Augusta Fern's Blog - Posts Tagged "obsession"

“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.

I approach the palatial two story Garden District house of Babet’s friend, located on Felicity, not far from highway 91 and my warehouse. I run my hand across the top of the wrought iron fence posts before pushing the gate aside to pass into the landscaped front garden; the cobblestones beneath my feet meet the tread of my boot conspicuously.

The house is unfathomable and expansive from the side view. The front is wide, with help from its giant wrap-around front porch. Scrolled wrought iron connects pillared columns to support the vast awning above which is intricately designed. I look up further, the upstairs is blessed with the same treatment, and it is also adorned pillars and scrolled wrought iron to hold up the balcony. The house is painted white, the shutters are green downstairs. The trim around the French doors upstairs matches and there are four green rocking chairs painted the same green look down from up there.

Along the roof, I notice three chimneys protruding it. The closer I get to the front door I see to my far right another door leading to sitting sun room, high-end wicker furniture with brightly colored throw pillows sit arranged inside.

My attentions are diverted back to the front door where I see Babet through the thick glass fumbling with the knob and a muffled angelic voice, “Just…a minute, uh…..” I look down, at my feet a mat with an elaborate W printed in the fibers, the lock clicks back into the carved notch in the door and the knob turns. The heavy wooden door flies open and Babet stands cradling her son in a towel, attempting to balance the sopping excited baby. She is dressed in a brand new pair of jeans and gray V neck man’s undershirt, her black cherry hair pulled up to a ponytail. She staggered backwards allowing me entry.

“Good Evening.” I said looking into her brilliant green eyes as I cross the threshold. She was waiting for me, watching for my arrival. I present the little bath toy.

“Come in.” she said still smiling.
She laughs and holds out a hand to take it from me, our fingers graze and I feel the spark radiate. “Ah-ha, see Henri…here is ducky.” She says to the little boy squirming in her arms apparently unaffected as I. “Could have used this, where did we leave it?” She directs her attention back to me. She plays into Henri’s game, swinging him around before securing him, closing the door to face me.

“I found it in the bathroom upstairs at Audubon. By the way, it’s good to see you smiling,” I said as I stepped foot onto the dark wooden floors into the heavily crown molded foyer, immediately I see the first of three fireplaces, this one is marble with a heavy white mantle. This house is very old to have a fireplace in the foyer. I turn back to face Babet and as I do my head scathes the chandelier overhead.

“Yeah, no matter what’s going on in my life, the kids always make me smile.” She said snuggling her nose into the baby’s neck, nuzzling him until he cooed and then cackled. “Especially this one.” And she snuggled the boy again before saying, “Uh, so….what information do you need from me? I mean, of course I told Estella everything I know and remember about the night Griffin left...disappeared.” She seemed flustered as she corrected herself. It is clear to me she is not interested in discussing her reasons for leaving our safe house.

For a brief awkward moment we were both silent, I can’t help but stare, she becomes as fidgety as the little one in her arms. She hikes the boy further onto her body. “Well, make yourself comfortable I’m going to dress him for bed.” I watch as she turns down a small hallway and strode up a narrow staircase, like the first night I saw her at her shop in the Quarter. She clutched the boy, who stared back down at me over his mothers shoulder until his chubby hands carelessly gripped and examined a lock of her black cherry hair.

She had no idea of the effect her mere presence had on me, her very smell an intoxicating plethora of Lavender and Rose hips, hinted only to my ancient nose, mixed with the smell of fresh paint.

I stepped into this room and that room, all decorated precisely to Frankie’s obviously specific modern style, I smile internally at the same yet egregiously larger print of the Moonwalk photo as Audubon framed and mounted on the wall and I deduce that Frankie and Marcus don’t have children. The house is too immaculate and seems as though it stays that way.

I wander into a long drawing room where the second fireplace sat center two couches on either side facing each other, adjacent to a much modernized kitchen; cream, off white antique style French farmhouse cabinetry surround stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops.

