Bloodborne Secrets

Emily

The flight from Atlanta to New Orleans is only about an hour and a half, but it might as well be a different world. Atlanta is hot in the springtime, but nothing like this. Louisiana heat is like getting slapped in the face with a boiled wool blanket.

“Isn’t it perfect,” Raya cries when we finally get our luggage to the curb. She flings open her arms and breathes so deeply I wonder if she thinks there are cameras filming her. But then she lives her life like that. This whole Mardi Gras gambit was her idea, and I’m along for the ride against my better judgment.

Exams are waiting for me back at school, but apparently that’s chicken feed compared to my sister’s breakup from some jackass she met on campus, so here I am. If he hadn’t cheated on her, I’d be cramming for my journalism finals instead of stepping over—is that vomit? At the airport?

“I’m already sweating,” I mumble under my breath as I heave our bags into the back of an Uber.

“Don’t worry so much.” Raya gives me a naughty wink. “It’s Mardi Gras. If you’re doing it right, you won’t be wearing clothes for too long.” Classic Raya. If it’s up to her, she’ll be under some guy sweating her ex out of her system within the hour. And I’ll be in the hallway waiting for them to finish.

We pull away from the curb and wedge in with all the other traffic heading for the French Quarter. Raya’s nose is pasted to the window, her mouth moving a million miles a minute.

“You’re not gonna believe the place I found for us. I think they had a last-minute cancellation or something, so I snapped it right up. It cost a fortune, so I just put it on Jason’s debit card.” That gets my attention and my mouth falls open.

“Wait, what?” I would never dream of doing such a thing, but my sister just grins with a mischievous twinkle.

“Bad, right?” She shrugs. “Well, fuck him. It’s what he gets for banging that slut behind my back. Tina Mitchell. Blugh.” Her tongue flies out of her mouth like just saying the name makes her want to retch. “I mean, can you believe it? She’s not even in a sorority. What’s up with that?” She babbles away, extolling the virtues of Kappa-whatever-the-hell for the billionth time. I nod my head like I’m listening, but we both know better.

All I can think about is the mountain of work waiting for me when I get back. If I was just going for Journalism it might not be so bad, but double majoring in Journalism and Political Science keeps things ratcheted up. Just thinking about it, has my knee jiggling nonstop, and Raya puts a hand on it.

“Hey.” She catches my eye with a small grin. “You didn’t hear a thing I just said, huh?”

“Sure. Tina’s just screwing Jason to get back at you for—”

“Okay,” she cuts me off. “Nice try, but no.” Twisting in her seat to look at me, her face softens. “Thanks for coming with me. I know this isn’t your thing.”

“Don’t be silly.” I try to wave her off, but she squeezes my leg.

“I’m serious. Thank you.”

I drop my head on her shoulder with a sigh. Wild as she can be, my sister has a genuine streak a mile deep that has a way of cutting through the bullshit. It’s just the reminder I needed. Because I would walk through fire for this girl.

Which might be exactly what I have to do. Bourbon street is so jammed with partiers I can barely force the door open when we park in front of the hotel. If I thought things were hot at the airport, getting out of the car is like walking into a pot of gumbo. Fragrant, spicy, and boiling.

“Holy crap,” I say, taking it in while the driver gets our luggage out of the trunk. The street is mobbed from one end to the other. Music pours out of the mouths of open bars, and buskers on the corners add to the mix until it’s one big joyous, confused jamboree. People are dancing, singing, shouting, and everybody’s got a drink in their hand. And it’s not even three o’clock.

“Right?” Raya clutches my arm. “I can’t wait to get moving. Let’s get our bags upstairs, then we can clean up and hit the streets and party!” She skips up the steps, leaving me to tip the driver and get the bags inside. I’d be aggravated if she wasn’t so excited. Once I’ve had a shower, I’m sure I’ll get into the spirit of things.

A blast of air conditioning welcomes me to the lobby, but before I can get too cozy, I realize it’s every bit as crowded in here. It’s like the party has spilled up from the street, and the whole place is full of cigarette smoke, regardless of the no-smoking signs.

At first I think it’s the crowd making me uncomfortable, then I realize it's something else. That unnerving feeling that I’m being watched. A magnetic prickle that makes every inch of my skin come to life at once.

I must be the only one who feels it, because Raya is chattering at the counter and flirting with the bellboys. The girl sure doesn’t waste any time.

Scanning the crowd again, I catch a glimpse of someone who makes the hair on my neck stand on end. The crowd parts just enough for me to see a man sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs.

He’s mesmerizing. Dark hair, almost wolfishly lean features, and a pair of glittering, celestial eyes. They would be captivating on their own, but they’re fixed directly on me.

I look away as fast as I can.

My heart thuds in my chest, and I blink spots out of my vision. That one shared glance has my head spinning so fast I think I’ve been struck by lightning.

It’s just the heat, I tell myself. The jolt from stepping out of the blistering afternoon into the cold lobby did something to me. Because there’s no way on earth catching eyes with a man could make me feel like this.

Back at school, I hardly even look at guys. There’s no time in my schedule for romance, but I’ve also never met anyone who was worth slowing down for. So the chances of this feeling being anything other than travel and the climate is next to zero. I’m not the kind of fool who believes in love at first sight.

At the same time, I can’t bring myself to look his way again. It seems like it would just be inviting trouble.

Not that I have long to think about it. Raya bounces over to me with the keys and a sour expression on her face.

“They just told me the elevator is broken. Can you believe it?”

“What floor is our room on?”

“The second.” She stuffs a key in my hand, and I can’t help laughing.

“It’s just one flight of stairs,” I say. “What’s the big deal?”

“Ummmm...” She rolls her eyes at the line of suitcases I dragged in from the street. My bag is heavy on its own, but Raya packed to go on safari. One large roller bag, and two smaller ones—all matching, of course.

“Don’t tell me none of your boyfriends aren’t willing to help you?” I snort, slightly irritated by her skills at over-packing. However, as I look to where they had been… they’re nowhere in sight. Maybe my twin came on too strong because they’ve all made themselves scarce. “Forget it,” I shrug. “We’ll manage.”

Between the two of us, it’s not too much work. At least it wouldn’t be if I wasn’t already sweating. But when the door to our room swings open, I forget all about it.

“Oh, my God.”

Raya lets loose with a triumphant squawk of laughter.

“I knew you’d like it! Come on.” We wheel our bags in, and I can’t get my jaw off my chest.

The place has to have been built in the twenties. Twelve foot high ceilings with plaster work around the edges. Built in cabinetry with silver backed mirrors. Two massive brass beds against one wall complete the picture. There’s something indefinable about it all that tells me a room like this could only exist in The Big Easy.

My sister doesn’t pay a lick of attention. She dives straight for the French doors and flings them open. A wrought-iron balcony runs along the whole side of our room, and Raya’s arrival is met with a huge roar of approval from the street. Flinging open her arms to revel in it, Raya laughs and shimmies to the tune of catcalls and laughter.

“Hello, New Orleans,” she cries.

“Hello, yourself,” a man shouts back up to her. I ease out myself, trying to get a look at things without arousing the same level of attention that she seems to get wherever she goes. A couple of whistles make me queasy, but I ignore them. The throng leering at us is more than I can take, so I slip back inside to unpack.

It’s like I can still feel eyes on me, and I shiver to try and dispel the sensation. Then it dawns on me it’s not eyes from the street lingering on my skin.

No, it’s a pair of piercing eyes from the lobby that won’t let me go.