Special Smashwords Edition
Spellbound 2011
- Anthology -
Stories by
Isabelle Kane
Audrey Tremaine
John Mecom
Walt Trizna
Jenny Twist
John Steiner
Joanna Foreman
Tori L. Ridgewood
Tara Fox Hall
Special Smashwords Edition
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Published by
Melange Books, LLC
White Bear Lake, MN 55110
Spellbound at Midnight, Isabelle Kane, Audrey Tremaine,
Copyright 2011
Room 1309.5, John Mecom, Copyright 2011
Mansion of Nightmares, Walt Trizna, Copyright 2011
Uncle Vernon, Jenny Twist, Copyright 2011
Half Seen, Half Hidden, John Steiner, Copyright 2011
Ghost Taxi, Joanna Foreman, Copyright 2011
Telltale Signs, Tori L. Ridgewood, Copyright 2011
The Origin of Fear, Tara Fox Hall, Copyright 2011
ISBN: 978-1-61235-248-0
Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Credits
Copy Editor: Diane Pearson, Jane Bonander
Line Editor: Nancy Schumacher
Format Editor: Nancy Schumacher
Cover Artist: Caroline Andrus
Spellbound 2011 - Anthology
Spellbound at Midnight by Isabelle Kane and Audrey Tremaine
In the sultry Big Easy, Viole Godin is hired to restore Magnolia Place, an antebellum mansion which is crumbling under a mysterious curse. Marie Verret and her dangerously attractive grandson, Lucien, believe Viole is the key to ending the curse one magical Halloween night.
Room 1309.5 by John M. Mecom
Inspired by the works of Poe and Stephen King, Room 1309.5 is a story of revenge and despair. It is the author’s first story to be published and received honorable mention in the Fifth Annual Writer’s Digest Popular Fiction Awards.
Mansion of Nightmares by Walt Trizna
A mysterious mansion, long abandoned, harbors a past that claims those who enter. Then one day, by a stroke of luck, an intruder survives and uncovers its secret.
Uncle Vernon by Jenny Twist
There’s something very peculiar about Uncle Vernon. Nobody knows what he does in the cellar. But he’s quite harmless, really. Isn’t he?
Half Seen, Half Hidden by John Steiner
Nine dead. One missing. No suspects and no leads. What happened in the cabin outside Wilson Wyoming? Where and who is Mason Oliver? Deep within ourselves rests a greater mystery. Half Seen, Half Hidden traces the last three days of Mason Oliver and nine hitchhikers. Offering them shelter, Mason takes them to a secluded cabin. There they all sense the others aren’t quite the strangers they seemed, and that they hold something extraordinary in common.
Ghost Taxi by Joanna Foreman
A man drowns heading for freedom in America, but his ghost is trapped. Washed up on the beach, the ghost is an illegal alien, not allowed to cross the street into Miami. A homeless man and a vacationing tourist search for his wife so the ghost can possess her.
Telltale Signs by Tori L Ridgewood
Don't stay in the Dark Lake Museum after sunset! But Kate Elliot has a deadline to meet. Working overtime, she realizes she's not alone in the creepy old mansion...
The Origin of Fear by Tara Fox Hall
Four college friends mount an expedition to Latham’s Landing—an abandoned island estate infamous for mysterious deaths—to gather pictures and inspiration for a thesis on the origin of fear.
Spellbound 2011
- Anthology -
Table of Contents
by
Isabelle Kane and
Audrey Tremaine
Other works by Isabelle Kane with Melange
One Last Farewell
The Mists of Connemera (with Audrey Tremaine) in Irish Intimacies and Ironies
Other works by Audrey Tremaine with Melange
The Mists of Connemera (with Isabelle Kane) in Irish Intimacies and Ironies
Author Contact
http://www.kaneandtremaine.com/
Spellbound at Midnight
Isabelle Kane and Audrey Tremaine
“Carte blanche,” Viole repeated, thoroughly astounded. “The sort of thing we’re talking about will not be inexpensive, not that I mean to dissuade you.”
“Perhaps, Grandmere, Miss Godin doesn’t feel her skills are adequate to the task.” The supercilious arch of a dark, curved brow irked her as much as the man’s words. She would make Lucien Verret swallow them before she was through.
“I can assure you, Mr. Verret, you will not find my skills lacking. It’s just that some people leap recklessly into these sorts of endeavors and end up in over their heads.” Viole felt someone step on her toe. She glanced around in consternation and encountered a glacial look from her new employer, Sabine Roy. If looks could freeze, Viole would now be an ice sculpture.
“What dear Viole is trying to say,” Sabine, a somewhat stout, but well coiffed and perfectly made up steel magnolia, offered soothingly “is that there is a great deal of work involved in a full reconstruction. So many people just try to spit polish one of our grand old houses by applying some paint or refinishing a floor. When my father founded Belle Maison, it was his goal to bring classic southern homes back to full, complete, and historically accurate life. As you no doubt are aware, this firm strives to carry on with his vision and commitment to excellence.
“Viole, here, is one of our most talented young architectural reconstructionists, but she is from the North, you know, and hasn’t yet become accustomed to our manners and our way of doing things.”
Viole swallowed a smart reply. Despite all the flourish and trim, Sabine was effectively saying she was rude. “I’m a direct person, and I believe in letting a customer know exactly what he or she is getting into. This antebellum mansion of yours, Magnolia Place…”
“Magnolia House,” the potential client, a frail but still lovely octogenarian interrupted her smoothly. Despite Marie Verret’s delicate frame and exquisite style of dress, there was a power, an intensity to her nearly violet eyes which attested to the force of her personality.
Two of Marie’s grandsons, Lucien and Charles, sat on either side of her. The older of the two, Lucien Verret was just over six feet tall, with nearly black hair, intense blue eyes, and aristocratic features. There was something about the way he looked at Viole which discomfited her. It’s not that she’d never had men look at her before; she knew she was an attractive woman with her petite but curvy figure, long hair, and fair skin, but it was as if he was assessing her for some purpose. His cousin, Charles, was of the same elegant type, though not as tall and softer looking. And there was a shrewd spark to his shadowed eyes which belied his indolent, southern gentleman pose.
