5. Evangeline
5
EVANGELINE
VOODOO SHOP RECEIPT
Madame Laveau’s Emporium
Customer: E. Thibodaux
1x Protection Gris-Gris
2x Death-Ward Candles
1x Love-Drawing Oil
Special Order: Night-blooming Jasmine (see back for warnings)
Note from Proprietor: Child, some poisons heal and some healing kills. Choose wisely.
The chandeliers cast a golden glow over the ballroom, their light glinting off champagne flutes and diamond necklaces. I adjust my platinum blonde wig, checking that the roots of my dark hair remain hidden. The emerald green gown I’ve chosen hugs my curves – a weapon of distraction as potent as any poison hidden in my thigh holster.
“Showtime, darling,” I murmur to my reflection in a gilded mirror. Tonight, I’m Evangeline in name only. To the New Orleans elite gathered here, I’m Vivian St. Clair, mysterious heiress and potential investor.
That’s when I see him, and for a moment, I forget about my mission entirely.
Lucas stands near the bar, and dear god, the man knows how to wear a tuxedo. His usual lab-coat chaos has been transformed into devastating elegance, though his hair still has that slightly wild look, like he’s been running his hands through it while contemplating chemical compounds. A dangerous heat pools in my stomach as I watch him charm the group around him, his brilliant mind clearly entertaining them even as his eyes periodically scan the room with predatory awareness.
I’m so distracted by my study of him that I nearly miss the drunk socialite stumbling toward me with a full glass of red wine. Before I can step aside, someone crashes into my back, pushing me directly into the wine’s path.
“Watch yourself, you clumsy—” the socialite starts, but her words die as Lucas materializes beside us, moving with terrifying speed.
His hand closes around the woman’s wrist, elegant but brutal. “I do hope,” he says, his voice carrying that manic edge I recognize from his more unstable moments, “that you weren’t about to ruin my Chimera’s lovely dress.” His smile shows too many teeth. “The dry cleaning bill would be... unfortunate. Almost as unfortunate as what might happen to your husband’s toxicology report currently sitting on my desk.”
The woman pales. “Dr. Gautier, I—I didn’t realize?—”
“Clearly,” Lucas’s grip tightens slightly, his eyes fever-bright. “Now, I suggest you find somewhere else to spill your wine. Preferably far from my sight.”
He releases her, and she practically flees. The man who bumped me has already disappeared, likely sensing the dangerous undercurrent in Lucas’s seemingly polite intervention.
“Your Chimera?” I murmur, trying to ignore how his possessive tone makes my pulse race.
His eyes rake over me, cataloging every detail of my disguise with scientific precision and something darker, hungrier. “Always,” he says simply. Then his manic grin returns. “Though I must say, blonde is not your color, my dear. Far too ordinary for something as magnificently complex as you.”
Before I can respond, he reaches out and adjusts one of my curls with surprising gentleness. “Do be careful tonight,” he murmurs. “I’d hate to have to dispose of any bodies without proper preparation.”
He disappears back into the crowd, leaving me both unsettled and oddly warmed by his protective display. Focus, I scold myself. I have a mission to complete, a target to manipulate.
But as I make my way toward Harrison Beaumont, I can feel Lucas’s eyes following me, watching over his Chimera with brilliant, unhinged devotion.
I weave through the crowd with practiced grace, my grandmother’s words echoing in my mind. “The most dangerous poisons, child, come wrapped in beauty. Like the Angel’s Trumpet that blooms in moonlight, or the oleander with its delicate pink flowers.”
Right now, I’m both flower and poison, wrapped in emerald silk and deadly purpose.
My target, Harrison Beaumont, holds court near the center of the room. Corrupt businessman, philanthropist, and if my intel is correct, a key player in the criminal empire I’m dismantling piece by piece. The vial in my clutch feels warm, like it knows its time is coming. Another of grandmother’s recipes— derived from swamp lilies that only bloom at midnight during the dark moon.
“The timing must be perfect,” her voice whispers in my memory. “Too soon, and they’ll trace it. Too late, and the flower’s power fades like morning mist.”
I catch Lucas watching me again, his eyes darkening as a young businessman steps too close to me. The poor fool tries to engage me in conversation, but quickly retreats when Lucas’s manic grin turns predatory. I shouldn’t find his possessive insanity so appealing, but something about the way he says my Chimera sends delicious shivers down my spine.
“Mr. Beaumont,” I purr, pushing thoughts of Lucas aside as I extend my hand to my target. “Vivian St. Clair. I’ve been dying to meet you.”
