Daughter of the Thirteen: Bourbon Street Witches Book 1 (3 page)

The storm had passed, but in its wake it left a slight chill in the air.

Wrapped in a plain - gray shawl and holding a single bag that contained all her earthly possessions, Laurel slowly made her way down the massive steps of the orphanage.

A deep sadness descended on her and she swallowed hard, trying to rid herself of the lump forming in her throat.

Life at Saint Michael’s hadn’t been easy, but it was all she knew.

Marcos St. Claire would be there within the hour to collect her, but she had no intention of being available when he arrived.

The sound of a snapping twig caught her attention.

Sister Agnes emerged from the thick shadows of the surrounding garden. The woman’s eyes still held a deep sadness that reached into Laurel’s heart and twisted until she felt that their souls were merged in mutual pain.

Her hands bent with age, Sister Agnes held out an old brown sachet.  “When your mother left you here as a babe, she asked that you have this when the time came for you to leave.”

Laurel took the sachet, and on impulse, wrapped her arms around the old woman. “Don’t worry Sister Agnes. I will be fine.”

“Yes, I do believe you will, child.” She gave Laurel a weak smile. “You were always one to look for the sunshine.”

Sister Agnes retreated to the trees, leaving Laurel to look after her.

Despite her brave words, she couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom. Taking a deep breath, she started down Napoleon Avenue, unsure of where she would go.

Laurel felt as if she’d walked for hours before the large homes, and immaculate French gardens began to give way to the
Vieux Carre
. Though she had only ventured into the Quarter once before, she’d never forgotten its alluring sights and sounds.

When she caught the scent of some Creole delicacy cooking nearby, hunger pains began to gnaw at her stomach. It had been hours since breakfast.

She needed food, but couldn’t possibly splurge on a meal. It was best to visit the market and find a morsel to eat there.

The market was crowded. A variety of people milled around the stalls where the vendors were selling goods.

For a time, Laurel was content to watch the crowd. She found the people fascinating, their vibrant clothing a sight for someone who had grown accustomed to the colorless environment of a convent.

Mixed with the scent of roasting meat and spice, was the putrid stench of the Mississippi. Wrinkling her nose at the odor, she stepped into the crowd, pushing her way to a vendor
selling fruit. After paying for her purchase of two apples, she turned to leave and collided with a man standing behind her.

Gasping, she took a step back, but not in time to avoid the dirty hand that clutched at her arm.

With his grimy clothes and stringy blond hair, he could have been any vagrant, if it were not for his eyes. His blood shot - hazel eyes were glazed over, as if he were in some sort of trance.

“He’s coming for you, witch!” His grin revealed half rotted teeth.

Terrified, Laurel yanked her arm away and rushed through the throng of people. She didn’t dare look back until she was well away from the market.

Stopping to catch her breath, she peered in all directions to ensure the vagabond hadn’t followed her. He was nowhere to be seen. After she was calm enough think, she attributed the incident to the product of an insane mind.

That was the belief she grabbed onto, no matter how unlikely it was.

Still, it took several minutes before her trembling subsided enough to take notice of where she was.

The square
was beautiful in the early afternoon light.

Laurel decided it would be a nice place to have lunch. Besides, she needed time to think and plan her next move.

After satisfying her hunger, Laurel investigated the contents of the sachet.

There was a small cotton blanket and some pink ribbons. At the bottom of the brown leather bag, she felt a metal chain and she pulled it out.

Dangling from the end of the gold chain was a round amulet with a pentagram on the front. Flipping the amulet over in her fingers, she struggled to read the Latin inscription on the back, but couldn’t make it out.

Giving up, she dropped it back in the sachet and pulled out the last remaining item, a sealed letter.

Laurel’s hands began to shake as she realized this letter was likely from the mother she’d never known - the woman who had abandoned her to a convent.

She was a little surprised by the sophisticated feminine script. Laurel had always believed that her mother was a street girl that had gotten herself into trouble. By her script, it was obvious that Annette had been an educated lady.

Laurel

My sweet baby girl. If you are reading this letter, you are now a young woman on your own. Please forgive me and know that what I did was to save your life. Do not seek me out, but make your way in this world, for you have the best gift I could give you, a pure soul.

With Undying Love

Annette Fabre

Tears stung her eyes as she reread those few words her mother left for her. She wondered if she should heed her mother’s warning, or defy it and seek out the Fabre family.

Just then, a dark shadow fell on her and she looked up to see
him
.

“Well angel witch, if you aren’t the image of sadness. What has you so sad?”

Again, she felt that prickling sensation of danger that she’d grown accustomed to in recent days.

Laurel jumped to her feet so that she would be in a better position to flee, if the situation called for it.

When she no longer felt at such a disadvantage, she studied him more closely than she had on the previous occasions.

He was tall. Her head barely reached his broad shoulders. The well-tailored clothing beneath his long - black overcoat spoke of someone who was accustomed to the finer things in life.

There was no denying his good looks, but his eyes troubled her. She could only liken them to an abyss of darkness, and every time she looked into them, he seemed to pull her in.

“I am well,” Laurel blurted out, hoping he would choose to leave her on her own, and not insist she go with him. There was something about him - something that set warning bells ringing in her head.