Both men had accompanied their grandmother to her meeting with the architectural restoration firm named “Belle Maison” where Viole had just started working the week before. Apparently, Mrs. Verret had personally requested Viole. She had done some good work in Philadelphia on some lovely Federalist style houses about which an extensive article had been written in Restoration Today. She believed she owed a great deal to that article. Though she was only a few years into her career, the week it came out, Sabine Roy, one of the vice presidents of Belle Maison and now her immediate superior, had personally called and offered her a job with a salary and benefits that no sane person could refuse. She’d moved down to Louisiana two weeks before. Now, it seemed she was about to have a very extensive restoration dropped into her lap because of that same article.
“Magnolia House,” she said, nodding to Mrs. Verret, “will require an enormous amount of work to bring it back to its original grandeur. Do you have any specific plans for it?”
“Well, it seems you all are getting down to brass tacks,” Sabine commented as she rose to her feet. “So, if you will excuse me, there are some other matters which need my attention. I’m leaving you in very capable hands.”
Charles waited until the door had closed behind her, then remarked: “Why don’t you ask what’s really on your mind, Miss Godin? You’re no doubt wondering how much we intend to spend on this project.”
“Lucien!” Marie corrected. “Forgive my grandson, he can be impetuous.”
“Grandmere, this is all nonsense,” Charles broke in. “We would all be better off razing that house. It’s the land that’s really worth something.”
“Charles, you would destroy your family’s history? No, my boy, I can’t allow that to happen. There has to be another way for Magnolia House, and Miss Godin is going to help us find it. May I call you Viole? You’re young enough to be my granddaughter, you know?”
“Of course.”
“I went to Williamsburg, Virginia, several years ago. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
“Grandmere wishes to make our family home into a tourist attraction,” Lucien remarked dryly.
“And will you dress up as Rhett Butler and dance the Virginia reel with the ladies?” The comment popped out before Viole could stop herself. She didn’t want to drive off a prospective client, particularly one with deep pockets, but there was something about Lucien that rubbed her wrong. It bothered her that her first thought on seeing him had been “Oh my.” He was sinfully handsome, lean, dark and hot. But there was something so skeptical about the way he looked at her that she found herself disliking him more with every passing moment.
“Frankly, my dear, I’ll be damned if I do.”
The way he said it, with his eyebrow arched in a manner reminiscent of Clark Gable, she had to laugh. So he was clever, too, that didn’t make him pleasant.
“No, my dear.” She turned her gaze toward her grandson. “Lucien, you scoundrel, do behave yourself. No, I want to recreate life at Magnolia House as it was on the eve of the Civil War. And I won’t shirk from the real historical detail. I intend to have some of the slave cottages rebuilt. I want our home to be a living, breathing portal to our family’s past and the past of so many other Louisiana families.”
“And how will this time machine support itself,” Charles countered glumly. “Or will we continue to funnel our money into it?”
“Charles, it is my money.”
“Actually,” Viole asserted, wanting to diffuse the tension. “Historical attractions like Williamsburg, Monticello, or even Oak Alley are hugely popular. The trick would be to make Magnolia House unique and special. Perhaps you could open some of the rooms to the public, maybe even let some rooms, so your guests could relive the days of the old south. Do you have a ghost?”
“A ghost?” Mrs. Verret leaned back in her chair with a soft smile on her lips. “My dear, we don’t call them ghosts down here. They’re spirits and they’re kin, and they’re very sociable at Magnolia House.”
“This is ridiculous,” Charles muttered.
“You may think so, but it’s my prerogative to spend my money as I see fit.”
“I prefer not to watch you waste it on this silly fantasy,” he said, standing stood up. “If you will all excuse me. Lucien, I can’t believe you’re a party to this insanity.”
“Sit down, Charles, and stop being so tiresome. I assure you I’m as sane as you are.”
“Cousin, you’ve said enough,” Lucien said. “Grandmere can and will do as she pleases. I’m here merely to watch out for her best interests.”
“Viole, I do intend to open the house to the public somewhat, and not just to the wealthy, but I want it all to be in exquisite taste. I envision Magnolia House being open on certain dates of the year, maybe in some sort of Festival of the South. I want it to come alive on those days with everything historically accurate, of course, so students of history, like you, Lucien, will want to come here and study our way of doing things. I also intend to erect a thoroughly charming guesthouse, and there has to be a restaurant. Four star, preferably. People could have their weddings there. I was married at Magnolia House. I’ll never forget walking down the grand staircase. My heart was just a flutter until I saw my Etienne. He was so handsome in his morning suit. Have I ever told you children,” referring to her very adult grandsons, “our reception lasted nearly a week?”
“Yes, Grandmere,” Charles ground out. “But the sort of resort you’re talking about is going to cost serious money. Do you have any other investors? Any detailed plans for this guesthouse and restaurant? Who’s going to run this facility?”
“I didn’t raise you to disrespect me so.” There was sharpness to her cultured drawl…
“I’m not, but I think you have to consider all of these issues.”
“You know it’s my wish that one of you boys will take charge…Oh dear,” Mrs. Verret dramatically pressed a heavily bejeweled hand to her chest. “I feel a spell coming on.”
Lucien immediately rose to his feet and bent over his grandmother solicitously. “Shall I carry you, Grandmere?”
“No, Lucien, that won’t be necessary. If you would just give me your arm…”
Viole went to her, concerned. “Are you all right, Mrs. Verret?”
“I’m just overtired, dear girl, but thank you for your concern. I’m just sorry we didn’t get everything hashed out, but the specifications about the restoration work that needs to be done on Magnolia House are in the proposal there. There are also pictures, a brief history, and measurements. You read through it, and then we’ll talk.” With her grandson’s help, Mrs.Verret stood and made her way slowly to the office door. Charles and Viole trailed behind.
