A Late Summer Bloom (7 page)

An owl could be heard shrieking above her head. Then silence. Should
she wait or try to find her way back? A rustling sound made her freeze. No
sooner had she thought about predators, an alligator made its appearance.

Remaining still, horrified, it came closer as she began to yell for
help.
“Uh—someone?
Anyone—I need help.” The alligator
inched itself forward, stalking her. In a naïve attempt to get away, she
scrambled up the tree. Her foot slipped, and the creature’s jaws snapped at her.
When it hissed, Giselle looked around, hoping to find something she could use
to fight it off. A blustery breeze began to blow, and her adrenalin pumped
harder and her heart beat wildly.

Scared to look in the direction of the beast, she kept her eyes shut
tight. Until—she heard his laughter. Her eyes snapped open. There he was. The
traveler had been the alligator. Hanging from the tree limb coiled up like a
snake, she must’ve looked a sight. And he stood there laughing?

“Are you sure you’re a witch?”

Giselle’s arms slackened, she straightened up and let herself fall the
few feet she managed to climb. She slapped her hands on her hips, wiping the dirt
from her palms. “Do you think this is a joke?”

“No. But I do think you’re a joke. Here’s a tip, Little Witch, look
with your eyes and see with your mind. No wonder they kept you holed up in the
Bayou all these years. You can’t even get out of your own way.”

“Ugh. I—I hate you! You self-absorbed—asshole!

As he got closer he mimicked her, “I hate you? Are you going to stomp
your feet and throw a tantrum now?”

In a reflex, Giselle lifted her hand to smack the smug look off his
face.

Grabbing her arm in mid-air, his mocking laughter turned to anger.
“Don’t!” He stared at her, his expression softening for a moment.
But
 
when
he clenched
his fists, his eyes flickered with anger.

He clutched her wrist and within seconds she was handcuffed to him. Her
eyes widened when she realized her predicament. “Hey! What do you think you’re
doing?”

He leaned in close to her ear. “Can you make it fall off?

Knowing all too well she couldn’t make that happen, she looked away,
while her voice seemed to get balled up in the base of throat.

“I didn’t think so.” Pulling her
along ,
he
set the rules. “Here’s the deal, Little Witch. I have no choice but to deliver
you safe and sound to Cottonwood Landing. But first I must teach you everything
I know and make sure you are safe within the confines of your coven. Then, I’m
gone. So do me a favor and learn fast.”

Giselle yanked him to a stop in a display of resistance. “Just where do
you suppose we do that?”

“We’ll go to my residence in Baton Rouge. There you will
listen
and learn
. I’ve
gotta
make a witch outta
you, and the sooner I do that, the better. Then you can go to Cottonwood
Landing to be with the royals, where you become their problem.” He pulled her along
like a rag doll.

“It’s not that long of a ride to my estate but—” he glanced at her
clothing as if noticing her attire for the first time. “You’ll probably get
cold.” He stopped. After a few seconds of silence, he pulled her into the
brush. Bending down, he scooped up a swamp rabbit. He placed it on her shoulder
and within seconds, the large cottontail provided her with a warm coat. Before
she could protest, he held his hand up. “We are just borrowing him for the
ride. When we get there, he can hop off and go wherever he wants.”

When they reached the bike he un-cuffed her wrist with the wave of his
hand, “Get on.” he ordered. Having to pull her dress up around her thighs again
in order to straddle the bike, she felt her face heat. She noticed him look
away, occupying himself with the bike’s mechanics. Once she was seated, he turned
the engine on then kicked up the stand. Giselle felt the animosity he had toward
her.
But why?

As the engine roared to life, he shouted to her over the noise. “My
name is Julien Beaumont. I would say it’s a pleasure, but you know I’d be
lying.” He spun the tires out and they were on their way. She pressed her
forehead to his back. Of course, it all made sense now.
The
little girl from her vision.
Angelique said her name was Beaumont. His
name is Beaumont.
He must blame me. It is
my fault isn’t it?

Chapter Eleven

Simon
Granvil
, a traveler for decades, had
defeated many warlocks and conquered much evil. But nothing prepared him for
the onslaught of emotional pain he’d suffer by his unexpected assignment in New
Orleans. Jacques’ order made him question his desire to remain a traveler. The six-foot-five,
muscular traveler stood in the city he used to call home and decided this may
very well be his last assignment.

The very streets of the city, although different, brought him back to a
time when he’d enjoyed the most perfect love. His appearance was the same as when
he left, but he was wiser now, as he had roamed the earth for nearly one
hundred years. Always performing his duties with honor, it wasn’t until just
recently, he’d grown weary. He abhorred the modern day witch. They were too
sure of themselves for their own good. And his assignment this night was to
find one such witch, Desiree Mercier.

Ascending the steps to her living quarters, Simon was nonchalant. Told
this witch was
impulsive
in
nature, it made him strategic in his approach. But he was prepared to stop at
nothing to keep her from interfering with the tenth power. Desiree’s open door
made it obvious she was aware of his arrival. He narrowed his eyes as he
carefully entered, closing the door behind him without touching it. Studying
the beautiful, yet funny-looking witch before him, he quickly decided she was
far too independent and aggressive for his taste. She did not greet him, nor
lift her eyes to meet his. She stayed in position, palms up, head down.

Simon walked around her circle of protection, taking in the sight of
her. She had yet to move a muscle. Chuckling, he raised his arms, unraveling
her spell. Although it wasn’t difficult for him to do so, he was still
impressed with her impetuousness. Did she think she would win?
Obviously, she is very young with much to
learn.

