Fenix had felt power when she walked in. Not the strength of the Coeur de Flamme, but power. When she walked by those at the bar, she felt it exuding in waves from one of the men. As she mounted the stage, she took off her bonnet, threw it into a corner, and shook out her flaming curls. Her hair fell like a curtain across her shoulders to her waist. She kicked off her shoes, and shrugged out of the jacket. When the music started she began to dance.
Fenix had studied the art of seductive dancing in many countries through many ages. Though she couldn’t remember it, the knowledge was infused into her soul. She used the knowledge and her immense talent coupled with her mental control to entice and ensorcel the man she had identified at the bar.
He had long hair twisted into locks falling across broad shoulders. His face was lean and hungry; the jaw clean, the cheekbones high and chiseled, the nose sharp, his perfect lips carved from ebony. The whites of his huge almond-shaped eyes were yellowed. Thick lashes fluttered over his cheeks like birds’ wings. He lifted a hand-rolled cigar and inhaled deeply as he watched her from under those lashes.
Fenix whirled and lifted her skirts to the energetic music. Her feet flew and her hair swirled around her like a cloud of red silk. She used her arts and her hands to draw her prey. He rose from his stool and walked toward her like he was in a trance and stood in the center of the dance floor while Fenix lifted her skirts and showed him her legs and her petticoats.
He was at least six and a half feet tall. His thighs bulged inside thin cotton pants. His stomach was flat and as ribbed as the washboard being played behind her. She touched his white shirt and he slid it off. She tossed it to the growing crowd and laughed, throwing back her head and sending the ringing peels of mirth through the building. His body gleamed with sweat. The bunched muscles of his arms clenched and unclenched as did his jaw. He tried to follow her, then he tried to grab her. She continued to dance away from him laughing and swirling to music that seemed to go faster and faster until every heart in the building was beating in time with the drum and Fenix’s feet.
When the music stopped, the big man grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against his rock-hard chest. He gazed into her eyes and she stared into his. She didn’t know what he was thinking. His power prevented her from reading his mind. When she probed, all she got was a metal fence. He had erected a barrier so strong she could actually see it. She felt the power of the Coeur de Flamme on him. If he didn’t have the stone, he’d been very close to it.
“I be havin’ you,” he said in a low husky voice filled with barely controlled passion.
Her musical laughter tinkled. “Are you man enough to take me?”
“Aye, I be more than enough mon.”
She placed both small white hands on his powerful chest. “I think not.”
He tried to kiss her and she created a fireball in her hands. It crackled and rolled as she turned it around and around. “Be careful. You’ll get burned.”
The fire forced him to back away. The gathered crowd gasped when they saw the fireball. Fenix tossed it into the air and caught it when it came down. She pointed to the musicians, they struck up a favorite song and she began to slowly dance with the fire. It burned at her command, sometimes higher, sometimes low and intense. The ball of flames rolled between her hands, red blue, purple and gold. She threw it between her legs, lifting her skirts to avoid catching fire. She made the flames take the shape of different animals, a dragon, a wolf and a phoenix.
The man began to dance with her, moving closer, carefully avoiding the flames as he danced close enough to touch her then backed away. The accordion player stopped. The washboard player stopped. All that remained was the pounding drum. Fenix and the man jumped, gyrated, swirled and stomped to the beat. Fenix shook her head and swung her fiery hair around in circles as she mesmerized the onlookers with the ball of fire. She tossed it at them and then made it disappear in a puff of smoke at the last minute, laughing when they scrambled for cover screaming.
“Witch!” The man shouted and she laughed again. This was the most fun she’d had in years.
The drums intensified. She felt the beat in her blood and allowed the flames to disappear. The man grabbed her around the waist and swung her high. Her bell-like laughter rang out as the joy of freedom filled her with intoxication unmatched by any drug.
