Disclaimers: The characters in the following story are of my own creation. Any similarities to anyone living or dead are purely coincidental. No part of this story may be used, sold or reproduced in any manner without written permission from me, the author.

If the thought of two women being romantically involved is not for you, then this story is one you won’t want to read. If you are underage and live someplace where that is not allowed or frowned upon move on, literally.

Sit back and enjoy the story, any comments can be sent to me at terrali20@yahoo.com.

I want to thank my betas for correcting this for me. Beth, my Florida buddy, Steph and Ken, you are all godsends. I bow to your grammatical knowledge and your spelling abilities. You all definitely make these more enjoyable to read.

This is dedicated as always to the one woman who holds my heart. As in all things you’ve taught me to enjoy life and to live it so it makes me want to dance. I love you with all that I am. You are the candle in the darkness.

I would also like to thank all the wonderful people who take the time to read these stories. Thank you for all the great notes you have sent. I appreciate them all. Happy Halloween.

October 31, 2003

 

 

Vampires, Mummies and the Holy Ghost

by

Ali Vali

 

 

 

"Kendal, you can’t just leave. These people are here to see you." The man tried to sound menacing, but the fact the top of his head barely cleared her collarbone made the pose almost comical.

"Why ever not, Bruce? It’s my party, I can leave if I want to," joked Kendal. Her coat was still draped over her arm, and no amount of threats from her attorney, and long time friend Bruce Babagge, was forestalling her departure.

Bruce ran his fingers through his mousy brown thinning hair trying to keep his body between her and the door. "What am I supposed to tell them? The mayor’s here dammit."

So much like your father, little man. Kendal Mackey looked at the shorter man and used her best smile. He was one of the reasons she was so successful, but Bruce never knew when to turn it off. Life for him revolved around business and the art of the deal. She thrived on the chase as well but every so often it was nice to just relax and take a walk some place where no one knew you. In New York there were very few people in the right circles who didn’t know who Kendal was and how much she was worth. It was hard to be the constant flavor of the month everyone wanted a piece of.

Mackey, Inc. was started on a college dare. A classmate bet Kendal couldn’t talk a bank loan officer into lending her enough money to buy a dog much less anything more valuable. His problem had been that he didn’t know her very well or what she was capable of when motivated. One borrowed suit and persuasive presentation later she was the proud owner of Jersey Iron Works. Six months after that she was selling the six acres of river front property where the plant had once stood for top dollar. The initial loan was paid in full from the sale of everything she could get rid of, from scrap iron to company cars.

Before Kendal walked across the stage to collect her business degree there had been two more deals. The only difference was the suit wasn’t borrowed and she had more than her charm to back up the loan. She left NYU in a Mercedes coup and burned up the business world as fast as the car burned up the highway.

Now the suits were custom made as well as the shirts she wore under them, and after ten years at the head of her company, Kendal was known as the blue eyed ‘Great White.’ Anyone with a vulnerable company worth more in pieces than it would ever be whole understood the moniker. She was a business-killing machine who showed no mercy as she put your livelihood on the block.

"Tell them I went for a walk, or make up something. I don’t care. You know I can’t stand these things," Kendal said waving her arm toward the crowd behind her. They were in one of the reception halls of the Ritz Carleton in New Orleans attending a cocktail party hosted by some of the city’s leaders. It was hard to tell what they were salivating over more, the stuffed shrimp or the thought of her donations to the city’s hurting school system.

"Trust me, Bruce, once they have the check in hand they’ll adore us. You know I love to soften the blow before pulling out the big guns. By the time they figure out what we’re really doing here we’ll own sixty acres along the Mississippi to do with as we please." With a soft pat to Bruce’s shoulder, Kendal was out the door headed to the elevator. It had been years since her last visit to New Orleans, but the stories she had read made her want to start walking the old streets to get a new feel for the place.

Unlike other cities where the streets started to wrap up their activities by eleven o’clock, the Big Easy was just getting started. Kendal walked out the front of the hotel to Canal Street, the main drag downtown. While the coat had been necessary when they left New York, here the mid October weather was mild and pleasant.

She smiled and reached into her pocket for a tip to give the doorman who had rushed to do his job. "Could you have this sent up to the Presidential Suite?" Kendal handed over a twenty and her coat.

"Right away, Ms. Mackey." He draped the coat carefully over his arm and tipped his hat. "Will you need a cab, ma’am?"

"What’s your name?"

"Edwin, ma’am." He tipped his hat again out of habit, surprised someone like her would bother engaging in conversation with someone like him.

"Edwin, huh? Like the governor who’s in jail? You must get a lot of ribbing. How about you call me Kendal, Edwin? I’ll be staying long enough that we should be on a first name basis before I head home. The use of titles is something I got over a long time ago. And to answer your question, no I don’t need a cab."

"Please be careful then. This is New Orleans after all, as much as it pains me to say that."

A soft laugh rumbled up from her chest and it occurred to her that it was the first heartfelt laugh she had released in weeks. "Don’t tell me, the place is haunted."

"I’m sure there’s more than one goblin running around these streets, but I’m more worried about the ones who are very much alive and very much armed." Edwin pointed his finger at her like a gun.

The dark head leaned forward looking like she wanted to share something special with the man. "I’ll let you in on a little secret, Edwin. It’s them who should be scared of me." His warning did make her reconsider the use of her coat. Not that she’d be cold but you never knew when the cargo in her pockets would come in handy. "On second thought, give me the coat back."

"What, is it bullet proof or something?"

Kendall laughed again as she threw the garment over her shoulder. "Or something is right."

The doorman watched as Kendal started toward the river at a fast pace after sharing a laugh. He almost believed she could take on the world as he took in the slim waist above long legs and under broad, capable looking shoulders. It was her eyes though that had captured his imagination. In the early hours, when most of the guests were in their rooms for the night, Edwin got the chance to pull out whatever novel he was reading. The line ‘she had old looking eyes’ had been printed in more than a couple of them. Looking into Kendal Mackey’s face he now knew what the authors were writing about. Her eyes had the look of those who had witnessed history.

As Kendal made quick work of the city blocks she noticed each traffic light at each intersection had a line of cars waiting for the all too brief spans of green. Some had their windows rolled down to enjoy the cool weather and also so anyone walking could enjoy the blaring music pouring out of speakers worth more than the vehicle they were riding around in. This part of the city could have been anywhere USA as far as Kendal was concerned. It was where she was headed that she was anticipating. Had it changed in the years she had been away?

The first major difference came at the end of the street with the addition of an aquarium with a long walkway that meandered along the muddy water of the Mississippi River to the cusp of the French Quarter. Kendal could hear the lapping of the water against the pilings holding up the sidewalk where she was standing. She started walking toward the old section of the city and her eyes blurred with tears as the memories and years washed over her like a gentle rain. Under a permanent gazebo built where the river made a slight bend she stopped and gripped the railing. Kendal didn’t want to remember, but her heart wouldn’t listen. The memories had been kept at bay long enough.

"Master, the captain says the ship should be in port by tomorrow." The tall black man bowed slightly even though the person he was addressing had their back to him, their eyes on the gulf water. A gloved hand was holding on to one of the thick ropes that held up the sails and he seemed to be lost in thought.

"And not a day too soon eh, Lionel?"

"I admit I could’ve lived without all those waves. If I throw up one more time I may not be able to carry the bags down the plank." His French was almost as flawless as his master’s causing one of the crew to arch their brow. Slaves barely spoke broken English in his experience. The finely dressed servant spoke such cultured French it would have passed muster in the French royal court.

"Don’t worry, Lionel, it may not be traditional, but I’ll help if it comes to that." The Marquis Jacques St. Louis turned around and smiled at his man. As always, Lionel appeared to get lost in the blueness of the eyes that seemed to be able to look into your very soul and decipher all your secrets.

Jacques was a tall handsome man who owned a plantation outside the city of New Orleans, but unlike most of his counterparts who worked their slaves into an early grave, he was known for his gentle nature. The French royal had ventured out of his comfortable life in the north of France to make a name for himself in the New World. An accomplishment he had achieved in only five years.

Oakgrove Plantation cultivated sugarcane, tobacco, and cotton on over a thousand acres of cleared land along the Mississippi River to the north of the city. Jacques owned over 500 slaves, who were more like an extended family than owned chattel. There had been plenty of questions about the tall handsome landowner since his arrival, but a smile and wink was all they got out of the quiet man. All the city dwellers knew was there was no wife or children to share the large home he had built, and some of the only times he came into the city at all was to sell his harvest.

"No, sir, even if I have to crawl off this beast from hell, I won’t let you do my work. I wonder if we were missed?" Lionel fastened his cloak as the wind picked up putting an extra snap in the sails.

"I’m sure they’ve noticed we’ve been gone. As much as I miss my homeland at times, I’m glad to be returning to Oakgrove again. With the sale of my family’s land this is my home now."

Jacques was referring to the trip that had taken them back to France to put to rest the loose ends he had left behind when adventure had overtaken his heart. The estate he had spent years on in his homeland had a new owner. The territory of Louisiana held his fortune and his attention now.

The trip back to Europe had taken a little over fourteen months and the two standing on the rail of the ship scanned the horizon for land. There could be nothing sweeter, in Lionel’s opinion, than stepping back on solid ground and seeing his family again. Again unlike most of the other landowners in the area, Jacques very seldom split up couples who had found their way to each other, much less any children that resulted from the unions the slaves themselves negotiated. Since coming to the plantation Lionel had been given his own quarters with a young woman named Celia. Their four small children often ran after Jacques’ horse when the master visited the large cluster of cabins the servants occupied, and were often seen sitting on his lap talking him out of the candies he carried around in his pockets. It wasn’t a rare sight to find the master with a couple of children on his lap and a slew of them at his feet listening to a story from Jacques’ extraordinary imagination.

"Sir, will you tell me of your family?" He watched a few of the curls that had escaped the ever-present ponytail Jacques wore fly freely around his forehead. Some of the men in New Orleans used the powdered wigs popular in their countries of origin, but not Jacques. Lionel had seen more than one woman’s lingering stare on his master when they did come into town. The thick black hair made an interesting combination with the brilliant blue eyes. It wasn’t something commonly seen in the French and Spanish settlers who had made the Port of New Orleans their home.

The silence grew between them and Lionel thought he had made a mistake when he saw the gloved hand take a tighter grip on the rope. "I’m sorry, sir, I meant nothing by the question. It’s not my place to question you about anything, so you don’t have to answer."

"I don’t know why it’s important to anyone, but I have only one family member left in this world, Lionel. I have a brother Henri, but he’s lost to me so he isn’t one of my favorite subjects. Don’t fret, Lionel, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just that some choose their lot in life and others have it thrust upon them. Lucky are those who get to pick."

"I don’t understand, master."

"Could you perhaps, while we are standing here talking of things like friends, call me Jacques? I think it’s been years since I’ve heard anyone besides myself say my name."

The big slave laughed from nerves and tightened his own grip on the railing. "But we are not friends, sir."

The look on Jacques’ face softened but he didn’t move from his spot. "In this moment we are much more, Lionel. I’ve watched you grow from an angry young man who didn’t want to let his heritage go, to a fine father and husband. I may own you in the eyes of the law, but in your heart you will always be free, my friend. Did you think it would stay a secret forever that you’re the son of a king in your homeland, and that at night you teach your four little ones your language and your traditions?"

For a brief moment the long voyage to a new cruel world after his capture came back to Lionel. The voyage was in some ways more humiliating than being put on the auction block. Everyday more and more lifeless bodies were picked up from the belly of the ship and tossed overboard. He came to think of those who found their freedom in the waves and the deep of the ocean as the lucky ones. They were either dead or too weak to be worth anything once they docked.

The young men from his tribe who had been captured with him looked to him for guidance, but demoralized and in shackles he had none to give them. Now he had come to terms with his capture and enslavement and had found people to love, this man who owned him could end it all with one strong shove. "In this moment we are much more, Lionel," his master had said. Would Jacques throw him overboard for teaching his children the way of their tribe like his father had done for him?

"Please, master, it was only stories to get them to sleep at night. It wasn’t meant as any disrespect to you." Lionel’s apology came out in a rush and was laced with panic.

The hand that had held onto the rope came down to rest on Lionel’s shoulder. "I meant what I said. I’ve watched you because for so much of my life I was you. No one has ever enslaved me, but I’ve been angry with the choices that weren’t mine to make, but affected me nonetheless. I value your friendship, Lionel, that’s all I meant. Sometimes I wish I had sons like you to pass on the vast experience and knowledge I’ve accumulated through the years." He squeezed the slave’s shoulder and smiled. "See, sometimes you are the lucky one among us even if you think your life could be better. We are both slaves to circumstance, my friend. That makes us closer than family."

"Thank you, sir."

"Is there no consideration for my request?"

"Thank you, Jacques." The name rolled strangely off his tongue since Lionel had never uttered it, not even when he was alone with his thoughts. His own enslavement was grossly unfair, but it could have been much worse if he’d been bought by a master not as kind as Jacques. To show disrespect to someone who had treated him like a man wasn’t a part of Lionel’s makeup and not in his character.

"And I thank you, Lionel." They left the rail and walked toward a row of barrels the crew had lashed to the front for storage and sat down. "Now let me try and make you understand what I said about my only family. My brother is a man who chose his path and walked into the darkness alone. Because he did, I was left with no choice but to make my own future or face the same darkness. For some, the gift I was offered as way of escaping Henri’s wrath was something only found in dreams, but like everything in life it comes with a price." Jacques looked out at the water again and sighed. "I’m sorry, Lionel, that’s all I can share with you now."

