As he watched through the eyes of his spy, Sam climbed out of bed and embraced Bryn. They kissed and Priest moaned. Bryn fondled Sam’s small breasts, pulling on the nipples with a smile on her lovely face. When Samantha slipped to her knees and began to tongue Bryn’s naked cleft, Priest erupted into his hand and instantly cursed himself for finishing too soon.
“One day,” he vowed as he severed the connection with the snake. “One day, she will be mine. I will teach her what it is like to serve a man.”
Priest had plans for this day. He left his small cell in the cathedral and caught a hack to Toulouse Street and the Maison de Ville. Marie LeVeque lived there and Priest wanted to catch her before she left her rooms. Perhaps he would relieve her of the Couer de Flamme without having to trek into the swamp and attend anything as vulgar and crude as a gathering of savage voodoo worshippers.
Priest paid off the cab and walked boldly into the lobby of the Maison de Ville. He strode across the rich carpet and out the French doors to the courtyard. The three-tiered iron fountain sprayed cool water into the muggy morning as Priest surveyed the carriage house. The walls of the old slave quarters, now guest apartments, were the color of red mud, the ornamental railings of the balconies a contrasting white. The carriage house balcony was small. There was only one guest suite in it and Marie LaVeque resided there.
He stared at it while he imaged her inside sleeping. It was still early. The door was answered after only one knock by an octoroon dressed in a colorful skirt and a red turban. Her creamy breasts rose out of the low-cut white blouse in ripe swells. Priest could see their dark nipples through the fabric. “I’m here to see Mademoiselle LeVeque. Is she available?”
“Non, monsieur, she still sleeps. Would you care to leave a message?”
Priest scanned the suite with his mind and discovered LeVeque was indeed upstairs in bed, but not asleep, and not alone. She was trysting with a giant darkie. When he entered her mind, he was filled with her feminine lust, felt the thrust of the darkie’s huge organ, felt her womanhood moist and swollen, felt her nipples hard against his massive chest. He took a deep breath and severed the mental connection before he became so involved he could not.
The servant touched his arm. “Monsieur, are you sick?”
Her touch startled him. He grabbed her arm as his breathing slowly returned to normal. For one moment, he thought about taking her, but dismissed it. Now was not the time to dally in Marie LeVeque’s apartment. “I’m fine,” he snarled and backed out the door.
“Sir,” she called after him. “Do you not wish to leave a message?”
“No!” Priest waved his arm to dismiss her. “I will contact her later.”
Foiled, Priest stormed across the ornamental courtyard. He breathed deeply of morning air heavy with river moisture and the familiar scents of New Orleans; flowers, frying pastries, garbage and the overpowering smell of the river at low tide. He left the hotel quickly and walked down Bourbon Street toward the Alley Café. A cup of chocolate and a beignet would do wonders for his strained constitution. He would try to gain access to LeVeque’s apartment again tonight. If that failed, he would be forced to attend the voodoo ritual.
Chapter 5
Bryn was waiting in the breakfast parlor when Quinn returned. “What did you find?” she asked as she reached for a croissant.
Quinn sat down opposite her and selected a pastry from a plate filled with beignets. As she poured out coffee scented with spices he told her of his activities. She was stunned to hear of the murders. “Those people were killed by Draak Priest,” she finally said. “Everything, the rosary, the wafer, it had to be him. He’s come here from London to resume his heinous crime spree. Do you think he was looking for something and didn’t find it?” She paused. “Or maybe he got what he wanted and that’s why they are dead.”
“I imagine he’s searching for the same thing you are,” Quinn said. “He’s after the emerald. And if that’s the case, he must have gotten the information he wanted from those two. They certainly can’t help him in the condition they’re in.”
Bryn nodded. “I’m sure he’s after the stone. He wishes to regain his mortality. The ages weigh heavily upon his shoulders. It is no light thing to face century after century as an old man. He will follow me to find the stone’s location. Or, as you say, he has already discovered it from the two he killed. What did the man look like?”
