La Luxure: Discover Your Blood Lust (13 page)

Still, did the dress have to be so flipping
short?

She dismissed her trepidation with a shrug.
It was Halloween. It was New Orleans. Hers wouldn't be the only
short skirt around. In fact, she was pretty sure there'd be people
on the streets wearing a lot less clothing.

Grabbing a small coin purse with just enough
room for an ID, cash, and her cell phone, Julia avoided her image
in the mirror as she headed out of the hotel room. She wasn't about
to wuss out now, and risking one final glance at the tiny skirt
exposing a massive expanse of legs barely covered by thigh-high,
white stockings, might be too much. She was already on the verge of
ripping everything off and throwing on some jeans and a
sweater.

Tonight was a night for boldness, not a night
to be just another wallflower.

Her white, platform heels echoed loudly in
the stairwell, making her descent sound like a herd of stampeding
zebras. Not wanting to voraciously announce her arrival, she eased
down the last steps as she approached the 1st floor.

Carefully pulling the door open, she peered
out into the lobby. It was thankfully empty. Baring her costumed
body on the busy, dark streets was one thing, putting it on full
display in a brightly lit hotel lobby was another. She was able to
sneak past the concierge, and with a deep breath, yanked open the
door to the outside world.

The streets were packed. Most people wore
costumes, and as she'd expected, there was a lot of skin exposed.
The weather was warm, almost balmy, and people were taking full
advantage of it. In fact, compared to some, Julia's costume looked
modest, Quaker-like even.

She received a few catcalls and plenty of
stares, but for some reason it didn't bother her. None of it was
overbearing or threatening, and it wasn't like she didn't
know
the costume was sexy. There was something about the
anonymity a giant white wig provided, and the fact that she was
wearing a costume and not real clothes that made the attention
okay.

Tonight, she wasn't Julia Brown. She was
Marie Antoinette.

It was also the first time since she'd
arrived in New Orleans that Bourbon St. didn't sleaze her out. Oh,
it was still pretty smutty, but she didn't mind. There was an
energy here that she hadn't noticed or appreciated earlier. She
still didn't think she'd want to spend any considerable amount of
time on the party street, but at least now she felt like she could
enjoy it for what it was.

She grabbed a piece of pizza from the stand
her sister recommended the first night she'd arrived, and then made
her way to the Absinthe Tavern where she was supposed to meet Dave
and crew. She caught a few tossed beads, nodded to the other
Marie's she passed, and was generally feeling pretty damn good
about herself.

Until…she stepped into the tiny bar nestled
at the intersection of two alleys the 21st century forgot, caught
sight of her party, and realized she was the only one in
costume.

Who didn't dress up on Halloween? Missouri
she could understand, but New Orleans?

Everyone had fun in a different way, she
reminded herself. She wasn't here to judge. Putting on her best
smile, Julia approached the trio seated at a narrow, wooden
bar.

Beth jumped up, and ran to Julia when she saw
her. "Oh my God. You look so cute!" The blond threw her arms around
Julia in an awkward hug. "See, I told you people would be wearing
costumes," she said over her shoulder towards Mike.

Grabbing Julia's hand, Beth led her to the
bar. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Of course." Julia pulled her hand away
gently and reached for her purse. She wasn't all that into random
female declarations of affection, and Beth's enthusiasm made her a
little uncomfortable.

"You look great," Dave told her.

She flashed a smile at him. "Thanks."

The word "intimate" was an understatement for
the tiny club. Besides the bar, there were only a few small tables
shoved against the brick walls, but the floor space was still
severely limited. The décor was a mixture of ship-worthy fare, and
fanfare for the Green Fairy.

Luckily, there were only a few patrons
sitting on the stools, otherwise, finding a place to sit might be a
problem. The bartender smiled as Julia eased into the space between
Mike and Dave, and set a cardboard coaster on the bar.

"What can I get you?" she asked. Rail-thin
and twenty-something, she was a pretty girl. She was wearing a
small tri-corn pinned to her edgy haircut, a tank top that said
something about "Pirate Booty", and a black and white striped
mini.

"Absinthe. The real thing."

"Of course. Which brand?"

