Chapter 3

Cool hands moved over my breasts, teasing my nipples to erection. A warm mouth closed over one of the nipples. I felt sharp teeth graze the tender flesh. Warm sensations flooded my body as the cool hands moved between my legs. My nether lips were parted, and a finger plunged inside me. The finger probed my pussy as a thumb rubbed my clit, urging me to climax. I spread my legs wide as another finger, then another stretched me wide open. Full lips trailed sensual kisses down my neck, then teeth began to nibble at the soft flesh of my throat. Suddenly, sharp fangs pierced my skin—

I woke up drenched in sweat and trembling from an orgasm. My pussy was swollen and sore; my throat burned where the dream fangs had sunken in. I’d had many dreams of Quillon in the past, but never like that. They had never been so intensely sexual. Before, they were always soft and full of shadows, just hinting at desire. This one was downright erotic and left me aching for more than just his fingers inside me.

The dream stayed with me all day. Quillon’s shadowy figure floated through my mind, making it hard to concentrate on anything but him. He stirred something in me no human was capable of, except… Christien. My thoughts suddenly shifted from Quillon to my seductive stranger. I wondered if I would see him that day. He’d said he had a lot of business to take care of. I did not even know what type of business he did. Why didn’t I ask more questions? Maybe I didn’t want to know; I just wanted to enjoy how he made me feel. Something in the back of my mind told me to be careful. Christien was as much, if not more, of a mystery as Quillon was.

***

With time on my hands, I decided to explore New Orleans more. I visited some of the graveyards of New Orleans, the cities of the dead with their raised tombs looking like spooky little houses. I was on a quest to find my family name but found nothing except creepy shadows flittering about. The dead were stirring, impatiently waiting for Halloween. I wished they could give me answers, but so far none of them were speaking to me. They were just whispering and rustling in the shadows. Many were nothing more than fades—nothing conscious.

I visited the uptown Lafayette No. 1 Cemetery in the Garden District and found nothing but Anne Rice fans looking for the tombs of her Mayfair Witches. Then, I went to the oldest cemetery in New Orleans, St. Louis No. 1, where Marie Laveau, the voodoo priestess, had a tomb. That one was rather spooky, mainly because it was in a bad neighborhood, and not because of any supernatural threats. But I felt safe since several tours were going on. Halloween season, and all the tourists, had the tours running practically around the clock.

So far, I had not found anything linking my family to New Orleans, or linking Quillon to my family. I wish someone could tell me the connection. I know my grandmother grew up in New Orleans and had said her family was from here, but where was the proof? And what about Quillon?

As I walked around the uptown part of the city, I found Magazine Street: six miles of boutiques, cafes, antique stores, jewelry stores, and bookstores. I was in New Orleans’ history and shopping heaven. I may be a cheapskate, but I am still a woman, and unique stores draw my attention. I hit the bookstores, hoping to find something interesting about New Orleans and vampires, but had no luck. Then, I stopped at a small café for a café au lait and a beignet: completely sinful. Those square, sugar-covered French doughnuts and rich chicory coffee were some of New Orleans’s tastiest claims to fame. I still had to get a taste of authentic Cajun and Creole cuisine; my mouth watered thinking about gumbo, dirty rice, andouille and boudin sausages, and jambalaya. My stomach grumbled. I was going to have to stop somewhere else for some real food.

I found a store that sold women’s clothing, and I bought a few items suitable to wear on dates with Christien. Then, I was back to my treasure hunt.

Strolling down Magazine St., I was drawn to a store that sold antique jewelry. A jeweled cross in the window display caught my eye. I remembered a photo of my grandmother when she was young. She had worn a cross very similar to this one. It was antique silver—maybe pewter—encrusted with rubies and black onyx, in a very gothic style. It would look beautiful with my ball gown.

I went into the store to purchase the cross. I also found a pair of ruby earrings that matched it quite well. I was pleased with my find and was heading back towards my hotel when I passed by the Park Plaza Hotel. That is where the balls would be held this weekend. A sign said that today was the pre-party meet-and-greet and that the Dark Bazaar was now open. The Dark Bazaar was where all the vendors for the parties and balls were. I decided to check it out.

I found skin paint that would make my skin paler and give it an iridescent glow, and I also purchased a pair of high-quality ivory fangs, which would attach to my teeth. I found a beautiful beaded handbag and a pair of lace gloves. Then, I purchased some silver body glitter. I had all the accessories I needed to complete my costumes for this weekend. Inside the bazaar, food stands were selling authentic Cajun cuisine. I grabbed a po’ boy—a fabulous sandwich on French bread filled with sausage, onions, and peppers—with a side of dirty rice. Yum! I gobbled it down at a nearby table.

After I finished stuffing my face, I took all my goodies back to my hotel. There, I found a note on my door from Christien.

'Sorry I missed you, my darling. I had a few moments before my next business meeting and thought I would surprise you, but you were not here. I will be busy the rest of the night. I will call you tomorrow so we can get together. Yours, Christien.'

I tore the note off the door and went inside. I was upset that I’d missed him, but I was glad that I would see him the next day. I had a clear head and a full belly, and now that I could think of something other than sex, I could get some work done. I decided to go over the dusty manuscripts I’d found at the library.

The ink was faded and unreadable in many areas, and the scrawling, loopy handwriting made it difficult to read in places that were not faded. I was fluent in French, but the way it was worded made it very hard to translate; it was very old French. I could make out that the one book, 'L’Amour du Vampyre,' did have something to do with vampires and the myths surrounding them. It seemed to say that many of the common myths were all false.

The book spoke of a vampire who could walk in daylight and had a reflection. Crosses, holy water, and garlic posed no threat to this vampire. The author said vampirism was like a virus; it made the creature inhumanly strong and resistant to disease and illness, but, because of the high immunity and super-human strength, the blood needed to be replenished often. And it had to be living, pumping blood. Dead, stagnant blood would not do. The constant replenishing of fresh blood provided them with immortality.

I also made out something about vampires excreting some kind of chemical, le parfum de l’amour, the scent of love, which made it easy for them to draw victims to them. The victims were made weak with sexual desire, which left them vulnerable and open to attack. They must be talking about pheromones; of course, this manuscript was from the 1800s, and the term 'pheromone' was not coined until the mid-twentieth century.

I couldn’t make out anything else in the vampire book, so I turned to the manuscript about the families of New Orleans. At first, it was all boring talk about parties and social status. Then, I got excited when I found a name, C.Q. LaRoux. La Roux was my family name on my grandmother’s side. It said that C.Q. La Roux was a member of a very wealthy New Orleans family. He was dark and mysterious, and he was known as quite the ladies’ man—very Byronesque. No one knew exactly how he was related to the La Roux family; the book speculated that he was a distant cousin from France.

During the great plague that ripped through New Orleans, C.Q. La Roux seemed to be immune even though he was quite often seen with victims who had succumbed to the plague. A few victims with whom he was friendly miraculously recovered. He left New Orleans suddenly and was not seen or heard from after, at least not by the author of the book. It didn’t make a lot of sense; many of the words were faded or missing, but C.Q. La Roux sounded so much like my grandmother’s stories of Quillon. Perhaps C.Q was Quillon. It had to be, I thought, excited that I’d finally found something possibly linking Quillon to my family.

The rest of the book was useless, and I gave up trying to find anything else that was readable. I ordered room service for dinner. Then, I took a shower. Afterward, I fell into a deep dreamless sleep.