Quinn told her and she slammed her coffee cup down so hard the fine porcelain shattered. She dropped her head with shame over her outburst. “I should not have done that. Please forgive me. The dead man must be a voodoo priest so Draak will now know about LeVeque.”
Quinn sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “I don’t understand about this curse. You’re saying Draak Priest is an old man who is cursed?”
Bryn nodded as she helped the maid clean up shards of porcelain. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the maid. “Yes, centuries ago he offended a very great wizard. They had been friends, both of them brought up in the ancient ways in Italy. Both were brothers in the Franciscan order. Draak and this other Franciscan, Friar Gregory, lived in a very remote monastery in the mountains and both had become immersed in the arcane, leaving behind their priestly beliefs as they delved deeper into dark magic. In this mountain resided a very old dragon. Priest allied himself with the beast against his brother monk. For this reason, he has many of the same powers as dragons. But Gregory was the stronger wizard. He discovered Draak was planning a ritual that would give him Friar Gregory’s powers. He was able to fool Draak, curse him and evict him from the monastery. Priest has roamed the world ever since trying to regain his lost power, end the curse and exact vengeance on Friar Gregory.”
Quinn laughed. “That’s quite the story. Is this Friar Gregory still alive?”
Bryn smiled and sat back in her seat. She poured fresh coffee into a new cup and spooned sugar into it. “Yes he is, and he still lives in the monastery, though it has long been abandoned by his order. And if the dragon lives still, Priest serves him.”
Quinn shook his head. “I’ve seen and heard more strange, bizarre things since I met you than I ever imagined could exist.”
Bryn laughed. “I’m sorry to involve you in this, Quinn, but truly, you haven’t seen anything yet. If Fenix has to die yet again, you will see something so strange and horrible you will never forget it. Now please excuse me, I must get to work. I have several pieces of commissioned jewelry to finish today.”
“Not yet, my dear, first tell me where you think this Draak Priest will be living.” He slid out of his chair and placed a strong hand on her arm. The large fingers were warm on her flesh and Bryn shivered with a new feeling. She ruthlessly crushed the tender emotions. She could not, would not, love this man. Her love could only kill him and even if he lived, she would have to watch as he grew old and died. The curse of immortality was anyone you loved soon left you behind as they fulfilled the rules of their mortality and went into death.
“If he’s following his regular habits, he’ll be living in a church. He is an ordained priest and has many contacts among the church hierarchy. He often travels about investigating demonic possession and performing exorcisms.”
Quinn slowly pulled her into his arms. Bryn didn’t struggle. She allowed this because she had feelings for him she could not fight. She wanted to be close to him. When she thought of the night of love she’d spent with him and Samantha, she blushed. He lifted her chin with one finger and pressed a kiss on her lips. “I’m not going to let you forget me or push me away,” he breathed against her mouth. “I’ll claim you as mine. You’ll see.”
Suddenly Bryn wished nothing more than to be able to yield to him, to give him what he desired. She touched his cheek. “I wish I could allow you to do so, but you know it is not possible. Now, release me so I can go to my work.”
Quinn let her go. She walked to the door leading to her workshop and stopped. When she looked back at him he was smiling.
Bryn was so beauti
ful. She had no idea how lovely she was or how she affected him. This morning she was dressed for work in a plain black skirt with a leather blacksmith’s apron over it and a deep purple blouse that made her eyes shine like amethysts. Even with her hair in a severe bun at the nape of her neck, she looked young and vulnerable, things Quinn knew she was not. He sighed. Time for him to get back to work. Her words about Draak Priest bothered him. He’d been chasing Priest for murdering young women in the Soho district of London before Bryn stole the Stuart Sapphire and set him on this incredible journey. Quinn now believed Priest was murdering women here and Bryn obviously thought that as well. Such similarities as the communion wafer and the rosary were not easily duplicated or mistaken. The desecration of the woman’s body also exactly mimicked the way in which the victims in London had been mutilated.
