way it felt ever again.”

I look up at Babet, she is visibly sympathetic to the plight I had endured and in her face I see so much of Estella. Babet is looking at me the exact same way Estella looked at me when we secured Babet and her children at Audubon. The similarity is credible enough that these two women are connected by more than what meets the eye. Could Babet be a sort of reincarnated spirit of Estella, do we as vampires lose our “spirit” when we are made?

Our souls are considered damned; could our human spirit, when we are made, dilute to evanescence only to be reborn in distant relatives. It was such a farfetched theory but it was something I wanted to discuss with Penelope at her earliest convenience, given I could trust her with the knowledge of my involvement with a human, besides my usual involvement.

I return to Babet sitting, staring at me patiently, “So, you’ve divulged some about you, I’ve divulged a bit about me, let’s go back to you.” I say coolly, reengaging the conversation.

“Okay. Where do you want to return to?”

“Your time in North Carolina, was brief, correct?”

“Yes, I came back to New Orleans pregnant with Scarlet after six months up there.”

“Where in North Carolina?”

“First we moved to the Atlantic Beach area, the three of us eventually settled on renting a house on the sound in Emerald Isle. It was more cost effective than actual Atlantic Beach. Frankie started her esthetic education there before transferring to a school in Raleigh. Molly had a lucrative apprenticeship with a well known photographer in Emerald Isle; she attended community college while working with him. She never made it to Raleigh as a resident, she returned to NOLA from EI after she and the photographer diluted their relationship. It’s a beautifully quiet beach haven, incredible sunsets and simple easy going people. God I loved it there. I worked for a potter out of Seagrove before I came home.”

“Why North Carolina?”

“It’s as far north as I could get but still be in the south; with southern Ideals, morals, and hospitality. Emerald Isle is intoxicating. True the summer months are touristy but the season ends, and around late September, early October the masses have gone. The air changes and the water from up above looks like its smuggling emeralds, which is how it got its name. North Carolina has some of the most exquisite beaches on the East coast. The Atlantic Beach area has a lot of great historical areas, as well as Beaufort and Morehead City.”

“You could be their spokesperson.”

She laughs, “I would too.”

“Did you form many relationships while there?”

“Not really, I met John and secluded myself with him. I worked with a girl named Chloe Warren; she is about the only other person I saw. She and I traded shifts at the potter’s store in Atlantic Beach.”

“Who was the potter you worked for; you said they were out of Seagrove?”

“Yeah, her studio was in Seagrove, NC. She had a retail store in Atlantic Beach called, A Little Pot, the sign on the store like a question, A Little Pot?” She chuckles at the play on words.

“Didn’t she get in trouble or at least raided?”

“No, her cousin is a sheriff down there. He kept it all straight for her.”

“Interesting.”

“Hmm, not really.” She turns to her hands placed neatly in her lap, no doubt a subconscious result of years of etiquette training but I can see she is pondering something.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I say a slight smile gracing my lips.

“So, not to change the subject but have something plaguing me besides the obvious and I feel like I can’t or shouldn’t tell Estella this because of who she is and her connection to both Griffin and me, but….” She wavers as she tries to wrap her head around her thoughts. I allow her as much time as she needs, but it isn’t long before she begins again.
“The night Griffin disappeared I had the overwhelming feeling of contentment; relief almost and I feel…no I know, I shouldn’t have felt this. That night as I waited for him to return I fell asleep and dreamt….” She stops, wincing at the words forming in her head and the emotion radiating from her is one of embarrassment.

“Yes,” I say impatiently and her eyes fly up to meet mine. “I’m sorry; take your time, of course.”

“….of someone like you.” She is clearly mortified but I am intrigued by the notion. Could the fact that I was there watching her that night, my aura resonates in her or the fact that the creature was so close, his aura resonating in her. I don’t know how to address this so I stay silent waiting for her to continue, if she will.

“Right before you retreated outside, while you um…stopped my frenzy. Your face reminded me of the dream.” She looks to me for some kind of resolution, explanation. I have none. All I have are questions, questions she isn’t going to want to answer.

“What is the creature doing in your dream?” I feel a change in her emotional stance. Her embarrassment morphs to extreme discomfort.

“Um….it’s a male and….I um, I’m looking up at him, his almost black eyes and blindingly white teeth are very apparent and he’s…..” She cannot or won’t finish.

She doesn’t need to; I know what she is dreaming; Vampire rape. It’s the visions I get when the monster takes claim, I can only hope with all I am that who she is dreaming of is me and not it.

“No need to continue, I have a good idea of what you speak. All I can offer is my most heartfelt apology, it must have been terrifying.”

“Yes, but after a moment,” she stops, refuses to look at me, “I began to enjoy it. God! That sound so awful doesn’t it? ” She meets my gaze.

