by Aneesa Price
Feeling cornered and scared of opening herself up to the feeling again, Anais looked for a way out. “There’s always time to do things when you’re a vampire. God knows we’ve stacks of it. Besides, we can’t right now, Sophie. We have two hundred guests celebrating a wedding between the gallery and the river with three more hours of partying still to go, which I have to oversee and you are our personal assistant to the bridal party. We have to get out of here and back there.” Anais waved a hand towards the door, hoping for an exit.
Sophie narrowed her eyes, temper firing up its pale blue to indigo. “Marie Anais de Beauvieu! I’ve known you for my entire vampire existence! That’s nearly as long as you’ve been a vampire! Frikkin centuries! Now, not taking into account that you’re my maker, you’re also my friend and I’ve seen you go through many things. Hurt, anger, sometimes pleasure but always control. I’ve never, ever, ever” Sophie added in for extra emphasis, “seen you like this. Felt you feel this way before. My protective instinct is to look into your mind but our friendship dictates that I respect your privacy.” She raised a stern brow, “But don’t think that I won’t do it if it’s for your own good!”
“Okay, okay. Enough with the nagging.” Anais waved long elegant arms at Sophie to block her pending tirade. “Just give me a moment.” Fighting the nausea, she leaned her head in her hands before meeting her friend’s concerned gaze. “I need the activity. I need to go out there and be the boss and feel in control. Just for a while. Okay?” She grasped Sophie’s hands in hers, “The feeling is mostly gone and not as bad as when I came in here. I promise we can talk about it later when we de-brief tonight’s event. I’ll think about it and speak about it then.”
The sense of begrudged resignation was good enough for Sophie for now. “Okay, later will do I suppose. Maybe better that we discuss this with the others around. Let’s get this wedding wrapped up then.”
Chapter 4
They’d already met with and de-briefed each of their teams. Now they indulged in their necessary, yet enjoyable ritual of post-event de-briefing in the kitchen. Anais loved this part of the event. The part where she celebrated yet another success with the women she considered family, yet, tonight, knowing the grilling that was due, made her want to make a run for it. There was no way to avoid it though, she thought, they’d hunt her down and nag until she caved. Under their piercing gazes she felt like the metaphorical lab rat. Might as well deal.
Miss Suzette, plonked spicy dishes of food and wedding leftovers on the table. Unlike other vampires, who did not have to but could eat, they each were blessed and cursed with necessary appetites for both food and drink, blood included of course. Then again, they weren’t the usual vampires. They were each both witch and vampire.
Sophie, Veronique and her were transported to New Orleans from France over the Atlantic, in dubious ships, during the very early part of the nineteenth century. Their dogmatic, religious families had offered them to the Ursuline nuns in Rouen for a special ‘consignment’ of virginal Catholic girls to be brought over as brides to wealthy plantation owners. The owners themselves were the off-spring of the original casket girls, so called because of the dowries they brought over in caskets that were offered by the Ursulines. With memories of their pious, educated and pure mothers in mind, the wealthy planters had made a special request to the church for women of such character and worthy of their bloodline.
In truth, as much as these men fornicated with the local women, they did not feel that the local women were worthy of carrying their legitimate off-spring. To them, the Quarter women, or women from Vieux Carré, were uncivilized and amoral pagans. American women also did not appeal to them as they were still carrying resentment of the Northern Repression, known to non-Southerners as the Civil War. So to the Old Country they sent and women such as herself, Sophie and Veronique came like unwanted gratis merchandise, offered in shame by their families because of their unwanted birth gift of witchcraft. Of course, their families did not find it shameful to use witchcraft to bind their powers. The hypocrisy of the act had eluded their parents in their over-zealous attempts to do what they thought of as righteous.
Rose and Marie were born witch and re-born vampire witches in the bayou. The magick of witchcraft demanded food and lots of it, and they accordingly grateful for living near such a food-loving city as New Orleans. Their vampire magick demanded blood and as they were morally obligated to feed only from sinners, New Orleans, like any metropolis, provided ample sources for that too. With the thought of food, the spicy aroma of the dirty rice and gumbo moved her attention from reminiscing towards the Cajun feast in front of her. The iced tea would cut the spiciness perfectly; the bourbon would give her courage later.