His eyes rake over me appreciatively, and I hear my grandmother’s laugh. “Men like that, they see the flower, never the thorns. Let them prick themselves on your beauty, child. Let them bleed.”
Beaumont’s smile is all southern charm and hidden cruelty. “The pleasure is all mine, Ms. St. Clair. I don’t believe we’ve had the honor.”
“Oh, I’m new in town,” I laugh, the sound as light and deceptive as water hemlock’s white blooms. “But I’ve heard so much about your... business acumen. I was hoping we might discuss a potential investment opportunity.”
Across the room, I see Lucas pause in his conversation, his head tilting like a crow spotting something shiny and potentially deadly. His glass is empty—has been for an hour. He’s not here to drink. He’s here to watch his Chimera work.
The thought makes me bold. Dangerous.
“Perhaps,” I suggest to Beaumont, letting my voice drop to a seductive whisper, “we could discuss this somewhere more private?”
“The most lethal predators,” Grandmother would say, “are the ones that convince their prey to walk willingly into their jaws.”
As Beaumont leads me toward a secluded alcove, I notice Lucas’s posture shift. The brilliant madman is suddenly all predator, his scientific precision focused entirely on our movement through the crowd. I catch his eye briefly, and the heat in his gaze makes my breath catch.
“You know what they say about New Orleans,” Beaumont drawls, pulling my attention back to the mission. “It’s all about who you know.”
“Indeed,” I smile, letting my hand brush his arm. Grandmother’s voice whispers: “Skin to skin, that’s how the most elegant poisons work. Like a lover’s caress, quick and quiet.”
My ring—specially designed with a hidden compartment—presses against his flesh.
Phase one: complete.
“You remind me of someone,” Beaumont says suddenly, his voice dropping low. “A ghost from the past, you might say.”
I freeze, but before panic can set in, there’s a crash behind us. Lucas stands there, holding the shattered remains of a champagne flute, blood dripping from his clenched fist.
“Dr. Gautier,” Beaumont says, annoyed. “Is everything alright?”
“Oh, splendid,” Lucas’s laugh has that unhinged edge that makes lesser men step back. “Just testing a theory about stress fractures in crystalline structures. Fascinating results, really. Though perhaps not as fascinating as your conversation with Ms. St. Clair.”
His eyes meet mine, and I see the calculated madness there. He’s creating a diversion, but he’s also marking his territory. The possessive display should irritate me. Instead, heat pools in my stomach.
“The deadliest flower in the garden,” Grandmother used to say, “is the one that makes you want to reach out and touch, even knowing its poison.”
“Dr. Gautier,” I say, letting Vivian St. Clair’s accent drip like honey, “you’re bleeding.”
“Am I?” He looks at his hand with detached curiosity. “How wonderfully empirical. Though hardly my most interesting experiment of the evening.” His gaze flicks to where my ring touched Beaumont’s arm. “I do so love watching chemical reactions in their natural habitat.”
Beaumont shifts uncomfortably. The first tremors of my poison must be starting—a subtle weakness in the legs, a slight disorientation. Nothing traceable, nothing fatal. Just enough to end his evening early.
“Perhaps,” Beaumont says, his forehead beading with sweat, “we should continue this discussion another time, Ms. St. Clair. I’m feeling rather...”
“Of course,” I touch his arm again, completing the dosage. “We have all the time in the world.”
As Beaumont excuses himself, Lucas moves closer. The scent of his cologne mingles with antiseptic and something metallic—an intoxicating combination that shouldn’t be nearly as appealing as it is.
“Beautiful work, my Chimera,” he murmurs, close enough that his breath stirs my fake blonde curls. “The compound in your ring—derived from swamp lilies, yes? Fascinating choice. The molecular structure must be absolutely exquisite.”
“Careful, Dr. Gautier,” I whisper back. “Your obsession is showing.”
His laugh is dark and rich. “My dear, my obsession has been showing since the moment you walked in wearing that devastating dress and someone else’s face.” His bleeding hand comes up to brush my cheek, leaving a smear of red I feel. “Though I must say, I prefer your natural coloring. Blondes may have more fun, but brunettes...” his eyes gleam manically, “brunettes devise better poisons.”
“Speaking of poisons,” Lucas continues, producing a handkerchief to wipe the blood from my cheek with surprising tenderness, “your latest formula is absolutely inspired. The way it targets the peripheral nervous system while leaving no trace... pure poetry in protein chains.”
