Blood Moon (A Louisiana Demontale): Book 1 of the Crescent Crown Saga

by Schuyler Windham

  “I may be a pathetic human,” Leo said, rubbing his cheek. “But I’m the pathetic human Arachne is falling for.”

  Keres gritted her teeth together and stuck her nose in the air.

  “You should leave before you really get hurt,” she almost whispered, and then fled the terrace in a few beats of his racing heart. Shocked, Leo stood watching where she just was and holding his hand to his cheek.

  “Hey . . .”

  Leo whirled around, holding his hand to his chest.

  “Oh, hey, Arachne . . .”

  “I’ve got to stop sneaking up on you like that!” She put her hand to her own cheek. “What happened out here? You’re hurt?”

  Leo blinked a few times, shook his head, and then nodded.

  “Uh, yeah, no! It was just a mosquito . . . damn blood-suckers . . .” he chuckled, and then realized his joke was only falling flat.

  But Arachne snorted out a laugh. “I should have known!”

  “Sorry I slapped my own cheek,” he scratched the back of his head nervously. “I forgot we were still attached by that spell. I didn’t realize you could actually feel my pain.”

  “As long as you’re okay.” She smiled at him sweetly. A full moon hung overhead, and it bathed them in ribbons of silver. She peered up at him with amethyst eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “I’m sorry I needed to step away for a moment . . .”

  “You don’t need to apologize or explain.” He held out his hand. She took it, and let him twirl her around again. She giggled as they danced to crickets in the cool night and the muffled music of the band through the windows. Finally, he leaned her back, holding her firmly in his arms.

  “You are radiant,” he murmured. “May I kiss you?”

  Arachne hesitated, her face pink, eyes wide, and her lips slightly parted.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  He tenderly pressed his lips to hers. Shooting stars sparked between them. The aromas of the plum roses melted together into pure ecstasy, saturating the cool humid air around them. Arachne’s lips were soft and tasted of honey; warm and sweet. He slowly guided her back up to a standing position. Then she placed her small hands on the sides of his face and kissed him back more deeply. Leo’s heart danced in his chest.

  “I adore the sound of your heart,” she murmured against his cheek. “It gives away your feelings every time.”

  “I don’t mind,” Leo smiled. “So long as it’s a beat you can dance to.”

  Arachne laughed and nodded. She reached up to kiss him once more, wrapping her arms around his neck. Leo lightly placed his hands on her waist and pulled her in closer.

  “I can’t help but dance to it,” she murmured. They swayed for a few moments, Leo relishing her body dancing close to his. But too soon, the terrace door opened, and someone called out, “You’re needed inside. They’re starting the toast!”

  Arachne pulled away, and Leo’s heart sank. Over so soon? She grasped his hand and led him back into the ballroom.

  Saint-Germain held his champagne high above his head and shouted, “Ah! Here is our guest of honor now!”

  The guests set their eyes on Arachne and Leo. He felt his face flush with embarrassment as everyone raised their glasses toward them. Someone quickly placed glasses of champagne in Leo and Arachne’s hands as Eshe, in her sparkling pink dress, skipped forward to stand next to them.

  “To a new future of peace and tranquility in the Crescent City!” Saint-Germain grinned. “To our soon-to-be-crowned Queen of Darkness!”

  The room cheered, and everyone swigged from their crystal glasses. Leo and Arachne obliged and shared a look.

  “Cheers!” He smiled warmly at her. The band struck up again, and the ballroom was a blur of dancing and enthusiastic conversation once more.

  Arachne refused a horse and carriage home.

  “It’s a beautiful night.”

  “You want to walk home?” Leo raised his eyebrows at her high heels and at Eshe, who clung sleepily to her back like a koala bear.

  “One benefit of being me is, my feet never hurt,” she laughed cheekily. “Besides, I want to talk a little longer with you.” Leo shrugged and followed her down the moonlit path from the Magnolia Mansion. Carriages strolled by them as partygoers left.

  “I’m glad you said yes.” Leo shoved his hands into his pockets. She looked at him quizzically.

  “Oh, to go with you?”

  “I almost gave up. I didn’t want to annoy you . . .”

