by L. C. Son
As much as I know my reasons for taking their bait lead back to my loss of my precious sister Calida, here in New Orleans, there’s a darker part of me which can’t but acknowledge there is something far more sinister at work.
I can only hope I can disavow the bewitching mastery of the Changelings as ardently as DeLuca did at the thought of any romantic pairing with me.
“My lady,” I hear Greta call to me from the foyer below.
Quickly wiping my eyes free of the waterworks building behind my lids, I turn to the other side of the railing and look down into the foyer. “Yes,” I answer back.
Looking up at me, Greta’s kind smile greets me as she stands with her hands folded at her waist. She is a petite woman, but her gaudy and stout spirit shows no sign of recoil. Not even in Dalcour’s domineering presence did she shrink. It’s as if she thinks nothing of her evenly five-foot frame. As a matter of fact, I was quite impressed to see she gave no deference to Armando, nor did she stand for his bullying manner.
“We need to discuss your schedule and plan your meals for the week, mon cheri,” Greta says.
Making my way down the stairs, I take another look around this impressive and massive estate. I can’t believe I’m in anything so grand! Smiling, I hold tight to the wooden rails as my new speed swiftly sends me square before Greta before I have an opportunity to comprehend the mechanics of it all.
“Whoa!” I shout, fumbling into her arms. “I’m sorry, Greta! This is going to take some time to get my bearings.”
“It is quite fine, my lady,” Greta softly replies. “Some of these effects will wear off as time goes on, so not to worry.”
Staggering out of her hold, I work to get my footing as the dizzying spell of my swift motion settles. “How do you know how all of this works?”
“Well,” she begins, grabbing my hand, helping to steady my movement as she leads us down the hall toward the parlor. “I’ve been around supernaturals most of my life. I’ve seen it all.”
“Seen it all? But you can’t be much older than me.”
“Age is timeless in their world, I’m afraid. Lord Marchand took me from my former master and owner when I was still a girl. He bargained my freedom papers for my owner’s life and that of his family. From that time until now I have been a part of this world,” Greta replies, taking her hair out of its high bun, revealing long raven black hair that falls to the middle of her back. Her light brown eyes illumine the small freckles nestled across her cheekbone as her peach-colored smile frames her petite pear-shaped face.
“So, why didn’t you become a vampire?” I ask, curious. “I mean wouldn’t you finally have the means to avenge yourself? Your family?”
“I suppose that is one option,” she answers with a small chuckle. “But in all truth, I wasn’t interested.”
“Really? Why not?”
“It’s never been what I wanted. Quite frankly, I never knew such creatures existed until Lord Marchand saved me. But I like being who and what I am. Human. I never wanted to avenge myself of other humans. I just wanted to be treated with humanity.”
Greta’s sentiment sears the fabric of my heart like a hot iron. I wish I were like her.
“Now,” she starts, clearing her throat, “to the matter at hand.”
“Ah, yes, the meals and schedule,” I add, flattening the back of my dress as I take a seat across from Greta while we sit at a large walnut table.
“Do you have any preferences or things to abstain?”
“I—um—I’ll eat pretty much whatever you prepare. I have no sensitivities to which I am aware.”
“Perfect!” Greta answers with delight. “Sometimes Lord Marchand’s visitors can be rather choicy.”
“Oh really,” I say intrigued. I can’t help wondering what type of visitors he’s had over the years.
“And before you ask, yes they were all lovely,” she adds, cupping her mouth. “Now about your schedule,” she finishes. It is clear she isn’t about to divulge any further information on Dalcour’s guests.
“Well, I don’t really have a schedule per se. I suppose I’ll just see where the day takes me.”
“Ah, I see. Thankfully for you Lord Marchand anticipated your response. As such he has taken the liberty of preparing a preliminary schedule for you. At least for the next few days.”
While I’m not overly shocked to learn Dalcour has provided me with a schedule and likely a hefty to-do list, I’m not thrilled. I thought he wanted me to rediscover myself. How will I be able to do so, barreling down his laundry list.