"Does Henri still walk the dark path?" asked Lionel, not wanting their conversation to end. Children weren’t the only ones who got lost in Jacques’ voice and his stories.

"He revels in it and has only grown worse with time."

They sat in silence together until the sun went down and it was too cold to stay on deck. As they stood to make their way back to their cabins for a bite to eat, it was Lionel who spotted the signal fires the Port lit at night to guide ships into the mouth of the Mississippi. With any luck they would be in New Orleans by morning and back at Oakgrove before nightfall.

When the boat had docked the next morning it was almost at the spot where Kendal was now standing. Back then the crescent in the river that would become one of the city’s nicknames - The Crescent City - wasn’t so pronounced. So many lifetimes ago, but yet the memories brought with them the same bittersweet pain because so many things had been left undone. It still angered her that she could not save so many of the people she loved.

"Ah, Kendal, weeping still, sister? Always the sentimental one weren’t you? Tears are for the foolish and the weak, aren’t you above that by now? Not that I’m not happy to see you, sister, but I thought we agreed long ago you were never to return here. We each must have our realms and this is mine." His voice was still the same as the one that haunted her waking dreams when she closed her eyes, and it still held traces of the French he loved to speak. A cultured accent to hide the monster he’d become.

"How did you know I was back?" she asked, trying to gage how powerful Jacques had become.

"Your blood, my sweet. It holds a distinctive scent. There is no other like it in the world. I smelled you in my sleep the moment your plane landed. But that doesn’t answer my question, does it?"

"I’m here on business, Jacques, nothing for you to concern yourself with now. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your pets?" Kendal had yet to turn around since she was not without her own skills. She was content to watch the tugboats on the river do their jobs hauling barges in both directions. The Mississippi had become massive over the years, but its years of roaming free were over. The levees the Army Core of Engineers built kept it well confined.

"Please, Kendal, I’m sure you have better things to do. Why now?" Something in the distance caught Jacques’ attention and he snapped the fingers of his right hand. One of the women standing with him walked away with almost inhuman speed.

"Because as the old saying goes, brother, to everything there is a season. It was my time to come back here even though I didn’t want to, believe me. As always you do whatever pleases you without ever thinking of the consequences. The years alone should’ve taught you that there are always consequences, some more costly than others. Did you think they’d give you free rein forever? Surely the Elders have sent warnings about your behavior before my arrival?"

"Yes they have, but the years have also taught me that with time comes power. You were always one to follow the rules and orders, Kendal. Doesn’t it ever bore you to be so good? Then again why should it? It isn’t fair that you got all the glory, but it’s always been that way hasn’t it?" The woman who had run to do Jacques bidding was back looking flushed. Her skin, which moments before had looked like carved alabaster, now looked warm to the touch. "Stay away from me, sister. This will be my only warning."

Kendal didn’t need to turn around to know he was gone even though there were no receding footsteps. There were so many things about Jacques that never changed, besides his face. The fact he couldn’t face any conflict without a few of his minions to act as his backbone was classic. He had never fought his own battles, but yet his life revolved around constant conflict.

The other reason she never turned around was the timing of his visit. If her brother wanted a fight there was no way it was coming an hour before dawn. Jacques was reckless but not enough to pick a fight that could leave him vulnerable. Kendal shook her head and closed her eyes once again. Standing in this ancient city was filling her head with painful memories, but some of them brought a sense of calm. In a city that seldom slept, an hour before sunrise was as close as it got to total silence.

In that one moment Kendal focused on the sound of the churning water below her and turned her face to the east. Watching the sun rise was a ritual she loved to indulge in whenever her schedule permitted. As pink fingers crept across the sky she raised her hands and started to mummer a prayer her father had taught her as a small child in a temple near their home.

"Father Ra, bringer of life, protect me. Give me strength to do your work and make me true to my spirit and to my cause."

The old Egyptian dialect was one any scholar would give their first born to hear spoken correctly and with the proper accent. It was a language as dead as the men who had spoken it over two thousand years before, but it gave Kendal a sense of belonging. She opened her eyes as the sun made its first appearance, and as it always did, it sent a charge through her as if the ancient god had heard her prayer. If only he would give her the wisdom to make the right decisions in the coming days.

With one final sigh she turned and made her way to Café duMonde for a strong cup of Louisiana coffee with steamed milk. It was one of the things Kendal missed most about the city in her long absence. The French and Spanish settlers who had built New Orleans had brought with them the recipe for strong, full-bodied coffee that had only changed slightly over the years with the addition of Chicory. The filler was an inexpensive way to stretch the grounds during times of war and ration that had become as much a part of southern culture as pecan pie.

Café duMonde was one of those locations tourists flocked to in droves along with the locals. An open-air shop that served only coffee and small pieces of fried bread dough covered in powered sugar call beignets. Like fingerprints, none of the three sugared treats that made up an order was the same even though the dough was now cut by machine. To Kendal the coffee shop with its brass kettles of steamed milk and constant motion was the microcosm of the city.

The waiters were an interesting reflection of the face of the city. The servers had started out as predominately white men who later moved to finer establishments in the near by French Quarter. Then African Americans moved into the vacated positions and were replaced in droves by Hispanics, who in turn lost their jobs to the new Asian faces that had arrived. It seemed almost funny to see the new minority in town was once again old white men serving the melting pot of customers. If history should teach mankind anything, the most valuable lesson was the oppressor would eventually become the oppressed. It was the fate’s sense of humor thought Kendal, or maybe it was their way of balancing the scales of justice.

"You want beignets with that?" the waiter asked.

Kendal was seated at one of the tables along the rail, a prime spot for people watching, but mostly empty that morning because of the chill coming off the river. Most of the other customers were jockeying for one of the seats under a heater. "Sure, why not."

"Make it four orders and another café au lait." The man walked up from the street and caught the waiter before he hurried back to fill his orders. Again Kendal didn’t have to turn around to see who it was. The voice was another familiar ghost in her head.

"What’s the matter, Charlie, don’t you trust me?"

"The Order sent me to warn you. Jacques knows you’re here and he’s preparing." He sat across from her and put his folded hands on the slightly sticky Formica topped table. Considering why Kendal had been summoned it was best to see what kind of mood she was in before assuming she was happy to see him.

"Tell me, Charlie, do you know how pistolettes got their name?" Kendal cocked her head to the aside, her expression showing she was interested in his answer.

"Small French breads used for sandwiches? Those pistolettes?"

A nod from the dark head made him smile. "Those pistolettes."

"No, but I have a feeling I’m about to."

"In early times, before the technology that would make each loaf of bread taste and look exactly alike, bakers would rise early every day to make dough. They mixed the same ingredients, in the same measurements and kneaded. The surprise would come from the yeast. Would it rise? Would it bake correctly? This was the life of a French baker until one of them got smart. He mixed, he kneaded and he waited for the dough to rise. Only then, instead of baking loaves that might or might or might not turn out, he baked small individual loaves."

"So he could correct the dough accordingly, right?" asked Charlie. Long gone were the days when he asked what these talks were about. At the end they were always educational and they were always relevant.

"Correct. When the small loaves turned out he would walk to the door and fire a pistol to signal the town. The shot meant he was putting in the full loaves and they’d be ready within the hour. For those who couldn’t wait, the small loves were for sale. In time they came to be called pistolettes for the shot fired everyday."

They were silent as the waiter filled the table with their order and accepted a bill from Kendal. He walked way with a bounce in his step when she waved away the change. "As interesting as that story was, I’m not sure why you told it to me."

"I already know my brother is aware of my arrival. He came to visit me last night, or rather early this morning."

Charlie leaned forward in alarm. "Where?"

"By the river, close to dawn. I wasn’t surprised to see him since my walk last night was meant to draw him out. I’m always the eternal optimist when it comes to Jacques, but he’s always eternally predictable. He warned me to leave, so obviously my presence won’t make him see the error of his ways or motivate him to clean up his own messes in hopes of saving himself."

"That was stupid, Kendal. You of all people know what he’s capable of. You shouldn’t leave yourself so vulnerable."

A carefree laugh bubbled out of Kendal’s chest before she bit into a beignet. "His visit was like a pistolette, Charlie. The real loaf is in the oven baking. It’s isn’t quite ready yet so I have time. Two of his little helpers weren’t enough to do harm, just send a message."

Eyes the exact shade of her own narrowed and Charlie still didn’t look appeased. "The Order wants…" he started.

"Whatever I am willing to give them. They came to me remember? Left up to me I would’ve put his problem to rest years ago. Jacques ceased to be my brother long ago, so trust me I’m not about to fail." The tone of voice was one she seldom used with Charlie, but being spied on was something she detested. "I don’t need a baby sitter. Make sure you tell them that."

"I’m just looking out for you, old friend."

"I know, and I love you for it, but I know the Old Ones just as well. They told me to back off when I had Jacques by the throat before and now he’s out of control. A few more converts and there may be a new Order."

"That’s what they’re afraid of."

"Yes it is; but remember, Charlie, life is lived in bits, all decided on by our choices. Some bits come out better than others, and some are worth remembering over and over again because they were worth every minute." She brushed off her fingers and stood. There was nothing more to say that would make any difference to her actions so she wasn’t prepared to waste the time. Even though time was something she had plenty of.

************************************************************************

Kendal walked through the French Quarter as it came to life for another day of tourists and fun seekers. The restaurants all had trucks delivering various supplies in front of them blocking off a lane of traffic, and the bars were busy restocking from the night before. None of them were of interest to her as she walked in her usual brisk clip until she was at the other side of the neighborhood.

Here the buildings were more run down, not by time, but by abuse and apathy. It was the rougher sections that drove the crime statistics in the city every year, but nestled in the middle of all the decay were the St. Louis Cemeteries I and II. Cities to the dead that stood silent witness to all that had happened to make New Orleans the place it had become. Along the rows of raised tombs politicians rested along side criminals and some of the city’s founders. There were firemen, policemen and other heroes lying close to prostitutes and witches. Here it didn’t matter what you were, only that you ended up in the same place. Dead.

The Christians were fond of saying ‘from dust you came and dust you shall become.’ True. The cycle of life had been the same for as long as anything had drawn breath on the earth. You lived, how well was up to you, and then you died. There was no escape. The monuments she passed were testament to that.

It was a shame really, that the beauty people wasted on the dead lay almost forgotten by the living. The two cemeteries were full now and in such a bad neighborhood, going to tend the graves was taking a gamble with your safety or life. Kendal walked until she reached the center of St. Louis I. The brick tomb looked old, and in fact it was. It was the oldest in the two locations but unlike some of the others it was well tended. There were fresh flowers, and the headstone mortared in place was still readable.

Angelina du’Pon. My beloved.

Simple words for a beautiful woman, but they are still true. You are never far from my thoughts. The sentiment was always the same as Kendal ran her fingers along the marble etchings of the name. She bowed and put a bunch of camellias in the right vase that stood empty. The only time the vessel held flowers was when she visited the grave. The other to the left was always full of fresh flowers left by the caretaker.

"Angelina, love, it’s been awhile but I’m back. There are no words to begin to tell you how sorry I am for all that happened to you. Death is an inevitability everyone must face, but for you it came much too early." Kendal spoke softly and brushed away a few leaves that had come to rest at the base of the tomb.

"Look, master, we’re home." Lionel pointed an excited finger at the little boys running along the shore of the river as the big boat was guided to the docks. For the most part, a majority of the other vessels in the port were being loaded for whatever journeys awaited them.

"Yes, we are and it looks like the Fall Festival will have nothing but miserable weather this year. It makes me glad to have some excuse to bypass it this year and head straight home." Jacques was glad for the cloak and hat he was wearing since the cold rain had been falling steadily since they had left their rooms.

The slave took his eyes off the precious solid land and studied his owner. "You know if you went to some of these things, maybe you’d find a nice young lady to give you those sons to teach things to."

"I have you to teach things to, Lionel, so I don’t need anyone else. Maybe in another lifetime I’ll have time for women, but in this one I’m having too much fun building. It’s been ages since I’ve concentrated on just doing that."

Master St. Louis was a strange creature at times, but Lionel brushed it off as a language barrier he maybe didn’t grasp. His French was good but maybe "lifetimes" meant something different like "years" to him, because everyone knew you only got one life to live. "Look there’s Joseph with the coach."

Their boots sounded heavy on the wooden planks of the dock, but that was about to come to an end as they headed to the muddy street. From the looks of the ruts it had been raining for days and there was no end in sight as a gentle mist still fell making matters just that much messier.

"Master St. Louis, did you have a good trip, sir?" Joseph took his hat off as he greeted Jacques then embraced Lionel. The two had formed a close friendship after coming to live at Oakgrove and Joseph had missed him terribly.

"It was fine, Joseph. Your mother didn’t give you too hard a time getting here did she?" Everyone on Oakgrove was familiar with Joseph’s mother, Lola. A big woman who ran Jacques’ kitchens, and who from time to time told her owner exactly what he didn’t want to hear, consequences be damned. Her only son Joseph was a bit simple, but there was no one more loyal under Jacques care.

"She made me promise not to leave the road for nothing, sir, and to tell you to get a move on when you stepped off that boat so she wouldn’t worry. The other thing she said was not to make her come down here and get us." All three of them shared a laugh since each of them had been on the receiving end of Lola’s wrath more than once.

