Chapter Three

It'd been three days since I'd seen my vampire. I carried that with me into the dreary Friday evening. I'd taken a cab to Sweet Maman's to pick up my father's birthday cake— a Chantilly confection, his favorite— before deciding to walk the rest of the way. I enjoyed the Quarter, the scents of freshly baked bread and seafood medleys blended nicely with the scent of coming rain.Soon there would be decorations for Samhain. Paper bats and strings of cobweb in every window.

Miranda was waiting for me in front of St. Germaine"s Cemetery, the setting sun a halo behind her dark head. Two years younger than me, she was my complete opposite. Where I was barely five feet, curvier around the edges, and with a mess of curly hair, she was tall and slender with straight, dark brown hair to her mid-back. Her face was a little more angular than mine, but we shared the same dark brown eyes and our mother's petite nose.

In a sunflower yellow dress and tan peacoat, she was as meticulous in her appearance as Charlemagne was, not a strand of dark hair out of place on her head. As a rule, we didn't wear black for dad's birthday. It was a celebration. Beneath my coat, I wore an olive green maxi dress with a small slit along my calves. It was one of the only dresses I owned that I actually felt good in, and I'd paired it with a pair of black slip-on sneakers.

Miranda's features softened when she spotted me. "Brought the wine." She said, holding up a bottle of cheap merlot in one hand and a bouquet of yellow daisies and pink peonies in the other. "And the flowers."

"And I have the cake." I said, holding up the small white box from Maman's. "You ready?" I asked as I finished crossing the space between us.

Miranda tilted one shoulder. "No, but I never am." She said, straightening her spine as she took a breath. "I'm ready." She muttered, marching ahead into the cemetery.

I followed after her, my eyes slipping over the well-loved mausoleums, the marble angels, and the weeping willows. Our father had been cremated and placed in his family's crypt. The Bradens had come over from Ireland in the late 1800s and had been in Bonne Chance ever since. The crypt was old, but comfortingly familiar. We never went in but we settled on the single step outside, brushing away the remnants from dad's last birthday.

Miranda removed the dead flowers from the small urn attached to the crypt door and replaced them with the fresh ones as I opened the box from Maman's. Mrs. Jacobi had packed three plates, a small cake cutter, and silverware. She'd been working at Sweet Maman's long enough to recognize the date and our tradition, but it never failed to bring heat to my eyes every time I recognized her kindness. I always forgot about the small things like utensils.

Swallowing hard, I pulled a single candle from my pocket, and placed it in the center of the cake. I lit it as Miranda pulled a single plastic wine glass from her pocket and set it on the step. She twisted the cap off the merlot and poured some into the glass before setting the bottle down. We made it through bòn fèt without any tears. Hey, we were doing better than we did last year.

It'd been a little over seven years since our dad had died in a car accident. It'd been sudden and devastating, detouring the paths our lives might have taken. Our mom used to come with us to celebrate, but had stopped once she'd married Phil. I didn't know if it had just gotten too hard for her, or if it just wasn't hard enough anymore.

Miranda ducked her head to blow out the candle. "Cut the cake?" She mumbled, the edges of her voice warbling.

I sniffed, dropping my head in a nod as I reached for the cake cutter. I cut out a slice for dad and placed it next to the wine that would never be drunk. I cut out a piece for her next and then myself. The cake was a sweet lump in my throat as I swallowed past a sudden wave of tears.

Miranda took a sip from the merlot bottle before she held it to me. "Drink, Abby."

I took the bottle from her and took a sip. The wine was sweet with an acidic aftertaste, but it washed down the cake and tears just fine. We'd sit with dad until the bottle was empty. "Do you remember when we were little, and dad would buy us eclairs from La Merveille? He'd bring them home in those silly pink boxes and say it was just cause?"

Miranda took a swig and swallowed hard. "I remember." She sniffed. "Mom would get upset because he always caved and gave them to us before dinner."