Miss Suzette turned stern eyes towards Anais. “First we eat, then we grill you.” The ample-bosomed hug that followed the order gave comfort nonetheless as Miss Suzette continued, “Now, don’t fret while eatin’ my gumbo. Won’t be havin’ indigestion getting up from my table. An’ don’t be lookin’ at me like ‘at. I cooked and you be eatin’.” Miss Suzette’s Cajun accent was more pronounced, indicating just how concerned she was about Anais.
Despite Anais being the older and stronger one, Miss Suzette’s tone welcomed no nonsense and put the fear of the Almighty into her. “Yes, Miss Suzette,” Anais replied meekly.
“Don’t mean y’all can’t talk business, and have your meeting.”
Aah, Anais recognized the tactic. She was being softened before the attack. Miss Suzette knew that she would find the act of going through the de-brief comforting, giving her a sense of control.
Predictably, she felt her discomfort give way to her natural confidence as she tackled business. “So, my friends, other than the anal leakage incident…”
Anais didn’t get much further as a cacophony of laughter followed. She levelled them with a severe glare, “Let’s not get into that one. I doubt, or rather sincerely hope that we won’t have another such incident but at least we were prepared for the completely unexpected.” Her twitching lips belied the sternness. “Now, onto business. V, anything from security?”
“I had an exciting evening. Other than the incident ‘that shall not be named’, we had a couple try and sneak up the stairs for some of their own home-made dessert.” V’s lips curled as she recalled the fright she gave the couple in the main bedroom when she stealthily crept up on them en passionné on the antique four poster. Her fingers twined around the ends of her long black ponytail as she continued, “I also had a drunken idiot who thought that cooling off in the pond or bayou, with a full tux on, sounded like a better idea than taking the jacket off. But I managed to get it all sorted in good time with no one the wiser for it. Other than those incidences, all went without a hitch in Security.”
“Well done, V.” Anais praised. “It seems silly to have security detail for locals’ weddings but one idiot drowning in the dark waters out there is enough to kill future business.”
“No it won’t, it will bring in more. Loads of people come to New Orleans looking for hauntings and anything supernatural,” contradicted Marie. “The haunted wedding business in town is doing pretty well. Since we’ve added it to our list of offerings, we can’t keep up. A good death will mean good haunted wedding opportunities here. It’s Vegas cheese done New Orleans style!” Her eyes actually shone with glee. She broke off, alternating filling her face with bread and oysters.
Being a necromancer gave Marie the most unusual perspective on death. She was completely at home with it. If she wasn’t already a vampire, she’d be a gothic vampire groupie or one of the ghost-hunters that took tourists around the city. Having power over the dead would, Anais imagined, make things seem more macabre as was evident by Marie’s very dark, stereotypically vampire humor. Strangely enough, she was a killer chef and the event catering, always a monumental task, was the co-accountability of Marie and Miss Suzette. At their other venues in the Quarter and the Garden District, Marie had free rein to create whatever dishes she thoug
ht of and even when it wasn’t local-inspired the guests vacuum-sucked whatever she produced. In the plantation kitchens, though, Miss Suzette demanded a minimum of eighty percent local food because she swore by the health benefits of local cuisine. The Cajun food was far from healthy, being butter-rich, sugar-seeped, deep-fried gloriousness but it, Miss Suzette and even Marie, would argue fed the soul and stomach plenty. The two talented women had a tug-o-war going over the plantation kitchen ever since Marie graduated from culinary school. Old school versus new school could be found anywhere it seemed, even in a voodoo-witch-vampire-plantation wedding venue kitchen! They were a living, or rather undead, testament to diversity in action!
“Not going there, Marie,” Anais put a stop to Marie’s input before her dark flights of fancy swept them up and had them offering Halloween-themed plantation weddings. “So, how’d it go with the food?”
