Tag Archives: French Quarter

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The Grand Escape

Each footstep down the winding stairs is part of a choreographed dance. I’ve memorized every board and nail that creaks under my weight. The iron balcony veiled by tropical plants makes my Vieux Carré apartment a gem. Only drawback…the landlady is a nosey bitch.

Forsaking the refuge of shade from the galleries, I walk down the middle of the narrow street, cloaking myself in vicious sunlight. At the moment of dusk, my escape will become dangerous, if not impossible. If they won’t change me, what choice do I have? The monsters prowl this labyrinth at night, flaunting their power and toying with me like a lab rat on the wheel to oblivion.

The beat up convertible is parked close to where I left it. Fishing the key from under the seat, I pump the gas and the engine turns over. Fuel gauge is a little lower that I remember. In spite of the heat, driving with the top down is the perfect disguise.

Damn seat belt is still jammed and useless.

Long after I make the final turn out of the cramped neighborhoods, I allow my lungs their first full breath. The brackish air tastes of rusty mud and angry fish. All that remains between me and freedom is the gauntlet of an old bridge over a sea, masquerading as a lake. The pedal under my foot sinks to the floor and the little jalopy leaps into the fading light. Tapping my finger on the glowing screen of my phone, I glance at the GPS, then glue my eyes back to the rickety road and aim for the dotted line.

Grim shadows loom in the dangling mirror. Adjusting the wobbly reflection does nothing to make me feel safer from clouds that roil behind me like a tsunami of evil. I toss my phone in the back seat and slam both feet on the gas pedal until the sign comes into view.

Liberty, salvation, the threshold of a new life.

New Orleans City Limits

The figure appears in front of me, out of thin air. No fog, no flash…just a man in the road where there was none a second ago. Before I can hit the brakes, the car flips through the air as if thrown by the hand of Zeus. Steel collapses into a death cage around me, right before the car careens through the guardrail. Instead of plunging into the dark water, my face collides with crumbling pavement.  

Nausea from the metallic taste in my throat hits right before the burn of road rash ignites every inch of my body. I force my eyes open to find a phantom standing over me.

The man rakes one hand through his jet black hair. “Think you’d get away so easily?”

“Aren’t you?” Blood gurgles from my mouth, spilling into a puddle under my chin. “The doctor from—”

“Chief of staff at the trauma center where you work.” He answers.

“So, you can save me.”

“Oh, I will.” The doctor rubs the salt and pepper of his goatee. “And grant you what you’ve been searching for.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“The magic. If you still desire it.”

“It’s been the ultimate tease…all this time. It was either leave town or go insane.”

The doctor unsnaps his cufflinks. “That’s part of the test, young lady.”

“How did you find me?” Through an explosion of searing pain, I turn onto my back and stare at the moon’s silver ring. “I took every precaution.”

“Look at yourself.”

Blinking back tears, I lift mangled hands in front of my face. Flecks of color sparkle through blood and grime.

Dr. Monster rolls up his sleeves. “The glitter of our city is all over you.”

 

 

 

 

In case you missed the beginning,

The Grand Plan  

https://monstersnangels.com/2016/10/26/souvenir/

 

 

 

 

 

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The Grand Plan

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The afternoon alarm rattles the roots of my teeth. I flail for my phone to end the noise, but throwing it across the room isn’t an option. Without that little GPS, the escape plan doesn’t have a prayer of success. My hand brushes across a cut above my eye…the dawn of an ugly scar. Somehow, I managed to fight off last nights’ attacker, but it was the last straw.

The final sign—time to move on.

Years ago, I arrived in the Crescent City for a long weekend. Seduced by a thinly veiled promise of magic, I never left. The quest for a spell to make me like the ancient guardians, immune, immortal, forever beautiful…remains unfulfilled.

Tonight’s the night. It’s been lurking on the horizon. Despite every cell in my body screaming in protest, I’m breaking off this love affair with a city that’s been nothing but pain and heartbreak. The heat and the storms are scary enough. Now, even the monsters need to watch their backs on the street.

