The Werewolf's Kiss by Cheri Scotch

Author:Cheri Scotch
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Horror, Fiction, Werewolves, Voodooism, General, Louisiana
ISBN: 9780743474559
Publisher: I Books
Published: 1992-01-01T22:00:00+00:00

PART FIVE

The Loup-garou’s Ball

15

In the middle of the nineteenth century, Gallatin Street was the nastiest hellhole in the state of Louisiana, if not the entire Gulf Coast. It was a filthy stretch of street only two blocks long, from the French Market to the Mint, but in those two pitch black blocks there was a universe of perversion, depravity, and murder. The river men and sailors who patronized the smoky saloons and barrelhouses of Gallatin Street were a brutish lot, but the whores were even tougher. The clap was the least of a man’s problems on Gallatin Street; here, sex was best performed standing up and with a razor in one hand. This was the place where the six-foot redheaded harlot Bricktop robbed and roughed up more men than she fucked, and she could fuck fifteen of them in thirty minutes. This was the place where a man could start walking down at one end of the street and come out the other without his money, his clothes, or all the bodily parts he was born with. This was the place where a man could take a drink as a respectable lawyer and wake up as a shanghaied sailor on his way to the West Indies.

And this is the place, now, where everybody gathers for the weekend flea markets, a sunny street with the touristy shops of the French Market at one end, and the beautifully restored Mint at the other. Only one thing stayed the same: you could still start at one end and come out the other without any money.

Outdoor tables and stalls crowded the street, and you could find anything from antique lace hankies and old silver to fluffy purebred Chow puppies, looking like scowling teddy bears with wise eyes.

Sylvie was looking at some lavish old hats when she looked up and saw a figment of her imagination looking back at her from across the street. She had seen those green eyes and that blond hair before, in a dream, the night she had disappeared from the crawfish boil at the lake and he had carried her home.

That half-forgotten feeling of being warm and safe flooded over her again, but this time, seeing him in broad daylight when she had thought she had dreamed him, stopped her cold. She felt a fast rush of sexual longing that she had never felt for poor Quentin—or for anybody else—and then wondered at the imprudence of it. If there was one thing she didn’t need right now, it was to get involved with somebody.

She didn’t even have her life screwed on straight.

Well, that’s rushing it, she thought. I don’t even know this person and I’m daydreaming already. This is some hunk I saw on the street one day, and when I had that weird hallucination, it was his face that filled in the blank.

She had to find out why this man figured in her memories. Against her better judgment, she started across the street, with no idea what she’d say to him.

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