7. Evangeline
7
EVANGELINE
ANONYMOUS TIP—RECEIVED BY NOPD RE: Spotted Cat Regular
Your jazz man isn’t what he seems. Ask him about the shipments he helped “disappear” three years ago. Ask him why he really stopped running jobs for the organization.
Or better yet, ask him about the woman he’s protecting. The one with many names.
“Always trust the whispers of your soul, child.” Grandmother’s voice echoes in my memory as Lucas’s car idles outside Jazz’s apartment. “When the spirits try to warn you, you best listen.”
The night air feels wrong somehow, charged with something beyond the usual New Orleans magic. Maybe it’s leftover adrenaline from Beaumont’s benefit, or maybe it’s something deeper, more primal.
“You’re sure about this, my Chimera?” Lucas asks, his brilliant eyes reflecting streetlight and madness. “I could take you somewhere more... controlled. My lab has excellent security protocols. I’ve recently installed the most fascinating array of?—”
“Lucas,” I cut him off with a fond smile. “I’m sure. Jazz’s place is the last place anyone would look for me tonight.”
“Ah yes, our musical friend.” Lucas’s fingers drum an erratic pattern on the steering wheel. “Do try not to break his heart too thoroughly. I’d hate to have to dissect it.” His grin turns feral. “For science, of course.”
The threat should worry me, but there’s something almost sweet about his unhinged protectiveness. I lean across the console, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Lucas. Try not to poison anyone without me.”
He turns at the last moment, catching my lips with his. The kiss is pure chaos—brilliant and dangerous and just a little bit mad.
A cascade of emotions rush through me as Lucas’s lips meet mine. Desire, fear, and something darker swirl together in a heady mixture. His kiss is intoxicating, like a drug that I can’t get enough of.
His hand cups my face, his thumb brushing against my cheekbone as he deepens the kiss. I melt into him, my body responding to his touch with an urgency that surprises me. This isn’t supposed to happen. We’re just friends, colleagues even. But in this moment, none of that matters.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as our tongues dance in a wild and reckless rhythm. The world falls away and it’s just the two of us, caught up in the heat and passion of this forbidden kiss.
When he pulls back, his eyes are fever-bright. “My beautiful Chimera,” he murmurs, “don’t think this means I’m sharing you easily.”
His laugh follows me up the fire escape, dark and rich as aged bourbon. My lips still tingle with the taste of him—coffee and chemicals and barely contained explosion.
Jazz isn’t home yet—still playing his last set at the club. I pick the lock with practiced ease, hearing Grandmother’s approval in the click of tumblers. Inside, his apartment feels alive with memory and music. Sheet music scattered across coffee tables, a trumpet case lovingly worn, the ever-present vinyl player waiting to spin stories into the night.
I sink onto his leather couch, letting the familiar scents of brass polish and cologne wash over me. Here, in this space that’s purely Jazz, I feel my carefully constructed walls beginning to crack. My hand drifts to my lips, still warm from Lucas’s kiss, and I wonder not for the first time what I’m getting myself into.
The soft glow of streetlights filters through the windows, casting long shadows that dance like lovers across the floor. I’ve spent countless evenings here, sharing drinks and secrets, neither of us acknowledging the growing tension between us. But tonight feels different. Tonight, the whispers in my soul are singing a new tune.
When I hear his key in the lock an hour later, my heart performs a complicated jazz riff against my ribs.
The key turns in the lock, and Jazz’s familiar silhouette fills the doorway. He doesn’t startle at finding me in his dark apartment—of course he doesn’t. Jazz has always seen me coming, even when I’m trying to hide.
“Well now,” he drawls, setting his trumpet case down with practiced care, “either my timing’s perfect, or yours is, Melody.” The nickname wraps around me like warm honey, so different from Lucas’s intense Chimera , but just as meaningful.
“Your place felt safer than mine tonight,” I say simply, knowing he’ll hear all the notes I’m not playing.
Jazz moves to his vinyl collection, fingers dancing over albums until he finds what he’s looking for. The scratch of needle on record, and then soft jazz fills the space between us. Duke Ellington’s In a Sentimental Mood —he’s always known exactly what music my soul needs.
“I saw Lucas’s car outside,” he comments, pouring two bourbons without asking. “Interesting duet you two were playing earlier at the club.” His eyes meet mine, dark and knowing. “That kiss looked like it had some complicated chord progressions.”
I accept the glass he offers, our fingers brushing. “Jealous?”
“Of the doc’s passionate chaos?” Jazz settles beside me, close enough that I feel his warmth but not quite touching. “Nah, sugar. Some songs need both harmony and discord to work.” His smile turns gentle. “Besides, my Melody, I’ve been waiting to play my own part in this composition.”
The air between us shifts, electric with possibility. I take a slow sip of bourbon, watching him over the rim of my glass. “And what part would that be?”
