Wicked Love

by Michelle Dare

  “Oh, I can’t pay for first—”

  Trudy throws her finger up. “Shut up. You know you’re not paying for shit on this trip. It’s my treat.”

  “Trudy, you know I can’t let you do that.”

  Marie hands us the tickets. “Don’t worry, ladies, there was no charge for first class. My treat.” She winks. “I appreciate your livelihood and think this is just the place for your cleansing and recreational needs.”

  Trudy and I both lean over, examining the tickets. “New Orleans?” we reply in unison.

  “Ahhh yes, music, cuisine, and vibrant nightlife—not to mention, spirits and voodoo magic. You’re looking to free those demons and cleanse your soul—that’s the place.” She prints out another set of boarding passes and hands them to us. Her attention turns to me, her eye contact striking, as if she can sense what I feel. “When you’re there, visit Erzulies Voodoo Lounge in the French Quarter. Head all the way to the back and ask for Tituba. She’ll fix you up.”

  Tituba? What kind of name is that? Before I can ask, Trudy pulls us away and Marie is onto the next customer.

  “That was kind of strange, don’t you think? Did you see the way she looked at me?”

  “No. She seemed fine. And who are we to complain? She just hooked us up with free first class!”

  While she drags me through security, a weird pull draws my attention back to Marie. Through the thick crowd of travelers, our eyes collide. There’s a strange shift in the air, and it’s as if I can read her thoughts. Embrace the journey ahead.

  “Did you just hear that?” I ask, as if the woman is right in front of me.

  “Hear what?”

  “The lady. You didn’t just hear that? She said ‘embrace the journey ahead…’”

  Trudy stares at me confused, then rolls her eyes. “Girl, you need a drink. The second we get through security, we’re starting. The next twenty-four hours are going to be something you’ll never forget.”

  A buzzing sensation prickles at my nerves. I have a feeling there’s too much truth to her statement.

  We’ve only been in New Orleans for an hour, and I’ve been in awe since we deboarded the plane. During the short cab ride from our hotel, our driver goes on and on about the city’s beauty and things we must experience while we’re here. Live music plays from all corners of the street as we pass each historical block. The overwhelming scent of creole food causes my stomach to growl, and I almost ask the driver to stop when I see a corner shop dedicated to daiquiris.

  Even though the town is well known for their Fat Tuesday shenanigans, he informs us Halloween in New Orleans is second best to Mardi Gras. Being the city of the dead, tonight is said that the deceased chose this time to rise from their graves and dance and seduce the living.

  “If you’re feeling adventurous, visit one of the original spiritual practices. Voodoo is one of our specialties. If you believe, you can still sense the presence of the New Orleans voodoo queen.”

  Trudy and I look at each other, fighting off a laugh.

  “Wait…wasn’t she considered a witch? And didn’t she die like a billion years ago?” Trudy asks.

  “Ahhh…a non-believer. Some called her that. But she was praised for being a voodoo priestess. Her name is surrounded by both legend and lore. She died in the eighteenth century, but in New Orleans, death is just another portal. We’re all, in a sense, dead here. Marie Laveau’s presence is all over this town. Some claim they still see her spirit, that she still instills fear into her enemies and their bloodlines. She may have left this earth, but her magic is very much alive. Some say she cursed half the town and has an army of dead walking the French Quarter waiting to haunt the wicked and seduce the innocent.”

  Trudy’s eyes shine with skepticism, her lips curling into her famous “yeah right” smirk. “So, you’re saying while we’re here, ghosts will be trying to suck out our souls and flirt with us?” She laughs out loud, then pulls out her glittery red lip gloss and starts to apply it.

  “You are in New Orleans, child. Anything is possible.” He doesn’t say another word as we hit our destination. Jackson Square is where he suggested we start. It’s alive with tourists and party goers, some dressed in their normal attire, and some in extravagant Halloween costumes. I almost get whisked in the face by a large feather whip as I climb out of the cab. A magnificent old cathedral stands with such ancient beauty, and I lift my chin up to take in the entire building.

