Villere House (Blood of My Blood) (4 page)

"I would very much love for you to join me," he continued.

She glanced at the paper in her hands and then at Henry, and smiled. "Of course. I would be honored."

"Mama!" Amélie's small voice wailed down the stairs from the bedrooms above.

Rosette stepped forward. "I'll get her."

"Mama!" Amélie cried again, her tiny voice filled with anguish and tears.

It ripped through Élise's heart. She held out her arm to stop Rosette. "No, no. I should go." She turned to Henry. "I'm sorry, but I—"

He gestured toward the stairs. "Tend to your child."

She hustled for the stairway, pausing just as she stepped onto the bottom step. "Thank you for calling," she said and then hurried up the steps.

CHAPTER FOUR

X
avier was so used to dismissing the door chime with a simple, "Welcome to Villere House of Voodoo", that he didn't bother looking up from his computer until Julien's voice sounded in his ear.

"Well, look who's back. I never expected to see her again."

It was the blonde from earlier that day. The one who'd run out like she'd seen the ghost of Hitler. He rarely agreed with anything his brother said, thought, or did, but this was one time when he shared Julien's sentiment. She
was
the last person he expected to see again. Ever. He couldn't say he was disappointed.

The expression on her face was both wary and excited. And curious. She took in the store like she was looking for clues. She'd done that earlier too, only then she'd been more curious and confused. The fear wasn't there either.

It was definitely intriguing.

"Oh. Looks like she brought an entourage this time."

Sure enough, two girls followed closely behind her. One blond like she was, only an unnatural shade, the other with sleek brown hair that looked plastic.

"Now that's a trio I'd love to dogpile."

Xavier gave his brother a
look.
Yes, they were all attractive women, but
dogpile
? "Can you get any sleazier?"

"Coming from the guy who bangs a different girl every week…" Julien rolled his eyes. "You're such a crit."

"Hardly every week." But close. He couldn't deny that lately he'd been with more different women than he'd admit out loud. Unlike Julien, he wasn't about sticking his cock in every piece of tail he could. It just seemed to work that way. But also unlike Julien, he wasn't exactly proud of it.

The runaway girl from earlier that day approached them. "Is it too late to sign up for the tour?"

"Not at all," Julien shoved off the counter. "Xavier can hook you up." He sized her up as he walked past before tossing an arm around each of her friends. "So, ladies, ready to have your mind blown?"

"It's good to see you," Xavier said when they joined the rest of the tour group waiting on the sidewalk. "I honestly wasn't expecting to. You really bolted out of here earlier."

"Sorry. I just…" The furrow grew deep between her brows as she trailed off. "You know, I would really like that book. You still have it?"

He was so swept up studying the myriad of emotions crossing her pretty face the question caught him off guard. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I put it away but it should be right…" He pointed to the bookshelf as he stepped from behind the cash register to help her.

"Oh! I see it." They reached for the book at the same time and his hand brushed hers before he was able to pull back, like accidentally touching someone was taboo or something.

The way his body reacted though, maybe there was some justification in the
taboo
. He just wanted to touch her more, like a lot more.

Guilty heat flashed in her eyes when she looked at him. Did that mean she felt it too?

Whatever she felt, she covered it up with a smile that looked just a hair too big. "Can't wait to read it," she said, holding up the book.

"Yeah, probably a good one for the plane."

"I'm here for a few more days, so I plan on knocking this one out."

For some reason that made him happy. "You'll have to tell me how you like it."

Her smile widened, making her look positively radiant. "I will."

Like an idiot, he just stood there for a while, staring at her.

"Lottie! You get the tickets yet?" It was one of her friends, the one with the plastic looking hair.

"Just getting ready to,"
Lottie
said, turning to him expectantly.

"Of course." He returned behind the counter and rang her up. "Lottie…that's an interesting name. Is it short for something?"

"Charlotte. I'm not sure if I like it or not. Kind of reminds me of Lassie."

He laughed. "Well, then I'll be sure to call you Charlotte."

"Oh, you can call me Lottie. Everyone does. Just don't whistle when you do it." She handed over the cash.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said as he made change. "Hey, have a good time. Don't let Julien scare you. He likes to do that in the cemetery."

Her smile dropped and she nodded tensely. "Thanks," she clipped before turning and heading out of the store.

Another weird response. But instead of just writing it off like he normally would, it intrigued him.
She
intrigued him. That didn't happen often.

~

Lottie had a hard time paying attention to their tour guide, a man she learned was Julien Villere. Obviously related to Xavier, though she couldn't be sure how. There was
some
similarity to their facial structure but the green eyes, light brown hair, and lighter skin tone made it hard to believe they were even cousins.

The snippets of the tour she heard sounded interesting enough. Unfortunately, she was too much inside her own head to take much of it in. She kept replaying her latest dream. It had been even more real, more clear. Like she'd actually been there.

Maybe it was some alcohol fueled delusion, but didn't feel like it. But it was too weird to imagine anything else. She had been intoxicated both times she'd dreamt of Élise Cantrelle.
Could
she be remembering a book she'd read long ago and forgotten? A movie? It didn't seem likely, plus how did that explain Sanite Villere? Or the shower, or the strange woman on the street, or the road incident…

The craziness of it was making her head hurt. It certainly made paying attention to the tour impossible.

It wasn't until they approached a busy roadway and the scenery became shockingly familiar that her attention finally snapped back to the present. This was it. This was where she'd nearly walked—no, where she'd nearly been
pushed
into traffic.

