Villere House (Blood of My Blood) (10 page)

"What is she trying to tell me?" she muttered quietly. "Maybe she's trying to warn me...?"

"Lottie, wait. There could be a much simpler explanation."

"Like what?"

"Maybe it's all just repressed memories. You had a pretty tragic adolescence. Maybe coming to New Orleans simply triggered stories told to you when you were a kid."

"They're so real though."

"Your imagination could be filling in the details."

"Okay, I might be able to buy that, but what about the voices in my hotel room? And then when I saw Élise on the street, followed her and was shoved into traffic? What about the cemetery? I'm not suicidal. I didn't cut myself on purpose. I barely even remember doing it."

"You think the ghost of Élise Cantrelle did all those things?"

"Not all of them." She paced again in her small circle. "I can't imagine she would want to hurt me. But she's definitely trying to tell me something and I'm sure it has to do with the dreams."

"Like she can only communicate with you while you're asleep?"

"Yeah. But why not just come out and say what she wants?"

"I don't think it works that way. Communication between the living and dead is difficult, patchy. It usually has to come through images, pieces of memory, or just feelings."

She studied him, her eyebrows pushing tightly together. For someone who didn't believe her, he sure was helpful. And insightful.

"At least according to my mother," he added.

"But you don't believe any of it."

"Of course not."

She smiled inwardly. She wasn't so sure
she
believed that.

"Well, at least I know what I need to do."

"What's that?"

"I have to go back to sleep."

"You don't seem very tired to me. That might be a bit of a challenge."

"I have these pills. I kinda borrowed them from Amanda's stash."

His dark eyes narrowed. "What kind of pills?"

"Prescription sleeping pills. I haven't actually taken any," she lied. "I grabbed them just in case."

"You gotta be careful with that."

She was reminded immediately of Laurent when he'd warned Élise of the calomel. This wasn't the first time she'd seen Laurent in him. It was his eyes mostly, and his jaw and cheekbones, but even his mannerisms sometimes.

"I will," she reassured.

"There might be another way."

He said it almost...reluctantly, like he hadn't wanted to share. Maybe her intent to drug herself into sleep oblivion made him cave

"A séance. My mother hosts them all the time. I'm sure she'd be more than willing to help."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah. She'd eat this shit—stuff—up."

"That sounds great. When do you think she could do it?"

"Well, no good séance happens during the day. It'll have to be tonight."

"I can't wait that long. Don't get me wrong, I still want to do it, but I need to find out what happens next. To Amélie, to Élise, with Laurent..."

"We know Amélie survives her fever."

"That's all we know."

"So you still plan on taking the sleeping pills."

"That or the old fashioned way—bourbon."

"I think bourbon might be the better choice."

She sighed when she realized what came next. "God, I really don't want to go back to the hotel and deal with Sam. Or even Amanda for that matter."

"Then don't. We have a guesthouse that's currently being remodeled. One of the rooms is finished. You're welcome to crash there."

"I don't get you. You don't believe any of this. In fact you seem to go out of your way to dissuade me, yet you keep offering help. Why?"

"I'm a man of mystery."

"More like mixed signals."

"Well, I don't blame you for not wanting to deal with Sam. I know I sure as hell wouldn't. And having you at the house will make it easier to coordinate with my scatter-brained mother. And maybe I feel a bit responsibility in all this."

"How?"

"This all started with my shop, my brother's tour."

"It started before that."

"Yeah but it definitely ramped up after. Now you're dreaming about my family...honor would demand I help you."

"Honor?" Snorting, she shook her head. "Whatever, I'll take it. And I appreciate it."

He bowed dramatically. "Any time, m'lady."

"Now you're just being a patronizing ass."

He grinned. "I am the master of mixed signals."

CHAPTER TEN

T
he Villere Guest House was tucked behind the main house, accessible through an alley closed off with an iron gate, and a brick courtyard filled with tropical plants. The two buildings formed an "L" shape, with a narrow wooden balcony lining the second story.

"There are four rooms in the Guest House," Xavier said. "Three are standard, hotel-type rooms and are all on the bottom level. The upper level is the suite and lucky for you, the one that's mostly finished." He wagged his eyebrows at her.

"Showering me with luxury, eh?"

"That's the way I roll." With a gentle placement of his hand on her shoulder, he nudged her toward the stairs. "There are actually two bedrooms in this unit. They've both been remodeled, as well as the en suites. The kitchenette and sitting room are another story."

He climbed the stairs and she followed a couple steps behind him. It was hard not to admire his physique. Broad shoulders that V'd down to a narrow waist and hips, and a well-shaped, muscular looking ass. In fact, his whole body looked well muscled. Through the thin fabric of his cotton Tee, she could clearly see the curve of his lats and the deep valley where his spine rested between the bulk.

