New Orleans Novel Novels & Stories

*Raven* "I feel like cooking tonight, but I'm not sure what to get as I shop around the local market in the French Quarter of New Orleans. The city has a diverse population, and everyone seems to get along well, except for the occasional dispute. New Orleans is a lively city that keeps its residents well entertained, from Mardi Gras to Jazz Fest, the French Quarter to the Superdome. It's one of the oldest cities in the state and has a rich history, from vampires to voodoo queens, and Cajuns are well known for their southern charm. After deciding on a Seafood Creole Gumbo, I returned home with my grocery bags.

His voice sounded dull, just like when he’d been held underground in Colombia. He heard laughter. Then screaming outside his door. The silence returned as suddenly as the screaming had started. The door to his cell opened. Jeannine stood there, covered in blood. Just like before. J Toulouse Street French Quarter, New Orleans February 2005 “Tell me again why the Major loaned us out to the 8th district commander?” asked Officer Curtis Jones, as he blew smoke out the passenger side window of his patrol car. Despite the winter chill, the music blared in the streets, and the people sang, walking from bar to bar, arm in arm, laughing and enjoying the spectacle that was Bourbon Street.

I tried to bite the one on my left. He backhanded me across the face without even looking. My head snapped to the side, and stars exploded behind my eyes. For a moment, everything went grey. Then the world swam back into focus, and we were at the door. The guard pushed it open. Sunlight. So much sunlight, after days in the dark cellar. It blinded me, seared my eyes, made tears stream down my cheeks. I blinked desperately, trying to see, trying to orient myself. The courtyard was packed. Hundreds of wolves, maybe more. They lined the walls, filled the balconies, crowded every inch of space. And they were all staring at me.

“What is it?” I inhaled sharply—and the scent hit me. Rancid. Bitter. Not pack. Not friend. Rogues. My lips peeled back into a snarl. “Trouble.” The gates shuddered, then burst inward with the force of bodies slamming through. Shadows spilled into the courtyard—wolves, lean and feral, eyes glowing with hunger. Rogues. At least seven of them. The air erupted with chaos. Guards shouted, steel clashed, claws ripped against armor. The courtyard became a storm of violence.

The room had a large black couch that seemed to wrap around the room, the carpet was surprisingly very white, with a lot of dark brown wood fixing on the was a large tv, and two large hanging lights in the middle of the room. “Where are we?” “This is my newest home that I bought about a month ago. It’s in New Orleans near the French quarters.” “Really?” I ran over to the nearest window to see in the yard a beautiful oak tree that earn the nickname of the singing oak, because this oak is strung with a set of wind chimes that will ring out a pentatonic scale with the breeze. I can’t believe I’m in New Orleans of all places that I have always dreamt to come to. I looked over to Asmodeus who see

I say at last, deciding on the truth, albeit a vague version of it. “Ah, the most intriguing kind of business,” he muses, leaning back in his seat, his eyes never leaving mine. “New Orleans is certainly the place for that; a city where the past and present blur, where secrets hide in plain sight. I hope the city reveals what you’re searching for.” I tilt my head, caught off guard by his words. “You make it sound like you know the place.” He offers a noncommittal shrug, the hint of a secretive smile playing on his lips. “Let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of adventures there.”

his fingers trace idle patterns on her hip while he waits for her answer, content just to hold her like this while she relaxes against him. “Ohhh, a detective novel,” Harper said playfully and her gaze roamed over the book cover for the novel ‘The orphanage by the Lake’ by Daniel G. Miller. The title is written in large white capital letters at the top of the cover, where ‘ORPHANAGE’ and ‘LAKE’ appears in larger font. The centre of the cover features a large, old mansion situated directly beside a lake. The mansion appears symmetrical, with multiple windows and several chimneys rising from the roof. One or two windows glows with warm yellow light, standing out against the otherwise dark buil

The afternoon sun warmed her skin through the open windows of the cab as she stared at the narrow one-way roads filled with different cars and people once they entered the French Quarter neighborhood and drove through Bourbon Street. Cinnia sighed and leaned back in her seat. She felt fear grip her heart in a tight fist. She had been adamant in coming to New Orleans but now that she was there, she wasn't sure of what she would do exactly. "How are we to get weapons?" She whispered to Conall.

**FLASHBACK—New Orleans, 2008** The warehouse reeks of fish guts and betrayal. I’d tracked Marie’s scream to a rusted shipping container, its sides spray-painted with a grinning calavera—the cartel’s calling card. Shadows pooled at my feet, thick as the Creole curses I spat into the dark. My boots slip on blood-slick concrete as I kick open the shipping container door. Inside, a single bare bulb swung like a hanged man. “Marie?!” Her name echoed back, drowned by a man’s laugh—slick as oil. “Too late, frè.” The voice slithered from the shadows, Spanish accent sharpening the Creole words. “Your sister fought hard. Made it… personal.”

The only thing I could mutter when I took it was, "Oh." MONTANA'S POV I got on my flight on time, got a new phone, and broke the old one. I saved some numbers in my new phone, though, just In case I would need them one day. Finally, I had landed at my de stination. I took a deep breath as I looked at the sign that said, "Welcome to New Orleans."