Villere House (Blood of My Blood) (6 page)

Kicking her feet over the side of the bed, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. The dreams weren't going to stop. She knew that now. They also weren't the result of too much alcohol because she'd gone to bed stone sober this time.

What did it all mean though? Was the ghost of Élise Cantrelle trying to tell her something? If so, why?

She felt crazy for even
thinking
she might be haunted
.

Crazy she could justify. Being haunted was a little tougher to swallow. It could be some grand delusion. A story her subconscious was creating to distract her from her real fears: graduating college and entering the daunting world of the working adult without a supportive family. All alone. Always alone.

She'd had more than a few psychology classes and that scenario was much more feasible than the ghost scenario.

The lights were on in the other room but the suite was quiet, telling her Amanda and Sam were still out.

Remembering she hadn't brushed her teeth or washed her face, she padded to the bathroom. The moment she flipped on the faucet to wash her hands the energy in the room changed.

Or so her imagination declared. It was probably the memory of the shower incident making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

As she rinsed the toothpaste from her mouth, her name garbled from the stream of water. Faint at first and easy to ignore. But as she lathered up a wash cloth it grew stronger.

"Charlotte," it whispered. "Charlotte."

Every muscle in her body clenched tight. This had to be some weird malfunction of her brain. She rapidly scrubbed her face.

"Charlotte." Louder, clearer this time.

Rinsing the suds from her skin, she closed her eyes.

Think about something else. Think about something else.

"Écoutez!"

With a scream, she twisted the water off with so much force her wrists hurt. Still clutching the knobs tight, she stood perfectly still. Listening. Panting. The only sound was the faint laughter of people partying in the courtyard. She listened for a good five minutes. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It was the shower all over again.

What was that last word? It was French, she knew that much. But she had no idea what it meant or if she'd even heard it correctly.

She stared at her image in the mirror. The woman greeting her was wide-eyed and shell-shocked, her hair a halo of messy blond curls. She barely recognized herself. She looked more like the woman in her dreams than the face she'd grown so accustomed to she barely saw it anymore.

Peeling her fingers from the faucet knobs, she slowly turned around, like any sudden move would bring the ghost back. Lottie swallowed. Hard.

Ghost… God, maybe she was going crazy.

She peered into the bedroom. The bedcover was a twisted, tousled heap, like someone had just finished a fantastic romp under the covers, but the room was otherwise undisturbed. And empty.

Tip-toeing through the bedroom, she approached the door to the sitting area with trepidation. Hand pressed against the jamb, heart thundering in her chest, she carefully inched forward until she could see into the room. The sofa pullout bed was still out, empty beer bottles and condom wrappers on the end table, but it too was empty.

It was a tense look around the second bathroom. Luckily the shower curtain was open so she wasn't subjected to the task of sliding it aside. Wasn't the shower where killers in movies often hid? Pulling back the curtain only revealed a masked man with a knife. Then the camera would pan to the bathroom mirror and blood would splatter across the glass.

She shuddered. Definitely a plus she was spared that.

The only place left where someone could be hiding was the upstairs loft.

Walking like she was trying to sneak out of the house while her parents slept, she crossed the room and climbed the stairs. Each step increased the pace of her heartbeat. By the time she reached the last step she felt like she'd just finished a marathon.

But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

In some ways she was relieved, but in other ways it just made the situation even freakier. Since it wasn't a flesh-and-bone person tormenting her, being alone didn't make her safe. If she couldn't see them, she couldn't hide from them.

She had to get out of there.

Even if she didn't feel like partying or entertaining drunk people on Bourbon, she had to find Sam and Amanda. She couldn't be alone. Not now.

Throwing on the first dress she pulled from her suitcase, she left her PJs on the floor. Her feet were barely in her sandals as she grabbed her purse and ran.

CHAPTER SIX

A
few texts later, a phone call, and a quick look around at least ten different bars and Lottie still hadn't found her friends. Nor had she heard from them. She was about to give up, and do what she wasn't sure. They might be back at the room, but she wasn't ready to go there, not yet, not while she trembled every time she thought of the place.

Maybe she should belly up to a bar and enjoy a club soda. The drunk watching would probably provide a suitable distraction. As long as she stayed near people, she felt like she'd be safe.

Just as she'd decided on a place that seemed to have the right vibe—enough people but not too busy—her phone buzzed.

We're at Molly's on the Market,
Amanda's text read.
Come out!

Using her phone to map a course, she didn't waste any time heading that way.

She hadn't traveled long on the recommended route before the streets became quiet. The faint sounds of activity surrounded her, but the street she walked on was void of life.

Quickening her steps, she pushed forward and tried to not think about anything but putting one foot in front of the other. It worked for about five minutes. Nose to phone, she followed the path mapped out with only the occasional glance to verify the GPS location matched the street signs. It was a perfect system for getting somewhere quickly and
blindly
until she looked up and knew exactly where she was, despite the fact that she'd never actually been there.