He walked down Chartres Street thinking about what Bryn had said. If Priest lived in a church it had to be St. Louis Cathedral, though there was also a priest’s residence at the Ursuline Convent and several other churches in the city. St. Louis was older and the seat of the Arch Bishop. Priest would surely choose to live there.
As he walked around the square in front of the cathedral, he examined it thoughtfully. On the left sat the Cabildo; once the home of the New Orleans government, it was now in a state of decrepitude. On the right was the Presbytere, a two-story structure built to look like the Cabildo. Small shops filled the ground floor and the second story rooms were rented out. The cathedral itself was a massive structure, with two ornate towers, an arched entrance, a bell tower and extensive residences for clergy. It was not, however, the only Catholic church. There was St. Augustine in Treme and St. Patrick’s which had been the church used during the recent renovations to St. Louis after the central tower had collapsed. Searching the church would be very difficult if not impossible. It was indeed clever of Priest to use the Catholic Church as a cover.
Quinn walked around Jackson Square to Decatur Street where he caught a hack to his residence in the Garden District. He’d rented an old house on Prytania Street. In the basement, his partner, Arthur Tomlinson, was working on another new weapon. Tomlinson had a laboratory in the basement of the house and much like Bryn’s Samantha, loved to tinker with machinery. Tomlinson’s passion was for weaponry. At his home in London, Tomlinson possessed an alarming collection of historical, modern and invented weapons. He even had an authentic catapult stored in the mews attached to his small house
Quinn went in through the front, walked through the parlor and into the kitchen where a set of stairs led to Tomlinson’s laboratory. He called first. Tomlinson was easily startled. “Arthur, are you down there?”
A smiling face topped with a head full of curly brown hair appeared around the bottom corner of the enclosed staircase. “Hello there, Quinnten, do come down. I’ve just about figured this out.”
Quinn hesitated to ask, but finally did. “Figured what out?”
“I heard a man named John Browning is working on a gas-operated gun that will fire over a thousand rounds consecutively. This is unbelievably exciting. Imagine the possibilities?”
“Easily, I imagine rows of dead people, dead horses, dead trees, dead everything.”
Tomlinson’s expressive face and wide open brown eyes reflected surprise. Then he laughed. “You’re funning me.”
Quinn shook his head. “No. I easily can see this horrible prospect. So, and I hesitate to ask, what have you figured out?”
Tomlinson pointed to a gun barrel mounted on brass legs with a swivel and lever and a gun sight. “I figured out how to make it work, of course. The secret is in the bolt. I invented a rear locking bolt that tilts. It operates much like the lever action of the Winchester rifle.”
“Amazing,” Quinn said. “I have news of our actual purpose for being in New Orleans.”
Tomlinson put his screwdriver down and tilted his head which made him look precisely like a sparrow. “News?”
Quinn sighed. “Yes, there have been two murders remarkably similar in nature to the Soho killings.”
“Don’t tell me, communion wafer and rosary.”
Quinn nodded. “Exactly.”
Chapter 6
Fenix dressed with care in a walking dress of warm golden silk with a small bustle, a row of tiny tucks on the bodice which was decorated with bunches of jonquil ribbons, and a tight-fitting jonquil jacket. The top of the low-cut bodice and the high puffed sleeves were French lace. When she’d pulled on kid half boots, she descended the stairs to look for Bryn. She’d wakened tired and dispirited. If what Bryn said was true, she was dying. Not an elevating thought.
Too much of the burden for finding her cure and daily life currently rested on Bryn’s shoulders. Today, Fenix was going to fix that. She found Bryn in the small workroom adjacent to Sam’s laboratory. She wore a jewelers’ loupe on one eye and was carefully setting a bright red stone into the eye of a golden panther.
“What a lovely piece,” she said. “Is that the one you’re making for the Dufour woman?”
Bryn nodded. “You look ravishing, my love. Are you going out?”