In an odd way, she reminded him of his beloved Aimee, who was taken by
a warlock decades before. Still bearing the scars of his battle with that warlock,
Morianis
, he freed Aimee’s soul, letting her fly to
the heavens. Comfortable wearing the scars as a reminder, Simon refused the
master’s offer to remove them. Hiding them from the world, his were the only
eyes to linger on the marks of his love. But at this moment, his scars stung.
Never had he felt such a sensation.

When the cautious young woman stirred, realizing her incantation had
been dissolved, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. When she lifted her
eyes to his, his breath caught in his throat. He was immediately drawn to her. Clearly
she was his opposite, petite and curvaceous with an expression that forewarned
of a fiery character. He gently probed at her mind, but she prevented his
intrusion. For someone so young to block his mind thrust, Simon was impressed.

Continuing to circle her, he clasped his hands behind his back. Simon
possessed a dominant nature and very rarely did he speak with enthusiasm. “In
my time, a guest is usually invited in for café au
lait
and treated with kindness.”

He watched her eyes follow him.

“Yeah?
Well, in my time, we don’t have guests. If we do have a visitor with
no prior phone call, text or email, they’re usually a serial killer. So, if you
want coffee and a roll, I suggest the café on the corner.”

Ha!
He flashed a quick smile. “Miss Mercier, my name is
Simon
Granvil
. I am a traveler. I came by order of
the master to inform you that, although appreciated, your
help
is not needed with regard to the tenth power. You have been
forbidden to travel to Cottonwood Landing.”

He watched her blink, long lashes fluttering against her smooth creamy
skin. When she laughed, it was like music, soft and low, that flowed inside his
head. “I am forbidden? Did you just use the word forbidden?
With
me?
Are you serious? I don’t listen to you. As a matter of fact, I don’t
listen to anyone. What kind of game are you playing?”

Simon
shook
 
out
of his daze, perching himself on
the edge of an armchair.
What is
happening to me?
Clearing his throat, he answered her. “I don’t play games,
Miss Mercier.”

“Yeah?
Neither do I, especially Simon Says—and if I want to travel to
Cottonwood Landing to help my friend, then that’s what I will do. Got it?”

Simon stood up slowly and approached her. He lifted her chin so her
eyes would meet his. “You can certainly try.
mon
amour
. As a matter of fact, I encourage
it. But be warned, I take all the master’s assignments very seriously, and I
will subdue you by any means necessary.”

“First of all—I am not your love, so don’t use seductive French words
on me. They just
creep
me out. Second, who the hell is
this master anyway? I’ve heard the stories and the legends, but who is he
really? Do you even know who you take orders from, Simon?”

He clucked his tongue at her. “The master, at one time, was said to be
a great wizard, a sorcerer of epic proportions, but the simple truth is
,
he is a prophet. He is pure and emanates a great light
under which we can all find peace.”

“That’s great. So, what now? Do you plan on camping out on my couch
until the demonic army of warlocks rise up from the dead and destroy our race?”

“Such confidence you display in your friend, Giselle. Do you not
believe in her?”

He watched her closely, trying to read her expression. Her answer was
simple, “I want to believe in her, but I’m afraid I don’t.”

****

Simon lay awake on Desiree’s couch, his legs curled beneath him
.
It was after midnight, last he looked, and still the sounds of the city
kept him awake. He lay wondering if it was the noise that kept him from
sleeping,
or the memories that taunted him awake. Frustration
made him change positions and punch his limp pillow. Resting his head, Simon
closed his eyes and tried hard not to think about
her.
But here in New Orleans, it was impossible to take a breath
without seeing her everywhere. And as the hours passed, he spiraled deeper into
grief.

When the door to Desiree’s bedroom opened, he sat up. Focusing on the
doorway, Simon stared ahead into the darkness. With only the lights of the city
casting shadows into a small window, he could see Desiree move toward him, seductively
touching her body. He widened his eyes in disbelief when she called out to him
in French. And he froze.

As Desiree came close, Simon watched her. Quietly, he moved over,
allowing her to sit. There was no denying her talent for the craft and this
could surely be a case of trickery. Desiree reached out to him, placing her
hands on his thighs.

He remained still, guarded.

As her hands found their way to his groin, she applied a gentle, yet
direct pressure to his cock, blurting out words he recognized. “
My body aches for yours.”

Simon lurched up from the couch, snapping on
the light.
Aimee?

He studied her posture, her eyes giving away
her obvious trance-like state. He bent down and gave her a firm
shake.

As Desiree blinked her eyes in rapid succession, her distress
heightened his grief as he realized she was not Aimee.

Simon pushed her hands away when she continued to reach for him, and he
hung his head. Disappointment stabbed at his chest like a thousand knives.

Desiree reached up, touching her lips. “Simon ... I ... I”

He leveled a stern look at her. “Desiree, this is the worst kind of
trickery I’ve ever been subjected to. There is a reason I detest the modern day
witch, and this is it. How dare you play with my emotions and my—my body! You
owe me an apology.”

She stood up, rigid in her stance. “I can’t explain it, but in these
last moments, you were so familiar to me. Honestly, I—” She glared at his naked
chest.
“
Merde
!
You are covered with scars.”

Pulling his shirt closed, he demanded an explanation. “What kind of
ruse do you play?”

“I’m not, I swear it.”

He was skeptical of her innocence. “Is this the first time you’ve had
an experience such as this?”

“Yes. I don’t recall something like this ever happening before.
Honest.”

Simon folded his arms across his chest. “Have you found your true
calling?”

He noticed her look down, the shame evident. “No. Not yet. I guess I’m
a late bloomer?”