She could certainly imagine herself running her hand down that valley and testing whether or not his ass was as firm as it looked.

It was such a strange sensation—wanting to touch someone so much. She certainly wasn't a virgin by any stretch, but she never wanted to just grope a man. Granted, most the guys at her college were soft from drinking too much beer. In the body and the head.

He stopped at the door and turned to her. Afraid he'd caught her ogling, she quickly looked away. "The courtyard is really nice," she said by way of cover. "It's peaceful back here."

"Most of the time," he said as he placed the key—a normal key and not a hotel card—into the lock. "Until Grandmere has one of her late-night rituals, and then it's djembes and chanting and fire. It's like a Voodoo hippie drum circle."

She remembered the first memory Élise showed her of Sanite in the courtyard and was torn between shivering and laughing at the description.

"Will that be what it's like tonight?" she wondered as he opened the door.

"No. My mother will run the séance, so it'll be much weirder."

"Than a Voodoo hippie drum circle? I'm intrigued."

"You should be terrified of whatever craziness you're going to be subjected to. I know I am."

She gave him a hard look as she walked past him into the room. "You know, that's your family—and your heritage—you're making fun of. You should be more thankful."

"You're probably right. However, if you'd been living with it for twenty-six years you might feel differently." He winked.

"Maybe."

Though outdated, the sitting room was nice enough. And clean, with a compact kitchen on the back wall—similar to the hotel suite she shared with Amanda and Sam. She could definitely see why they were in the process of remodeling. The couch and matching armchair were covered in a bold rose-covered fabric. It wouldn't have been bad if the pieces were remotely Victorian looking. They weren't. They were straight up from 1979. Add matching wallpaper and drapes and the room was almost nauseating to look at.

"Oh." She didn't mean to, but she cringed.

"Right? It's no wonder that in spite of our fabulous location and reasonable rates, occupancy at the Villere Guest House hasn't exactly been stellar. One of many changes I've implemented since taking over management. A website was the first change."

"There wasn't a website?"

"I'm not sure my mother or grandmother can even use a computer. Here. Check out the updated digs."

The bedrooms flanked the living area on either side. The one he led her to was a striking opposite to the design atrocity behind her. A huge, four-poster, dark mahogany bed dominated the room, draped in rich burgundy fabric that matched the window drapes. The only other piece of furniture was a matching wardrobe tucked into the corner and an ornate chair. They couldn't begin to take away from the bed's majesty. This room was made for one thing and one thing only. Well, two.

For some reason the thought made her blush. Probably because she immediately thought of the man beside her.

"Is that the bathroom?" She pushed past him to the open door of the en suite. All granite and claw-foot tub and the same mahogany wood around a large mirror.

"Well?"

She actually jumped at the sound of his voice. Just because she'd pictured him naked twice in the last ten minutes didn't mean she should turn into a nervous Nellie around him.

He was leaning against the doorjamb and watching her carefully.

"It's gorgeous. I love the historical feel."

"Thanks. I'm thinking this should help with business."

"Definitely."

He continued to stand there, trapping her in the bathroom. His eyes lingered on her and he looked like he wanted to say something. She wanted to ask, but her words were as trapped as his.

Finally, he pushed off the jamb. "Well, I guess I should let you try to get some shut-eye."

She could only nod and follow him back into the bedroom with the massive, gorgeous bed.

"Need anything?"

A couple silk scarves tying her wrists to one of those posts.

"Bourbon?" he prodded.

"I think I'm good. Thanks."

"I won't be far, so if you change your mind…"

It was possible she was imagining it, or hopelessly optimistic, but she thought she saw a glimmer of her own desires reflected in his dark brown eyes. He
was
lingering…

It didn't matter. This wasn't the time. She needed to get back to Amélie and Élise and Laurent.

"I'll holler."

"Okay." He patted one of the bedposts, nodded tersely, and left.

Once alone, she sank wearily onto the mattress. What a mess. She was a mess. But she knew what she had to do. Fishing one of Amanda's pills from her purse, she swallowed it without water and settled back onto the plush mass of pillows, not bothering to get under the covers.

As she closed her eyes, a chill swept through the room and over her body. She ignored it, concentrating instead on the darkness of her eyelids. Amélie. Élise. Her family. The only family she had.

The darkness of her eyelids swirled around and around in her brain, quickly consuming her until she was back in the 19th century.

~

The longer Xavier stood outside the suite, the more he felt like a crazy stalker. First, he'd practically smothered her with his, "Need anything? You sure? Sure you don't need anything? I can get it for you." routine. Now, he was standing outside her window waiting for her to call for him or something?

It was pretty ridiculous.

Still, his feet didn't seem to be moving.

What
was
he waiting for?