A surprise to my old ears I hear the soothing melody of the 1940’s hit, “I’ll be seeing you” plays from an under the cabinet radio and I decide to sit on one of the overstuffed cream colored couches, I move the orange and blue pillows to one side while I enjoy the blend of the digitally restored song and Babet playfully dress Henri overhead, I can heard the baby squeal with delight from upstairs.

Babet comes down with the boy saddled to her hip, I can hear her padding through the house, possibly looking for me but I observe as she passes me by, she found what she was looking for, a baby cup in her hand. Her mood seemed determined and unwavering. I watch meticulously as she moves about the kitchen.

Open the refrigerator, pull out the milk, untwist the cup top, and place it on the counter. Pour the milk, return it to the refrigerator. Replace the cap on the cup. All while balancing Henri on her hip. She smiles at me when she returns with the baby, the cup now residing in his little hands, he grips the blue and red cup adorned with cars, turning it until finally placing the sipper in his mouth. He settles into his mother’s lap as she sits on the opposite couch; across from me.

I was glad, she was as far away from me as possible, her scent stronger than I had anticipated. She made herself comfortable and propped Henri up as he was clearly enjoying his beverage. Once she had the baby situated she turned her gaze expectantly for me to instigate conversation. I oblige her.
“Are you aware of what our purpose is here, in your life?” I asked keeping my tone indifferent.

She focuses on me, “Yes, and I appreciate all you both… you all, have done for us, but I have to ask, Why? Which is kind of why I bolted last night…this morning” and her gaze went from me to Henri, and back to me again, waiting for an answer.
“I thought…..How much did Estella make you aware of?”

She took a deep breath and rattled off the list from memory.
“I would assume everything. Firstly, which originally got my attention, other than the fact that she is absolutely stunning; she said my husband’s disappearance may be more than that, something supernatural. That she is my descendant. And Griffin’s. Which is rather creepy but interesting. She explained her connection to PGT Beauregard; which is kind of tragically romantic. She also mentioned she was a….” Babet’s intense focus on the conversation was disturbed as she glanced down at her baby who had fallen asleep, the sipper of the cup teetering halfway out of his heart shaped mouth.

Babet removed the cup from Henri’s listless grasp, placing it on the giant teak coffee table between us. She readjusted the baby’s position and continued her thought. “She was, is, a…vampire. And, that you are also a vampire.”

The words escaped her lips and her facial expression morphed from humor at the thought of such a concept and then distress of said concept. Although her face showed these emotions, her body language indicated complete comfort. She didn’t exude the fear I usually detect from humans when in my presence. So much so, that she carefully scooted herself to the edge of the couch cradling the sleeping baby and excused herself to put the boy upstairs. She returned, falling into the overstuffed couch, with a heavy sigh.

“Does it frighten you?” I said as I turned my head from staring down at my hands.

“Should it? Estella said I was completely safe with you.” She replied confused but not fearful, her radiant green eyes boring into me.

“No…I mean yes, of course you are safe.” I paused after a tiny laugh, thinking as my brow furrowed and I changed the subject. “Why? You asked, correct?” I twisted my body on the couch to give her my full attention and took a deep breath preparing to not only frighten this woman beyond recognition but to caution her to the situation. But tonight she was different; she was curious and inquisitive; not horrified like most humans. Maybe she’s slowly accepting of this situation, Estella and her story. Maybe it’s the familiar surroundings; she has me on her “turf”. Whatever it may be I was thankful for the small beginnings, the tiny fibers of trust slowly come together to weave my quilt of defense. I will shelter her.

“Yes.” The word stung like a dagger in my heart.

“First, you are a direct descendant of a living, well, existing vampire. A vampire that has kept distant watch over her family for generations and will continue to do so for future generations.” I say matter-of-factly, but in the back of my mind I think, “If we survive this.”

