The Satyr's Curse (The Satyr's Curse Series Book 1) (11 page)

“Lipstick, my keys, and a hammerless .32 revolver,” she casually reported.

Julian raised his dark eyebrows as he gingerly placed the purse on the bench. “Is that supposed to frighten me?”

“No, but with all these women being killed around the city, I thought….” She shook her head. “Kyle has been pestering me to keep the thing on me day and night. He even wants me to sleep with it. I’m not sure why I brought it.”

“Kyle again,” he muttered. “The man has a great deal of influence over you. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

Jazzmyn smiled, enjoying Julian’s discomfort. “He even wanted to stay with me until they catch this serial killer, but I told him I would prefer the gun to twenty-four hours a day of him.”

Julian tilted his head thoughtfully to the side. “What serial killer?”

“The newspaper has been reporting that the police think a serial killer is responsible for the mutilation and murder of those women.” She walked over to the bench. “The Times-Picayune even linked the murders to some similar cases going all the way back to the seventies.”

He waved her down a hallway to his left. “Well, New Orleans has always been a magnet for the mentally unbalanced.”

“It’s long history of voodoo, crime, and vampires probably has a lot to do with that,” she concurred as she started down the marble-tiled floor toward the hallway.

“Vampires?” He paused for a moment and then nodded. “Ah, yes, Anne Rice. I tried to get through one of her books, but I found the premise implausible.”

“What premise?” Jazzmyn noted the large collection of satyr statuary cluttering the hallway.

“It seems to me if one had to live for eternity, vampires would have figured out how to free themselves of their burden instead of languishing in it.”

“Perhaps they like being vampires,” Jazzmyn debated.

Julian shrugged, grudgingly. “Perhaps, but the confines of a liquid diet and a world without sunshine would probably drive most of them to seek their own demise in order to relieve their agony.”

“Agony?”

He stopped and focused his attention on a statue in the hallway. He caressed the bronze piece of a satyr holding a flute and frozen in the ecstasy of a contorted movement.  

“To know what every day holds for you is a sort of agony,” Julian explained. “To never be able to grow old, experience the pleasures of the human life you were born into, and to be denied the comfort of your era would be agony indeed.” He slowly faced her. “Despite what creatures imaginative writers may turn humans into, they are still human beneath all the poetic license and fangs, prone to all the melancholy and madness that each one of us experience. Even if you replaced their humanity with the instincts of another, they would still be human, but just trapped in the guise of some other form.”

Jazzmyn observed as his eyes once again misted over with sadness. She reached for his shirtsleeve, wanting to offer him some comfort, and he gently placed his hand over hers. When their skin touched, Jazzmyn saw the sadness in his eyes hastily retreat, only to be replaced by an unnerving desire.

“You have the most…unusual eyes, Julian. It’s like I can almost see what you’re thinking.”

“That’s good. Then I will never be able to keep any secrets from you.” He grasped her hand. “It is time to eat.”

At the end of the hall were open french doors that led outside to a small garden. The garden beds were set in a semicircle around the edge of a red-bricked patio, and filled with white azaleas, gardenias, and white crape myrtle trees.

A table had been set at the edge of the gardens beneath the branches of a crape myrtle tree. Atop the white linen table glistened fine white china, sparkling crystal glasses, and gold utensils. All about the garden white tea lights flickered in glass sconces. There were even tea lights set on lily pads and floating about a round pond in the center of the garden. Rising from the pond, a gold satyr stood erect and staring up at the bright waxing moon, ascending in the evening sky. Several other satyr statues were nestled in and around the manicured shrubbery. In the background, a soulful Billie Holiday tune echoed across the gardens from an open french window on the second floor balcony above.

“Do you ever have the urge to redecorate?” Jazzmyn asked, taking in all the statuary.

Julian chuckled under his breath. “Yes, frequently.” He pulled out a chair for her next to the long table. “But every time I decide to throw all the statues and paintings out, I think of the Julians that have come before me and how they contributed to the collection.”

Jazzmyn took her seat and then Julian pulled out his chair next to her at the head of the table. “You see, everything in the house has been acquired through the years by all of my predecessors. It has always been a sort of running joke that each and every Julian must add to the collection of satyrs in the home. But when it gets to be too much, I usually pack up and move on to one of my other homes.” He took his chair.

“Other homes?” She removed the white linen napkin from the plate before her and placed it in her lap.

Julian nodded as he made himself comfortable in his chair. “Yes, I have homes in Paris and Tuscany, apartments in Manhattan and London, and a condo in Malibu.” He placed his napkin in his lap and reached for an airing bottle of merlot on the table beside him.

“I’m impressed. I didn’t realize you had that many homes.”

Julian shrugged his thick shoulders. “I don’t like to stay put in one place for too long. I get restless.”

“When I get restless, I go for a walk.” She paused as he poured some wine into her crystal wine glass. “Doesn’t that get lonely? I mean, all of that traveling and not really having any roots.”

He began filling his glass with wine. “My roots are here, and over the past few years I have been returning more and more to New Orleans. I will eventually settle here, after I have put some unfinished matters behind me.”

“What unfinished matters?” She reached for her glass of wine. “Do you mean business matters?”

He set the bottle of wine on a gold wine coaster. “No, personal matters. I have never settled anywhere, Jazzmyn, because I have never found someone I wanted to share my life with.” Julian picked up his wine glass. “But I think that is about to change.”

Jazzmyn gazed into his spellbinding eyes. “Is it?”

He tipped the rim of his wine glass against hers. “Yes, I believe it is.”

***

After they had dined on mushrooms sautéed in a white wine sauce, endive salad with a lemon vinaigrette dressing, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, and a black truffle casserole, Jazzmyn sat back in her chair and surveyed the remnants of their meal.