  “Wow, it’s beautiful.” I twist in circles as I take in all the statues. Local artists clutter the sidewalk, and a unique piece of art grabs my attention. The intricate artwork gravitates me toward it when Trudy grabs my hand, pulling me in the opposite direction.

  “We didn’t come here to dilly dally. First, beignets. We have to get a solid base. , Then we drink.”

  She pulls me across the street to a French market stand. “What is this place?”

  “Café Du mode—only one of the most popular places in New Orleans. Or so I read in the magazine on the plane. They sell these powdered donuts or something. Apparently, they are to die for,” she says, poking fun at the cab driver’s enthusiasm.

  After standing in line for an hour, we’re seated, a pile of French-style doughnuts covered in a mountain of powdered sugar in front of us. The first bite is heaven. The warm golden-brown delight melts in my mouth, covering my lips in white. The taste is like nothing I’ve ever experienced, a mix between a pastry and a donut. “Jesus, this is delicious,” I moan, powdered sugar falling all over my lap.

  “Like orgasmic good,” Trudy adds, inhaling another large bite. “What a strange driver. All that voodoo stuff. You weren’t falling for any of that, were you?” she asks, taking another bite.

  I shrug, indulging in my own doughnut, while his and the airline agent’s words echo inside my head.

  Haunt the wicked and seduce the innocent.

  Embrace the journey ahead.

  There’s this growing temptation in the shadows of my mind. I ignore any insecurities that try to surface. I’m here to set demons free—rid my heart of the damage James inflicted on my soul. And god knows, there’s a lot of wreckage to clean up. Will some silly voodoo heal me? Probably not, but what do I have to lose?

  “Uh oh, that look tells me you are believing in it.”

  My shoulders lift in a passive shrug. “I mean, why not? We’re in the land of the unknown, right? Maybe the voodoo queen will pick me and make all my wishes come true.” I wiggle my brows.

  Mischief swims in Trudy’s heavy-set brown eyes. Her lips break out into a grin. “Okay, I like where you’re going with this. I’ll bite. Let’s go get you some black magic and rid you of that ex of yours. But first, those gigantic daiquiris.”

  5

  I wake with a jolt. My head pops up from the table, and I’m dizzy with confusion. How did my head get on the… I only blinked… How could I have fallen asleep? I seek out the tarot reader across the table and realize she’s no longer there. I twist in my chair, scanning the room. Where the hell did she go? She was just in front of me! “Hello? Ma’am?” What the hell? I stand up and notice the candles are burnt down to the wick. Did she drug me? The goblet. I quickly reach into my back pocket where my money and ID are, afraid I’ve been robbed, but both are accounted for.

  Feeling disoriented, I push out my chair. A sudden chill skates across my arms. My hands brush down my skin to rid the layer of goosebumps, but it only intensifies the sensation along my flesh. I wrap my arms around my chest for warmth and hurry through the arched door, re-entering the busy shop.

  The aura in the small shop has shifted. Everything is more vibrant, louder.

  Laughter assaults my senses first, my hearing suddenly super sensitive. I cover my ears, searching the store for what’s causing the strange discomfort. Tourists zip up and down the aisles, leaving a trail of color in their paths. My eyes, unable to focus on one person, begin to blink rapidly. I don’t do drugs, but there’s no doubt there’s something in my system from th
at drink.

  I attempt to steady my breathing, but my heart is pounding out of control. I’ve barely moved, but I feel like I just ran a marathon. Voices and laughter grow louder, becoming painful to my ears, like a million tiny needles prickling inside my eardrums. My palms squeeze harder against the side of my face, my eyes forced to squint to see past all the too-vibrant customers in search of Trudy. Even if she’s still in the shop, I can’t stay in here.

  I tuck my chin to my chest and rush toward the exit. I don’t stop when my shoulder knocks a row of items off a shelf and burst through the door, in desperate need of fresh air. My foot hits the edge of the doorway, and I’m startled to realize it’s dark outside. Panic shoots through me at the missing time. I gasp for air, hurrying out. I forget about the two thin steps and plunge forward, trying to grab at anything to catch my fall. A shrilling scream tears up my throat as I prepare for the destruction of my face hitting the dirty pavement.

  But it never happens.

