Chapter Six
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Amelie says, holding up the black and white frilly frock. “I’m not wearing this.”
I recline on the king sized bed, trying not to laugh as Amelie assesses the French Maid outfit. It’s mid morning, three days after she was brought to me. Three days after my very existence was altered.
Yesterday, we spent almost the entire day talking. She told me about the life she left behind, her family, her friends. I gave her vague explanations of Light and Dark magic as she listened intently, her eyes bright with curiosity. She didn’t seem afraid, nor even one bit repulsed. Even as I explained how we survive, she simply nodded, taking it all in. It was … odd. Different. And exhilarating. I had never spoken to another human for more than a few moments, and usually only to command them to do what I wanted. Get on your knees and suck. Bend over. Spread your legs.
I had never had that with … anyone, I realized. I only consorted with my own kind so I didn’t have the need to explain shit to them. And I wouldn’t dream of even hinting at my true nature to a human. But Amelie was different. I felt at ease with her. Hell, I felt safe with her, yet I knew I could destroy her without even trying. And in the back of my mind, buried under denial and secrets, I knew that was still a real possibility.
I watch as Amelie turns the racy garb from front to back, searching for the rest of the fabric, and I can’t help but chuckle. “Standard uniform, sweetheart.”
Her eyes grow wide with disbelief. “Are you serious? Why? Who in their right mind would think this is appropriate to wash clothes and mop the floor in?”
I look around the room with raised brows. “Um, you do remember where you are, right? This is a place of fantasy and illusions. A depraved charade. Everyone has a part to play, and we always stay in character.”
“Bu-but … this is just so … wrong,” she pouts.
“Hey, the other girls wear much less. Shall I grab one of their getups for you?”
“No! No, that won’t be necessary,” she huffs. “And I suppose the high heeled Mary Janes are all part of the fantasy too.”
“Obviously,” I reply, running a hand through my hair. Amelie tips her head to one side and appraises the movement through narrowed eyes.
“You’d look better if you cut your hair.”
“Excuse me?” I ask in mock offense.
“I mean, you, uh, I … never mind. Forget I said anything.” She goes back to fiddling with the costume in her hands, yet her rosy cheeks tell me that she’s far from over the comment.
“No. I want to hear it.” Without thinking, I gently graze her chin, guiding her head up to meet my gaze. The burn is there, yet it pales in comparison to the other parts of me that are on fire. “Tell me, please.”
She shrugs but makes no move to remove herself from my touch. Instead, she takes it a step further, and reaches her hand up to my head to softly run her fingers through my hair. “It’s just, you have great hair and all, but it’s always in your face. And it ages you. You should trim it a bit or brush it back. Let people see you.”
See me? Why the hell would I ever want that?
“I’m not so sure people would like what they see,” I reply quietly, instantly regretting it. It’s too personal, too … honest.
A genuine smile graces her lips, making those ethereal eyes sparkle against the backdrop of her dark, lush waves. “I find that hard to believe, Nikolai.”
“Well, maybe you’re just gullible,” I reply, feeling the corners of my own mouth pull into a sincere grin. “And I told you yesterday - call me Niko.”
Dropping her hand, she bashfully shrugs away from my touch, and I instantly feel the coldness return. Damp, dark emptiness. In the span of a few short days, Amelie has become as warm and bright as the sun to me. She’s become my light, and I never thought in a million years, in an eternity of existing in the dark, that I could ever crave that.
I know this feeling isn’t real - it can’t be. It’s a trick, a lie. Even still, I want it. I want to step into the sun with her. I want her smile to warm me from the inside out. I want those bright eyes to pierce into my soul and see … more … in me. I’ve barely touched this girl, yet she knows more about me than anyone in this entire world. She’s has ten years of memories - my memories - to prove it. And, in that fact, I find comfort.
