by Aneesa Price
“We’ve just had the VC ball and a wedding and now we’ve got three witches coming here to play nice with us. Naturally, I’m a bit run down. I don’t think it has anything to do with latent magick now coming to me, though. That just doesn’t make sense.”
“True magick comes from the heart, from within. You’ll need to open your heart to let it through, cher. I’m not criticizing you. I’m just saying that you’ve had a lot of responsibility and in getting on with that, you’ve pushed your emotions to the wayside.” Sophie’s comment hit target, which, as an empath, she’d predicted.
It was getting way too uncomfortable for Anais. She was too tired to think about all of this and she needed to conserve the little energy she had for Conall and Co. “Well lucky for me, I’m a vampire; I don’t have a heart to give.”
“You’re a witch too. Don’t forget.” Sophie countered.
“Apparently not.” Anais got up, irritable and no longer inclined to allow the grilling to continue. “It’s been a long day and until the ball is over, it will continue to be. So, if you’ll excuse me, my old bones need their rest.” Anais stormed elegantly, dramatically, out of the kitchen.
“There’s some mad for you,” Marie observed.
“She needs some of that mad too. Let her stew in the juices of it. It might bring up what she’s got to work through.” Miss Suzette dropped that pearl.
“What happens if she can’t work through it? She’s got that heart of hers locked up with ball, chain, shackles and duct tape!” Rose was concerned.
“That’s what we’re here for,” Miss Suzette got up with a sigh. “Now off t’bed with y’all. Get the rest y’all need to be there for her.”
Chapter 5
“Conall, welcome to Papillion Plantation.” Anais moved towards her guest, extending a slender, white hand, adorned with a simple emerald and gold antique ring. She’d purposefully dressed the part of the plantation lady, wearing a vintage black satin, Jackie-O style cocktail dress with killer, strappy Louboutin shoes. The emeralds at her ears flashing green fire in sync with its matching ring – she’d stopped wearing her wedding ring the day she’d been widowed and turned. Her rouge-noir lathered lips curved at the impeccably groomed man. Drat! She’d expected him to look good but not this ravishing.
Being on the shorter side, she appreciated height and the steel-gray pants he wore seemed specifically tailored to show case his fabulously long legs. His shirt, black, made his blue eyes startling. His shoes were Gucci. He was obviously a man of taste and means, the two qualities not being mutually exclusive and one she appreciated. A dangerously alluring combination of GQ meets professional hit man, danger with slightly disheveled hair dressed impeccably. Yummy! She fought the urge to lick her lips and the greater need to sink her fangs into him.
Conall was gob-smacked! His mouth went dry, swelling his tongue, making it feel as heavy as lead, unwilling to move so that he couldn’t respond to her welcome. He wanted his tongue to tangle with hers to slate the aridness.
As soon as their hands connected, he felt a flash of magick snake its way up his arms. More astonishingly, he could see the light move up hers too. What the hell? That wasn’t supposed to happen! Vampires were magickal creatures as well but their powers were limited to the more corporeal. What he’d experienced had been actual magick. Or, had it? He looked at Anais. Goddess! She was beautiful, sensuous, tempting - that must be it - his dick had obviously decided to take the cognitive lead.
“Are you unhappy to see me, Conall? Or don’t you like the house?” Anais enquired, raising a haughty brow. “I must admit to surprise if it is the house that has you frowning so. It usually receives gasps of appreciation. So, that leads me to conclude that it is my company that displeases you?”
Conall mentally dusted the cobwebs off, berating himself for acting like a love-struck teenager and turned on his famous charm to maximum, determined to loosen her guard. Anyone who could throw a party like last night’s wasn’t the pretty airhead she was pretending to be. “No lass, it is your beauty that astounds me – you (or your magick, he thought) made me lose all thought for a moment. The house, although grand, pales in comparison.”
“Ah, you flatter me, Monsieur when there’s no need. My family and I welcome you openly and invite you to make our home yours while you stay here.”
