Keeper of the Night & the Keepers by Heather Graham

Author:Heather Graham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 2

New Orleans was her city, and Fiona MacDonald loved it with a passion.

She tried to remember that as she walked away from Jagger DeFarge’s car.

The parking area was new and paved, and sat on an embankment right at the edge of the river.

She paused to look down at the Mississippi. It really was a mighty river. The currents could be vicious; storms could make it toss and churn, and yet it could also be beautiful and glorious, the vein of life for so many people who had settled along its banks.

The great river had allowed for the magnificent plantations whose owners had built an amazing society of grace and custom—and slavery. But even in the antebellum days before the Civil War, New Orleans had offered a home for “free men of color.” Ironically, black men had owned black men, and quadroons had been the mistresses of choice. In Fiona’s mind, the city was home to some of the most beautiful people in the world even now, people who came in all shades. God, yes, she loved her city. It was far from perfect. The economy was still suffering, and, as ever, the South still struggled to gain educational parity with the North.

But everyone lived in this city: black, white, yellow, red, brown and every shade in between. Young and old, men and women.

And the denizens of the underworld, of course.

She took a deep breath as she stared at the river. She was furious, yes. She was afraid, yes. And what might have been bothering her most was the fact that she didn’t think Jagger DeFarge had actually intended to wound her with his words.

God, yes! Her parents would have handled this much better. But they were dead. They had known what they were doing would cost them their last strength, their last breaths. But they had believed in a beautiful world, where peace could exist, where everyone could accept everyone else.

She walked down to Decatur Street and paused. St. Louis Cathedral stood behind Jackson Square, its steeple towering over the scene before it, including the garden with its magnificent equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson. Café du Monde was to her right—filled with tourists, naturally. It was a “must see” for visitors, perhaps something like the Eiffel Tower in Paris, even if it wasn’t nearly so grand. It was a true part of New Orleans, and she decided to brave the crowd of the tourists and pick up a nice café au lait for the three block walk back to the shop on Royal Street.

Though an actual drink might be better at this moment. A Hand Grenade or a Hurricane, or any one of the other alcoholic libations so enjoyed on Bourbon Street.

But she couldn’t have a drink. She couldn’t drink away what had happened—or everything she feared might be about to happen next.

She made her way through the open air patio to the take-away window, ordered a large café au lait to go, then headed on up toward Chartres Street and then Royal.

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