"Whatever you recommend."

The bartender turned to the group. "Anyone
else?"

"Sure, why not," Dave said. "Beth?"

Beth made a face. "I'll just try some of
yours."

"Mike?"

"Beer." Mike's aged frat-boy face lacked an
ounce of emotion.

"You sure?" Dave probed with a grin.

"Beer," was the flat reply.

Dave laughed. "Cool." He turned back to the
bartender. "I guess just two Absinthes and this jackass can order
whatever he wants."

The bartender pulled out two tulip shaped
stemmed glasses, and poured a shot of pale, Peridot-green liquor in
each. She then set a flat metal perforated spoon on each glass,
topped them with a sugar cube and placed each glass under one of
the four, silver spigots protruding from a large glass decanter
filled with ice water. She turned the spigots, and water slowly
dripped over the sugar cubes and into the liquid green.

The water droplets turned to swirling puffs
of smoke, twisting and churning, floating like wispy tendrils until
they finally overtook the surrounding green, and the liquid turned
milky. It was like watching some mystic ritual.

"That's beautiful," Julia breathed. She could
practically feel the wonder lighting her cheeks.

"La Louche," the bartender explained. "All
part of the show." She closed each valve, tipped the spoons into
the glasses, stirred, and then placed the clouded, green liquor in
front of them. "Honestly, it's half the appeal. Don't get me wrong,
the liquor's good. But sometimes, the ritual is better. Enjoy."

Dave grabbed his glass. "That was completely
unnecessary," he muttered quietly to Julia. "Just pour some water
in and be done with it."

"Really? I loved it."

He met her glass with his. "Well,
cheers."

"Cheers..." She couldn't believe he didn't
care for the Absinthe ritual. Oh well, Jeff wouldn't have either.
It was simply further affirmation that Dave was not the man for
her.

The Absinthe was amazing. It was very lightly
sweetened and herbal in flavor, with a hint of licorice, or more
likely anise, a taste of fennel, and a bouquet of other flavors
Julia couldn't quite place. Whatever the combination was, it was
delicious.

"Do you like it?" Julia asked Dave.

He shrugged. "It's okay, kind of like watered
down Jagermeister."

It was nothing like Jager. They weren't even
distant cousins. The only similarity was the licorice, and that was
like saying Twizzlers and strawberries tasted alike. "I'll stick
with beer after this though."

"Hmmm, well I love it." She took another sip,
letting the medley of herbal bliss dance on her tongue a minute
before swallowing. "Mmmm." She clinked her glass against his again.
"Cheers, indeed."

They stayed in the tiny bar for at least an
hour. Slowly, costumed patrons filtered in, and by the time they
were leaving, the place was packed. Most that came in were Absinthe
drinkers, and Julia ended up polishing off a couple glasses while
chatting up her neighbors, a tourist from New York, and a local
that lived just on the other side of Decatur in the Marigny
neighborhood. The conversation ranged from the history of Absinthe
and its 20th century ban, to prohibition, to the legalization of
drugs. Dave stuck around for a little while, but it was obvious the
topics and opinions were a little too liberal for his blood, and
after a bit, he joined Mike and Beth as they lounged at the outside
tables.

The Absinthe had an interesting effect on
Julia. She could tell she was getting tipsy by the ease words
rolled out of her mouth, but her mind felt incredibly clear, and in
some ways, she almost felt hyperaware. It wasn't until she joined
the others in the alleyway and found her balance somewhat
compromised that she realized how tipsy she was.

"Hey, are you guys ready? Parade should start
in about 20."

Beth jumped up from where she was peeling the
label from her beer. "Absolutely."

Mike took a swig of beer and peered into his
now empty glass. "I'm ready, but let's get some 'to-go' drinks
before we head out."

"Sounds good." Dave turned to Julia. "Do you
want anything?"

She really, really shouldn't, but...what the
hell. It was a great night to get drunk. No wallflower tonight,
that was for damn sure. "I'll take another Absinthe." Dave started
for the open door. "Wait, let me give you some money."

"Don't worry about it," he said as he
disappeared into the dark, crowded bar.

Julia sighed. This evening had "date" smeared
all over it and that wasn't her intention at all.