  “You do annoy me.”

  He scrunched up his nose and pouted his lips.

  “Your insufferable optimism and righteous moral compass is annoying as heaven!” She laughed. He chuckled with her. He couldn’t deny that; she had a point. They reached the gates, and she spun to face him, tilting her face up. He leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek. Soft. Sweet.

  “You spoil me,” she murmured.

  He rested his hand on the metal gate and stared into her eyes. “It’s my pleasure.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered as she contemplated. Leo waited patiently, a cool breeze caressing Arachne’s hair, strands flying wildly out of her loose bun as Eshe snoozed on her shoulder. She took a deep breath.

  “In the carriage, you said you are choosing to be here. Why?” She bit her lip. “Aren’t you repulsed by me?”

  “What?” His brow furrowed.

  “I drink human blood. I’m immortal.” She gazed down at the ground. “I’m a monster.”

  Keres’ words leapt to his mind. You don’t even know her.

  Leo started, “You are not . . .” but suddenly his head was spinning. Nausea squirmed in his stomach, and his words faltered.

  “I know I don’t look that way to you, but this—” she said quickly, motioning to her body with her free arm, “—is a facade.”

  Leo grasped the gate harder to keep balance.

  “Leo?” Arachne stepped forward and took his arm for support. “You don’t look well . . .”

  He leaned into her and she held him steady.

  “What’s wrong?” She placed a palm on his sweaty forehead.

  “Dunno,” he gasped, trying to clear his head with the crisp night hair filling his lungs. His mind raced. Was it the food? The wine? The dancing? Am I poisoned?

  “I forget how human you are,” she sighed. “Let’s get you and Eshe home.”

  “The trolley is actually just north of here.” He gestured up the street. She grasped his arm, hoisted Eshe up a little further up her back, and they hobbled onto the sidewalk. Just as Leo began panicking, his nausea lifted and his head cleared.

  “Whooo,” he laughed weakly. “That was . . . unpleasant.”

  “Feeling better?” She peered over at him.

  “A bit,” he nodded. “It could have been the evening. But honestly, sometimes I just get dizzy spells. Ever since I was little. Occasionally I just feel very sick. Not just me; Monette gets them, too.”

  Arachne frowned deeply. “How peculiar.”

  They walked in silence, Leo gradually regaining his strength. He removed his arm from where Arachne held it for support, and instead held her hand in his. When they reached the trolley stop, he turned to face her and swept loose curls from her face.

  “You know, I don’t think you’re a monster.”

  Her lips parted as if to protest, but he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead.

  “Ever since I saw you, I was intrigued by you. I felt a spark when we first touched, and I knew you were special,” he said softly, not wanting to wake Eshe. “I don’t think you’re perfect. Far from it. But you’re not a monster. I’m here because I want to help you. Your facade is beautiful, but more importantly, your heart is in the right place. I’m your friend. And if you’re interested . . .”

  He cupped her face in his oversized hand. She leaned into his hand and sighed. A low rumble sounded from down the hill. The trolley glinted in the moonlight as it approached and came to a stop beside them. She flashed him a fanged grin as they hopped
on.

  Chapter 11

  Leo stood in front of Arachne’s apartment door, hand held to knock, but he couldn’t set his knuckles to the wood. A goofy grin swept across his face as he thought of the previous night. The parade. The dancing. The kissing!

  Everything was absolutely perfect, except . . . Leo remembered Keres’ words, and his elation deflated. First, Arachne’s oldest friend hating him was not a great start. And second, she insinuated there was something more about Arachne that he didn’t know. Of course, he knew this could only be true; Arachne was thousands of years old, and held many secrets close. Still, after sharing those moments at the ball, Leo felt curiosity gnawing at him. The only way Leo could trust Arachne with the fate of the city is if he knew who she really was. How could he be falling for someone he hardly knew?

  Butterflies danced in his stomach. Oh, fuck. He swallowed hard. Was he falling for her so hard, so fast? What was he to her; some lovesick fool, like Monette had said? A hopeless romantic?