I am speechless and have no words. She enjoys it? Hmm, I am intrigued.
“Not the contentment, you had yet to gain knowledge of Griffin’s disappearance. How often do you have this dream?” I attempt to remain impassive but my trepidation comes from the possibility of reoccurrences.

“Not that often, if I recall the first was the night Grif disappeared, the second was the night of the presentation. The next was a night his mom was supposed to keep the kids; she called me at the last minute to pick them up. The last one was last night; so…four times.”

Revelations of Cian

FUCK ME! FOUR! My mind is racing and the nights she dreams this are the nights I have paid her visit. At least it is me and not the creature. I remain seated but I am pacing inside, the monster smiling wide at this revelation. I glare at him as he watches me back and forth, back and forth, smug fucking bastard that he is. During all this I see her searching me for something. Explanation, maybe but I had none I cared to share. I couldn’t get away from this fast enough.

“It’s something I will keep confident and look into with discretion, you have my word.” I say as I bow my head and place my right hand over my heart.

“Thanks, but I welcome a personal opinion if you have one?”

“I don’t, I will have to resort to the Queen’s library for further reference.”

She doesn’t seem satisfied with this.

“You have to understand, this type of situation is new to me also. I don’t usually….” I trail off trying to deliver this painlessly.

“Babysit.” She says with apt contempt.

“I don’t consider this babysitting, so please don’t assume that I do.” I feel like I have snapped her head off as my tone exudes harshly.

“Sorry…I, I didn’t. It’s just a defense mechanism, disregard my sarcastic hostility.” But her tone is not apologetic, it’s angry. I have angered her.

“Please, I apologize. In my line of work I am not usually protecting anyone, if anything; they are the ones who should obtain protection. I feel a little stir-crazy to be honest. I’m not used to sitting still.”

“I see. What do you do Cian?” The sound of my name on her lips is exquisite, but her tone is darkly inquisitive.

“I don’t want to frighten you away.”

“Listen, I am supposed to trust you right? Believe me when I say you can trust me with this.”

“It’s not the trust I have issue with, I have no reason not to trust you, it’s the details of what I do, that may…how can I put this? Turn your hair white.”

“Please?”

I remained silent for the time being, searching my vocabulary for the softest way to deliver the schematics of my occupation. She sits waiting patiently for me to gather myself.

“Bounty Hunting is just a fraction of what I do.” I take a deep breath, “There is a horrific condition to how I may collect my payment for each job.”

“What does that mean?”

I do not answer.

“Okay, can I guess?” She says straightening in her seat as if she were about to answer the million dollar question.

“If you wish.”

“Will you answer me truthfully?”

Reiterating what Estella had warned her about me.

“If you guess correctly, yes.” I sit up to mock her body language.

“So, what I know about Bounty Hunting is that you seek out the bail jumper, take them into your custody and return them for a bounty. The hunter gets the cash and moves on.”

“That is a decent definition of bounty hunting.” I say humorously, but she is not amused. She rolls her eyes and I can see another statement forming.

“Okay, so how are you different? The only thing I can come close to is, you don’t return the perpetrator intact. I mean it seems like a horrific condition, to just return a hand or a finger.”

I am shocked by her intelligence, but I am also internally rolling on the floor, as well as the monster. If I returned just a hand or a finger I would not last long in this business. I reveal a little of the mystery.

“Or a head.” I say smirking at her. She is staring at me dumfounded, then begins to laugh hysterically. Throwing her body into the back of the couch, her eyes are closed and her throat is contracting from the deep laughter. She regains composure opening her eyes to reveal pooling joyful tears. It’s a gloriously delightful sight; I haven’t witnessed tears of joy in a very long time. And from someone so captivating.

“You’re kidding right?” She is smiling through the words, which fades when I deny the joke. “Well I remain open minded, continue.” Her body language returns to deep interest.

“I couldn’t simply return a hand or a finger; I can snatch one of those off anyone. The condition to payment is a head or teeth, specifically the K9s or eyelets.”

“So does the “boss” test the teeth for identification like CSI?”

“Yes, we have the same technology. I prefer the head though, faster payment.” This is it, that has to send her over the edge, but it doesn’t.

“I can see that, if it were me I would go that route as well.” She smiles, her teeth perfectly straight and gleaming white, I can’t help but comment.

“You have beautiful teeth, Babet.” Oh Christ, her name. “Did you have to have years of braces?” I am genuinely interested.

“Thank you but, don’t change the subject.” She momentarily hoods her green eyes at me. “I want to know more about this and I’ve never had braces. Continue.”

“Are we not playing the guessing game anymore?” I smirk into a smile and she stares at my mouth until my lips wrap back around my teeth.

“Sorry, yours are mesmerizing.” She shakes the trance off.

“Part of the package I’m afraid.”