“Second, we believe. That is our Queen, has reason to believe that you are the target of a vampire’s desire.” I had never spoken words more true, but I was thinking only of myself when I said them, not the creature stalking her every move.

“Desire?” her face squeezed up as she took it in.

I nodded and begin to elaborate.

“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...

I released Babet’s hand and got to my feet anticipating Estella’s entry. I had successfully comforted Babet without baring the monster. But her scent; so captivating to me, it takes quite the restraint to keep him at bay. It radiates off of her like lamplight in the dark. I am the careless moth to her flame.

Estella stood impatiently in the doorway, she had changed from her Morte’ cat-suit to a lime green cotton sundress and tan sandals.

“Why didn’t you answer when I called?” She says her hand on her hip.

“When did you call?” I asked.

“Uh, just now?!”

“Sorry, Henri is asleep.” I reply with bad attitude.

Estella crouched and grabbed her mouth, “I’m sorry honey that will take some getting used to.” She says to Babet who forgives her aunt instantly.

“It’s okay, he sleeps like a rock. He plays hard and he sleeps hard.” Babet is still in quiet mode.

“Are you okay?” Estella says rushing to Babet’s side nearly knocking me down to get to her. Estella sits down like a stone and brushed the stray hairs off of Babet’s face. “I ask, because Cian can be a little stiff.” Estella said in jest. I smiled at the two beautiful women, taking the joke.

“No…He’s…Cian has been great.” She looked over to me and then back to Estella. I take in the chimes of her voice as she says my name, it is ecstasy. “We were just talking.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Estella, ever the gossip queen.

Estella observed our exchange of glances and instructed the young woman that it was late and asked if she had eaten and if she wanted anything. Babet is gracious and smart; she takes the hint and makes her way upstairs to check on sleeping Henri. Once Babet is out of sight, Estella swats me with the back of her hand. I look down at my arm and then to Estella. She is smiling her bright gleaming smile. For a moment I thought Estella was angry but her smile indicates that she is impressed with Babet and her demeanor.

“Pleased, I take it?”

“Of course. You can go now.” She says folding her arms under her breasts.

“I will as soon as I say good bye to Babet.” The ‘T’ I absentmindedly accentuate.

Estella turns to me at the sound, “Do I need to check her for marks Cian?” she jests but I am not amused.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” My tone is instantly angry.

“Lighten up, it was a joke.” She rolls her eyes at me.

I hear Babet descending the staircase; she is smiling when she rounds the corner to the long drawing room. Estella and I are carefully watching her until she notices and explains her happiness.
“Henri is dreaming; it must be a good one because he was giggling in his sleep.”

“Aw, so cute!” Estella should have been a mother; she clasps her hands together and looks so thoughtful at the notion of a giggling sleeping baby. If only she were always this sweet and agreeable.

“I’m off then.” I say to Estella and then glance over to Babet, “So I will see you at Audubon tomorrow night?”

Babet is silent but nods her head to agree to her whereabouts.

“Until then,” I bow my head to Babet and then turn back to Estella, “Call me if you need.”

“You, going home?”

“Aye, I’m looking forward to my own familiarity. Goodnight ladies.”

I make my way through the house and out the front door, taking one last look at the palatial Garden District home once I am through the wrought iron gate. Wish I had gotten the tour. I smirk to myself.
I reach my haven and mindlessly make it to the fifth floor. I am too engrossed in the night’s events, conversation and revelations about Babet Benoit to pay close attention to my surroundings. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth and raised as a proper southern lady until the mysterious disappearance/death of her father. Her mother painstakingly maintained their position in society, regardless of her daughter’s reluctance and suffering at the hands of her peers.
She escapes out of state after high school to avoid further social misery in her life only to return with child and boyfriend in tow. She’s an extraordinarily strong independent woman who is philanthropic and reflective, a loving mother. There is more, I know, so much more to her and I divulged more than I should. I know it is the first baby steps to a trusting relationship with Babet and hopefully in time and over time, her children; their children and their children’s children.

