Garden of Rage and Ruin (The Vampires of New Orleans #5)

Chapter 1

ONE

I stop midstride, nearly tripping over the uneven cobblestones forming the makeshift sidewalk.

The vision of silk and shimmer glowing behind the beveled glass panes is nearly more than I can handle.

My friends continue walking, unaware that I’ve been distracted by sheer perfection, modeled by a headless mannequin.

The lilac masterpiece has a hemline that I’ve only seen in magazines…right below the knees and, oh, so scandalous. I imagine sliding into the couture garment, pinning my dark hair high on my head, and entering a room full of people who only have eyes for me, jazz, and gin.

“Violet?” I hear my name being called but refuse to look away from the fabric work of art.

“Are you deaf?” another voice says. “What are you doing?”

A soft palm on my wrist brings me back to reality. “That’s gorgeous.” I turn, finding the face of my best friend since birth, Ramona.

“It is. Almost as pretty as you,” I tease.

“You should try it on. Maybe you could wear it to the reception.”

I laugh louder than intended. “Mona, it’s your wedding. Why would I wear anything other than my maid of honor dress?”

She scoffs. “Because you are a clothes fiend who loves anything to do with fashion, hair, makeup, shoes…”

“Okay, point taken,” I interrupt.

“What are y’all doing? We’re going to be late,” a familiar voice calls. Several doors down stands my small group of childhood friends.

“You can daydream over dresses later,” Ramona says with a smile. “You know how Carol gets if we get off schedule.” She latches her arm through mine. “Come on. We have havoc to raise.”

My laughter echoes off the brick-faced buildings of what is now being called the French Quarter.

To me, it will always be Vieux Carré, but that’s why I’m not in charge.

The thought of the five of us raising havoc anywhere is ridiculous.

Getting behind schedule is the most dangerous thing any of us has ever done.

“Thanks to Violet, we are now five minutes late for Café du Monde,” Carol says. Her body language says more than her tone does. Slender arms are crossed in front of her chest, and her hip is cocked to the side. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s tapping a toe.

“I’m sorry, Carol. That dress back there reminded me of you. It would look beautiful with your eyes!” I smile with my words.

Carol immediately relaxes, matching my smile. “You think so?”

“Definitely. If we have more time, we should come back, and you should try it on.”

Those are the magic words. Carol seems to come back to reality. “Oh, my God. Six minutes late and three blocks away.”

We move quickly toward the river, passing buildings that are nearly past their prime. I’ve read stories of investors coming to Vieux Carré with intentions of cleaning up what remains of the French settlement and the Square. Until I see something happening, I won’t believe it.

“Why’d we park so far away?” Lily asks. Her long blonde hair glistens in the bright Louisiana sunshine. “I’m getting hot.”

“Because a little sun never hurt anyone,” Helen, the last of our group, answers. “We work inside a windowless room at the phone company five days a week. A little sun is just what the doctor ordered.”

“What are you talking about?” Carol asks, taking the words right out of my mouth.

“You know what I mean,” Helen answers.

“There it is.” Ramona points toward the building with bright green awnings. “The best beignets in New Orleans.”

“This is the perfect way to celebrate your wedding,” Lily says. “You’re the first of us to be married, and this is the perfect tradition to begin.”

“I agree,” Carol answers. “Only next time, we need to be better with our timing.”

“Carol, we’re not on a schedule. Relax and enjoy the powdery mess we’re about to partake in.” Truthfully, Carol isn’t my favorite. She’s always so worried about outward appearances that she exhausts me. I’ve tried to convince her to “live” a little since we were kids, never with any luck.

“You may not be on a schedule,” she retorts. “I’m always on a schedule.”

Ramona looks at me with eyes wide open. I know the look means to stop, but sometimes I’m a little bit of an ass.

“I’m not on your schedule, Carol. I’m not on anyone’s schedule.

” Carol turns, leading our pack the last block toward the café.

It’s clear that I’ve angered her, but I don’t care.

It’s certainly not the first time, and I doubt it will be the last.

“Don’t turn around, but I think someone is following us,” Helen whispers.

I turn, seeing a group of older women, several men covered in oil and dirt, and a family casually strolling the streets, all obviously heading toward the café. “Who are you talking about?”

“God, Violet. I said not to turn around!” she whisper-yells.

“You know listening is not one of Violet’s strong points,” Ramona says with a laugh.

“You might as well have told me to turn around and look,” I answer, agreeing with my bestie. “Who do you think is following us, the family, the workers just getting off shift, or the old women?”

“You don’t see him?” Helen asks.

“Who?” I turn, searching for the mysterious stranger.

Helen moves to my side. “There’s a man. He has long hair and looks out of place.

” It’s then that I see him. She’s right.

He looks like he’s from another world. He holds himself like he’s in a grand ballroom at St. Charles Avenue, rather than the gritty world of the French Quarter.

His out-of-place clothes are the first thing I notice.

He’s wearing a charcoal-colored suit that’s perfectly tailored and fits him like a glove, double-breasted and the fabric, catching the faintest hint of sunlight, whispers money and class.

His shirt is crisp white linen, and he’s wearing gloves…

gloves. The kind that are worn by men who are not meant to work with their hands.

Long dark hair is tied at the nape of his neck.

His style is far too unconventional for a Southern gentleman, and yet he wears it with such confidence that it feels deliberate.

Whoever he is, he doesn’t belong here. Yet, it’s clear he’s not lost.

“Violet, quit staring,” Helen warns. “He’ll see you.”