“Niko, huh? Are there a lot of Nikos in Greece?” she asks folding her tan, bare legs on the bed. The edges of her tiny, silk sleep shorts ride up her thigh a bit, and I silently thank Nadia for providing such fascinating sleepwear. I’ll have to give her a raise.
“There are, but none quite like me,” I reply, forcing myself to divert my appreciative eyes. What the f*ck? Me practicing restraint? Talk about turning over a new leaf. Uprooting a giant oak is more like it.
“I’d say,” Amelie blushes. “So … will I be moving into one of the other rooms now that I officially have a job here?”
I train my face to wear the same passive, easygoing expression, though inside I’m a f*cking mosh pit of misplaced fury. I don’t want her to leave my room. F*ck, there’s no way I can breathe without knowing she is here, safe with me. The past few days have been some of the most enlightening, meaningful days of my life. And while we haven’t done much more than talk and sleep side by side – well, she’d sleep and I’d watch like some pathetic, pimply-faced kid that jerks off to his mom’s lingerie catalogs - I couldn’t imagine not having her in my bed. I’ve never felt such peace, such … happiness. Knowing that she was just inches way, dreaming of me. I’d drive myself crazy with the possibilities. What did she see when she closed those mesmerizing eyes? Did it make her want me, just as badly as I want her?
Realizing that she’s waiting for an answer, I give a sly half smile and shrug. “Well … the rooms here are for the working girls, if you know what I mean. I have to make sure that there is available space here for them and their … guests. Now, if you’d like to rethink your job title, I’d be happy to arrange that and get you moved in immediately.”
Amelie’s eyes go wide, and she shakes her head furiously. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I’d much rather stay here. You know … if it’s ok with you.” She bites her lip and looks away. “I can understand if you want me to go. I’m sure I’m seriously cramping your style. We can work out a system, you know. Maybe leave a sock on the door if you have company, or I can stay with someone else. I don’t particularly like having a live porno played out in front of me.” She turns to me and smiles, though it doesn’t touch her eyes. “Ten years of seeing every inch of you and more women than I can count … no wonder I’ve never had a boyfriend.”
“Wait a minute … you’ve never had a boyfriend?” I frown, choosing to focus on that part of her oration.
“Kinda hard, ya know. Piss poor, drunk father, crazy Voodoo family, inexplicable nightly dreams of a murderous, philandering Warlock ... Oh yeah, guys were lining up around the block.”
I know she’s joking, but a pang of guilt attacks my chest. How much of this girl’s misfortune have I been responsible for? Her father has gambled and drank in casinos and bars that I own. She was cursed with a mysterious illness, so the Light could sink their claws into her to get to me. She’s been plagued with nightmares of my evil doings for a decade, no doubt warding off any hopes of intimacy. And the biggest bearer of my guilt? The tense, violent history between the Laveaus and the Dark - something I played a part in.
This is it. The opportunity for me to prove that I’m more than some pretentious a*shole and own what the f*ck I am for once. The chance for me to put bullshit and ancient family secrets aside and do what’s right for me. To do what’s in my heart, no matter how black and vacant it is.
“Amelie,” I begin, my voice shakier than it’s ever been, the authoritative timbre gone. “There’s something you should know…”
She tilts her head to one side, and gives me a small, sweet smile of encouragement.
I open my mouth to speak my truth, to confess my sins, to bare my soul and pray for understanding. But before the words can escape, the sound of approaching footsteps puts me on guard, and the shame and humility is replaced with hostility and possessiveness.
Three raps reverberate the door seconds later. Against my better judgment, I call out, “Enter.”
Varshaun opens the door, dressed in his usual black three-piece suit. His dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and his bronze skin looks even darker paired with his aqua eyes. He has scented her, and the hungry gleam in those eyes shine with craving.
“What is it?” I snap, agitated by his mere presence. Varshaun frowns but quickly replaces it with a mischievous grin. His teeth look more like razor sharp fangs, and a sudden impulse inside me tempts me to knock that smile right off his face.