“So, your teeth can draw humans in?” She answers her own question but not before chastising herself. “Of course, moron….they just did it to you.” She rolls her eyes and then yawns. She stretches, arching her back, when she returns she lets out a massive sigh. She looks over at the clock on the wall, clear across the kitchen, definitely too far for any human to see.

“Oh man, I’m going to make some coffee, do you mind if we take a break?” She says getting off the couch, one bare foot hits the floor then the other. She shoves her thumbs into the back of her pants to pull them up before making her way into the kitchen. She calls to me, “I’m sorry I have nothing to offer you.” I hear snickering after a moment and I wonder if she finally realized her fop aux.

“Yeah, no problem.” I also find this amusing, her foot entering her mouth. She gets the coffee brewing saunters past the counter and leans in the heavily molded doorway between the two rooms crossing her arms under her breasts giving them a shelf to rest upon.

“It really isn’t my fault it’s a southern thing, it’s in the blood. We can’t let you leave our house without a four course dinner and sweet tea.” She laughs and I will never get enough of the sound. I was determined for it to continue.

“I’m aware, Estella has her moments. I have been fortunate to witness them a time or two. You should have seen her when Thessaly dropped off the clothes.”

“Clothes?” She drops her arms and sits back on the couch, her right foot beneath her.

“Estella had our concierge drop off some clothes for you and the kids, since yours….” I didn’t want to upset her.

“Got toasted? Yeah, luckily I still had a pair of jeans here I could fit and I borrowed one of Marcus’ shirts.” She says pulling on the fabric, which pops back to her body when she releases it. “I’m okay Cian, really. Things…happen…..Shit happens.” The laughter. Oh Christ, the laughter. “I thought those bags were hers, I didn’t touch them.”

I change the subject, “When do you expect to hear from the Fire Marshal?”

“Any day honestly and I won’t be surprised if it’s faulty wiring. Griffin made plans to update all the electrical but funds fell through and….shit happened.” She gets up to return to the kitchen, opens a cabinet and removes a white coffee mug placing it on the counter. She turns to the refrigerator, pulls the door open and after a quick search finds the creamer. Popping open the cap on the bottle, she then pours it into the mug, closes the cap and returns it to the refrigerator door. She stops after closing the door and catches me staring. “Look I know you are supposed to “watch” me,” she makes air quotes around the word, “but you’re taking it a little too seriously, don’t you think?” She finishes making her coffee.

“Job requirements and attention to detail is more than imperative in my line of work.” I say very seriously.

“But with me, you’re not in your line of work. Correct?” she sits back down, coffee cup in hand. She grips it with two hands and blows into it before taking a sip. I wish I was with her.

“Touché” I say bending my head to agree with her. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No worries, I’m just bustin’ your balls. Honestly I am new to all these things so I really shouldn’t have anything to say….I should just keep my mouth shut and do as I am told.”

“But it’s not your style.” I say, not looking at her, but into my massive hands.

“Exactly, not only is it not one of my personality traits to remain silent, but my kids are my most consequential concern. I can’t lose them too.” She looks away to the fireplace which is empty and black inside.

I want to take the seat beside her, take her in my arms and comfort her. Sitting across from me she looks so solitary, her knees gathered to her chest. I am like a Libra, huh, Libra…weighing the options, pros and cons. It’s seems like an eternity of silence. I fight myself and the monster inside.

I can do this, I must do this. I get to my feet, she sees this and steadies her eyes on me, I round the teak coffee table, and she lowers her feet to the floor in anticipation of my actions and watches me sit beside her. I lean back into the cushions of the overstuffed couch, turning my knees slightly in her direction. I take her hand between the two of mine and her delicate appendage disappears betwixt them.

I look into the vibrant green circles that flick back and forth searching my eyes. “You won’t. I promise.” My tone is abundantly sincere.

She is captivated, her breathing has increased and her emotions are contained, contented. But it’s different. She is not totally enraptured but comfortable.
Her words are soft and certain, “I know.” I feel the grip loosen; her defensive wall is beginning to crack, “I trust you.” As the words fall out we hear Estella’s distinctive voice and both turn our heads to it.

“Hey, where are ya’ll?!” She is yelling through the house, her heels clomping from room to room.


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Babet is taken aback but seemingly happy about this fraction of information she has obtained. I can’t say I don’t want to divulge more to her, but for her safety I can’t and I contemplate sharing at least my happy memories of this existence. I have plenty of good times I can recall; but more bad and some beginning positively only to end negatively. For the time being I think I will play with her in hopes of coaxing more of her laughter out.

“I had a mother and a father too, can you believe that?” Slathered in sarcasm like a pat of butter spread over the pancakes she is making. She doesn’t miss a beat.

“You did?! Shocker! Honestly I thought you burst from some demon’s head, full grown like Athena from Zeus.” She laughs at the thought and I love the sound. I close my eyes and revel in it, but I am caught once again.

