by Mina Carter
I paused in front of the full length mirror next to bookshelves that were overstuffed with the poetry tomes that I loved. The mirror was really an old door that Mr. H had helped me reclaim. We’d worked on it together, gluing in the glass and painting the frame antique white with a crackle finish.
Neil Young’s ‘Love is a Rose’ running through my head, I swiveled back and forth on my toes, posing in the reflection. Shane made me feel so cherished most of the time but I sometimes wondered what he saw when he looked at me. Love must have given him out of focus glasses. He definitely didn’t fixate on the café au lait color of my skin the way his mother did.
I lifted my chin, my violet eyes flashing back at me in the mirror. I needed to stop letting her and my own insecurities regarding my appearance get to me. I turned off the overhead light and padded to my iron frame bed. I launched myself in switching on my lamp and holding out my hand so I could admire my ring one more time.
Shane Lamar had asked me to marry him. He thought that I was worthy. I wore the proof on my finger. He’d even thoughtfully chosen my favorite color for the center stone. I couldn’t wait to tell Gran and Mr. H the good news in the morning.
Chapter 6
Love is blind. - Geoffrey Chaucer
Thyme
“I hope you enjoy it. The Muscadine Peach is one of my favorite flavors.” I passed the double scoop across the counter to the teenager. I had just started to close out the register when my cell played Van Halen’s “Can’t Stop Loving You”, a familiar ringtone. “Hello.”
“Hey, bébé.” I smiled delighted by the sound of his voice after the long work day. “Are you by chance wearing the ring of the most eligible fourth year medical student at Tulane?”
I laughed. “Yes I am, as a matter of fact.”
“What’d your gran say when you showed it to her?”
“She said I’m a lucky girl.” Gran’s eyes met mine. I shuffled aside so she could take over the register for me.
“Tell her I’m the lucky one.”
“She says she loves you, and I do, too, but I’d better get off the phone. Tony’s had enough of our lovey dovey routine. He’s making gagging noises. And we’re really swamped here. With the storm forecast to come in soon everyone’s decided to go out and have a little fun before the power inevitably goes out.” The French Quarter was packed tonight. Though we were used to the threat of hurricanes, we didn’t hunker down in fear of them like most cities did. We got out and celebrated them. Named a drink after them. “It’s probably going to be a little bit longer before I can break free. I need to help Gran close up. Why don’t I meet you instead?”
“No way. Not this late. Not with people acting all crazy. I’ll borrow my dad’s car. Mom’s packed up the SUV with provisions just in case this thing intensifies and the voluntary evacuation of the low lying areas turns into a mandatory one for all of us.”
“Alright. Where does everyone want to go?”
“Kip mentioned The Hot Spot.” I nearly dropped the cone I’d just scooped. “That ok? I know the owner’s the one who’s been hassling you about selling your place.”
“That’s true.” I handed the cone to the customer while continuing to balance my cell awkwardly between my ear and shoulder. “But it’s ok. I forgot to tell you.” I’d had much better things on my mind last night. “I ran into Leon Johnson yesterday. He apologized for being pushy. Said he wouldn’t bother me about selling anymore. He invited us both to the club. Free drinks. Everything on the house. Says he doesn’t want there to be any hard feelings, but…”
“But what?”
“Well, you know. He is kind of creepy.” I washed my hands in the small sink behind the counter letting Tony serve the last group.
“Yeah, I’ll give you that one. Always with the gloves and hat and all. But a lot of my dad’s associates are just as eccentric. I think having all that money makes you kind of weird. I’ve heard that Leon is buying up real estate all over town, especially in the quarter, gambling that property values will go up soon. My dad thinks he might be right. If you wanted to sell, I bet Johnson would go a helluva a lot higher on his offering price.”
“I don’t. You know I don’t.”
“Whatever you want, I’ll support you, bébé. I’ll pick up Kip and Monica and then swing by and get you. We’ll go to his club for a little bit. Stay for a while, if it feels cool. Play nice. Then head over to the Muses or something if you’re not too tired.”