"Then let’s not keep the good woman waiting." Jacques was about to step on to his coach and take the reins when he heard a shriek of a very upset woman and the deep laugh of an amused man.

When he turned to see what the problem was, Jacques came close to laughing himself. In the middle of the street stood, what he presumed to be a young lady and her maid, covered in mud looking up at a driver whose team had obviously done the muddying. What was not amusing was the man not getting down to help the young lady and her companion whose packages were now scattered around their feet.

"Are you all right, mademoiselle?"

The deep voice made the young woman stop her glaring at the driver and turn to face whomever it belonged to. Below the rim of the planter’s hat she found two blue eyes full of life along with a smile that could melt ice in the winter. She had heard of the astonishingly good looks, but thought their owner was out of the country.

"Are you hurt?" Jacques tried again.

"I’m sorry, it’s just that this is so embarrassing. I really thought he would stop."

"You should get your head out your ass and watch where you’re going. You’re lucky all that hit you was mud," the driver helpfully added.

"Excuse me." Jacques moved the woman behind him and pulled the idiot off his seat. With one punch the two teeth he had left in his mouth were lying in the mud along with the parasol the maid had dropped. "I suggest you watch where you’re going and how you talk to a lady, sir."

Both Joseph and Lionel tipped their hats up and watched as their master charmed the young woman who was undistinguishable under all the mud. "And he was just telling me how much fun he was having building things. Looks like he’s having just as much fun playing hero," said Lionel.

"Is there somewhere I can drop you so you can get cleaned up?"

"I live on Rue Bastille if you don’t mind." Her voice was soft and low making Jacques bend to be able to hear it. Despite the mud he could still smell her perfume and it made him wonder what was hidden under the filth.

"Please, it would be my pleasure."

Without being asked, Lionel and Joseph retrieved the ladies’ packages and went to sit at the back of coach along side the supplies Joseph had picked up while he was in town. They both put a hand up to hide their smiles when Jacques helped the two women on board, holding on to the young woman’s hand a little longer than was proper.

"Please forgive my bad manners, mademoiselle, my name is Jacques St. Louis."

With as much dignity as she could muster the young woman wiped her cheek only smearing the mud a little better along her face before answering. "Thank you for coming to our rescue, Monsieur St. Louis, I’m Angelina du’Pon and this is my maid Dee."

"No need to thank me, Miss du’Pon. After a long sail there’s nothing more refreshing than escorting two lovely ladies home." If it hadn’t been for the mud, Jacques would have been treated to two adorable blushes.

Their trip though the streets was made in silence. At the end of the block Angelina had named stood a good sized home with a wide porch and matching veranda along the second floor. Jacques again helped the two women down and escorted Angelina to her door.

"I hope the rest of your afternoon fairs better, dear lady. I’ll leave you to the comfort of your bath."

With a surprisingly strong grip Angelina grabbed hold of Jacques’ wet sleeve to keep him from leaving. "Please, Monsieur St. Louis, my uncle would be furious if I sent you away without offering you at least a drink for coming out of your way."

"Like I said, bringing you home wasn’t a hardship, so payment of any kind isn’t necessary."

"But I want you to stay." As she said it Jacques noticed how green the girl’s eyes were and he was reminded of another woman he had admired long before. Since that lovely woman hadn’t known he was alive much less in any position to return any of his affections, Jacques hadn’t thought of her in years. But Angelina’s eyes bore a strong resemblance to those he remembered from a place far away.

"Then I’ll stay."

"Dee, get someone to see to Monsieur St. Louis and his men while I get cleaned up. Sir, I’m sure you’ll find my uncle’s study a comfortable place to wait. Or would you like a room to change into something dry?"

"The study will be fine. We have to be getting home before too long, but I promise to wait until you’re done."

Jacques pointed Lionel and Joseph to a small table with four wooden chairs in the room where the servant escorted them. The upholstered couches weren’t a wise choice with soaked clothes. All three sat with a cup of coffee before them and their hats in their laps. Whomever Angelina’s uncle was the man loved to read if his bookshelves were any indication. Row after row of leather bound editions lined the room, and the worn bindings were a sign the books weren’t just for decoration.

They spent close to a couple of hours catching up with Joseph on the plantation’s progress in their absence. The three had stripped down to their shirts and vests when the wool of their jackets had started to itch in the warm room. A clearing of a very feminine voice made them almost comically jump to their feet.

The Marquis’s first look at a freshly bathed Angelina was almost as comical when he did a fair impression of a catfish out of water. "My apologies for taking so long, Monsieur St. Louis. I had mud in places that surprised even my maid."

Her blonde hair was pulled back in a style that let the curls the maid had set cascade past Angelina’s shoulders. That alone was eye catching enough, but the young woman was stunning. Only a few times in Jacques’ life had he looked upon a face so beautiful. "A gentleman never minds waiting on a lady, Mademoiselle du’Pon."

"A rescuer of maidens and a charmer, it seems my mud bath has brought me nothing but good fortune, Monsieur St. Louis."

"Actually, my dear, it’s Marquis St. Louis of Oakgrove, and by all accounts he is the epitome of a gentleman, if not a bit of a recluse. Leave it to you to pull the bear from his cave." The elderly gentleman leaned heavily on a cane as the doorman helped him off with his overcoat. "What mischief were you out creating today that you’ve come home with such a distinguished guest?"

"Uncle Tomas, I’ll have you know this wasn’t my fault, and Marquis St. Louis, forgive me for not using your title."

With his hand out, Jacques walked toward the teasing old man with eyes the color of his niece’s to offer a greeting. "Monsieur and Mademoiselle du’Pon, forgive me for not calling on the two of you earlier. I’ve been enjoying the gazette you’re putting out, Monsieur du’Pon. Reading about the goings on around town makes me feel less hermit-like. I should have recognized the name when we met, Mademoiselle du’Pon."

"I’m an old hen who loves to gossip and found a way to make a living at it, what can I say. Please sit and let’s share something stronger than coffee. This weather makes my bad hip crave a good glass of whiskey." Tomas insisted on the softer couches and a now dry Jacques acquiesced. The old man accepted a glass from his niece who then handed one to their guest.

"To good fortune then," toasted Jacques as he tapped his glass against Tomas’s.

"Good fortune indeed. Perhaps I can pry some juicy tidbits from the reclusive Marquis for my next editorial. I won’t be able to print enough copies for the ladies dying to know about you." Jacques laughed at the gentle teasing, taking an instant liking to the somewhat flamboyant man. "What do you say, Marquis St. Louis, are you up for an interview? The reading public is dying to know what bait to use to lure so charming and successful a fish."

"Please call me Jacques, and I don’t think my life is all that interesting. Perhaps a more entertaining piece would center around young ladies and mud," answered Jacques with a smile for Angelina who shot him a teasing glare. "I’m sorry, Mademoiselle du’Pon, I couldn’t resist. If you will both forgive my hasty departure, we must be going." He finished his drink and stood motioning for Tomas to keep his seat. "Thank you both for a delightful afternoon. I really enjoyed meeting you, but I have to be getting on the road home before this weather gets any worse."

"Could I entice you with a dinner invitation this Friday? Finding such good company to share equally good conversation with is hard these days. I promise to stick to safe topics," offered Tomas.

"Thank you, I look forward to it."

Angelina followed Jacques to the door and watched as Lionel and Joseph tipped their hats and headed to the coach. "Thank you for humoring him. My uncle can be a handful when he sets his mind to it."

"Believe me, this is the most fun I’ve had in ages."

"Then perhaps Uncle Tomas is right and you need to get out more, Marquis St. Louis."

"Would it be forward of me to ask you to call me Jacques?"

"Only if I could convince you I prefer Angelina to Mademoiselle du’Pon."

"Touché," said Jacques with a deep bow getting his verbal sparring partner to laugh.

"Shall we expect you this Friday night?"

Tucking his gloves into his belt Jacques moved slowly to take Angelina’s hand. When she didn’t move away from him he bowed again and placed a chaste kiss along her fingers. "I shall count the hours."

After her uncle’s riding accident it had been awhile since boots had sounded so heavily walking away from the house, and Angelina stood by the front window to watch him walk to the street. Most eligible young women considered Jacques St. Louis a catch, but she wondered if any of them knew how sweet the good looking man was. Her hand was still tingling where he had pressed his lips, and to add to that, he knew exactly what to say to make her feel special.

Angelina du’Pon was considered a prize catch in her own right, especially for any young man wanting to make a name in the growing city. Tomas had raised her from an early age after her parents were lost to malaria in one of the epidemics that had ravaged the city. Being a man of considerable means, Tomas du’Pon had given in to her every whim and Angelina thrived under the attention. She hadn’t become insufferable as had so many in the same social circles. What hadn’t come to pass was Angelina finding love, or even some nice young man to spend time with. Tomas chided her that she was too picky since she would never find another like him, and maybe that was a good thing. One Tomas du’Pon in a lifetime was enough he would tease her.

The Marquis St. Louis was different. She could envision spending days on end in his company and never growing bored. There was a gentleness to his nature that was hard to describe but she had seen it in his face standing in the middle of a muddy street defending her honor. Angelina’s interest in getting to know him better had nothing to do with informing the reading public and everything to do with her own curiosity. Jacques had a story to tell and it was her new mission to find out what it was.

"Sleep well, my darling, and know I’ve never forgotten you." Kendal stood and brushed the dirt off her knees.

"How sweet, but you’re talking to a woman who’s been dead for a long time, idiot."

There were two of them and the younger one was holding a rusty looking 9mm. Two punks trying their hardest to look like the bad asses they wanted to grow up to be. It was the older one who was doing all the talking.

"I can’t really see where it’s bothering anyone." Kendal swept her arms around the almost deserted cemetery. To their extreme annoyance she didn’t look too intimidated by the fact they had a gun pointed at her head.

"You’re not from around here are you?"

"I’ve spent time in New Orleans, but it’s been awhile." She widened her stance a little and calmly put her hands in the pockets of her coat.

"See there’s a fee now when you come in here. My friend and I own this place and no one gets in for free. Get me?" The kid holding the gun laughed stupidly at his friend’s cleverness with words.

"A toll of some sort, is that what you mean?"

"It means, bitch, that I’ll take whatever you got on you." The unarmed punk stepped closer and twisted his face into a snarl. "Give me your money and your jewelry now or my pal blows your head off."

The only thing she was attached to was the signet ring she wore on her right hand. It had been her father’s and had been a gift to her shortly before he died. The rest was replaceable but Kendal thought of all the other visitors who had run into her new friends while they were trying to visit their loved ones. "Money and jewelry, right?"

"What you got a hearing problem? Hand them over and we make this easy. Play hard to get and me and Zeke here get to have a little fun too. We might do that anyway since it looks like you could use a good man in your life. You look like a big dyke." He grabbed his crotch and smiled back at his friend. The messing around with the people they robbed was almost as good as the shit they took.

"Can I make a counter offer?"

"What the hell’s that supposed to mean?"

"You know, you told me what you want, now I get to tell you what I’m willing to do and what I want."

"You see yourself as having choices here?"

Kendal rocked on her heels and smiled like she was negotiating the buying of a pair of pants. "One always has choices, young man. You chose to walk in here and point a gun at me. No one forced you to do that, and no one is forcing me to do anything I’m not willing to do. See I was in here paying respects to someone who lost their life to someone just like you, but you’re still young. There’s time to turn your life around as it were."

"You smokin’ something, bitch? If you are we’ll take that too, along with the money and that nice watch and ring."

The relaxed woman kept her right hand in the pocket of her coat and slipped the other one into the front pocket of her pants. When she pulled out the money clip she laughed at the low whistle the talker let out. In her hand was probably more than the two had ever made combined in all their crime ventures. "This what you want?"

It was greed that made him move forward, into a web from where there was no escape. Not that distance would have made the difference for him. When he went to take his booty Kendal pulled her right hand out of her coat pocket and snapped open a wicked looking switchblade. Just as quickly the money was back in her pocket and the blade was pressed so hard against the young throat it was drawing a line of blood.

"What’s your name, piss ant?" She grabbed the top of his head exposing more of his neck. "Never mind, you look like a piss ant to me so consider it your new name."

"Please," the plea came out as a whisper as the mugger stood on his toes to try and get away from the sharp blade.

"Please what? Please let me go, bitch. Is that the only inane thing you can think to say?" The gunman hadn’t lowered his weapon and looked like he was trying to decide if he could get a clean shot off without killing his buddy. "Zeke, is it?" asked Kendal looking up at the armed thief. "You have one chance to put that down and run. Don’t make me have to deal with you."

His hand shook but Zeke figured he had the gun. All she had was a knife. "Let him go or I’ll shoot."

"Another mental giant I see." Tired of the game she kicked the guy she was holding in the legs and threw the knife at Zeke in one fluid motion. The thump of the air rushing out of the talker’s lungs came simultaneously with Zeke’s scream. The gun was now on the ground at his feet and Kendal’s knife was buried to the hilt in his palm.

"Who are you?" asked the man looking up at her.

"Someone you shouldn’t have fucked with, piss ant." Kendal stepped closer to Zeke and grabbed his injured hand. With one quick pull she retrieved her blade and wiped it along his cheek. The effect was chilling and he swallowed his screams lest she think to start carving up his face. "Only a miserable low life would think to rob someone in a place reserved for grief. Today’s going to be your chance to turn to a better way of life, because trust me you two. Death doesn’t pass you by very often."

"You’re some kind of demon," said Zeke. He looked like a macabre clown with his red colored cheeks.

