Augusta Fern's Blog - Posts Tagged "revelation"

I thought about Estella’s comments thoroughly and with Babet’s husband missing for so long how would she have found the time to check on something like her fuse box or wiring? A single mother of two hardly has the time to brush her hair or teeth in the morning, and that stands the test of time. I recalled as a boy my sister and me being a handful for our mother. Estella kept her focus as her beautiful green eyes go cloudy, she attempts to read energy around the building again. I watched her enviously, wishing I had the ability to read time, when I turned from her to the alley between the two buildings, “How far back can you go?”

The green returned to her eyes and she stared into me, “Depends,” her words hard. “If I go back too far, I might not come back, my mind that is; I could get “stuck” in a read.” She makes finger quotes, before sighing. “At least that is what our Queen tells me.”

She turns her gaze downward at her hands that had gathered into loose fists. Her demeanor lightened and she smiled sarcastically at me as her hands released. I couldn’t help wanting to encourage Estella to try to extend her range and lately she had been tip toeing on the less obedient side of our Queen.
“Try.” One word from my lips and a sly smile from Estella, we were in business.

Estella gathered as much pertinent information as she felt relevant to report back to the Queen while she conversed with Madliene it was apparent that she was asked how she was able to obtain so much and trepidation begins to rise as I thought about how far back Estella may have gone. Estella explained that we were able to get very close due to the emergency services activity. Though I don’t trust the Queen believed her but was grateful none the less for the knowledge. I asked to speak to the Queen; Estella hands me her cell phone.

“Majesty,I hope you are well?” I ask. “I am glad to hear it; I have a request if I may?” She was also receptive to this. “I wonder if we should reveal ourselves to Bab…the wife.” There was silence from the Queen’s side. “I realize it’s a very dangerous situation, but I feel if we don’t intervene she will succumb to unknown intentions. Her children will die.” My tone is harsh, I realize this. Still; stifling silence from her end.

“Majesty, I can understand your haste, but it is a creature of our blood that stalks her and from what Estella has gathered her mother-in-law, hasn’t been seen…” I stop, wait. “Other than her own mother, who is on a cruise for an extended period of time, Benoit’s mother was her only other family.” I said more cautiously as I looked intently at Estella. “Majesty?”

The silence is agonizing and time altering…….Finally.

Her tone extremely serious, “Cian, I can appreciate your hasty solution….” she trailed off into silence once more. And when she spoke again, third time was a charm for me being taken by surprise, two in one day no less.

Madliene instructs us to introduce ourselves to Babet, including telling her of Estella’s connection. Convince her to accompany us to a townhouse furnished by The Queen. It would be a challenge to approach Babet and her children. What do you say to a human you, as vampire, want to help?

It was imperative we interfere, for all sakes involved. I let Estella take the lead, stashing her blades out of mortal sight and followed at a safe unseen distance, for many reasons. Number one, I am unstable in direct presence with Babet, I know this. Her scent is toweringly intoxicating. Getting to close could be too consuming, for all parties involved, even the monster inside.

Number two, I am intimidating. It’s not a conceited statement, it’s who I am. Of no fault of my own I exude certain dominance. Most vampires can, at least against humans; other vampires are bit more difficult. In this situation I don’t want to be the cause of additional fear.

Number three, I am a man. Women are more susceptible to accept assistance from other women. If I were to tell Babet that I want to take her away from all this and help her get back on her feet, not to mention, I am her long lost relative, a vampire and believe that my kind are the reason for all her downtrodden circumstances how do you think she would perceive it.

I am pulled from my inner turmoil and listen to the report between the two women. Babet is visibly and emotionally hesitant, apprehensive and lastly, frightened to accept any kind of assistance from a perfect stranger, but Estella is very persuasive and the sound of her full name in Babet’s ears was an apparent alleviation. Her brilliant green eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped before twisting up into a beautiful smile. She then threw her free arm around Estella’s neck and pulled her great (by how many?) aunt into a tight embrace. Once Babet released Estella I slowly made my way over to them. Inside, I am eager. A malicious disgustingly eager teenager, but it doesn’t show. Outside I am calm and the picture of endurance. Nothing could bring me down. It’s a gift.

I lock eyes with Estella and offer a sideways smile then turn my gaze to Babet, who, unlike most humans, is polite but not easily impressed. Though, I sensed something strange upon shaking her hand, the tension resonating from her body, while talking to Estella, had now disappeared. Even stranger, in me, the careless urge to rip her and fuck her, subsided momentarily in anticipation of her touch. I wanted to wrap her in a cocoon of safety, free from all danger or the threat of harm.

Yes, she must be unharmed…..unhurt, uninjured, unscathed; completely safe and sound, with me. I could afford her the proper protection. She would want for nothing, her children would benefit from a lifetime of security and preservation… I am pulled from my inner self by Estella’s introductions.