I shake the insane thoughts from my muddled head. What the hell is wrong with me? This is my best friend - someone who has been my brother for over a century. Being in Amelie’s proximity is seriously f*cking with my rationale. The only logical explanation has to be the mix of Light magic in her Voodoo blood.
Varshaun steps farther into the room, and his eyes roam from my angry expression to Amelie, and then back to me. “I see the two of you are getting along splendidly.” His gaze drifts to Amelie’s smooth, bare legs and up to her supple breasts before landing on her full, red lips. Feeling the intrusion of his lustful glare, she brings her knees up to her chest and hugs her legs, shielding her precious, delicate body. “I knew you’d like this one, Niko. She’s special, isn’t she? Bet she’s quite the amusing ride.”
Before he can say another word, in a blur of frustration, confusion and distrust, without even bothering to hide my abilities from Amelie, I am in front of him, my blue eyes growing colder and paler by the second. “What brings you to my quarters, old friend?” I ask through clenched teeth.
Varshaun narrows his eyes at my offensive stance and smirks. “Well, seeing as I am your friend and business manager, I was concerned to learn that you’ve been too….” He looks over my shoulder, glimpsing Amelie’s frightened frame on the bed. “…preoccupied to handle some of the professional matters. I thought surely that you were ill.” A devilish half grin crawls onto his lips. He’s baiting me. He knows it’s impossible for us to get sick.
“I’m fine, as you can see. And what professional matters do you speak of? That’s what I pay you for, correct?”
“You’re right,” Varshaun nods. “Forgive my intrusion. But I must say, Niko, I’m wounded. What happened to my boy? One little human girl has caused you to abandon me and leave me to slay the women of New Orleans alone? Surely, that is not the case.”
Varshaun, you cunning, meddlesome sonofabitch.
I huff out an irritated breath before turning to face Amelie. “I’ll leave you to get ready. Nadia has you in the kitchen today. Report there when you’re finished and they’ll give you instruction.”
“Ok,” she whispers through trembling lips.
I nod, before turning away from her sad eyes. Varshaun opens the door, a satisfied grin on his face.
“Niko?” Amelie calls quietly before I can cross the threshold. I turn to her more eagerly than I should.
“Yes?”
“After I’m done today, later tonight … should I find somewhere else to stay? I hate to bother you and you never answered my question earlier, but if you want me to, I can…”
“No,” I reply before she can get out the words. “No. Stay. I want you to stay… here. With me. Ok?” I hold my breath, awaiting her reaction and dreading the onslaught of questions from Varshaun.
“Ok,” she finally nods. “I’ll be here.”
“You wanna explain what the f*ck I just witnessed?”
I continue to walk down Bourbon Street, looking straight ahead. I was able to elude Varshaun’s shocked glare burning a hole in the side of my head while we were back at the house amongst dozens of listening ears, but now that we’re alone, there’s no way he’s letting me off the hook.
“What’s there to explain?” I reply flatly.
“Um, excuse me, but how about starting with the hot brunette you’ve got stashed in your room? I mean, I get it. Maybe she’s too good to share … I’ve been there. But you want her to stay with you? Like actually sleep in your room? For more than a night?”
I look at my most trusted friend and nearly flinch at the look of sheer puzzlement on his face. He’s right. Now that someone’s said it aloud, it does sound ludicrous.
“It’s only temporary. She has … something I need. And I need her close in order to get it.”
“Ah,” Varshaun nods. “You’ve gotten yourself a taste of some Grade A p-ssy. So good and sweet that you crave it all the time. Need a fix like a fiend. Congrats, my friend.” He claps me on the back and moves in closer to my ear. “Let me know when you’re finished with her. I’d like to sample that luscious creature. Even better, we could f*ck her together, like old times. A little double penetration will help rid that shyness.”
I clench my fists so hard that my bones crack. I can feel my nails breaking the skin of my palms, causing fresh, warm blood to pool in my hands. I want to hurt him. F*ck, I want to kill him. I want to rip his f*cking pretty boy head off and tie it to the nearest flagpole by those long, black locks. But instead, I plaster on a tight grin, trying desperately to appear normal. And normal for me is ten times worse than Varshaun.