  Leo frowned. He was intent on the truth, he repeated to himself, but he was also worried that he may offend Arachne. There was probably a reason she hadn’t shared much of her personal life with him. A centuries-old vampire probably had a lot of secrets and drama. And as far as he knew, he was just a fling, or as Keres affirmed, a short-lived tryst. How could he ask what he wanted to ask? How could he not?

  The door swung open on its own, and he gaped at Arachne as she raised her eyebrows.

  “Hey.”

  “Uh . . . hi . . .” Leo lowered his arm awkwardly.

  Arachne glanced to the side and then nervously reached up to peck him on the cheek. He blushed, and the goofy grin creeped back on his face.

  “Are we still good?” she asked. “From last night . . . ?”

  “More than good,” he breathed.

  Arachne’s relief was immediate. Her shoulders loosened. “Then why have you been standing out here for the last five minutes?”

  “I just wanted to talk.” Leo stuck his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket.

  Arachne led him inside, frowning a little. She went to her kitchen counter to pour herself a glass of blood wine. Leo looked over at Eshe, who was on the floor, drawing in her journal again with Ozul curled up in her lap.

  “I have some good news,” Arachne said before sipping from her glass. “Because of Saint-Germain’s party, he’s courted quite a few vampires to support our efforts. A lot of vampires are actually really interested in stabilizing the city. Also the mayor, but that’s no wonder. He’s always striking deals to keep constituents safe. Saint-Germain is identifying some of these vampires to potentially serve as members of our court . . . Though we’re still trying to figure out what exactly that will look like.”

  “That is good news,” Leo smiled weakly. He hoped so at least.

  “Oh, and if you’re still concerned about the spell . . .” Arachne pursed her lips at him. “Go ahead and ask Eshe any time, and she will dissolve it. I still think you should keep the spell, but I won’t force it.”

  Eshe smiled sweetly up at Leo and nodded once.

  “Actually . . .” Leo hesitated. “I wanted to talk about something else.”

  Arachne opened her mouth to speak, but then bit her lip. After a moment of hesitation, she turned to Eshe.

  “Would you like to draw in your room, Eshe? Leo and I need some privacy.”

  Eshe nodded. She snapped her journal shut and stood quickly, upsetting Ozul from her lap. He quickly licked his paw and rubbed it across his cheek with agitation as Eshe climbed the stairs to her room.

  Arachne and Leo were alone, and the space between them felt thick with tension. Leo hesitated, deciding how he wanted to ask the question. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders and forced himself to speak the words.

  “Arachne . . . how did you become a vampire?”

  She cocked her head to the side in confusion.

  “I’m not exactly a vampire.”

  Leo’s mouth sprung open, speechless. What exactly was she, then?

  “Oh,” her eyes widened. “I can see why you would think that.”

  “Okay,” Leo shook it off. “How did you become . . . whatever it is that you are?”

  Arachne motioned to the sofa. Leo followed her there and she set her wine glass on the coffee table. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, biting her lip once more.

  “I know I struck a nerve,” he said. “I get it if you don’t want to talk about it. But I hope you can open up to me. Just be honest.”

  Arachne sighed and leaned back on the sofa. She closed her eyes for a few moments, then she righted herself and stared into Leo’s amber, gold-flecked eyes.

  “Let me show you.” She placed her hands on his face. He closed his eyes, and a different world came into focus around him. The summer sun glowed down on a small cottage on a hill. A briny breeze caressed the grass and lavender along the hillside.

  Arachne’s voice narrated the scene: She showed him memories of a lanky man with graying hair and kind eyes, saturating fabric with vibrantly colored violet dye while a young girl with wild strawberry-blond curls sat on her mother’s lap at a loom. The woman had long, golden curls tumbling down her shoulders. She kissed the young girl tenderly on the top of her head as she moved a shuttle across the loom, the girl watching intently and placing her small hands on top of the woman’s.

  “Long ago, my father, Idmon, and I lived in a small village in Lydia. My mother died when I was young, but not before she taught me how to weave. My father was a famous fabric dyer. Growing up, I would watch him dye fabric and thread. He knew the secret to making perfect dyes. He let me do as I pleased. He never once tried to arrange a marriage or even asked me to consider any potential suitors. But perhaps he thought my reputation preceded me and there wasn’t much point.