I bobbed my head in an unsteady nod. "We should bring that back." I said, my voice unthreading around the edges. A balloon of pressure was filling up my chest, threatening to pop. "Eclairs before dinner."

Miranda's face crumpled, her shoulders heaving, as a sob hit her hard. "Yeah, we should." She managed to hiccup. "I miss him."

"Me too." I mumbled, dropping my gaze as heat filled my eyes and the balloon finally burst. Tears dripped down my face as I held the bottle out to her. "Drink, Mimi."

I firmly believe the worst combination you can be is sad and drunk on cheap wine. And I was currently both. After dropping Miranda off at her apartment, I asked the cab driver to take me to Fortuna. I knew Charlemagne said he'd be out, but I still hoped I could catch him before he left. I just needed a friend for a few minutes. That was all.

My heart sank as we pulled up to the gates. Fortuna looked dark and still even from here. And when the gates wouldn't open for me, I knew he'd left for the evening.

Swallowing, I climbed back into the cab, unsteady as I wracked my brain for where he said he would be tonight. Some kind of gentlemen's club? He'd been vague on the details, but he'd said the name. I shut my eyes, pulling at the conversation. He'd said it in French. Maison du soliel... I sat up. "Just one second, please." I said, dragging my phone out of my pocket to look up the House of the Falling Sun.

There was a very small chance the vampires who owned it were advertising online— "Here." I held my phone up towards the driver, an older Haitian man, tilting a little forward in my seat until I was pressed against the back of the passenger seat. "Can you take me here, please?"

"That's near Alexandria, are you sure?" The driver asked, a heavy creole accent rolling over his words, twisting around in his seat to get a good look at me. "That'll cost, miss."

If I'd been a little more sober and a lot less sad, I would have said no. I would have asked him to take me home. But I wanted to see Charlemagne. I needed to see him. "I'm sure." I said, bobbing my head in a loose nod. "I can pay."

"Dakò, if you insist." The driver pulled away from Fortuna and back onto the road. "What was that place called again?"

The House of the Falling Sun.

The cab driver would only take me as far as the block the club was on. He apologized, but there were dark spirits on the night's tongue. I told him it was okay, one of those dark spirits was my friend. Whether or not I'd actually said that was muddled by the merlot, but I left him a generous tip and climbed out of the cab.

The cool air felt good against my heated face. I'd sobered a little in the cab ride, but not enough to turn around and head home. I'd come this far. Inhaling deeply, I turned in the direction of the club and started up the block. We weren't exactly in Alexandria, but we were definitely not in Bonne Chance anymore. The streets were alive with light and music and drunks wandering into traffic.

Exploring a dark city, at night, all alone, was not one of my smarter decisions. I pulled my coat tighter around me and brushed through the crowd, my eyes walking along the buildings searching for something particularly vampy. My online search had only yielded a photo of the door, taken in shadow, and the address. Not a lot to go on.

I'd almost walked past the entrance when I spied the girls stumbling down the alleyway. A little drunker than I was and off-kilter, they were wearing large coats over a flash of tight, sparkly dresses. I followed them. The door to the House of the Falling Sun looked just as it did online but with a little more wear and tear around the edges. It was solid metal with an engraving of the sun sinking past the horizon line, its rays done in gold filigree.

I followed the girls up a single step and waited behind them as a metal slat in the door slid open and a pair of overly bright green eyes looked out. Silence as the girls tilted their heads back and lowered the collars of their coats to show them the pale bruises on their necks. My stomach dipped as I hunched in my coat. Maybe they wouldn't see me?

The slat slid shut and the door opened, the girls hurried inside, and I hurried after them. I only made it three steps before a hand caught the back of my coat and yanked me to a stop. "This isn't a club for outsiders, miss." A man's voice rumbled, starting to drag me back towards the entrance.

I dug my heels in. "Wait, I'm with Charlemagne." I blurted out, blinking back at the tall, imposing vampire manning the door.

He paused, his broad shoulders straightening as his green eyes flickered over my face. "Charlemagne?" He repeated. "What do you know about Charlemagne?"