I vow after tonight to devote my life the remainder of my existence to this cause, to her. Finally, a worthy cause has reached me once more. Father I hope you can again be proud of me. Although as I lay in day-stasis I can’t help but think of her dreams and my visions and if the two are the same, the monster is all assuming and pretty fucking pleased with himself and a certain, almost human side of me is also pleased.

The following evening I arrive at Audubon and instantly I see Babet’s car and bright lights from the front of the townhouse. I hear music, a much harder genre of music than the previous night. I stand outside placing the song. I recognize the lead singer and deduce it to be Korn, who often use bagpipes in their songs. An aspect of their band I truly enjoy but this song particularly is unfamiliar to my ears. I approach the door, which had of course been replaced, and knock hard enough to penetrate the music. I see Babet approach the door, unlock it and pull it open to allow me entry.

“Hi.” She says as I pass her, she closes the door behind me. She’s wearing a baby blue sundress; her hair is wavy and flowing down her back, she smells exquisite. I look down and see her signature bare feet.

“You look nice; did Estella finally show you the clothes?” I ask.

“Thanks, yeah she went a little overboard and I told her so but she wouldn’t hear it. Scarlet really liked the pieces for her and Henri’s little wardrobe is uber cute.” She directs my attention to the little boy playing with cars on the living room floor who squeals in delight as the cars crash into each other.

“Wow, he’s…” I walk toward the living room as it’s the first time I have been in Henri’s presence while he is awake; truly awake. I lean against the door frame and watch him coo and cackle.
“He’s a handsome one, for sure and a spry wee bearn.” I look over at Babet who is having difficulty with my terminology.

“Spry wee bearn? Translate please.”

“Happy Little Baby.” I retort.

“Ah, that he is. A very happy boy. I’m glad he is oblivious to all of this, it’s a shame Scarlet’s not.”

“How is she?” I ask.

“Fine, she’s upstairs. She really likes her room here.”

“I’m glad; I hope to spend more time with her also. I would like to get her take on all of this. Is that wise?” Since I haven’t had much time with a teenager, not since Maggie was young; my sister the handful.

“You may ask, but, don’t expect her replies to hold any merit, she’s a teenager. At most you will get major sarcasm or nothing at all. You may have better result with Henri here.”

“He must favor his father; I don’t see much of you in there. Maybe the chin?”

“Yes, he is Grif’s boy for sure. Looks just like his daddy, especially his big blue eyes.” I look over and feel her internally cherishing the tiny boy, she then looks up at me, “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.” I say my tone is sarcastically appreciative.

“Of, course, I apologize, it’s something that will take some getting used to.” I recall Estella’s exact words last night regarding sleeping baby Henri.
“Do you mind?” I turn to Babet.

“Hmm?”

“Sit with Henri?”

“Sure, be careful though, sometimes he is less than receptive to new people.” She says over the granite bar into the living room.

I slowly approach Henri, kneeling down to the floor. He immediately looks up at me then to his mother who is busy in the kitchen. He is watching me closely. I feel tension rise in the baby and must squelch it before Babet notices.
“Do you have a car?” I say sweetly to the boy.

“Ca-h!” He responds holding a blue car up for me to take. I oblige; he picks up the red car in his chubby little digits. “Red!” He says.

I look up to the bar and Babet is watching our exchange, clearly surprised by his acceptance of me. “He likes you.” She says smiling.

“I like him right back.” I roll the blue car across the floor parking it next to Henri’s red car.

“So, I went to the grocery store today, since there is obviously no food in the house, which is understandable. I’m going to cook dinner for the kids, that won’t bother you will it?”

“Not at all, in fact the smell of human food is quite pleasurable. What’s for dinner?”

She laughs, Christ I love her laugh, “Breakfast sausage, pancakes and eggs.”

“Sounds delicious.” I reply as Henri is crashing his red car into my blue car, he is quite proud of himself as he looks up at me. I smile and he smiles back. Babet goes to the bottom of the stairs and calls up to Scarlet, “How many eggs do you want!”

