Colorblind (Moonlight) (2 page)

It was nearing dusk by the time Walter Charles finished showing him the large plantation. The upper floor consisted of six bedrooms. The master, considerably larger than the rest, had a smaller room that housed a recently installed water closet. As indoor plumbing was newly arrived in America, the bank had placed great emphasis on the flushable toilet as a way to partially explain the high asking price. A salon intended for the lady of the house was directly opposite the curved staircase, and led out to a surrounding patio. On the lower floor was a grand dining room with a long, rectangular table that could easily seat twenty people, and a sitting room built for entertaining elevated guests. Off to its right was a large ballroom. Additionally, the first floor sported a large, modern kitchen, with a small room that served as the sleeping quarters for the house slaves. It was clean and neat, but small and cramped for six people. Walter pointed out the key to lock that room as well. There were keys to every room, and a skeleton key to unlock them all. It was on his key stack.

As they made their way over to the ten newly painted wooden cabins to the back left of the plantation house, which served as slave housing, Leon instantly recognized Pleasant. He stood beside another white man, this one much cleaner, whom he assumed was Hollis. Before them, heads bowed, the stench of fear clinging to them like second skins, were lines of people, organized by gender.

He’d barely come abreast to the two when Hollis stepped forward and introduced himself. He was younger than Pleasant, barely twenty-five, and not as bitter, or angry. Leon went through the rows of slaves methodically, listening to their names while searching for recent injuries. A girl, who could not be more than thirteen, had large, raised welts on her bare arms, and some on her neck. They looked raw. Even as his lip curled, Leon continued on. He would have words with Pleasant and Hollis tonight.

He was coming to the end of one of the female rows when his body went on edge. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted as his ears pricked and nostrils flared to catch a scent he had not expected.
Were.
She stood with her back straight, dark brown eyes directly on his as her head titled to a defiant angle. Leon didn’t know he was holding his breath until his lungs began to burn and his eyes watered.

She was exquisite.

Her posture was regal, as if instead of the cast-off, worn and tattered gray gown and dilapidated male boots, she should be in fine cottons, velvets, silks, furs. She stood taller than most women he’d met, making her at least five-ten or eleven. Her face was a cross between heart-shaped and oblong, with lightly slanted, thick-lashed eyes, a long, straight nose, and thick, bow-shaped lips. A washed-out dark blue scarf prevented him from seeing her hair, but he imagined it, too, was a thing of beauty. The scent that clung to her—a pure honeysuckle fragrance he wanted to inhale in the most intimate of ways—wafted on the air around her.

“Your name, girl!” Pleasant hissed, startling Leon from his thoughts. For some seconds, he’d forgotten where he was.

The woman jumped as well, as if she, too, had forgotten, but she recovered quickly, passing Pleasant a veiled glare before demurely lowering her head, but not her eyes. She spoke clearly. “Penny.”

Pleasant cursed under his breath and was reaching for her when she amended her words, her tone no more docile than the first time she’d spoken. “Penny, Massa.”

Leon passed the overseer a halting glare, and Pleasant removed his hand from the whip and stepped away, albeit grudgingly.

***

His first official business at the plantation was laying down new rules. While Leon understood he couldn’t be radical and outlaw slavery on the plantation, there were few things short of that he would not tolerate.

He informed Pleasant and Hollis that there were to be no unnecessary floggings, that any floggings which resulted in visible welts would have to be explained to him, that women and children were not to be flogged under any circumstances. His rules resulted in different reactions from the two overseers. With each mandate, Pleasant grew more upset, while Hollis just seemed confused. He also informed them both that if they could not accept any of the rules, they were welcome to leave. Hollis was the first to say the new rules wouldn’t bother him. Pleasant contemplated it, but Leon knew he would eventually stay. Men like Pleasant enjoyed wielding power over powerless people, as they hardly wielded any in their lives off the plantation. Although he wanted nothing more than to get rid of the cruel overseer, he’d decided not to fire Pleasant immediately. It would be too suspicious as despite his personality, Pleasant was efficient. So while Pleasant leaving the plantation was inevitable, it would not come for some time.

By the time Leon left the office for his room, it was late at night. He had no intention of locking the house slaves away for the night, as Walter had cautioned, so it came as no shock when, not moments after he entered, there was a knock on his door.

