Wicked After Dark: 20 Steamy Paranormal Tales of Dragons, Vampires, Werewolves, Shifters, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More

by Mina Carter

  The wide expanse of the river on my left, I ran past the Toulouse Street wharf where a coast guard vessel lay docked alongside the slumbering Natchez paddlewheel. I picked up my pace some more but barely felt it. I’d been increasing my distance every week, having to run back and forth along the trail to get in enough miles, but I still seemed to have a lot of energy left over. I made myself stop today. I could use the excess on the other things I had left on my agenda.

  I saluted the twin cantilever bridges of the Crescent City Connection and turned back the way I’d come, using up a little more juice in a top speed dash to reach the beginning of the trail. Foregoing the wrought iron benches as was my habit, I dropped down onto the sandy slope just above the high grasses and wildflowers.

  Slipping off my shoes and socks, I set my hot feet on the cool, fine like talcum sand, reminiscing about my mother performing a similar ritual. I exhaled the weight of the past, my current concerns and everything else, emptying my mind. I leaned back on my hands closing my eyes and lifting my face to absorb the renewing moisture from the river and the warmth of the mid-morning sun.

  I liked to sit and take a moment to myself at this same spot every day. It was the simple pleasures in my life, my family and friends that brought me the most joy.

  Love practically burst from the confines of my overly full heart. Mamere. Shane. Mr. Hill. And Chantelle Glace. My cup overflowed with blessings. But this, this time of solitude each morning, this I needed. It recharged me, made me feel whole, sane, balanced…right.

  The steady lapping of the mighty Mississippi against the shore on its winding journey toward the Gulf of Mexico was music to my ears. The way my mother’s voice had been. The way poetry was to me now. I heard a seagull’s plaintive cry and reflected on a favorite poem, Langston Hughes’ Negro Speaks of Rivers. I spoke the words aloud as a blessing upon my day.

  I've known rivers:

  I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.

  My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

  I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.

  I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.

  I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.

  I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

  I've known rivers:

  Ancient, dusky rivers.

  My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

  I opened my eyes when I was through. The sun’s rays reflected on the water. A thousand sparkling diamonds couldn’t have been more beautiful to me than that sight, and I couldn’t have felt any richer if I had owned all that the world contained.

  Satisfaction settled deep inside my bones…into my very soul. New Orleans was my place. My home. I belonged here. Though there was a part of me that would always wonder where my mother had gone, I wouldn’t dream of leaving. Jefferson Square with its iconic street performers. Café Du Monde with the flakey beignets that couldn’t be duplicated. I’d tried. Music that flowed within the banks of the river and pulsated in the soil beneath my feet. And people who were warm and genuine, dedicated to preserving our unique history, art and culture.

  I allowed myself a couple more lazy minutes since I didn’t have to go back into work today. My lips curved into a dreamy smile as Shane’s handsome face drifted into my mind. I felt like my future, maybe even our future together lay wide open and brimming with possibilities like the river before me.

  I put my socks and shoes back on and brushed off my rear end after I stood. I walked at a brisk pace back toward the apartment. I couldn’t have run anymore even if I had wanted to. It was too crowded now. The individual conversations of the people around me was almost deafening to my sensitive ears. There were squeaky wheeled trolleys, tons of delivery men and distracted tourists to dodge, too. So though I went back the same way I’d come, my progress was much slower.

  When I neared The Hot Spot, an unadorned one story building painted black with red shutters that always remained closed even during its nighttime business hours, I went out of my way to avoid its nefarious owner, crossing to the other side of the street just on the off chance that he might emerge. I didn’t want the aggravation of dealing with any of his high pressure pitches to purchase Chantelle Glace. Not when I was having such a relaxing day.

  An unexpected shadow fell over me as I crossed beneath the columns of a gallery. I heard the sound of heavy breathing, but no footsteps. I whipped around heart thumping wildly inside my chest, fists up, preparing to defend myself if necessary while internally chastising myself for not having been more aware of my surroundings.

  “Ty Boo.” Leon Johnson in all his infamous creepy glory raised an auburn brow as he looked me over.

  The Hot Spot owner wasn’t a classically handsome man, though it was obvious he’d taken meticulous pains with his appearance. His pointed chin was smoothly shaven and his dark crimson hair was well-trimmed, but the planes of his face seemed too harshly drawn.

  He wore a black fedora with a charcoal suit despite the sweltering heat. In fact, I’d never seen him without his hat or his jacket. He moved further into the shadows of the balcony that were out of place at this hour of the day and leaned his weight on his ebony cane, unsettling onyx eyes zeroing in on my startled face. His thick lips lifted. He seemed to be enjoying the fact that he unsettled me. “I do believe I’ve frightened you. Please accept my sincere apology. I thought you saw me crossing the street toward you.” I didn’t believe him for a minute. I often felt like his words were insincere and interlaced with ill intent.

  “Of course you scared me. You can’t just go sneaking up on people like that. And don’t call me Boo.” I don’t know what I could possibly have done to give him the idea it would be ok to call me honey the way everyone else did. He wasn’t my friend. I didn’t want him to be. I didn’t like him. He was overly familiar with Mamere and often leered at me when he thought she wasn’t looking.