A muffled reply wafts down the stairs, “Two!”

I watch as Babet nods and roll her eyes at teenage insolence. She catches me and smiles, quickly returning to the kitchen. While there is a break in conversation I inquire about the music when I arrived as it ceased after I knocked on the door.

“You were listening to something when I arrived, what was it?”

“In Scarlet’s opinion they are considered old, but I believe what was on when you knocked was Korn’s “My Gift to You”, I love the bagpipes and his anger is relatable. Molly introduced me to them way back in the day. You like?” She says while moving about the kitchen preparing, mixing, and stirring.

“I did, I do. I know Korn, they play it regularly at Morte’. “Life Is Peachy” is a good album, I can relate to that one.”

She smiles, “Yeah, I love that one. What else do they play at Morte’? Sounds like my kind of place.” She feigns embarrassment, “Sounds like it used to be my kind of place.”

“I would hope to never see you there, but they play a wide range of heavy music. Do you gravitate more toward that genre?”

“No, I like all kinds of music, but in my younger days, I could relate more to the angry heavy stuff. Now I listen to it, because I truly enjoy the music instead of dwelling on what I have in common with the lyrics.”

“Lyrics can be powerful and the lyrics in heavier music are definitely more relatable to a vampire…”

Suddenly I hear the distinct sound of the same genre with an entirely younger feel coming from upstairs, I turn to look at Babet, she pauses to listen to the path for feet from the bedroom to the bathroom back to the bedroom, the door closes and the music is more difficult to hear.
“Well, I thought she might come down, but I guess not.”

“Give her time; she’s lost a lot too.”

“I know and her dad being so far away doesn’t help her, I don’t mind it but I can understand missing your father, especially at such a young age.”

“Where is he?” I ask.

“He’s in North Carolina, or last I heard that was where he was. Scarlet said his mother moved back up north, Ohio I think. It’s where they are originally from.”

“Does she talk to him often?”

“I wouldn’t know, she has her own cell and he and I don’t talk unless it’s something dire with her. Which is rare, she’s a great kid. She’s just…a teenage girl.”

“I understand.” I say but I can tell she isn’t convinced.

“Really?”

“Yes, I have…had a sister, Maggie. She was fifteen when were separated and a handful to say the least.”

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Revelations of Cian

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go somewhere you can hear me properly please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Has something happened Estella?”

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

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

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

“Please do.”

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

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

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

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

“Good for everything, I hear.”

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

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

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

“Correct, but…” I am cut off.

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

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

“Cian?”

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

“But…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.” It works.

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

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

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



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“Show?” I ask, but I am aware of Molly DuBois’ annual photography show. I have never been as it is invite only, but I know of the importance of it. All proceeds collected from the sale of her photos are donated to the continued Katrina relief fund. She has a wonderful eye for not only the beauty and captivating mystery of New Orleans but she refuses to neglect the raw and forgotten elements. Forcing people to realize what this ravaged city has endured.

“Yeah, her annual art show. It’s on the rooftop of her building, she has the photos suspended, it’s very cool. She creates the perfect outdoor space up there, it’s stunning.” I can see her enchantment and I am salivating for the invitation to accompany her.

I have to keep contained, but I am serious and businesslike, “I can keep myself incognito. I will stay out of sight; we can enter separately if you like?”

She begins to turn sympathetic, “Oh, no…I was hoping you would accompany me, you know like a date.”

But she says date, like it’s not one. I can’t help but feel crushed yet anticipatory. I haven’t been on a date in centuries and I have to say I have never been on a modernized date. In my day it was less complicated. I realize I am leaving her expectant, “Of course, it would be beneficial to meet and speak with your friends.” My tone is still all business. “What of the children?”

“Yes, they are curious about you as well. Since the show is on the roof, Molly doesn’t mind if Scarlet and Henri hang out in her loft. Scarlet is a great babysitter.”