"I-I'm Abigail Braden. I wrote the book." I gestured to myself before I quickly dug my phone out to pull up The Sanguinem Chronicles. "I'm a writer. Sort of like a ghostwriter, but for vampires. A vampwriter!" I giggled at myself before holding my phone up to show him my author photo. "See?"

The man looked between me and my photo as if he couldn't quite reconcile the two together. "Andrea." He looked to my left as another vampire appeared suddenly, startling me.

Andrea, a lovely butterscotch blonde in a simple black dress, eyed me before turning her attention to the doorman. "Yes?"

"Escort this woman to Monsieur DiBaptiste's private booth. If he doesn't recognize her, bring her back to me." He said, flashing his fangs.

A shiver ran down my spine. If she returned me to him, I had a feeling I wasn't walking out of this place unscathed. Andrea took my arm, her grip bruising even through my coat sleeve, and led me forward into the club. I was suddenly struck with the awe of being in my first vampire club. I tilted my head from side to side, trying to capture every detail.

Dimly lit in gold and done in the style of the Old Parisian salons, I could see all the ways Charlemagne would fit here. Like it was meant for him. I wondered if it reminded him of home. Of his human life, or his early days as a vampire. I was thinking of him instead of paying attention to where Andrea was dragging me off to, or to what was actually happening in the booths.

I spied one of the girls I'd followed in tilting her head back for an eager dark-haired vampire. I looked away before I could see his fangs dig into her flesh. My stomach flopped, the wine and cake becoming a ball in the pit of my abdomen. I hadn't even stopped to think whether or not Charlemagne might be feeding here. Did I want to see that? To really understand the full extent of what he was?

What they all were?

On a drunken whim, I'd walked into the lion's den. Not smart, Abigail. Not smart at all. A prickle of unease moved down the back of my scalp. I must have flinched because Andrea's grip tightened, and pain spread throughout my arm all the way into my hand. "Ow." I bit out.

"Keep up, little human. We are almost there." Andrea said, leading me towards a marble staircase that led to a second-floor balcony.

Before we could climb the first step, we were stopped by another vampire, a squat pug-faced man with an unfortunate bowl-cut. "What is this?" He barked out, an accent making the words a little harsher on the ears. I bet that voice could scare lesser vampires away.

Andrea tilted her head back to look up into his face, her own features blank and unimpressed. Brave. "Matthew said to bring her up. If you have a problem, Klaus, you know where he is."

I looked between them as they stared each other down. The tension was palpable, giving off sparks, as something silent passed between them. Andrea and Klaus did not like each other. Above us, I could hear laughter. Charlemagne. I bounced on my heels, aware of Andrea's grip starting to cut off circulation to my fingers. "Are you guys almost done here?"

The laughter came to a sudden pause and both vampires looked up at the same time. I followed their gaze to the balcony railing, my heart lifting at the sight of Charlemagne's face curtained by his mane of blonde curls. "Abigail?" He rumbled, his voice alone pressing a hush against the rest of the crowd.

With eyes turned towards me, I raised my free hand to wave up at him. "Hi." I breathed out, my face scrunching suddenly as a wave of tears hit me hard. "I—"

Charlemagne was in front of me in a matter of seconds, his fingers wrapped around Andrea's wrist. "Release her before I leave you staked out in the sun." He rumbled, his blue eyes flashing to black before returning to their natural color. His features softened as he turned to me, lifting his hands tocup my face, his thumbs slipping along my cheeks. "What's wrong, ma cherie? What are you doing here?"

Heat prickled my gaze, but his hands on my skin felt nice. Comforting. "I just needed to see you." I croaked, sniffing hard. The world had narrowed to the two of us. My fingertips tingled as the blood started to circulate again. I guess Andrea had let go. "I missed you."

Charlemagne's features softened with concern and mild surprise—fair, I was a little surprised at myself for admitting it— when he moved suddenly to lift me into his arms. Before I could even make a noise, we'd moved. One second we were at the bottom of the stairs and the next we were on the balcony.