The colors of some of the buildings had changed, the street looked different, but she still recognized all the buildings. Especially one.

She approached it with caution. The front shutters were drawn tight and painted a different color, but she knew it as much as she knew her childhood home.

This was the house from her dreams. The home Élise Cantrelle lived in. Lottie remembered entering in through the back room, soaked from a rainy walk home and dripping water.

Frozen in place, she wasn't sure what to do next. Her phone said she only had a couple blocks before arriving at
Molly's
and the safety of her friends, but she couldn't seem to move. This house… this was
the
house, Élise's house. How could she leave that?

She stood there for a few minutes, staring at the façade. Three stories with balconies on the second and third story. A narrow alley lead to a small courtyard. She could see it from where she stood, but more than that, she
remembered
it. And in the back, a larger courtyard separated the main house from the barn and servant's quarters. She wasn't sure how she knew that, since it hadn't been in her dreams, but she did. Just as she could picture so many details of the historic home. The layout of the stairs, the kitchen, Amélie's bedroom… What did it look like now? Were there apartments inside? Was it still a single-family home? And who lived there?

Chin tucked, posture hunched, hands shoved into pockets, a man approached the building from the opposite direction. Even though his face was hidden, Lottie knew exactly who he was. She'd spent an hour staring at him.

It was the doctor from the emergency room.

And he walked right into the alley like he owned the place. Hell, maybe he did.

Having something more familiar, more tangible than her odd dreams to tie her to the house gave her the confidence she needed to follow him. She hadn't thought of an excuse for why she was there when she reached the door, but it didn't stop her from knocking—she'd figure something out.

But the knocking got her nowhere. She knocked again. Music seeped through the closed door, but it wasn't the type of music one would expect a doctor to be playing at three a.m. It was hard, heavy, industrial dance music. The type played at bars…

She tested the knob and surprisingly it turned. The music didn't lie; pushing the door open did actually reveal a bar.

It should have made her feel more comfortable stepping inside but it didn't. The room felt moody, dark, and dangerous. The lowered ceilings were painted as black as the nails, eyes, hair, and clothing of most of the patrons.

She had to be in some underground Goth bar. Ignoring the huge, muscled bartender's disapproving stare, she sat on the empty barstool next to the doctor. When she said his name he turned, wide-eyed and looking like he'd just been caught standing over a dead body and holding a smoking gun.

His mouth opened like he was going to speak but only a string of nonsensical gibberish came out. His eyes darted to the bartender and then back to her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to follow you."

"Ch-Ch-Charlotte. What… How…" His throat cleared. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. No more fences, I promise." She tried to offer a reassuring smile. Their roles were suddenly reversed and she couldn't imagine why he seemed so nervous. So he liked a little Gothic nightcap. Definitely not something to be ashamed of.

His pleading eyes darted back to the bartender, who nodded and disappeared behind velvet curtains.

"Did you follow me?"

"Sort of. Only inside. I came across this place because…" Now it was her turn to stutter. "I was just outside and saw you walk in. Do you know anything about this house?"

Shaking his head in tiny, jerking movements, he swallowed, and then cleared his throat. "No, but the owner…"

At that, a tall, very scary, very good-looking man approached them. His courteous but reserved smile revealed what looked like vampire teeth. Ones that looked very real and very sharp. "May I help you with something?"

Dr. Anderson immediately rose. "Sorry I can't stay, Charlotte…" He didn't bother to elaborate, quickly ducking out of the bar.

She stared after him. What happened at this place that had him so freaked? Was it a fetish club or something? It didn't matter. She really didn't care.

"You're the owner?" she asked, turning back to the man before her. He was huge, at least six-foot-four—like Xavier, she thought—and she had to crane her neck to look at him. Unlike Xavier, he did not seem eager to entertain her questions.

"Yes. Armand Laroque."

"You've owned the building for a while?"

"It's been in the Laroque family for centuries."

"Oh."

That couldn't be. This was the house, she knew it. Even with the changed décor and layout, she could envision the sitting area where a stage now sat. And the fireplace, now painted black, was exactly where she expected it to be. She could even see Henry standing beside it...

"I just... I've been having these dreams and I thought..." She rubbed her face wearily. "I think I'm going nuts."

She could feel his hazel eyes scrutinizing her. But she wasn't too worried about what a guy with vampire teeth thought of her. "You seem…frazzled. Perhaps we should go back to my office where it's a little quieter. I'd be happy to answer any questions you might have."

"Sure. Why not."

In spite of his menacing look, he didn't make her particularly nervous. A couple of her foster siblings routinely wore "fangs" and they were some of the nicest, coolest people she'd grown up with. A little angsty at times, but so were most foster kids. She certainly wasn't the exception.