“Ah, do you talk with them about me?” Elation consumes me.

“Yes. And no, they are just concerned for me, you know the fire…I told them about Estella, being my distant relative. They were surprised I would stay with a complete stranger, family or not, but they trust my judgment. I said you were her artist friend visiting from out of town.” We both laugh at this but I can see she has more to say, “I told them about my dreams.” She says, her face squished up like I am going to maliciously come across the couch at her.
I can’t blame her; it has to be awkward to tell me and not Estella, “What are their thoughts on them?”

“They suggested that because of everything happening all at once, my brain is creating something for me to reflect it off of, but I honestly think it’s something else.”

I want to ask what her theory is, but I am apprehensive of it as well. I wait for her to gather her thoughts, which she is clearly doing. Her face is indifferent, “I haven’t had them when Estella has been here.”

“No?” I ask, knowing what is about to transpire.

“No.” She simply says and there is an unspoken understanding between us, or so I feel there is.

She changes the subject back to Molly’s show, “So it’s not black tie or anything, but whatever you wore to the presentation should be fine.”

“Understood, what time shall I pick you all up?”

“You can come at your normal time, dusk. The show starts at eight, but I need to be there a little early to settle Henri at Molly’s. Is that okay?” She asks and I simply nod. “Will you explain things to Estella? Tomorrow night she is supposed to come over…” I cut her off.

“Estella has been retained at the club this week; she sends her regards and please know, that she is very disappointed about this.”

“Oh…okay. So I guess it’s just you and me this week then?” She smiles and rises from the couch before padding into the kitchen to prepare a cup of coffee. She is in mid pour when she stops, “How did you get to the States? Swim? Do you swim?”

It’s an out of the blue inquiry and theory but I don’t mind, “Well you know I came to New Orleans after World War two,” She nods. “I placed myself with the 141st Field Artillery Battalion upon their return to the U.S.” I can see other inquiries swarming within her, “Let’s just say deceased Private LeBeau and I became well acquainted. Once they unloaded the coffins, I waited, patiently, until we were unattended at nightfall.” She is engrossed, “And we do swim, but Europe to the States is long time to be underwater. Those days I was still feeding off humans.” I don’t know why I threw that last bit in, but I feel it’s relevant.

The remainder of the evening is relatively solemn, Babet excuses herself to bed not long after our conversation and I sit stationary, senses open for anything to transpire. I leave the quiet townhouse for my haven just before dawn.
When I arrive at Audubon the next evening, I am dressed rather well if I may say so myself but I hear muffled arguing inside. Two almost shrill voices are battling back and forth. I close in on the door and I hear Scarlet defending herself to her mother, “I’m sorry, she insisted!” I carefully enter.

The mother and daughter instantly stop when they see the door opening; I crane my head through the crack, “Hello?” I say and slowly push the door.

“Hey Cian.” Babet seems exhausted and when I look over at Scarlet she rolls her eyes.

“Everything okay?” I ask wishing I had an emotional shield.

Babet is taking deep breaths and her emotions are so off kilter I am having trouble not shaking her right, “I let Scarlet go to school today, because Monica misses her there,” Babet herself mimics her daughter’s eye roll. “So the reunion must have been a happy one. They were wound up all day which, I guess they thought was a good idea, and proceeded to scream the word ‘penis’ down the hallway at the top of their lungs. That is, until the assistant principle caught up to them and sent them to the office.”
I can’t help but smile to myself, teenagers. But Babet isn’t finished, “This is not what I am pissed about though, Monica’s mother insisted..?” She looks over at Scarlet who isn’t happy about this exchange being in front of me. “…insisted on coming over to apologize for Monica being a bad influence on Scarlet. Please! You two influence each other.” This last statement directed at Scarlet. “Here’s the kicker, Scarlet gave her the address! She’s on her way over, I can’t talk her out of it….hell, I could hear the GPS in the background!” Babet is officially livid.

