Chapter One

Fairy lights lit the Quarter in a soft, yellow glow. Bonne Chance was a comfortable city. It had all the flare of New Orleans, but on a much smaller scale. On a good night, you could hear the jazz musicians up the street at Petit Musique and smell the fresh bread wafting from Sweet Maman's Bakery.

I had grown up here. My father had brought me éclairs from La Merveille. My mother had taken my sister and me shopping at Madame Archambeau's for our prom dresses. Bonne Chance was my home. It was where my heart lived.

You'd never guess that vampires lived here too. Or that I had hit one with my car last year.

I drove out of the Quarter, leaving the jazz music and fairy lights behind. Charlemagne's note had requested that I meet him at Fortuna, his estate in Vieux Jardin, a historic upper-class district in Bonne Chance. I knew the way. Anyone who had grown up here knew the way.

Fortuna had become a local legend. As teenagers, my sister and I would walk past the wrought iron gates, daring each other to slip inside. To meet the phantom who haunted the Grecian pillars. And now, I had a standing invitation. I pulled Beatrice, my baby blue beetle, up to the gates, as nerves tangled up in my belly. There was always a brief stomach-suspending moment where I feared they wouldn't open for me. That maybe life was just a fever-dream.

I released a breath when the gates creaked open, and I drove through. Willows dusted the path on either side of the drive, and then the trees broke, and Fortuna opened to me. Bathed in silver, Fortuna was done in the old Louisiana standard of Greek Revival homes with tall columns and a wrap-around veranda. Lit with warm, yellow light, I could see shadows passing by the large windows on the second story. My phantom was awake.

Smiling to myself, I cut the engine, and grabbed my messenger bag from the passenger seat. I slung it onto my shoulder and started for the veranda. The black lacquered front door opened for me before I could even raise a hand to knock. It was a trick Charlemagne liked to use to impress me. And it worked every single time.

I patted the nose of the lion-head knocker before I stepped into the warmth of the house. Pausing in the foyer, I slid my gaze around the front room. A vase of calla lilies sat on an antique wooden table in front of the large staircase. To the right was an open living room and the hallway to the library and den. To the left was the drawing room and the kitchen. I tilted my head to inhale. Fortuna always smelled like fresh flowers and old books.

"Charley, I'm here!" I called towards the stairs before walking into the living room.

It was furnished with a three-piece Dresden set with rolled wooden arms and gold upholstery. It was aged, but well-cared for. There were more flowers sitting in a vase on the coffee table. The flatscreen hanging on the wall was new, however, an addition he'd added just last month. I liked to think it was for my benefit. I slipped my fingers along the back of the couch before shifting to settle in with my messenger bag tucked into my lap.

I was used to waiting on Charlemagne. In the time I'd known him, he was very particular about how he looked. Everything had to be perfect. From his hair to the shine on his Oxfords. It would almost be endearing if he didn't act personally offended by my Converse chucks and love of graphic T-shirts. Hey, it was a good day when I changed out of my PJs.

"What do we have here?"

I started at the voice, jumping up from the couch, and dropping my messenger bag as I spun around. Definitely not Charlemagne. The vampire was tall, slender, and female. Dark curls hung loose around her face, blushed pink to look as if she were flushing, her lips red and raw.

Her dark eyes slid over me from head to toe. "I do like a date who provides dinner."

"D-dinner?" I repeated, my voice pitching, as I took a step back. The back of my calves hit the coffee table and I could hear the vase warbling on the glass before it upturned with a small crash of glass.

"Now, look what you did, dinner."

I spun again, my heart knocking into my ribs. That wasn't Charlemagne either. Dressed in a dark velvet suit that was tailored to his tall, broad frame, the vampire wore his dark hair loose, curling against his shoulders. His eyes were emeralds sitting in a face made of hard alabaster. He bared his teeth in a grin. "Though, I must admit, you're not as pretty as I like my dinner to be."

My stomach flopped into my toes. Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, who had a preference when they were about to eat someone? "I am not dinner." I said, taking a step to the side to get around the coffee table and keep them in my line of sight. "Charley!"

The male vampire reached me in the time it took for me to blink. Vampires move so fucking fast. He wrapped his fingers in the front of my t-shirt, lifting up on my toes, as his fangs slid from his gums. It happened suddenly. One moment, I was looking into the man's mouth, and the next I was crushed up against blue velvet and blonde hair, the scent of blood and powdered roses in my nose, and a hand around my hip to keep me from tripping backwards. Finally.