And as the group crossed the street, she finally realized where they were headed—the cemetery.

Okay, now her head was officially fucked. Once again she felt like she was in a trance, only this one was her own doing. She could only stare, only numbly follow as Julien guided them through the dark, crumbling cemetery.

After a brief introduction of the history and why's of the above-ground cemetery, they traveled haphazardly through the raised tombs, weaving through narrow walkways that were maze-like in their seemingly unplanned paths.

Midway down an aisle that looked identical to the aisle before, Lottie felt the gentle tug that was becoming frighteningly all too familiar. The same pull that led her to the Villere House of Voodoo. The same pull that tried to lead her here.

She ignored it. Or tried to.

The more she resisted the more insistent the pull became until it settled in her stomach in a pool of nausea. She swallowed against the bile and made one last attempt to resist the urge to follow when fog settled over her vision and seeped into her brain.

She was barely aware of what happened next. She felt herself stop and walk away from the group, toward one of tombs. Felt herself reach into her purse and retrieve something smooth and hard.

The next moments were even blurrier. Pain seared her palm, trailing to her wrist. Her hand stretched forward. Cries of alarm sounded and she was yanked backward. There was a face directly in front of hers, but it was a screaming smear of indistinguishable features and noises. Then her body began to violently shake.

And like that, the fog lifted.

Amanda stood before her, a hand on each of her shoulders, face inches from hers as she screamed, "Lottie! Lottie! Wake the fuck up!" over and over again while shaking her back and forth.

"Okay," she said, her voice too quiet as it slid from her mouth.

Amanda was still shaking her. Other people from the tour filtered over and now formed a curious mob.

Searching her throat and finding her voice, Lottie yelled, "Okay! Enough!"

Finally, Amanda released her.

Julien pushed his way through the crowd. "What the hell…?" he gasped.

Still feeling dazed, stunned, and very much confused, she took in her surroundings. In her right hand, she held her nail file like a weapon, the
blade
tinged with red. Her left hand throbbed and she glanced down at it. Blood dripped from an angry looking slash that extended from her wrist across her palm.

She quickly closed her hand and slipped the file back into her purse, but not before Sam exclaimed, "Oh my God, Lottie! What are you trying to do, kill yourself or something?"

"Of course not. It just slipped…" she drifted off as her attention was drawn away from her friend and toward the tomb closest too her. She approached the grave. Was this what she'd been reaching for?

The engraving was worn, but the name was clear:

Élise Cantrelle

1788-1816

"It can't be…"

A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her away from the grave. She didn't resist but stared up at Julien in surprise.

"Don't worry everyone, she is fine. Possessed by a Loa, compelled by the spirit to visit her ancestor's grave." He turned to Lottie. "You've been neglectful to your great-great-great-grandmother's memory haven't you?" He winked.

She couldn't do anything but smile feebly. The gathered crowd gave a little uneasy chuckle.

"Unfortunately, she accidentally cut her hand on the fence. You should probably go to the hospital," he said to her. "Get that taken care of."

She nodded and he released her shoulders. "So," he said to the crowd. "Who's ready to see the grave of the infamous Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau?"

The crowd began shuffling away. Amanda joined Lottie but Sam moved with the group. "Sam!" Amanda called.

With an obvious sigh, Sam turned around. "What?"

Amanda stared at her. "We're going to the hospital."

"I don't think we all need to go. It's not like she's dying."

"You're fucking kidding me—"

"No. It's cool." Lottie smiled. "Go ahead, Sam. I'll catch up with you later." She turned to Amanda. "You can go too. I'll grab a cab."

"I'm not leaving you alone."

"Thanks, but—"

"Seriously Lottie. What the hell happened? One minute you're fine and the next you're all zombified and stabbing yourself."

"I have no idea. Really. I've been out of it all day. I feel like someone slipped me some drugs."

That option didn't seem too farfetched to Amanda as she considered it. "Well, I wish they'd share."

"No, you don't. This hasn't been fun, trust me."

Amanda glanced at her hand, still clenched into a fist and still dripping blood. "I guess not. C'mon, let's get that shit taken care of so we can get back to the party. You owe me a couple drinks for this," she added with a grin.

The ER doctor, a Dr. Anderson, did not seemed convinced by Lottie's fabricated story. He looked at the wound, looked at her, and then looked at the wound again. "Fence, huh?"

"Yeah. I was holding onto one of the spikes on the top and slipped." It sounded plausible enough.

"Hmm." It was said with the tone every adult used when they knew someone was lying but didn't feel like arguing. "Well, you'll need a few more stitches." He turned to Amanda, absorbed by something on her phone. "And no more fences," he said to her.

Her head jerked up and she pressed her hand with the phone cupped inside to her lap, like she was hiding the screen. She was probably just watching a funny video or reading some celebrity gossip article, but she gave them a guilty, sheepish smile. "Of course. No fences."

Dr. Anderson turned back to Lottie. His eyes looked weary, like he was lacking a few hours of sleep. Or maybe a week's worth. "No more fences."

She shook her head earnestly and then offered what she hoped was a convincing smile. She hadn't tried to kill herself (as far as she knew) and she really hoped he believed her. Last thing she wanted was for this middle-aged man, who seemed nice enough, to commit her because he thought she might be a danger to herself or others.

"Just beer and beads for me from now on."

His gaze lingered on hers for a few moments before he nodded. "Okay," he said. "Let's get you stitched up."

Thirty minutes and fifteen stitches later and they were back on the streets heading toward the French Quarter.