  “I took up weaving like my mother had, as any good woman of the house did. But I was not just any weaver. I was an artist, more talented with the shaft and thread than Helen of Troy or Penelope. Using my father’s thread, I wove epic tapestries fit for the halls of kings and queens. My weaving was so spectacular, nymphs from the surrounding forests and rivers would gather to watch me work for hours on end.”

  The image of the little girl disappeared, and now she showed him an image of a young woman fetching water from the stream. Strange, sprightly women adorned in vines and flowers followed the woman up the hill, giggling as they went. Leo marveled at human Arachne as she wove a tapestry at the loom in her cottage. Her curly rose gold hair was swirled into an updo, and she wore a long off-white chiton with purple accents. Her eyes were not striking violet, but rather a soft periwinkle, a blue, almost purple hue. Her gaze was kind, but intent on her work. A knock startled her, and she slowly rose from her loom to answer the door, but waited for the second knock to open it.

  “Hubris was my downfall. Everyone adored my tapestries, and I was proud of the craft. But I never once gratified myself to the goddess Athena, who was the patron of weaving. She became envious and angry that I wouldn’t bow to her as the one who taught me to weave. The truth was, my mother taught me how to weave, and my father’s dyes and love for his only child provided depth to my art, so I refused to acknowledge Athena. She’d done nothing for me, and I owed her nothing in return. Well, of course Athena had stewed on this for some time. One day, she came to my door disguised as an old woman . . .

  “Hello?”

  A haggard woman with wrinkled, leathery skin stood there. She grinned, and Leo noticed she was missing several teeth.

  “Arachne, daughter of Idmon?” the old woman inquired with a raspy voice.

  “Yes, this is the House of Idmon, the master dyer.” Arachne nodded slightly. “And I am his daughter, Arachne.”

  “I journeyed from Lebedus, as I have heard a miracle of miracles works within these walls.”

  “It is true.” Arachne smiled warmly. “Idmon is a miraculous dyer. He will make you proud, no matter what color you need.”

  But the woman shoo
k her head. “Not the dyer. The weaver. I have heard many tales of the spectacular tapestries the daughter Arachne weaves within.”

  Arachne blushed softly. “I am humbled by your words.”

  “Ah, such a gifted child as yourself,” the woman chuckled. “I suppose you have thoroughly thanked Athena, fair goddess of the craft, for such a precious gift?”

  Arachne’s jaw tightened and her fists clenched, then she softened her grip and a sly smile crept on her lips.

  “I despise the gods.” Arachne held her head high. “My talents are my own, not bestowed unto me by Athena. Further, if Athena feels so offended by this truth, I challenge her to come down from the skies herself and duel me in a weaving contest.”

  The old woman frowned deeply and then transformed in a flash of light. A tall, stunning woman with tawny curls and alabaster skin appeared. She wore a helmet adorned with a crimson plume and a royal cloak. In one hand, she held a spear, and on her other arm, a shield depicting the head of a woman with snakes for hair.

  “Foolish child!” she exclaimed. “Such arrogance for rejecting me, your creator!”

  “I see no creator before me,” Arachne stated firmly.

  Athena conjured a loom out of thin air and pointed toward Arachne’s loom in the corner. “You little beast! I accept your challenge, child. Let the duel begin and the winner be triumphant!”

  Arachne and Athena sat at their respective looms and began to weave. The duel lasted many months. Arachne showed Leo how they diligently wove, Athena allowing Arachne to take breaks to eat and rest. Woodland and river nymphs crept up from the hillside to watch tentatively through the open door as they wove, their hair filled with blooming flowers and their eyes wide with wonder. Finally, when they had completed their tapestries, they gazed over the pieces with a critical eye.

  Athena’s tapestry was traditionally beautiful and technically spun, but it was blasé, and only depicted the glory of the gods.

  “My tapestry told the real story,” Arachne explained to Leo. “I revealed how the gods so often deceived and took advantage of humans for their own selfish desires, including the rape and punishment of honorable women by Zeus. Further, my tapestry was superior in composition—intricate, forged from the fires of passion and truth . . . “