Augusta Fern's Blog - Posts Tagged "meeting"

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.

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

http://morteseries.augustafern.com/

“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.


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

Chapter 5

Down on the beach Soren and I have erected a sand palace with four turrets and a drawbridge moat. He truly is a delightful little boy, smiling ear to ear the entire time. He is extremely excited when he sees the surfing neighbors doing their thing in the water. The young girl wipes out and comes up on shore, she is heading our way. I watch her warily; I don’t know how the Gunnar’s feel about their son talking to strangers, but I rebuff myself when Soren gets up and hugs the girl, “Autumn!” He shrills wrapping his arms around her legs.

“Hi Soren!” She rubs his head. “Hi, I’m Autumn Green.” She says to me.

“Babet Beauregard.” I say enthusiastically, “You have real talent.”

She rolls her eyes, “Thanks, I’m trying. My brother and cousins are much better. They’re older, so…” She trails off, typical teenager. “You are so lucky.” She says out of the blue.

“Oh?” I reply and I cup my hand over my eyes to shield them from the sun. Autumn is tall for a girl and has chestnut hair. I can barely make out the color of her eyes, but from what I can see, they are a beautiful bright hazel.

She puts her hand on her hip and shifts her weight to one side, “Yeah, working for Justus Gunnar’s father. Oh man if I was older…I don’t care what the girls around here say. He’s HOT.”

“I haven’t met him.” I say shrugging.

Autumn stands up straight like a soldier, “You haven’t…I mean you don’t know who he is?!”

“No, he comes in to town Friday.” My tone is unchanging. “Who is he?” I know a teenage girl will dish about this guy if Henley won’t.

“He’s on one of those premium channel werewolf shows my Mom won’t let me watch. He’s this really hot biker dude…” She talks on and on about Justus’ television show and I‘ve honestly never heard of it but I listen intently. She turns back to the water when she hears her name.

“Autumn! Come on!” The tallest of the four is calling her, “You can’t get any better if you don’t stay in the water!” His tone is condescendingly loud.

She rolls her eyes again, “My brother, Aaron. The other three are Landon, Deacon and Tristan Adams; they’re my cousins.” She says pointing them out. “It was nice meeting you, I better get back. Bye Soren!” She says at a higher pitch but he is too involved in his castle building.

“You keep at it, the sport needs more girls.”

“I agree!” She says wholeheartedly, turning go bound back to the water.

“It was nice to meet you too.” I call after her. I look at Soren who is sculpting a small hill, “She’s nice, huh?”

“Yes.” He says while continuing to sculpt.

I’m honestly not keeping up with the time when Henley calls Soren in for lunch from the deck, “Lunch little man!”

Soren jumps up from the sand and brushes his hands off onto his shorts and runs to the step staircase. I’m close behind him and take his hand as he places his foot on the first step. He proceeds to count again and it’s so like Henri. Boys at two are all inquisitive and talkative. Inside the house is so cold after Soren and I have been outside. I look at the clock on the wall, its 12:00 on the dot and I’m thankful to have Henley to keep me on track the first couple of days. I get the impression that Lars is less strict with Soren than Vilma but Henley is so precise I have to wonder about the other differences in the couple.

While Soren is eating his lunch I sit at the granite counter to talk to Henley, “Henley?”

“Yes Miss Babe?” He is still milling about; I assume preparing his own lunch.

“I just want to thank you for keeping me on track, I wasn't watching the time. I apologize.” I say sincerely.

He stops what he is doing, “No worries Miss Babe, I’m used to the schedule. Mr. Lars isn't nearly as punctual as Miss Vilma, but I figure it’s best to stay consistent. There’s less of a chance for me to mess up if I do. You’re new to all this, so it’s understandable on your first day.” He smiles genuinely. “Honestly this trip I don’t think Miss Vilma will be coming, Mr. Lars is taking Soren back to Sweden for their time off.”

“But they will return, right? I was told he was here until Halloween.” I ask.

“Yes, they’ll return, but I don’t think Miss Vilma will come back with them. She so wrapped up in her own projects.” He says wiping the counter; after he does he slips a plate in front of me.

“Thanks!” I say smiling at the chicken salad on a croissant with a single leaf of lettuce. “This is one of my favorite meals.”

“I know.” Henley says smiling big and bright.

I begin to get wary, my mouth is somewhat full, “What do you mean, you know?” I chew and swallow.

Henley slides me a glass of ice water, “Mr. Lars likes to keep food in the house people will eat, so your father provided him a list of your favorite foods and meals…” He trails off.

“What?” I ask; half a sandwich in hand.

“Well, he said you don’t eat much. We picked up the lightest of the foods suggested. Chicken and Tuna salad, croissants, fruit, green leaf salad with blue cheese dressing…”

I cut him off, “Okay, I get it.” I roll my eyes.

“Oh, so you do have a little attitude about you?” He says surprised.

“Yeah, I do if provoked enough.”