“Are you okay?”

I straighten and open my eyes to her staring at me, “I’m sorry, I enjoy your laugh.”

“My laugh?” She finds this strange and an uncomfortable aura befalls her.

“Once again, innocent human laughter is not something I am used to. Maniacal Hysteria is close to what I am familiar with.”

She catches me off guard, “That’s very sad, I’m sorry.” sympathetic angel that she is.

“Meeting you is my re-understanding of a new kindness in today’s human world. I am thankful for this experience and opportunity. Thank you Babet.” The ‘T’ gets its prize and I hear it in my own voice, the charm is squeezing through. I have to rein it in; we are only on day two after all. She takes this in and keeps her defensive guard up.

“Well, what can I say, you’re welcome. Glad I could have all this befall me for you to gain a new experience…..” she stops, waiting for my retort, “…I am kidding.”

I don’t laugh because she is right, how dare I suggest that any of this is a good thing; meeting us, being under our thumbs, her husband, and her livelihood. “No….you are right. I apologize.”

She rolls her eyes, “Please, Cian. It was a joke.” She diverts her attention to the popping of the skillet on the stove, the spicy smell of breakfast sausage wafts through the house and brings out another type of creature; the teenager. I smile inwardly to myself as I hear the fast paced feet down the upstairs hall and down the stairs.

“When’s dinner?” It’s Scarlet, coaxed from her dwelling by the scent of pork sustenance. One track at a time mind, those teens.

“Hey sweetie, it’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes, you hungry?” Babet has the perfect maternal tone.

“Starving….where’s Henri?” She peeks around the door frame for her brother but sees me instead, “Oh, hi.”

“Hello.” I am careful, as the greeting I just received wasn’t the most welcome.
Babet can sense this about her daughter and comes to both our rescues, “Scar, come whisk these eggs for me.”

The girl goes and does as she’s told, occasionally peeking in my direction, wary of my closeness to her brother but I continue to play cars with the little tyke who seems perfectly at ease with me. It continues this way until Babet calls time to eat. She places the paper plates on the table with butter and syrup, she then turns and heads to grab up Henri. The little one puts a bit of a fuss, having to leave his cars and new playmate. I decide to excuse myself, giving them the family time they need.

“I am going to step out to make a call.” I announce before striding to the door.

“Are you sure, we don’t mind you being here.” Babet is most gracious, but I leave none the less.

Outside the air is crisp and smells at this time of night are of many sorts. Fresh beignets and café au lait, grilled meats and blended drinks, cigarette and cigar smoke fills the senses, each discernible from the last. I reach into my pants pocket to retrieve my cell phone and call Estella. It rings twice and when it is answered all I hear is pounding music and a faint, “Cian.”

“Go somewhere you can hear me properly please.”

“Yes, sir.” I can hear her exasperation, but she is doing as I ask, the music is slowly fading. “Okay”

“Took you long enough.” I jest, after all we are vampires.

“I hope this is not why you called, to give me shit.” She isn’t having a good night that is now clear.

“I apologize, no it isn’t. I called to ask what time you would be arriving at Audubon.”

“Yeah, I have been taken off that this week.”

“I understand your frustration then.” Poor sweet Estella, she gains a real relationship with actual family and the first week she is hindered from it.

“It is what it is.” She is beyond irritated, that phrase is a tell of Estella’s. A mantra she’s come to live by while in league with Madliene.

“I’m truly sorry E.” I rarely use this to identify Estella but it’s an endearment I have for her she doesn’t bother arguing over. I feel it shows her I have a special place for her in my cold heart.

“Just….keep her safe Cian.” Her tone strikes me as unconventional and I become suspicious of it.

“Has something happened Estella?”

“What? No! I just….look, it is what it is. I have to go back; the boys will be looking for me if I don’t.”

“I know, listen, before you go. Know that I am here for you as I always have been and I will keep your family as safe as I would keep my own.”

“I know, I trust you.” The same words Babet uttered last night; it’s beguiling, the distant relatives are more alike than we all think. “I’ll call after closing.”

“Please do.”

I hang up the phone but detect a distasteful feeling pecking at me, Estella seems off. Usually I would be fine with her mood and have confidence that she could handle herself, but the situation with Babet has caused a metamorphic ripple in Estella and my everyday routine. If I was honest with myself I would admit that I am truly grateful for the change, even if it’s temporary. I believe Estella would also welcome it, should Madliene give her the opportunity for longer than a single night. I am snapped back to the here and now by the sound of running water and the skillet hitting the sink inside.

“Hey, everything okay?” Babet is elbow deep in soapy water.

“Yes. What are you washing; there couldn’t have been dishes here?” I ask humor in my voice.