The group had made it to the large glass doors in the well appointed waiting room, when Charles snapped his fingers. “I left my cell phone in your office, Miss Godin. Grandmere, Lucien, I’ll see you both later.”
Viole grasped the handle of a door and pulled it wide as Lucien led his grandmother cautiously through. They paused outside the door. Though it was late October, humidity and heat hung heavy in the air and cast a haze over the city of New Orleans. “Thank you for meeting with me today, Mrs. Verret.” She hesitated, she didn’t want to seem unprofessional, but it did seem odd that such a plum project should land in the lap of the newest member of the firm. “But may I ask you, Sabine Roy indicated you’d requested me personally, where you came upon my name?”
For the first time, Mrs.Verret was at a loss. She opened her mouth, as if to answer, then shut it again. It was Lucien who intervened. He reached out and took Viole’s hand in his own, much larger one. His grasp was warm and dry, and he met her gaze with his own potent blue one. She was aware of his scrutiny down to the tips of her toes.
Shoot. She was down here in New Orleans to forward her career, not entangle herself in a romantic liaison with a very attractive man. It was more than his good looks or his male grace which captured her attention and fired her pheromones; there was an intensity about him. She could just imagine how very satisfying it would be to have his attention focused on her as they lay naked together…
“I discovered you actually, Viole. I visited an antebellum mansion in Maryland you’d restored. Knowing my grandmother’s intentions with respect to Magnolia House, I contacted your former office. They indicated that you’d conveniently relocated down here.”
His explanation was simple and plausible, but Viole couldn’t shake the feeling something else was lurking behind his apparent sincerity. “Thank you both. I’ll get back to you in a few days.”
“Before you make any decisions, Viole, you must come out and see Magnolia House,” Mrs. Vettet put in.
“I’d like that. Do you need any help getting to the car?”
“No, thank you. We’ll be fine,.” Lucien responded.
She watched as they moved slowly away. Stepping back into the air conditioned chill of the office, she crossed her arms and shivered. Meanwhile, she went to the window and watched as Lucien carefully lifted his delicate grandmother into the passenger side seat of a silver Mercedes sedan. Viole was aware of a tingle of foreboding traveling down her back. She shook it off determinedly. There was nothing odd going on here, merely an eccentric and wealthy old woman who wanted to restore her childhood home.
She made her way back to her spacious and well appointed office. It was a far cry from the cubicle in which she’d worked in Philadelphia. She’d been rather surprised that as a new and junior member of the firm, it was to be hers. But then, Sabine had explained one had to make the “right impression on clients.” She’d never been a suspicious person, but now she wondered if the managing partners of Belle Maison had somehow known about Magnolia House and the Verrets’ interest in securing her services. Taking it a step further, had Marie and Lucien had something to do with her employment? No, she was being silly, and she was tired, too. Her life had been so hectic lately.
Stepping inside, she found Charles had resumed his seat in front of her desk. He didn’t rise upon seeing her.
“Can I help you with anything more?” She didn’t like being ambushed.
“I just wanted a few more words with you.”
“All right.” She sat down behind her desk, appreciating the fact that there was an expanse of mahogany between them. She didn’t like Cousin Charles. He struck her as a shifty character. “I hope your grandmother feels better.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt she will. She always has one of these spells when she’s ready to make a grand exit. I wouldn’t worry about her.”
An odd thing to say about one’s more than eighty-year-old grandmother. “What other information do you want to share with me?”
“I wouldn’t take on this project if I were you, Viole. My grandmother is an old woman, not long for this world. When she’s gone, Lucien and I are her primary heirs and co-executors, and we have no intention of continuing on with it.”
She swallowed, seeing it all slip away. “Well, should your grandmother decide to proceed, I’m sure the firm will insist on having the terms and conditions laid out very specifically. None of us would want to invest a great deal of time and energy in a project that will not come to fruition.” She then leaned across the desk for emphasis. “But let me make myself clear, if we can come to terms with your grandmother, I will work on this project to the best of my ability. I imagine she would be very chagrined to hear that you’ve betrayed her trust by speaking as you have with me today.”
“Let me make myself clear. You will be making a grave mistake taking on any renovation of Magnolia House.”
“Mr. Verret, you can leave now. I don’t care for your tone. Are you threatening me?”
He laughed softly, though there was no humor in his wintry eyes. “I’m merely giving you fair warning. That house has been cursed for generations. The estate is a lodestone around my family’s neck. Now is the time to cast off the burden, not further chain ourselves to it. So don’t waste our money, and we won’t waste your time.”
She felt a slow anger begin to burn. “I asked you to leave, Mr. Verret.”
He rose slowly, carefully smoothed the wrinkles from his trousers and stepped past her on the way out. Then, he paused. They were of a height and their eyes were on a level.
“You are quite pretty, you know. Grandmere was right about that at least. It would be a great shame if something were to happen to you out in those swamps around Magnolia House.”
Then, he was gone. She was taken aback and so surprised that she hadn’t had the presence of mind to react. The man clearly meant to intimidate her. Little did he know she was far more fearful of her employers; they were the ones who ensured she could make payments on her lovely condo in the French Quarter.
* * * *
Viole was looking over plans to restore a library in Baton Rouge when the office receptionist, Chloe, brought her in a vase of white roses. There were thirteen of them in a crystal vase.
Chloe, a single mom and romantic pragmatist with café au lait skin and green eyes, questioned, “Viole, who’d you cast a spell on so quickly?”
“I have no idea,” she answered truthfully. She plucked the card free, inhaling the sweet, dewy fragrance of the lush blooms.
“It’s too bad they aren’t red.” Chloe grinned at her cheekily, clearly waiting for an update on the sender.
Viole had no idea whom they could be from, unless her mother and father, of course. Both had been opposed to her move, but had ultimately supported her decision. Imagine her surprise when she read the card. “They’re from Lucien Verret.”
