Tag Archives: Vampire

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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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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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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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Craving

 

The wilted crowd dwindled as party-goers stumbled into the darkness, hurried home or hailed cabs. Only the drunkest were brave enough to stroll the streets, along with those who had nothing to fear from ordinary predators.

A man with jet-black hair loosened his silk tie and slowed his step in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Stop…stopping.” Steven crashed into him and bounced off as if he hit a steel wall.

The dark man’s eyes glazed over as he stared past a striped awning and into the soft light of the all-night kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” A young woman ran her hand over his midnight blue suit.

“I miss this.” He inhaled the aroma of coffee and fried oil. “So much it hurts.”

“Then quit breathing, fool.” Steven tried to pull the woman away. “When’s your boyfriend going to learn—can’t have luxuries from both worlds.”

“Not necessarily true.” She tapped her chin. “There’s a compromise.”

“At least the take-out line isn’t hideous—” Steven stepped over stains on the concrete and shuddered. “Mercy, this needs to be hosed down.”

“We’ll sit.” The woman said, pulling her boyfriend along as he tilted his head at the clink of spoons on white china.

“You’ve got to be joking.” Steven pointed to the disarray of tables and chairs. “To sip black coffee?”

“Like old times.” She pushed past him and shot a look over her shoulder. “Please?”

“I’m overdressed for this…a bit like that filthy bar crawl your forced me to endure, so we could hear rock music that made my ears bleed.” Steven whipped the silk square out of his lapel pocket. “Doesn’t this ensemble just scream smoky jazz club?”

“Screams something.” The man’s eyes wandered up a waitress’s arm as she poured coffee. He lingered on the pulse of her neck.

“You’ve had plenty of that tonight.” The woman snapped her fingers in front of his face and pushed a plate of powdered sugar across the table. “Try a different treat.”

The man dropped a pinch of sugar on his tongue. “It’s safe—for us, I mean?”

“Bit juvenile.” Steven rolled his eyes. “But, won’t kill you.”

The woman dropped her head to the table when her boyfriend smashed the plate into his own face.

“That man,” Steven poked her shoulder and waved away a blizzard of powder. “All yours. My hand to—”

“If you say God,” The man licked sugar off his knuckles. “I’ll break your scrawny neck.”

Steven raised his hand next to his face, straightening one finger at a time. “—to whoever’s in charge of this debacle.”

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Sapphire and Tears

Times of grief and battle

Two souls laid to rest

Separate, once as human

Eternal sisters, joined at last

Sorcha stepped off the streetcar, into the leafy tunnel of Washington Ave. “How did you get the cemetery opened after dark?”

“I know the family who owns that restaurant.” Steven pointed at crisp green and white awnings. “They have pull with the mayor, and I’m sure he’s six drinks deep in the back bar.”

“He’ll want six more when he sees the overtime bill.” A sea of blue uniforms parted in front of her. “You found so many musicians.”

“All in town for a new Jazz festival. Could be an annual event, if it catches on. Twelve cent martinis didn’t hurt, either.”

“Our friends both had proper funerals?” Sorcha followed him under the arched gate, into the city of the dead.

“Respectable, but not nearly what they deserved. This city can do better.” Steven’s footsteps crunched along the candle-lit walkway. He plucked bills from the pocket of his black blazer and traded them for an armful of roses, placing flowers at each crypt and reserving the lion’s share for the last tomb on the left. “My family. A tree with only dead branches.”

The breeze through budding magnolias and a distant saxophone punctuated a rare moment of silence.

“So,” Steven chose one rose from the bouquet. “You still want to see her?”

“The weeping angel?”

“Right this way.” Steven forced himself to walk like a human until he was cloaked in shadow. His secret key turned tumblers in the crypt door. A wave of his hand ushered Sorcha in.

“The angel is blindfolded.”

“Damn, I looked everywhere else for that thing.” He slipped his silk tie off the statue and pointed up to the skylight. The noise of debris being cleared away was followed by a handsome grin and flashing eyes. “I, or, we…you know. First time, right here.”

“That’s just…only you.” Sorcha squeezed his hand and turned her attention to the grieving angel, wilted across the altar. “She’s exquisite.”

“And heartbreaking.” Steven handed over the last rose. “I always bring a gift.”

