Chapter 51
Chapter fifty-one
Delilah
Darkness hung over the Garden District like a cloak, creating pockets of shadows that stared at me like Baptiste’s empty eye sockets from between the live oaks that lined the street.
Overhead, stars dotted the moonless sky, and a cool autumn breeze rustled the leaves, bringing with it the thick, muddy scent of the Mississippi River.
“Are you sure we’re not over dressed?” I asked for what felt like the three hundredth time.
“Trust me, cher.” You’ll fit right in.”
Glancing down at my outfit, I wasn’t sure I believed her.
After a very much needed nap, I had spent the afternoon holed up in the upper floors of the Hullabaloo Club, letting Mex dress me like a paper doll.
She’d had three other women present, lesser demons who apparently worked for her and specialized in fashion for some unknown reason, and they spent hours primping and curling and powdering me into submission.
The result was me, cinched into an impossibly frilly dress, my face powdered two shades too light, and my hair pinned on top of my head in a strange tower of ribbons and silk flowers that weighed a ton.
The dress—one of many that Mex seemed to have on hand—was a frothy, lacy, pastel thing with two wicker baskets on my hips that Mex’s girls had called panniers.
The baskets gave me a narrow waist and an excessively large-looking butt that I wasn’t at all happy about, but Mex insisted that it was what was needed.
The skirt was long in the back but cut high in the front, showing off far more leg than I thought was period-appropriate, but Mex insisted it exactly as it should be.
The worst part was the top, where my boobs, which were never very impressive to begin with, had been squished together and shoved up so high they nearly touched my chin.
The resulting look was like something out of a movie, and I was feeling awkward and out of place, no matter what Mex said about it.
I didn’t understand how the dress could be so cumbersome and yet so… slutty at the same time.
Rather than in her usual pouch, Pandora hung at my waist, nestled in an adorable draw string bag that Mex had acquired from somewhere. She seemed happy as a clam, and I envied her contentment, because I was struggling to handle my new and over the top wardrobe.
But it wasn’t just me; our entire group was decked out in period-appropriate clothing that Mex had procured for them.
The guys all looked incredibly stylish, wearing simple sets of pants, vests, and long coats, each with delicate embroidery and lace cuffs.
They looked sharp yet historical, and I was jealous that Mex had found them items that were both comfortable and fashionable.
Even Mal, who looked as though he’d much rather be wearing his feathers instead of expensive lace.
Mex’s own gown wasn’t quite as frilly and girly as mine, which I was also sour about.
Where mine was a pale powder blue with ivory lace, Mex wore a gorgeous red gown that looked to have rubies sewn onto the bodice.
The high cut of her skirt showed off a killer pair of knee high boots and a sexy lace garter belt that held a very sharp-looking knife.
The difference was ridiculous; she looked fierce and formidable while I felt more like Little Miss Muffet.
Letting out a huff, I trudged along, my uncomfortable heeled shoes clomping against the rough concrete sidewalk as we headed back to the Dubois mansion. Each step closer sent my senses buzzing; it was as though I could feel the relic calling me. A seductive serenade, tantalizing and dangerous.
I licked my lips, already knowing that Archer may have been right.
I should have stayed behind.
Turning off of St. Charles Avenue, it was only a few blocks before we found ourselves at our destination, and I realized that Mex had been right; the place may have appeared deserted during the day, but it was most definitely busy now.
The home was brightly lit, each window glowing with the warm yellow of candle light.
There was music drifting on the night air, something that sounded like a string quartet remixed with some heavy rock music, the bass guitar and drums complimenting the delicate strings in a way that I’d never thought would have worked.
The result was a sultry, sexy rhythm and a beat that you could feel in your bones.
The estate grounds were strewn with revelers, folks dressed similarly to me, and I felt immediate relief at seeing that I wasn’t the only one with basket hips and poofy hair.
Men and women dotted the yard, laughing and drinking, and as we entered the gate and made our way up the steps of the porch, I thought I heard the distinct sounds of moaning coming from behind one of the intricately designed topiaries.
What kind of party was this going to be, exactly?