"No, I’ve known a few of those in my time and I’m nowhere close. What I am is faster, stronger and smarter than you’ll ever hope to be so get lost." Zeke rushed to follow her order as he jumped to his feet and took off giving no thought to his buddy. She watched him go and moved to pick up the gun he had left behind. With one quick check of the clip she saw it was full. It hadn’t been fired recently.

The talker was on his knees holding his throat after he had noticed the blood. Things had never turned out like this for them in all the other times they had robbed anyone here. Despite the cold he started to sweat when she cocked the hammer and pressed the barrel to his forehead. Familiar with the gun and its hair trigger, death was just a soft pull away.

"You let Zeke go."

"I have a feeling it was you who talked Zeke into being here today, so you don’t get off so easily. Am I right about Zeke?" When there was no response she pushed the barrel harder against his forehead getting him to nod.

"I didn’t want to come by myself."

"A wise ass who needs someone else to do his dirty work for him will never truly be a man. In some cultures they would’ve cut your dick off and fed it to the real warriors, piss ant." The gun moved from his head and was now pointed at his crotch. When she didn’t move the gun she got a satisfying feeling as she watched the growing wet spot. Not so tough now are you? "Did you really think you were man enough to take me? Or maybe the question should be, will you walk out of here a man at all?"

Big tears full of fear ran down his face and still Kendal didn’t back down. "I didn’t mean nothing."

"It’s, I didn’t mean anything, stupid," she corrected. "Tell me, piss ant, did it move you to walk away from a victim when someone cried for you to stop? Tell the truth or I’ll blow that little pecker of yours right off."

"No," came the stuttered response.

"How about a nice dirt nap to reconsider your options next time then?"

He never got a chance to ask her what she meant. In an instant his world went dark. When he woke up anyone walking by the place crossed the street because of the screams. The talker had come to in a large mausoleum used by the city for paupers with no means for a proper burial. He was lying on a pile of bones with no way out.

************************************************************************

"Where have you been?" Bruce was waiting in her suite when she walked in. The night before had ended well. Most of the Zoning Commission had been in attendance and that would bode well for them in the coming weeks.

"Reminiscing, Bruce, you should try it every so often. It’s rather relaxing. I had some things to think about so I went for a walk." She dropped her coat on the sofa and her jacket on the bed, as Bruce followed her into the bedroom. He turned around when the shirt came out of her pants. He knew he had no chance with Kendal no matter how attractive he found her. She had made that clear from the beginning of their business relationship.

"For fifteen hours?" He sounded frustrated as always. "I covered for you, but is this going to be a common occurrence during this trip for you to disappear on me for hours on end? My father told me your family has some weird connection to this place, but this is business. You don’t want to end up like your old man and mine do you? Loading ships down on the docks isn’t my idea of a wise career move if we lose our asses in this deal."

"Stick with what you know and wait for me in the other room."

Bruce knew he had pushed too far but he couldn’t pull this one off by himself and losing meant giving up the millions of dollars that would come with snapping up Dupont Industries. The money was making him forget his place and his long talk with his father before leaving New York. Kendal Mackey was not someone who took orders from anyone. It had been the same when Bruce Senior had grown up with Kendal’s dad, Tony.

A shower and a new suit later, Kendal looked like she had spent the evening sleeping in the comfortable looking bed instead of roaming the streets. Bruce wished he could get by with so little sleep and still function. His father had said the same thing about Tony when they had worked together.

"Is the old man coming today?" asked Kendal as they stepped into the elevator.

"If there’s one thing Macarthur Dupont wants more than anything it’s to hang on to his family’s business. He’ll be there and I’m sure he’s bringing his granddaughter, Piper. She’s a Harvard Business School graduate who he’s grooming to take over for him so don’t try anything cute. I hear she’s a real ball buster."

Her low laugh always gave Bruce goose bumps. "Lucky for me then," she whispered in his hear. The voice was as equally seductive. "And Piper not only graduated from Harvard, she was first in both her under graduate and graduate classes. She’ not a ball buster, Bruce, she’s just smarter than most of the people who have a pair. So maybe it’s you who shouldn’t try anything today."

The lunch crowd was starting to filter into the Palace Café on Canal Street when Bruce and Kendal got out of the limousine the hotel had provided for the ten block drive. They stood back and let an older couple go through the revolving doors ahead of them, not in any hurry since they were a couple of minutes early. One of the attractive hostesses took their coats and asked for their names.

"We’re here to meet the Dupont party." Kendal smiled getting the girl to trip over her feet. Behind her Bruce thought once again how unfair life was when it came to his boss and women. When they were handing out physical traits, characteristics and talent before birth Kendal had obviously stood in each line at least twice. It was the only way to explain her looks, charm, brains and physique.

"Mr. Mac’s expecting you. Kendal Mackey, right?"

"The one and only," answered Kendal, getting the woman to blush and giggle.

"Right this way." The young woman led them to the staircase at the center of the restaurant. On the second floor at a window seat sat their adversaries.

"Mr. Mac, your party’s here."

"More like the invading hoard, darlin’, but we’ll let ‘em join us anyway." The old man stood and studied Kendal before offering his hand in greeting.

Mac Dupont was in his early seventies but still ran around like he did in his thirties. Thick white hair framed an intelligent face and a warm smile, which more often that not was a constant fixture. He was often described as a likable good old boy who would give you his last dollar if you needed the help. He was also as ruthless as Kendal if the right business venture came along so she didn’t let his friendly welcome fool her into thinking he was going down without a fight.

Beside Mac sat a small woman with a short shaggy haircut that could only be described as stylish, with a slight frown marring her beautiful profile. For a split second Kendal was amused with the obvious displeasure the woman was projecting. It was as if they had taken her away from something far more important like watching her grass grow.

"Mr. Dupont, It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Thank you for joining us today," started Kendal. She and the old man shook hands but his granddaughter had yet to turn her attention from the window. "This is my associate Bruce Babagge."

"More like hired henchman," hissed Piper.

"Thank you for the opportunity, Kendal. I can call you Kendal can’t I?" asked Mac, ignoring Piper’s rude comment.

"Please do."

"Good, this is my granddaughter Piper Dupont." When he made the introduction Piper had no choice but to face forward. When she did Kendal stumbled forward a step and turned pale.

Most people would have expressed concerns at Kendal’s reaction, but any sympathy was drowned out by Piper’s anger. "I wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but I’d hate to lie, Ms. Mackey."

She wanted to run. Piper Dupont was like looking at the sister of a ghost. Different in so many ways but the hair color and the eyes were almost identical. "I…" her voice died in her throat.

"Are you all right?" asked Mac. He placed his hand on Kendal’s shoulder thinking she looked close to collapse.

His question was a lifeline that allowed Kendal to take her eyes off Piper and focus on something else. "I hate to be rude, but would you excuse me for a moment?"

"Would you like to reschedule? You don’t look well."

"No, sir, please give me just a moment. I’ll be fine." In the restroom Kendal stripped off her jacket then splashed water on her face. What had just happened had been along the lines of a panic attack. As shocking as that was, she was almost excited since it had been years since she had felt anything nearly as intense.

"Are you sure you’re all right?" asked Mac again when she made it back to the table.

"I’m fine. Just hungry I guess." Keeping her eyes on Mac’s face, Kendal sat, unfurled her napkin and placed it on her lap. "Shall we order something before starting our talk?"

"Might I suggest the turtle soup, it’s the best in the city."

"Please, granddad, she’s here to steal the company. I could give a rat’s ass what she wants to eat." Piper didn’t bother to keep her voice down this time.

"Kendal, would you mind excusing us for a moment? I’d like a word with my granddaughter."

"Please take your time, though I’m guessing no amount of lecturing is going to change Miss Dupont’s mind, so why bother? Save yourself a trip to the woodshed, Mr. Dupont, she’s right. That’s why I’m here, but what she should realize is if it weren’t me sitting here, it would be someone else. Dupont Enterprises has come to the sad reality of being worth more in parts than as a whole. It’s no one’s fault; it’s just the way of the business world. Your good fortune is that it’s me sitting here instead of someone who just wants to outright plunder what’s taken your family generations to build. With me you’ll get fair market value."

"What, pennies on the dollar? Should I kiss your ass now or wait until you hand us the big check?" asked Piper.

"Thank you, Mr. Dupont for your suggestion on the soup. I’ll try it the next time I’m in here." Kendal stood and shook his hand again getting Bruce to jump out of his chair like a trained monkey.

Kendal then leaned across the table and rested her weight on her fingers so she could better look down on Piper Dupont. "Miss Dupont, I came here to see if there was something we could work out. I’m sorry you see it as a waste of time. Go ahead and cut what you think is your best deal with Kenny Delaney and his group, but before you do, take that expensive education your grandfather paid for out for a spin. Call Quill Contractors as if you work for Delaney and his group. Tell them to fax over the preliminary quotes so you can work on different sections of the contract having to do with the Dupont deal. You’ll be surprised what comes over the machine. Could be Kenny screwed you over in more ways than one."

With every word Piper turned a deeper shade of red. "You bitch."

"True, but I’m an upfront one. I don’t use my bed to cut deals unless everyone knows the score, and any screwing that takes place is just for mutual enjoyment." The woman might have looked like someone Kendal cared about, but her heart was what set them apart. "I’m sorry to speak so crudely, Mr. Dupont. Perhaps we weren’t meant to do business together after all. Have a pleasant lunch, and it was a real pleasure meeting you. I’ve admired your style for years."

"Wait, let’s all calm down and start over."

Kendal patted his arm and shook her head. The things she’d heard about him were true. Mac was extremely likable but this wasn’t the time to sit and get to know each other. "I’m always calm, Mr. Dupont, but sometimes lessons have to be learned the hard way, and this is one of those times." She then turned and looked at Piper again. "Miss Dupont, I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure. Well you know the rest. Tell Kenny hello for me, after you get that paperwork I suggested. We go way back."

"You can not just walk away and leave this hanging," said Bruce as soon as they were on the streets.

"I can do anything I want, try and remember that. The day you hand out a card that says Babagge Inc. then you get to do whatever you like. Now we just walk away and wait. Blondie’s about to find out Kenny Delaney is as greasy as his hair. After a long shower she’ll be calling us. Have faith, Bruce."

"What choice do I have?"

"Endless. There is always the defense of drunks and hookers. You did go to law school after all, since dock work isn’t your thing."

He gave her an insincere smile and cocked his fist at her. "You’re a riot you know that?"

"It’s just part of my charm."

"Want to head back to the hotel and grab a bite?"

"You go ahead. I think I’ll resume my walk." She was down the block before he could ask to join her. Bruce often wondered what was so interesting to look at or think about on all the long walks Kendal took.

"Free for lunch?" she asked the person on the other end of the line as soon as it stopped ringing.

"Where would you like to go?"

"It’s your city, you pick." He was already seated when she walked up and laughed at the huge piece of bread Charlie was able to shove in his mouth.

"You’re still a pig, old friend."

"You’d think you’d have learned by now to stop hanging around with me," Charlie joked. It was nice to convert back to the old French. Except for tourists and pretty college students he rarely got to practice anymore.

"Obviously age doesn’t make all of us wiser." Kendal sat and poured her favorite brand of beer into the frosted mug sitting on the table waiting for her.

"How old are you now anyway?" Charlie broke off another piece of bread and stopped to put butter on it this time.

"A little over two thousand years, give or take a few decades. After awhile the excitement of birthdays wears off."

"Mon Dieu, there are pyramids younger than you."

"Gods, why do I call you to spend time with?"

"Because after almost three hundred years you still see potential."

"Or it could be that after I gave you the gift of immortality I can’t kill you," teased Kendal.

"I missed you, Kendal." His eyes filled with tears and he reached across the table for her hand. Charlie was one of the few people in her life who had been so affectionate with her in a way that had nothing to do with seduction or romance. "Though that name doesn’t quite suit you."

"And Charlie was your best effort?" She arched a brow and smiled.

"To me you will always be Jacques St. Louis and in my heart I will always be Lionel."

"Of all my lifetimes that’s the one that holds the greatest mix of memories, and it’s the one that’s still unfinished even after all these years. It’s the reason I came back. I hope you know I left because I had to, not because I didn’t care about what happened. I still weep when I think of the injustice the Order let Henri get away with."

Lionel squeezed her hand one last time before leaning back in his chair. "I know, and it was the reason I took what you were offering. As much as I didn’t want to live after what happened, I’m glad I’ve lived to see this day. I know you always work alone, but this time I want to be there if only to watch. I don’t have to tell you why."

"No you don’t, but let me sleep on it."

He laughed and pointed a finger at her. "I may be waiting awhile then. When was the last time you slept?"

She laughed as well and put her hand over her eyes. "I think it was after I left this city. I slept for about fifty years in an effort to forget. After that I spent a couple of hundred years in the east studying the way of the warrior."

"You were born with the heart of a warrior. What can anyone teach, that you don’t already know?"

"The wonderful thing about living is you never grow too old to learn. You’re just a youngster, Lionel. You should spend some time away from here. Expand your horizons a little and stop thinking so much about the past. I spend years at time in places so I can learn the language, the culture and the art of how they wage war. In the mountains with some of the masters of the eastern clans I learned to master the sword." Kendal leaned back so the waiter could put some dishes down.

"You’re full of shit, my friend, I’ve seen you handle a sword. You’re the one who’s the master."