“You are correct, there were no dishes here when I arrived this afternoon, so the kids and I went out and purchased some necessities….and in the south honey,” she projects a deep southern drawl, “you must have a cast iron skillet.” She holds the heavy pan up from the water.

“Good for everything, I hear.”

“No lie, no lie.” She rinses the pan and places it face down on a laid out towel.

“You know you can have Estella call Thessaly for anything you need.” I say chastising but friendly.

She nods while rinsing her hands under the water but I can see and feel I am about to be learned once again how Babet ticks, “I appreciate that, but I have one request from you all in this situation and I am going to be as respectful as possible. I am not a prisoner, correct?” she stares into me.

“Correct, but…” I am cut off.

“Fine…I have spent nearly half my life taking care of myself and at least one other person if not two. I am capable of picking up and picking out my own necessities of life. I am being gracious enough to go along with this arrangement but I honestly could go and stay with Frankie or Molly, hell, I can go stay at my mother’s condo until she returns from Mexico. The fact of the matter is I am intrigued by you and Estella and the possibility of something other than what I have been taught, being present in this world is, at first, frightening. I’ll give you that, but it’s also bewilderingly wonderful.”

Wonderful? She thinks we are wonderful? Dazzlingly wonderful, dangerously wonderful. Wrongfully wonderful, wonderfully damned.

“Cian?”

I feel my own emotion becoming indignant, “Frightening, absolutely. Bewildering, yes but Babet, we; our kind, are in no way wonderful.”

“But…”

“No.” I turn away from her and take a deep breath which was not in my best judgment. I run a hand through my raven hair to the back of my head. Mr. Hyde peeks around his rock, I feel him creeping out. He has to remain at bay, although to show her, truly show him to her would put her in her place. To see what is after her, stare into the face of her stalker. I can’t believe I am considering such frivolity.

“Please don’t turn away from me Cian. I’ve said my piece. I just…”

My face returns to normal and I turn to face her again, I place my hands on the cold granite countertop. “You are absolutely right; you are very capable of taking care of yourself and clearly two others, in a normal world or the world you thought you inhabited. But this….thing, you alone cannot defend against. It is working meticulously to sever your ties to the human world. Your husband was the beginning, your home and studio is step two, which I am positive this thing was hoping the fire would, please excuse me, eliminate your children from the equation.” She takes a deep breath and glances over at Henri who is now watching multicolored creatures and their orange human friend dance around on television. The boy notices in his peripheral his mother is staring at him, he turns to her and she smiles. As she does a single tear rolls down her cheek which she quickly wipes away.

“Mama!” Henri points to Babet, he then flicks his eyes and his finger in my direction, “Cian!” He’s definitely observant.

Babet looks over at me and winks but I can still see the dread in her eyes, “Smart little tape recorder.”

“Tay-pe-cort-er.” Henri says before returning his attention to the television.

She crosses her arms under her breasts and hugs them to her taking a deep breath, “See.” Babet turns back to the skillet drying on the counter. She drops her arms and pulls a tub of Crisco out of a shopping bag, cracks it open and begins to grease the pan. “I don’t suppose you know what I’m doing?”

“Savoring the flavor?” I say smiling to hopefully ease her tension from the previous conversation.

“Exactly.” It works.

Once Henri is bathed Babet puts him to bed. Scarlet is holed up in her room and it’s apparent she will not be showing her face for the rest of the evening. I can see Babet’s relief that the day is over and settled. She sits down on the couch opposite me, the blue sundress billows as she does, the air hits me. I feel him, the monster has detected this. Her intoxicating scent mixed with erotic sweat, he’s there, but I fight him. She is oblivious as she bends her right leg to rest it on the couch; she places her hand on the dress so not to reveal what’s beneath it.

She is facing me and I have to break our silence, “Where did we leave off earlier?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She runs her fingers over her forehead, “Oh!” Her eyes burst open at me. “I forgot to tell you, tomorrow night is Molly’s show.”



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The ride is quiet; Molly’s loft is in a building two away from my haven warehouse. I am so close I could walk home and drink a blood bag before anyone noticed my absence. We take the modernized elevator up to the third floor where Molly calls home. The hallway is white and sterile, original brick columns are spaced between unit doors. There is carpet underfoot and restoration lamps for lighting. We reach the door to the home of Molly DuBois and I had to admit meeting her provoked a slight thrill in me. I honestly respected her as an artist.

Babet doesn’t knock, she enters and I put my hand on the door above her head to assist, she smiles at me while putting Henri on the floor inside the door. It automatically closes once we are beyond it, modernization.

It is apparent there are no people in the apartment the further we walk down the bamboo hall. Molly has a “clean-line” decorating style. The hall opens up to a sleek modern kitchen, so much so that there is no discerning where the refrigerator, dishwasher or any other major appliance is, the counter is a long thin white granite block. Beyond the kitchen is a modest living space and industrial staircase leading down. Two red block couches face each other, in between a butcher block coffee table sits with various photography magazines and a single silver bowl littering it.