I saw a brief glimpse of surprise on Marcus's face and a woman who was certainly not Sabella before he'd settled into their booth and tucked me into his lap, his hand guiding my head to his shoulder while the other gently slid along my hip. I was suddenly and completely aware of the hard planes of his body, of his body and his face flushed with the heat of recently drunk blood.

"Charlemagne, who is this?" The woman asked, coming into my peripheral. She was lovely, prettier than Sabella, but with the same coloring, the same dark hair, and dark eyes.

"Marcus."

Marcus clucked his tongue against his teeth before he held his hand out to the woman. "Come, Lian." He murmured. "There is a particularly beautiful little thing down below I'd think we'd both like to sample."

Lian started to protest, but Marcus took her hand, and led her from the balcony. I glanced up to find my vampire watching me. "I'm sorry if I ruined your night." I mumbled, my voice sounded small even to my own ears.

Charlemagne tutted, his fingers slipping through my hair sent sparks of oxytocin down my scalp. "You have rescued me from an evening of boredom." He muttered, and I highly doubted. "Now, tell me what's wrong. You've been crying, I can smell wine on your breath, and you're wearing a dress." He said, plucking at the fabric near my hip. "Tell me so I can fix it."

My mouth trembled and when the tears came I didn't stop them. "It's my dad's birthday." I whispered. "Miranda and I were visiting him at the, at the cemetery," I managed.

Charlemagne lifted his hand to touch my cheek, slipping his thumb along my cheek to catch stray tears. "You should have told me, Abigail. I would have come with you."

My throat tightened. I really think he would have. For a self-proclaimed narcissist, he was pretty thoughtful. At least, it seemed, when it came to me. "Charley, I need to ask you something." I swallowed. "My dad… he was in a bad accident, really bad—" My brows pinched, my face was falling apart. "I-If I had kn-known you—"

"No." Charlemagne tilted my head back until I was looking up at him. "I will not allow you to go down that path, mon coeur. We cannot go back and change the past."

My throat had tightened to the point of a pinprick. He was right. If I asked and he answered, it might only hurt me because we hadn't known each other then. And even if he had, he still might not have been able to save him. Sometimes fate just sucks. Swallowing hard, I shifted to put my arms around his neck, burying my face against the shoulder of his dress shirt as a sob rolled through me. "It's not fair."

"I know." He whispered, slipping his arms around me to hold me tight against him, one of his hands returned to my hair while the other moved in comforting circles on my back. He pressed his face against my temple. "I know. It never is." He murmured, pain weighing down his voice.

There was something about the ache in his voice that brought my head back to look up at him. My head swam. Between the emotional onslaught and the merlot, I didn't think about it as I raised my hands to slip my fingers along the perfect planes of his face. I just wanted to comfort him the way he comforted me. I slipped a lock of hair away from his forehead, aware of his eyes on my face.

I met his gaze, an electric spark kindled deep in my abdomen. Shutting my eyes, I leaned forward to kiss his mouth. Just a small brush of my lips against his, but the spark bloomed and spread through my entire body. Heat flushed my face as I opened my eyes to look at him again with my heart throbbing against my ribs.

Charlemagne's eyes had darkened, the pupils expanding until there was only a glowing, thin blue line around them. "Abigail." He murmured, his voice thick with something, hunger.

Panic set in a second later. What had I'd just done? We were just friends, and I'd been the one to cross that line. "Charley, I-I—" I started to struggle out of his grasp when his grip tightened.

I paused, breath coming in short pants, as I stared up at him. Charlemagne bent his head to brush his nose against mine. He was going to kiss me, and it was going to be more than a brush of lips. It was going to be more than a kiss. It was going to set me on fire and leave me burning long after we no longer knew each other.

"Charlemagne."

Charley's head came up at the sound of Marcus's voice. The tension between us snapped. Thank God. Saved by the cranky vampire.