“No,” I say shaking my head stiffly. “She’s not ready for that. I have special plans for that girl.” And none of them involve double penetration, Varshaun, or any other motherf*cker for that matter.
“Suit yourself,” he shrugs. “Just don’t kill her before I get a taste.”
My pisstivity takes a backseat to bewilderment, and I raise a brow in question.
“Oh yeah, I know about the two girls from the other night. You sure you’re ok, man? You’ve been edgy. I mean, accidents happen, but you haven’t drained someone in years, let alone two girls at once.”
I shake my head, unable to verbally explain myself. I know what has caused my ire.
Amelie.
As badly as I want her for … I don’t even know what, her mere presence has me off my game. I desire her body, but I crave her soul. I admire her mind, but I need her heart. I’m seriously a clusterf*ck of emotion, and no magic in the world can undo the spell she has me under.
I can’t even express this shit to my closest friend. The only person I can talk to is Amelie. She’s the only one who’d understand, the only person that has truly glimpsed my soul, and the very person that can never know how I feel.
I look around, realizing that we’ve wandered into a part of the French Quarter that we don’t usually frequent. It’s an area that we’ve somewhat deemed enemy territory. “Why are we here?”
Varshaun hops up the steps of the ornate mansion, mischief etched on his face. “Just paying our friend Malcolm a little visit. Heard he was having a hard time keeping his girls on a short leash.”
I follow him up the steps but pause at the top, shaking my head. “Malcolm is insignificant and so are his girls. There’s enough money in this city for everyone. Let him be. If we catch it, we’ll deal with it.”
The irises of Varshaun’s eyes turn dark and tumultuous. “There are rules, my friend. Rules put in place by your family at that. You can’t let them think you’re weak. If you let this slide, you’re just opening the door for others to defy you. And we wouldn’t want Daddy Dearest to get wind of that.”
Dammit, he’s right.
I take a deep breath and follow Varshaun to the front door. It’s early, so none of his girls are out displaying their goods on the balcony and porch. Funny how the dark and depraved thrive at night, as if the shadows can conceal our iniquities. Under the dark cloak of denial, we feed our inner beasts with our own individual brands of evil, stifling the guilt until morning. Avoidance is a way of life for us sinners. Maybe we aren’t so honest after all.
Without even bothering to knock, Varshaun turns the doorknob. When it doesn’t click open, he steps back, turning to give me an impish grin. His eyes spark with white flames, and with a simple exhale, he blows the front door wide open. The heavy wood frame shakes and groans as if it had been propelled with hurricane force winds. As graceful and fluid as ever, Varshaun steps inside, not rattled in the least.
“I told you, little pigs, what happens when you don’t let me in,” he calls out to an audience of stunned, terrified faces. Prostitutes, both women and men, scurry out of the way, shielding their half naked bodies. “I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down.”
I roll my eyes, and step into the vast home, not at all impressed with Varshaun’s theatrics. Normally, his zest for drama would have provoked a little shameless fun, but today, my head … my heart … is just not into it.
“What in the hell is going on out here?” a squatty, bald man spits, waddling his way from a back room wearing nothing but a silk bathrobe. His beady eyes find us standing in the middle of the great room. A ring of frightened bystanders looks to him for guidance. “Mr. V? Mr. N? What are you doing here? Forgive me. I wasn’t aware you’d be dropping by.”
Varshaun holds up a palm, halting further explanation. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, Malcolm. Surely you knew we’d be interested in all paranormal activity performed outside of regulation. Tell me, have your whores finally managed to f*ck your brains out? Or are you really that stupid?”
Malcolm reluctantly stumbles towards us, trembling and sweating like a filthy pig. “Mr. V, I can assure you that my girls had nothing to do with whatever transgression you are talking about. They’ve broken no laws, I can attest to that.”