"Pardonne-moi, Writer." Charlemagne rumbled, old school French rolling off his tongue with ease as his voice vibrated through his body, against my cheek, and every part of us that was suddenly touching. "I was fixing my hair."

I made a noise. Of course, he was. I slipped my arms around his waist and hugged him tight. Charlemagne DiBaptiste, the five-hundred-year-old Vampire King of Louisiana, was just fixing his hair. Typical. Just like he'd been laying in the middle of the road because he'd been "struck by a sudden melancholic urge to do so" when I'd hit him with my car last year. "You're so lucky I like you, DiBaptiste." I muttered, pressing my face into his back.

His abdominal muscles rippled under my hands as laughter rolled through him. "That I am, ma cherie." He murmured, slipping his hands over mine. "This is not how I wanted our evening to start. I had not expected my friends to behave so rudely." He admonished.

I peeked around his arm to find the woman glaring at us while a look of confusion darkened the man's brows. "You have friends?" I asked, eyeing them right back.

Charlemagne was the only vampire I knew outside of our agent, Julian Hoffman. He acted as a liaison between us and Bardem Books, the publishing house that had taken on The Sanguinem Chronicles. As it turned out, when you were writing about actual vampires, there were certain things that had to be edited out for the good of the species. Myths that had to be propagated. Julian called it Controlling the Narrative. I called it Vampire Propaganda.

I didn't mind. As long as the rules were being followed, Charlemagne and I could keep working together. We could remain this unlikely pair of friends. Caught between Shahrazad and King Shahryar. I felt his laugh on the tips of my fingers again, spreading along my arms to raise the hair along the nape of my neck. We didn't usually stand this close for this long.

"I have many friends." Charlemagne replied, though I had a feeling that wasn't necessarily true. He had acquaintances and lovers, but not a lot of friends. "I asked you here to meet Marcus, one of my oldest companions." He said, dragging the tips of his fingers along the back of my hands. "And this is my current paramour, Sabella."

The way he rolled his r's on the word current made me think Sabella wasn't going to last long. I wasn't surprised, I'd seen at least three other women pass through Fortuna in the time I'd known Charlemagne. He reached for my hand to drag me out from behind him. "This is Abigail Braden, my biographer." He said, curling my hand around the crook of his arm. "With my patronage, we have published un roman, one of many to come."

"A novel?" Marcus gaped at him, straightening to his full height. "About yourself? Charlemagne-"

While they broke out into rapid fire French— I was born and raised in Louisiana, I can understand most Creole, but not old school French— I took a moment to look up at Charlemagne. He'd been Turned in his mid-twenties, making him only a little older than me when he became immortal. His perfectly coiffed blonde hair was loose around his shoulders, and his deep blue eyes were the same color as his suit. He was beautiful in a way that could make your heart ache if you let it.

I glanced up to find Sabella watching me and blushed a deep scarlet. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pulling back over her teeth. Reflexively, my fingers tightened around Charlemagne's arm. Okay, she didn't like me one bit. I started to bunch up my shoulders, how did you convey just friends nonverbally?

"You are blushing." Charlemagne had stopped full conversation to touch my chin with his index finger and lift my face. His eyes brightened, a pleased smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. "I have never seen this shade of pink on you, Writer. Is it for me?"

I blinked at him. Okay, in typical fashion, he was absolutely not helpful. The arrogance. "You," I started, my voice pitching, as my blush deepened. Wonderful. If I denied it now, I'd just look like I was lying. I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, it's for you, Charley."

I pulled back. Needing a little distance and a chance to get my face under control before Sabella decided to go for my jugular. I grabbed my messenger bag off the floor and glanced at the vase, spilled flowers and water dripping all over the hardwood floor. "Sorry about the vase."

Charlemagne's gaze shifted from me to the broken vase. "Yes, well, it was only a late Victorian antique whose demise I blame entirely on Marcus." He said, making a dismissive gesture with his fingers.

Marcus made a disgruntled noise as a grin started across my mouth. I could accept that. Even if it didn't exactly endear me to dear old Marcus. "How did you meet?" I asked, settling onto the chaise lounger, and bringing my knees up to tuck them under me.

"Chaussures."