“Ooh, tall, dark, and handsome. I’d like some of that.”
“He’s also a client,” Viole countered. “And he wants to have dinner with me in order to discuss his grandmother’s project. There’s nothing romantic or personal about this invitation. Maybe he, like Charles, wants to talk me out of the project and is just taking a smoother approach.” She’d told Chloe about Charles and his threats.
“A man doesn’t send a woman roses because he’s interested in ‘talking’ with her. And I saw him looking at you the way my boys look at a plate of corn bread and fried chicken.”
“The roses are white, not red. They represent friendship.”
“I don’t think so. He’s just being subtle. He’s sending you white, but he’s thinking red.”
Viole chuckled. “That’s definitely wishful thinking, but I’m not one to mix business with pleasure… Still, I do think I should meet with him. I need to know if this is a real deal or not. Magnolia House stands to be my first real project with Belle Maison, and I can’t afford to have it blow up in my face.”
“Just call the man.”
“I will. I will.” She hesitated before picking up the phone.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No, you can stay. I’ve nothing to hide. I’m telling you this is about business, and I’ll prove it.”
She picked up Lucien’s note and dialed his number. The phone rang once, twice, three times, and Viole was dismayed to realize her heart was beating very fast and she felt warm. It was business.
“Hello.” His voice was like rich, dark chocolate.
“Mr. Verret?”
“Lucien.”
“This is Viole Godin. I received your flowers. They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
“I’m glad to have provided pleasure to a lovely lady.”
“Dinner tonight would be fine. There are some issues we should discuss. Where would you like to meet?”
“I’ll pick you up. How’s eight?”
“Eight’s fine, but I can drive myself.” Viole shook her head in response to Chloe’s suggestively raised eyebrows.
“You’ve just moved to New Orleans. I’m sure you’re just starting to find your way around the city. So please allow me to drive you.”
“Mr. Verret, I would feel more comfortable having my own means of transportation.”
“I understand, chere, but the best way to get more comfortable with me is to get to know me,” he practically purred at her.
“The name of the restaurant, please?” Her tone was no nonsense.
“You Northern girls just don’t appreciate chivalry, but I’ll oblige you. Meet me at Chez Marcel at eight. It’s not hard to find. It’s in the French Quarter, just ask anyone.”
“I’ll look forward to our meeting.”
“Until tonight.”
“Goodbye.”
* * * *
A few hours later, Viole stood poised outside the rather unassuming brick entrance to Chez Marcel. She’d debated what to wear for her meeting with Lucien for some time. In the end, she’d opted for the always appropriate little black dress. This one was deceptively conservative from the front, but backless and clingy with a pencil skirt. Over it, she wore a black silk shawl which was elaborately embroidered with a variety of beautiful and colorful flowers. Her long, glossy, dark locks cascaded down her back while chandelier earrings decorated with light green stones dangled saucily from her ears. A pair of strappy Manolo stilettos finished off her ensemble. The catcalls and hoots which had accompanied her passage down the road to Chez Marcel’s convinced her she looked good.
She stepped forward to grasp the door handle, and it swung wide.
“Mademoiselle.” A tall, doorman ushered her in. “Our hostess will seat you.”
She was still moving toward the hostess desk when she glimpsed Lucien at the bar. He was clearly watching for her, for he immediately unfolded his long, lean limbs. She was aware of her body’s instant carnal response to him; it was like all of her nerve endings were on high alert. As for Lucien, he took her in with one long, lazy look, and pleasure and approval were immediately apparent on his handsome features.
“Exactly on time, Miz Godin, and you look exquisite tonight.” He took her hand, and to her surprise and secret delight, he kissed it lightly.
“Mr. Verret, your table is ready now. If you and your guest will follow me…”
With his hand gently pressing the small of her back, Lucien steered her after the hostess. Viole was acutely aware of the size of his hand, the heat of his touch even through the material of her shawl. It simply wasn’t fair. The man was knock-your-socks off-hot. He had a magnetism that had every woman in the room following his progress across the floor. But, to her mind, he was off limits.
When they reached their table, he drew her chair out for her.
She couldn’t help smiling at him. “I don’t think anyone’s pulled a chair out for me since Cotillion in fourth grade.”
“Then you’ve been spending time around the wrong kind of men,” he countered smoothly.
“No, it’s just that in Philadelphia that sort of thing isn’t really done. It’s rather old fashioned, don’t you think? Especially since the sexual revolution and the women’s liberation movement?”
“I don’t believe good manners are ever out of fashion, particularly in the presence of a lovely lady.”
“You’re laying it on rather thick, don’t you think?”
“Does it make you uncomfortable to know that I think you’re beautiful?”
“Of course not,” she answered, though she was aware of a betraying blush creeping up her neck. “But we’re here to discuss your grandmother’s plan for Magnolia House. This is a business dinner.” She leveled a stern look at him.
“I agree,” he countered, leaning back in his chair. “But I’d be a fool if I didn’t let you know I appreciate your efforts tonight. You could have just come in your office clothes. Instead, you’ve made me the envy of every man in the room. But I won’t say anything else that may make you uncomfortable. We do have to discuss Magnolia House. There’s so much you don’t know.”
Grateful to be back on more solid ground, she folded her hands before her. “I’ve looked over the proposal, and I do think your grandmother’s plans are feasible, with a few modifications and adequate funding. I think the house could be the center piece of the sort of resort she has in mind.”
“Viole, I’m a professor of history at Tulane University. I understand probably better than you do exactly what Grandmere’s plantation theme park would entail.”
“It wouldn’t be a theme park at all. Do you realize what a boon creating such a place could be for your students?” She was surprised to hear he shared her passion for history, and that his chosen profession was thoroughly respectable. The vibes he gave off were definitely more sexy riverboat gambler than staid historian.
“It’ll be a major endeavor to get this project off the ground.”