I am distracted from the tour when Babet ascends the staircase, “Okay, Henri is laying in Molly’s bed watching television. He played so hard at the park today, he won’t last long.” She giggles and I realize it’s the first time I’ve heard that glorious sound tonight.
“And Scarlet?” I ask.

“Already engrossed in her cell phone, texting Monica no doubt.” She shrugs and now that the children are settled I have an idea I hope she will agree to.
“Everyone is already upstairs I’m sure, are you ready for this?” She says and I gingerly take her hand before she can get far.

“Look,” I stare deep into her, but not so deep I am controlling her, “We aren’t far from my haven. You have been gracious enough to allow us into your world. Would you like to see a little into mine?”

Her eyes are soft and alluring, she smiles, “Yeah. Yes.”
We are in my warehouse and up the elevator before I realize it, considering my captivation of Babet. I lift the gate and she passed through into the vast space.

“Wow”, her voice echoes. “How long have you lived here?”

I flip the light that illuminates the small space over my box. I watch her carefully as she glides around my haven; her heels slowly click through, “The answer to your question; since they deemed these old warehouses uninhabitable. But I suppose they will eventually take it from me, the city that is.”

“What will you do then?” She is genuinely concerned.

I smile, “I will move on.”

“To where?”

“Honestly I haven’t thought that far ahead.” I can’t contain my bliss at the distressful emotions radiating from her. She seems to feel as though I am going to evaporate before her eyes. “Hey,” I saunter over to her; she is standing between the windows and the old couch. I put my hands on either side of her shoulders, “I’ll be okay; I’ve been okay for a long time.”

She doesn’t miss a beat, “How long is that again?” She smiles at me big and bright.

“Nice try.” I mirror her expression. We stand face to face, eye to eye, my smile fades and I lean into her, taking her face between my hands. They’re so large they almost cover both sides of her magnificent face. She is receptive and I feel a rush go through her, the flesh beneath my hands burns. She wants this, she wants me. I smile inwardly as I place my lips upon hers.

Her lips…Christ, these lips are soft, supple hot rose petals forming around mine like puzzle pieces. She parts them and I feel her pyretic tongue graze the inside of my upper lip, my teeth immediately run out. I pull and turn away from her, I begin to feel a wave of embarrassment befall her and I hastily diminish this in her, “I’m sorry,” I say taking full responsibility, “that was…” but she cuts me off.

“Lovely.” She says using her thumb to wipe the moisture from her bottom lip, almost savoring it as that bonny lip gets caught between her teeth, raking what remains into her mouth. This gesture is almost enough to send me back over the edge and of course, the monster is right there waiting. She doesn’t take her eyes off mine, “We should probably get back over to Molly’s.”

I simply nod.

The rooftop of Molly’s building is adorned with twinkling lights and suspended blown up renderings of Molly’s photos. On the right side of the rooftop courtyard she is displaying the positivity of our fair city; I am drawn to the New Orleans cityscape at twilight, sunrise and midnight; when the lights of the metropolis are most prominent. These are followed by shots of break-dancers in Jackson Square and the artists surrounding it. But we don’t get the opportunity to take it all in before Babet’s friends Frankie and Molly spot her, and eventually, me.

“Babe! You’re finally here!” Molly is clearly already in the spirit of the night, “Is this Cian?” Her speech is slightly slurred but it’s clear she has her bearings. She hugs Babet who laughs as she embraces her friend.

“Yes. Molly DuBois this is Cian.” I glance at the photographer before bowing.
Molly is obviously confused, “Just, Cian?”

“Aye.”

“Good enough for me,” She turns away from us, “Frankie come meet Cian!” She shouts over the alternative rock music. Before she turns back to us I have the split second to examine Molly DuBois. She is wearing a simple black sheath dress, that hits her minimal curves appropriately, and she has matched it with a cropped shrug jacket. Her long legs are extended by her crimson red stilettos. She is holding a flute of champagne out away from her body using it to coax Frankie over. She turns back to us and I see she has changed her hair color from the last time I saw her at Babet’s presentation. It’s no longer a light blonde color; it is platinum and has a hue of pink, making her look like a fairy when the overhead lights hit it.

She has the tresses pulled back into a chignon knot and Babet takes notice, “Molly, I love your hair! When did you have Frank do that?”

“Last week, it’s was really pink at first, she calmed it down.” She pats the back of it with her champagne hand, “you like?”

“I really do!” Babet’s emotions are all over the place. She is happy to be here, but nervous and apprehensive. She’s hiding it like a champ.

Frankie finally makes her way over; she is eyeing me speculatively as she hugs Babet, “Hey Babe.”

