Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.
—Anton Chekhov—
French pastries and creole' seasonings scented the earthy river air, as fishermen on large boats hastily brought in the morning's catch. Docked shrimp boats with nets filled with crustaceans lined the old hurricane beaten wooden platforms.
New Orleans was beginning to wake, one restaurant and tourist laden tavern at a time. Even on such a gloomy morning, tourists were loading into brightly colored buses that would take them on a journey through the city. Phones at the ready to take pictures or videos of themselves at all the most popular sights. Listening intently as the guide told the history behind each monument, street, or gravesite. Giving a watered-down version of New Orleans' root work as they stopped at a spiritual gift shop. There tourists could buy faux voodoo dolls or brightly decorated toy chicken feet, as mementos of their New Orleans visit.
No one ever really wanted to hear the real version of that saccharine rendition of New Orleans' history that the guides spouted with their over embellished Creole' or Cajun accents. That, along with the casket girls, there were also Le` placage. Which, because it involved rich white men and free black women, was a history lesson almost never mentioned by the guides. Conveniently, they also never cautioned that any non-natives who wondered past the designated tourist locations, like Bourbon Street, were likely to get robbed, or worse—go missing. Oh, they spun wonderfully woven yarns of the infamous Jacques St. Germain, the religious fear mongering tale of the Rougarou, and of course there's the tale of Grunch Road. Yet, never once did they ever mention that there were real supernatural beings in the city. Supernaturals that walked among them and blended almost seamlessly into society. Beings that, unlike the movies and books portrayed, weren't limited to the night.
Hayley ambled along the wharf, pushing a sleek black stroller across the uneven wooden walkway. Its subtle rocking doing a wonderful job of lulling a fussy baby Hope into a land of dreams. Casually, her eyes drifted to the docks. The mighty Mississippi never looked so pristine as it gently lapped at the passing river boats. Even the old warehouses, rusted by age and nearly abandoned, seemed almost ethereal to her.
The air was warm despite the weather and felt wonderful as gentle breeze after gentle breeze lapped against her skin, teasing the stray hairs of her otherwise sleek low ponytail. The flavors of New Orleans teased her senses both playfully and invitingly.
Her mouth began to water from the aroma of freshly baked doughnuts, hot Beignets dusted with powder sugar, and warm coffee with chicory and fresh cream. Carefully, she began to make her way away from the wharf's wooden docks to a sidewalk that led to the bustling streets and delicious food. Realizing it had quickly become darker than normal, she looked skyward.
Clouds—dark and heavy with unfallen rain loomed menacingly over the New Orleans skyline. Which she found odd because the local weather report had said clear skies today. Yet, before her very eyes, more and more rain clouds continued to fill the sky.
While unusual, it was not an uncommon thing around this time of year. Weather in general could be unpredictable and there had been plenty of times the reports had been wrong, but for some reason she just couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling she had.
It felt almost, ominous. Like a warning of what was to come. It made her feel like she was the little house in Kansas right before the tornado hit it and whisked Dorothy off to Oz.
Deciding that continuing to think about her unease would do no good, she instead, chose to look around absentmindedly. Looking but not really seeing anything. Though, she kept her other senses on high alert—just in case.
People walked dogs on brightly colored leashes, sipping expensive coffee with too much milk from cups made from sustainable material as they simultaneously held zoom calls on their phones. As others went to one of the many shops that lined the streets or were just coming from one; carrying bags so heavy that their backs hunched slightly. While others quickly ushered their pouting children away from the bakery's and sweet shops.
A weary looking old man in faded Levi's and a weather worn black shirt, sold overpriced merch from a small kiosk near the bakery she was headed to.
Tourists seemed to be the only ones to stop and look at his goods. While locals, like her, merely went about their day. Only pausing long enough to shake their heads at the over-eagerness of the sightseers to buy such simple, and overpriced, merchandise. They'd probably take the items back to their hometowns or countries to humble brag about the places they've gone, to the people they know, in the form of gifting them said items.