*****
We pulled up right in front of The Hot Spot. The valet had his podium beneath the club’s purple neon sign. When I mentioned my name to the bored looking guy, he instantly perked up, taking the keys to the Volvo from Shane and refusing to let us pay the thirty dollar fee or even a tip.
Kip, an old football buddy of Shane’s and his girlfriend Monica, a statuesque blond, showed their ID’s to the bouncer and went on through the door ahead of us. Shane put his hand on my bare shoulder. “You look hot hot, bébé,” he said in my ear. I’d paired a shiny silver halter and matching high heels with frayed cutoffs. He looked fine himself in an untucked long sleeved linen shirt and faded jeans. Then he said something else, but I couldn’t understand him because once inside the music was too loud for normal conversation. The band I recognized as an extremely popular local funk group. Their trumpet player was Tony’s brother, Nico.
My eyes widened to saucer size as I took in the decor. Dark and tawdry seemed to be the predominant theme. Risqué pictures lined black walls that had an iridescent sheen. A neon arrow pointed to a VIP rooms upstairs. There were moving works of art along the remaining wall even more lewd than the photographs. Dancers, male and female ones, behind glass, untouchable, but definitely on display, some singles, lots of pairs, even some trios. Their motions matched the rhythm of the song, but the things they were doing were blatantly sexual. Indecent. Sometimes just short of illegal. I looked away, cheeks burning hot.
I’m surprised Leon got away with that kind of thing. Even in NOLA there were rules. Seemed the rumor about him being above those might be dead on. I hoped none of the other ones were.
Hand on the small of my back, Shane guided me as we worked our way through the thick crowd to a free table Kip and Monica had spotted. The moment we took our seats, a waitress in a revealing devil costume with red velvet horns materialized. She informed us that drinks would be on the house. The valet must have called ahead. She didn’t even card me when she took our order with her pitchfork pen.
After we tossed back a couple of Jell-O shots, Shane cautioned me to take it slower. I was no angel. I’d had a beer or two here and there even though I wasn’t yet twenty-one. But the times I’d had alcohol, it had seemed to take a lot more of it to go to my head than it did anyone else. Shane liked to tease me. He said when I drank, I never got drunk, but that my eyes turned a deeper shade of purple.
Feeling really loose and having given up on trying to talk while the band was playing, I stood and held out my hand, leaning heavily on the table to steady myself with the other. “Dance with me,” I told Shane.
He took my hand and led me to the dance floor. The place was so crowded there wasn’t really any clear delineation as to where it started, so we just pressed into the center where everyone was bouncing. I lifted my hands over my head and shimmied down to a crouch while trailing my hands down his rock hard chest and abdomen. When I reached his thighs, he grabbed my hands and hauled me back up.
The shimmering lights from the disco ball overhead made his eyes look like they had been sprinkled with stardust. It was probably a good thing he’d stopped me even though I’d wanted to stay down lower a little longer and tease him. I still remembered my plan to seduce him but the alcohol was definitely hitting me. I was starting to feel really dizzy.
We danced through another song, giving up on trying out any moves. We just swayed together enjoying the feel of one another’s bodies. I slid my hand under Shane’s shirt. His skin was taut and slick with sweat and I felt his sudden swift i
ntake of breath, his body responding as I skimmed a palm low across his waist.
“My baby knows what she wants and won’t take no for an answer.” His eyes were radiant, a moon sparkling off the bayou green, but he put an end to my fun, shaking his head and removing my hand. I noticed he swayed as he led me from the dance floor. I wasn’t the only one affected by the amount of alcohol we’d consumed.
When we got back to the table, there were more drinks we hadn’t ordered. I swallowed mine but vowed that it would be my last of the night.
“Thyme Bellerose.” Leon Johnson greeted, his voice seeming overly loud in the relative silence. The band had stopped. The crowd had thinned out. I hadn’t even noticed. How long had we been here?
Definitely needed to stop drinking now.
Leon held out his hand. “And you must be Shane Lamar. You look a lot like your father.”