“The steady rhythm beneath the chaos,” he murmurs, taking my glass and setting it aside. “The bass line that keeps you grounded when the music threatens to spin out of control.”
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, and I lean into his touch. Where Lucas burns like fire and chemicals, Jazz flows like warm whiskey and summer nights.
“I’m not good at staying grounded,” I whisper, even as I move closer. “I wear too many faces, play too many dangerous games.”
“You’ve never had to wear a mask with me, Melody.” His thumb traces my bottom lip, still slightly swollen from Lucas’s earlier kiss. “I see you. All of you. Sarah, Celeste, Evangeline—they’re all just variations on the same beautiful theme.”
The truth of his words undoes me. Here, in the soft darkness of his apartment, with Duke Ellington spinning tales of love and longing, I let my walls crumble. When our lips finally meet, it’s like coming home to a song I’ve always known but never played.
The kiss deepens, and it’s nothing like Lucas’s chaotic possession. Jazz kisses like he plays – smooth and skilled, building intensity with deliberate patience. His hands tangle in my hair as mine find the buttons of his shirt.
“Sarah,” he breathes against my lips, and for once, hearing my real name doesn’t feel like a betrayal. Not here, not with him.
“Jazz,” I whisper back, meaning so much more than just his name. Meaning trust, and need, and years of unspoken desire.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his hands framing my face. “You sure about this, Melody? Once we change this tune, there’s no going back to the old arrangement.”
I think of Lucas, of his brilliant madness and possessive devotion. Of how instead of feeling torn between them, I feel... complete. Like they’re different instruments in the same orchestra, each playing the exact notes my soul needs.
“I’m sure,” I say, letting him see the truth in my eyes. “I trust you, Jazz. Always have.”
His smile is soft, knowing. “Then let me show you what real harmony feels like.”
He stands, pulling me up with him. The record has shifted to Mood Indigo , its sultry notes wrapping around us like silk. Jazz leads me in a slow dance, his hands warm on my waist, his lips finding my neck.
“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs against my skin. “Let go, Melody. Let me take care of you.”
I do. For once, I let all my masks fall away. No games, no schemes, no carefully constructed personas. Just me, just this, just us.
When he lifts me into his arms, I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling the firmness of his body pressed against mine, the muscles in his back tensing and releasing with each step. His breath is warm on my neck, sending shivers down my spine as he carries me to his bedroom. The streetlights filter through the window, casting a soft, golden glow across his sheets, painting the room in a dance of shadows and light.
Jazz lays me down on the bed with a gentleness that makes my heart ache. His eyes roam over me, dark and hungry, but there’s a tenderness there too. A reverence.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curve of my cheek. “Every version of you.”
I reach up, pulling him down to me. Our lips meet again, and this time there’s an urgency behind it. Years of unspoken desire and simmering tension finally boiling over. His hands are everywhere, leaving trails of fire in their wake as they explore my body.
I arch into his touch, desperate for more. My fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine. Jazz chuckles softly, capturing my hands in his.
“Easy, Melody,” he says, pressing a kiss to each of my palms. “We’ve got all night. Let me savor you.”
He takes his time undressing me, each newly exposed inch of skin worshipped with lips and tongue. By the time I’m bare beneath him, I’m trembling with need.
“Jazz, please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for.
He stands, shrugging off his shirt and stepping out of his pants. The sight of him, all lean muscle and dark skin, takes my breath away. When he rejoins me on the bed, the feel of his body against mine is electric.
Jazz’s hands glide over my skin, tracing patterns that feel like musical notes. His touch is a melody, building slowly, rhythmically, towards a crescendo. I arch into him, craving more, but he maintains his steady tempo.
“Patience, Melody,” he murmurs against my collarbone. “Let the music build.”
His lips trail down my body, leaving a path of tingling sensation in their wake. When he reaches the apex of my thighs, I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair. Jazz looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, before dipping his head to taste me.
The world narrows to the exquisite sensations he’s creating. His tongue moves in intricate patterns, like he’s playing a solo just for me. I’m lost in the rhythm he’s setting, my hips moving in time with his ministrations.
Just when I think I can’t take anymore, Jazz slides two fingers inside me, curling them in a come hither motion that has me seeing stars. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, and I feel myself teetering on the edge of release.
“That’s it, Sarah,” Jazz encourages, using my real name like a caress. “Let go for me. Let me hear your song.”
His words push me over the precipice. I cry out, my back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over me. Jazz doesn’t let up, drawing out my orgasm until I’m trembling and over-sensitive.
Jazz moves back up my body, his lips trailing kisses along my flushed skin. When he reaches my mouth, I taste myself on his tongue, mingled with bourbon and desire. His hardness presses against my thigh, a reminder of his own need.
“You’re so beautiful when you let go,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I want to see you like that again and again.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Then show me,” I challenge, my voice husky with want. “Make me sing for you, Jazz.”