But the big man was through dancing. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. His lips were first hard then soft. He forced her lips open with his tongue and ravished her mouth. She slumped against him overcome with desire. He swept her into his arms, left the building through the back door and ran down the alley. He turned into a narrow lane and climbed stairs. At the top, he kicked open a door and entered a set of rooms with almost no furniture. Candles flared into life when they entered. Incense smoldered in a holder in front of an arcane altar decorated with skulls, money, a bottle of liquor, cigars and a statue of a god she did not recognize.
He took her into his bedroom. A mattress lay on the floor covered with animal skins. He placed her tenderly in the middle and began stripping off her clothes. His large hands were gentle as he unbuttoned the tiny pearl buttons on her sleeves, turned her over and unfastened more buttons down her back. He pulled her against his body as he stripped her dress off leaving her in a thin silk chemise. Fenix never wore pantalettes.
His hands stroked the length of her body. Her chemise flew off and she was naked. He gasped at her perfection. “You be so white and so lovely it be breaking my heart.”
She lay back and watched as he removed his pants. His organ was enormous and erect. She was filled with a longing to feel it inside her. She opened her legs and showed him her pink heart. She thought he would fall on her. He didn’t. He knelt between her legs, staring in awe at her pulsing opening. It glistened with the moisture of her intense arousal. She could smell it and so could he. His nostrils flared as he pushed his face between her legs. When his tongue touched her, she screamed. It had been so long since she’d lain with a man. She climaxed immediately, the powerful spasms engulfing her in pleasure.
He laughed. His deep voice echoing through the small room filled with the smell of sex, burning wax, cannabis and incense. He pulled himself up her body and slowly penetrated her. His cock was so huge, she threw back her head and moaned as it filled her and stretched her wider than she’d ever been opened. He pushed her white legs high and wide, up to her shoulders. Her emotions rolled with hundreds of different feelings. She felt vulnerable, overwhelmed, engulfed and excited beyond bearing. It had been a long time since she’d lain with a man and never with one as virile as this man.
Chapter 7
Bryn finished her project and went upstairs to look in on the operation of the store. Her mind was occupied with plans to once again break into Marie LeVeque’s room at the Masion de Ville, but not to the exclusion of all else. She was worried about Fenix. Her sister had not come into the basement to see her which was her usual practice. When she entered the dining parlor, she found Fingle polishing the silver.
“Fingle, has Miss Fenix returned from the library?”
Fingle was not only their butler, their footman and their groom, he was also a friend. He had a strange history. At one time he’d been Samantha’s familiar, a big hound dog with droopy eyes and long ears. His history was reflected in his human face which resembled the dog he’d once been. Sam had elevated him to his current position when the twins saved her from burning at the stake in Salem, Massachusetts. He was unbelievably loyal to her and now to them as well.
He stopped rubbing a teaspoon with a white cloth, examined it carefully for spots, placed it on the white table cloth and looked thoughtful. “No, Miss, can’t say as I have. Was she feeling a little off current this morning? Miss can get twitty.”
Bryn sighed with frustration. “I truly didn’t notice, Fingle. Perhaps I should have. This is not the time for Fenix to go on one of her escapades. She’s at the end of her cycle.”
Fingle nodded. “I thought as much. She’s seemed
tired as of late.”
This close to the end, Fenix would be much weaker than normal. Her powers would be at low ebb. She could not be killed, but she could be seriously injured which might advance the cycle and bring on her death.
“Do you think she may have gone somewhere other than the library?”
“I believe she caught a hack. She could have taken it anywhere. Should I go search for her, Miss?”
Bryn’s frown deepened. She pulled her watch out of her pocket and looked at it. Fenix had been gone for four hours. It seemed more and more likely her sister was engaged in something contrary to Bryn’s express wishes. She cursed and went back downstairs.
“Sam! I think we’ve lost Fenix again.”
Samantha pushed her stool away from the propelling system she was working on for Mr. Henry Talbot’s zeppelin, the High Flyer. It was a commissioned piece due to be installed this very week. Henry, a member of the New Orleans Society for the Promotion of Flight, had big plans to cross the continent to New York and then continue on to Paris. The shiny brass propellers hung from the body of the motor which rested on a worktable. Sam’s propulsion system depended on steam, but her engine design was vastly superior to the one Henry already had. The parts were lighter and it required far less fuel to create the desired internal pressure required to operate the propellers.