“Babet, this is Cian. He too is an employee of the Queen, but he is also a dear friend.” Estella, the ever gracious host, her southern belle showing.
“Hello.” Babet’s voice sullen from tears is sultry and prurient, I am transfixed once again.

I bow my head to her and say her name out loud, “Babet.” I grasp her hand delicately, taking in her silky flesh, concealed below the alabaster sheath a map of deep blue livelihood. I release her hand but the monster is conniving, staying at bay until internally I want to grasp it back and pull her to me.

Spin her around so that she is back to my front restraining her with one arm while with the other savor the warmth of her entire body and its supple softness before tilting her head giving me passage to her throat, trailing my tongue down her neck, over her clavicle, before I sink my teeth into her delicious bosom allowing her life force to fill my gullet, tantalizing crimson flow exciting each and every taste bud and salivary gland….STOP!!!

“…we are going to take you somewhere safe and get you all things you need. You are in our care now.” Estella explains to Babet while I am far gone.

Babet nods her head sullenly wary, then looks behind and around her; stopping only to adjust her hold on her son who by now had fallen back to sleep in his mother’s warm soft arms. Her face and demeanor are of slight fret, before finally laying her eyes on her daughter who had wandered off during Babet and Estella’s dialog.

She tilts her head for the girl to come. The sulky teenager is disheveled and dressed in a pair of matching owl print pajamas. Her hair is short, red and messy from the late hour. She jumps down from a parked ambulance, removing the flame retardant blanket from around her and tossing it behind her into the vehicle. She walks slowly, glancing back at her former home for a moment and upon turning back toward her mother she catches my stare.

Author of the Men with Badges series, The Birthright Series and newly released Bayonet Scars series has had an affinity for the strange and unusual from a very young age. This has prompted her to write characters with depth and presence. Each series a different genre and rich with valued heroines as well as seedy individuals.

Q: Bayonet Scars tells the story of a biker crime family. How do the characters you write play a part in your daily life, if they play a part?

A: Growing up in Northern California, I’ve seen my fair share of motorcycle clubs and have heard plenty of stories about bikers and the lifestyle. My parents are slightly more familiar with the biker lifestyle than I am, but I’m slowly catching up. The series and its characters really are a balancing act. Portraying the characters in a fashion which reads as honest to who these kinds of people are is very important to me because while it’s all totally from my imagination, I don’t want to feel like I’m doing the community a disservice.

Q: “Sons of Anarchy” is a popular television show and I’ve noticed an upswing in biker literature. Where does your affinity for bikers resonate from?

A: It’s kind of crazy how popular biker lit is becoming. I started this book in September 2012 and put it down for a while. I knew when I picked it back up that the market was starting to swell with similar(ish) books, but had no idea the market would explode. Even in the past month since Ride’s release, I’ve seen no less than five biker books debut.
“Sons of Anarchy” definitely perked my interest because I’m a total bike snob and have been fascinated by organized crime for most of my life. Because of that, the show was sort of the perfect fit for me, but I snubbed it until last October. I was really worried they weren’t going to do the community justice and that they would portray the bikers as these really silly characters and not allow the true grit of the lifestyle to play out. Harleys have always been a thing in my family. We all perk up when we hear the roar of the engine. My dad owned a few Harleys back in the day and my mom wanted her own Harley (and even went as far as to try to start her own MC).

Q: In the Birthright Series you write a character named Eliza Landry, is she based on one particular person or is she pieces of multiple people? And her sister, Kate?

A: Eliza and Kate aren’t actually based on any real people, but their relationship is. I had this idea for a vampire story and kept trying to figure out what would be the ultimate high stakes for Eliza. I borrowed from my personal fear of losing my sister (who is actually a decade my junior) to give Eliza her motivating factor. I’ve never cried so hard while writing as I did while working on Anomaly because it was so very personal for me.

Q: I adore New Orleans; the setting in The Switch, Men with Badges. Do you put a lot into the time and place of each novel?

A: Setting can certainly help shape character. In the first Men with Badges book, Marital Bitch, it’s set in Boston and it’s achingly obvious how much the setting shapes who the characters are. It may not be as obvious in The Switch, but I do take great care to represent a place and its people as authentically as possible. I lived in New Orleans for three years and there’s so much of my experiences there that shape the way I write. It’s important to me that I do a city justice because there’s nothing more disappointing when I’m reading a book that’s set in a city I know well and it’s obvious that the author has never been there, nor have they cared to do their research.

Q: I assume you have a full time job, where do you find the time to write?
What initially drew you to writing?