“I’m not sure if I mind him seeing me,” I answer. On cue, a faint smile forms on his lips…almost as if he can hear our conversation.

“We’re here and only eight minutes behind schedule. Everyone, decide what you want quickly,” Carol orders.

“It’s not like there’s an overwhelming amount of items to choose from. I think I’ll have a beignet and coffee,” I answer, sarcasm filling my tone.

“I’ll have the same,” the rest of the girls agree.

I glance behind us, searching for the well-dressed man, and realize he’s gone.

Disappointment fills me. We order and find a table large enough for all of us.

While the rest of my friends sit prim and proper, the way a lady should, I lean back in my chair, crossing my legs at the knee.

My grandmother probably just did a flip in her grave, but would she be surprised by my stubbornness? Probably not.

Our group spends the next half hour sharing stories of childhood, of our matching bridesmaids’ dresses, and what a beautiful bride Ramona will be. I’ve managed to eat three beignets with a minimal amount of powdered sugar covering me.

“Look at you,” Lily says, pointing at the sugar making its home on my bare skin.

“Maybe that guy will help wipe it off,” Helen teases.

“Oh, my God, Helen.” Carol covers her mouth in disgust. “Why must you talk about something so vulgar?”

“Carol, sex isn’t vulgar,” I retort. “It’s something that’s supposed to happen. It’s what we were made for.”

“Our bodies were not made to defile,” Carol argues.

“How do you think you were born?” Ramona asks, making me smile. “Unless you’re the long-lost sister of Jesus, you were conceived the same way as the rest of us.” Carol scoffs while wiping powdered sugar from her lap.

“There he is,” Helen whispers, as the man joins the line to order. “See, I told you he was following us.”

“Just because he’s at the same public restaurant doesn’t mean he’s following us. We’re in a large city with thousands of people.” Ramona speaks words of wisdom.

I focus on keeping my eyes level as he places his order. “Has Jonathan told you where the honeymoon will be yet?” Lily asks the bride-to-be.

Ramona smiles, showcasing sugar-covered lips. “No, but I think I’ve figured it out.” She claps her hands, throwing white powder everywhere. “Paris,” she says with a wide smile. “He’s taking me to Paris!”

“Oh, my,” Lily answers. “Are you sure?”

“No, but he asked me a few facts about the Eiffel Tower and mentioned I needed dresses like the French women wear.” Ramona’s smile covers her face.

“What if he’s going to bring you downtown?” Helen asks. Out of the five of us, Helen is the person who enjoys rattling the cage, as my mother would say.

“God, I hope that’s not what’s happening.” She sits up straighter. “However, if it is, then I’m good, as long as we’re together.”

“Gross,” Helen answers, making me laugh. “Men are just…”

“Not all of them,” Lily answers. She turns toward Ramona. “So, what does it look like?”

“What does what look like?” Ramona asks.

Lily’s face turns red in an instant. “You know. It. What does it look like?”

“Lily!” Carol chastises.

“Oh, don’t be such a prude, Carol. You’ll find out one day.” I join in.

“Then, I’ll wait until that day. Right now, I’m more interested in beignets.”

“Excuse me,” a deep voice says from nowhere.

I turn. Behind me is the very man we’re arguing about. He’s even more handsome up close than I could’ve imagined. Deep green eyes carry something I’m not sure how to explain. A mixture of mischief, beauty, and pain.

“Yes?” I answer, realizing I’ve been staring way too long.

“I couldn’t help but notice you lovely ladies.” He looks around our table, making eye contact with each woman, ending with me. “I wondered if I might join you?”

“I don’t think…” Carol starts.

“Of course,” I interrupt, making room for another chair at our table. “We’re celebrating an upcoming wedding.”

“A wedding? How wonderful. However, it saddens me.” His Southern accent is so thick, it feels fake. He slides an empty chair between Ramona and me.

“A wedding saddens you?” I ask.

He smiles, sending shivers down my spine. “It means one of you lovely ladies will be off the market. What a shame for men like me.”

“Are there more like you?” Lily asks, making me smile.

“A few,” he answers. “None quite as charming.” The women surrounding the table laugh in unison. The kind of laugh that’s expected in social situations.

“Are you ladies from New Orleans?” He takes the smallest sip of his coffee.

“Algiers,” Helen answers. “What about you?”

He crosses his long legs at the knees. “The Garden District.”

“Oh, I love the homes in the Garden District,” Lily answers.

“As do I,” he answers. “I’d love to host you ladies one day for a tour of my home and neighborhood.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Carol answers for the group. “How would that look? Five women going to a bachelor’s home…alone.”

“Who cares how it looks?” Ramona answers. “I’d love to see his home.”

“You’re engaged,” Carol argues. “How would Jonathan feel about that?”

The stranger holds up his hand. “No need to argue, ladies. Jonathan is welcome to come along.”

“See,” Ramona answers with a wave of her hand.

“May I know your names?” he asks, taking another sip and looking at Ramona.

One by one, my friends go around the table, introducing themselves to the handsome stranger. When it’s my turn, I can’t hide the smile that forms. “Violet Du Four,” I answer, not sounding like myself.

“Violet. What a beautiful name. I’ve always been partial to the color. The name suits you well.”

“Thank you,” I answer, trying not to blush.

“I must say, it has been a pleasure having coffee with you ladies. Thank you for allowing me to join you.”

“The pleasure was all ours,” Carol answers, using the proper etiquette that the rest of us don’t care about.

“Mr.?” I ask, hoping for a name.

The man bows his head gracefully. “Harrison Chamberlin, at your service.”