“He has also left you a set of correspondence. Things he wanted to discuss with you that are of a private matter. He asks that you read them in the order transcribed within this leather folio he provided. Lord Marchand says you can use his folio as you conduct your business through town. Within it are monetary notes and papers for charging any necessary business items to his ledger. You’ll find them all in here,” Greta quietly mutters as she hands the brown leather folio to me, grunting a bit as she does. The folio looks heavy as if it carried a pound of bricks.
“Oh! It’s lighter than I thought it would be.”
“Maybe for you, my lady but I assure you for us humans, it is quite the weight to carry,” Greta answers with a knowing stare. As she speaks, I am reminded of my newfound strength. I almost forgot about it.
“I am so sorry, Greta!”
“Please, don’t make a fuss on my account. Now, we must get you on your way, Lord Marchand did schedule you a break away at the Refreshing Springs lounge just near Jackson Square. He figured you could use some pampering.”
My heart melts. No one has ever done anything like this for me. Ever.
Squeezing my hand now resting in my lap, Greta smiles wide with her big brown eyes beaming and says, “Yes, yes, I see Lord Marchand was right. You need this.”
“I—I suppose I do,” I timidly reply as another tear brandishes my cheek.
“Well then, I shall prepare the carriage with haste!” She jauntily answers, jumping up from her seat. “I’ll meet you in the foyer shortly.”
Greta leaves no time for even the slightest response as she’s up and out of my view in an instant. Running my hands over the smooth edges of Dalcour’s leather folio, I unwrap the binding of the satchel and thumb through the contents.
Just as Greta said, Dalcour has placed everything in here with more meticulous care than I thought the male species possible. There is a small silver flask tucked deep on the inside. Pulling it out, I see my initials inscribed on both side in script.
A small paper is rolled along the top of the flask and I unroll and see a note that reads, “To sate your thirst in days to come. Acceptable for bourbon now.”
A wistful smile creeps along my face at Dalcour’s thoughtfulness toward me. Since the day I met him, he’s shown nothing but kindness toward me. How I could allow the lure of the Changelings arise doubt in my heart is foolish on my part. All I can do now is hope I hold tight to how I feel in this moment, to ensure my heart sways no further.
Digging deeper in the satchel I now see three letters carefully placed in reading order. Each are sealed with his crest of an oak tree and his initials. Pulling the first one out, I see the front is labeled, “For Your First Night.”
Fanning myself with the envelope, I gaze up and down the hall, wondering if I have time to read this now or if I should wait until I return. My first instinct leads me to stuff the letter back into the folio but no sooner than I put it inside, I yank it back out and rip it open.
“My Dearest Chartreuse,
If you are reading this before your trip to the Refreshing Springs, then my theories of your impatience are well founded. However, if you are reading this at your bedside after an evening spent of pampering and a proper meal, then my apologies, as I’ve thought you more impetuous than you may be.
Although, I am sure my first assertion holds true.
My only ask of you tonig
ht is that you enjoy yourself. Truly.
You have spent far too much of your beautiful little life in the stench of a saloon. Tonight marks a new beginning. I have instructed the caretakers at the Springs to see to your every need. You’ll be cared for in ways that should always accompany your likeness.
Dote on yourself and take with you whatever suits your fancy.
When you awake on the morrow, I’ll expect you refreshed and ready to mark the entirety of New Orleans with the wonderfulness of you. And that wonderfulness will begin at the St. Louis museum.
There you’ll meet a few of the human faction of nobility and Altrinions like myself. They will expect your arrival at nine o’clock. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ll need your assistance in the museum hall. Those among your company tomorrow are assisting my endeavors in preparing for our Grand Ball all leading toward our greater purposes of civility. You’ll understand more soon.
Upon your arrival ask for Kellan St. John. I have sent word for him to assist you. He is a proper, older Altrinion. Much like Armando, he’ll do well to teach you the proper way of things.
