Villere House (Blood of My Blood) (3 page)

Her muttering had become more urgent and pillows were now being tossed around the room.

"Do you need my help?" he asked.

"God, are you still here? You gotta go! Now!"

He held up his hands in surrender. "No worries. I've already left." The French doors closed behind him with a heavy
thunk
.

Heading for the store, he had to cross back through the room reserved for his grandmother's rituals and blessings and whatever else she did in there. A flash of light caught on the altar and he paused. It couldn't have come from his mother's candles; the closed doors were solid wood. Only a beaded curtain separated this room from the store, so maybe it came from there. Maybe…

He rarely paid the altars much attention. Since the altar of Sanite Villere was in the shop, he was forced to talk about it on a daily basis. This one though… He passed it a million times and barely looked at it, though he did like to toss trinkets into its offering basket from time-to-time.

The altar was for Laurent Villere, his great (times ten) grandfather. According to Grandmere, Laurent was an influential Houngan in his day. A successful businessman, he ran an apothecary shop out of this very house. Both he and his sister, Sanite, were the bastard children of Benoît Villere, a wealthy Frenchman in the business of importing fine goods from the West Indies, including sugar and slaves. Not all that uncommon in the early days in New Orleans, Laurent had been educated in Paris, and great grandfather (times eleven), Benoît, had even left them and their mother, a mixed woman of Choctaw and African descent, an inheritance when he died.

Xavier had heard the stories over and over as a kid. But he'd never really thought about the man behind them. He wasn't sure why he did now.

Pulling a few coins from his pocket, he placed them into the small basket below Laurent's portrait. "Hope that pleases you, Grandpere," he said with a smile. He didn't believe for a second that offering gifts to the spirits of dead ancestors strengthened them, but it was worth a chuckle. Grandmere, his mother, and he was pretty sure Julien, definitely believed it.

The image of a woman, running toward him with a beaming smile on her beautiful face, flashed in his mind. Tumbling emotions washed over him—a mixture of elation, love, and sadness.

He recognized the brief flash from a recurring dream he occasionally had. Why he thought of it now, he had no idea. Shaking it off, he pushed through the beaded curtains and into the store.

~

Lottie followed after the blond woman for several blocks. She was always just out of reach. Every time Lottie got closer, the woman would disappear from view, rounding the corner to another street. She would run full speed to keep from losing her, only to catch a glimpse of her back as she disappeared behind another building.

She felt like she was being pulled along. Not just by her curiosity, but by something external. Like a piece of fine silk thread was attached to her midsection and some master puppeteer was tugging it with just enough force she complied but not hard enough to break the thread.

It was hard to say how long she followed. The buildings and people and cars began to blur until all she saw was the sidewalk stretched out before her, and the woman. She was vaguely aware of sweat pooling on her forehead and dripping between her breasts, of her lungs rapidly expanding and contracting, of the muscles in her legs beginning to burn. All she could think about was following the woman. She had to get somewhere. She didn't know where, but she had to find it.

Abruptly, the sensation changed from pulling to pushing. Even more intense than before, she couldn't ignore it as it shoved her feet forward. A voice inside her mind screeched at her to stop, but the destination was just ahead, just within reach, and all she could do was focus on the goal of getting there.

The blaring honk of a car horn followed by the rush of air as the quickly moving vehicle sped by, snapped her out of the trance. Startled, Lottie looked around and realized she was standing in the middle of a lane on an incredibly busy street.

A horn of another car, this time a large delivery truck, made her scramble back to the curb where she crumpled to her knees and clutched her chest like her hand might keep her heart from bursting through the bone.

She'd walked right into traffic! She could have been killed! She hadn't even seen the cars or registered the street. She'd been so focused on finding what could have easily been a figment of her imagination, she'd tuned out everything around her. It was like she'd been possessed.

The shrill ring of her phone brought her even further back into reality.

"Where the hell are you?" Amanda chirped through the headpiece. "I've sent you, like, five texts."

"Um…" Pushing to her feet, Lottie glanced down at her phone. Sure enough, there were five texts. She certainly hadn't heard the alerts. Glancing up and down the street, she didn't see a glimmer of the blond woman.

