A/N: Yup a brand spanking new chapter for all you lovely people who are actually reading this. I've only just decided to set this in New Orleans. I didn't know that it would be set there when I started writing this, but hey, what can I say. Feels kinda right that it is. Did you know Poppy Z Brite wrote a crow novel set in New Orleans? I haven't read it…yet. ^^ Well that was a nicely useless piece of info so I'll just say my thanks and then get on with this.
Redaura: So glad you like this ^^ Really. And so glad you review all my fics! You make my day…week…whatever! ^^
MayadaBee: Well when you put it like that….hope you enjoy this^^
Arwen: Thanks for the encouragement. I hope I'm up to standard.
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Nick lounged in his seat. He had chosen the furthest corner in Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, one of the oldest bars in New Orleans, where he was more than adequately concealed by the darkness within. Few glanced his way but often those who did meet his eyes suddenly found that they would much prefer their eyes rest elsewhere. Not bad in a place so dimly lit it was hard to tell friend from foe, lover from enemy. Nearby in the bar, but round a corner so Nick couldn't see, a man sing some Blues song or other. Nick did not recognise it nor did he have any wish to. The voice was pleasing enough but he was only half listening. He raised his glass, tipping the contents of liquid fire down his throat and lost himself to inconsequential music and his own thoughts.
He had seldom come here with Rebecca. She had other bars, other places where she was content to spend an evening, even without him. She had liked the singers though and she'd only ever come for the music but never at the weekend unless he pressed her. She had disliked the weekend crush of more than merry holiday makers and had prefered her other, quieter haunts at such times. He on the other hand loved being surrounded by people and the anonymity it and the darkness gave him. Tonight was such a night and he had come here to think.
Mostly about what to do about the apartment. He rather liked it but it had been Rebecca's from the first and all her things still lingered there. Reminding him of her. Everyday he acted like a concerned boyfriend should, worrying over where she may be, pretending to hope she would come back and those around him had fallen effortlessly under his will. That, however, did not change the fact he was growing tired of the game. It had been two months already, not long enough for a concerned boyfriend who loved his girl to give up. Mentally he shrugged. He could wait out a year. Then he may give her up for dead or just simply gone, and leave the apartment under the guise of grief. Though he did like her apartment he thought with a small smile.
~*~
Rebecca walked down old and familiar streets, aware of the predatory swing of her hips, the new aggression in her walk. The streets welcomed her back like old friends while the warm night air enveloped her like a lover's touch. A slight breeze caused that air to stir around her and she sighed, taking it as deep into herself as she could.
Home.
The word drifted through her mind and she smiled bitterly.
Grave, she contradicted. What was her city now but another resting place? Then her smile hardened as a new thought came to her. It wouldn't be her resting place alone.
Her feet were finding old paths, taking well travelled routes through the Quarter and seeing her home again, her city, made her heart ache. She passed a group of boys scarcely older than she who stumbled in her wake and turned, calling invitations she ignored. They didn't touch her. They were not why she was here. Once, a long time ago, she would have cringed and hurried on. Now, she turned and blew them a kiss and bestowed a smile that promised death should they venture too near. This was her play ground now. One of the boys stuttered, and then, by unspoken agreement, they forgot her and hurried on.
Still smiling she turned away again and continued to walk. In a moment she would reach Jackson Square and she wondered at the time. She hadn't bothered with a watch, it had seemed unnecessary. It was dark but that didn't mean much. She still didn't know how long she had been gone. It wasn't long before the gates that surrounded the Square came into view and she walked around them, moving down the outside of the Square rather than through it. She reached St. Louis Cathedral and, slightly surprised, found the doors still opened to visitors. That meant it was winter now, dark long before five pm when the church closed its doors. That meant she'd been gone two months…maybe three she realised with shock. Still not looking too clearly at her actions she entered the church.
Visitors, tourists still milled around and even some of the faithful and not so faithful knelt amongst the rows asking or saying or begging or confessing things only their God would know. She looked at them and hoped that He listened. So many earnest faces, so many fragile flames and amongst it all so much indifference. She blinked and shook her head. These people were not her concern, they never had been even in life but she walked further in because there was something that she wanted to do here.
She approached one of the smaller, more secluded rows of candles. One of the ones hidden in a corner that mostly went ignored. She fumbled in her pockets, dragging out the first note she found and crammed it into the box, not bothering to look at it. She lifted a taper and touched it to one existing candle flame and let it flare, before breathing life into her chosen candle.
"Who is it for?" a voice asked at her elbow. She was so startled she almost dropped the still lit taper but she composed herself quickly. She didn't turn to face the speaker but she had already heard the genuine interest and sympathy in his voice.
"For me," she said, still refusing to turn. Her voice had choked her far more than she wanted to admit.
"For yourself? Why?" the voice asked.
"Because I'm the only one who will light one for me," she answered simply. Then she blew out the taper and she left, coat swishing behind her as she strode away, and never once did she look back to glimpse the face of her would-be comforter.