He enters me slowly, both of us savoring the exquisite friction. I gasp at the fullness, at how perfectly we fit together. Jazz stills for a moment, his forehead pressed against mine, our breaths mingling.
“You feel like coming home,” he whispers, and the raw emotion in his voice makes my heart clench.
Then he begins to move, setting a rhythm as smooth and steady as his bass lines. Each thrust builds upon the last, a crescendo of sensation that has me clinging to his shoulders. My nails dig into his back, leaving crescent moons that I hope will linger, a physical reminder of this night.
Jazz’s control is impressive, but I can feel it fraying at the edges. His movements become more urgent, his breathing ragged against my neck. I meet him thrust for thrust, our bodies moving in perfect harmony.
“Sarah,” he groans, and I know he’s close. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes, meeting his intense gaze. The intimacy of it nearly undoes me.
“I want to see you,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “I want to watch you fall apart in my arms.”
His hand slips between us, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. The added stimulation pushes me towards the edge once more. I feel my inner muscles clenching around him, my body coiling tight like a spring about to release.
“Jazz,” I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’m so close...”
“Let go, Melody,” he urges, his hips never faltering in their rhythm. “Sing for me.”
The tension inside me snaps, and I cry out as waves of pleasure crash over me. Jazz follows me over the edge, my name a prayer on his lips as he finds his own release.
We stay tangled together, our heartbeats gradually slowing, our breathing returning to normal. Jazz presses soft kisses to my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. There’s a tenderness to his touch that makes my chest ache.
“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
I nod, not trusting my voice just yet. The intensity of what we’ve shared has left me feeling raw, exposed in a way I’m not used to.
Jazz seems to understand. He gathers me close, tucking my head under his chin. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, soothing and grounding me.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me.”
Later, as we lie tangled in his sheets, Jazz traces patterns on my skin.
“You know,” he says softly, “this doesn’t have to change anything you don’t want it to.”
I prop myself up on an elbow, studying his face in the dim light. “What do you mean?”
His smile is gentle, understanding. “I mean, I’m not asking you to choose, Melody. Between me and the doc. Some songs need more than one instrument to be played right.”
I stare at him, wonder and gratitude flooding my chest. “How are you so... understanding about all this?”
He chuckles, pulling me closer. “Sugar, I’ve spent my life studying harmonies. Sometimes the most beautiful music comes from unexpected combinations.” His fingers trace my spine. “Besides, watching you and the doc together is better than any jazz improvisation I’ve ever seen. All that brilliant chaos recognizing something just as dangerous in you.”
“And where do you fit in this arrangement?” I ask, pressing a kiss to his chest.
“Me?” His smile turns wicked. “I’m the baseline that keeps the melody grounded. The rhythm that gives the chaos structure.” He tilts my chin up, his eyes serious despite his smile. “I’m whatever you need me to be, Melody.”
The sound of his phone buzzing breaks our moment. Jazz reaches for it, his body tensing as he reads the message.
“What is it?” I ask, instantly alert, Sarah/Celeste/Evangeline all snapping back into focus.
Jazz’s eyes meet mine, concern etched in their depths. “Trouble, sugar. Looks like your past is catching up faster than we thought.”
I sit up, pulling the sheet around me. “Tell me.”
“One of my contacts just sent word. There’s a hit out on Celeste Deveraux. Seems someone’s figured out she’s not as dead as they thought.”
My blood runs cold. Grandmother’s warning from earlier echoes in my mind— trust the whispers of your soul.
“We need to move. Now.”
As we hurriedly dress, Jazz’s earlier languid grace has been replaced with focused efficiency. I catch my reflection in his mirror—hair mussed, lips swollen, wearing his shirt because mine is somewhere in the living room. In this moment, I’m neither Sarah nor Celeste nor Evangeline. I’m simply his Melody, and somehow that feels more real than any other identity I’ve worn.
“Jazz,” I say, catching his arm as he reaches for the door. “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to get caught up in all this.”
He cups my face in his hands, his gaze intense. “Listen to me. I’m exactly where I want to be. We’re in this together now, come hell or high water.” A smile tugs at his lips. “Besides, someone’s got to help the doc keep you alive. Man’s brilliant but subtle ain’t exactly his strong suit.”
I laugh despite the situation, and Jazz pulls me in for one more kiss—slow, sweet, and full of promise.
As we break apart, his phone buzzes again.
“Speaking of our mad scientist,” Jazz says, reading the message. “Seems he’s already working on a solution. Something about fascinating applications of untraceable compounds. ”
“Of course he is,” I say fondly, thinking of Lucas in his lab, probably mixing something terrifyingly effective while muttering about protecting his Chimera.
As we step out into the pre-dawn darkness, I know that everything has changed. My mission, my identity, my heart—all irrevocably altered by this night. But with Jazz’s steady rhythm on one side and Lucas’s brilliant chaos on the other, for the first time in years, I feel like I might just have a fighting chance.
After all, the most dangerous melodies are the ones you never see coming.