  Two strong hands catch my fall, wrapping around my waist. An enchanting cologne greets my nostrils as I’m steadied, my feet safely landing on the ground. My heart starts to patter against my chest, but for a whole other reason. I’m frozen in the arms of a man, an intoxicating mixture of ambrosia and spice stealing my attention. His palms grip at my waist, eliminating the chills, replacing them with a building heat. My savior pulls me to his chest, and instead of pulling away, I wrap my arms around his neck, allowing this stranger to hold me tighter. My entire body sparks to life. Time slows, while the world around me whips past, flashing rays of color in its path. Seconds feel like years before I fight through the fog of my mind to gather my bearings and realize the awkwardness of the situation. I attempt to pull away from him, but he doesn’t allow it. It’s not until I raise my eyes to his that I’m thankful he’s holding me so tight. The second our eyes collide, my legs give out.

  “Are you okay, mon cherie?”

  His smooth voice, laced with a French accent, reverberates inside my ears, calming the madness from earlier inside the shop. My eyes fall to his lips, waiting for him to speak again, desperate to feed off the rich, silky tones of his infectious drawl. I force a breath of air to fill my lungs. My head is beginning to clear. Whatever I ingested is hopefully starting to wane.

  “Um…yes. Sorry. I—I forgot about the steps.” My hands drop from around his neck, and I attempt to take a step back, but he makes it difficult when he hesitates to release me. Weirder part is, I hesitate to move.

  “Thank you for saving me,” I finish, needing the drugs inside me to pass, ashamed at my bizarre reaction to him. He doesn’t respond, and I’m okay with it. I wouldn’t hear him anyway. My odd behavior has me lost in his deep-set eyes. Relentlessly cold, yet riveting. Like polished armor, the silver in his irises, a shade I’ve never seen before. The way the dazzling colors of the festival lights flicker against the metal of his irises, he looks not only mysterious, but eerily attractive.

  I realize we’re standing in the middle of the busy sidewalk, still staring at one another. As much as I’d like to spend the rest of my trip ogling this hot French guy, I really need to sober up and find Trudy. “Well, I need to go…find my friend. She—”

  “Is your friend looking for you?”

  “Huh? Well, I think so. I was inside. And…I was in there a while and don’t know where she went.” She’s probably super pissed. How the hell was I in there so long?

  “Ahhh…she went to venture into the festival of the dead alone. Sounds as if your friend is looking for her own mystére.”

  I wouldn’t put it past Trudy to have already found someone to keep her company.

  “Yeah, that does sound like my friend. But we’re actually here for me.” I pull my phone out of my pocket, seeing I have a text from her.

  Trudy: Sorry I left. Met my future husband while waiting for your ass. Hopefully the voodoo lady spelled you up a hot guy! Meet you back at the room later. Muah!

  I sigh.

  So much for girls’ weekend. I reply, telling her to have fun and I’ll see her later.

  “Am I correct?”

  I peer up at my hot French hero. His hair, thick and as dark as the night, causes my fingers to tingle, curious how soft it would feel if I thrust my fingers through it, gave it a good tug— Okay, so maybe the drugs are still inside me.

  “Yeah, something like that,” I reply, shaking off the tingles shooting down my spine. Why the hell is my body having such a strange reaction to this man? As if I’ve never come into contact with a good-looking guy before. Maybe it’s because he’s stunning, breathtaking, panty-dropping hot. God, he is hot. Those lips. Those eyes. Every inch of solid muscle, down to the one in his pants. Gah!

  I force myself to take another step back.

  “It is settled.” His lips curl into a thoughtful smile. “You shall let me escort you around. ’Tis not safe for such a belle femme at night. The wicked will feed off your flawlessness. You’ll be in better hands with me.”

  Shock registers across my face. “You want me?” Okay, maybe he’s the one on drugs. “Yeah, sure. Probably to drug me and steal my organs. Sorry, no thanks.” I laugh at myself. “Especially not with a stranger.”

  His hand cups his chest. “It wounds me you consider me a stranger. Falling into my arms, fate would consider us meeting like this destiny.”