She took a breath to try and clear her head. "Heading back from the Voodoo shop," she lied. "What's up?"

"Just making sure you didn't get lost." She could tell by Amanda's tone she was joking and on her way to being completely inebriated. "And to see if you wouldn't mind picking up some beer or something on the way back. Drinks are a little spendy at the hotel bar."

"Sure." Would they notice if she brought non-alcoholic beer? Probably.

"Awesome! See you in a few!"

When the phone went dead and she moved to head back to the hotel, she suddenly realized she had no idea where she was. In fact, she had to pull up a map on her phone to figure it out.

God, what the hell was going on with her? The entire morning was this confusing, numb blur. Like she was still drunk and only remembering patchy details that didn't make any sense. Hell, maybe she
was
still drunk.

If she hadn't felt sober before, being nearly smooshed by a five-ton truck had a way of sobering up a girl. She was pretty sure she could recite the alphabet backwards while touching her nose while hopping on one foot down a straight line.

The only part of her morning that had made sense, that she might like to repeat, was meeting Xavier, the proprietor of the Voodoo shop. Maybe she should head back there...

And do what exactly?

She could pick up that book...

And then what? How did she explain running out of the shop?

Maybe it was best to simply go back to the hotel, meet up with Amanda and Sam, lounge in the pool. Maybe later they could hit up the tour...

She took another deep breath. That's exactly what she'd do. Hopefully, it would give her enough time to come back to earth.

CHAPTER THREE

W
ading in one corner of the pool, Sam was busily chatting up a couple of tan, freshly waxed guys. The twirl of her finger in her hair and the way she sipped the last little bit of her red frozen drink while keeping her focus firmly on guy number one as he spouted an animated story told Lottie that Sam probably wouldn't be staying in their room tonight.

With what looked like fresh drinks in hand, Amanda squeezed into the mix, sitting on the pool edge and dangling her feet into the water. She handed off one of the drinks—another frozen concoction—to Sam and then proceeded to drink the top third of her cocktail in one long slurp.

Standing across the pool from the foursome, six-pack of beer in hand, Lottie contemplated what to do. She wasn't sure she wanted to join what could easily turn into a make-out fest at any moment. The scene was all too familiar: Amanda and Sam drinking way too much and shacking up with the first cute guys they meet. Always the mom, it had Lottie worried. They didn’t know these guys from Adam, but by the look of things, it wouldn’t be long before Amanda and Sam would be getting to know them in the biblical sense.

Afraid this would happen, she had been skeptical about joining them on this trip and now it seemed the skepticism was justified.

Maybe if she slowly walked backward without making any sudden movements she could leave without being seen.

Not a chance.

"Lottie! Awesome, you're here!" Amanda enthusiastically waved her over.

She masked her grimace with a broad smile. Holding up the beer, she crossed the courtyard. "Hope you like Abita."

"If it's beer I like it!" guy number two exclaimed with a laugh. It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes.

She handed the beer to Amanda's outstretched hand. She set it down and the men immediately went for bottles.

"Thanks for picking this up," guy number one said.

"No problem."

"Hey, put your suit on and join us."

"Yeah," Sam chimed in. "Let's get this party started!"

From what Lottie saw, it already was.

Ignoring the little nagging voice in her head that warned of alcohol poisoning and chastised her for day drinking, she ducked into their suite and quickly slipped on her swimsuit.

She knew why she hesitated joining the others, why she was so wary of drinking too much, or losing control. After all, she'd watched her foster siblings struggle with drug and alcohol dependence, and she understood why it was such an easy vice for them, and her, to fall into. One drink to numb the pain. Two drinks to feel less alone. Three drinks to fit in with the crowd. Four drinks to disappear into another reality. She could easily follow that path. She nearly had.

But she also knew her wariness was keeping her an outsider. That judging her peers for being normal twenty-two-year-olds kept her alone. She remembered that when she took a beer from guy number one and sat next to Amanda on the pool edge.

Introductions were made and Lottie learned that Rick (guy number one) and Steve (guy number two) were from San Diego State University. It was fitting given their surfer good looks. They were nothing but nice to her and even though the conversation was interlaced with plenty of high-fives and drunken battle calls, she had to admit her initial assessment of them was harsh. Her initial assessment of a lot of people was harsh.

