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"Ambitious and fiercely original. Sondi Warner is the exciting new voice we've all been wai...
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September 8 | Before Daybreak
I left Mys' studio with a mind to stroll awhile and return when my temper was in check. Somehow, I ended on a quest to see the voodoo loa, and I realized maybe that had been my subconscious intent all along.
But not even a half-hour after finding the place, I shot through the cinderblock wall and stumbled away from the address on the business card. It had been a mistake to come. A drunk man sleeping on the landing turned bloodshot eyes toward me. I fled in the opposite direction.
Loud music thumped from one apartment despite the pre-dawn hour. Conversations meandered behind closed doors. Arguments festered, and babies cried. This place was alive, but I didn't belong here. A paint-scarred door opened, and a gaggle of teens poured out from another unit, but I ran straight through them. Their jubilant laughter seemed to chase me from the poorly lit hallway.
I squeezed the crumpled business card in a fist as I raced down another flight of stairs. Finally, I spilled into the rainy morning and peered up at the building. I hadn't met the loa. I had met one of her priestesses, instead. She had told me I couldn't see anyone without an offering, and I couldn't return to life without a sacrifice.
A human sacrifice.
Shaking my head, I took off walking in the downpour. The lightning and thunder didn't bother me. I was beyond it. I trudged through puddles that didn't shift beneath my feet. I hugged myself for warmth I didn't need. Disappointment curled in my stomach. I wouldn't live again. I was dead, and that was final.
The dreary New Orleans' scenery passed unnoticed. I didn't pay attention to the black car that wound up on every street I took, although I did happen to see the hooded figure loitering near a stop sign who fox-whistled when I trudged past. Groaning inwardly at the thought of getting catcalled even in the Afterlife, I ignored him, but he jogged after me.
"Hey, mamas. Got whatever you need. None of that human bullshit. Crack is whack. I got Volupt, got that Obliviscor," he ticked off what I presumed were drug names since he jiggled a pill bottle at me.
I tucked into myself and walked faster. "I'm not here for that, thanks. I want to be left alone." Without regard to what I said, he fell in step beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed scales flaring and disappearing on his skin.
"You ain't from 'round here, is you?" he asked.
I stopped to confront him. "Seriously, back all the way the fuck off."
That's when I saw the black car pull curbside just ahead and a driver come around and open the door. I stared warily until Darcy Cyprian leaned his head out and flashed a pleasant smile. He wore sunshades, in spite of the storm. Also, his chauffer shielded him from the cloud-covered sky with an oversized black umbrella. Otherwise, I think the vampire would have fried.
"Leave," Darcy said to the drug dealer.
My harasser backpedaled so fast that he tripped and fell before sprinting off. I stared icily at my "rescuer." As I strode past Darcy's open door, the nightwalker stepped from the Rolls Royce. Though the car was clearly out of place in the ghetto, the aura emanating from him kept anyone from approaching.
