A sparkling jewel on the hill. Scores of windows, draped in velvet and gold, tiny portals to the magic within.  Glowing warmth, welcome and refuge to all.

The white fortress–that’s how it was, as I remember it.

This is how it is–the haunted ruin, as I see it.

Darkness and gloom stretch for miles. Acres of fields and garden overgrown. Mother Nature and the bayou, once again victorious.

I brush away dust and mud to reveal what remains of our grand foyer. A lonely tribute  to the the golden age of a Duke and his court.

Countless footsteps, the dizzying waltz, the bold brass band and the tragedy of fire and spilled blood. The old tiles wear history well–still defiant and gleaming after all these years.

Handcrafted in marble and gilded in gold. One simple letter.



The thunder beneath your feet? The sizzle up your spine?

Centuries-old legend scribed by authors, glorified by film makers, embellished in the endless imagination of dreamers–yet faced with proof–all ignore it.

The hiss in the alley, the growl ’round the corner?

Look deep in your liquor, stare hard at your lover, believe what keeps you sane but the answer is simple.

I’m here, I’m home. It was me.


From the top of the world to the lowest depths of hell.
Both families–each dynasties in their own right and polar opposites linked for eternity. Mismatched souls united by blood and tragedy, wielding power reserved for miraculous survivors.

For my human family, I kept my promise of honor and legacy. For my coven, I’ve led them back from the brink of extinction. Our new foundation has roots in every corner of the earth. Combined forces, supernatural and mortal building blocks. My humble insurance plan–strength in numbers, eyes and ears in all subcultures.

The Banitierres will never be ambushed again.

Devils, Kings and Fools

I may have returned to New York City, but once the whistle blew I never looked back. Not even once.

Somewhere I still have it, that crumpled ticket with the faded black ink, passage booked to another world. My prayers and dreams gambled on big wheels–dirty, dusty, weary from the rails. I boarded an escape missile from the past and an escort to the future, armed only with what was on my back and in my heart.
Promised healers and saviors, I found travelers. Fools–genuine and fraudulent. Kings–noble and criminal. Some pure, others cursed to serve the devil–and the congregation in between.

On the day that was the last, forever there was darkness and all the sunlight past.

Wicked Flair

I always believed life and love followed the shape of an hourglass. Wide open with possibility at birth, difficult and treacherous in the middle and abundant with joy and freedom at the end.
As odd as it has been, my journey resembled that formula–until it didn’t. My saga, mine and my family’s, is not so simple. Right when I thought we were safe, monsters beaten and enemies destroyed, our passage burst apart. Dozens of glass tunnels branched in every direction–so very similar to the twisted, gnarled roots of an old swamp tree that disappear into black water and emerge far away, in the most unexpected locations. Their hidden time mutates–evolves their texture, color and their true essence forever.
Our hourglass must have been hand blown by an devious artist. A genius with vision, creativity and more than a trace of wicked flair.

The Match

I watch in awe as both monsters meet their match, the two rolling as one, an imperceptible tangle of mud and limbs.
Heat rises behind my skin as killer instinct floods my throat, triggered by the life and death battle waged in front of me. I crouch close to the edge of the swamp, looking–waiting for a chance to join the fight.
Come on–let me in!
The master finally grants me an opening–truly just a fraction of a second.
I glimpse the lighter coloring of the beast’s underbelly and lunge with all the power caged behind my burning, blue eyes.