“Is that right, Malcolm? So none of your girls turned any tricks outside of your district? And none of them were responsible for fooling three of my kind into breathing them, only to manipulate their minds?”
F*cking necromancers. They’re Voodoo witches that dabble in strong black magic with the ability to control supernatural creatures. Legend tells us that a necromancer with enough power has the ability to completely overtake the mind and actions of a Dark One. With that kind of magic at their disposal, they could demolish entire cities.
Of course, none of us have actually witnessed it in action. Every so often, we’ll stumble upon a Warlock that has experienced holes in his memory. Usually, it’s from a soul-sucker, or a fiend. Yes, even the Dark has addicts. They get addicted to the power and have to constantly replenish in order maintain their strength. Soon, the craving becomes too strong, and just a taste of magic won’t do. They seek out human witches for their fix, opening themselves to become susceptible to their Voodoo poison.
I tune out Malcolm’s blubbering as he tries to refute Varshaun’s claims and take a look around. Audible gasps ring out as my gaze shifts to a group huddled on the couch. They’re terrified of us, trembling in a haze of horrified confusion. They’ve heard the stories, maybe even seen one of us in action. But me … I’m an anomaly. In public, Varshaun is the mouthpiece. I rarely ever accompany him in situations like these. A Dark prince wreaking havoc on the streets of New Orleans would put our entire family at risk. So, I keep quiet and give Varshaun the spotlight, feeding his never-ending ego.
Still, everyone knows I’m not to be f*cked with. Call it instinct or a sixth sense, they can feel the way the tiny hairs on their arms stand upright whenever I’m near. They notice the drop in the temperature, the sudden density in the air. That niggling voice in the back of their heads that tell them to run and not look back. I am the supreme evil, a force so dark and dangerous that even grown men quake in my presence.
The whimpers grow louder as I take a step towards the group of bystanders, and something in my little black heart rejoices. Ah, yes. Fear. Like f*cking candy to the Dark. The taste for it developing on my tongue, my mouth curls into a devilish smirk before I wink an icy blue eye, causing the light bulbs in the room to pop and shatter. Shrieks ring out, and I bark out a hearty laugh. What’s the point in having all this power if you can’t have a little fun?
I approach a young woman quivering on the carpet. Her gaze instantly drops to the floor and I crouch before her to meet her eyes.
“Look at me, little one,” I command. Reluctantly, she lifts her head, giving me access to her big brown eyes. She’s beautiful, her skin smooth as silk, the color of sweet chocolate. “That’s right. Good girl.”
Her curly tendrils frame her face in a wild, exotic style and I reach out to gently stroke the dark coils. She instantly relaxes, her wide eyes still locked onto mine. “Now that you’re calm, I have a few questions for you, pretty girl. Do you know who I am?”
“No, sir,” she squeaks, her voice light and high pitched, with a thick Yat accent.
“Good,” I smile. “Do you know what I am?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. That’s very good. Do you work here, sweetheart?”
“Yes, sir,” she answers without hesitance. Feeling the pull of my influence mixed with her carnal desire, she moves into my touch. Her dark eyes grow hot and sultry, and her nipples pucker under her thin satin slip.
“And how old are you?”
The girl captures my hand in her own and brings it to her lips, kissing the palm. “Fifteen, but Malcolm makes me tell people I’m nineteen.” When I frown and pull my hand free, she scrambles forward, nearly climbing onto my lap. “But I swear I’m good! I’m one of the best here. Malcolm even says I’m his favorite. He said my young, tight p-ssy feels like heaven and tastes as sweet as a hot fudge sundae. And that I give the best head in three parishes.”
Bile rises in my throat, and my irises tingle with fury. “No need, dear one. No need to worry about that ever again.”
I’m on my feet in a blur of blistering rage and cross the room just as Varshaun finishes his tirade.
