Love and Blood (Evening Bower Book 2)

by Sherry Rentschler

  “Several. That’s how Franklin learned to cook. When I was a boy, we had some culinary master who commanded three kitchens with a strict set of rules. I remember how good much of it was. Franklin learned from helping them and then when the Duke sent me away, Franklin came with me. Chief cook and bottle washer, as they say.”

  “Bless him. He loves you very much.”

  “And now he will give his all to our little man.”

  Destin gurgled his agreement on cue.

  “My little birdie,” Rhea whispered as she leaned over and peeked at her son.

  Am returned to his paper and Destin resumed his sleep. The fire popped and crackled spreading delicious warmth and filled the silence. Despite Rhea’s anxious glances at the mantelpiece, time moved the same as ever. She wasn’t sure whom she was more nervous about, Victoria or Cooke. Her wicked heartburn suggested Cooke, but her worry whispered Victoria.

  Am sat forward with fangs distended, a sure sign of agitation, which he confirmed when he smacked the paper. Rhea jerked suddenly alerted, and her eyes fired with orange flames.

  “I think I’ve found a rumored mysterious hot spot and it’s not Club Malachite. Did you know about a new “members only” club in town? Listen to this.” He read, “If you’re looking for a unique experience, ditch the DJ and the smoky glass and head to Canal Street by the water’s edge. You’ll have a bloody good time with cleared clientele to serve you. Opening soon!”

  Rhea frowned. “Wait. Is that a dig at Drahomira’s club? What does it mean by ‘cleared’?”

  Am tossed the paper aside and ran a hand over his face. He damped down his anger.

  “Do you know about the old vampire dens?”

  Rhea shook her head. “There were so many private clubs around the world, my darling, but I never dealt with any involving vampires. I knew several vampires, but because of my fire, they avoided me. Besides, when you know angels…” her voice drifted off, but Amor-el wasn’t listening.

  He said, “Centuries ago in Europe the older vampires looked for a more exclusive clientele who could guarantee a healthy blood supply, especially after so many plagues. Word came of a method developed in Asia, of feted and protected volunteers who served as healthy and constant blood donors. With this idea in mind, many aristocrats opened private brothels called dens. These clubs offered the clientele “pure” men and women from whom you could drink and know the blood wasn’t tainted. Often they branded volunteers, so they remained exclusive to one club. The brand prevented crossing club lines or working for more than one. And most of these branded individuals were from good enough stock that in time they could become vampires too. People volunteers came from working class up through royalty and included all sexes. The sires removed the brand when the volunteer made ready for the new awakening. The wound healed over as a scar once the donor agreed to the vampire change. All very civilized and controlled.”

  “Sounds barbaric. Though given Europe’s rather gruesome history, I guess I am not surprised. And yet it is oddly civilized for vampires of the day,” Rhea mused.

  “But given the times, it ensured health to both giver and taker. Because only the finest among my kind were allowed entry. No killing. No exceptions. Now it seems we have a den about to open here.” Am paced back and forth by the fire. “To my knowledge and based on my travels, such places have never been common in the states, so I wonder who we will be welcoming to our town?”

  “And just like that, my anxiety is back.” Rhea’s eyes flamed in warning.

  “I’ll look into it, my angel. I’ll mention it to Dra too, and she’ll prowl around. She’ll find information, probably faster than I can. With luck, it’s a fad. If it’s something needing our attention, you and I will handle it as we proved we could do quite masterfully.”

  Assurances provided, he knelt beside his blue rose and indulged in a deep slow kiss that stirred his basest hunger. He growled and gripped the arms of Rhea’s chair, fighting his urge to consume her even as he drove her deep into the cushion. “You test me with every taste of your mouth, my rose. One night I may stop torturing myself.”

  “I’m counting on it, my heart,” she whispered and pushed her tongue deep into his mouth and over his fangs. Their kiss was probing, wounding, and ached with dark, intimate promises.

  Destin stirred and growled in his sleep. At the sound, Rhea jerked away and tried to set her wine aside. The crystal missed the table and tumbled to the floor. Fortunately, the wine glass didn’t break but the wine spread over the rug like a bloody flood on a map. Amor-el hastily dropped a bib over the spill. A touch to Rhea’s face and her attention lifted to his eyes. He brought her back from wherever her thoughts drifted.