“
Laurel, I know you are frightened, but a young lady should not be on her own … especially a young lady in imminent danger.”

“I won’t be alone,” she said, shaking her head, “ I am waiting for a friend.” She let the untruth slip from her tongue.

“Why did you follow me here? I’ve already told you that I will not go with you.”

“Laurel, why do you fear me so much?” He held out a hand to her, but she only backed away, increasing the distance between them.

“There was a time that you would smile when you saw me. You know I would never harm you,” he added.

What was he saying?

She’d only seen him three times in her life, and she couldn’t recall smiling at him at all.

“It is not you I fear. It is the evil that you carry with you.”

Marcos smiled, but he could not mask the pain or the anger that leaped into his eyes. “You are a little fool. My evil pales in comparison to what is hunting you.”

He was at her side so swiftly that she had no time to react.

His movements were not that of a man, at least no man she’d ever seen. He moved unnaturally, so fast that she did not see him move when he closed the gap of safety she’d created.

With her arm in his iron grip, he led her into a nearby alley.

A rat scurried away as they moved by it, but she barely noticed.

There was little sunlight to illuminate the space between the two buildings. At the far end of the alley, a man lounged against a pail of trash, likely unconscious from strong drink.

The isolation was unnerving.

Laurel’s eyes darted around - looking for an escape.

“What about your lover, Laurel? Was I right?” A dark smiled touched his lips. “Does he hold you in such high regard that he would make you his wife?”

It was true. The day after her encounter with Marcos St. Claire, she’d confronted Philippe in the garden. In the beginning, he’d been adamant about his love for her, but when Laurel stood her ground, he’d admitted the truth.

He’d tried to soothe her, but she’d been overwhelmed with anger. After she’d tossed a furious storm of words at him, Philippe finally told her how it was.

Many men in New Orleans took mistresses, and she was his. He spoke about it as if it were something she should be thankful for.

In a fit of rage, Laurel struck him.

She’d been shocked by the fury she saw in Philippe’s eyes in that moment. Raising her arms, she’d shielded her face from the attack she fully expected.

But it didn’t happen.

Instead, he’d smiled, but it was a dark - angry smile. “Good day Laurel,” he told before turning his back on her as if she meant nothing to him at all.

Surprisingly, she’d felt betrayed, but little sadness.

She was a wiser to the ways of the opposite sex now. At least she could thank Philippe for this.

“Ah, I see that you have already confirmed that what I told you is true.” Marcos’s voice brought Laurel back to the present.

Laurel lifted her chin defiantly.

She refused to back away from this brute. Never again would she back down from any man who would try to deceive or manipulate her.

“You are no different than Philippe,” she said, pointing her finger accusingly.

In her anger, she actually took a step toward him, taking him off guard.

“You would take me to your bed … despite the fact that you are charged with being my guardian and protector!”

Marcos threw his head back in deep laughter. “
Mademoiselle
, you have more fire than I thought. What you fail to understand is that my taking you to my bed
is
my way of protecting you.”

“So you say my uncle gave you guardianship so that you could …” Laurel’s eyes were slits of anger.

“Now you are seeing the truth Laurel, but it wasn’t so that I could take your innocence, but so that you could lay with the Dark Prince and conceive a child.”

What Marcos was saying was unbelievable.

“Why would my uncle do such a thing? What kind of monster would send his niece to live with someone to be his mistress, or to the devil himself, if I were to believe what you are saying?” Once more, Laurel’s anger pushed her toward him.

Marcos said nothing, but stared at her with eyes of molten fire.

Before she had time to react, he grabbed her hair and forced her head back, capturing her lips in a punishing kiss. As soon as his tongue entered her mouth, she was lost in visions of sleek - wet bodies, moving in rhythm. She saw herself with her legs spread, impaled by the flesh of man and that man was Marcos.

The warmth between her legs erupted in an inferno of craving. She could feel the wetness spreading in her undergarments, but she didn’t care. She was reaching that peak and there would be no return.

But then he broke away.

Just before she’d reached the explosive rapture of climax, he’s pulled back, leaving her with a fire that was out of control.

Still captive in his arms, he put his lips close to her ear. “Poor little Laurel. You need that release so badly, don’t you?” His tongue flicked against her skin, and the heat between her legs erupted once again.

“This is nothing. I can do so much more for you.”

Suddenly he released her, forcing her to grab his arm to keep from falling.

The heat of shame rushed to her face, but she was still shaking from the unimaginable desire he’d just stirred within her.

It could not be natural to feel so much pleasure from just a kiss.

Though she’d only let Philippe use his fingers to state her desire, they’d kissed many times. His kisses had never come close to comparing to what she’d just experienced.

“You are depraved!” Her voice shook with the agony of trying to tone down the feelings he’d stirred.

His throaty laughter was disarming. She’d been expecting another angry response, not amusement.

“Little angel witch, your earthy nature will be your peril. You’ll come to me sooner or later. It is in your nature. You want me to fill you with my flesh.”

“Indeed
mo
nsieur
, you are really far too forward.” Laurel could think of nothing else to say.

“Can I be of some help, miss?”

They both looked up at the same time. Sauntering down the alley was a woman, not much older than Laurel.