Sorcha spun the flower in her hand and crouched in front of a lifeless face, marred by eternal tears. She puffed air from her lips and blew red dust off the bloom, leaving sapphire petals behind. Energy sizzled through her fingertips and surged into the stone.

Steven sat down hard on the marble floor. “I don’t believe it.”

Weathered veneer crumbled as the angel’s mouth turned up at the corners. Delicate hands grasped the rose from Sorcha’s palm before freezing again.

“Yes, you do believe it. Anything can happen in this town.” Sorcha dragged her friend back to his feet. “I hear the horn section getting restless.”

He flashed into the crescent moonlight. “Handkerchiefs?”

“Looks like half the city’s out here.” She handed him a square of snow-white silk.

“It’s a long walk to the cathedral. The other half will join us along the way.” Steven took his place behind the brass band. A snap of his fingers sent somber notes wailing into night. “Let’s make history. “

To The Second Line…

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So perfect, so tragic…

So Anne Marie, tell me about Monsters and Angels in one sentence.

How about one picture?

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“We don’t choose who we love.”

                        -Sorcha Alden

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NYC to NOLA, One Nurse’s Journey

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Tonight I had the pleasure of visiting a historic, French Quarter residence to interview Sorcha B. Alden,  a 2015 nominee for the “Light Up Every Room” award. A career nurse, Sorcha was born September 3, 1916 and has cared for patients around the world in her quest to relieve suffering and celebrate every precious moment of life. She currently resides in New Orleans, Louisiana.

Ms. Alden, congratulation on your nomination!

Thank you for traveling so far for to interview me.

I know you’re from New York City, were you born there?

Yes, at St. Margaret’s Hospital in Hell’s Kitchen.

What prompted you to move so far south?

Initially, for a job, but New Orleans gets under your skin. I felt the ground shake when I stepped off the train in 1935…I didn’t realize it then, but I was home.

What inspired you to become a nurse?

My mother, Adelaide Alden. She passed away when I was 21 years old. My life’s path has been about honoring her legacy.

You don’t look a day over 22…what’s your secret?

I may have found the fountain of youth, but it’s cost me everything.

Who has been the most influential person in your incredible journey and why?

Dr. Raimond Banitierre. He taught me how to stare adversity in the face and cherish every gift I was given. Balancing love and duty was his greatest strength.

Have you ever been in love?

Once. Well…yes, just once.

Are you married?

In my heart, I am. Officially, my husband and I are separated. It’s complicated.

What are you most passionate about?

Preserving the dignity of people at the end of their lives. Treasuring our ancestors and their memories.

What makes you angry?

Seeing people disrespected because they’re different. Acceptance is the key to survival.

What makes you strong?

The unwavering support of my family and friends.

What character trait do you most admire in others?

Vicious loyalty.

One more hard question…what was the most important day of your life?

New Year’s Day, 1955. I faced my fears and won back New Orleans for the Banitierres and Aldens.

Now, let’s have some fun. What’s your favorite drink?

The Garnet Martini. It won’t be on the drink menu, but any New Orleans bartender worth their salt can mix it.

Favorite musician?

Band—Volbeat. Musician—Lady Gaga or Meatloaf. Depends on my mood.

Your favorite color?

Sapphire.

Favorite vacation spot?

Scotland. The Isle of Skye.

What holiday do you look forward to each year?

Halloween…and Christmas. I love to decorate for both.

If you could give a piece of advice to future generations, what would it be?

 Strength to forgive your enemies, vision to see power in diversity, and the courage to lead will pave the road for a brilliant future.

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Getting Away With It

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Empty? Maybe.

Silent? Never.

Hands on the clock crawl to that moment when day gives way to sultry dusk and all souls stir in their tombs, destined for midnight’s wicked frenzy.

This air buzzes with history’s notes—flashy keyboards and wailing horns. Floor boards creak underfoot, worn thin by musicians and their dancers, nobles and their courts.

Dazzling lights of royalty fell dark only once, born again amidst sapphire flame and victory bells.

Every chance I get, I sneak in, close my eyes and remember the devilry and decadence, incense and absinthe. Precious memories of brothers and sisters, fast friends and young lovers, chasing their dreams and tempting fate in the Golden Age.

We got away with all of it…

S