“My thanks then to you and yours.” Conall regrettably let go of her hand and the magick disappeared. He surveyed the room to hide another frown from her. It was a large, formal and old-fashioned drawing room. It had probably been the height of fashion when she did it oh, a hundred or so years ago. “You did a wonderful job of this room. It’s warm and elegant at the same time.” Thinking of warmth, her hands were not as cold as he expected a vampire’s to be. Then again, he hadn’t touched many vampires as a rule.
“Merci, we’ve worked hard to maintain the plantation and naturally are very proud of it. There are few of these homes left that are privately owned and in good condition.”
“I’m delighted then to stay here for a while. I’m also looking forward to learning of your ways and seeing this part of the States. It is beautiful and exotic.”
Anais shrugged, indicating that they sit down, “It’s New Orleans,” she pronounced it New Awlins, “beautiful and exotic is woven into its DNA. Would you care for some refreshment?”
“I’d appreciate that as would my guards. I’m for sweating bullets here, even at night. I’m afraid that Ireland is a tad bit cooler.”
“Of course, that’s to be expected but I’m sure you’ll acclimatize shortly. If you’d like to call on your guards, I’ll take you to the kitchen where the rest of our family is getting dinner ready and we’ll get you that drink. We’re rather informal here.”
Conall followed Anais out of the calm of the drawing room, across the huge foyer. It was a beautiful house, majestic and grand in the antebellum way. He appreciated that the slight changes to accommodate modern conveniences did not detract from its historical integrity. It’s exactly what they strived for at home. In the kitchen, the smells of cooking and the chatter of women, all simultaneously and passionately making a point, was a welcoming sight. He smiled. Since he arrived in this strange and exotic land, something finally reminded him of home.
“Hi,” Sophie slid forward gracefully, her light blue summer’s dress emphasizing her etherealness. Soft, light blonde tendrils framed her face, sweet in welcome. “You must be Conall. We didn’t get a chance to talk last night but I do, of course, remember you. I’m Sophie.” She was charmed when he took her hand and kissed it in the old-fashioned way, bowing slightly in the act. Mmm… no wonder she was picking up an enormous spike in pheromones from Anais. The man was ruggedly handsome, charmingly sophisticated.
“Let go, Sophie.”
Conall turned from Sophie towards the voice and saw a vision. Was every woman in this place gorgeous? This one bore the mark of his homeland. She was red hair and green eyes made in the way that Irish beauties were stereotypically famous for.
Rose kept her distance, naturally suspicious. “I think the entire vampire community knows who Conall is after last night.” She stepped in front of him. Close enough to be friendly and far enough to scope him out. “Hi, I’m Rose. Where y’at?”
Sophie rolled her eyes and caught Miss Suzette’s smirk. Bayou Intimidation 101 – use localisms to confuse the tourists.
“I’m here of course.” Conall looked puzzled as the kitchen turned into giggle central. “What? What did I say?”
“I’m just pulling your leg,” Rose dragged her gaze up slowly from his toes until she met his eyes full on. “And a nice leg it is.”
Her gaze was so intense; it felt as though she had x-ray vision and had assessed his toes through his shoes. The intent in her eyes was far from seductive though. It complete contradiction to her actions, it screamed, “Back Off! I’m watching you and by the way, I bite.” He projected a thought into her mind, “Game on!” and had the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. He v
aguely heard Sophie explain that “where y’at” was a New Orleans term for “hi, how are you?”
Anais wasn’t telepathic and had no idea of the verbal warfare going on in front of her. What she saw as flirtatious by-play made her want to claim him blood and body! God, those fucking hormones again! She really, really needed to get laid – as soon as the witches were gone.
A booming voice shook them out of their thoughts. “Y’all goin’ stand there and let my cookin’ go cold or y’all goin’ to eat?” Miss Suzette was watching the inter-play, twitching lips betraying the demanding voice as she stood with her hands on her hips pretending to glare.
“Boy, they don’t teach you manners in that Ireland of yours?”
