Where The Power Hides

In the muggy air of a cavern under the Old U.S. Mint, Sorcha’s long curls puffed with freedom as if held up by a devilish breeze.

“Let’s get started.” Ivori rubbed her palms together. Her eyes flashed orange as she mumbled peculiar lyrics in a foreign tongue. Smokeless fire erupted in a circle of rocks.

“What, exactly, are we summoning here?” Lock asked.

“Not what. Who,” Ivori answered, “All of us are searching for someone. Picture that person in your mind.”

Draven groaned and let blond wisps cover his face. “My Gwyenvere.”

Sorcha slipped back to a night in Nepal, the eve of a tragedy.

Lock flashed his brilliant violet eyes, but remained silent.

“I know it’s painful.” Ivori played an invisible piano with one hand while pouring the contents of a sachet in a perfect circle with the other. “No need to speak names aloud.”

“Is that—” Draven choked and held his nose. “Bone?”

“Teeth, actually.” Ivori emptied a vial of black syrup in the center of the circle. “From a shark who is still very much alive.”

“What a comfort.” Lock followed Ivori’s pointing finger to a metal box. “May I help?”

“Just with the latch.” She watched him spin the mechanism until the lid sprung open. A twisted, rusty arrow lay next to a perfectly polished dagger and a sapphire candle.

Sorcha rolled her eyes.

“Oh, it gets weirder even before I cut you…and myself.” Ivori deflected angry stares. “First, everyone needs to clear their minds and envision the moment when you were strongest.”

“My apologies—no.” Draven bolted up. “This sounds preposterous.”

“I want to hear her plan.” Sorcha yanked him back down. “We’ve had no luck doing this on our own.”

Ivori dipped the blue candle’s wick in the fire and set it on the altar. “If you can evoke your soul at its most powerful—the instant when you embodied the best of all your dreams—that force can summon anyone across all realms of the universe. I think.”

“You think?” Sorcha threw her hands in the air.

“So,” Lock said, “I just picture that occasion in my head?”

“Project the vision in front of you, like a personal widescreen. Once you’ve got it, raise your hand.” Ivori looked from face to face and waved the candle over the puddle of syrup, directing the liquid outward into the circle of bone. The mixture ignited flames that crawled until the ring was complete. Ivori looked up to see three raised hands.

“All ready.” Draven faked a smile.

“Perfect.” Ivori grabbed the dagger and raced around the fire pit. “This next part goes pretty quick. Don’t do anything until I tell you to, but keep concentrating.”

Draven and Lock each hissed when she sliced their palms. Sorcha didn’t flinch when Ivori cut both her hands at once.

“Now.” Ivori ran back behind the fire. “Men, squeeze a few drops into this circle.”

The moment Draven and Lock’s blood mingled, they were knocked back onto the benches.

 Ivori sliced her own flesh over the flames and snapped her eyes to Sorcha. “Your turn.”

When Sorcha’s blood touched the ring, the ground began to quake.

“Men, be ready to join hands with her when this metal pierces wood.” Ivori raised the twisted arrow over her head and drove it toward the altar. “Now!”

The three slammed their hands together and the jolt started with the men. The blood of two ancient dynasties filled the air with black and gold sparks.

Sorcha looked to the weapon in Ivori’s hand and then into the girl’s inky black eyes. A low growl escaped her lips. Force leapt from her chest, rippled the air and plunged into the earth under their feet.

Each vampire’s perfect vision swirled overhead until their solid bodies flickered and finally distorted.

Draven’s shift solidified first. His modern suit became a classic, midnight tuxedo. His fingers gripped an open box. A ruby ring glittered in the velvet center.

Lock’s appearance dissolved next. Instead of the black t-shirt and jeans he arrived in, he now wore his full military uniform. Royal insignia lined his shoulders and medals covered his chest.

Sorcha dropped her gaze and changed last. Her eyes blazed with blue fire and her long hair became a chin-length, bob. Her porcelain skin melted away, replaced by the snarling face of a tiger.

Ivori flung her arms out and threw back her head to a cacophony of drunken notes. “By the power of a lone trumpeter’s call, the roar of a warrior’s charge, and the murmurs of saints and phantoms that bow to our sovereign—I summon all the lost souls home!”

 

 

 Read Part 1..

Snapshots Of A Stray Parade

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 The painting in the photo is by artist, Dorothy Collier. You can find her work at http://www.dorothycollier.com

This was my favorite find on a recent New Orleans adventure…now beautifully framed and hanging on my wall.

