Tag Archives: French Quarter

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Just Like You

Rain, rain and more rain. Gloom makes it easy to hunt, but the quality of blood wandering the streets? Seriously lacking.
I did it again tonight–just once, but once is enough.

You probably thought I wasn’t paying attention or assumed I disapproved so vehemently that I took no notice of your method. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Anonymous, brutal and wickedly sexy. No need to cover my tracks. My bite is so precise, almost surgical, it would take a microscope to see the wounds. My prey certainly never see me coming–or leaving. I drop them in a crumpled heap where they stood.

A viper, a reaper, an unapologetic monster …just like you.

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Until Next Year…

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At midnight, it was technically over. The beads, drinking, news coverage and the official police sweep of Bourbon Street. Over for the outsiders. Locals and mortals all know the fun is just beginning. With the eyes of the world elsewhere, the city can drift back to the Crescent version of normal.

Bring on unbridled mischief and joyful mayhem until the unforgiving daggers of sunlight drive us underground. Wicked is just firing up in secret chambers where the Mississippi’s power thunders only inches away.

Yes, if you’re looking at your calendars…it’s been weeks since Mardi Gras. This is the first night I’ve been drawn out into the fresh air. Perfect timing to witness spring exploding and watch Mother Nature and legendary spirits walk hand in hand.

New Orleans is never herself until magic reigns free.

Until next year…

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Walk With Phantoms

bedlam

Can you walk by without stopping?

This humble door is an escape portal.

Resist the temptation for another look?

Silence and serenity are illusions.

Fight that impulse to sneak down the corridor?

Once your footfalls echo in the hallway, you’re hooked. Everyone receives a different gift from the courtyard. Snippets of clandestine conversation, pulsating dancers in hazy darkness, or the giggle of a bride on her wedding night. Flashes of history glimpsed through the fountain’s eyes. Remnants of passion sentenced to mingle forever in a purgatory of brick…until a brave mind happens by.

You’re fed what your soul secretly craves.

Feel the pull. Take the chance.

 Walk with phantoms.

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Rip It Up

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I want it gone.

That bar room map, the daggers, chess pieces and smudged crayon crosses.

My soul weeps for my city-divided, carved up and ruined. This war needs to end-no matter what. I’ll bite my tongue, cut my hair and even sleep with the enemy to restore order to New Orleans.

A long shot-maybe.

When it’s all over, bells of freedom will toll in the tower of St. Louis, isolated blocks will blend back into the Old Vieux Carre and the soul of our great city will sing with rebirth. Sparkling rockets will glisten on the river as criminals and their ceremonial weapons dissolve in the mist.

Against the odds-definitely.

But, we’re the good guys. My ten year-old daughter told me so.

To my family in their days of innocence and starry eyed laughter, the gentle spirit of a Doctor who dedicated his career to those in need, the honor of my Father who defended Great Britain with his life, and my Mother who made me the woman I am today…I vow to fill you all with pride.

Now, whatever I do with my fiancée on the polished star of that antique table-I’ll close the curtains first.

There’s a child in the house.

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One-eyed ghost

 

 

imageIt’s one o’clock-did you see it? Every light in the French Quarter dimmed and flickered. The annual hour of limbo-sixty minutes that don’t exist.

Sixty blessed minutes to mingle

Tonight’s that night…when the fragile wall splinters. The streets flood with tragically damaged, hopelessly fractured and eternally lost souls who never find peace-not even in death.

Sixty fleeting minutes to roam.

Master vampires extend their hands, packs of wolves open their hearts, ancient covens lay down their magic and have a nightcap with a one-eyed ghost.

 

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Free

Who knew the legend was true?

Vampires actually sleep in coffins when they aren’t in fancy homes where curtains guarantee protection from the burning rays of the sun. Breathing isn’t necessary for the sense of smell to work but I do it anyway. It makes me feel alive.

This past week I’ve glimpsed the beauty of being truly still in the company of one’s soul mate.

This trip has been interesting and enlightening, but if I didn’t know it before, I’m positive now. The river plantation and New Orleans are our homes, these places certainly are not. As spectacular as it is, the mansion is no place for a newborn. Blood donated from slaves quenches thirst but does nothing to satisfy his true hunger.

My lover asked me to free him–long ago–on the first night he drank my blood.

The French Quarter beckons nightly, calling us home in her sultry voice.

Will we ever be free?