She tried to push everything out of her brain—the weird dreams, the weird portrait at the Voodoo shop, and the really weird part where she nearly killed herself rushing into traffic—and focus on being a normal college student on spring break in New Orleans.

Before registering it, she'd quickly downed the beer in her hand. Amanda cheered when she set the empty bottle aside. And when she grabbed another beer from the now two-pack, even Sam smiled. It was so strange how they placed so much emphasis on everyone being at a similar level of drunkenness. No one wanted to be the drunkest person there, she supposed. She
was
feeling less uptight and relaxed already. Slippery slope indeed.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Sam said to her before tuning to the rest of the group. "You guys want shots?"

A few hours later her head was swimming in a fuzzy sea. Sam was making out with Rick, her back pressed against the pool wall, legs wrapped around his waist. From the close way they were talking, it wouldn't be long before Amanda and Steve followed suit.

Lottie stumbled to their room to pee and probably, possibly, definitely, lie down for a little bit. A full afternoon of sun and a few too many cocktails and she was zapped. She had a fleeting thought of giving up the back bedroom so Amanda and Sam could shack up in there if they wanted, but the promise of a soft bed out of the heat and afternoon sun quickly pushed it away. Besides the bedroom, there was also a loft and a couch in the hotel suite. She was pretty sure they'd manage.

After emptying her bladder she decided to refill it with a huge glass of water. And then another. The cool liquid felt so good sliding down her throat, she splashed some on her face and then through her hair. And
that
water felt so good on her chlorine-coated skin, she decided a shower was in order. It was like she had a layer of pool crust on her skin. Not something she wanted to share with the sheets.

The water started out cool, but once the temperature of her skin dropped a few degrees she was actually cold and turned up the heat until steam rolled through the room. She made a half-ass attempt to lather up and mush some conditioner through her hair but mostly she just leaned against the shower wall and let the water help sober her up.

"Charlotte," a whisper, a trickle, murmured. Barely audible, she ignored it.

"Charlotte."

Her eyes cracked open as the sound merged with the spray of her shower. That was definitely her name but she couldn't tell where it was coming from. It seemed to be a part of the falling water itself. She still wasn't sure she'd actually heard anything but falling water.

"Charlotte."

The words were louder this time. They seemed to start at the showerhead and end at the tub drain. She perked up her ears, listening for sounds of someone moving about in the room. There was nothing—only the patter of water on porcelain.

"Charlotte."

She definitely heard that. A woman's voice. It still sounded like it was coming from the water.

"Amanda? Sam?" she called into the room, pushing off the wall. "Are you guys out there?"

No one answered.

Maybe she really was imagining it. Like when you're worried about missing your alarm clock and being late for something important and in your half-awake state you keep hearing the alarm go off even though there's an hour before you have to get up. This was like that.

"Charlotte." The words were said right into her ear, as clear as day, as though someone was standing next to her.

She screamed and spun around. There was nothing there.

She slammed the shower off—just in case the voice actually
was
coming from the water.

Liquid dripping from her body, heart racing, she stood frozen in place, too scared to move. Straining, she listened for the voice. All she heard was the roaring of air as it heaved in and out of her lungs.

The welcome silence was broken by the even more welcome sound of Amanda, Sam, Rick, and Steve crashing into the room. Laughter followed the sound of something falling on the floor.

She was finally able to move. She was going crazy. That's all there was to it.

After toweling off, she slipped into a tank and shorts and joined the others.

"Lottie!" Amanda slurred, holding up a fresh Daiquiri.

She sat on the arm of the sofa. "What's up?"

"Where have you been? We were looking everywhere for you." The glassiness to Amanda's eyes told her it didn't matter what she said, the words would fall on uncomprehending ears.

"Just taking a shower," she said anyway. "Hey, I'm going to crash in the back room. Is that okay with you?"

Sam and Rick had already disappeared into the loft and Amanda just stared at her as she swayed unsteadily on her feet.