The clock ticking in my stuffy apartment echoes the hammering pulse in my ears. One peek through the crooked shutters reveals heat rising from the cobbled streets like roiling fog. I twist damp strands of hair and pin them high off my neck.

Get out now, leave everything behind.

My eyes scan the apartment and land on a mahogany armoire with dangling doors. A flash of color from the top shelf sends me rummaging for jewelry. Natural clumsiness knocks everything else down on my head. Carrying stuff could drag me down, but leaving these masks is a crime. Each one is a piece of local art bought for a specific holiday. Jammed in the back, the blue mask calls my name. I climb over the pile of costumes to grab sapphire beads and tassels. 

Just this one…to remember it all, and hold on to the fringe of my shattered dreams.

 

To be continued…

 

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From the cutting room floor…

The original prologue for Monsters and Angels…long since rewritten and blended into the story…

Holy men, healers and horn players—unlikely allies in society, yet brothers in the unique glory of Crescent City royalty. Villains, artists and creatures of the night flipped their collars up and bowed their heads to Mother Nature, driven into hiding by rare frost in the Deep South.

All, except one.

Raimond ignored the glare of the bar lights and the bite of the wind. His commanding stride propelled him to a decaying house just past the point where the sidewalk turned dangerously dark.

Dangling gutters and crippled railings blended one home into the next for blocks at a time. He found the decline of the area tragic, yet the beauty remained visible in lace ironwork and stained glass… if one looked past the ruined surface, into the elegant disrepair.

Black doctor’s bag in hand, Raimond rapped an ancient knocker against the warped oak door. Tonight’s mission would be specific, an act of compassion in sharp contrast to the excess and debauchery that made the city famous. This visit served as the first step in his recommitment to an oath taken decades ago; complacency and apathy had derailed him for long enough.

If he was completely honest with himself, his actions were selfish. After all, the endurance of his own kind was directly linked to humanity’s survival. He took a wistful look at the crisp, full moon before he entered the sagging house, once the most glamorous jewel in the neighborhood.

 

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Found A New Friend

“What are you doing here?” 

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Thats a good question, even though it’s from a lizard. Usually when a visit New Orleans, I post a spooky French Quarter picture or cryptic poem. Not this time. I barely got on the plane and I’ve been somewhat lost all weekend.

My little green friend spied me at the pool, and puffed out his neck when I tried to take his picture. The next day I opened my eyes to find him staring at me. Again.

“Maybe you can stay.” He stomped away on his tiny feet. “Maybe.” 

So, today he sat on the wall next to me, gazing at the pool shenanigans in the great jungle of the courtyard. My personal guard lizard.

“I’ve changed my mind. You do belong here.”

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Casting Call

 

 

 

Sometimes, I forget how it happened…the rush of being swept away by characters that didn’t exist until the moment they stepped out of the smoke and took the stage.

Three years ago this month, in a January darkened by the aftermath of a different storm, the first story was born.

It was intense, exhausting, addictive, and I’ve discovered…incredibly elusive. The newest cast members have a mind of their own.

While I wait, my mind wanders…to stained glass windows and dangling shutters that framed strange faces…along alleys lined with crooked doorways, when haunting footsteps echoed next to mine. Back to the shadowy labyrinth where I met the monsters…

A doomed commander, blessed with the heart of a savior,

A blood slave, hiding her exotic appetite,

A perfect prince, arrogant and viciously flawed,

A trained healer, born to be a killer,

A legendary warrior, incapable of simple trust,

A second son, unwilling to be held hostage,

A brilliant politician, searching for courage to love,

A city behind walls, glittering and moody, ravaged and reborn,

And a fledgling nurse with the soul of an angel, carrying a spirit fierce enough to make them all family.

La nuit sans fin…

 

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Hear My Prayer…

 

In the dead of night, on the year’s longest night.