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Snapshots Of A Stray Parade

 

The streets allowed a ghostly grey limousine to invade their labyrinth. The car swung wide around tight corners, slowing every time a pack of vibrant revelers crossed its path. Shiny tires crunched to a stop in a parking lot on the neighborhood’s edge.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Sorcha rapped on the smoked glass until it disappeared. “I said I missed the French Quarter, but actually being here makes me…”

“For years, not a soul on earth could pry you out of this district.” The blond man squinted at a handwritten note. “Ivori and Charmaine are waiting in the lobby.” 

“Feels lonely.” Sorcha gazed down the tapered alley at snapshots of a stray parade. “Or empty? Might just be me.”

“It’s positively hollow.” He tossed the crinkled paper to the only other person in the car. “I’ve deciphered that scribble correctly, Lock?”

“Indeed you have, sir.” Lock kicked the car door open and grabbed for Sorcha’s hand. “Leave that dreadful device here.”

“It’s brand new.” Sorcha pulled her phone away from Lock, just to have it plucked away again. “Seriously, Draven?”

Draven flung Sorcha’s phone to the farthest corner of the car. “Doesn’t the incessant, social connection exhaust you?”

“Nothing feels like the old days, except the weather.” Sorcha peeled off her sweater and glared into the dark limousine before tossing the garment. “But, what if?”

“Anyone you’re looking for…” Lock pulled her away. “Has no need for that.”

The trio crossed the gravel lot, rounded a saltwater pool and stopped in the middle of a checkerboard floor. They found two girls drumming their fingers on a mahogany desk. Disguised in the realm of the concierge, a hidden door admitted them to tunnels below the building.

“It’s a sauna down here.” Sorcha swept the hair off her neck and twisted it into a loose knot.

“When you mentioned an Equinox reunion, Ivori, I assumed you meant something spectacular.” Draven touched the muddy wall and cringed. “Or at least, uplifting.”

“Nights of grand balls and original dresses are history.” Ivori walked into the pitch black. “Y’all took your sweet time getting here.”

“We were in opposite corners of the earth.” Lock’s frown was unveiled when Charmaine struck a match and lit her torch.  “I was hoping for an enchanted courtyard.”

“Me.” Sorcha raised her hand. “The cathedral bell tower.”

“This will be better.” Ivori stopped so short, everyone crashed into her back. “None of your supernatural eyes saw the big door?”

Charmaine pulled chalk from her pocket and began to write. She waited for each letter to disappear before she scripted the next. When the jumble was finished, a steel barrier slid open. Ivori strutted past and snapped her fingers.

“Aren’t you coming with?” Sorcha tugged on Charmaine’s sleeve.

“I’m playing gatekeeper tonight.” Charmaine handed her the torch. “I need to be here when the spell is complete.”

“Just lovely.” Draven growled when Ivori disappeared into the maze of shadows.

“Let’s humor her.” Lock tucked dark hair behind his ear and urged them forward.

“Bar noise, coffee-shop racket.” Draven pointed to the corridor’s grimy ceiling. “Is that traffic?”

“We’re under Decatur Street,” Ivori said, “Clueless fool.”

“Your creepy friend has grown nastier over the years.”

“Draven, calling her my friend is a bit—” Sorcha howled and dropped to her knees.

“That would be the railroad tracks.” Ivori scampered back and yanked Sorcha to her feet. “Suck it up.”

Sorcha took a deep breath and slammed across the barrier. She turned back to see Lock and Draven stroll past the same spot, unaffected. “What the hell?”

“That steel is the boundary of your city, girl. Not theirs.” Ivori dragged her forward. “Now that we’re on the fringe, maybe we can send some messages.”

“Infernal drumming.” Sorcha clamped her hands over her ears.

“That, even I can hear.” Draven clenched his jaw. “Can we get to the bloody point before we all go deaf?”

“It’s the river,” Ivori said, “Just swallow to equalize the pressure—like in your private jet.”

 The tunnel flared into chamber with solid walls and a tile floor. Crude benches surrounded a round fire pit.

“This is unexpected.” Draven ran his fingers over glittering gems set at regular intervals in cut stone.

“Sit down, it’s nearly midnight. The currents are whispering.” Ivori loomed over the fire pit and emptied her deep pockets. She arranged an array of sachets, vials and boxes onto a low altar. “Sorcha, center bench.”

Draven whispered in Sorcha’s ear. “Creepy enough?”

Sorcha choked back a giggle and Lock smacked her shoulder.

Ivori glared at them until the room was dead still. She tipped her head side to side in the heavy air and motioned to Sorcha’s hair. “Take it down, glamour girl. That’s where all your power hides.”

 

To be continued…

Where The Power Hides

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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…

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.