  “Yeah and crazy. Because I don’t even know you…”

  I don’t even see him move. It’s as if the universe tilts and he just slides closer to me, leaving a mere hairsbreadth between us. “Let’s change that.” He sticks his hand out. “Macareus.”

  Can his name sound any sexier? Add the French purr, and my panties threaten to melt off. I’m so lost in the way his name alone gets me worked up, I forget he’s waiting for me to return the gesture.

  “Sorry. Katie.” We shake hands, and there’s familiarity, as if this isn’t the first time we’re meeting. There’s no doubt he feels it too.

  His smoldering eyes have yet to leave mine. “There. No longer strangers. Come spend the night with me.”

  My eyes bug out, and I rip my hand away. “Whoa, I’m not like that—”

  “Not my bed, mon cherie.” He smirks at my misunderstanding. “Tonight—the festival. Let me be your tour guide and show you what New Orleans is all about. By nights end, this town will be anything but unfamiliar, and we will be anything but strangers.”

  I stare at him, waiting for him to fold—hope I decline so he can do his civic duty, say he offered, and be on his way. Probably to a modeling convention. But he continues to gaze back.

  “Oh, wait, you’re serious?” He actually wants to waste his night on someone boring like me? “I mean…are you sure? You look like someone who has way better things to do than keep me company.”

  “I think I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be this evening.”

  Poof! My panties just evaporated. Stranger be damned, he wins. I sigh in defeat. “All right, you win. I’ll agree to this crazy idea. But it’s your own fault if your night becomes a bore. I may not be the best company. You’ve been warned.”

  “If my intuition is correct, you are anything but. In New Orleans, it is impossible to be a bore. Too much to excite yourself with. Too much temptation. ’Tis why this town was deemed ‘the city care forgot.’ ’Tis a night to forget your troubles and be carefree.”

  A bubble forms up my throat, and I laugh at his comment. “Whatever you say. So, Mr. Tour Guide, what’s first on our agenda?” This may be a crazy idea, but I’d be lying if I’m not getting excited over where the night is about to take me.

  “Well, from the flushness of your cheeks, I say you are parched and in dire need of a drink. Shall we start there?”

  A drink sounds fantastic. “I think that sounds great. But I buy my own drinks. I’ve had a bad experience with taking drinks from others.”

  “Fair enough. Shall we?” He extends his hand out once again, and I accept, our fingers threading together perfectly. He begins
to walk us down Bourbon Street, the sea of people making a path for us as we pass. Even the on-goers sense how powerful this man is, moving at his presence alone.

  “So, mon cherie, tell me what brings you to the city of the dead?”

  “Oh, you know, just scoping out a place to hide for the next twenty to thirty years.” His brows raise. “I’m kidding. It’s supposed to be a girls’ trip to forget about my troubles at home. You know, the typical broken heart, bank account, and urge to commit murder, hoping New Orleans will make it all go away.”

  He doesn’t seem to pick up on my humor, even though there’s ninety-nine percent truth to my statement. “What about you? What do you do besides rescue helpless tourists?”

  “I scour the streets of New Orleans, stalk helpless women, lure them into the night, and suck out their souls.” I stumble at his reply. His laugh comes out deep and husky. “I kid as well. I am what you would call a venture capitalist. I’ve lived here for many years, so I help manage the townspeople and their businesses. An entrepreneur, as you say.”

  “Hmmm…sounds fancy and important. Are you actually good at it?” I smirk, finding myself more at ease with him. I agreed with him earlier when he blamed my flushed cheeks on being thirsty, but it was way more that caused the heat to color my cheeks. Not to mention the way the butterflies are twirling inside my belly.

  He squeezes my hand, the corner of his lip curving into a mischievous smile. “I’ve been doing this job for a very long time, so I’d say so.”

  Stealing another peek, I can’t imagine him being any older than mid-thirties. “Oh yeah? How long? You don’t seem that old.”

  He cocks his head my way. His eyes, like smoldering metal, send a weird tingle down to my toes. “Oh, is that a compliment?” I shrug, feigning nonchalance, even though my cheeks have to be blazing crimson. “Wisdom has no age to someone born with centuries of astuteness. Don’t let my features deter you from my infinite knowledge.”