The spring rolls looked good so Kendal picked one up and took a bite. Food wasn’t something she really needed to survive anymore but it was something she craved. In some ways it was a lot like sex. If she saw a woman who interested her, she spent the evening with her. Then it was off to the next bit of fluff. Long-term relationships weren’t of any use to her, since in reality, who could outlast her?

"They helped with a number of things. No one is ever perfect, nor is anyone a true expert at anything no matter how hard we try. We all have flaws and ways to be brought down."

"Is that why you stashed all the money and went to college as the poor and starving Kendal Mackey? To find more ways to perfect yourself and smooth over your flaws?"

She finished the spring roll and moved on to some dumplings the man had brought out. "I have to admit you’ve become a better conversationalist with time, Lionel. I’m glad to see the timid mouse afraid to ask questions is gone. And to answer your question, no I didn’t seek answers to questions that have none. I went because I felt I was losing touch with where the world is headed. Where better to find directions than from the young and overly opinionated?"

"And what has Kendal Mackey learned?"

"That there are a lot of really good looking women hanging out on college campuses." He looked at her as he started in on his lunch but couldn’t comment without spitting something out on her. "I’m kidding. It was just a diversion and I wanted to hone my survival skills. I went, I conquered and I made more money."

"Not that you need it."

"No but it helps for those lives when I just want to bum around and drink wine all day."

"But hasn’t this been the lifetime you’ve been waiting for?"

It was an interesting question thought Kendal, but which of them was more qualified to answer? She was much older in years and in wisdom but Lionel had matured much faster than she had. His growth came from a combination of intelligence and good tutelage. Kendal had been gone for close to three hundred years but she had never abandoned Lionel and his teachings.

"You’d think after so many days there’d be nothing I look forward to anymore, but you’d be wrong. I look forward to the moment the sun rises everyday, and everyday I sit in wonder of the world and my part in it. Do I look forward to some tasks more than others? I do, especially if it avenges the souls of the innocent." The waitress came and put down two fresh mugs and bottles of beer after she cleared the appetizer dishes.

"Are you going to stay in the city?"

"For a few days. I’ve other business aside from Henri and his collection of fools. I’m sorry, I’ll have to get used to calling him Jacques now. We can both guess why he picked it this time around. We all have our flaws, my brother just likes to remind us of them in every subtle way he can." She shook her head as if to clear off any morose thoughts. "I want you to promise me something, Lionel." It was Kendal who reached for his hand as she spoke.

"There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, Jacques. Just ask."

"I want you to retreat into the cathedral until I call for you. Henri’s left you in peace because he doesn’t see you as a threat, but my being here is going to change that. I don’t want to be worried about you along with everything else."

Her grip was too strong for him to break away from, and his anger made him want to. "You promised you’d consider letting me stand with you. I deserve that from you."

"I haven’t promised anything yet, but I will if you swear to stay safe until I come for you. You have my word I won’t do anything without you."

Lionel held his hand out knowing she would never break an oath. "Swear it."

"On the spirit of my father." She took his hand and sealed their fate.

"After you finish your business are you planning to go to the house? I had it cleaned when I heard you were coming."

"I look forward to it, merci."

************************************************************************

"I don’t have time for lunch, granddad. In case you weren’t paying attention, the bitch who just waltzed out of here is trying to rip us off." Piper was dying to leave the restaurant and go back to her office. She wanted to make a few phone calls and prove Kendal Mackey wrong. Sanctimonious bitch thought Piper. She figured the old man had heard enough cursing for one afternoon so she kept the comment to herself.

"Sit your pretty little ass down, young lady, and tell this nice young woman what you want," ordered Mac, referring to the waitress.

"I really need to go."

"What you need to do is listen to the old coot who’s still your boss." Mac pointed to her chair and waited for Piper to sit. "You want to tell me what the hell that display was about?"

As she had learned to do when she was about six months old, Piper crossed her arms and looked like she was trying to decide between throwing a fit or pouting. "I’ve just read so much about this woman and what she’s capable of, it makes me mad that it’s us she’s got her eye on. I don’t think whatever we do we’re going to come out of this the same."

"And if given the choice you prefer to form an alliance with Kenny Delaney?"

"Kenny promised we would keep control of the company so we’d have a chance to restructure. Once I’m able to do that, we can buy him and his partners out and tell the world to go to hell."

Mac nodded and took a sip of his whiskey. "Any truth to what she said to you before she left?"

Any thought of anger died away and Piper was mortified with the thought of having to answer. "I…"

"I don’t want to know who you’re sweet on, Piper, I want to know if this guy is on the up and up."

The blonde smiled at her grandfather’s old fashioned notions, or maybe that’s what he let himself think so he wouldn’t have to face the reality of his little girl actually sleeping with someone. "I promise you, we can trust Kenny."

The wait staff put down a fresh loaf of French bread and two bowls of turtle soup. Along side each plate a small shot glass of sherry was put down to mix with the soup to accentuate the flavor. Mac picked up his spoon and looked at Piper before starting. "I hope you’re right. The way I figure it, I got one foot in the grave so if the worse case scenario comes to pass I won’t have to live with it long. You on the other hand have years to look forward to. If this boy isn’t all he’s promising, you’ve got a lot to lose." He mixed in the liquor in slow circles as if lost in thought.

"Don’t you trust me?"

"With my life and everything that makes it up." Mack reached over and put his hand on Piper’s cheek. "I’m not worried about me, sweet girl, I’m worried about you. Dupont Enterprises belongs to you now, and I have every faith you’ll do right by it."

"But you think I made a mistake with Mackey today don’t you?"

"You should give someone the opportunity to show their cards before you go claiming they’re cheating. Once they lay out what they got to say, then you scream and walk out if that’s what you got a mind to do. If Kendal had something in mind, other than taking us over and selling us off in little pieces, we won’t ever know, will we?"

They ate in silence after that. Mac wasn’t a man prone to outburst unless provoked and he didn’t lecture Piper very often. She was the only daughter of his only son and Mac hadn’t considered anyone else to replace him at the helm from the time Piper turned twenty. She had inherited her grandmother’s good looks and Mac’s business savvy making for one lethal combination for success. Whoever Piper partnered up with it was a relationship she was in control of. The girl wasn’t one to be used.

"Anything else, Mr. Mac?" asked the waitress.

"Just the check, darlin’."

"It’s been taken care of, sir. Ms. Mackey took care of it before she left."

"The tip even?"

"Yes, sir, and don’t worry she was very generous. Have a great day."

"She may be the enemy, but she’s got style, you gotta give her that," said Mac as he pulled Piper’s chair out for her.

As soon as they were in the lobby of their building Piper pulled out her phone and had her assistant, Amy finding the number for Quill. Amy knew some of the receptionists at the construction company and it was those connections Piper needed now. She gave Amy the name of the Delaney Group’s attorneys and she had faith her girl would know what to do.

When she stepped into the suite where she and her grandfather’s offices were located, Amy was having a conversation with the weakest link in the chain at Quill. She was doing a fabulous job at changing her voice to avoid being recognized, acting as if she was one of the secretaries at the law firm. A few moments later she hung up and the fax machine started humming.

The strangled scream Piper let out when she scanned over the first few pages made everyone want to hide under the desk. Someone was in trouble and they could only hope they weren’t going to be on the receiving end of the tirade that was about to erupt.

************************************************************************

"So what do you want to do?" asked Bruce. They were in the hotel bar watching the sun go down on the city. After Kendal’s lunch with Charlie she had returned in a somber mood. There was a lot to get done on this trip and if things turned out badly she would have to abandon her life as Kendal Mackey and find a new identity. The only positive side to that might be creating a new persona that would keep her in New Orleans for a while.

"I’ll give Mr. Dupont another couple of weeks or so then I’ll turn you loose on them. That alone should scare them back to the negotiating table. Why don’t you go and get something to eat? You’re in the most culinary delightful city in the country, Bruce. Live a little."

He turned his wineglass in his hands and looked a bit lost. "I hate eating alone."

"I promise I’ll join you tomorrow, but tonight I want to spend some time alone."

"Anything I can do? I’m here to listen if you need a friend."

Kendal laughed and slapped his shoulder before draining her scotch. "Who are you, Dr. Phil now?"

"I just care about what happens to you."

"I know, Bruce, and I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. I’ve just got a lot on my mind and sometimes it doesn’t really help to talk about it. It’s just better for me to think it through. Go on and have dinner. I hear the turtle soup at the Palace is good." They both laughed over their disastrous lunch that wasn’t before shaking hands and parting. Kendal watched the small man walk to the exit before calling the bartender over with another drink.

She caught up with Bruce at the elevators after she thought of something, knowing he would take her advice to venture out for dinner. "Would you do something for me if I asked you to, without asking me a lot of questions in return?"

"Sure. You change your mind about talking?"

She pulled a chain with a small medallion out of her jacket pocket and held it up for him to see. "I want you to wear this and don’t take it off while we’re in the city. Promise me you won’t take it off."

Bruce laid the likeness of St. Michael on his palm and looked at it closely. The archangel had his sword drawn and had the devil under his foot ready to strike. "What, you’re getting superstitious on me?"

"Promise me you won’t take it off, especially if you leave the hotel after dark. It’s important to me." She slipped the chain over his head and dropped the medallion down the front of his shirt so it rested against his chest.

"Why?"

"Because it marks you as belonging to me. Don’t ask me to explain that because I can’t, but it means something special to me, something others will understand."

"Are you sure you don’t need to lie down or something? You’re talking crazy." He reached as if to feel her forehead for fever.

"Bruce, has your father ever told you anything about my father?" She looked into his eyes as if daring him to lie. "Anything that he found hard to explain?"

"He just said your father was his best friend and then one day he left and never came back. Dad just said he always felt protected when he was with Tony. Like nothing could ever happen to him. He still misses him like crazy, but he still gets regular letters from him." It hit him then.

The last time he and his father had spent any time together. His father was out working in the small garden he tended every year. It was something to keep him out of the house and not drive his mother insane when he had retired. During Bruce’s last visit it had been so hot and he sat in the shade and watched as his old man pulled weeds away from his precious tomato plants. The heat had pushed his father to unbutton his shirt in an effort to stay cool. There had been a medallion hanging around his neck he didn’t remember him wearing when Bruce was a kid.

"The bond Tony and your father shared was special and in my father’s absence to tend to other family business, it’s one he misses as well." The relationship with two consecutive generations was something she rarely did, but Bruce Senior had asked Anthony Mackey to look out for his kid when he told him he was leaving. Bruce the elder may have been a dockworker all his life, but he seemed to be more aware of the world around him than his son.

Bruce senior hadn’t been able to explain the shock when Bruce had brought her home for the first time after they’d gone into business together. Bruce couldn’t explain it but he was happy for his son. It was his kid’s chance to share a long friendship with the next Mackey generation and he wasn’t going to poison that with questions. Kendal knew Bruce senior had figured it out, but the old man couldn’t find in his rational brain how to explain it. He had just shaken her hand and whispered, "Welcome back."

"He has one of these doesn’t he?" asked Bruce with his hand over his heart where the medal had come to rest.

"Anthony gave him one a long time ago."

"Are you and your father religious?"

The question struck her as funny and she let out a laugh. If he only knew the gods she still prayed to on occasion had existed long before the thought of Christianity was even a blip on mankind’s radar. "Not really, but St. Michael became a family tradition a while back and it’s tradition to gift him to people who mean a lot to us."

"Thank you."

"You’re very welcome. So do you promise not to take it off?"

"I promise, Kendal. Especially if it means so much to you."

"It does." She put her hand over his on his chest before pressing the down button. "Go on, and have fun."

A fresh drink was waiting for her when Kendal got back and she nodded her head at the bartender in thanks. She unbuttoned her jacket and took her seat. The table she’d chosen was almost in a corner but still sat in front of a window facing the street. It was still too early for the after work crowd and the cigar bar was little subdued for the regular tourist, so aside from a few hushed conversations, Kendal sat in peace as she sipped.

"Would you care for a cigar, Ms. Mackey?" The bartender set another glass down noticing the one in her hand was half way finished. Everyone in the hotel knew who she was so the service had been excellent, but the man serving her drinks didn’t usually pour so freely if there was a chance the person was driving. Ms. Mackey though, not only was staying in the hotel, but she didn’t look the least bit inebriated even after four. "We have an excellent selection of Dominicans."

"Do you smoke?"

"Just cigarettes, ma’am. I never got used to cigars."

Kendal pulled out her wallet and placed a hundred dollar bill on the table. "I’ll take a Cohiba, but it has to be Cuban. If I’m going to risk my health, might as well make it worth my while."

"I’m sorry, Ms. Mackey, Cuban cigars are illegal. We carry the brand, only the ones grown in the Dominican Republic."

She shrugged her shoulder and went to pick up the money. "I may get a free night now, asking for something you can’t deliver. Guest satisfaction and all that."

The man smiled and pulled the travel humidifier out of his apron pocket. "Yes, ma’am, we take guest satisfaction very seriously. Enjoy." It looked like she wasn’t the only one who did background checks on potential clients. The owner of the establishment took everything into account for a guest like Kendal.

"What’s the old expression?"

"Here it’s ask and you shall receive. It’s a city wide motto," the waiter joked as he clipped the end for her and provided a light.

The smoke filled her senses and the taste was what made her remember the next part of Angelina’s story. Kendal handed over the money wanting her privacy back.

"Don’t forget to smile. Then maybe the girl will want to see you again," said Lola as Jacques mounted his horse."