Shane thickly introduced his friends while I studied The Hot Spot owner. He was attired in a black suit and hat combo tonight, wearing gloves that matched of course. He leaned on the silver handle of his cane while shaking hands with Kip and Monica. I wondered if anyone else had freaky hallucinations like me when he touched them.
He shifted his attention in my direction dark eyes narrowing. “I’d like to take you on a short tour,” he offered. “What do you say?”
I wasn’t so sure I was interested in a behind the scenes tour. And was it just me and too many Jell-O shots, or did anyone else notice that his eyes were doing that creepy glowy thing?
“That’d be fine, Sir,” Shane answered for us, slurring the words.
Shit. This was going to be fun. Insert sarcasm. Not. I startled to scramble for a way to back out.
“Sounds interesting but we’re gonna pass,” Kip interjected, laying his hand on his girlfriend’s shoulder. “Mon’s not feeling well.”
“I’m sorry, Monica.” I touched her arm. Her skin was clammy and she looked a little green. Here was the excuse I needed. Crisis averted. I exhaled my relief before turning to Leon. “We need to get her home. We all drove in together. We’ll have to take a rain check on that tour. Another time, maybe.”
“You don’t have to leave on our account,” Kip insisted. “I already called us a cab. You guys go on ahead. It’s your night to celebrate. We certainly don’t want to put a damper on it just because Mon had one too many.” He slapped Shane on the shoulder. “Congrats, bro.” He leaned closer to me and very sweetly kissed my cheek. “You, too, Ty.”
“Would you like another drink before we get started,” Leon asked, noting our empty shot glasses.
“No. We’ve had enough,” I admitted. “Though a ginger ale would be nice.”
We followed Leon to the bar. He served us himself, slipping behind the counter and emerging a moment later sliding two tall glasses our way. I was so parched I chugged my soda dry, and noticed Shane doing the same. Leon looked pleased about this for some reason. I didn’t realize until much later why, but by then, it would be too late.
After we set aside our glasses, Leon told us that he very much wanted us to meet his manager first. He led us to a door marked private behind the bar. Shane leaned on me heavily as we followed Leon down a dark staircase to a basement level. I found it odd that the bar owner was so agile on the steps. He didn’t even seem to need his cane.
Leon pushed open the first door we came to. An elegant woman who looked vaguely familiar with skin the same color as mine rose from behind the desk in the dimly lit room. She wore a smart red business suit and her hair was concealed beneath a colorful African head wrap. She smiled at us, but it seemed more predatory than friendly.
“Hello. Thyme. What a pleasure to finally meet you.” She studied me with eyes that seemed much older than her apparent age. They flickered beneath the overhead lighting as if they danced to some ancient tribal rhythm. I couldn’t look away. I didn’t even glance back when I heard a loud ominous thud behind me. ”We’ve been waiting for you a long time.” Canting her head, she slowly stepped further out of the shadows. I swayed, the ground feeling suddenly unsteady beneath my feet as if I were on a raft in my river rolling on the swells during a storm.
Through my haze, I suddenly realized why Leon’s business manager looked so familiar. She was the spitting image of Marie Laveau, the famous New Orleans’ voodoo queen from the eighteen hundreds.
But it couldn’t be her, could it? That would be completely insane. Totally impossible.
I staggered backward, reaching for Shane, every instinct inside of me screaming that I should run. But my body wouldn’t cooperate. It was already too late. The edges of the room started to blur, everything spinning around me. Then it all went black.
Chapter 7
Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. - Friedrich Nietzsche
Thyme
A sharp burst of pain inside my head exploded within the darkness of my consciousness. Instinctively, my brain ordered my hands to assess the damage, but when I tried to lift my arms, for some reason they couldn’t obey. Freaked as hell, I tried to move again. Now I could feel the scratchy ropes. They dug into my wrists and ankles. Panic flooded my body in a rush, adrenaline washing away my haze.
My head bounced as the floor tilted beneath me. Heat radiated from the vibrating floor against my back. I heard metal clanking, but my eyelids felt strangely leaden. I couldn’t seem to open them.