“That’s good, which will help you with Justus.”

I wonder why Henley is so cryptic about Lars’ older son and after Autumn’s crush-like explanation of his occupation I just know there is something there, “Like I said, he can try. How old is he anyway?”

Henley looks up to the ceiling, thinking hard, “Thirty five, thirty six; somewhere around there.”

I nearly choke on my water; Soren and Henley stare at me, “I’m okay,” I laugh, “Thirty five?!” I am moderately shocked. Why would a thirty five year old man play around with the babysitter? Meeting this cat is going to be interesting and might be quite entertaining. I smile at myself, Henley is still watching me. Soren has returned to his lunch. I straighten up and finish eating because after lunch is Soren’s nap and I can do my own thing for a little while. This time is considered Henley’s break. He leaves the house after I get Soren to lie down. I go back into my room and pull out my cell. It’s 2:00 pm before I can function uninterrupted.

I send Scarlet a text since she will be getting out of school soon and search for a local art store. I’ll need canvas if I’m to do any painting. I charge my camera battery and plug my tablet up as well. After I plug my phone into the outlet closest to the bed I find an art supply place downtown; Arrow Fine on Castle St., I search for a nearby restaurant and find Jester’s Café not far from Arrow Fine on Castle. Tomorrow I’ll take Soren on an outing. When Henley returns I’ll arrange to be out, so he doesn't have to prepare any meals for us.

I get a reply from Scarlet, “Hey Mom, how’s NC?”

I smile at my strong independent daughter, “Good, a little less humid than home. I miss you.” I type.

“Miss you too, have fun. Sleep.”

“Love u.”

“Love you.” She replies and I make a mental note to call my Daddy after sundown.

I do various researches on my phone, areas of Emerald Isle I want to paint and historical hot spots. I know a few in and around Atlantic Beach; Fort Macon for starters. The town of Beaufort and the Maritime Museum, not to mention the water front has history a plenty. I also want to go to the Morehead City Art and History Museum.

But my time off can’t come fast enough, I want so desperately to hunt Cian down, like he did me. Find him and have him wrap me in his arms, before proceeding into other things. I can’t help but laugh out loud at my sexual silliness. I calm down and hear rustling in Soren’s room, I may have woken him. I creep over to my door and crack it open, instantly I see light pouring from his door. I open mine all the way and say sweetly to him, “Hi; did you have a nice nap?”

He is standing in his door, hair disheveled and rubbing his eye. His lips are pouted and his cheeks are flushed. He doesn’t respond to my question, which I am used to. But he is quiet, which I am not used to. Henri has a tendency to take his dreams too literally and the epiphany hits me; my poor baby. Vivid dreams must run in the family.

Soren stands with his arms out for me to pick him up, I do and it’s the first time I've held him. He is the same density as Henri and his hair as I stroke it is the same silky childlike texture. Soren lays his head on my shoulder as I walk down the stairs. I peek into the kitchen on my way to the great room and see Henley has returned already preparing Soren’s snack. I turn on the TV and even though it’s not TV time, I think Soren needs a minute to wake up. It’s not fun television, it’s CSPAN. The ticker at the bottom and constant talking always keeps Henri awake; for now it seems to work for Soren.

I leave him on the couch and pad into the kitchen, “Henley.” I say and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Babe! You scared the shi…daylights out of me!” He is clasping his chest.

“Oh my God Henley, I am so sorry; I didn't...mean…to.” I say laughing in between words. I had done this to my Mamma a lot, creep up on her. She hates being scared; I often got a dirty look and the silent treatment for an hour. I of course never mean to, it’s something I can’t control; quiet walker.

Henley lightens up and a relived smile comes across his lips, “That’s okay Miss Babe. Whoa girl; you gave me a good shock. I didn't hear you at all.”

“I’m sorry.” My tone is sincere. “I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?” He asks.

“I want to take Soren on an outing. I was thinking the Battleship and then downtown by the waterfront is the colonial vessel. Also there is an art store…” He cuts me off.

“Miss Babe, you don’t have to tell me where you’re going; just that you’re going.” He says professionally.

“Oh, well…okay. Soren and I will be out tomorrow, no need to prepare our meals.” I say with a fake British accent, waving my hand around like aristocracy. Henley laughs as Soren’s feet slap into the kitchen.

“Hey little man!” Henley calls, “Are you ready for your snack?”

Soren climbs into his chair, “Yes.”

Henley places a cut apple and mini squares of cheese in front of Soren who dives in immediately. Turning back to the granite counter Henley grabs a cup of milk and hands it to the eating child.

“Tan ku.” Soren says with a mouth full of cheese. He takes the cup between his two hands and gulps down half of it.

“Wow, you must have been thirsty?!” I say looking to Soren and then Henley who is mirroring my wide eyes.

Soren puts the cup down and gasps, “Yes.” He then grabs a fist full of apple.

I turn to Henley who is cleaning up his prep area, “I see you met the neighbors.” He says.