“Hey Frank.” The two friends embrace and Molly’s friend Wade approaches with a camera.

“Get together girls.” The three women do as they are told and all three smile brightly and beautifully at the hipster gentleman who seems not to change his attire for anything. He kisses Molly before jaunting off to another group of people.

I turn my attentions back to the three graces, I felt it before I see it but Frankie is still eyeing me and I am beginning to feel humorously uncomfortable. Babet notices and comes to my rescue, “Frankie Weller, this, is Cian.” She puts her hand out for me to take, but I keep my hands neatly behind my back and bow to her.

She lowers her hand, “Nice to finally meet you.”

“I concur.” I say while examining Frankie, who is wearing an orange pencil skirt and white cap sleeved shirt, white ruffles flow down the front creating a v-neck. Her baby blue peep toe platforms also increase her height. Her dark blonde hair has been lightened and is pulled into a low side pony tail draping over her shoulder.

Molly engages Babet and Frankie in conversation and I take a moment to scan the outdoor room, various groups of people; artist types, business types, alternative lifestyle types are all in attendance. They lazily make their way around the space, from one dynamic photo to the next. I finished taking in the right side that shows the beauty of New Orleans.

My gaze shifts over to the left side, where the raw and squalor of New Orleans is present. There are two photos side by side, both post Katrina. A little African American girl is kneeling on the side of the road by the dead body of her grandmother who had succumbed to the death in the aftermath. The other; is an aerial shot of the lower ninth district two days after the storm. I read Molly was one of the first locals to lend a hand. So much so, she hired a helicopter to fly stranded residents out; all the while photographically documenting the chaos. I am pulled from my inner thoughts by three words I have already heard today.

“He’s gay.”

“Shame.” Molly disappointingly says.

Now Frankie and Molly are eyeing me, I cut my eyes at Babet, there is no humor in them. She sees this and mouths, “I’m sorry.” Again.

Molly seemed unaffected but Frankie isn’t letting me get away that easy, “He’s not gay. Honey, I’m a hairdresser, I know gay. He ain’t gay.” I am floored but I don’t let it upset the evening. Tonight is for Babet. A rare gift for her to enjoy a night free of the worry or frustration of being locked inside every night and she seems more alive tonight than I have ever seen her. It’s a glorious sight, more intoxicating than our little yet monumental kiss in my warehouse. I want to see her this way, always.

The evening draws on and by midnight there are more people on the rooftop than there is space. Babet is not far from me all night, but I respectively give her the personal space she needs to mingle through the crowd without the dark giant demon flanking her. I feel it is apparent Babet is ready to leave, her emotions taking a down turn and I make my way over to her but I am stopped by Frankie. Her little hand barely grabs my arm to stop my stride, but quickly releases it when there is something off about the temperature of my skin.

She looks down at my arm and then up at me, her tone is coarse, “Look, she’s been through enough. I don’t know what you are trying to pull, but she is very important to us.” Frankie’s blue eyes are locked on mine and her tiny mouth is pressed into a hard line.

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I don’t reveal anything, “I agree she has been through a lot. Her aunt is helping her cope; I am in town to visit her aunt. She, asked me to accompany her. It’s as simple as that.” I smile hoping to squelch this.

“Yeah, right, her aunt?” Frankie has clearly had enough champagne, “ I’ve known Babe my whole life and I don’t know this woman.” She pauses and looks deeper into my eyes, leaning to do so. “You’re not gay. Don’t think I don’t know.” She is pointing at me and shaking her head as she walks away.

Babet closes in on me, “What was that?” Her tone is humorously worried.

“Nothing.” I say smiling. “Are you ready to go?”

She sighs, “Yes, I already said good-bye to Molly and Wade. Frankie and Marcus are going to a bar after this, I told her I was leaving then. I just got…” She sighs again, “...caught up.”

She is emotionally and visibly exhausted, “Is everything okay?” I ask.

“Yes. And no. Braxton Mimieux was there, he grabbed me; said his dad has been trying to call me and of course when I look at my cell, I have four missed calls from his father. I feel like an idiot, here I am traipsing around New Orleans with you when I should be sitting on my cell waiting to hear from him.”

I am confused by so much, “First, who is Braxton Mimieux?”

“He’s the Fire Marshal’s son, we went to school together.”

The elevator finally arrives and we enter, she presses the button for Molly’s floor. I reach over to stop the dangling cage after it begins to move down.

“What are you doing?” She asks her eyes green and wide.

“What did he say?” We are face to face, eye to eye.

“Braxton said his dad has been trying to get up with me to give me his report on the fire at Scarlet Henri.” She is trying to read me for something.

“Did Braxton’s father happen to tell his son what the report said?” My tone seems aggravated.