  “Thyme, then.” He reached out one of his gloved hands coming toward me. The hat, the cane and the gloves were his trademark accessories. He ran a finger against my cheek before I managed to avoid it.

  I shuddered drawing in a shaky breath of air that was tainted like meat left in the refrigerator way beyond the sell date. I wondered not for the first time why no one else but me ever seemed to notice his rancid breath. “Did you reconsider my last proposal?”

  He’d offered to pay ten times what Chantelle Glace was probably worth, but I wasn’t interested in selling, not to him or anyone else. Another refusal was on the tip of my tongue but trepidation made me hesitate. There were scary rumors about what happened to people who made deals with Leon Johnson and even scarier ones about what happened to those who turned him down.

  I glanced around suddenly feeling afraid and strangely vulnerable even though I was standing on a busy street full of people in the middle of the day.

  “I told you no before and the answer still hasn’t changed. We’ll never sell.”

  “Very well.” How was it possible for black eyes like his to get even darker? A muscle twitched in his tight jaw as he stared me down, pinning me in place by the disturbing power of his gaze.

  There was something dark and twisted about him. He leeched the same creepy vibe as the time I had ventured into the old shop of voodoo on Bourbon. I went in, felt the oppressive evil within its walls and walked right back out, vowing never to enter it again. If only it would be as easy to be rid of him.

  “The easy way is so boring, Thyme. I don’t mind taking the harder route with you. Though you might not enjoy it as much,” he hissed softly through teeth that suddenly appeared quite sharp, snaking out a gloved hand and snaring my left wrist.

  I gasped. His gloved fingers were sharp and unyielding as if they were all bone without any flesh to soften them. His grip tightened, and I knew, even as I attempted to tug free, that there’d be no esca
ping him if he were determined to keep me there. A red haze clouded my eyes. I felt dizzy. My perspective suddenly changed, giving me an eerie vision of another place with me on my back full of fear and unable to move while Leon loomed over me with a gleaming triumphant gaze.

  My sight cleared just as suddenly as it had clouded, but as I looked at Leon in the present moment, the expression beneath the brim of his hat was identical to the one I’d seen inside my mind, his eyes aglow with the same dark fire.

  “Oh, my, my, my. What do we have here? How unexpected.” He suddenly released my wrist, his gaze slithering its way up to my face. “A fennel staff. How very interesting.” I stumbled back from him, rubbing the skin he’d touched, feeling sick to my stomach. “Chantelle’s not your real Mamere is she?”

  How could he possibly know that?

  “Don’t think badly of ole Leon. I know sometimes my tactics are a little…harsh. But surely you’ll forgive me. I promise I won’t pressure you to sell anymore. I can see that you have your mind all made up. I have other properties that will suit my needs just fine. Come over to the club. Let me buy you a drink. I want to make amends.”

  “No,” I managed to rasp though my brain seemed to want me to say the opposite, and my vocal cords didn’t want to work right.

  He frowned and I knew that wasn’t the answer he’d wanted or expected. “Another time then. I didn’t mean to come on so strong. Bring your beau with you. No cover. Drinks, everything on the house. Anything you desire and it’ll be yours. Let’s be friends.”

  Chapter 3

  God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame. - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  Thyme

  I stayed under the shower a long while, feeling the need to wash off the taint of my encounter with Leon Johnson. The silver framed bathroom mirror was all fogged up, and my skin was raw and lobster red when I finally stepped out of the clawfoot tub. But though I held my wrist under the high intensity vanity lights to examine it, I couldn’t see what had been so interesting to Johnson beyond a faint crisscross pattern on the inside of my left wrist that resembled a pinecone if I squinted just right.

  I scooped my exercise things off the white hexagon tile floor, shuffled to my room across the hall wrapped in a towel and dropped the dirties into the hamper. Trying to hurry, I padded across the wide planked cypress floors, grabbed a pair of old shorts and a tank top from the dresser drawer and shimmied into them.

  I had spent too much time down at the river. I’d have to forego the blow dryer and makeup for now. It was too hot for either anyway. I’d use the flat iron to smooth the waves from my hair and apply a little eye shadow and mascara later when I got dressed up to meet Shane and his parents. I’d have to skip the new dress and heels shopping, but that was ok. I’d just wear my white sundress and a broken in pair of shoes that would be easier on my toes. Mr. Hill was more important than any new outfit.

  I quickly scarfed a granola bar for my lunch careful to toss the wrapper into the trash before I ducked into the shop to check on Gran and Tony. There was a line at the antique cash register and every single sweetheart chair around our café tables was occupied. They’d obviously been slammed. I bet they hadn’t even had a break for lunch. I started to step in to help but Gran caught me. She shook her head and wagged a finger at me.

  Knowing better than to insist, I blew her a kiss instead and went out the door. A blast of air like a sauna instantly coated my skin with moisture. I waded through the thick air on my way over to Mr. Hill’s, scaling his front steps and knocking twice on his blue door for good luck before entering.