The idea of her taking prescription sleeping pills bothered him. Especially since he was pretty sure the "grabbing them just in case" story was fabricated for his benefit. Not that he knew her in the least, but Lottie didn't seem like the type of girl who popped pills for fun. She
did
seem like the type of girl who would do what it took to get what she wanted or needed. And if that meant taking a double dose of sleeping pills to find out what her great-grandmother was up to, he was confident she wouldn't hesitate.

And that's how people OD'd.

But unless he wanted to sit by her bed and watch her sleep—which he kind of did, but not in a creepy way—there wasn't much he could do about it.

He waited for a ridiculous amount of time. Since he had a key, he
could
check on her. He could also knock on the door softly enough she wouldn't hear if she was sleeping. And what exactly would that prove? It would only tell him if she slept, not if she was lying in a pool of her own vomit because she'd taken too many sleeping pills.

He nearly bolted for the door at that thought but stopped himself. This level of worry was bordering on neurotic. He'd always been a worrier, he'd had to be. If it wasn't the fear his mother had left something on the oven, it was worrying whether or not Grandmere had taken her insulin.

Speaking of...

What a perfect distraction. Crossing the courtyard below, Grandmere walked with confident purpose. He called her name and jogged down to intercept her.

"Does the name, Élise Cantrelle, mean anything to you?" he asked when he reached her.

Recognition so brief it was barely a flicker crossed her wrinkled face. "No," she replied sharply and started walking again.

What the hell?

He jogged after her. For an old blind woman she moved awfully fast. Putting his body between her and whatever destination she was in such a hurry to get to, he placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"Grandmere, are you lying to me?"

Her unseeing eyes glared at his hand. "Take your paws off me, child."

He dropped his hand but didn't move. "Élise Cantrelle? You know the name, don't you? Is she associated with Grandpere Laurent?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Now, stand aside."

"No. You do know and you aren't telling me. Why?"

"There are some things you'd be best to forget. The name Élise Cantrelle is one. I know I never heard it." With a shove of her wrinkled arm, she pushed him aside and continued into the house.

He wasn't sure if the day could get any weirder and then he remembered the séance and realized it definitely would.

And that was a task he could do to keep his mind off Lottie. She probably didn't need him busting into her room like he was her keeper or some shit.

His mother was set up on Jackson Square reading fortunes. She not only loved the idea of a séance when he proposed the idea, she was ecstatic about it. Until she got sidetracked looking for her second deck of cards. Why she'd even been compelled to look for them he couldn't say, but took it as his cue to take off.

"So, we're on for ten p.m.?"

"Midnight would be better."

Of course, he thought sarcastically.

"I know." It took a bit of effort to keep his true feelings on the matter hidden from his tone. "But my friend is pretty anxious to contact her relative, so the earlier the better."

"Okay, but don't blame me if it doesn't go as well."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. You won't forget?"

"Please." Her brow furrowed. "God, where are those stupid cards?"

She was so focused on finding the missing deck she didn't notice him leave.

He popped into Central Grocery for a Muffaletta and then headed back to the Guest House. When there was no answer when he knocked softly on the suite door, he very carefully let himself in. The sitting room was quiet, the door to Lottie's room shut. After slipping the sandwich into the fridge he paused at the closed door, pressing his ear to the wood.

There was only silence on the other side. Of course that could be good or bad. He knocked gently. When there was no answer he cracked open the door. God, he felt like such a weirdo peering in on her, but if he didn't make sure she was okay he'd be a wreck all day.

Curled in a ball, she slept soundly on top of the comforter. Her breathing soft and steady and perfectly unalarming.

He quickly shut the door.

He'd put her number into his phone after sneaking it from Sam's contacts. Sending her a text requesting a reply the moment she woke, he left the suite and occupied himself in the store.

By the time the tour-group departed, she still hadn't responded. The store had been incredibly busy, so he'd been able to put it out of his mind. But once the shop was locked up, empty and quiet, anxiety sped through his veins. How many hours had she been asleep now?

Rushing back to the Guest House, he bolted up the stairs two at a time, and not so quietly let himself into the suite. He rapped hard on the door to her room. "Lottie?" he called. Nothing. He knocked harder. "Lottie!" Still nothing.

"Fuck." He shoved open the door. So she'd looked like she was only sleeping earlier, he should have never left her alone.

She was still curled up on the bed, her blond hair fanning wildly on the pillow. Her face perfectly smooth, her expression blissfully peaceful. No vomit, blood, or any other leaked body fluids to make him panic.

He sat on the bed beside her. She didn't so much as stir. As knocked out as she was, there was no doubt in his mind she'd taken those pills.

"Lottie," he said, gently shaking her.

Nothing.

He shook her again. She whimpered but didn't rouse.

He shook her more firmly. "Lottie," he repeated.

She mumbled something he couldn't quite make out. Bending close to her face, he said her name again.

"Merci, mon hero, mon amour. Je suis eternellement reconaissant."