Friday had come too soon and Jacques was trying hard to fight a case of nerves there was no explanation for. With his best suit and flowers in hand he saluted Lola and took off at a trot toward New Orleans. It was late afternoon when he knocked on the du’Pon’s door suddenly very glad he’d come when it was Angelina who let him in.

"Marquis, how nice to see you again. I was hoping you hadn’t run into any other maidens in need of rescue whom you might find more appealing."

"And miss an evening with you and your uncle, Mademoiselle du’Pon. I don’t think there could be anyone more appealing to keep me away." He stood with one hand behind his back and his hat in the other.

Thanks to a clean face Jacques was able to enjoy the blush his words caused. Angelina was truly a vision in a pale blue dress that brought out the green of her eyes. "I’m beginning to think you like making me feel a bit off kilter, sir."

"And I believe you agreed to call me Jacques, Miss du’Pon. Or have you perhaps reconsidered?"

"I didn’t forget, I just didn’t want you to find me presumptuous." She leaned on the door and admired the man trying his best to charm her. Jacques St. Louis was in her opinion the most handsome man she had ever seen. "Would you like to come in, or would you have my uncle think I’m a bad hostess for keeping you confined to our porch?"

"I don’t know, it might make good fodder for the next addition of his paper."

"I think I’m going to enjoy having you around, Jacques. That is if you grace us with your company in the future." She opened the door further to let him pass and smiled when his other hand revealed a beautiful bouquet of camellias. He followed her into the parlor of the house and blushed himself when Angelina gave him a full smile. "Are those for me, or did you wish to give them to my uncle?"

"I like Tomas, but before I left I cut these for you. I hope they are to your liking, Angelina."

"They’re my favorites, thank you." The servant standing behind Angelina took the flowers from her and Jacques’ hat before leaving them alone. "Please have a seat and I’ll get you something to drink."

"Is Monsieur du’Pon not joining us this evening?"

"He sent word earlier that he’s running late, so I’m afraid you’ll have to make due with my company for the moment. I hope you don’t mind." She poured two small glasses of sherry from the small bar and faced him.

"That’s like asking a small boy if he would like another treat, I’m willing to bet the answer would always be the same. I just hope it’s you who doesn’t find the company lacking. Sometimes I feel I should get away from Oakgrove more often." Her fingers felt soft when they touched his as she handed him the glass.

"I’m sure both of our concerns are unwarranted. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again. Would you tell me about Oakgrove?" asked Angelina taking a seat across from him. Smiling when he stood until she was seated.

The young woman enjoyed how animated he became as he spoke of his home. The sherry glass was placed on the side table since Jacques had a tendency to talk with his hands. Angelina was drawn into his story as he described the clearing of trees they had done and the irrigation system he’d devised using the river. Here was a man very different from the others who had come to settle the area. He had accomplished three times as much by rolling up his sleeves and working. The others had gotten others to do the work for them at the end of a whip.

"You sound like there isn’t time enough in the day to get all you have planned done."

"I’m finding that the life of a farmer can be as fulfilling as that of a warrior or should I say soldier."

"Were you a soldier? In France I mean." She prayed her uncle would be later than he’d planned now that she had Jacques talking. There was no way she would betray his confidence by printing or spreading what he was saying further, but it was a good opportunity to learn more about the man who had fascinated people since his arrival.

"In a manner of speaking. Duty calls us to service at time, Angelina, whether we want it to or not. Here I’ve tried to create something I can look on years from now and be proud of. The only thing that bothers my heart is the growing slave trade."

"That sentiment won’t make you a lot of friends here, Jacques. Whether you agree with the practice or not, those who wield the power will never give up the right to own others, not without a fight anyway."

He nodded and leaned back on the couch he was sitting on. "And what of you? What are your feelings on the subject?"

"I’m just a woman who owns nothing, Monsieur, no one cares what my opinion on the subject might be."

"I care."

"Then you are in the minority again."

He laughed thoroughly enjoying the conversation. Women like Angelina were rare; most of the ones he’d met in his time in New Orleans cared more about the latest fashions than the welfare of others. "I find that I usually am, but for the sake of making life more interesting, it’s not a bad position."

"Then we are birds of a feather, Jacques. I feel any society that allows someone to own another human being cannot be blessed by God. It makes me so sad to see families torn apart on the block day after day."

"It makes me such a hypocrite I know since I legally own so many, but I never split up families and bought all of the ones who were related to my people. It isn’t much, but I tried my best."

Angelina rose from her seat and reached for the decanter to refill Jacques’ glass. When she was beside him she placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed in soft affection. "Your best sounds like it’s made a world of difference to them so you’re no hypocrite in my eyes."

"Thank you, dear lady, that means a lot to me." She moved back when she heard the front door open and the tapping of her uncle’s cane in the foyer.

"Ah, Jacques, you made it. Pardon me for being late but it was an exciting day at the paper. Has Angelina been keeping you company?"

"She just now let me in. I was barred to the yard until she saw your carriage down the street," joked Jacques.

"Oh you." Angelina stepped closer to Jacques again and slapped his arm in mock indignation. "Don’t listen to a word this heathen tells you, Uncle Tomas. I’ve been nothing but the perfect hostess." She moved toward the older man and kissed his cheek in greeting. Her flirtatious behavior not lost on Tomas.

"Is she telling the truth?"

"About me being a heathen? Most definitely." His answer made them share the first of many laughs as the evening progressed. Jacques retold some of the stories he had shared with Angelina, but she listened with the same rapt attention. Before any of them wanted, the evening drew to a close and Tomas sent for Jacques’ horse.

"I hope you join us again, young man. Perhaps you can find time again for us next Friday?" asked Tomas. He was willing to beg if only to see Angelina enjoy another evening like she had that night.

"I would enjoy seeing you both again," he included both of them in the statement but Jacques’ eyes never strayed from Angelina’s. "This week I’ll actually be staying in town for a few days to make arrangements for the sugarcane harvest. Could I persuade you to join me for an evening out?"

"We’d love to," answered Angelina before Tomas got a chance.

For the rest of the year it was rare to not find Jacques sitting in the du’Pon’s parlor enjoying a cigar with Tomas after dinner as Angelina did her needlepoint. Every so often she would interject some witty comment to scale down whatever the two men were arguing over. When the weather permitted Jacques would take Angelina for walks before their meal, always with a couple of trusted servants trailing behind as chaperones. After months, it wasn’t an uncommon sight to find the two arm-in-arm lost in conversation as they strolled. Angelina had without effort become the envy of every single woman in the Louisiana Territory.

In the years since that special time Kendal had rarely found as good a verbal sparring partner as Tomas, and such a beguiling companion as his niece. The overwhelming sense of longing swamped her again as Kendal stubbed out the Cohiba in the ashtray. Tears, which for so long had been a memory, welled in her eyes again. I would give almost anything to see you again, love.

When Kendal focused she found Angelina’s poor double sitting in the chair opposite hers with a strange expression on her face. To give her time to compose herself the bartender appeared and asked if Piper wanted anything. He seemed almost angry on Kendal’s behalf that the small blonde had distributed her. There was something about Kendal that bordered on nobility.

"Come to finish your tirade, Miss Dupont?" It was Kendal who clipped the fresh cigar the young man had left to prepare it for smoking. A fresh drink had appeared along with it, and finding Piper had joined her made Kendal long for the days when any liquor actually had the ability to get her drunk.

"Actually I came to apologize. If you don’t have me thrown out before I finish that is. I was rude earlier and there isn’t any excuse for what I did or my behavior."

Kendal smiled around the expensive smoke and tried not to gloat. She might have given Mac all the money to salvage his empire just to have seen his granddaughter’s face when she got the information on what Kenny Delaney had planned. From her research, Piper seldom mixed business with the inside of her bedroom, so in this instance she must have felt her situation was bleak. Those who’d been lucky enough to share her bed had played strictly by the blonde’s rules.

"Your being here can only mean one of two things, or perhaps a combination of the two."

The triumphant tone of voice only fueled Piper’s dislike for her opponent, only now she bit back the smart comeback that was dying to leave her mouth. "What’s your guess?"

"Macarthur gave you a talking to after I left and you found a snake crawling in your bed." Kendal exhaled and blew first a large smoke ring followed by a smaller one that landed in the middle. "Am I on target?" A stream of smoke followed going straight through the center of the rings.

"I guess I don’t even have to be here for this conversation if you know every goddamn thing there is to know." So much for iron control and keeping our mouth shut, Piper.

If Kendal was moved by the display of immaturity it didn’t show. She just studied Piper with cool eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

"Do I have a choice?" Piper rolled her eyes and sounded hostile as she waited for Kendal to rub her face in her mistakes.

"Yes, you do, and so do I." Kendal stood, which sent the bartender running over. "Put it on my tab, Mr. Andrews. We’re done."

"You’re leaving?" asked Piper.

"Contrary to my reputation as a heartless shark, I don’t enjoy playing with my prey. Nor do I enjoy the company of people who clearly detest everything about me. You hate me because I’m taking advantage of a business opportunity and I can understand and appreciate that. It doesn’t however mean I’m going to sit here and take shit from you." Kendal leaned over the table like she had at their first meeting. "You want me gone from you life, fine. Consider it done. By tomorrow though you’ll have ten other sharks circling the building and you’ll long for the devil you know. Good luck, Miss Dupont, you and your grandfather are going to need it."

Piper wanted to stop her but no words would come out of her mouth. It was only after Kendal disappeared from sight that she dug out her phone and called the car waiting downstairs.

"You strike out, boss?"

"In a big way. Keep an eye on the exits; I think she’s on her way out. Ms. Mackey says she’s out of the deal, but I know how much time she’s put into us. She’s not going anywhere." Piper fished out a bill for her drink that the bartender promptly gave back before leaving her alone. "I think it’s time I know as much about Mackey as she knows about me."

"Will do, boss. I’ll call you later." From her position Hillary "Hill" Jarvis could see Kendal standing at the valet station just inside the motor entrance of the hotel. "I would’ve pegged you for the limo type of gal, Kendal."

Expecting a boring sedan, Hill’s mouth fell open when the valet drove down a black, very large motorcycle. Strapped to the back was a black leather jacket with gloves tucked into the pocket. The rider handed her suit jacket to the valet and donned the heavier, warmer garment. With a roar she was out of the garage headed out of town. At a red light Kendal pulled out her phone and made a quick call. With a scanning device, Hill listened in from two car lengths back.

"Bruce, pack it up and head home tonight if you can. Call the team and scrub Dupont from our hot list."

"What? Why?"

"Because I’m no longer interested. They could give me the whole damn thing now and I still wouldn’t want it. Mr. Dupont can keep that spawn he calls family and they can both stew in the mess they’ve created."

Bruce pushed his plate away and tapped his fingers on the table. "We can’t just walk away, Kendal. We’ve put in a shit load of hours on this."

"Your mistake, my friend, is thinking this is up for discussion. It isn’t so get back to the office and find something else. This deal is dead." The light changed and Kendal walked the bike to the curb, making Hill have to pass her up.

"And what do you plan to do?"

"I have some other things to attend to, so it maybe awhile before I get back."

"Like what?"

"Bruce, we’ve been friends for a long time but don’t delude yourself into thinking you own any part of me. I’m here and I have things to do, accept that and go. I’ll call you when I’m ready to come back."

"Whatever that is, is more important than what we came for?" From the beginning he’d had the feeling Kendal’s mind was on something else. For Bruce it was always about the money, no matter how much he made it would never be enough.

"Dupont was something to do while we were here, that’s true. If you don’t like that or can’t accept it, there’s no other explanation I can give you."

Not willing to throw away their relationship, Bruce steadied his voice and tried his best not to sound disappointed. "Is there anything I can do for you? I’d be willing to stay behind and help."

"Thanks, man, but this is something I’ve put off long enough. Take care of yourself, Bruce, and tell your father hello for me. You owe him a visit when you get home. He’s different from you, but he’s still a good man."

Not liking the path the conversation had taken Bruce tried again. "Are you sure?"

"I’m positive."

"Take care then. Don’t take too long, ok?" The line was disconnected before he said goodbye and it suddenly made him feel sick. What if he never had the chance to say goodbye? The call to his father was something he was looking forward to now.

Kendal got on the interstate and opened the throttle on the bike. Miles down the road she came to an exit that was just before one of the large bridges built over the years to span the Mississippi River. Cold air blew through her hair as she started down River Road. With each mile the bike ate up, she moved further beyond the clutter of houses lining the road.

Here the homes were miles apart, and most weren’t privately owned anymore. Everyday tourists from around the world followed docents dressed in period costumes to learn a little of the old south as it was lived on the plantation. A smaller plantation was the last she saw as the curvy road became dark with no streetlights and no moon. To the right lay a long stretch of woods and to the left was the high levee that kept the muddy waters at bay.

Finally, after a long stretch, the woods gave way to cleared land and a high wrought iron fence that gave passers by only a small glimpse of what lay on the other side. Massive oak trees looked like spirits with the Spanish moss blowing in the breeze and ancient looking azalea bushes lay dormant waiting for spring to open the thousands of buds they were known for. With the quick click of a button on the control in her jacket pocket, the gates opened to the bricked drive that led to the house. After close to three hundred years the master of the house had returned to Oakgrove.

************************************************************************

Under Charlie’s care the house looked very much like the last time she had seen it, only now electricity illuminated the porches and verandas where only lanterns had been before. The house had been her joy for the time she had been in Louisiana, having overseen and helped in the original construction and additions they had made. During the war it was stories of it being haunted that saved it from serious looting and vandalism. In time Charlie erected the fence and allowed much of the land to be reclaimed by the trees, leaving only the expansive formal gardens for the staff to tend.