  “Ty Boo,” he said, shuffling around the chest high reception desk at the other end of his heavily antiqued parlor to greet me.

  “Mr. Hill,” I returned. On my twentieth birthday last year, he had tried to get me to switch to calling him Cornevius, but I’d refused. He was older than my gran. It didn’t seem respectful to use his first name. Besides, I was now accustomed to the other, though I’d begun to think of him more casually as Mr. H in my mind.

  He studied me for a moment with warm brown eyes a couple of shades lighter than his dark cocoa skin. “You ready to get to work?”

  I nodded following him into a narrow hallway and down the back stairs to the lower level. He selected a key from a large silver ring attached to his belt and opened the door. The room was jam packed with furniture, knickknacks, stacks of books and boxes. I could barely see the parquet floor.

  “It’s a daunting task.” His tone was apologetic but obviously he’d read the look of dismay on my face.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. It was a little more than I’d bargained for. “But it probably won’t be half as bad as we both think after we get started.”

  “Wisely spoken.”

  I thought back to my encounter with Leon and didn’t feel so wise. In retrospect, I should have been more diplomatic. Creepy vibes aside, Leon Johnson was a powerful influential man. He sat on the city council. It wouldn’t be smart to get on his bad side. I probably should take him up on his peace offering. What harm could come from visiting The Hot Spot with Shane at my side?

  “What’s wrong?” A small cardboard box in his hands, Mr. H took a step toward me.

  “I ran into Mr. Johnson earlier.” Mr. H knew all about his repeated attempts to buy our place.

  His eyes narrowed deepening the furrows in his forehead. “When you were by yourself?” He made the sign of the cross over his chest. “I don’t like that man.”

  “I don’t either, Mr. Hill. I assure you. But he seemed to accept that my ‘no’ was final this time.” I gestured to the large box I had filled with books. “These all going to be picked up by St. Annes?”

  He nodded still looking concerned. “You run into him again, you walk the other way. Get your young man to talk to him if you need to, you hear?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hill. I will.” Normally, I would argue that I could take care of myself but in this instance I had to agree with him.

  “Good girl.” He ambled over to a stack of boxes about his height and started to reach for the top one before I stopped him.

  “Let me do this. I don’t want you to reinjure your back. I’m here to help, ok?” I added when he looked like he might be stubborn about it.

  “You’re as sweet as your Mamere.” He smiled fondly.

  “No one’s as sweet as her ‘cept you,” I countered. “I’ll never forget all the times you took me with your boys to City Park and Storyland. All the suppers I ate over here when I was little. You and Helen treated me like I was part of your family.” Sometimes I used to pretend that he was the real father I’d never known. In all the ways that counted he practically had been. Just like with Shane and his parents, I knew it was love and actions that bound people together to make a family unit even more than blood.

  “You are family. Love you that way, sweet girl.” His voice was deeper, heavy with emotion, his expression nostalgic. “Those were good times. I miss ‘em. Miss the boys. Wish they would’ve stayed and gone to school around here. Miss my Helen, too.” His brow dipped. His wife had died when I was twelve. They’d been such a devoted couple and such great parents to their four boys, a good example to me of what a loving marriage should look like. That’s what I wanted, what I hoped to have someday with Shane if I was lucky.

  “We all miss her.” I crossed to him and gave him a hug. “She was the best.” I cleared my throat. We didn’t usually voice our feelings though they always ran deep and strong between us.

  “You helped me move on after she passed. Gave me a reason to keep on living. Inviting me to all your school stuff. Asking after my advice and always listening to what I told you. You made an old man feel needed.”

  I looked away. He was going to make me cry.

  “Troubles come and they pass, but life’s easier when you have people around to remind you why it’s all worth it. Know your heart, Thyme. Always follow it the way you do now. That’s one last piece of advice I have to give you. You’re all grown up now. There
’s not much I can tell you anymore that you haven’t already learned for yourself.”

  “I will, Mr. Hill. I promise.” I took a step back and put my hands on my hips. “Ok. We need to find you somewhere to sit. You can tell me how you want it done and keep me company, but you need to let me move the heavy stuff. Deal?”

  “Deal,” he countered, sliding a sheet cover off a wing back chair. After the dust cloud cleared, he settled in, and I got to work.

  By the time I was ready to call it quits it was starting to get dark outside and my legs were trembling. I carried the last box upstairs and set it down alongside the stacks of others ready to be picked up the next morning.

  “Thanks, Ty Boo.” Mr. H came up the stairs leaning on the stair railing catching his breath. “You sure you won’t let me pay you something?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “You know I’m glad to do it. The joy is in the giving,” I reminded him. “Someone very wise once told me that.” I tapped my chin pretending not to remember who.

  He chuckled knowing it had been him. “Heard you’re going to Commander’s Palace with Shane and his parents tonight.”

  I nodded.

  “Is it a special occasion?” he asked.

  “It’s his last year of medical school at Tulane,” I explained.

  “That boy’s over the moon for you.”

  “I feel exactly the same way about him. Truly,” I admitted. “Hey, have you seen my sunglasses? I could have sworn I left them right here on your desk the other day.” I drummed the surface while looking around.