“I’m sorry. Excuse my poor manners, please. My ma would be ashamed to think she’d wasted her time boxing my ears for nothing. My name’s Conall and…”
Miss Suzette grabbed his outstretched hand and pulled him into her ample bosom for a huge bear-hug. “The name’s Miss Suzette. Welcome to Papillion.”
Veronique entered the kitchen, Marie hot on her Choos, followed by two equally hot guys. Strike that – the Choos always won.
V rolled her eyes, “I see that you’re already getting the home-grown treatment.” No harm will come from making up an excuse to cover up the sneaky hair-pulling she witnessed Miss Suzette treat Conall too – no doubt for some of her kitchen magick. “I’m Veronique but you can call me V like everyone else round here.”
Marie stepped forward and shook his hand, “Marie”.
“Conall,” he returned. This woman was one of few words… and she reeked of magick that wasn’t quite that of a vampire or witch, yet he couldn’t detect its origins. Something was off. Not wrong, just not entirely right. On the surface, this would look like any initial gathering of new acquaintances but there was more to these women than great looks and vampire magick. He projected that thought to his friends as they stepped up to introduce themselves.
“You’re all very welcome.” Anais concluded the introductions. “Please, let’s sit and eat.” She indicated the table. “We’re very fortunate to have Miss Suzette as part of our family and as she makes the most divine culinary creations, she holds the power in this household.” Anais grinned at Miss Suzette’s bashful wave of her hands. “You’ve probably already picked up that she’s not a vampire.”
“I did,” acknowledged Conall while Sylvain and Niul nodded. Miss Suzette smelled like a human with magick, a pulsing energy surrounded her. “You do have magick though, Miss Suzette.” Conall turned to look at the object of their conversation as he took a bowl of steaming seafood. “Not just in the kitchen, I think. Your magick is strong but different to mine.”
“God has been kind enough to bless me with the gift of a bit of kitchen magick.” At the sceptic look he threw at her, she cackled, “I see there’s no wool to pull over your eyes boy. You’ll know it as voodoo.”
Conall nodded in understanding. “I’ve heard of voodoo. We don’t have many that practice it in Ireland but I can respect a gift of magick as old and beneficent as ours.” He waved at his friends to include them in the categorization.
“So you’re all three witches?” Sophie asked, bringing over pitchers of mint sweet iced tea, choosing to sit next to Sylvain. She was intrigued by him. He was a juxtaposition of physical qualities, slight of build and not as broad as Conall and his other guard, Niul but just as muscular, honey-colored hair like innocent sunshine and sky-blue eyes that glittered with mischief.
“We’re all of magick.” Sylvain’s answer was as close to the truth as he could allow. He looked at Sophie and seamlessly changed the topic. “Tell me of this beautiful house and the delights it has in store for us. Have you always owned it?”
“It’s Anais’ late husband’s family plantation. He was an only child and they didn’t have any kids so Anais fully inherited it.”
Anais chirped in from across the table. Conall was sitting next to her and she’d decided that entering enthusiastically into the conversation would prove as best a distraction as she could come up with. The next time she’d have to enlist her friends’ help to ensure that the seating arrangements were not repeated.
“I don’t fully own it anymore.” Anais waved an arm at the rest of her friends. “It’s ours. When I inherited it, Marie and Veronique moved in – they’d been widowed during the civil war; their husbands were the owners of nearby plantations. It was the time of the battle and riot. Between the soldiers and the slaves, nothing much was left of their homes. I’d already set the slaves here free. In return, they protected the land and it remained largely unscathed. I’d earned, not enforced, their loyalty. Miss Suzette’s wards helped reinforce the protection.” Anais took a sip of milky coffee, relishing the how the warmth pushed away the cold of the memories as it slid down her throat. “We eventually sold off the land of the other two plantations and used the money to fund and maintain various business ventures over the decades. Currently, we’re wedding and event coordinators at Papillion with the houses in the Garden District and The Quarter serving as additional venues.”
“Did you inherit the houses in town too?” Niul, the business mind behind the O’Leary Empire, enquired. He was serious and introverted in nature but when he did speak his voice was as authoritative as his build was brawny.