Lottie rose. "Okay, cool." She wasn't keen on being alone but she had a feeling things were going to get naked quick and she'd rather not be there when they did.

"Hey." Steve grabbed her arms as she turned to leave. "Why don't you join us?"

She gently pulled her arm from his grasp. "Naw. I'm beat. You guys have fun though." To avoid being grabbed again, she darted into the back bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Once alone in the room she began to feel uneasy. Like an eight-year-old, she checked under the bed first, then the closet, and finally the bathroom. Just like before the room was empty. In her drunken state, she must have imagined it.

And the woman on the street? And the staring eyes in the painting? And the über realistic dream?

Lottie sat on the bed and drew her knees to her chest. What was happening to her? And why? It didn't make sense.

Maybe she'd been drugged. Maybe someone slipped her something last night and the effects hadn't worn off yet. It had to be something like that. Nothing else made sense.

Or she was so tired she was hallucinating. She'd only gotten maybe four hours of sleep the night before.

The sounds of sex drifted in from the other room just as a huge yawn stretched her jaws wide. A nap was exactly what she needed, not only to sober her up, but also to erase the fatigue coursing through her bones. Thankfully, she had earplugs.

~

"Rosette!" Élise called as she stepped into the mudroom, carefully shedding her coat and the water collected on it. "I have the calomel. How is Amélie?"

The servant hustled into the room, quickly taking her coat and bonnet. "She's sleeping now, Madame, but," Rosette looked over her shoulder, "you have a caller."

"Now?" Élise glanced around the small woman's frame. All she could make out was the kitchen and a corner of the sitting room. "Who is it?"

Of all the times to receive a caller… The bottom three inches of her dress was soaked, her boots tracked wet footprints, and she hated to imagine what her hair looked like. With all the humidity, probably a mess of unruly curls.

"The American."

"Henry?" The question was mostly rhetoric. She only knew one American who would be calling on her, especially in this weather. Not that she knew that many Americans. Few mingled with French Creole society and most seemed to look upon her culture with disdain, something she could not understand.

Rosette nodded, a grin spreading on her round face. "Second time this week. I believe he's taken with you."

"Perhaps." Élise hadn't decided whether that was good news or not. As a widow—even one with a degree of financial security—without a means of support, her position was still somewhat precarious. Henry seemed to have a pleasant demeanor and he was certainly wealthy enough to offer her and her children all the security they could ever want. But not only did she not feel
that
way for him, he was a Protestant.

She might be able to overlook their religious differences if she could find a hint of love for him in her heart, but she couldn't. Not yet. And though she felt selfish for admitting it, she rather liked the freedom she currently enjoyed.

Still, she wasn't ready to dismiss his affection just yet, and she couldn't be rude by turning him away, so she made an attempt to smooth her hair and her dress with the palms of her hands and with a smile to Rosette, joined him in the sitting room.

"
Henry
," she greeted warmly, trying her best to use the English pronunciation.

Standing by the fire, he immediately turned to greet her, stopping feet from where she stood. She curtseyed and he bowed.

"
What do I…owe…the…pleasure of your…visit
?" Her English was halting to say the least, and she spoke very little of it. Most Creoles she knew wouldn't even attempt to learn the language, but she knew it would someday be necessary. More and more Americans were coming to the city every day. This arrangement wasn't temporary as her people hoped. The Americans were here to stay.

"I came to personally invite you to a dinner. At my home," Henry replied in French. His French was much better than her English and she was grateful he chose to speak it. English was such a rough language on her tongue. "At my new home," he continued, holding out a sealed envelope.

"Merci," she said, taking the envelope. It was lovely paper, the grain so fine she could barely see it and bleached to a bright white with Henry's family seal prominently displayed in the red wax. "So your new home is finished?" The Americans, at least the wealthy ones, were building beautiful, large homes up river, including a massive Protestant church on the riverside corner of Canal and Bourbon.

"It is. The furnishings were delivered yesterday."

His smile revealed teeth that were beginning to yellow from too much tobacco. It really didn't detract much from his rugged, sun-worn good looks. But the way it made Élise cringe at the thought of his mouth anywhere near hers in an intimate way was a bold reminder she had no desire for him in her heart.