“Yeah, I met Autumn. She’s a nice kid, talented surfer too.”

“Oh yes, Autumn is a very nice girl. She takes a lot of mess from those boys. But she and her brother have a great relationship; friendly siblings for the most part. I don’t know much about the other three.”

“She said they are her cousins. Adams is their last name.”

“Oh yes, Blake Adams’s boys.”

“Blake Adams?”

“Brooke Green’s sister.” I stare at Henley; he has gone so far over my head. “Autumn and Aaron are Brooke’s kids and the other three boys are her nephews, Blake Adams is their mother, Brooke’s sister. They manage those kids’ careers; they were in Australia for the season but they returned home because Aaron was stung pretty badly by a swarm of jellyfish.”

“Yikes.” I say.

“I’m surprised he’s in the water now. He was hospitalized over there.”

I look at the clock and it’s time for Soren’s “quiet play time in his room”. He is finishing his snack and hops down from the chair. I get up and follow him to the staircase; he holds his hand out for me to help him up.

In Soren’s room the furniture is white and bright, like the rest of the house. By his spaceship bed is a small table, on it a professional black and white portrait of a beautiful blonde woman. It is a simple black back drop lit perfectly to accent her facial features which are tilted upwards. Her blonde hair is spilled over her shoulder and she is smiling happily. Even in black and white print, her eyes are definitely light blue. I pick up the frame and gaze at her face. Soren teeters over to me and says, “Moder.” Which I assume is Swedish for “mother”.

Of course this is the cherubic boy’s mother. She looks like she was carved out of cream cheese, perfect. Vilma Gunnar is not as old as her husband Lars. She looks to be a couple of years older than me; oh, there is definitely some familial drama here. I replace the frame and see that Soren is engaged in his ritualistic quiet play time. I ask if he needs me, to which he simply replies, “No.”

I leave the room and linger outside the door to make sure he’s okay then turn to go into my room. I realize this time of day is my break, but I feel like Soren’s nap time is a decent enough break. I don’t argue, so I grab my keys and linen sack I’m using for a purse, sling it over my shoulder and bound quietly down the stairs. I peek into the kitchen and tell Henley I’m leaving. He waves and I close the door behind me. I climb into my car and open my bag rested in my lap. I packed my camera after the battery was charged and my care package from home reminded me to stop at a gas station or specialty store.

The key turns in the ignition and I back carefully out of the curved driveway. Making my way down South Lumina Ave I turn left onto Sunset Ave and stop to take a picture of an architecturally strange beach house. I get back on Lumina and stop at the first gas station I come across to buy a pack of papers. Back in my car I discretely break up and roll myself a joint. I stash it in the visor and secure everything back in my bag. I drive into down town Wilmington and park where there is availability. Camera in hand I take at least two hundred and fifty pictures around Downtown. I get close to the waterfront and shoot the Battleship from there. I check my cell for the time and I have a half hour until my break is over. I quickly make it back to my car and race back to Wrightsville Beach. I bound in the door and look in the kitchen, Henley is flipping through a Men’s Health magazine.

“Quiet as a mouse, Miss Babe.” Henley says looking at his magazine.

“Thanks Henley.” I skip the stairs and fling my bag inside my door. I open Soren’s, he is playing with an alphabet puzzle. “Hey, are you ready to come downstairs?” I ask, hands on hips.

He gets up from the floor and passes me out the door. I follow him to the top step; down we go…one, two, and three…Henley is still flipping through his magazine. Soren passes to gain access to the great room as I enter the kitchen. I can see Soren from here.

“What’s for dinner?” I ask Henley like I would my Mamma.

“Well, Mr. Lars is at a studio dinner tonight and he said Soren could have pizza for dinner.” He inflects his voice so Soren can hear, it works. The little boy runs into the kitchen wide eyed and smiling ear to ear. He hugs Henley and then me before running back out of the room.

“He likes pizza.” I say as more of a statement than a question.

“What kid you know doesn't?”

I tilt my head to relent, it’s very true. I assume we’re ordering since Henley is not mercilessly kneading dough in here, flour everywhere. I smile at the thought; Henley would do that for Soren if he asked it of him. “Where are we ordering from?”

“Vito’s; Soren’s favorite.”

Henley orders the pizza, it arrives and Soren chows down. I bathe him and let him play for fifteen minutes before pulling the plug on the drain. I dry him, dress him and get him comfortable in his bed. He has pre-picked five books to read tonight. He barely makes it to 8:00 and I tuck him in. I creep to the door and turn on a dim night light by it. I slowly secure the door and walk back into my room. I grab my bag and tablet before heading downstairs. Henley is packing up to leave for the evening when I plop down on the couch.

“Well, goodnight Miss Babe. See you first thing in the morning.” He says lingering at the open door.

I look back over the couch and wave, “Goodnight Henley.”

Babet's Epiphany

Augusta Fern

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