Miss Suzette tried and failed to sound insulted. She knew the drill but had to defend her mamma’s recipes, handed down from woman to woman for generations. No self-respecting cook would do otherwise. “You blind, cher? You didn’t see the plates going out full and coming back ‘ere empty?”
“Now, now, don’t get yourself in a het, Miss Suzette. I know that you and Marie are the best cooks this side of the Mississippi, I’m just checking if all went according to plan.”
“Ain’t even answering that question,” huffed Miss Suzette while Marie’s glare shot bullets at her. And French chefs are known as temperamental, thought Anais! Jeesh! Cajun could give them a run for their money any day. Add Cajun witch vampire and necromancer to the mix and you had a potential volcanic eruption right in your own hearth.
Miss Suzette attempted to pile on more guilt. “She’s just being the boss and difficult. Disrespectful to my mama’s recipes…”
“And my years of study,” interjected Marie.
“That’s right, boo,” agreed Miss Suzette, about the only time the two of them did agree was in defence of their culinary efforts, “she’d be disrespecting our knowledge and hard work.”
“Okay,” Anais put a stop to the censoring remarks. “I guess that’s an affirmative then. The food was on target.” Her weak attempt at a military impersonation was marred by her still a bit French, slightly Creole, American-influenced accent, winning her a couple of smirks and twitching lips from around the table. “Sophie, Rose, how did it go?”
“All good my side.” Sophie responded first, wanting to get this show done so they could get to the heart of things with Anais. “No crying and stressing; just a happy couple having a great wedding.”
Rose added to the tales of the night’s misadventures. “One of the guests, a Yank, thought he’d be able to handle a couple of Hurricanes. When will they learn?” Hurricanes were drinks made from rum, rum, more rum and a few secret ingredients that locals avoided and supplied liberally to tourists.
“I think he was the one that wanted to cool off in the bayou. I know the brides want to serve authentic food and drinks to their Northern guests but it makes life as painful for us while they’re here as their hangover is for them the next day.”
“I know it insults the Irish in you to think of someone not being able to hold his liquor…” Anais began.
It was meant to calm but invited a rebuke from Rose instead. “No man there. He was a wimp.”
With an audible sign, Anais brought Rose’s attention back to her, “Okay, as irritating as the wimps can be, it is a local custom and one that makes the brides happy. Happy brides. Happy business. Happy us. Remember, we like our independence from the Vampire Council. Money helps get us that independence.” Mentioning VC, as they referred to the Vampire council, make them all blanch and nod in agreement. It was just another reminder of the witches’ pending arrival.
“I’d say that seems to conclude our de-briefing, don’t y’all” Sophie obtained nods of agreement from the rest of the table.
Anais pushed back against the overwhelming need to squirm in her chair. The feeling of being a small child caught doing mischief intensified when the rest of them turned their faces towards her, self-consciously making her fidget. She’d just done her lecturing and bossing and it looked like they were going to give it back to her.
“Uhm, yes. I guess.” Anais felt trapped.
“You gonna spill or must we grill you?” Marie, though concerned, was grinning. She may just as well have rubbed her hands in anticipation.
“No need to look so happy, Marie,” Anais defensively chirped.
“Can’t help it,” Marie patted her arm from across her at the table, “good to have the shoe on the other foot. Not that I’m not worried about you.” She hastily added as the others turned to glare at her. Chagrined, she sobered. “So, spill. Sophie already filled us in to where the two of you got to, what happened?”
“Lay off, Marie.” Rose came to her defence, or so Anais thought until the emerald greens were leveled at her. “Anais, it’s not like we’re torturing you for information. We just want to know what happened because we care and we’re concerned. There’s nothing wrong with needing help, you know.”
“Well, then you know all there is to it. I don’t know what set it off and I don’t know how to prevent it from happening again. I do know, though, that I feel a lot better now. In fact except for the discomfort y’all are causing me, I feel perfectly fine.”
At the looks from everyone else, Sophie confirmed Anais’s declaration with a nod.