The young mother found things of that nature to be rather tasteless. She didn't understand the almost overwhelming need some people possessed to brag about everything. Taking to their social media to post about any and everything they think would promote themselves as wealthy or "living the good life". Which most, if not all, of it was a lie.
With a roll of her mossy hazel eyes, she scoffed and directed her attention down to Hope. Still fast asleep, the infant's little lips puckered a bit as if she were suckling an invisible bottle. Enamored, the young mother tried not to coo at the overwhelming cuteness of her child's unconscious action. However, Hayley felt an involuntary shudder slide its way up her spine. She wasn't cold nor sick. She was passed the days of ever feeling any of those sensations again. It felt more like eyes were on her and that slight uneasy feeling that had been coyly gnawing at her instincts, began to morph into stomach churning agitation.
The hairs on the back of her neck began to compete with the goosebumps down her arms on which could rise higher. Instincts now in overdrive, Haley slowly ambled down the street towards a nearby alley. Big doe eyes belied an adoring motherly gaze and perfectly concealed the viperous assassin readying itself to strike.
Outwardly unfazed, her heightened senses picked up on the subtle shuffle of clothing and the smell of death mixed with the muskiness of earth, and dry-rotted wood that seemed to cling to them, as it rushed her way.
With practiced ease, she shifted her stance and readied herself for the impending attack. Though to any who looked upon her, they only saw a doting young mother pushing a stroller dangerously close to a very dark—very dank alley. And not a bad ass hybrid bayou Queen readying herself to deliver a swift and ruthlessly gory death to whatever was headed her way.
The ominous clouds finally gave way, and rain began to gently pelt the ground with splatter marks that grew plentiful by the second. The litany of heavy drops drummed steadily against the streets of New Orleans. Cracks of lightning illuminated the otherwise gloomy city in quick bursts of lightning as thunder, strong and unyielding, began to roar its displeasure to the citizens below it.
Calmly, she pulled down the stroller's canopy to further cover her sleepy child, almost completely, from the falling rain—and impending bloodshed. With Hope now safe and warm from the environment, Haley allowed her eyes to shift and her fangs to elongate. Mere seconds ticked by before the heavy stench of the possible assailant filled the alleyway. Death and dirt clung to his heavy sodden clothing, easily overpowering the natural rankness of the alley. Turning to face him, Hayley used her foot to inconspicuously push Hope's stroller behind a nearby trash bin. Effectively hiding her from view and danger.
Determined to assess her situation, she schooled her features to look panicked and slightly fearful. Her eyes quickly scanned him over. Dark muddy clothes covered him from almost head to toe. It looked as if he'd been traipsing through a bog of some sort. Only the pale skin of his hands were visible and they were covered in thick scars—some freshly scabbed and others healed to keloid. Her gut screamed at her to be cautious of this individual, despite her keen sense of smell detecting his humanity—and something else. What exactly she wasn't sure as it had been buried beneath muck and other foulness—almost cloaked by it. Gut instinct alone was something a predator like her relied on most. It made the difference between surviving a night or many. Dumb luck could help you live through the night but it was instinct that kept you alive, for those who understood its call and she had no intention not to heed it now.
Deciding the stare down would get her nowhere, she tried her best to imitate what she thought was a non-threatening, yet secretively threatening, stance.
"Why are you following me?" she questioned softly, watching him astutely anticipating how and if he would answer.
"He requires the power of many," he rasped maliciously as a cleverly concealed knife slid from its place in his sleeve into his hand. "Witches whose light shines the brightest make for the best source—once their souls are broken into a million pieces. And we will break her until there is nothing left."
For a moment the world seemed to stop.
The weight of his words was so heavy, it knocked the air from Hayley's lungs and she found herself whispering only one word…
"Hope."
And as the blackened veins under her eyes belied her rage, her eyes bled to bright amber.