“It’s too close to the end, Bryn. Anything could happen to her.”
Bryn wrung her hands in despair. “I know. I think she’s trying to take matters into her own hands again. She becomes so headstrong when she gets close to thirty. This happened exactly thirty years ago when we were in England. She was almost killed by Draak Priest himself.”
Samantha wiped her hands on a rag. “Where could she have gone? Do you think she will try to get the stone herself?”
Bryn nodded and accepted a hug from Samantha. “Yes, of course, but I can’t imagine how her mind is working. I’m positive the stone is at the Maison de Ville. Marie LeVeque has it. But did I tell Fenix this? I can’t remember. I saw the emerald lying on her chest. I was about to cut the chain holding it when Quinn came and hauled me off. I was so close.”
“Would she go there?”
Bryn tried to think. Her mind was awash with fear for her sister. She could barely focus. “No, no, she would never do that. She would try to get someone to steal it for her or even give it to her. That’s much more in line with her way of thinking. Who could be close to LeVeque and how would she find that person?”
Sam patted her on the back. “She’s trying to subvert some man. She uses her looks and sex. It’s how she operates. You know it’s true. Does this LeVeque have a lover?”
“The possibility is high, but wouldn’t her lover live with her?”
“I don’t know. Did you feel the presence of another person when you were close to LeVeque?”
Bryn rubbed her temples. “I’m not sure. There was no one with her at that time but I think I detected the subtle presence of masculinity, a big man, a powerful one; perhaps a voodoo man.”
Sam shrugged. “Then she’s with him. All we have to do is figure out where she went to locate him.”
Tears poured down Bryn’s face. “I will kill her when I find her.”
Sam hugged her again. “No need, she’ll be dead in less than two months.”
Bryn pushed her away. “You are no help. I’ll have to send for Quinn.”
* * * *
Quinn and Tomlinson drove Quinn’s curricle downtown to talk to Police Chief Hennessy. The streets teamed with wagons filled with supplies being delivered to local eateries, mule-drawn carts, hacks, carriages and street vendors hawking all kinds of wares from hot beignets to spicy sausages.
Quinn pulled into an empty space across from the station, climbed down and surveyed the scene. An urchin dressed in ragged pants passed by. When the boy stopped to beg, Quinn handed him the reins and asked him to walk the horses up and down Royal Street while he went inside. The boy stared at the silver dollar Tomlinson bestowed on him with awe and took off down the street leading Quinn’s pair of matched bays.
The three-story brick building was busy. Quinn asked for Hennessy at the front desk and was conducted through a maze of corridors to an office in the rear. Hennessy sat at a mammoth desk bent over a pile of paper when they walked in.
The stocky Police Chief wore a set of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his bulbous nose. When he noticed them, he pushed his glasses up with one finger and lifted bushy eyebrows. “What can I do for you two gentlemen?”
“I reviewed my notes on the Soho killer and it would appear we are dealing with the same man,” Quinn began.
Hennessy’s laugh was a coarse bark that included no humor. His cold blue eyes did not warm and as he spoke his Southern accent became extremely pronounced. “I sincerely doubt it. There is no possibility I can perceive of where your killer crosses the Atlantic to the very city you happen to be in to resume killing women.” He shook his head. “Besides, they’re only two dead darkies anyway. I have so many more important problems on my plate right now than two dead niggers.”
Quinn was shocked at the man’s crude language but tried to ignore it. “Two dead people, Chief. I feel sure you can’t be shoving their deaths under the carpet. And if your cases do intersect with mine, we are looking at a global killer, someone who kills wherever he goes.”
Hennessy leaned back in a creaking chair, laughed again and struck a sulfur match. He used it to light a fat cigar. “No need to worry yourself about this matter, Mr. Blade. Darkies get killed every day. The man was interesting. I did some checking because he looked familiar. He was a voodoo priest, a very powerful one. The dead woman belonged to him. She was a prostitute working the waterfront. He owned several. His death will cause a stir in the local darkie community mostly because he was feared. No one is particularly interested in who killed him or the whore, just glad he’s gone. And as to the killer being the man you seek, I sincerely doubt it.”
