Villere House (Blood of My Blood) (9 page)

His thumb brushed the top of her hand in a caress so gentle, yet so mesmerizing, she wanted to close her eyes and just disappear into it.

The thought alone should make her pull away. She didn't.

"Shall I escort Monsieur—Oh!"

Immediately releasing each other's hand, they both turned, startled, toward the door. Rosette stood in the opening, a tiny grin on her full lips.

Straightening, she cleared her throat. "I'll go..."

"No," Élise interjected. "That won't be necessary. Yes, you may escort Monsieur Villere out."

"Are you certain?"

Élise gave her a warning look and though she tried to be subtle, she knew she probably failed miserably. Laurent was enough of a gentleman he did not mention it when she turned back to him, and his neutral expression told her he was even more of a gentleman.

"Again, thank you so much for the house-call, Monsieur Villere. Please accept my sincerest appreciation."

"It was my honor," he said with a bow. He turned to Rosette. "I am ready to take my leave."

"If you will follow me, sir." The words were proper, but her expression was anything but.

Élise's hard stare followed her until she disappeared from view.

Once they were gone, every ounce of tension held in her body abruptly fled. Her knees sank and she braced against the armoire.

The energy buzzing through her body...she hadn't reacted that way to the touch of a man in ages. Or perhaps never. She had loved Nathanael deeply, but their affair was not a passionate one.

Shaking it off, she went to the bed and knelt over Amélie. This was hardly the time to be entertaining such thoughts about a man she barely knew. Even one as kind, handsome, and gentle as Laurent Villere.

Tentatively, she placed a hand on her daughter's forehead. She felt...cooler. Her skin still warm but no longer scalding. Was it possible? Had her fever broken?

"Oh Madame, I am so sorry I interrupted."

Élise straightened stiffly and turned. "You interrupted nothing."

Rosette gave her a coy glance.

"You forget yourself," Élise said sternly. But she couldn't keep up the act and broke into a smile. "Amélie's fever may have broken!"

Rosette joined her at the bed. After testing the child's temperature, she concurred.

"I don't want to be so presumptuous to get ahead of myself, but I pray, I hope..." Élise cleared her throat and took the servant's hands. Looking the woman straight in the eyes she added, "Thank you for fetching Monsieur Villere. I think he may be just what we needed."

Rosette's coy smile returned. "I don't doubt that for one second."

CHAPTER NINE

T
here was no denying the daylight when Lottie woke up later that morning. The darkest light canceling drapes couldn't hide the bright rays of sunlight streaming into the room.

Her head felt heavy and ached dully, like someone had squeezed Play-Doh into her ears while she slept and was now pounding it with a rubber mallet.

Those were some drugs Amanda kept in her arsenal. She was pretty sure they could knock out a horse. She made a mental note to take half a pill next time. If there needed to be a next time.

With jelly arms, she pushed herself into an upright position and tried to focus on something other than the slush between her ears. Amanda wasn't in the room, she could start with that. Of course, that didn't mean much. It could be nine a.m. or it could be two p.m. or noon the following day and she'd just slept really long and Amanda had hooked up with someone.

Flopping onto her elbow, she squinted to get a good look at the alarm clock. It read One-fifteen. It wasn't the worst scenario. So she'd slept—like a corpse—through the morning. At least Villere House would be open and hopefully Xavier would be there. With everything she'd learned during the hours spent unconscious, she needed to get to him more than ever.

She now knew for sure that neither Élise nor Laurent were her enemies. She still didn't know what the ghost wanted or needed from her, but she sure as hell knew where to start looking.

Shoving the comforter aside, she staggered out of bed and to the bathroom, quickly splashing cold water on her face and brushing her teeth, still wary of letting the water run too long. Removing the funk from her mouth and shocking her skin with frigid liquid eased her pill-induced fog a little. The rest of the urgency to get to Villere House as soon as possible came from somewhere deep in her gut. The answers she sought would be found there, she was sure of it.

Why she was so driven to find those answers…well, that wasn't a question she could answer. They were leaving tomorrow and she was pretty sure the weird dreams she'd been having would stay behind in New Orleans. In fact, in twenty-four hours she'd be well on her way back to Kirksville. She could leave all of this weirdness behind her.

The thought made her physically sick.

And filled her with an even stronger need to get to Villere House. Now.