She isn’t taken aback as if she has become accustomed to my mercurial nature, “Yes.” I wait patiently for her to continue but she is fidgeting with her fingers, “It wasn’t faulty wiring.” She says peeking up at me through lacquered lashes. I feel my face turn hard and so does she, “But he’s putting it in his report anyway. Insurance and all.”

“Wouldn’t he be falsifying the documentation?”

She takes a deep breath, “Thomas Mimieux and my father were best friends. They were volunteer firemen together before Tom became Marshal and my father….he is doing it to help me. My father had a big insurance policy on that building, Tom knows it will help me…” she pauses and I feel shame and regret rush through her.

“I know,” I grab her and pull her to me, she releases breathy sobs into my chest, the warm air from her mouth seeps through my shirt to my cold skin and I feel an electricity between us. I reach over and start the elevator again. The doors open on the third floor and standing in front of them is Frankie and Marcus. Who is as talkative as he was the first night I saw the small group of friends. I drop my arms around Babet and Frankie looks to us both before saying, “Uh-huh.” We exit and Marcus enters releasing Frankie’s tiny engulfed hand. She stands idle until we pass her by; she grabs Babet and kisses her cheek all the while keeping close eye on me.

“Frankie!” Marcus calls and his wife obediently enters the elevator.

The doors close and we are standing in front of Molly’s apartment. We enter and it’s much more disheveled than when we first arrived. I wait while Babet descends the staircase, returning with fast asleep Henri and groggy Scarlet. We are silent in the elevator and in the car.

We arrive back at Audubon and like a zombie Scarlet heads upstairs, her mother close behind her. Babet returns, having changed out of her party attire. The thin pair of pajama pants hang off her frame and the flimsy tank top doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination and I realize these are the clothes I met her in. Face to face, eye to eye. I detect a slight hint of smoke when she plops down on the couch beside me; the fire still resonating in the fabric.

She must be tossing her thoughts around, because she blurts out, “I will call Tom in the morning. I can meet up with him and get a copy of the report for the insurance adjuster.”

I nod, “Please don’t feel like you have to stay up and entertain me Babet. I know you’re tired.”

Her brow furrows and at the moment I can’t discern her emotions, “I want to talk about tonight.”

I try to keep the conversation lighthearted, “You’re friends are nice, I truly enjoyed meeting Molly…and Frankie.”

She scoffs and laughs, “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll be read the riot act tomorrow sometime…but that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

I take a deep breath but she doesn’t allow me to begin, “I loved ...I love my husband and I miss him…I feel…but there is something about you, specifically, I can’t...whatever. I think of nothing all day but what’s happened and how I can pick up the pieces for me and my kids. I stress and I…I cry. Until you arrive. It all goes away.” I am utterly ecstatic at this revelation but I can feel there is more to come.

“I’m ashamed at how easily I forget the disappearance of my husband, the burning of my studio and the placement with complete yet astonishing strangers. Beautiful strangers. The dreams are too much to take sometimes but at the same time I feel…I feel like I am supposed to be here, with you.” She is chagrin but in her eyes I see something else, almost a flicker of confidence, like this is something she has wanted to say for a sometime.

I decide to divulge my deepest secret where Babet is concerned, “Aye,” I say and look deep into her, “I too feel it.”

Relief befalls her and I smile at the ease of her emotions but she is still pondering something, “You know you can stay downstairs if you want. Estella says it’s light tight even though your Queen has never stayed down there. I haven’t been down there. Honestly I’m kind of scared to go down there.” She says and laughs at her own ridiculousness.

“Would you like me to go down there with you?” I ask, teasing her.

She swats me and rolls her eyes, “No. I don’t need to go down there anyway. Thank God for the laundry facilities being upstairs. That is awesome, next house I buy I want my washer and dryer upstairs. Hmm?”

“Hmm?” I mirror her.

“I was just thinking about that, where to look for a new place. I like this townhouse and I’m sure I could find an open unit.” She laughs due to all the for sale signs in the neighborhood.

“Aye.” We both enjoy the joke and the easy turn the night has made, but I didn’t want to be rude and keep her waiting for an answer to her offer, “I appreciate your offer, my warehouse isn’t far, besides I don’t know how Estella, or the Queen for that matter would feel about me staying here during the day.”

Disappointment flows over her, “Oh, okay. Well, Estella said the Queen said it was her call, Estella said it was mine and I am offering if you are interested.” She says this very matter-of-factly.

Oh, Babet. If you only knew how truly interested I am, “I see, well…for tonight I will respectfully decline but if you will…allow me, tomorrow night?” I’m warily awaiting her reply.

“Sure. Tomorrow.” She is short with me as she rises from the couch, “You’re right, I am tired.” She turns to take the stairs, “See you tomorrow, and hey; feel free to come in from now on. You don’t need to knock.” She half smiles and I watch her until she is gone.

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