Then in a flash, it all came back to me. The basement of The Hot Spot. Marie Laveau. Shane prostrate on the floor behind me. Passing out.
My eyes flew open. Looking around, I realized that my prison was no longer the basement but a vehicle. Some sort of delivery van with heavily tinted windows.
The floor titled again. The view out the windows remained totally black. I was pretty sure we were up high and going over a bridge. But which one? This one felt long. Not the Crescent. Maybe St Claude Avenue into St Bernard Parish. I’d been over that one once when we’d visited a friend of Mamere’s.
I began to see faint lights out the windows as we sped along. My heart beat wildly when I shifted. Shane lay trussed up on the other side of the cargo area. His eyes were closed. His breathing was slow, but perceptible. Whatever drug they’d slipped both of us hadn’t worn off on him yet. Even though I knew he couldn’t help me, I felt a lot less panicked just knowing he was there. I shimmied closer, his familiar scent and the warmth of his body comforting me.
That’s when I registered the low murmur of voices from the front seats of the van. Voices I recognized. Instant sharp loathing made me grind my teeth together and I curled my fingers into futile fists. Why had Leon done this? Where was he taking us? And what was he planning to do to us once we got there?
The vision I’d had when his grip had tightened around my wrist the previous day came back to me. His malevolent expression. The trapped feeling. It was all too real now. Shuddering, I bit back the hot bile scalding my throat.
“I’ve never seen anything like her. You put enough Rohypnol in her ginger ale to take down a couple of three hundred pound LSU lineman. The boyfriend certainly dropped like a rock.” The singsong voice of Johnson’s Laveau lookalike. “The girl’s reminds me of someone, but I can’t quite place it,” she continued. “Whose is she?”
“Bacchus,” Leon spit out. “His fennel staff marks her wrist. It’s just starting to fill in. She probably hasn’t even noticed it herself. She’s not fully turned yet.”
The fine hairs on my arms suddenly stood on end, and I knew his eerie eyes were on me, even though I couldn’t see them.
“She’s awake.”
How did he know? Could he see in the dark?
“That’s impossible. It hasn’t even been an hour.”
“Nevertheless.” His disembodied voice in the night conjured up images of death and desolation. “Sedatives and alcohol don’t affect a daughter of Bacchus the way they do others.” He spoke something else then, too low for me to register. Directions, maybe because the van suddenly turn
ed sharply.
I rolled away from Shane, feeling scared and bereft again without his body touching mine. A flush of ire prompted me to speak out when I probably should’ve kept silent and listened. “Why do you keep calling me that?” I rasped, my voice sounding weak. My throat was so dry, I could barely manage a swallow to moisten it.
“Because that’s who you are. The immortal spawn of the god of grape harvest, winemaking and wine. The god of epiphany. The god that comes. Eleutherios the liberator. Leader of the cult of the souls. The divine communicant between the living and the dead. Yada, yada, yada. Though he won’t keep those titles for long, if I have anything to say about it. Your dear daddy is the youngest of us all. A pretender. Gifted his immortality by his father, Zeus, the Heir of Light himself despite the fact that his mother was just a human.”
An immortal?
Johnson was clearly nuts. Crazy. Deranged. Well, obviously. After all, he’d drugged and kidnapped Shane and me. I decided to go along with it. Keep him talking so I could figure this out. Buy enough time to escape somehow.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you seriously that dull? I’ve never met an Offspring your age who didn’t at least suspect they were different. Think, Ty Boo. Haven’t you ever wondered why you heal so quickly whenever you get a cut or bruise? You’ve never caught the flu, had a cold, a sore throat or been sick a day in your whole life. Am I mistaken?”
Every muscle in my body went tense. How could he know all of that?
“With your turning so near, your senses are heightened and your endurance is increased.” He went on. “I’ve seen you out on your runs. So much energy. Down to the river you go every day. Taking off your shoes, bare skin touching the earth, drawing power from that ancient waterway brimming with the Creator’s magic.”