  “Franklin will take care of it, my love. Do not worry over it. ” Green eyes narrowed as they studied her. He felt her calling to his darkness, but concern won out over need.

  “I know,” she whispered and stared as the liquid spread like a lurid bloodstain. If Victoria were here, no doubt she would read the stain like tea leaves in a cup and declare it an omen. Based on her increasing sense of foreboding and her darkening desires, Rhea wondered if she wouldn’t be right.

  Am took her hands, helped her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Perhaps my business can wait one more night. Let us greet your family first, yes?”

  Her answering smile proved his instincts were right.

  “Thank you, Am. I didn’t realize how much I needed you tonight.”

  They hugged, but her gaze slowly drifted back to the stain.

  TRAFFIC WAS ALWAYS heavy at the New Orleans International Airport but early evening jaunts meant facing work commuters in addition to travelers. Franklin employed patience (or attempted it) but occasionally found himself leaning on the horn more than he might if anyone accompanied him. The city promised highway improvements and concourse expansions in the next few years, but right now in 1997, those renovations languished as a dying hope and meant nothing to the tired, agitated drivers.

  Franklin eventually managed a parking space not far from the international baggage area and once inside, sat down and waited for Rhea’s friend. From his plastic chair by a concrete buttress, he indulged in some people watching. Then quite unexpectedly, a figure abruptly strode across the polished linoleum and Franklin instinctively pivoted toward the movement. He stiffened with recognition and thanked the spirits for his tourist sunglasses and hat disguise.

  The solitary man pushed through crowds until he escaped outside where he slowed and finally paused at the curb. Franklin cautiously rose and peered over the masses at the exit. Outside, a black stretch limo glistened in the waning sunlight. As the man slowed, a limo door opened but the man did not enter. Instead, he leaned against the polished steel body and lit a cigarette.

  Franklin studied the man and frowned. Why is he here? Need to call Drahomira.

  Tobias flicked his cigarette in nervous anticipation. Ash tumbled away but still left smudges on his pants. Quickly he lit a new cigarette before the old one went out completely. His passenger was late. But so was Tobias. At least he made it before his charge. Bonus, he was shaded from the sun, even if the light wasn’t that pronounced yet. Didn’t matter because his skin itched anyway. Tobias could barely tolerate more than an hour or two of sunlight. With a deft hand, he slipped out his sunglasses and hid behind them. Ah, relief.

  Taxis cabs came and went, and he noted them with a wry chuckle. Caddies jockeyed for outgoing customers, and no one looked at anyone else. It’s the way of people these days. No one wants to care. Tobias smirked at the cattle of his New Orleans feeding ground. So much like NYC but tasting much richer.

  He glanced at his watch again and tapped the limo’s roof. He couldn’t wait to end his gig as an errand boy and get back to work. A flick of his fingers and the cigarette flew away and into the gutter. The hiss as it hit water perfectly mimicked his sentiments.

  “EXCUSE ME? WOULD you be Mr. Franklin of the Riviere Plantation?”

  Fr
anklin jerked in surprise and found himself addressed by a short, slightly plump, elderly woman with grey and silver hair and inquisitive chestnut eyes with gold flecks. Over one arm, the woman hefted an oversized tapestry bag. She pulled an old European portmanteau with her other hand. It looked like something from the 1940s, all leather straps and clasps. She wore a light brown, open raincoat that permitted a peek at her high collared, severe white blouse over a dark green skirt. His mouth twitched at the woman’s brown granny shoes, something out of World War II.

  The woman shifted her weight with a little impatience but attempted a smile for the tall man.

  Franklin shook himself from his thoughts and hastily recovered his manners. He nodded and bowed slightly.

  “I am Franklin, Madam. You must be Cooke. Allow me to take that for you.” Franklin reached for the oversized suitcase and jerked back when smacked.

  The woman glared at him and snapped, “Beg your pardon, but I can handle me own things. I’ll thank you to mind your job. Just direct me to the car. I presume you have a car. Or are we to travel by horse and buggy in this God-forsaken country?”