A: Actually, I work part-time and I’m a full-time student. A few years ago I decided to go back to school and to pursue writing full-time. I’ve always made stories up in my head and often wrote them down, but I never honestly pursued a career in writing. It was a fantasy—not something I could actually do. But with a looming lay-off and a desire to return to school and spend more time writing, I took my parents up on their request that I come home so I can finish school and pursue my passions. It was kind of scary deciding to ditch the adult world to go play kid for a while, but it was well worth it because I love my life beyond any measure I could have imagined.

Q: Your novels are well received; do you do your own promotions?

A: At first I did and I found that while I was able to get readers and make a small mark in the writing community, all of the PR stuff exhausts me. For now, I hire Inkslinger PR to do my cover reveals and blog tours. I’m considering seeking out full-time representation from a PR firm to lighten my load further.

Q: I find authors occasionally use personal memories or strife when developing a character. What is your favorite childhood memory?

A: I don’t know that I have one favorite. I was an only child until I was almost eleven, so there were lots of times when it was just me and my parents. I also spent a lot of time with my paternal grandmother. I think the things I remember the most is sitting around every Friday night and watching TGIF on ABC with my grandma. Her favorite show was “Urkel” (Family Matters). We also played “school” a lot where I was the teacher and she was the student. The poor thing never passed a single test. :p

Q: What do you like to do for fun?

A: I love to take road trips—big ones, small ones—any size, really. I also enjoy doing relocation research. I’m a total planner to the point that it drives those around me nuts. When I’m not traveling or researching, or writing, I can usually be found professing my undying love for my cats, Charlie and Lola.

Q: If it were possible, what literary character would you most like to have a conversation with and why?

A: Michael Curry from The Witching Hour by Anne Rice. He grew up in the Irish Channel in New Orleans and moved to San Francisco as a child. In the book, Michael remembers New Orleans fondly and he oftentimes talks about the differences and similarities between the cities. As a San Francisco Bay Area native who lived in New Orleans, I love talking to people who have lived in both cities. I think they’re each wonderfully magical in their own rights.

Q: Finally, if you wouldn’t mind humoring me with a Seasonal question? What do you and your family do for the holidays?

A: Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, we make the drive to Sacramento to spend the holidays with my maternal grandmother and extended family. I also try to do an after-Thanksgiving meal at home that is just the immediate family and maybe my best friend as well.


Find JC on the Internet at the following sites.

http://www.jcemery.com
http://twitter.com/jc_emery
http://www.facebook.com/jcemeryauthor
http://www.goodreads.com/jc_emery

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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She adjusts herself before beginning, “Firstly, I know everything. My mother doesn’t keep things from me like most mothers would and she said for my protection and Henri’s I had to know this and we had to devise a plan. She told me that if anything strange occurred and she went somewhere and didn’t return I was to take Henri and hide in the upstairs closet. He would have stayed quiet if I hadn’t been making faces at him to keep him entertained.” She stops and smiles at the boy, but soon resumes. Estella and I are in enraptured awe of the mature young lady.

“She said I was to wait for Cian to arrive and I would know when he does, because of his boots. Sorry, dude that is a distinct sound.” She smiles and I return the gesture. “I was supposed to come out and he would take care of things.”

I can feel Estella taking offense to Babet’s directions for Scarlet; after all she was family, not me. I look to Estella who knows at this moment to relax and listen.

“Where did your mother go?” I ask.

“She yelled from the bottom of the stairs that she would be back and to come watch Henri, when I came downstairs she was gone. I figured she was taking her drive.”

“What do you mean, her drive?”

“My mom likes to get away sometimes, she did this when Griffin was around too but she was usually only gone, maybe an hour at the most.”

Estella chimes in, “Where does she go?”

“She drives the 90; I’ve been with her once, when she and Griffin were fighting. She likes to drive really fast and listen to her music extremely loud. When she left tonight it was just before dusk, after an hour had passed and she didn’t come back, I grabbed Henri and hid.”

Estella and I take this all in and I recall Babet’s bath time activities and her drive to pick up the children from Griffin’s mother. The speed she was driving and her accuracy on the road indicated this was a habitual thing for Babet. I am proud yet slightly disappointed she felt the need to devise a plan for her children should something out of the ordinary happen. This proved to me that the young mother only trusted us at arm’s length.

Estella rises from the floor, Scarlet, Henri and I all watch as she visibly gathers herself, “I’m going to try again.”

She walks to the bottom of the stairs where Babet called to her daughter and began her trance to seek information. Her eyes go milky white and she puts her hands in front of her to feel the air and energy. She takes a deep breath and forces her gift from her body. I glance over to Scarlet who is just as enamored with Estella as she was with the teenager moments ago. Henri also watches and giggles occasionally.

“Oh baby! I got something!” Estella howls into the air. “I smell something familiar, I brought it out with me Cian, come over here.”