The other additions besides modernizing the house for comfort had been the addition of a more modern barn. Salvaged wood and relics from the original one built were incorporated into the one now at the back of the house. The full stables had some distant relatives to Jacques St. Louis’s personal mounts, especially from his beloved black stallion Dubois.

Per Kendal’s directions the staff had been given the night off so she could wander the grounds alone. She sat on the bike and just stared at her old home. The excitement of being here at last made her forget her run in with Piper, and Kendal dismounted to start her tour. The front door was unlocked and on the center table in the foyer was a note from Charlie.

Welcome home, Monsieur St. Louis. These walls have missed your presence. Enjoy, and call for me when you have need.

There was wood piled in the fireplace in the parlor and the liquor bottles were all full, but none of that mattered. Kendal stood with her hands on her hips, much like the pose the day it was hung, and studied the portrait of Angelina du’Pon over the mantle. The resemblance to Piper was uncanny but the portrait showed the major difference. It was their eyes. Angelina’s were a paler green and filled with love for the person she was looking at when she sat for the likeness. Where as Piper’s were more vibrant, in turn they were hard and almost calculating.

She walked through the house looking and touching different objects as she went. The last room Kendal visited was the sword room. Along the walls was the priceless collection she’d amassed in her long lifetime. Some were older than any found in museums around the world. Each had a small brass plate that told the year it was purchased and where Kendal had gotten it. Under Charlie’s care, each sword looked almost new.

With a small bow, she took down the last one she had sent Charlie for storage. The Japanese katana blade had been a gift from one warrior to another when Kendal had saved the wife of a samurai during her travels. It was light, sharp and perfect for the upcoming days. She brought it with her upstairs and dropped it on the bed so she could change. A few minutes later she was dressed in a pair of riding pants and loose fitting white shirt. The sword was securely strapped to her back as she went through the back door.

************************************************************************

"Where are you?" asked Piper in lieu of a greeting. After her meeting with Kendal she had decided to go home and relax with a glass of wine. To her annoyance, there’d been over twenty messages from Kenny apologizing for what he was sure was a misunderstanding.

"You would never guess, no matter how much time I gave you." Hill sat hunched down in her car and hoped Kendal wouldn’t see her parked at the top of the levee. It was her only hope at seclusion since River Road didn’t really have a shoulder and parking on the plantation’s property could land her in jail.

"A whorehouse?"

The private detective pulled the phone form her ear and looked at it as if she’d heard wrong. "As interestingly strange as that answer is, that would be a negative."

"Let’s just say I’ve heard stories about Kendal Mackey and her appetites."

To make sure nothing had changed, Hill looked through a pair of night vision binoculars and scanned the front lawn and what little she could see of the house. "I don’t know, Piper, you sound almost jealous."

"Please, I may need to hire someone else if you think I’m interested in women." The blonde leaned against a pile of pillows in front of the fireplace and took a sip of her wine. "So if you’re through playing games, tell me where you are."

"On the levee outside Oakgrove."

"What, you’re on a sight seeing tour?"

"Why I work for you is the real mystery," said Hill when Piper sounded irritated. "Your mark pulled up on a big Harley and the gates slid open like she owns the place. She’s in the house right now."

"What’s her connection to the St. Louis family? That place is one of the few that’s still privately owned, though I doubt I’ve ever seen any of the family in residence. The real shocker is the land the original owner acquired is still controlled by the family trust."

"If you do so well investigating on your own, why do you need me?"

Moving from irritated to distracted Piper sat up and stared into the flames. "To fill in the gaps for me."

"You don’t sound like you have too many. Or maybe you’re just a plantation history expert and I missed that?"

"Granddad’s family owns the place next door. Ever since I’ve been five, I’ve been trying to sneak over there and explore but I never get very far. This is getting curiouser and curiouser." Piper tapped her nail against her front tooth remembering all her thwarted efforts. "Call me as soon as you know anything."

"Will do, boss. Oh, before I forget, I taped a conversation I thought you’d want to hear. I’ll get you a written transcript as soon as I get back to the office." She rewound the tape and played Kendal’s call to Bruce. To hear the woman refer to Piper as an evil spawn almost made Hill laugh into the phone. Wanting to keep her client happy though, she kept quiet.

"When did she make that call?"

"Right after she met with you. She talked to him from the curb before coming here. I had Mandy check it out. Whoever Bruce is, he walked back to the hotel and asked the front desk to settle his bill. She’s waiting to follow him to the airport."

"I know the type. Mackey’s not going anywhere and she’s not about to pass on this deal. We’re worth millions to her dead and in pieces."

"Then she’s going it alone if this guy ends up leaving."

"We’ll see. Keep your eyes open and call me if anything happens or if anyone else shows up. I don’t care what time it is."

Hill scanned the front of the property with her binoculars almost hoping not to see any movement. It was late and dark, so the morning was soon enough for her. She rolled the window down so the cool air would keep her awake and settled in for the night.

"Look at you, big boy. Dubois would be happy to see that his line has carried on so beautifully." Kendal patted the large horse on the side of the neck letting him get acquainted with her. With gentle words she bridled him and led him out of the stall.

"How about a little midnight ride, Ruda?" Not bothering with a saddle, Kendal landed on his back with a fluid grace not often seen without the help of a stirrup. The black horse danced a little to the right when he felt the weight, but just as quickly waited for her command when strong legs squeezed his middle. The strong voice saying, "Ha," sent him toward the wooded area of the property, glad for the freedom to run without the feel of the saddle.

She rode until they were well away from the house then moved to the fence line. After a few sections she found what she was looking for and opened the hidden gate to allow them to move onto the road. Locking up before she crossed, Kendal let a small laugh escape that was echoed by Ruda snorting. It was almost like he knew what was coming next.

The powerful legs made quick work of the levee and Kendal let Ruda loose once they were on level ground again, letting him set their pace. She only slowed him when the car came into view. It was almost too easy to provide the element of surprise when the person sent to watch you was asleep.

Hill’s brain tried to decipher why her chin felt so cold so it could do something about it without waking. A move of her head to the right only increased the chill and now a slight pressure was detected giving Hill no recourse but to open her eyes. When she did, she almost laughed at the hilarity of her dream. Got to lay off the nachos after nine. There sitting bare back was Kendal holding a sword to the underside of her chin.

"Want to explain why you’re parked on my property?"

She sounds so real, thought Hill as she blinked rapidly. "Uhm."

"Tell me, Ms. Jarvis, are you a better detective than you are a talker?"

The press of the steel was biting into her skin now and Hill tried to pull back further only to have Kendal lean in further after her. The P.I. had a feeling any sudden moves on her part would end up with parts of her face decorating her lap.

"This is public property and I was just taking a nap."

"You got part of the story right anyway. The drooling confirms the napping, but unfortunately for you, you’re parked on Oakgrove property."

"I’m sorry to disagree with you, but the levee system belongs to the state." She stopped talking when she remembered her current predicament.

"That’s true except for the ten mile stretch in front of this house. All the way to the waterline is part of the estate, so in fact, you’re trespassing. Should I mention how much trespassers offend me?"

"I’m sorry, if you’ll move back I’ll be on my way." Hill tried to sound in control but the situation was too bizarre.

The sword moved away from Hill’s face so Kendal could slide off Ruda’s back. "Not yet. Get out of the car," ordered Kendal. "And you can leave your weapon on the seat. If you think you’re fast enough to draw on me you’ll find your hand blooding up the grass.

Hill removed the small pistol having no doubt of the threat. "I meant no harm."

Kendal put up one hand as she sheathed the sword with the other. "You’re doing your job, I can understand that. What I can’t understand is why you’re still here doing it?"

"What do you mean?" Hill relaxed a little when the chance of being sliced and diced diminished with the disappearance of the blade.

"Didn’t you play the tape for her? I stopped so you’d get the whole thing." The tall woman sounded reasonable, it was a little spooky that she was so on the mark. No one Hill had ever spied on was this perceptive. "Tell Miss Dupont I’m not interested in her little company, so she can save the money this is costing her to fight off the next corporate raider."

"How’d you know?"

"By studying my opponent, Ms. Jarvis. If you know your enemy, you know what to expect, it’s not that hard. Piper is nothing if not predictable, and you are on her payroll."

"Years of experience, huh?"

"It helps, but the concept is nothing new. Master Tzu wrote it all in his book. In your line of work I would’ve guess you’d of read it."

"Ah, you read ‘The Art of War.’"

The tall woman remembered the days she spent studying with the great strategist and smiled. "Something like that." Kendal whistled for Ruda, ready to go. "I’d say it was a pleasure, Ms. Jarvis, but I have a pet peeve about being spied on. Please tell your client, and tell her to stay the hell away from me. After tonight I don’t have any plans for Dupont Enterprises, she has my word."

"Thank you, Ms. Mackey."

"You’re very welcome. Just remember my warning. I won’t be so nice next time, and you have such a handsome face. Pity something would happen to change that." She arched a dark brow at the private investigator before she mounted the horse again and kept riding along the levee toward New Orleans.

To Hill she looked like a piece of the past brought back to life in vivid proportions. You could almost imagine the plantation owner riding along the river as the crops grew near by waiting for the fall harvest. The shame of it was there would be no reason to follow Kendal any further. Unlike most of the others she trailed after, Kendal seemed like a fascinating subject.

Hill started her car even before she had the door closed not anxious to still be around when Kendal returned. Her cell phone was on the seat but she drove almost half way back to the city before calling Piper. "She made me and she knows who signs my paychecks."

The small blonde looked at her darkened ceiling for almost a minute before answering, trying to wrap her brain around what Hill was telling her. "What the hell doesn’t she know? I’m beginning to think the only secret I have left is the color of my underwear."

"I wouldn’t put even money on that. This woman is different, Piper. She said you have her word she has no interest in your company, so my advice would be to stay clear." The memory of that blade biting into her skin made Hill shudder. She had no doubt that if she were found on Oakgrove property again Kendal would hand her her ass on a plate, literally. "You don’t want her as an enemy believe me."

"You show fear in business and you might as well put the for sale sign out. The thing you have to realize is, you don’t put in that sort of time and effort to just walk away. Come on, Hill, you don’t need an MBA to figure that one out."

"No, I think it’s you who doesn’t understand. She gave her word, and I got the impression that means a lot to Kendal Mackey. She rode up on a damn black horse and held me at sword point. I’m telling you, boss, you don’t want to mess with this woman."

Knowing she was too worked up to sleep, Piper threw the covers back and swung her legs down. "That’s why I run a business and you lurk around after people. Call me tomorrow. There’s lots more I want to know about Mackey."

Hill spoke to an empty car after Piper disconnected. "As long as I can find it on a computer screen, lady. Cause there’s no way in hell I’m putting myself in striking distance again."

************************************************************************

The ride was refreshing and Kendal would’ve sworn Ruda liked it as much as she did. With the minor annoyance gone from across the street Kendal came back through the main gates a little after two in the morning. It felt good to be back on horse back riding through land that reminded her of her summers as a child. When the world moved with the pharaoh to the summer palace and its rich fields of grains.

"I was beginning to think you’d run away." The reprimand was said with a large dose of teasing and the woman saying it brought a huge smile to Kendal’s face.

Through the centuries, in every lifetime she had known the names Kendal had gone by, the details of the lives she’d chosen. Why sometimes, because of the society, it was easier to live as a man than a woman. For all she knew about Kendal, in return Kendal had known her only as Indigo.

She was an Elder who observed and passed judgment when it became necessary. In the world, since the beginning of time, there had been things the rational mind could not explain and it was people like Indigo who made sure they coexisted in balance. For every powerful black force that was created, she looked for a stronger white light to fight the darkness back. Destroying the evil if that’s what was necessary. When things were quiet Indigo would be absent from Kendal’s life for decades at a time.

"Had I known such beauty was waiting on my steps I would’ve beaten the horse back." Kendal slid off Ruda’s back and landed with a small thump on the pavement of the drive. One of Indigo’s men took the reins and led the horse away for a thorough brushing.

"Henri’s growing stronger as we stand here talking, my warrior. You cannot wait too much longer."

Like the first time Kendal laid eyes on the woman who had been her one constant, something inside of her stirred in response to Indigo’s presence. She was almost Kendal’s opposite in every way. Petite in stature, pale skin that was extenuated by blonde hair so light it seemed almost white. The only the thing they had in common was the blue distinct eyes that had seen the passage of time.

"Is he ready to take over the world tonight?" asked Kendal as she moved forward. Now that she had finished her ride and stopped moving, the sweat on her skin was making the cold air more pronounced.

The remark got Indigo to arch a pale brow and laugh. This was the rogue who was so easy to lose yourself in because she made you feel so good. "No, not tonight."

"Then let’s talk about something else. Since we both realize the price of failure. I know what to do, my little flower."

The Elder held her ground as Kendal moved closer. Her sensitive sense of smell was tickled by the leather-riding boots and the citrusy cologne Kendal had started using during the French Revolution. The tight pants showed off the perfect muscle tone of those long legs, and the black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail by a leather cord. Indigo held her breath anticipating the first touch of the callused hands made rough by years of wielding a sword.

Kendal went slow. She bent her head and pressed her lips to Indigo’s savoring the taste of the brandy the smaller woman must have had while waiting for her return. The lips parted encouraging Kendal in to explore, so as she stroked Indigo’s tongue with hers, she slid her hands down her sides until she cupped her bottom.