  Franklin raised an eyebrow at the rebuke and Irish brogue, a sound almost an assault to his senses. Instead, he resumed his full height (and dignity) and said quietly, “If those are all your suitcases, then you may follow me.”

  “All? God’s bones, man, I should say not. I have no less than six trunks on that blasted metal monstrosity, and all of them save one belong to Mistress Rhea. I don’t suppose you have room for them too?” She paused, rooted to the floor, crossed her arms over her ample chest, and stared at Franklin.

  “Six? I will make immediate arrangements. Wait here.”

  A quick check with the baggage porter and just like that, the airport agreed to send a delivery truck out to the bower. While Franklin worked the logistics, Cooke never moved, and she watched the people around her. When the manservant returned, he motioned for her to follow but she squinted at someone and appeared agitated.

  “Is there a problem?” He glanced in the direction of her interest and noted the individual he’d spotted earlier who remained by the limo. Before he could query, the woman grabbed his arm.

  “Do you see him? Over there? Would you know him?”

  Franklin followed the line of Cooke’s finger and nodded.

  “I recognize him as an acquaintance of Monsieur Riviere. I believe he is English.” Franklin said flatly and glanced at the man again.

  “Well, ballyhoo aren’t we fortunate? Because I think that man is none other than him who tried to kill a friend o’ mine. Princess Drahomira. Do you know her? She’s Miss Rhea’s friend. Heard the whole sordid tale. Him and his nasty cronies. Is the lass here too? Well, come about, man. Let’s get moving. I have to warn Rhea and the princess.” Cooke hurried toward the same doors.

  Franklin’s mind raced as he tried to remember the tales about the man. Whatever Wickamshire was doing in town it wouldn’t do for him to see Franklin before they had a chance to warn the others.

  “This way.” He motioned to the less crowded side exit. “On the way home, we will stop in town.”

  The duo was so intent on their departure that they missed the tall man in the gray suede coat with matching gray Homberg who lingered behind them and overheard their exchange. After the pair left, the stranger also departed the baggage claim.

  Outside, the stranger nodded to the man who lounged by the limousine.

  Tobias tossed his cigarette, jerked to attention. He greeted the newcomer with an extended hand which the newcomer ignored.

  “Sir, welcome.”

  “Wickamshire.”

  Tobias’ face shuttered. “It’s Wickam, now sir.”

  If the gentleman heard him, there was no response as he climbed into the car. Tobias followed. Moments later the limo pulled into traffic and began the slow trek to the city.

  “I have your rooms arranged at the Hotel Monteleone in the French Quarter. You’re in the penthouse under the name Frederick.”

  “Dobrou. That is to say, good. When we arrive at the hotel, I need you to make an inquiry for me, Wickam. Then call your sire. I will tell you what to say after your inquiry.”

  Tobias frowned but knew to ask questions never served. None included him in their plans or allowed him to offer any suggestions. Once again, he surmised his purpose was that of an errand boy. He didn’t recognize this foreigner, and he wasn’t allowed to ask questions. Supposedly, Tobias’ mission helped the collective good, and his sire depended on his service. He shrugged. As long as he succeeded with his private agenda, Tobias didn’t give a damn.

  The gentleman retrieved a newspaper on the seat beside him and effectively erected a paper barrier against further conversation. Tobias shrugged and settled in with his plans.

  VICTORIA, THE LOCAL seer and herbalist, drove a used 1994 Honda Accord Coupe. She picked it up last year and loved it for the excellent gas mileage and smooth ride. But a two-door coupe isn’t roomy when you add an oversized wolfhound and a leggy vampire. Still, they climbed in and made good time to town.

  Drahomira plunged right in “What’s the big deal over Rhea, honey?”

  As Victoria considered her response, Reaper stuck his head between the two front seats and tried to get a better view.

  “Yeeeikes!” She yelled, jerked, and gripped the wheel tighter. “Jeez, Dra!”

  “He wants to see. If only he had air…” With that comment, Dra gathered her mists close, and moved to the back seat with the hound. She pushed the front seat forward, which allowed Reaper to stick his head out the window. Dra took a position behind Victoria and tapped the back of her chair. “Spill.”