“The next time I even suspect any of your girls stepping out of bounds, I’ll do more than blow open the f*cking door,” he warns him. “Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, Mr. V. If I find any of my girls have broken the rules, I’ll kill them myself,” he stammers, beads of sweat rolling down his fat face. He exhales a sigh of relief when Varshaun nods and turns to retreat. Little does he know, V is the least of his problems.
“Listen to me, you fat f*ck,” I hiss, moving in so close that I smell the vile odor of his rapid breaths. “You’re done using underage girls. So done, that you will return them to their homes plus compensate them all for exploiting them. Let’s say twenty grand each, plus you’ll ensure they get into decent schools. Doesn’t that sound fair?”
“Wha-? Twenty grand? I don’t have that kind of money!” he screeches indignantly, causing revolting spittle to fly from his mouth.
“You heard me, you sick f*cker. Twenty grand. And if you don’t have the cash, I suggest you find a good realtor. You have three days.”
I spin on my heel and make my way to the door where Varshaun waits, wearing a delighted grin. My eyes spot the young girl with the spiral curls, and I nod to her. Her big, brown eyes shine with grateful tears.
“It’s not like they didn’t want it, you know,” Malcolm calls out from behind my back, obviously delirious. I pause mid-step, my trembling fists tight at my sides. “They begged for it. p-ssy is p-ssy, no matter how old it is. As long as it can grow a bush, it’s f*ckable.”
My mind instantly goes to Amelie. She could’ve been one of these girls. She could’ve been the girl with the curly, brown hair, used and abused at such a tender age. What if it was Malcolm that her father was indebted to? What if she was forced to offer her body to him in exchange for her father’s life?
“You know, on second thought…” I turn around to face his deranged scowl, blind rage clouding my rationale. “I really, really hate child molesters.”
I raise my palm, spreading my fingers as they become engulfed in blue fire. Simultaneously, Malcolm’s limbs go rigid and his mouth falls slack, completely immobilized. His muddy brown eyes are filled with terror as he tries to struggle against the invisible restraints. Drool drips from the corner of his disgusting mouth.
“Shhhh,” I say in his ear. “Don’t fight it. It will all be over soon, you piece of shit. You won’t be able to abuse another child again. Now … along with child molesters, I despise spineless men. And you, dear Malcolm, are spineless.”
Malcolm grunts out a tearful response as I circle his grotesque frame. Dozens watch with rapt attention, yet none of them step up to save their employer. They have no love, no loyalty for him.
“Yes, yes, I agree,” I nod, responding to his indecipherable groans. I stop in front of him and smooth the silken fabric on his meaty shoulders. “You really aren’t completely spineless. But that can definitely be arranged.”
With my hand still covered in blue flames, I sink it into Malcolm’s gut, spearing through blubber, tissue and vital organs. Screams ring out all over the mansion, masking his muffled cries of pain. Yes, pain. Though he may not be able to move, he can feel everything. He can feel me clawing my way through his flesh with razor-sharp talons. Can feel the blood gushing from the gaping whole in his abdomen. And when my hand wraps around his spine, he can feel every-f*cking-thing as I rip it from his body.
“There you go, motherf*cker,” I say, dropping the blood-slick bones to the floor just as Malcolm takes his last pathetic breath. I release the hold on his body and it crumples to the floor in a bloody heap. “Now, you’re really spineless.”
I look around at the array of panicked faces staring back at me. “You all are free to go,” I call out, loud enough for my voice to echo throughout the grand house. “However, if you wish to stay, you can be sure that you’ll be provided with sufficient living conditions, pay and healthcare, as well as protection. And if you are younger than the age of eighteen, a car will be sent this afternoon to take you home to your families.”
As if on cue, the young girl approaches me, holding out a towel. Graciously, I take it, wiping away Malcolm’s putrid blood and guts that extend all the way up to my elbow. F*ck. Another suit ruined. But as I look down at the young girl, and the other grateful faces surrounding me, I know that I’ve done the right thing. I’ve chosen to be better.