“Come in.”

He’d removed the cravat, undone the buttons, and rolled up the sleeves of his thin cotton shirt. A glass of aged whiskey was in one hand. Less than a day around slavery and already he was driven to drink.

The door pushed open and a young girl stepped in. “I’s jus’ wonderin’ if you be needin’ anythin’, Massa?”

Leon grimaced at the term as he surveyed her. She was dressed in a thin gown, possibly a nightgown, with an old shawl thrown around her shoulders. Jolie. She was a beautiful girl, with dark, loose curls that ran down her back, a thin but gently curved figure, and an innocent yet playful smile.

“No. Thank you, Jolie.”

“You ’member my name, Massa?” She seemed pleased, and Leon wondered if it was because she’d never been thanked before.

“Yes, I know all of your names,” he answered easily, passing her a friendly smile. He lifted the whiskey back to his lips, and tilted the glass. As the welcomed burn moved over his tongue and into his body, he sighed. Alcohol didn’t affect werewolves unless downed in great quantities, but the woodsy taste of whiskey had always comforted him.

“Clarisse says you’s from France, from across the river, Massa?” Jolie continued.

Leon nodded. “Across a very large ocean.”

She stepped closer, moving forward in a way that made Leon tense. Just inches away, she stopped. At this distance, he could easily see that her eyes were a vivid gray with little flecks of green.

“Is you sure you don’ need nothin’ from me tonight, Massa?” Jolie repeated, and this time, he read her intent as clearly as he smelled it. Along with the faint scent of sweat and of the trace of perfume, was lust. She wanted him.

“I’m sure, Jolie,” he said firmly. While Leon was a lover of the fairer sex, and the pleasures found between their thighs, he had no intention of bedding any of the slaves, not even the tempting beauty he’d met hours ago who’d confused him. If she was
were
, what was she doing living as a slave on a plantation? Most of the colored werewolves avoided America, and if they chose to come, paid passage to the North.

“I only want to please you, Massa,” Jolie said softly, her eyes lowering as she hastily stepped back and turned away.

“There is something you can do.”

Jolie turned around with a large smile, and began approaching him once more.

“Penny.” She halted, and the smile disappeared. “Send Penny to me.”

She scowled, but eventually made her expression blank. “Mr. Pleasant done lock up the cabins by now, Massa.”

Leon nodded. For a few moments, he’d forgotten it was night. “Well…thank you, Jolie.” It was a dismissal, and Jolie turned to leave before she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Before the accident, Massa Thorn say Penny difficult, that she too uppity for a nigger. She not gon’ to listen to you, Massa.”

Adam Thorn had been the previous owner of the plantation. It had gone to the banks after he’d died, in heavy debt, after being thrown from his own horse during a drunken night ride. That was all Leon needed to know about Thorn to decide he disliked the man.

Curious about his connection to female slave who was also a werewolf, Leon asked, “What else did Thorn say about Penny?”

“That she no good for nothin’,” Jolie said enthusiastically, making Leon wonder how old Jolie really was. The vehemence in her voice at that proclamation made her seem much older. “Old Massa was goin’ sell her to Mr. Ryder.”

“Ryder?” Leon asked, pushing away his unreasonable rage at that statement.

Jolie nodded. “Mr. Ryder is massa to the other Big House over the river.”

So, he would be meeting this Mr. Ryder at some point, it seemed. “How old are you, Jolie?”

“Clarisse says I somewhere between sixteen and eighteen.”

With a nod, Leon lifted the glass to his lips again. “Go to sleep, Jolie.”

“You sure, Massa?” A slow smile lit her face, making her eyes sparkle. She really was beautiful, he thought in a mechanical way.

“Yes. Very sure.”

She left him to his thoughts. He’d been alive long enough to scent out his own kind, and Penny was definitely kindred. She was a wolf living the life of a slave. He didn’t know why, but he was determined to find out the reason.

***

The next day was as hot, if not hotter, than the previous one.

He’d been in Louisiana for four days, and already dreaded the heat. He’d gotten out of the stuffy traveling suit, and was back to wearing his cotton shirts and light trousers. He’d ridden into the field to oversee the overseers. Leon wanted to make sure they were heeding his new rules. They were. He watched in sympathy as slaves, especially the elderly, labored in the hot sun, picking cotton with their bare fingers. A young child carried water through the rows, offering it to them.