"Better yet, I suggest we talk of nothing at all." With the words, Kendal picked her up and moved to the front door. She didn’t stop until they were in the master suite. There she put Indigo gently on her feet and cupped her face in her hands. Just as gently Kendal pressed her lips to those upturned and waiting, enjoying the feel of the smaller woman pressed against her. "I’ve missed you."

"And I you, warrior mine. There has never been your like in my life." Indigo ran her hands up Kendal’s chest and stopped at the cord holding the shirt closed. With one tug the knot came loose and she was able to reach in and lay her palm against the warm chest. "The saddest day of my existence was the day I had to give you the gift of immortality. To be your watcher meant I could never have a life with you no matter how much I cared for you." She pulled Kendal’s shirt from the riding pants and pulled it over her head. The body her eyes took in hadn’t changed at all from the first night they had spent together.

The sides of the tent would flutter with the breeze whenever the wind picked up along the back of the dunes. Torches were placed sporadically enough to give safe passage through the camp but not close enough for the enemy to study them too closely. It was one thing the unit’s captain had learned from the pharaoh herself. In the morning they would face an enemy who outnumbered them three to one, but Asra wasn’t worried. She commanded the most feared unit in Ramses’ forces.

That night she had eaten with her men and retired to study her maps. She was anxious to return to her father who was ill and doing his best to fight back death. After this mission Asra would return to the city outside the summer palace to spend time with him and train new recruits for the pharaoh. To serve the ruling family as soldiers had been her family’s mission as well as tradition for generations.

Physically, Asra wasn’t much different from the pharaoh in size but she still wasn’t as proficient with the sword as the king. The one main thing that set them apart aside from battle experience was their eye color. While Ramses had blue eyes much like her mother’s, Asra’s were dark brown like her father’s.

The pharaoh had come to trust her and spent time sparring with the young woman when she had the chance. Ramses would smile when they trained together assuring Asra her skill would come with time. She had been right, with experience and practice they had become almost evenly matched and that’s why Asra had risen so quickly in the ranks. Her father, a proven soldier in his own right, was her greatest advisor and teacher, glad to see at least one of his children continue in the family’s chosen profession. Asra was his greatest pride and his son Abez was his greatest disappointment.

Abez was a season older than Asra and more interested in spending time in the gambling dens of Egypt than he was in any noble profession. At an early age he had learned to hate the perfect little soldier who had come after him. Asra the perfect daughter and growing favorite of the city’s elite was the subject of Abez’s scorn.

It was only at times like this that Asra gave him any thought at all. Her brother had pulled further and further away from everyone who loved him, disappearing for moons at a time. His returns would be joyous for only a few days until he had talked their father out of a few coins so he could return to the sewer that was his life. No amount of talking on any of their parts would get him to change or choose a different path.

With a long sigh, Asra prayed the gods would bring Abez home before their father’s death. No matter how disappointing a son he’d been, Asra was sure her father would want to see him once more before he departed for the other side. Showing the old man at least that respect would erase so many of his past mistakes in his sister’s eyes.

She heard the flap pulled back and the almost silent steps of someone approaching. "What is it? I left orders I wasn’t to be disturbed."

The person bowed low enough that Asra couldn’t see their face. "Forgive me, captain. I have news of your father."

Any melancholy that had built over thoughts of Abez disappeared and Asra wanted to shake the messenger to make him speak faster. "Speak."

When the person stood straight the pharaoh’s captain got lost in the beautiful blue eyes and equally beautiful face. She shook her head as if to clear her mind and focus on what the woman had said. "I’m sorry you have to find out this way, but your father is dead."

The news, she reflected later, was not unexpected but it was devastating nonetheless. She dropped to her knees and buried her face in her hands. "Did he suffer?" asked Asra.

"He suffered very little, warrior, because the end was fast and before his time. Again I don’t know of any other way to tell you than to say it was your brother who killed him."

Before the mystery woman could go on, Asra moved swiftly and drew her blade. The sword was the same one her father had used in combat, and had been a gift when she had been given her own unit. "A filthy lie you will bleed for."

"Please, captain, let me speak my peace then I’ll submit to whatever punishment you wish." The woman bowed again. "That’s all I ask."

She started with a history of the forces at work within the realm and in places not yet known to Egypt. As in every battle there was the fight for good and evil and it was her job to seek out those who were worthy of fighting for those who could not fight for themselves. Evil, she told Asra, if left unchecked would plunge the world into darkness forever.

"You speak in riddles, woman. What does all this have to do with my father?" Asra stood in the middle of the tent with her hands on her hips as she asked the question.

"The evil I speak of has seduced your brother. It was he who took your father’s life as revenge for what he feels was denied him."

"You’re lying," accused Asra. It fell easily from her lips, but in the pit of her stomach she felt sick. She knew Abez, and because she did, what this woman was saying was possible. "Abez was seduced a long time ago but he’s never been violent. My father may not agree with his life, but he’s never denied him the coins he craves."

"It’s blood he craves now. He needs it like we need to breathe. What you must realize now is Abez could have chosen anyone to satisfy his thirst, but he chose your father. Doing so was the best way to draw you out, then his revenge would be complete."

"He’s my brother. I know we disagree on almost everything, but I can’t believe he hates me that much."

The woman moved closer and knelt next to Asra. She laid a comforting hand on a broad shoulder, waiting until glassy brown eyes captured her own. "He’s no longer the brother you knew, warrior. You have to understand that by accepting the gift he received, it killed all the good in him. His craving now is blood and death. It will be so until the end of time, or until he is destroyed."

"No man lives forever, only the gods do, and Abez is no god." The soldier studied the woman before her. She had the queen’s coloring but the face was even more attractive than Sarah’s. Asra was sure Ramses was aware of the many admirers her mate had throughout the city, Asra being one. The other thing the pharaoh was aware of was Sarah’s devotion to only her. But even the love-besotted pharaoh would look twice at Asra’s late night visitor.

"What will it take to convince you?"

"I need no proof since I plan no revenge of my own. My brother’s not perfect, but he’s no killer. That would take effort and if you knew him well, you know that’s something he has very little patience for." Asra stood and wiped her tears away. "Leave me to remember my father. My thanks for bringing me the news of his passing, if I can, I will repay the debt."

The woman left as quietly as she had come. She didn’t see Asra’s strong shoulders fold in the defeat of despair. If what her visitor said was true, she was truly alone in the world. Her mother had died seasons earlier and now her father had joined her. From outside the messenger listened before disappearing into the darkness of the sands. Her job wasn’t finished but she needed to give Asra time to accept her fate.

The next morning Asra headed into battle like a woman possessed. There wasn’t an enemy soldier alive by the time the sun was at its peak. Leaving orders to her second in command the captain rode off toward the city with the same intensity. She arrived at her father’s home candle marks after the sun had set. Again the proud warrior fell to her knees with the atrocity that awaited her.

It looked like a beast had come in the night and ripped the throats of every servant, leaving the bodies for the flies. What amazed Asra was the lack of blood. From her battlefield experience the wounds should have painted the walls red.

She heard his laugh before she saw him. Like in her camp there were only a couple of torches lit throughout the house. "You can’t imagine how pleasing it is to see the mighty warrior brought to her knees."

"Abez, what have you done?"

"What is my right to do, captain. You’ve looked down on me for so long but that’s about to change. I fed on these pathetic fools but it’s you who I thirst for now, sister. For all your skill you’ll find I’m invincible now." He moved out of the shadows and Asra shrank back at the sight of him.

Seasons of drink and abuse had hardened Abez’s features but he was now hideous. It was the only way she could think to describe him. His skin looked deathly pale and his face was transformed to something that looked like a nightmare. Just as quickly the monstrous additions melted away and all that was left were the new elongated incisors.

Asra pulled her sword free and held it out in front of her. "It’s true then, you killed papa?"

He laughed so hard he braced his hands against his knees. "His last breaths were wasted on calling for you to protect him instead of being in awe that he had sired a god." Abez pointed to the worthless weapon in his sister’s hand. "You are no match for my strength, Asra, so put your toys away. Face death with the same pride with which you serve the mighty Ramses." He kicked the sword out of her hand and took possession of it. It was just one more thing that should’ve been his that his sister had stolen from him.

"Leave now and I won’t turn you to dust, Abez." The threat came from the shadow and he tried to pinpoint where the intruder was standing. "Your master must’ve warned you of your limitations. Do you wish to see just how invincible you are?"

Asra recognized the woman’s voice. It was her visitor from the night before and in her hand was a sword with an intricate design along the blade. When Abez finally located her it was he who stepped back in fear, and his face contorted back to the monstrous form. If it was done to intimidate her, the woman only stepped closer. Rather than fight, Abez fled with speed Asra had only witnessed in fast horses.

"Are you all right?"

Asra dropped her hands from their defensive posture suddenly tired and ill from the death that surrounded her. "Who are you?"

"I am Indigo and I am an Elder of the Order. I’ve come to give you a gift, Asra, if you agree to join us." The smaller woman returned her sword to the sheath strapped to her back and held her hand out to Asra.

"Who is us?"

As she had the night before, Indigo explained how and why she existed. The Order was formed by those who understood and fought the unexplainable. Abez had become a child of Ora, a witch who had tapped a dark power a century before Asra had been born. When the evil force took hold of her body, Ora ceased to need food or water, couldn’t stand bright lights and lived off the blood of the living. Those who served her were promised eternal life as long as they stayed away from the soldiers who served the Elders.

With time the Elders had leaned to fight back and diminished the witch’s numbers, but Ora always stayed one step ahead of them. The longer her children lived the stronger they became and the less they needed to feed. Ora now only killed and drained her victims for the sport and her love of death. The Order’s job was to stop her minions before they grew to powerful and upset the balance of order in the world.

"If you join us, I’ll train you to fight the darkness that has stolen Abez’s spirit. With that knowledge also comes a gift."

"What, you want my spirit as well?"

"No, I want to give you life — one that will outlast the ages. All we ask is that you serve when called."

Asra laughed and took the woman’s hand. "No one can live forever, woman."

The blonde laughed with her as she pulled Asra to her feet. "Then time will be my proof. Will you commit?"

The soldier nodded and placed her fist over her chest. Asra only wanted to avenge her father and those who lay dead at her feet. She did not fear death if she took her brother with her to the land of the dead. The life she’d worked so hard for meant nothing to her now.

Together they rode into the desert to a camp Indigo had set up. The tent was next to the watering hole and under the trees of the oasis. When sunset came, Indigo stripped off the bloody uniform Asra was still wearing. Asra watched with a placid eye as the blonde bathed her and washed her hair. The attention felt wonderful enough to make Asra forget her woes for the night.

"Your brother has chosen the darkness and in darkness will he dwell all the rest of his days. But you, warrior mine, will walk a different path. The sun will bring you life, strength and wisdom, where for Abez it will only bring death." Indigo spoke in soft tones as she cleansed Asra’s skin. When she was done she led her new recruit out of the pond to a blanket she had laid out under the stars.

Interested blue eyes watched as Indigo mixed the ingredients she had around her with clean fresh water. For every item that went into the cup she told Asra their purpose and how much was used. When she was done the cup held a thick liquid that glowed as bright as the sun.

"Drink and live forever," said Indigo holding up the cup.

The first sip was taken tentatively since Asra thought it would be hot. It was cool on her tongue but the feeling it produced was anything but cool. She felt like she was consuming the strength of a hundred men with each sip. The feeling of power was intoxicating.

"You are one of us now, Asra. There is no turning back. For as long as you walk the earth I will be here to help you. Are you ready to begin?"

"We can begin tomorrow," answered Asra. Her teacher showed no reluctance when Asra pulled her forward and kissed her. It excited Indigo instantly when she figured out Asra was already more powerful than she was. Her strength and purity would make her the greatest warrior the Order had produced. No one would ever be able to seduce Asra as they had her brother.

By the time they left the haven of the desert everything and everyone Asra had known was a memory. The years had been spent learning a new way to fight from Indigo and making love whenever they pleased. Over the years Ora had come to both hate and fear the warrior Indigo had found since none of her followers had ever come close to defeating Asra in battle.

Asra had morphed over time changing to fit her environment, serving whenever the Elders sent Indigo to do their bidding. The only thing she had found that sapped her strength was the same thing that made Abez so strong. Total darkness. With it came not death, but sleep and weakness. It had been what she sought after Jacques St. Louis ceased to exist, but it had been Indigo who’d come and pulled her from the cave she’d picked. Now it was her time as Kendal Mackey, but it was also her time to finish the work she’d begun as Asra.

"You are as beautiful as you were the night I gave you life, Asra."

The tall woman drank and Indigo could see the liquid doing its work. The muscles in Asra’s body twitched and jumped as they were infused with the power of the sun. When it was done, Asra opened her eyes and Indigo smiled. Their color was now as blue as her own. It had worked. Their new warrior was immortal.

Her memories were interrupted by the sound of Kendal’s voice. The deep rumble pulled Indigo’s mind back from the past. "And you excite me just as much," said Kendal as she watched Indigo pull her belt open and lower her pants. With a little encouragement she pulled Indigo’s head forward toward her center. She loved having sex with this woman who understood her needs and could match her strength.

She moaned when Indigo sucked in the hard bundle of need. Only focused concentration kept her on her feet under the pleasurable onslaught. "Let go for me, warrior, for tomorrow the war begins."

 

 

Continued in Part 2

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