Davina Claire cast a longing look out of the window of St. Annes Church, where she almost lived in the attic. The day had already come to an end and the sun was setting behind the roofs of the city, but a street band continued to play the jazz music typical of New Orleans. Everything seemed completely peaceful and so the longing of the young brunettes began to grow.
Although she understood that her foster father, Marcel Gerard, only wanted the best for her and to protect her, she missed going outside. The attic where she lived began to feel more and more like a prison. And when she looked outside, she didn't see the dangers he had warned her about, just interesting people who would like to get to know each other better. She was also a good witch to defend herself and had done so all her life. This fact seemed to have forgotten Marcel.
But although she knew that the man only wanted the best for her, every now and then, when he was away, she played with the idea of breaking out. He wouldn't notice it anyway with the problems he has himself at the moment. She could just sneak away on one of those nights when he would be with 'the old ones' and enjoy the evening in the city. She could return before he would return and the vampire would never know about it.
The more she thought about it, the more this possibility burned into her head. Quickly she stepped away from the window in the hope that she would get other thoughts.
She let herself fall on her bed, but her thoughts didn't get rid of that for a long time. Quite the opposite. She only felt more imprisoned. So she rose up again and took a few steps towards the door. One more step and she could leave the room. But would that also be the right decision?
Although she knew it would probably diminish Marcel's confidence in her, a soft voice shouted to her that she should dare. After all, she couldn't spend her whole life in this little room.
Her hand landed on the door handle within a few seconds and she couldn't help but bump it open. Her heart began to beat faster as she hurried through the hallway. After a few seconds she felt intoxicating and climbed down the stairs until she reached the main room of the church.
For a few seconds she hesitantly stopped, but then she went on until she arrived at the church door. She pushed it open and then stepped out onto the street. The evening air was fortunately unusually warm as Davina wore a white dress. Her brown hair fell open over her shoulders and was slightly whirled as a draught gently swept over her. The young witch instinctively took a deep breath and then looked around the street.
A dark-skinned woman who could instantly identify her as a witch led a group of tourists through the streets of the French Quarter where the young Claire witch had lived since birth. A shallow smile crept onto her lips as she wandered her gaze across all the colorful shops and different people. Suddenly she felt like a part of the quarter again and no longer like an undesirable one.
Light-footed, she strolled through the streets of the city, forgetting for the first time in days the worries that literally brought her to her knees. On her way she did not meet any vampire, at least not one she could assign to Marcel's group.
When it was already dark, she stopped in front of a bar. She had never been to such a shop before, but at some point it was always the first time and she couldn't know when she would come outside again. So, without thinking long and hard, she stepped in and ran purposefully towards the bar. She just tried not to let her insecurity show.
"Welcome to the Rousseau," a blonde bartender greeted with a friendly smile, before she looked at the teenager: "What can I do for the young lady? She swallowed and answered instinctively: "A glass of Coke, please." She had never drunk alcohol before, so she had no idea what it might do to her. "The woman smiled friendly at the girl and then turned her back to process her order. Before she did, however, she caught a glimpse of the employee's name tag. The name 'Camille O'Connell' was written on it.
Suddenly a deep voice sounded beside her: "What's a pretty woman like that doing alone in a bar like this?" She turned her head around and looked right into the face of a man. He had pierced cheekbones and brown eyes with a dark shadow. His eyebrows were as dark brown as his hair and on his lips there was a charming grin.