“Yes. Veronique’s plantation was the most damaged and she’d been living in the Garden District. The house in the quarter was the town house Jean, my late husband, and I used when he had to conduct business in New Orleans.” Her smile was poignant. “Traveling between Papillion and New Orleans wasn’t as easy back then with dirt roads, robbery and horses.”
Intrigued, Conall probed, “I heard you’re French originally and from the same town. How did three friends from across the globe land up in one place and all as vampires?”
“We were casket girls.” Veronique offered, adding some of Marie’s signature dressing to the salad heaped on her plate.
“Ah, so the legend of the ‘coffin girls’ is true then – you were French immigrant vampires?” Sylvain enquired.
“No, we were turned after we arrived here and the ‘coffin girls’ you’re referring to is relevant to our late mothers-in-law.”
“I see you didn’t have time to Google, Niul.” Conall noted. “The casquette girls or coffin girls came over from France during the early French colonial days. They were so called because of the wooden caskets they brought over, containing church-given trousseau, hence the term. The locals, according to Google,” He looked at his bevy of hosts lest he offend, “were naturally superstitious and tales of vampires in these wooden coffin-like chests abound.”
Anais looked at men around the table. Her nerves were fraught – desire to jump Conall battled suspicion and urged her to bring the evening to an end. The feeling from the wedding the day before had also begun sneaking more and more into her, like a flippin’ parasite. “You’ll be staying in the original slave cottages. They’ve been completed refurbished into luxury accommodation. We use it for antsy brides that want to stay over before the wedding. It is close enough that we’re right here if you need anything and far enough to give you privacy.”
“Of course, we’d have loved to have you stay in the main house but we’re kind of full up.” She swallowed down the beignet with sweet, milky coffee. “We all live here.”
“And Raulf,” added Miss Suzette, time to stir the pot again. Nothing like a bit of jealousy to add spice to the pot.
“Raulf?” Niul quizzed.
“My nephew - helps out here and stays over sometimes.” Miss Suzette glanced coyly at Anais who was baffled by the look.
Sophie took the metaphorical wooden spoon from Miss Suzette and gave the pot a stir too. Lips curved, she embellished, “He’s family to us too. A pity…if we didn’t think of him as a brother…” She pretended to shake the put-on dreamy look she’d employed and looked at Anais, subtly winking. Anais’s blush was the perfect ending to that interlude if Conall’s black
look was anything to go by.
Conall’s scowl deepened. Sylvain linked into his mind, “Con, get a grip.”
Conall gathered himself and responded, “Anything you have for us is fine. It would be an honor to sleep in a part of history (and to sink myself into a woman that has lived that history he thought not realizing that he’d broadcasted that thought to his friends until he caught their smirks).”
V interjected, subtly providing an explanation for furry activity. “The slave quarters are pretty close to the wilder part of the land so don’t het if you hear strange sounds. Crocodiles catching prey in the Mississippi, owls hooting and other animal sounds. We’ve even heard wolves howl.”
At their guests, quizzical looks, Anais stated, not batting an eyelid, “There’s much that is strange in the bayou.”
Chapter 6
Tap. Tap. Tap. The plonk of ceramic on wood next to her on the bedside stand startled Anais awake as she took in the smell male and beast. Raulf. She was going to kill him just as soon as she could lift herself!
Anais groaned in her bedroom. The vampire in her knew it was day despite the complete darkness afforded by the heavy, brocades cream curtains on the windows. After the night they had, she didn’t draw the curtains on the antique French walnut four-poster bed. They were more decorative anyway. She rolled around in the extra-large king-sized bed, relishing the feel of the 300 thread-count sheets; she wanted to bury herself further in the bed.
“Go away Raulf. I’m sleeping” Anais moaned. The darn tingles she got around him were back; oblivious to the nausea and throbbing headache she was feeling.
“Ah, cher, you don’t mean that.” She felt the bed move under his weight as he sat down next to her and took her hand. His skin was as rough against her hands as the sheets were soft on her skin.