"Oh, let him pay," Beth told her. "It makes
them feel like real men."

"I just don't want Dave to get the wrong
idea."

Beth shrugged. "It's his problem, not yours."
She grinned. "Let him scramble to make you happy, and enjoy being
hot."

Julia laughed. "You sound like my sister."
Reactively she touched her phone. She still hadn't spoken to Clare
yet. Later. She'd worry about it later.

The guys returned with three beers and
Julia's milky green Absinthe in plastic cups, and they made their
way towards Decatur.

* * *

Kicking his feet onto the coffee table,
Armand closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the
smooth, leather couch. He was beginning to feel guilty for
abandoning the bar on such a busy night. Besides Mardi Gras,
Halloween was their most lucrative evening.

His guilt was misplaced and he knew it. The
bar would do well whether he was there or not. He had plenty of
help, and while Armand might tend bar from time to time, other than
the services he provided to clients, he was merely a
figurehead.

It didn't matter in the end anyway. As long
as his employees were taken care of, if the bar happened to have a
bad year it merely became a tax write-off. He preferred that
Luxure
was a profitable business venture, and it usually
was, but he had enough investments that it wasn't essential.

Something else was bothering him.

Eve.

No one he'd talked to the night before had
heard, seen, or knew anything. Not that he was expecting any
confessions, but the answers he received were straightforward and
honest, and no one's body language suggested he believe
otherwise.

The entire ordeal had him so disgusted he was
questioning the value of the Community and his place in it. He
wasn't sure if he could be a part of something that had such
disrespect for human life.

Still, going to the police wasn't an option
he wanted to explore. Slade was right. The police didn't need to
get involved until Armand has something tangible to tell them. Eve
had been a promiscuous Donor and a frequent patron at
Luxure
, making a large number of his customers suspects.
Implicating dozens of Community members in her murder just because
they'd been involved, however briefly with her, seemed a serious
breach of confidence. If he only had more information about that
evening, he'd feel more comfortable speaking with the police.

He should do more. He should have done more.
That was all there was to it.

With an exasperated sigh, Armand rose roughly
from the couch and went to the window. Dwelling on mistakes made in
the past never solved problems in the present. And as tempting as
it was to wallow in his guilt, it was neither productive nor
helpful.

Sliding open the window, he unlatched the
shutters and sat on the sill. The street below was empty and
peaceful, but off in the distance, he could faintly hear the
revelry on Bourbon St. It was usually quiet on this end of the
Quarter, but the sound carried well on the moist night air. It was
going to rain later, probably early tomorrow morning.

A woman crossed the street at Royal, her
vanilla perfume wafting up on the warm, balmy breeze. His thoughts
turned unexpectedly to Julia. He wondered what she was doing
tonight. Would she be at the parade?

Everything about her was etched clearly in
his memory, from her petite, slender form to her clean, fresh
scent. She was such a simple, natural beauty with her brown doe
eyes and sleek, chocolate hair. Nothing about her was over-done or
over the top. She didn't wear too much makeup, her hair was soft
and natural, her breasts weren't too big, the words from her mouth
were honest, real, perfect.

"Jesus." Armand rubbed his forehead. It was
ridiculous to be so smitten by a woman he'd just met and barely
knew. He didn't even know if she shared his attraction. In fact,
all evidence pointed towards a conclusion that she did not. The
incident in the oyster bar had made that painfully apparent. Hadn't
he already decided to let it be? That her brand of female was
better suited with another of her species, i.e. Polo Shirt
Dave?

And yet, here he was, imagining about how her
hair would feel brushing against his cheek while she rode him to
climax.

He had to see her again. No matter what he
assumed, he needed to verify if the connection he'd felt with her
was real or not. If he didn't at least try, he'd spend his entire
life wondering if he'd missed out on something amazing.

Fueled by sudden determination, Armand rose
from the sill, quickly latching the shutters and closing the
window. Grabbing his coat, he clicked off the lights and headed out
the door without glancing back. He may not be able to solve the
issues within his community or Eve's death, but he at least had
this one quest to cling to. He had to find Julia. If it took him
all night, he would find her.