Shannon Drake - Vampires 01 by Beneath a Blood Red Moon

Author:Beneath a Blood Red Moon
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

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They wandered around for an hour, down narrow streets beneath overhanging balconies. They stopped for rich cafe au lait on Prince Street, and ambled to Jackson Square to throw breadcrumbs to the birds.

They talked mostly about New Orleans, about its rich and varied history—avoiding the topic of murder. As they kept wandering, Sean became involved in their discussion regarding Andrew Jackson, and he didn’t realize that they had come to the statue of his Civil War ancestor until they were standing right beneath it.

He looked up.

Another Sean, a different time, and a far different world.

Captain Sean Canady stood in the military frockcoat of his day, plumed slouch hat low over his forehead, scabbard and sword at his side, one booted foot set atop a rock as he looked out over the city he loved with handsomely chiseled marble eyes. A plaque at the statue’s base mentioned the dates of his birth and his death, and his valiant achievements. He had died in his attempt to save the city of New Orleans; he was a hero who defended his men to his own tragic death, and he would live on forever in history as a seeker of justice.

“Quite an impressive fellow, eh?” Sean inquired.

Maggie looked at him a trifle strangely, he thought. She seemed a little pale. “You look just like him.”

“Do I?” Sean stared up at the statue—carved with beard and collar-length hair. “Hard to tell. I need the frockcoat and the stance, don’t you think?”

She seemed to be shivering. He slipped an arm around her. “Hey, you don’t believe in ghosts, do you? Not a sophisticate such as yourself!”

She withdrew slightly from him, studying his eyes. “Don’t you believe in ghosts?” she asked.

He frowned, amused. He shook his head. “No. I don’t believe in ghosts. Or haunts. And hey, he was supposedly a good guy— if he came back to haunt us, he’d be a benevolent spirit, right?”

She shrugged. “He would be a benevolent spirit.”

“Meaning …?” Sean queried, bemused. She was usually just so damned matter-of-fact.

“Don’t you ever think sometimes that …”

“That what?”

“I…” She looked at him, then moistened her lips. “I don’t know. That there’s evil in the air sometimes, I suppose.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts at all, that’s for certain.”

She looked at him, shaking her head. “If you don’t believe in ghosts, haunts, spirits—or the like—how do you explain the murders?”

“Explain them? People were viciously killed.”

“How?”

His eyes narrowed and he frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, just exactly how? How do you explain the lack of blood, or the body of a butchered victim being moved from a hotel room without witnesses noticing a thing?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Jesus, Maggie, if only that could be my answer! Spirits. I don’t believe in evil spirits. People commit evil. There’s an evil man killing people, and I’m going to find him and turn him over to the due process of the law.”

She shook her head suddenly. “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, Sean.

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