“Calm down now, we can work this out. How far away is she?”

“Less than six miles.” She says to me and then turns back to Scarlet, “You’ve really put me in a bad spot Scar. You know tonight is Molly’s show.”

That it is, and the two girls are dressed beautifully. Estella really is lucky to have Thessaly at her disposal. Thessaly I don’t worry about, she is originally from Rome, when Rome was Rome. She has resided here since before that little man who wore a funny hat and liked to stick his hand in the front of his jacket arrived.

Scarlet stands with her arms crossed over a white a-line dress with black flower print and matching cardigan sweater. In true teenage fashion she is rebelling with her feet, they are encased in a pair of short boots with spikes on the back.

Babet is a vision in a black fitted draped sleeve dress that hits her six inches above the knee; she has paired it with a pair of red strapped heels that are adorned with nude colored buckles and studs. Her hair is down and flowing in big curls and the black liner is accentuating the green hue of her eyes.

I am pulled from her lustrous aura by the sound of Henri playing in the other room, “And what is the little man wearing this evening?” I say passing through the standoff to see him. He’s sitting on the floor in a white linen bubble romper; he is even enduring a little white sailor hat.

His red and blue cars have become planes since he is waving them around the air. He stops and sees me, “Cian!” He squeals.

“Henri.” And I hear the ‘R’ roll perfectly; he laughs at this. I repeat, he laughs again.

We all become silent when there is a rapping on the door and the silhouette of two people.

“It’s Monica,” Scarlet darts for the door, “Hey, come in!” The two girls hug and I can recall that feeling long ago, best friends.

Babet crests the door frame to invite Monica’s mother in, “Hey Monique, you really didn’t…”

But Monica’s mother cuts Babet off.“Yes Babe, because this girl…” she says pointing at Monica, “…needs to stop influencing Scarlet to be wild like her.”

Monique is a no-nonsense African American mother. She has smooth caramel skin and dark hazel eyes. Her hair is shoulder length and looks like black ribbons that have been curled into ringlets. Her daughter has the same caramel skin but her hair is more relaxed hanging down her back, and is a sandy honey blonde color.
During the exchange I am unseen by the new arrivals, but it doesn’t take long until I am found out. Monique walks through to the room where Henri and I are, I nearly scare her to death, “Oh, My God! You scared me half to death,” She says clutching her chest and laughing after the initial shock, “Bon Jour Henri!” She sees the little boy playing, but he pays her no mind. I smile when she realizes this and then looks to Babet for introductions.

Babet quickly comes to my rescue standing beside Monique, “Monique, this is Cian. He’s a friend of mine from Scotland, he is an artist also.”

I offer my respects and bow instead of my cold hand, “Pleasure to meet you,” I say to Monique, I then look over to Monica who is observing with Scarlet, “And your daughter.” I return my attention to Henri who is smiling up at me. I minimally return the gesture, but in my peripheral I can see Monique nudge Babet and being as I am what I am, I hear distinctively what Monique thinks Babet should do with me.

I am shocked by Babet’s whispered response to Monique’s suggestion, “He’s gay.” Ouch.

“Shame.” Monique can’t stop eyeing me.
There is a pregnant pause and I can feel an awkward wave blow through each female in the room, I simply keep my attentions on Henri. After all its him and me in this estrogen fest.

“Well, I appreciate you coming by, but I have nothing but love for Monica, and Scarlet is just as responsible for her own actions.” The mothers are staring intently at their daughters, “But we are heading out the door, Molly’s show is tonight and it’s almost seven o’clock.” Babet is gracious but direct.

“Oh, of course. Cian, it was extremely nice to meet you.” I bow again, “Come on Monica, let’s go.”

Scarlet and Monica hug again and say their good-byes. The door closes behind and Babet mouths the words, “I’m sorry.” I shrug it off and we leave Audubon for Molly’s loft.

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Revelations of Cian

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t he be falsifying the documentation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?” I mirror her.

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

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

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

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

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

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