With a new sense of urgency and a slightly clearer head, she threw on clean undies, a fresh tank, and a pair of shorts that were just a hair too short. Flip-flops rounded out her outfit. Grabbing her small, over the shoulder purse, she shoved through the door, crossing the courtyard before the door had a chance to close.

Even though she couldn't begin to describe where the Voodoo shop was, she didn't have to pull up the map once. Without thinking, without hesitation, she marched straight there and into the store.

Sitting on a tall stool behind the counter and ringing up a customer, Xavier stood up the moment he saw her.

"I have to talk to you."

"Sure." Without taking his eyes off her, he ripped the receipt from the credit card machine and handed it and a pen to the waiting woman.

It seemed to take her an eon to sign the receipt and hand it back to him.

"Thanks for coming in." His eyes flicked briefly to the woman to pass over her purchase before returning his gaze to Lottie.

She should have felt nervous under his stare but she only felt impatient. Ready for this woman to leave so she could have his undivided attention.

He followed the woman as she left the store, locking the door behind her. "What's going on?" he asked as he turned.

Okay, now she felt nervous. She may have wanted his full attention but now that there was no chance of an interruption, no chance of a distraction, her heart fluttered erratically.

"Laurent Villere," she blurted.

His brow furrowed. "My great…grandfather. What about him?"

"Remember I told you I was having weird dreams, dreams about people and things I shouldn't know about?"

"Yeah."

"Well I dreamed about Laurent."

"You've been in the store. You went on a Voodoo tour..."

"And he was never mentioned! I only know the name because in my dreams he was called on to heal Amélie." He raised an eyebrow. "Élise Cantrelle's sick daughter." The eyebrow went higher.

The desire to tell him everything suddenly became more urgent, the desire to have him understand sheer desperation. Before she'd thought she was crazy and didn't care if he shared that sentiment. Now though, she knew she wasn't crazy. She was haunted.

She didn't dare look at him as it gushed from her like a waterfall. Everything. From Élise being spooked by Sanite Villere and running into Laurent on the street, to the long night of relentless vomiting poor Amélie endured as a result of the calomel, to the horrible doctor and the bloodletting, to Laurent coming and hopefully saving the day. She even told him about hearing her name called while showering, and seeing Élise on the sidewalk, following her to the cemetery and almost being killed, to cutting herself at the grave. When she finished, out of breath and feeling like she'd been fleeing a pack of wolves, she was finally able to look at him.

His expression looked purposefully neutral, like he was trying desperately to keep the judgment from his face.

She felt strangely defeated. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"I don't know."

"I'm not making it up."

"I didn't think you were. I just don't know that it's what you think it is."

"What else could it be?"

He shook his head, perplexed.

"I can describe him. Laurent. Even if I were imagining the rest, I know his face. He's tall, like you. Same dark eyes. Skin's a little darker. A more Native American nose, strong jaw, fuller lips. His hair is black, wavy, styled kind-of Romanesque." She saw the recognition flash in his eyes. "How would I know these things? It's not like he's in the history books, or there's a portrait of him hanging around."

He pursed his lips.

"There is a portrait! So you know I've described him perfectly!"

"Yes, but..."

"But what?" She needed him to believe her. As much as she needed to breathe, she needed him on her side. "Okay what about Élise Cantrelle? How would I know her? How would I know the vampire bar used to be her home? How would I know what she looked like? Blond, with curly hair, kind-of like mine—"

Oh God, why hadn't she thought of it before? Could that be why Élise was haunting her?

She stared at Xavier. "Do you think we're related? Élise and I?"

"Possible. Don't you know?"

"I have no idea. I don't know anything about my family." It was a fact she was painfully aware of, but saying it aloud made her sad.

"Isn't there someone you can ask?"

She shook her head. "My parents both died when I was fifteen. And they were both only children, like me. My grandparents have all been dead for years. And as far as the State could figure out, there's no one else." She shook her head again.

"I'm sorry."

"It is what it is."

"Well, that sounds like a place to start then. Tulane has an extensive library. Even though I graduated last year, my student I.D. should still work. And if it doesn't, I have a friend who works there. We should be able to find out if you're related to Élise Cantrelle."

"You want to help me?"

"Of course."

"But if you don't believe me, why would you help me?"

"Because this is obviously important to you, and I can tell it's upsetting. Anything I can do to help you find the answers you're looking for, I'll do."

~

"Okay, let's start at the beginning. Élise..."