“I agree, and though it’s not my area of expertise, I do think the idea has great potential. But you consulted me specifically on the prospects for restoring the house, and there’s no question in my mind, she is a prime candidate for restoration. I can bring that old beauty back to life. She’ll take your breath away.”
“You’re very enthusiastic about your work.”
“I just think about all of the people who’ve lived, loved, and ultimately passed on in a house like that. Sometimes I can almost feel them around me, urging me on when I’m working on a house. But you must think I’m being fanciful.” She lowered her head in some embarrassment and sought to study her now opened menu.
He reached across the small, round table and tilted up her chin. “That’s probably what makes you so good at your job. I felt the same way growing up in Magnolia House. The sense of history one has in a house like that stimulated my own interest in the subject. There has been a whole lot of living done in that house, and not all of it happy. That’s one reason Cousin Charles thinks we should let Magnolia House go and sell the land to a developer.”
“He said something to me about a curse.”
Lucien didn’t address her comment, instead he said, “I know all about Charles’ plans, and they’re not without merit, but it’s Grandmere’s money and her house, and she should do what she wants with both.”
“Does she live at Magnolia House?”
“No, she’s lived in town ever since Grandpere died twelve years ago. She used to go out there on weekends, but no one’s lived there consistently in years. As I’m sure you’ve seen from the photographs, the house has been in decline for a while. Please don’t misunderstand me, I do care for Magnolia House, it is part of my heritage. I’m just not totally convinced that I want to commit a great deal of my own time and energies to refurbishing her and then creating an entire complex around her.”
“Mademoiselle, Monsieur, welcome to Chez Marcel. Would you care for anything to drink?” The waiter had made a silent approach to their table.
“Viole?” Lucien prompted.
“I’ll have a glass of white wine… No, wait a minute, this is my first evening out in New Orleans, and I’d like to have a real Big Easy drink. What would you recommend?”
He smiled at her enthusiasm. “Hurricanes are very popular, but I would advise you to try a Sazarak. It has class and distinction, and it’s one of our oldest and best loved native cocktails.”
“I’ll have a Sazarak, then, please.”
“A Sazarak for the lovely lady, and for you, sir?”
“Another of the same.… Would you be willing to allow me to order for you? As a true son of the city, I’d take great pleasure in sharing our cuisine with you.”
“I’d really appreciate that. I don’t even recognize half the dishes on this menu.”
“It will be my pleasure… We’ll start with the Oysters Rockefeller and then go with the Crayfish Etouffée. For desert, we’d like the Bananas Foster.”
“Very good, sir.” With a smile and an officious bow, their waiter stepped away from the table.
“This is exciting,” Viole said. “Since I’ve been in New Orleans, things have been so hectic with work and finding a place to live. I’ve pretty much gone from my apartment to the office and back again, but I do want to get to know this city. It has an Old World feel to it that’s unique.”
“New Orleans is one of the oldest cities in this country. There are public and private buildings, like the St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square, which are more than two hundred years old and still in use. This city effortlessly blends many cultural traditions. I sound like I’m lecturing my students here, but I’m glad to know you like the Crescent City. I understand you’re from Pennsylvania. Has your family been there for long?”
“That’s an odd question. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone ask me that. To be honest, I really don’t know. I think my father’s family has been in Pennsylvania for a while. My mother is of Scotch-Irish descent. She’s the third generation in this country.”
“What about you? Did you leave someone special back home?” His eyes were dark with sensual promise.
She lowered her gaze. “I don’t think that’s any of your business and I don’t think this is an appropriate”
“Here are two Sazaraks.” The waiter set the drinks before them with a flourish.
Viole held her glass up in the candlelight, studied the amber liquid, swirled it carefully, then sipped some. The drink was smooth, tasted faintly of honey, and very potent. “I like it.”
“And I like you, a lady who’s not afraid to try something new. Let’s drink to you, to your new home and your new job. May both exceed your expectations.”
“Thank you.” She drank some more. “But we really should get back on track.” Glancing at her watch, she realized it was almost nine. She intended to be on her way well before eleven. “I have my notes in my briefcase, if you’ll just give me a moment…” She was fiddling with her briefcase when she felt a warm, large, very male hand cover her own under the table.
“There’s no need to pull those out.”
“But you invited me here to discuss Magnolia House.”
“And we have discussed her. Now I want to talk about you.”
Viole had no intention of losing her head over a man with whom she was professionally involved, no matter how sexy she found him. “Let me be honest here. I do find you attractive, but I’ve no intention of getting involved with you. If that’s what this is about.”
Not chagrined in the least, he laughed softly at her.
Slightly miffed, she asked, “What?”
“I invited you here to get to know you better because you may be working for my grandmother. I do what I can to look out for her. I won’t have her taken advantage of. And I also invited you because you’re a beautiful woman with skin like magnolia petals who’s also sassy and smart. We share an interest in days gone by. I’ve spent a great deal of my life studying and thinking about the past. It’s invigorating to share my interest with such a lovely lady. There, I’ve laid my cards on the table. Let’s see yours.”
Pleased with his forthrightness, she answered, “I want this job. I know I can do it. I think your grandmother’s vision of a historical center is fabulous. Just think of all the possibilities.”
“And all of the potential pitfalls.”
“I really want this opportunity. Somehow, it just feels right, like destiny.”
His gaze sharpened on her. For a moment, his casual languor was gone. “You believe in destiny or fate?” His tone was serious.
“I do think some things are meant to happen, don’t you?”
“I prefer to believe in free will, but I’m beginning to accept that Grandmere was right about you.”
Feeling vaguely uneasy, she questioned, “In what way?”
“That we were destined to meet.”
She cocked an eyebrow at this. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I meant all of us, not just you and me, that you are the right person to restore Magnolia House.”
She hesitated before responding. “This is going to sound odd, but the house seemed rather familiar to me when I first looked at the pictures. But then I’m sure I’ve seen houses with similar architecture during my studies.”
He was forestalled from answering by the arrival of their appetizers. “I guarantee you will be hard pressed to find an equal to Marcel’s Oysters Rockefeller anywhere in this city.”