“Most would find your enthusiasm for my methods disturbing,” I say, fighting back a shiver as his fingers linger on my skin.
“Most are tediously mundane,” he counters, that brilliant madness dancing in his eyes. “But you, my gorgeous Chimera, you understand the artistry of it all. The elegant dance of molecules, the perfect marriage of botany and chemistry...” He glances at Beaumont, who’s now being helped toward the exit by concerned associates. “Though I do wish you’d let me analyze that compound properly. Preferably while it’s still fresh in his system.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Planning to collect samples, Doctor?”
“Oh, constantly,” his grin turns feral. “Though not necessarily with his consent or knowledge. The best science sometimes requires... creative methodology.”
Grandmother’s voice echoes in my head: “Power recognizes power, child. Like calls to like. The deadliest flowers always bloom in pairs.”
As if reading my thoughts, Lucas produces a small vial from his pocket. The liquid inside shimmers with an almost otherworldly iridescence. “A little something I’ve been working on. Inspired by your methods, of course. Would you like to see it in action?”
“Here?” I glance around the crowded ballroom.
His laugh is pure chaos. “What better laboratory than this? All these fascinating test subjects, dancing and drinking, never suspecting they’re part of something greater.” He tucks the vial into my clutch. “Consider it a gift. For when grace and subtlety aren’t required.”
“And what does this particular compound do?”
“Causes the most fascinating hallucinations before the end,” he says with academic enthusiasm. “Though I’d avoid getting it on your lovely dress. The effects on fabric are... rather dramatic.”
I should be horrified. Instead, I find myself fighting back a smile. “You’re absolutely insane, you know that?”
“Insanity is just genius viewed through the lens of mediocrity,” he quotes himself from our earlier encounter. His hand finds the small of my back again, possessive and steady. “Besides, my Chimera, aren’t we all a little mad here?”
Through the ballroom’s windows, I catch a glimpse of our reflection—the mad scientist and his deadly muse, beauty and brilliance wrapped in darkness and devotion. Grandmother would approve, I think. After all, she always said the most potent poisons come in pairs.
“Dance with me,” Lucas says suddenly, his mercurial mind shifting tracks. “Let them all see what true chemistry looks like.”
“They might talk,” I warn, even as I let him pull me toward the dance floor. “The eccentric Dr. Gautier and the mysterious Ms. St. Clair...”
“Let them,” he growls, spinning me into his arms with surprising grace. “Let them see that you’re mine. My Chimera. My perfect fusion of science and sin.”
As we sway to the music, Lucas’s eyes suddenly sharpen with scientific interest. “Fascinating,” he murmurs, watching over my shoulder. “Your compound is progressing faster than expected. The peripheral tremors have reached phase two.”
I don’t need to look to know Beaumont’s condition is deteriorating. Grandmother’s voice whispers: “When the midnight lily takes hold, child, it’s time to fade into the shadows. Like the flower itself — here, then gone.”
“Time to make our exit?” Lucas asks, reading my thoughts with unsettling accuracy. His hand tightens possessively on my waist. “I know a private path through the kitchens. The staff entrance has a delightfully broken security camera.”
Of course he’s already mapped our escape route. My brilliant, dangerous madman.
“Lead the way, Doctor,” I breathe, letting him guide me from the dance floor as the first shouts of alarm begin. Behind us, Beaumont’s sudden illness creates the perfect cover for our disappearance.
We slip into the warm New Orleans night, Lucas’s hand still claiming me as his own. The street lamps cast our shadows long and twined together on the pavement—scientist and assassin, madness and method, a perfectly matched set of beautiful monsters.
“Magnificent work, my Chimera,” Lucas says as we reach his car. “Though next time, do let me collect tissue samples. For science, of course.”
I laugh despite myself, the sound mixing with distant sirens as emergency vehicles respond to our handiwork. “You’re absolutely insane.”
“So are you,” he counters, opening the car door with a flourish. “It’s why we work so well together.”
As we drive away from the chaos we’ve created, I find myself thinking of my grandmother’s final lesson about poisons: “The most dangerous combinations, child, are the ones that bring out the best and worst in each other. Like nightshade and moonflower — beautiful alone, lethal together.”
Looking at Lucas’s profile, his brilliant mind clearly racing with chemical formulas and future experiments, I realize we’ve become exactly that nightshade and moonflower a toxic bloom of shared madness, perfectly paired in our beautiful darkness.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.