Open the second letter next week and not a day before! Settle your little impetuous heart. What I have to tell you won’t make sense tonight.
Until then…enjoy yourself.
With Favorable Regards,
Lord Dalcour Marchand”
A stream of tears race to my chin as I fold the letter and place it back in the folio. The entirety of this new life with Dalcour sweeps over me. A cascading array of emotions rummage my heart, and I am lost for words.
All I know is that I will do what Dalcour asks of me. I will try to enjoy myself. I owe myself that much.
And so much more.
It doesn’t take me long to get ready and Greta has the carriage prepared as soon as I arrive at the front door. A handsome young man whom she calls Austin, assists me into the carriage.
“Austin will take the carriage to the Springs and have you back in time for supper. I’ll make it a light fare tonight as I’m sure you’ll be too relaxed to endure anything too heavy. Does that sound all right?”
“Sure, Greta—but aren’t you coming with me? I’m not sure I should be alone. At least not for my first night in town.”
“No worries, you’ll be well cared for. Austin will see to it. Won’t you, Austin dear?” Greta smiles wide at Austin and his eyes beam back at her with a bright golden glow, and he nods in agreement.
Gasping at the thought he is likely a supernatural, I slide deeper into the carriage cabin as I watch Austin climb back up into his seat. He takes off before I have a moment to wave farewell to Greta and I can barely make out her form in the distance.
We arrive at the Refreshing Springs in what seems like a flash and my stomach is a bubble of knots. Though I have little time to dally. Austin opens the doors and helps me out of the carriage where I see a pair of attendants awaiting us at the double door entrance of the Springs.
Austin leads me to the pair and offers my hand to a tall woman standing at the door. She looks down her long nose at me, scanning me over as she takes my hand. Her features are hard and striking. Everything about her screams intimidation. Yet, I am surprised when she smiles wide and squeezes my hand with an almost maternal assurance.
“It’s lovely to meet you Ms. Grenoble,” the woman says with a sweet and soft voice. “We have everything prepared just as Lord Marchand instructed,” she adds in a dulcet tone.
Leading me inside, I am greeted by the sweet smells of jasmine and eucalyptus. The soothing scents instantly calm whatever remained of my angst and I exhale deeply, purposing my heart to finally do what I’ve never been free to do before. Enjoy myself.
Chapter Twenty
No nightmares. No dreams. Just the comfort of pillows and the scented oils of eucalyptus fill my suite.
Awakening to the harmonious revelry of chirping birds is like music to my ears. Taking in a deep breath, I am comforted by the clean smell of fresh linen instead of the rank odor of smoke and cigar-filled saloon. As I heave in copious amounts of air, a waft of breakfast tickles my nose, bringing joy to my grumbling tummy.
Although I was thankful for the split pea soup with minced ham that Greta prepared for me, it didn’t quite sate my gnawing hunger.
I am not sure whether it was the toxin cleansing scrub and bath I was given at the Springs, but my body seemed expelled of more than toxins when they were through with me. I felt empty but refreshed all at once. At any rate, I’m most certain I’ll gladly indulge in whatever delectable goodness Greta has for me.
As much as I want to drift deeper into the cottony softness of my bed, the large clock above my door tells me I have a little less than ninety minutes to make myself presentable, eat breakfast and arrive at St. Louis museum for my meeting.
Hurrying myself along, I opt just to freshen up my most important places. After all of the scrubbing, rinsing, and rescrubbing my body went through last night, I’m sure I don’t require much in that department. Although I do take note at my new and swift pace.
I’ve never moved so fast in my life.
Most of it seems without much provocation from me. I’m not sure when I’ll begin my training with Titan, but I hope I don’t bring any undue attention to myself in the presence of humans.
Standing in the mirror after I put on clothes from the deep wardrobe Dalcour prepared for me, I flick my hands a few times in the air and wave them around. Thankfully, I see no trace of the glowing embers from my skin as I did yesterday. I know Dalcour said it would wear off and for that I am grateful. While I haven’t been in my birth city in what seems like forever, I have no desire to exemplify anything short of the wonderfulness Dalcour described in his letter.