The bakery's agate counter tops and tables gleamed under the soft lights. While the neon sign that read Café De Lis, glowed softly against the wall just above the industrial sub-zero refrigerator, filled with juices, various milks, and creams. Steam rose gently from the line of espresso machines, as the heady scent of New Orleans coffee mixed with the natural aroma of freshly dampened earth. Pristine glass housed shelves upon shelves of freshly baked pastries. Some, french staples while others were more Americanized in nature. Doughnuts of every size, shape and flavor one could possibly imagine, were also proudly displayed upon the shelves along with cakes, cookies and various macaroons. It was a quaint little bakery and was positively ambrosial to Elijah's keen senses. It was also the perfect place to meet some one on a rainy morning like this. The dapper immortal adjusted his blazer a bit before resuming his perusal as he continued to wait.
Soft jazz and laughter filled the air as four elderly men with varying shades of brown skin sat with looks of concentration as they eyed each other skeptically from across one of the small round tables. One of them had a pen and pad of paper in front of him, obviously the score keeper. Porcelain tiles with small black dots filled the table in what resembled a "T" shape as they took turns either adding more to their hand or slamming the tiles onto the table to collect points. Cheers of joy and groans of disappointment battled against the sultry sax of Boney James.
His eyes drifted from the cafe` to the rain sodden street. A sleek black SUV slowed to a stop across from the cafe` and long perfectly defined curls and flawless ebony skin draped in Gauchere stepped from the automobile. Heels clicking along the wet side walk, she ambled towards a man with a kind smile and alert eyes. His skin was deeply tanned with creases of his age sprinkled in fine lines across his forehead and his thick neck and broad shoulders spoke of college football days that had long passed. Dressed in all black, only his brown belt and gun holster that housed a sleek desert eagle stuck out. Though he did not know the man, his occupation was abundantly clear. His keen hearing picked up their voices as they greeted each other and the immaculately clad immortal found his brow lift slightly when both parties suddenly talked in hushed tones.
Recognizing her from his brief run in with the Voodoo Queen LeRoux, and after hearing the words witches, children, and missing, the elder original decided to indulge in something normally quite beneath someone of his stature—eavesdrop.
Focusing on the two of them, his keen hearing picked up on their conversation despite them having entered into a nearby restaurant and after only a few moments, he wished like hell he hadn't. However, another voice and familiar scent caught his attention. Standing, Elijah straighten his blazer and left a large tip before disappearing out the door with the gust of a small breeze.
"I'm gonna make you watch as I rip your skin apart, strip by strip. Until there is nothing left but bones," hissed the angry young mother.
The clouds above her rumbled as if a great battle was being fought within them and the rain began to fall harder.
The hooded man jeered, "I was going to kill you quickly, now I think I will make you suffer." Pointing his knife at Hayley, he taunted, "he will have that child's po—"
Yet whatever else he'd been about to say had been left unfinished. The wet sounds of muscle tearing filled the alley as the assailant began to slump forward. Dark blood pooled at his feet before mixing with the rain water in rivulets down the dirty alley to its drainage. A heavy plop resounded off the walls as his body hit the ground face first.
Elijah calmly stood before her, ram-rod straight, still holding the man's beating heart.
"Who was that?" inquired Hayley as she began to visibly relax. "And why did he want Hope?" She made her way back to her child's stroller and quickly lifted the canopy an inch to see that the baby was still fast asleep—and dry.
Sighing, the elder immortal dropped the heart and reached into his breast pocket for a handkerchief. Wiping the blood from his hand, he made his way next to her. "I believe he was an acolyte of some sort—however, to who, I'm afraid I do not know, but rest assured I will find out."
"Now, to answer the other part of your question," he began calmly, his cool visage covering his mounting worry, "I overheard a rather interesting conversation today. It would appear that the children of the witches here are going missing."
"He said they would drain her of her power," recounted Hayley as she and Elijah exited the alley. "What are we going to do?"
"Well," surmised the rain soaked original, "the first thing we need to find out is who is this he our heartless acolyte friend in the alley was referring to. However, the present weather is no place for a baby. So, I will have to insist that you and Hope head home. I, however, will need to pay a visit to someone who can tell me more of what's happening."
And he knew where to begin.