“That was delicious, Julian.” She arched one eyebrow to him. “You cooked all of this?”

He reached for the bottle of merlot and emptied the last dregs of wine into her glass. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. This was better than many restaurants in the city can offer. I guess I’m just a little taken aback by your culinary skills.”

He put the empty bottle on the table. “I cook out of necessity and not for enjoyment, I assure you. After a time, I got tired of trying to find a place that could please my finicky palate, so I hired a chef to cook for me and I paid attention. Eventually, I found I could cook almost as well as she, so I let her go and have been cooking for myself ever since.”

“She?” Jazzmyn reached for her wine glass.

He nodded. “Susan was looking for a job to help her finish paying her way through cooking school, and I was a willing guinea pig for her experimental dishes. She was also a vegetarian and an outstanding cook.”  

“What happened to her? Did she open her own place?”

“No.” Julian stood from his chair. “She was killed shortly after she left my employ.”

“I’m sorry.” Jazzmyn peered into the red wine shimmering in her crystal glass.

“It was a long time ago.” He stepped from the table. “I’ll just go and get another bottle of wine.”

He walked away and Jazzmyn turned her head slightly to the side so she could observe his body. The powerful muscles suggested by the curve of his slacks over his round backside made her wonder what he looked like naked. Jazzmyn banged her wine glass down on the table with a thud and silently reproached herself for admiring him in such a way. She placed her cool hands against her hot cheeks and sighed. After a few seconds, Jazzmyn decided it might be better if she got up from her chair and moved about the garden in an effort to help quell her overzealous imagination.

When she stepped closer to the pond, Jazzmyn became distracted by a flicker of lamplight on the gold statue placed in the center of the shallow pool. She studied the countenance of the Pan-like creature and found herself haunted by the notion of having seen the same handsome features in the sculpture’s face before.

“How about a very old bottle of Bordeaux for a change of pace?” Julian called out as he entered the garden.

She curiously watched him approach the table, carrying the wine bottle in his hand. Then she turned once more to the figure standing in the pond.

“He looks like you.” 

Julian put the bottle on the table and came to her side. “You just realized that? And here I thought you were paying attention.” He nodded to the statue. “It looks like me because it is me, or my likeness. This garden is my contribution to the house, and the pond my addition to the collection. I commissioned it from a local artist I met in the Quarter. Little did I know that she would use me for the model, but…” He shrugged.

“It’s very good. Perhaps I could hire her to do something for my restaurant. I’ve been wanting to update some of the décor there for a while.”

“Unfortunately, Maureen left the city a while ago. She relocated to Texas just after she finished the statue.” He turned back to the table. “She was very talented, and I wanted to set her up in a shop in the city, but she had other plans.”

Julian went to the table and easily opened the bottle of wine with a corkscrew.

“A woman chef and a woman artist.” Jazzmyn contemplated Julian as he filled his empty wine glass. “You like the company of women, don’t you, Julian?”

He put the wine bottle down and picked up his glass from the table. “Women amuse me. Men are always looking to challenge you with their strength, tales of sexual conquest, or their wealth. Women seek to entertain a man, to attract his interest, whether the relationship is platonic or not. Women are very sensual creatures who derive more enjoyment from their bodies than men.” He took a sip of wine.

“Have you ever had a platonic relationship with a woman? You don’t strike me as the kind of man who would be happy with just shaking a woman’s hand.”

Julian’s booming laughter reverberated about the small garden. “Ah, there she is,” he said, lifting his wine glass to Jazzmyn. “There is the plucky woman I met in your restaurant. I have to admit I was beginning to wonder where she was hiding. You’ve not seemed quite like yourself.”

“Yes, well, you took me out of my rather pungent element and I had to adjust for a while before I could meet your thoughts head on with my own, remember?”

Julian put his glass of wine down on the table. “Maybe it is time for a change of tactics.”

Jazzmyn cringed as he came up to her side. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”

He moved closer to her and placed his hands about her waist. “I like you this way.”

She ran her hand up his thick chest. “What way?”

“Challenging,” he replied as he enfolded her in his arms.

“Some men might call it obstinate.” She slid her arms about his neck.

“Not me,” he admitted, holding her close.

Julian began swaying to the steady drumbeat of a strange melody drifting down from the balcony above.

Jazzmyn moved along with him, easing her body side to side in time with the hypnotic rhythm. The small garden echoed with the sound of flutes, cymbals, and a seductive drumbeat.

“What is this?” she asked while gazing up at the balcony where the tune was emanating from.

“Very old music, almost ancient. Fascinating, isn’t it?” He dipped his mouth closer to her ear. “Close your eyes and let the music in, Jazzmyn. Just give in to it.”

The heat rising from his skin permeated through her thin dress while his enticing scent tantalized her. His arms felt strong and sure about her as his hips gyrated suggestively against her body. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the dance as her longing for him began to build.

“You smell like spring,” he whispered as his hands fervently roamed up and down her back.

Jazzmyn’s body heaved with pleasure as she pressed against him. She fought to control the desperate surge of desire that was taking over her rational mind. Her thoughts became obscured with images of the two of them, naked and holding on to each other in the darkness. The ache from her loins was so intense that she almost moaned against his chest. Her hands squeezed his shoulders as she imagined him moving inside her. It was as if the nearness of him set off some kind of chemical reaction in her body. It was an all-consuming lust for him, a want like she had never known. Sure, she had experienced passion with a few men, but no man had ever evoked such desperate need in her. Unexpectedly, an image of Kyle, making love to her in front of her living room fireplace, stunned her out of her trance. She suddenly pulled back from Julian, feeling like a frightened doe, running for her life in the woods.