Fenix took a deep breath. She had something planned Bryn would never allow her to do. Having a sister who managed every minute of your life could be wearing. “Yes, nothing you should worry about. I might go to the Royal Library and change this book. I can’t imagine who would enjoy the tale of such lachrymose characters as Chloe and her beau Mr. Camwell. Ugh! I think I will look for Kit and Kitty or In the Valley. Mrs. Ampleforth recommended them.”
Bryn smiled. “Do you really think Augusta Ampleforth’s taste in novels will march with yours?”
Fenix laughed. “Perhaps not, but her daughter Celine said she particularly enjoyed In the Valley.”
“Then by all means go to the library. I will, no doubt, still be here when you return.”
Fenix kissed her sister’s cheek and waved to Samantha as she climbed the stairs out of the basement. On the street, Fenix walked to Jackson Square and caught a hackney. She instructed him to take her to New Levee Street in the black part of town. The driver turned his head and lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t go down to the waterfront, Miss, not ever. It ain’t safe.”
Fenix soothed his mind using her considerable power. His eyelids drooped and he turned and clucked to his horse. Fenix hated to use her powers to influence the actions of people, but sometimes it was necessary. The hack took her toward the riverfront. She felt the change in the air. The odor of garbage, the river and wood smoke soon surrounded her like a damp curtain. She lifted a scented handkerchief to her nose and then thought better of it. It would be better if she swiftly grew accustomed to it.
While the driver tooled his buggy closer to the waterfront, she closed her eyes and tried to feel for the power of the stone. Bryn said it was with the voodoo woman at the Maison de Ville, but Fenix was not sure. Perhaps Bryn was mistaken. She’d said she almost had it, not whether she’d actually seen the emerald.
Bryn did not often confide in her which angered Fenix. It wasn’t fair. Bryn kept secrets from her. She tried to keep her ignorant of what was going on to protect her, but all it did was upset her. She needed to be made a part of the proceedings. She wanted to help.
If Bryn was mistaken and the stone was not at the Maison de Ville then the best way to find such an amazingly powerful stone would be through the darkies in this part of town. If a ritual or a gathering relating to voodoo was going to happen, the local voodoo priests would know first.
Fenix did believe someone associated with voodoo had the stone. She could feel that in the air. If this were true, could they not shield its powers from her and Bryn? It seemed logical that they would be able to by using the power of the stone itself. Besides, she needed to help. She needed to be involved in her own rescue. Bryn treated her like a helpless baby. Well, she wasn’t helpless. She would find the stone and show Bryn. And if she couldn’t find it herself, she would enlist the aid of someone who could.
The hack turned onto the
riverfront street and stopped. The driver looked over at her with raised eyebrows. “Where should I go?” he asked.
She pointed. “I hear music. Find where it comes from.”
The strains of a piano accordion, a hand drum and a washboard drifted in the heavy air. Zydeco music was the chosen form of music for most darkies. As the hack approached a rundown building with moldy boards and filth-encrusted windows, Fenix tapped on his seat. “Stop there.”
When he did as she instructed, she climbed out and tossed him a few coins.
“Do you want me to wait?” he asked, clearly not wishing to do so.
“No, I shall be perfectly fine.”
His palpable relief was ludicrous. She heard him mutter about the strange habits of ladies of quality as he drove off and she smiled. Little did he know, she was no lady. She pushed through a door that might once have been green, though most of the paint was worn off or peeled away. It was dark inside and reeked of unwashed bodies, burning cannabis and spilled beer. The wooden floor was covered with filthy straw. Three men sat atop barrels on a raised dance floor playing their zydeco music. One had a washboard across his lap and one was playing a piano accordion. Behind them a huge Negro hunched over a tribal drum. Even at this early hour, the bar was filled with black men and women swaying to the exciting rhythms. The music stopped when she entered and all the men and the two women at the bar turned to stare at her.
She smiled with true joy, slung her reticule onto a stool and stepped up on the dance floor. “Continue playing, if you please.”
The Flight of the Zeppelin Page 4