Rolling my eyes, I shifted until my shoes were off the couch before raising my brows up at him expectantly. "Well?" I prompted, bringing up my arm to rest my head against it.

Charlemagne's features softened, blue eyes warming as he moved to join me on the lounger. He arranged himself carefully, draping one long leg over the other and stretching out one arm along the back of the couch. We were turned towards each other. The only two people in the room. "It was in Florence."

"Florence?" I repeated, interest piqued. I loved Charlemagne's stories. Why else would I write them down? He had the kind of magnetism where adventures and heartache and everything in between sought him out. "What year?"

He considered for a moment. "1792. Marcus was already nearing four hundred then. He was established. I was a little rougher around the edges. I had not yet found my way to Fortuna." Charlemagne explained. "We came across each other at the home of Signora Garibaldi, during one of her more infamous balls. It seemed that we were both trying to seduce her and her oldest daughter."

I relaxed against the back of the couch as he spoke. I tried to make mental notes before simply giving up to enjoy the timbre of his voice. We could talk about it again later. We usually did. "Wait, nearly four hundred in 1792?" My brows arched as my gaze flickered towards Marcus. "That makes you..." My brows pinched as I did the mental math.

"Over six hundred, yes." Marcus sighed, finally moving to settle into the seat across from us. "And as I recall it, I did seduce Signora Garibaldi."

"Yes, but I seduced her daughter." Charlemagne grinned, tilting his shoulders. "We shared a few of the same social circles and eventually traveled together to your America."

There was more there. Nearly three hundred years of it, but I could be patient. For the most part. "Then what happened?"

The evening wore on deep into the night. While I didn't think Marcus or Sabella were particularly impressed with me, I found I didn't care. Charlemagne was in one of his moods. The magnetic entertainer, the inspiration of portraits and sculptures and at least one novel. He was at ease at the center of attention. I knew it was an act, as carefully articulated and crafted as his appearance, but I adored it either way.

"Charlemagne." Marcus stood from his seat, prompting Charlemagne and a few seconds later, myself, to stand. "I hunger. Let us hunt tonight."

Charlemagne tilted his head at him. "I am still entertaining my guest." He said, something curious crossing his features as he studied his old friend.

Oh, me! I started to stretch, raising my arms over my head in the universal sign of I should probably start heading out. "Oh, I—"

"I will hunt later, but you go on." Charlemagne said, glancing at me with a soft smile. "I would prefer your company a little longer, Abigail."

When he said my name it was hard to say no to him. He usually preferred Writer, or when we first met, Human. I really didn't mind the former, but I loved the way his accent rolled through the syllables of my given name. It had a way of making it sound...precious. "I can stay a little longer."

"Bonne." Charlemagne slid his gaze to Marcus. "Go on, mon ami, and take the girl with you, s"il te pla?t." He said, gesturing to the stairs where Sabella had disappeared more than an hour ago.

Marcus cocked his head, a curiously unreadable look coming into his emerald gaze. "Of course, Charlemagne." He said, touching a hand to his chest before he bowed his head slightly without taking his gaze off the other vampire.

I looked up at Charlemagne once he was gone. "I don't think your friends like me." I pointed out softly.

"Marcus doesn't like anyone." He assured me, holding his hand out for mine. "Come."

I glanced at his hand before I slid my fingers into his. He led me from the living room and across the front room towards the kitchen. I eyed him curiously, wondering what this was about when he let go of my hand and settled me at the marble counter.

He moved towards the fridge and returned to me with a small white bakery box. I opened my mouth to ask him what it was when he undid the twine holding the box shut and opened it for me. It was a cake? A cake! I leaned forward to study it; the icing was mint green and covered in piped on flowers. Calla lilies. I recognized Sweet Maman's, having gotten my birthday cakes from there every year since I was three. "What's this for?" I asked, glancing up at him.

"I spoke to our Monsieur Hoffman. As of yesterday, our book is on the Bestseller's List. I thought we should celebrate—" I barely let him finish his sentence before I had my arms thrown around him. He made a small, surprised noise, catching himself on his trailing leg, as he put his arms around me. "You are happy, I presume?"

"Very." I tilted my head back to grin at him. The Bestseller's List! Our book had made it in the New York Times. I was happy and I meant it. "I'm so happy."

My mother had this saying when I was little. It was about keeping your happiness close to your chest because if you said it too loud you might attract the attention of the move je. The Evil Eye.

I should have listened to her.