“State your business,” came a low voice with a rich French accent.
Looking up, I realized we had been stopped at the door by a mountain of a man, his uniform and white gloves indicating he was in some sort of service to the house.
He was handsome, in a delicate way, his skin the palest porcelain and his eyes a blue so light they were nearly translucent.
It was the oddest combination I’d ever seen, and I found I couldn’t stop staring.
“We’re here for the party,” Vine answered, his tone light but his eyes hard.
“Demons aren’t welcome,” the man replied haughtily, and this time when he spoke, I noticed the two long, wickedly sharp fangs that resided behind his upper lip. “But we’ll gladly take the witch.”
Archer wasted no time, his responding growl drawing the man’s attention, and the two of them squared up, both clearly itching for a fight.
Mex, however, had other ideas.
“Easy, Arnaud,” she said, moving between the two snarling men. “We mean no harm. We simply require an audience with the Lady of the House.”
“Murmur.” His gaze assessed her, the disdain clear on his face, even if it was sprinkled with a reasonable amount of fear. “Do you have an appointment?” he questioned, looking down his nose at Mex.
“An appointment?” I could feel the rising anger radiating out of her as she stepped toward the stupid vampire who clearly thought he was more important than he actually was.
Through the bond, I could feel Archer’s sharp attention, his readiness to respond to whatever threat this vampire turned out to be.
“I don’t need an appointment to speak to one of the citizens in my district, do I? ”
“Uh…” was all the moron had to say.
“Don’t get it twisted, mon ami. You and your entire nest exist here at my fucking pleasure.
The only reason you’re even breathing that sweet Louisiana air is because I fucking allow it.
” Arnaud swallowed, his face going pale—well, paler.
“Now, you’re going to step away from the door and allow me and my friends to pass, or I will drag you and every single one of your blood sucking pals out of this house and stake your sorry asses deep in the bayou.
Sunrise’ll come, and there’ll be no one to hear you scream, ya? ”
“Oui. Oui, of course,” he stammered, stumbling back and sweeping one arm toward the double wide door that led into the house. “Apologies, madame. The Umbra Fratrum is always welcome in the House of Dubois.”
“Fucking right,” Mex huffed, leading us inside and not sparing the vampire butler another glance.
Archer guided me through the entry way, his hand on my lower back as we followed Mex, and I had to work to keep my jaw from hanging open.
Because a party at the Dubois Estate was like nothing I had ever seen before.
The music throbbed, the violin screeching in a way that was almost angry, and while there was candle light, it was apparently only in the windows, as the rest of the rooms were shrouded in near-darkness, glowing with soft, modern lighting in various colors.
We moved through the house, the sound of voices ebbing and flowing as we drifted from room to room.
Once again, there were people grouped in clusters, twos and threes huddled against walls or in door ways, their mouths fused together as their hands clutched and grasped, bodies undulating to the music in a way that I knew wasn’t just dancing.
In one corner, a woman leaned back against the wall, her head thrown back and her eyes closed in what appeared to be ecstasy. At first I was confused by her behavior—at least until I noticed the way her skirt shifted, the fabric rippling as the man on his knees moved beneath it.
Blushing, I looked away, only to be greeted by the sight of another woman, this one holding a thick chain in one hand.
At the other end of that chain was a kneeling man, his heavily muscled body on display, his chest and arms coated with a thick pelt of what appeared to be fur.
As I looked, I noticed his body was littered with several wicked-looking scars, some old, some very fresh, as though they had been made only tonight and were just beginning to heal.
Concerned, I snapped my gaze to his face, surprised to see that he was decidedly animalistic looking; his facial features were distinctly lupine, with an elongated nose and upward-tilted eyes.
Even his ears were slightly pointed at the tips and covered in a light dusting of his dark brown fur.
As I stared, his nose wrinkled, as though he’d smelled something unpleasant, and his wolf-like face suddenly whipped in my direction, those golden eyes zeroed in on me.
“Archer,” I whispered, trying to be subtle. I had no idea why his attention was suddenly on me, but, while his regard was intense, I didn’t think it was malicious.
More curious.
“Is that….?”