Blood Red (as Shannon Drake) (v5) by Heather Graham

Author:Heather Graham [Graham, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

There were a number of tourists wandering the Square. That was good, Susan thought. It was almost like old times. There was a caricaturist just a few feet away, sketching a young couple who were obviously in love. A young woman in a gypsy skirt and turban had set up on the other side of the artist.

She sat quietly at her own table for a moment, closing her eyes, her hands lying on the tarot card before her. She didn’t turn over the cards; she just closed her eyes and listened.

She could hear the rumble of the mule drawn carriages.

A sax playing to her left.

There was chatter.

Someone who was already a few sheets to the wind stumbled on the sidewalk and was helped by a more sober companion.

She concentrated harder.

Her full name was Susan Beauvais, and her family had been in the area for centuries. One ancestor had fled the bloody revolution that erupted in Haiti in 1791. Over the hundreds of years since, she’d accumulated all sorts different ancestors. Someone had been white. At least one had been an Indian. But it had been her mother, a Creole, who had told her about the magic that went untapped by most people throughout their lives. Reading tarot cards, palms and the crystal ball made for a decent living, but there was so much more a person could learn.

She didn’t always feel comfortable with her power. Sometimes people were better off when they didn’t know what lay ahead.

But there were other times when it was necessary for people to know what they were about to face. And this was such a time.

She’d sensed troubles like these before, but never so strong, so frightening.

She concentrated more fully, and at last it came to her.

A soft sound, a rustling on the wind.

Yes…she could hear it. The flapping of wings.

She looked up at the sky. Bats. There were often bats here. They rested high up in the eaves of the taller buildings.

She removed her hands from her cards, asked the artist to watch her table, then stood and hurried over to the church, looking around nervously as she went.

The great doors remained open, though they would be closed very soon.

Inside, she knelt down in the aisle and pulled the huge cross she always wore from beneath the cotton fabric of her shirt, then she held it tightly as she murmured her prayer.

Though she didn’t look up, she sensed it when someone slid into the pew beside her. She shook her head. “You should not be here.”

“It’s my home,” he said.

“There is a very fine line between good and evil,” she said, turning to looked up at the handsome young man in the pew. “You may get caught in the crossfire.”

“There are very bad times coming,” he said.

Susan bowed her head again. “Yes, I know.”

“I have to be here.”

“I will pray for you,” Susan said.

“You must help,” he said.

“And how can I do that?”

“You see things.”

She turned and stared at him. “It’s not as if there’s a movie playing in my head.

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