The food and drink were both completely divine. From Sazaracs, they proceeded to a delicate French Bordeuax that delightfully accompanied the Crayfish Etouffée. And they didn’t discuss business or any other weighty matters. Instead, Viole found herself sharing stories from her happy childhood spent with her parents and two brothers in the suburbs of Philadelphia. In turn, this charming and enigmatic man told about his own, more solitary childhood spent in New Orleans and along the banks of the Mississippi at Magnolia House. His voice was like warm molasses, and the man was a born story teller with a real feel for the history and culture of his home state. She recognized that he was probably a very fine teacher and she found herself envisioning the skin-kneed, gangly boy he’d been.
After dinner, they strolled companionably through the French Quarter. He’d again offered to drive her, but she’d explained her condo was within walking distance, so he’d accompanied her. But now, away from the intimacy of Chez Marcel, the conversation didn’t flow as easily between them. Viole was acutely aware of the man beside her. She recognized he was interested in her, but would he act on his attraction to her? And how should she respond?
Finally, they passed through the wrought iron gates of the courtyard into which her front door opened. Turning to face him, she paused. “Lucien, I do want to share my thoughts with you on this. I understand I have a vested interest in your decision, but think long and hard about selling Magnolia House. It’s your heritage, part of who you are. Can’t you envision your own children playing there one day? Hiding in the same places? Putting the Christmas tree where you remember it being as a child?”
He reached out and lightly touched the line of her chin. His eyes caressed her. “I never said it would be easy. I just want to do what’s best for the family, and that includes my parents, two aunts, some cousins, and a handful of second cousins. I won’t start a project without the heart and determination to finish it. I truly need to believe in Grandmere’s dream. Then, I will lend it my complete support. If I get to that point, I will oversee the entire project.
“I appreciate you meeting with me tonight. Learning about who you are has assuaged some of my concerns. I know I can trust you with Grandmere…but But can I trust myself around you?”
His eyes were dark with decadent promises, and he leaned in closer to her. She caught a teasing hint of his spicy cologne, then, his full, sensual lips lightly brushed hers. Her lips parted eagerly in response. Closing her eyes, she savored every tactile impression of the kiss; the taste of him, the faint hint of Sazarac, the masterful but oh so tender action of his lips, and then the warm, wet caress of his tongue in her mouth. Oblivious to everything else around them, neither hurried the moment; rather they allowed it to draw out. Each sensed the special magic of this first kiss, the promises made, the passions recognized.
A neighborhood dog barked, bringing Viole back to her senses. Opening her eyes, she drew back from him slowly and regretfully. “I…I should go in. Thank you for everything.” She had just kissed a man for whom she might soon be working. Already, she was beginning to feel awkward about it. She fumbled with her key in the lock, then inhaled sharply when she felt his hand enclose her own. With the heat and hardness of his body just behind her, pressing lightly into her, his breath, tickling her neck, his arms about her, they turned the key together.
“Um…I don’t think this is a good idea. I have to work tomorrow. I’m not sure”
He stepped back away from her. “Viole, I think all of us need to have a clear understanding of what’s going on before any decisions are made.” Was he talking about Magnolia House or them? “In that spirit, I’d like to invite you to our yearly Halloween Masquerade Ball at Magnolia House. It’s on Halloween Night. The old house truly looks grand during the ball. I hope you’ll come.”
“A Masquerade Ball?” she repeated.
“Good night and sweet dreams, lovely lady.” He drew her hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss there. Turning away from him, Viole stepped inside and shut the door firmly behind him. Only after she’d locked it and sat down on her couch did she feel safe from her own desires.
* * * *
A few days later, Viole received an oversize black envelope in the mail. It was addressed to her in a curvy, silver hand. The card inside was a riot of bold, shiny colors. Two elaborate gold and silver trimmed masks fit together to make the cover. It was, as she’d suspected, an invitation to the Verret masquerade ball.
She was intrigued, but who wouldn’t be? There was undeniable allure to the idea of a masquerade ball hosted by a charming and seductive man at a house she eagerly anticipated seeing. It was a heady combination of factors which promised an unforgettable Halloween night. But would going be a wise thing to do? She didn’t want to get entangled in the Verret family issues. She didn’t precisely regret her evening with Lucien, it had been too much fun, but she didn’t intend to tempt herself again
Pulling out a small piece of stationary, she wrote out a brief note thanking Marie but graciously declining the invitation citing too many work demands. After sending it, she did her best to put the party out of her mind.
She succeeded in doing so until the day before Halloween when Sabine stormed into her office.
“Viole, I was just on the phone with Maria Verret. She told me you turned down her invitation to the Verret Masquerade Ball. I told her there must be some mistake.”
“I thought given the possibility of a professional relationship between this office and the Verrets that it wouldn’t be wise for me to go.”
“My dear, you thought wrong! This is THE Halloween party to attend. It’s famous throughout New Orleans. Why I’ve been trying to get an invitation for years! It would be a major coup for you to be there, representing Belle Maison, of course. Consider all of the contacts you could make, members of so many of the old families will be there. You’ll have to call her back! Tell her your plans have changed.”
“But its tomorrow night and I don’t have a costume.”
Her boss paced the room, her face lined with worry. “Oh dear, I do wish you’d discussed this with me. There won’t be anything worthwhile left at the costumes shops…Let me see what I can do. I’m sure I can dig something up.”
Dutifully, Viole made the required call and spoke to Marie’s assistant who indicated the message would be passed on and that she would be expected on Halloween night. It was almost five and the end of the working day when Sabine bustled back into her office with a long, flat box in her arms. Her eyes were bright with excitement behind what she described as her “sexy librarian glasses.” Chloe followed her in.
“Chloe had just the thing for you! Size four, right?”
“It’s actually a Mardi gras costume, but it should fit the bill,” Chloe commented. “When I wore it for the parade last year Reggie couldn’t keep his eyes off me.”