  “Good Goddess, you’re quick. As to what I know about Miss Rhea, it’s just a reading I had with the tarot. I’d rather not say until I do it again with her.” She turned at the side street that brought her in behind her store and parked. Twisting sideways, she continued, “I hope you understand, just in case I’m wrong. Though I’m not.” Door opened. “This won’t take long. I need to pick up a few things, and I have a gift for Rhea. Since I’m here, I might as well pack some herbs, too. She didn’t look well, did you notice?”

  Dra leaned back in the confining space, and her green eyes stared at the girl. “Are you doing magic?” Her voice dropped and her eyes, hooded in the gloom of the rear seat, couldn’t hide their neon warning light.

  “No, no. Just intuition. It’s good, I promise!” She practically jumped out with Reaper pushing right behind her. He bounded away and leaped over some bushes. Victoria glanced at Dra’s face and laughed nervously.

  Drahomira’s lean length gracefully exited the car and then tilted her head at Victoria. “Yes, little birdy has been a bit off lately.” She shrugged. “But then I’ve never given birth or fed a vampire baby, so there’s that. I’ll be back after I check with the club. Need help?”

  “Nope. Got it. Meet you in the front store. I have to pull alongside and load some things. Then I’ll need help.”

  “Ok, honey. Reaper! C’mon boy.”

  The two disappeared in crimson mist, and Victoria went inside to load a bag and retrieve her presents. Rhea has to believe me. I think she was wrong about the prophecy.

  She flicked on switches, and fluorescent lights illuminated the store’s back office. For a moment, Victoria paused and admired her space. She only moved to NOLA because her grandmother told her she should and she always followed her granny’s advice. Didn’t matter that granny was dead or that she dreamed it. Victoria moved right away. Her grandmother always believed that New Orleans held the secrets to her seer talents.

  When she first arrived in the city, she lived in her car for a couple of weeks. But she planned her move well. When she finally saved enough money between her herbal remedies and tarot readings to either get an apartment or rent the old Weber drug store, she opted for the small, two-story building with a second story room big enough to make her home.

  Months of scrubbing, sanding, building shelves
and paint paid off with a good shop interior. Victoria trolled yard sales, sometimes ten in a Saturday, gathering glass jars for her herbs, cast off cabinets for storage, and old wing chairs for waiting customers. In the end, the interior of her shop was warm and homey, eclectic and uniquely functional.

  Victoria was primarily a seer, but she was also a healer. Customers discovered shelves along the walls filled with bottles of carefully preserved tincture and flowers, pastes and liquids created from ancient recipes. Other shelves displayed books about herbs, potions and poisons, history of the first healers, and other oddities. Sometimes she went beyond giving readings or prescribing poultices, but those weren’t actions she dwelled on, like the night of the big battle. Harm was not a favored word.

  Teas from around the world filled one cabinet and Victoria always offered free tastings, keeping a large china tea service in use with a variety of mismatched teacups. The quaint addition of unmatched wing chairs and an old ribbon rug added the sense of casual hominess.

  Victoria scheduled Tarot readings during evening hours and only three nights a week. That’s why the tea and sitting area set up mattered. Customers who frequented the store already felt comfortable in the familiar setting.

  Finally yet importantly, in the storefront, candles, prisms, and charms dangled and sparkled enticingly. Occasionally, Victoria added a few handmade amulets that only the initiated recognized.

  By the register, she added incense, free recipe cards containing homemade tea or other remedies, root beer barrel candies and seasonal items like pumpkin lights or Easter eggs.

  After all her hard work, Thymely Treasures was a place of love. And home.

  Making a mental list of possible necessities, Victoria considered Rhea’s symptoms then quickly tossed together a few tubes with liquids and dry herbs, including the potions she made for Drahomira. One vial led to two, and soon she built a traveling herbalist’s cabinet in her bag.

  Next, she opened a small tote and shoved in a shawl that doubled as a headscarf, her slippers (because her feet hurt and she couldn’t wait to change), some herbal teas that she liked so well and thought Rhea might enjoy. Last but not least, the unique Egyptian tarot cards that she kept in the box under the counter. A quick run upstairs to her private rooms and she added some rings to her hand, extra amulets around her neck for insight, protection and warning, and a couple of her favorite tarot reference books. Oh yes and a favored romance novel, just in case. Soon she had a rolling suitcase crammed with goodies.