Unconsciously, his eyes searched out Penny. He scented her before the glare of the sun cleared enough for him to locate her. She was hunched over next to a few older women, talking and laughing with them as she went through her tasks. His ears picked up their conversation easily. They were discussing him, that he seemed different from the last master. Penny was against getting hopes up, while the older two weren’t. A little smile curved his lips when one of the women referred to his physical stature, saying that he was “a sight for bad eyes”. Penny rolled her eyes and shook her head, even as she laughed at the term.

She stood suddenly, stretching her long arms skyward and twisting her neck from one side to the other. When she opened her eyes again, they locked on his. They both froze, before she looked away hastily and went back to her tasks.

“Pretty for a nigger, ain’t she?” Pleasant asked, hacking and spitting into the grass to the side of him. It was a disgusting habit, one that made Leon want to ram his fist down Pleasant’s throat before washing his entire arm.

Instead of answering, Leon dismounted from the strapping stallion and headed into the rows of cotton, passing humans who “Massa”-ed him and got out of his way. He headed directly to her, saw her tense as she sensed his approach. When he stopped behind her, she turned slowly, lifting her head to his.

“Penny,” he began softly, aware of the dozens of eyes that watched him although they pretended otherwise. There was collective anticipation, a fear for her. “I would like a word.”

Although her eyes narrowed in suspicion, she nodded. “’Course, Massa.”

“At the house,” he clarified, when she stood there waiting for him to begin.

Thick lips thinned out, and she seemed on the verge of protesting before she dipped her head. “Yes, Massa.”

Turning on his heels, he walked back to his horse. He was reaching for her when she recoiled and stared at him as if he’d grown another hand. In that moment, he recognized his error. She was a slave, and he was her master. He could not lift her onto a horse as if she were his equal.

Leon vaulted onto the animal easily, and nudged him into a slow walk. She moved beside him. When they were out of earshot, he looked down at her and demanded, “Who are you?”

“Penny, Massa. I tell you yesterday.”

“You’re like me,” he charged.

She looked at him like he was insane before a short laugh spouted from her lips. He wanted her to do that more often, laugh. It softened her features, brought out the twinkle in her eyes. “If I’s like you, then won’t be no slaves, Massa.”

Leon inhaled deep. He’d know that scent anywhere. “How old are you, Penny?”

She tensed again, and it was a while before she answered. “Dunno. Old Ma says I’s somewhere between twenty-four and twenty-six.”

Even as he nodded, he knew that was impossible. A twenty-six year old werewolf female looked like a teenage human, and acted similarly. Such a female could be in no way as mature as the female before him. As such, Penny had to be at the very least thirty—twenty-eight, in light of her circumstances. Biology sometimes gave way to grueling circumstance.

“Were you born on the plantation?” he prodded, wondering if she were some sort of spy. Was she from the North, or from another country, like him, and trying to help the slaves? What could she do as a slave, though? Maybe protect them from cruel masters?

“Close to,” she said, lifting a hand to hide her eyes as she turned and pointed in the direction of the swamps. “Old Ma say me real Ma died tryin’ to run. Massa Thomas shoot ’er in ’er ’eart.”

It was a sad story if true, which seemed likely, yet Penny didn’t bat an eyelash or seem in any way saddened by it. She stated it factually.

“And you’ve been here since?”

“Yea, Massa.”

When they arrived at the plantation, he leapt from the horse and began moving to the front. Penny stepped away from him and began walking in the opposite direction.

“Where are you going?”

She stared at him in confusion. “Field slaves not allowed through the front, Massa. Got to go through back or side.”

Leon frowned at yet another ridiculous rule. “Well, I am Master here now, Penny, and I’d like you to come through the front.”

Her stare only grew more confused but she followed him into the house and along the hallway until they came to the large room, which served as both library and office. Leon opened the door for her, and now accustomed to her peculiar glances, waited for her to enter. When she did, he closed the door and turned to face her. She stared at him with a skittish look, her gaze alternating between him and the door. He smelled her fear, and didn’t like it.