And wonderful I shall be.
Thinking over the lessons I heard Armando regale to my sister, I practice my curtsey and pace around my suite a few times. As I do, I stare at myself in the mirror, hopeful my posture is erect and fitting of what I know of societal women.
Still, I don’t have much time to dawdle when I hear the crisp and clanging sound of a bell ringing from afar. I pick up a paper fan that matches my dress from the armoire and make my way downstairs.
“Perfect timing,” Greta says, greeting me at the foyer as I make my way down. She wears a broad smile that stretches across her face as she watches me with her arms folded at her petite waist. “I hope you’re hungry. I’ve prepared quite the spread. Since I’m still not sure what’s your fancy, I made a sampler of sorts.”
“Wow!” I say as Greta leads me to kitchen and I see the bountiful array before me. “There’s enough here to feed an army!”
Greta laughs with her shoulders only, throwing her head back. A long strand of curly black hair bounces at her shoulders, falling out from under her upswept bun and I can’t help imagining how lovely her hair must look when she wears it free. Unfortunately, she doesn’t leave me time to ponder as she quickly tucks the piece back up to her bun and secures it with a pin from her pocket.
“Well, shall we eat?” I ask, pulling out a wooden chair from the table.
“That is kind of you, my lady. However, I have already had breakfast and I must move on to other matters that require my attention. You’re not the only one to whom Lord Marchand provided detailed instructions,” she replies with a nod and wink. “But, before I go, let me know if there is anything else you need? I’ve prepared coffee and tea as I didn’t know your preference.”
“Oh,” I begin, my eyes scanning the large table of food before me. “I think this is more than enough.”
“Very well then,” she says and begins down an adjacent dark hallway. Stopping and turning quickly on her heel, she smiles once more. “I almost forgot. Austin will be outside with the carriage when you are ready to go to St. Louis’. And my lady, please do resist the temptation to clear the table. I’ll have no way of knowing what you liked most if you do.”
Once more, Greta leaves no room for grat
itude as she exits promptly before I have a chance to respond. This time, however, I am thankful. And so is my grumbling stomach. Actually, she could have left faster.
In no time I devour a helping of cubed potatoes, poached eggs, and a helping of beignets which will most assuredly put my corset to the test today. Somehow, I even manage a handful of berries and a quarter of a grapefruit before I lean back in my seat, both satisfied and slightly ashamed at how I demolished almost everything in my view.
I take a few sips of tea but know I need something more. And thankfully it is in plain sight. I spy a small bottle of seltzer water on top of the ice chest, and I know it’s exactly what I need. Thankfully, my years spent at the bar taught me how to twine elixirs of all sorts. Quickly, I take a few gulps of the seltzer and it does exactly what I need. Even though I’m alone, I can’t help but look around the kitchen, hopeful no one heard the uncouth belch that erupted from my gut.
Not the most lady-like thing I know, but oh well.
Grabbing my satchel, I look at the wall clock and notice my time has been far spent and I know I need to make my way to the museum. After everything Dalcour has done for me, the last thing I want is to show up late.
Walking through the expansive estate, I’m still overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur of it all. Everything in me tells me, this can’t be my life. This must be a dream. But I am well awake.
No dreams. No nightmares. I whisper to chant to myself reassuringly.
Even if it were a dream, I’d do whatever I had must to ensure no one wakes me.
The sun is bright as I make my way down the front stairs. Looking down at my yellow gown, it almost reflects the sun’s rays and I wonder if the color is too much. Even if it were, it matters not. I have no time to change. I suppose spending a life cloaked in black, red, dark purples and blues, I wanted to wear something that was the polar opposite.
“Good morning, madame,” Austin softly says, tipping his hat at the brim and offering his hand to help me inside the carriage. I offer the same in reply and a small smile curves the corner of his mouth and he closes the door behind me and climbs back to his seat.