"Cantrelle," she finished. "She would have lived at the vampire bar. On St. Philip." Because there might be another vampire bar…

"Year?"

"Early 19th century. The clothing is very Pride and Prejudice."

He smiled. "Okay, let me see if there's a Jane Austen setting..."

"Oh, they'd just built the Presbyterian church on St. Charles."

"Well, that'd be—oh, here she is."

"Really?" Lottie leaned over his shoulder to peer at the computer screen, bracing her hand on his solid, rather well defined, trapezius muscle. Her hair was immediately in the way, flopping forward and grazing the keyboard. And probably in jeopardy of being obnoxiously in his face. She pushed it aside.

There, in scanned hand written scroll was her name: Élise Cantrelle. The document was some sort of tax form and she could clearly see the St. Philip address.

Head cocked to the side, Xavier was looking at her from the corners of his eyes. She couldn't quite read his expression, but God, she must totally be encroaching on his space.

"Sorry," she muttered, quickly backing away and removing her hand from his firm body.

He frowned and turned back to the screen. She decided to take a few steps back until she could no longer clearly see the computer, that way she wouldn't be tempted to get in his way. Not that she minded touching him or being close to him—quite the opposite—but he seemed a little annoyed by it.

"Okay, let's see what else we have..."

"Her husband was Nathanael," she said as he clicked away on the keyboard, pacing back and forth behind him. "He died of tuberculosis when she was pregnant with Amélie. Oh, she has three children—two boys and the little girl, Amélie. The boys are Jean-Michel and Matthieu. Amélie is three, Matthieu is six, and Jean-Michel is seven."

He glanced at her. "Were, you mean. They're dead now."

She stopped in her tracks. "Oh, right, of course." The idea of the children all dead made her heart ache. Of course they were dead, but she didn't like to think about it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

She forced a smile to replace the frown straining her lips. "I know. It's silly, but in my dreams they're very young. That's the only way I can envision them."

He studied her a few moments before returning his attention to the computer screen. He must think she was a real kook.

"Huh."

She didn't like the sound of that. "What's wrong?"

"Well, they're listed here as her children, but there no records of them after 1816, at least not in New Orleans."

"What does that mean?"

"They didn't get married, or buy a house, or own a business, or die for that matter, here."

"Where would they have gone?"

"You tell me."

"I don't know."

"Could they have moved?"

"I guess. Do you need that information?"

"It would help."

"Um…" She scanned through her memories—well, dreams—trying to find clues. There were none. On a whim, she suggested, "St. Louis?" It was where she'd been raised, and as far as she knew, her parents and grandparents.

She paced some more while he clicked away on the keyboard.

"St. Louis it is," he announced triumphantly. "Oh, that's horrible."

Not more bad news… "What?"

"Both Matthieu and Jean-Michel died in a house fire in 1820."

Her hand flew to her chest. "Oh my God. What about Amélie?"

"Let's see…" More clicks of the keyboard. "She apparently married in 1836 to Robert Dauger. They had one child, Gilles Dauger."

At that point the tracking seemed to get easier. A long line of only children and tragic accidents...the family tree never branched, leading straight to Lottie's mother and then, of course, to Lottie.

She stared unbelieving at the computer, her heritage laid out before her. In many ways it was so disturbing to see such a direct path with absolutely no branches. How was that possible? How was it possible for her to be Élise's only descendant. Two hundred years and there was only her.

Xavier seemed at a loss for words as well. "Huh," was all he could utter.

"It's weird, right?"

"You could say that. You've had a rather unlucky family."

"Cursed is more like it. You know my parents died in a freak car accident. Single car accident, middle of the day, no ice, no rain, nothing. Just my parent's car and a tree. It was blamed on alcohol even though the toxicology reports came back inconclusive—whatever that means. My dad would have never driven drunk. I'd just gotten my permit and he was forever lecturing me about the dangers of drinking and driving, or texting and driving, or even talking to passengers. Besides, they barely ever drank and it was like, one p.m. on a Tuesday."

"That must have been horrible."

"It was even worse when the State couldn't find any family to take me. I was placed with complete strangers. There's something about shared blood that makes you feel less...alone. At least you have
something
in common with them."

Her eyes drifted to the computer. That long line of tragedy after tragedy twisting along the screen like an undulating snake. When did it end? When had it begun? Nathanael Cantrelle?