Decades ago I saw this castle for the first time, spires soaring into the jeweled winter sky.

 On this night, when drums of darkness triumph over the sun, our coven is still celebrating Nightside Mass around the corner.

A decadent party for them…pure torture for me.

A festive crowd, with a dismal vacancy.

My footsteps on these checkered tiles should be the miracle of a lifetime.  

Forbidden spells have been cast.

Instead it’s my desperate cry for help.

Obscene ransoms paid.

My fingers squeeze the offerings jammed in my pockets.

Hallowed doors click shut.

No turning back now.

Stone cherubs flash impossible smiles and flags flutter in dead-still air.

Candles spark to pale, blue life as I pass.

No thunder claps.

Flames flare to a sapphire burn when I kneel in front of the altar.

No bolts of lightning. Yet.

In my left hand, a crimson rose. In my right, a string of flawless diamonds.

Black wisps of smoke flash across stained glass.

I offer my prayer, to anyone willing to listen.

Silence, broken only by rustling in empty pews.

The love of my life is missing.

The eternal, binding ceremony is mere weeks away.

Gone, in search of answers to ancient puzzles.

In the dead of night, on this sacred night,

I beg you, my ancestors…help me bring him home.

 

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Elegant Disrepair

They found the Quarter just as they left it, a kingdom where time seemed to stand still and perpetually sagging buildings were held up by invisible forces.

Damn, I missed this place,

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That one drew blood…

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How did I get here?

Today started as a joyful blur. From an early morning takeoff in the frosty northeast to wheels down in the sultry mist, I couldn’t wait to fill my lungs with New Orleans air and feel home vibrate beneath my feet.

Follow the ritual.

First steps, choreographed decades ago, have grown more complex with each visit. Whether it’s an extra block upriver, an unplanned turn to browse a gallery, glimpsing a favorite fountain through iron lace, or stopping to stare at the newest café menu…the potholes never change and every walk ends in the same place.

Café-au-lait in a paper cup is delicious.

Standing on the levee and watching the mighty Mississippi swirl her way to the Gulf, opens history’s treasure chest. Every time I turn back to see the glory of Jackson Square, I take a picture. It’s 2015 and I’ve got a computer full of digital images along a box of snapshots, frayed and worn at the edges. But, the most cherished memories were made with my human eyes. Back when life was innocent—before the trip and the accident. Before the change.

My hands are tingling.

The walk back through town was haphazard and impulsive. Chasing snippets of melody, following whiffs of fragrance down crooked alleys and peeking through stained glass windows…again, it ended where it always does.

My sanctuary.

Stepping through the scrolled gate delivered me from the Quarter’s worship of the preposterous, into a veiled oasis. Gurgling water and flickering candles, delicately powerful enough to soothe monsters.

The flagstones feel like ice under my back.

The trail of blood was a surprise—old and new. Pools of rusty liquid seeping into ground, mingling with the fresh life dripping from my fingertips.

Was I bitten or stung?

Stone goblins spun like drunken puzzles pieces, their cracks and splinters healing as though time was speeding backwards. Vines raced across the walls like warped vipers. A distant clock chimed twice, choked and started ringing at random intervals.

The damn time.

I dragged my watch in front of my eyes long enough to see hands whirling in both directions.

How did I forget the cursed hour?

My courtyard full of flowers exploded in glitter and ash.

Just one hour.

Sapphire blooms danced around my face. Petals baring fangs.

That one that drew blood.

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The Night Before…

Blackhawk helicopters, visiting fish, firemen popping out of trash cans, cursed drinks flying off the bar, trick-or-treating controversy, soft jazz and puppies in the seance room, guests eating at the ghost’s table and witches cackling over take out containers.

Voodoo Fest, Halloween on a Saturday night, biblical rain in the forecast…a seamless dovetail of the preposterous.

No worries—it’s the French Quarter.

“Guests in the kitchen!”