Feeling a knot of dread hardening in her stomach, Viole began to lift the lid on the box Sabine had set before her. Truthfully, she’d hoped Sabine wouldn’t be able to come up with anything. She’d planned on going in a cocktail dress with a domino mask. She didn’t want to give Lucien the impression that she was pursuing him, and showing up at his door in a sexy costume was sure to do that.
Hesitantly, she opened the tissue paper then gaped.
“Isn’t it wonderful,” Sabine cooed.
“I can’t wear this. It’s a harem girl costume.”
“Actually, it’s Scheherazade. You know the gal who told stories for a thousand and one nights. You don’t like it?” Chloe was disappointed.
Holding up the bikini top-like bodice ruefully, Viole answered, “It’s beautiful, but there’s just not much to it.”
“That’s the point,” Chloe winked suggestively.
“Honey, this is New Orleans. If you’ve got it, flaunt it. You looking sensational in this costume will only benefit your career and our firm,” Sabine announced decisively.
“I want to be taken seriously,” Viole countered. “People will think I’m marketing something other than my restoration skills.”
Sabine burst out laughing. “Child, I can guarantee you this costume will look downright conservative next to some of the others. And the way you look at the party may generate some interest in you, but then how you handle your potential customers will determine whether you get the jobs. Lordy, Viole, you’re young, enjoy yourself! Kick up your heels a little. I’ll admit I was hesitant about hiring you when Marie Verret showed me that article. I thought you wouldn’t be mature enough for Belle Maison, but I find you too serious minded…Oh, excuse me, I have a phone call.”
So, as she’d suspected, Marie had been behind her getting the job at Belle Maison. Viole fully intended to pursue this discussion with Sabine, but she didn’t have a chance that day. It was already dark outside, though muggy and warm, when Viole returned home with the costume in its box tucked under her arm.
* * * *
On Halloween night, Viole finally donned her Scheherazade costume in her room at a charming Bed and Breakfast located not far from Magnolia House. She decided to spend the night there as she imagined she would be at the party until the very early hours of the morning. Standing in front of the full length mirror studying her reflection, Viole couldn’t remember ever having felt so conspicuous or exposed. She glared down at the diaphanous material which barely covered her legs. Even though the costume was very well made with its golden and bejeweled bodice and bottoms, the pants, sleeves, and matching face scarf more than hinted at transparency. It was rather humiliating to be attending Lucien’s party dressed as a male fantasy. Only a French maid costume would have been worse. What was he likely to think? Talk about giving mixed messages. In addition, the delicate, purple butterfly tattoo just above her hip bone was exposed by the low riding, bikini-like bottom. It had been an impulsive acquisition during her teenage years, and she didn’t regret it usually, at least not enough to have it removed. For, it expressed the more whimsical, artistic side of her nature. But it was definitely not in keeping with the professional image she was attempting to cultivate. She wore her hair long and loose down her back, though it insisted on waving and curling in the warm, southern air.
There was nothing that could be done for her appearance now; she knew the driver Lucien Verret had sent for her was already waiting downstairs. For better or worse, she was Scheherazade and it was show time.
It was a short drive to Magnolia House. As they turned into the lane, she peered eagerly out the window, knowing what she would see, but excited none the less. Framing the house were enormous oak trees. Torches burned at points around the circular parking area in front of it. Their flames danced eerily in the light breeze, casting shadows on the Greek revival style house with its colonnaded front porch beyond them. The house, itself, she knew was white, but in the fire light it glowed a haunting orange, nearly the same shade as the full moon which hung low in the sky behind it. A slight mist had come up off the river, lending the entire scene a ghostly mystique.
There were already people everywhere, moving about the driveway and on both porches of the house. She was aware of Cajun music playing somewhere inside. Her driver joined the queue of cars progressing around the circular driveway. She was so busy looking around, taking it all in from the Spanish moss hanging artistically from the trees to the pond which was situated off to the right of the house glowing obsidian in the moonlight, that her door opening surprised her.
“Mademoiselle?” Taking the proffered hand, she stepped out of her car clutching her small bag. She glanced up the steps, shivering not because she was cool but because Lucien was staring down at her from the top where he was greeting his guests. He was dressed in a Napoleonic military costume which was heavily decorated with medals and topped off with a tricorn hat. He looked very handsome and very distinguished, a far cry from the dashing riverboat gambler she’d imagined him before. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she took the steps slowly, keenly aware of how the warm breeze exposed her body even more by blowing the sheer material against her.
Lucien watched her every step, not bothering to hide his interest in her or what her costume was revealing. There was a seductive half grin on his lips. “My dear,” he met her half way up. Again, he raised her hand and kissed it, and she told herself she was getting used to the chivalric greeting, ignoring the awareness which shot through her at his touch. “You’re enchanting tonight. Let me guess… Are you Salome?”
“No veils.”
“A belly dancer then?”
“Too prosaic, but along the right lines.”
“Let’s see. Are you a famous lady?”
“Yes.”
“Scheherazade?”
“Very good.”
“You could definitely keep me fascinated for a thousand nights.” As he guided her into the house, she was aware of a fingertip like touch dancing across her tattoo. “Is it real?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I was young and foolish.”
“And romantic and whimsical and completely intriguing.”
She was aware he wasn’t speaking about the teenager she’d been when she’d gotten the tattoo. “And who are you? A British officer of some sort. Very decorated and with a tricorn hat. That would place you in the eighteen hundreds. Are you Wellington?”
“It’s a naval uniform.”
“Famous British officer. To be honest, I know of only one. Are you Admiral Nelson?”
“The hero of Trafalgar. Now you go on inside and look around, get a taste of Magnolia House. She’s in her glory tonight. There’s music, food, and good company. This party has been a Verret tradition for more than seventy-five years. In fact, my grandparents met at one of them. I’ll look forward to spending more time with you after I finish greeting my other guests.”
“Where is your grandmother? I’d like to thank her for inviting me.”