It wasn't until the noise of the bar became muted behind thick velvet curtains that she realized if she was here because she truly believed a ghost was haunting her or she was having dreams of a past life, a real life vampire might not be that much of a stretch.

The room they walked through, a room she recognized as the original mudroom, was lined with stacked beer boxes and looked very similar to the backroom of the bar she worked at her freshman year. And the office at the opposite end was just that—a normal, mundane office.

She couldn't imagine a man like him shuffling paper, or answering the phone, or paying invoices...things this desk was obviously designed for. The desk contents might be meticulously stacked and arranged, but they were still normal desk items.

Maybe it was naïve of her to assume his attention to routine office details meant he couldn't possibly be what she thought he was, but she was going to go with it.

The vampire Armand—she snickered a little at that thought—sat behind the desk and invited her to sit opposite in a smooth leather chair. The arrangement was like the office of every psychologist, principle, counselor, or boss she'd ever met.

"Still feel like you're going crazy?"

"More so than ever."

His smile was faint. "What can I do for you Miss...?"

"Boyd. But just call me, Lottie. Um, well..." Now that she was in such a normal environment, away from the Gothic bar patrons, away from the too familiar New Orleans streets, the reason for her coming here seemed too ridiculous to utter.

"You mentioned dreams. Can I assume you're having dreams about my bar?"

"The whole house, really. But I must have been mistaken. The woman I've been dreaming of would have lived here in the early nineteenth century, but you said the house has been in your family for hundreds of years."

"Since shortly after the Battle of New Orleans."

She tried to date the fashion of the people in her dreams. It was very Pride and Prejudice. The timeframe could work out...

"Do you know who owned it before?"

Armand nodded.

"Élise—"

"Cantrelle," he finished for her.

She felt the blood drain from her face and drop into her feet. "Oh my God."

"Not who you were expecting?"

"Exactly who I was expecting." She stared at him with pleading eyes. "I couldn't have known that. I shouldn't have known it."

"The world is rarely what we expect. There are many things beyond...explanation."

With his half-cocked smile she caught a glimpse of his smooth, white fang. His expression was knowing, almost smug.

Oh shit.

She immediately began to back away, keeping her eyes firmly on him. If he moved, even an inch, she was going to bolt. "Thanks for your..." She bumped into the wall and made a quick correction so the open doorway was at her back. "...help. I, um, gotta go."

Leaving her pride and any rational thoughts behind, she turned on her heel and ran, the velvet curtains a brush of heavy silkiness as she shoved through them. Juking around the massive frame of the bartender, she sprinted out the door, down the narrow alleyway and right into Xavier Villere.

She screamed. She couldn't help it. It was like slow-motion movie madness. The noise built in her throat and erupted in all its blood-curdling greatness, in spite of her brain trying to shush it.

"Hey, hey, I got you. Easy." The soft way he spoke made him sound like he was soothing a spooked horse. And she definitely felt like she could neigh at any minute.

It worked...for the most part. With his strong hands firmly grasping her shoulders and his soothing baritone, she felt her heart slow to a quick jog instead of an all out sprint.

"Are you okay?"

Wasn't that the question of the week.

"Yes. No. God, I don't know. Everything is just so crazy." She tossed a quick, panicked glance over her shoulder. "I gotta get out of here. I don't know if that place is filled with vampires or not but I don't want to find out."

Releasing her from his grasp, Xavier peered over her head. "
La Luxure
? Yeah, it's definitely filled with vamps. They're harmless for the most part."

She missed the feel of his hands on her and was thankful when he took her elbow. "C'mon. I was just about to get a nightcap." He gestured toward the building behind him. "Why don't you join me."

It was her turn to look around him, though his broad shoulders made the task much more difficult. The place he indicated looked like a normal, Irish bar.

She caught his gaze. His deep brown eyes twinkled in the glow from the gas lamps. "Harmless vampires?"

He grinned. "Most of the time."

"Well if they're harmless..."

He started for the bar, gently guiding her. "No worries, they're allergic to Guinness."

"Like garlic?"

"Oh yeah."

They sat at the large wooden bar in the center of the room. Even though the place was busy, the bartender immediately came over to take their order. Beer for Xavier and a vodka/club soda for Lottie. The beer probably would have tasted better but the cocktail was easier to nurse.

It felt good to return to normalcy. The bar, the patrons, the cocktails, Xavier…it all felt natural and Lottie immediately relaxed.

"Better?"

She sighed. "For now."

"It isn't just
La Luxure
that has you so spooked, is it?"

"The vampire bar? No, but going in there certainly didn't help ease my nerves. ."

"It wasn't the tour, was it?" He snorted. "Don't let my brother's blow-hard stories get to you."

"I wish it were that simple." Arms propped onto the bar, she fell into her hands. "I think I'm going crazy. Scratch that. I am going crazy."