I walk over to where Estella is a virtual statue, “You recognize that?” She says looking to me, a glint of accomplishment in her eyes.

I take a gargantuan whiff of the air around Estella, “Aye, that is Romeo.” I turn and mimic her smile.

She looks behind her to the children and I do so as well, Scarlet is officially okay with us. She is smiling from ear to ear, “Do you know where my mom is?”
“We think we do and we are going to find out, but we have to get you both somewhere safe. If we leave you here, whoever took your mom may come back for you.” I say gingerly before asking, “Can you call Griffin’s mother, can we take you and Henri to her?”

Her face drops, “No!” It’s a response from Scarlet I don’t expect, she is adamant and I wonder why.

“Okay, can you tell me why?” I ask.

“She hates me, if you want to take Henri there, I will go with you to drop him off but I am not staying with that bitch.” Scarlet shakes her head and looks up to me and Estella, pleading in her eyes.

Estella never misses a beat, “Well, that settles that. Cian I don’t think we should separate them.”

“And where pray tell would you suggest taking them, the grandmother’s house is out, Babet’s friends Frankie and Molly that is a no go, and no need to involve them further. We cannot take them to the club…”

“I guess we are heading to your warehouse?” Estella asks cautiously and she can see I am less than fond of the idea. In fact I fucking hate it, but I of course relent.

“I suppose so, Scarlet how fast can you be ready to go?” I ask turning back to her.

The girl shoots up from the couch and opens a hall closet, on the floor behind the door are two black duffle bags, she scoops down to grab them and she then quickly shut the door, “We’re ready.”

Estella and I look at each other dumfounded at the extent Babet has gone to for her children’s safety.

I take a deep breath, “Okay, let’s go. Scarlet, where are your mom’s car keys?”

“They’re in her purse on the counter in the kitchen.” The teenager, turned temporary mother, picks up her brother as Estella fishes out Babet’s keys.

“Scarlet, you may want to visit the little girl’s room before you go, Cian doesn’t own a toilet.” Estella suggests.

The teenage girl looks over at me and I think I am about to be chastised by someone so young, but she smiles and shrugs her shoulders. She puts the bags down and places Henri on the floor. She turns on her heel and bolts upstairs. Before long she is back. “Ready.” She says confidently.

“Got the keys, let’s go.” Estella already has the front door open.

We secure Audubon, even though I want to burn this fucker to the ground. That little human bastard is going to pay, but I have to remember, he is not working on his own accord. Madliene is way past beginning to rub me the wrong way, but this has to be my straw. My back is broken and once the children are settled I am going to fucking kill that cunt.

I make a right onto Calliope and I can see in my haste I forgot to turn the overhead lights off at the warehouse, and I am not the only one who notices this.
There is a New Orleans police car in front of my haven. I attempt to park out of sight but because of the desertion of the area, on foot patrol he hears the engine of Babet’s Audi A6 and crests the corner.

Immediately he sees us and makes a bee-line for the car. I can feel Estella tensing up and becoming angry the closer Officer Dumas gets to the car. I am mirroring her emotions; this situation is going to waste more time.

“Rein it in Estella, let me handle this.” I say to her, she straightens herself as I roll the driver’s side window down to talk to the policeman. “Evening Officer.” I am so fucking charming but he’s not buying it.

“What are you folks doing out here?” His tone is arrogant and I feel Estella mounting.

I grab her hand like a husband would do and turn back to the Officer, “We were checking out the area, I heard these renovated warehouses are fantastic loft apartments. I think we made a wrong turn somewhere back there.” I chuckle, increasing the ruse of human absentmindedness.

The Officer immediately becomes friendly, so much so, he gets comfortable placing his hand on the door and I internally sigh in relief, “Oh yeah, my cousin is working on those. I heard they’re expensive though, shoo wee.”

We all laugh but he’s not finished with us. I look in the rear view; Scarlet has her own ruse cooking. The ruse of a cell phone addicted teenager, it’s not a far stretch. Henri has fortunately fallen asleep in his car seat.

“Say, you ain’t from around here are ya?” He laughs at his cleverness.

“Uh, no sir I am Scottish but my lovely wife is a local.” I draw this statement out to hopefully grab his attention, it works. I have him in my gaze, he’s putty. I place my hand on his, “Officer Dumas, you have secured this area. The lights in the warehouse are a malfunction of wiring. You may go now.”

Officer Dumas is pliable, “Yeah…you, you folks have a nice evening.” He says staggering off toward his cruiser. I turn to Estella and smile, Scarlet in my rearview is also smiling. We wait for Officer Dumas to vacate the premises, we then exit the car. I take the children’s duffle bags as Scarlet retrieves Henri from his seat, the baby still fast asleep. Estella cradles her arm around the two as we enter, quickly closing the door behind us.



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