Always the practical one, V applied logic, “Then let’s start at the beginning. What happened? When did it hit you, where you were and what you were feeling?”
“Yes, General Veronique, ma’am.” Anais sarcastically replied. V was taking her obsession with military intelligence to extremes. And apparently, thinking it was okay to apply it to a conversation, or intentional grilling amongst friends.
“And quit the military impersonations. They’re not going to get you off,” V retorted.
“Pot, kettle, V” Anais stopped short at the look her stalling was getting from Miss Suzette. She could and would chirp her ‘sisters’ as was her privilege as the eldest. She’d boss them around, love them, get irritated by them and know that she’d get the same back. With Miss Suzette, vampire or not, vengeance was swift and nasty and as she reigned in the kitchen, Anais was not willing to tempt fate. There was nothing worse than sunken soufflé or weirdly-spiced gumbo. Blaerg! She could still taste the horrible concoction Miss Suzette had served them all the last and only time she’d had the senselessness to give her attitude. It had resulted in lasting memories of a unique foul taste in her mouth and the cold shoulder from the rest of them for having had to share in what they deemed of as her punishment. No, Miss Suzette didn’t get even, she got mad and mean.
Anais took a sip of the bourbon Sophie was handing out, feeling the warmth slide down her throat, and giving her false courage. She complied by relating the emotions and their corresponding events to her attentive friends.
“You had a panic attack.” Offered Veronique, the realist.
“Nope, sounds like you had an emotional premonition, a sign of bad things coming,” offered Rose. “Y’all know, like when they say someone walks over your grave?” Rose looked at the rest of them for confirmation.
“If there’d been any grave walking, I’d have known of it.” Marie, the necromancer with her strong link to the dead, refuted.
“Sounds like someone gone and did you a bad one, boo. I think it’s a curse. You upset anyone lately?” Miss Suzette’s offering sounded as hocus pocus as Rose’s. Then again, they were witches, vampires and voodoo priestess bundled together; you didn’t get more hocus pocus than that.
Sophie’s lips twitched, “Throw in a fairy, warlock and shape shifter maybe?” At Anais’ look, she quickly retracted, “Sorry, you were broadcasting that thought quite loudly.”
“Fine,” mumbled Anais, “what do you think happened, Sophie? You were there so you know exactly what I was feeling.”
“I honestly don�
�t know,” as disappointing and unpalatable as the truth could sometimes be, it was always best to serve it. “Maybe it is something supernatural. I know that your powers were not really unbound when you were turned like the rest of us but maybe, just maybe it’s emerging now. I remember after I’d turned and come into my powers bit by bit, it was painful. Sometimes physically but more often emotionally and even spiritually. It felt like a ball made up of individual strings was being unwound and then piece by piece, re-connected to the world.”
“I think I know where Sophie’s coming from,” Rose offered. “Anais is the eldest vampire here, right?” Sophie ignored Anais’ disdainful look and carried on seeing the nods from the others, “So, maybe age has something to do with it. Maybe it’s linked to magick and maybe it was exacerbated or triggered by how run down Anais has been lately.”
Anais was becoming increasing irritated, “Let’s say your theory is correct, why now? What was the trigger?”
V sprung into the debate, “We don’t associate with the old ones a lot and as a result, we don’t know what happens when we age. Maybe your age, coupled with the enormous responsibility you’ve been carrying, is making you more vulnerable to these emotions. It could be either supernatural or a magickal version of a melt-down. Maybe it’s both.”
“Exactement! I couldn’t have said it better.” Sophie smiled at Veronique.
“Okay, fine,” Anais threw her hands up in resignation, “but I don’t get the whole meltdown thing. I might’ve been a bit more tired than normal lately and a bit more irritable.” At their raised brows she chided, “Don’t look so surprised, I’m not an emotional moron”
“No one is thinking of you as a moron.” Veronique, “we’re taking the true Southern way of getting ‘round to the point the long way. What we’re trying to say is that you have to consider taking things slowly for a while. Give yourself a break.”