“I’m afraid she hasn’t arrived yet. Earlier today, she was feeling poorly, but I’m sure she’ll be here later on. You’ll meet the entire extended Verret family tonight. You already know Cousin Charles; he’s somewhere inside. So enjoy yourself. I’ll rejoin you as soon as I can.”
She allowed the current of witches, grim reapers, and pregnant nuns to carry her into the L-shaped main hall. Inside, the candle lighting was dim and golden, and she had to look carefully to make out a crack in the wall on the stairs or the way the charming fresco of native birds in the dining room had faded. Magnolia House’s Halloween finery, which included all of the usual spooky touches like swaths of black fabric, elaborate spider webs, ghoulish disembodied hands, and a coffin on which hors d'oeuvres were set, didn’t detract from her dignity but rather gave her a rakish sort of charm.
Viole loved old homes, loved their craftsmanship, their histories, loved the feelings they evoked in her. Though she would never admit it aloud, she’d become convinced that each house had an aura all its own. In a way, they were ‘alive’ to her. Though she was willing to work in a house that felt unhappy or sad, perhaps in the hopes of restoring some positive energy to such an edifice, she much preferred one like Magnolia House that struck her as a happy, well loved home. She’d expected the house to have a far different feeling to it; after all, both Lucien and Charles had expressed the same opinion to her that the house was cursed.
She felt a light touch at her elbow, and looked up into charismatic, blue eyes.
“Admiral Nelson at your service.”
She couldn’t resist smiling back at him. “Don’t you have to greet guests?”
“My father’s taken over that duty.”
“Your parents are here?” She hadn’t realized his parents were alive.
“Fashionably late, as always, but never ones to miss a good party.”
“If your parents are alive, and please forgive me if I’m prying, but why are Magnolia House and your Grandmother your responsibilities? You didn’t even mention them when we spoke about your childhood the other night.”
“Because I’ve made them so. My father is a portrait painter, my mother, a lounge singer. They’re both incredibly talented people and I love them dearly, but their lifestyles were not compatible with raising a child. When I was about six, they left me with Grandmere. Charles lived with us as well after his parents divorced. Now, enough of that. It’s Halloween and I intend to enjoy every moment of this night with you at my side. But you need a drink first.”
They made their way through the crowd of costumed people who, despite the relatively early hour, were already rowdy. Sabine had assured her that the guests were the cream of New Orleans society, distinguished, important. But perhaps because they were wearing masks which freed them from their inhibitions or because for this one night they were someone other than themselves, there was a wild, savage air to their frivolity.
The crowd parted before Lucien and he was greeted on all sides. He introduced Viole to his father, a distinguished looking older man with gray hair who was dressed as a Roman centurion, and to his mother who was a black cat. She met many other relatives and friends of his but all of the names and connections swirled together in her mind, clouded by the gray haze now obscuring the party rooms or the Hurricanes which Lucien had obtained for her from the bar area at which an enormous black cauldron bubbled. Suddenly, there was a slender and lovely young woman before her who was dressed as a Young Queen Elizabeth. She had very fair skin and a dimple in one cheek when she smiled at Viole. Her eyes were not quite blue, nearly violet and strangely familiar. She was on the arm of a handsome Scottish laird.
“Who’s that?” Viole asked Lucien.
“Whom do you mean?”
“That girl there? Queen Elizabeth.”
“I don’t see where you’re looking.”
“She’s gone now.”
“I’m sure we’ll run into her again.”
They ate a little, mingled in the crowd, and chatted with each other. Again, Viole found Lucien to be an interesting and charming companion. He told her interesting details about the house, the different rooms, and its history. Eventually, they ended up at the end of the spacious entrance foyer where couples were dancing. The Cajun band was set up at the back of this room. Viole was feeling warm and more than a little reckless. Lucien drew her close, his voice, a seductive whisper at her ear.
“Do you dance?”
“Yes.” The band was playing an upbeat number. “I’m pretty sure I remember how to two-step.”
“But can you tango?”
“Tango? To this? I can follow just about any lead thanks to Miss Emily’s Cotillion in middle school and the lessons I had to take for my friend’s wedding, but I don’t think it would work to this music.”
“Oh ye of little faith…” With a wink, he left her standing where she was and went up to the band leader, a whip thin, sallow man with a thick mustache who nodded and grinned in response to Lucien’s request. At a signal from their leader, the musicians drew the catchy tune they were playing to an end. Then, the fiddler let loose with a long, haunting wail which signaled the beginning of a tango.
Lucien winked again at her, took her hand, and led her out onto the dance floor as most of the other couples walked off.
She met his gaze, and was aware of a thrill of excitement coursing through her. “I should warn you, I haven’t done this in years.”
“Mon chere,” his voice was deep and dark with desire and charm. “Just put yourself in my hands. Trust me.”
He took her in his arms, and Viole found herself following him effortlessly. He was a masterful dancer who allowed the emotions of the dance and the heat in his eyes to express his desire for her. As the music ended, he swung her down into a deep dip. Then, there was a smattering of applause from the other dancers, but Viole and Lucien were oblivious to everything but each other.
Releasing her very slowly, he all but whispered, “Come with me.”
Without demur, she followed him. He led away from the sound and confusion of the party into a quieter, darker section of the house. He flipped on the lights and ushered her into a library. Tall shelves filled with books covered the walls on two sides.
Here, Lucien released her hand and stepped away from her. When he turned to face her again, his expression was wary. “Please, no more lies now. I don’t appreciate being manipulated. Grandmere’s done a remarkable job coaching you, but the game’s over.”
His tone and words effectively cooled her ardor. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“It’s all too convenient. You’re a Godin. You’re beautiful. You know and like history, and you tango. You’ve effectively captured my attention, so let’s just stop pretending. I won’t be coerced or seduced into saving this estate. What did she offer you in exchange for your efforts?” Now he moved closer to her, stalking her. With his dark good looks and intent expression, he had a nearly feline, predatory grace.