“Owned? As in the prostitute belonged to him like a slave.”
“The Civil War has only been over for twenty-five years. Many of our citizens still keep darkies they had from before the war. It’s not all that uncommon. Slavery might be officially over, but here in the South it’s a way of life we’re having a hard time leaving behind. The darkies feel the same way, I assure you. They enjoy being cared for. Life on their own is just plain too hard. It’s a basic fact of nature, sir, darkies are very stupid and lazy.”
Quinn put his hand on Tomlinson’s arm to stop him from saying something offensive to Hennessy. Tomlinson’s views on slavery did not coincide with Hennessy’s or need to be aired at this moment. “I see, well thank you for your time, Chief. Should you find more bodies killed by the same man—or in the same way, I should say—could you send a message to my residence? I would be so interested.”
Hennessy stood up and stuck out a meaty paw. “Surely.”
Quinn shook his hand and they left. The boy was still walking his horses along Royal Street. He added another coin to Tomlinson’s largesse and they headed back toward the Garden District.
“What a complete ass!” Tomlinson expostulated. “He’s not going to inform you of anything. Why he doesn’t even give a drop of credence to our connecting the Soho killer to the murderer of these two human beings.”
“Yes, he is an ass, my dear Tomlinson, but he’s right; no one cares about two dead blacks. He may summon us if more bodies are found . . . and there will be. I certainly hope he does, but as you so succinctly surmised, I doubt it.”
“Do you think this may have something to do with Miss Bryn? I believe she’s searching for a stone in the possession of a voodoo woman. This dead priest may have a connection.”
“I think that’s a very high possibility, especially in light of the way he was killed. I’m not so stupid as to think the connection between the Soho killer and this one does not exist. Two more similar methods of murdering people could not be imagined.”
Tomlinso
n fingered his brown goatee. “You are right, of course, which means we are looking for a priest or someone masquerading as a priest.”
“Yes,” Quinn said. “And I think I know where to start looking.”
“Amazing,” Tomlinson said. “You do? Where?”
“How long has it been since you went to confession?”
“Me? Never! I’m a Methodist.”
“Pity. I guess it will have to be me.”
Chapter 8
Completely exhausted, Fenix slept for a time. When she awoke, her companion was staring at her with a bemused expression on his handsome face. “Why you come with me, beautiful woman? I am just a black man and you are like the finest silk, a rare jewel I should never be allowed to touch.”
Fenix yawned and stretched like a cat. “You are a very virile man. I saw you and desired you. Is that not enough?”
“For somes, but not for you. What be your name, beautiful witch?”
“You tell me yours first.” Names were rare possessions. Voodoo priests and priestesses rarely shared their true name with anyone. When this man thought of a name he would share, perhaps he would think his real name and Fenix would pick it out of his thoughts.
She was correct. He thought for a moment and Fenix heard Emile Deveroux clearly in his head. “My name is John Troutman,” is what he said. “Now, fine lady, what be yours?”
“Fenix Sahir, late of London, newly come to your beautiful country.”
He traced one of her naked breasts with a dark brown finger, circled it and finally reached the tender nipple, red from his beard and sucking lips. “Your skin be like cream.”
Her breast swelled under his attention and blue veins glowed through the pale skin. She reached up to touch his face. “And your face is like a statue carved from granite, the lines clean and strong.” She brushed her finger across his lips. “Your lips are soft and sensuous, yet hard on mine.”
“You invite me to kiss you?”
She laughed. “No, I wish to ask you some questions.” Fenix used the power of her mind to hypnotize him. “You grow sleepy,” she said in a soft droning voice. “You desire nothing more than to slide into a soft sleep. The bed is so comfortable. Your eyelids are so heavy. You need to sleep.”
The Flight of the Zeppelin Page 5
