“Henri! Get the door, s’il vous plait,” Paulette said, as she came out of the rear of the house to the chimes of the bell and went to the library. “Luc, someone is here.”

“Oh?” He looked up at her from where he was seated. “Were we expecting anyone tonight? I didn’t see anyone on the schedule. This isn’t a playing night.”

She shook her head and then waited, while he folded his newspaper and set it on the side table. When he rose and passed in front of her, she followed him. As they went towards the door, she saw three people enter the foyer.

“Please wait here. The monsieur or madame will be with you shortly.”

“Oui, we’re here,” Luc said, looking them over. “Is there something we can help you with?”

“Hello. I’m Clarence Collins. This is my partner Jana Noskova, and this is Ethan Boudreaux. We’re with The Directive.”

Paulette’s hands flew to her mouth to stop her shriek of fear.

“I see. Bien! I’m Luc, and this is my wife, Paulette.” She gave a quick curtsy, not knowing what the proper protocol was in the situation, but wanting to show respect. “First, let me welcome you to our city. But allow me to temper that by acknowledging that for you to be here in New Orleans, there must be a serious issue in the area.” Luc gestured to the hallway from which he and Paulette had come. “Let’s go to my library, where we can sit and see how we can assist you.”

Dashing to the room, Paulette flashed around, picking up papers, reshelving books, fluffing pillows, and giving it a quick dusting. Then she went to stand by Luc’s chair, as she patted her hair for flyaways, hoping she looked presentable.

They came inside, and Luc waved his arm.

“Please have a seat.”

“May I offer you a drink?” Paulette asked, stepping to the wet bar. “I’m sure we have whatever you would like in stock.”

“Chateau Lafite 1865?” Clarence said.

Her head jerked up at the rare vintage, as she went over the list of what was stored in the wine cellar. What he requested was not among them.

“Perhaps I misspoke. I apologize. I... I....”

He winked at her and said, “Joking, of course. Nobody has it that I’m aware of. If someone does, they’re keeping it in a secret stash. I’ll take a single malt whiskey if you have it.”

Relaxing a bit at his seemingly dry-witted humor, she pulled a bottle from the cabinet.

“An Abita. I like exploring local beers,” Jana said.

“I’ll have the same as Jana,” Ethan added with a nod. “Thanks.”

“And for you, mon amour?”

“An...” He paused, and she could tell he was searching for the name of the brew Jana mentioned. “...Abita? Oui. Why not?”

“Would you like frosted glasses, as well?”

“No need to bother yourself with that. Come join us,” Clarence replied for their group. “Monsieur Bellerive, sounds as if like me, you’re not a beer drinker.”

Paulette tensed, but Luc shrugged, not missing a beat at Clarence’s having known their last name.

“Eh, I’m French. Wine is in my blood.”

They laughed, and Paulette’s anxiety lessened at the sound.

After placing the bottle and glasses onto a wood tray, she carried it to their guests, serving Clarence first, then Jana and Ethan, and her husband last. It was the hierarchy in the group that she’d observed and thought she should follow.

Raising his beer in the air, Luc smiled and said, “Santé.”

“Cheers,” Ethan replied.

They each took a sip. Then after setting his drink on the side table, Luc leaned forward, placing his forearms on his knees, directing his attention to Clarence.

“Shall we get down to business?”

Clarence tipped his glass towards Luc.

“Yours is one of the oldest families here in New Orleans, and that’s why we thought we’d start here.”

“Oui. We are.”

“Have you noticed anything unusual in the city?”

“What do you mean?”

“Vampires going rogue, draining and murdering humans.”

“Here? In New Orleans? You can’t be serious.”

“Unfortunately, I am.”

“I told you, they’re keeping a low profile,” Jana said.

“Who would be insane enough to do that?” Luc asked. “Vampires and other supernaturals have coexisted with humans in relative harmony for many decades now.”

“I have the proof with me.” Lifting his eyes to Paulette, Clarence said, “You may wish to look away, madame. These photos are graphic.”

“Of course,” Paulette said, as she turned around.

Some papers rustled, and then the room went quiet.

“Mon Dieu,” Luc murmured. “Where is the head?”

“We don’t know,” Paulette heard Clarence say.

“How many killed?”

“Enough to imply a massive coverup by use of vampire compulsion, complicity with crooked officers in local law enforcement, or both. Those involved could be elected as parish council members, for all we know. Perhaps even more influential than that.”

“Tonight is the first I’ve heard about any of this.”

“That’s the general sentiment of everyone we’ve spoken with.”

Risking seeing something gruesome, Paulette turned to face the room again.

“May I have your contact information in case something of interest arises or I hear anything I should pass on?” Luc asked.

Paulette was grateful he was ending their conversation and that they would be out of her house soon.

Clarence withdrew a business card from his jacket and reached out to hand it to Luc.

When Luc touched it, Clarence said in a low voice, “You understand that anyone found to be hiding or giving aid to the perpetrator will receive the same fate.”

“As they should,” Luc replied, as Clarence let go of the card.

“Luc!” Paulette said, trying to break the tension in the room. “You didn’t invite them to the tournament next Friday night!”

“Ah. Please forgive me. Do you, by chance, enjoy poker? Whether you do or not, it should be an eventful night with several high stakes games. We have many who attend if only to watch and have a good stiff drink.”

“If we’re still here and have the time, we’ll be sure to stop by.”

“Perfect.”

They stood, and Paulette clasped her hands in front of her.

Ethan took his empty beer bottle to the bar and gave her a short nod.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Luc led them out of the room, and after a bit, she heard the front door latch close. Then the phone rang, and she went to answer it.

“’Ello?”

“Paulette.”

“Oui, Remi. Qu'est qui se passe? Uh! En Anglais, Paulette!” She laughed, admonishing herself, happy that the threat had left her home. “What’s going on?”

“Fuck the language! I need to talk to Luc! Something’s happening to me!”

Again on high alert, she clutched the antique handset to her ear and whispered, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Non!”

“What is it?”

“I almost killed Michelle.”

“What? Why?”

“The bloodlust! It was too much! I caught a scent, and then it took me over! I couldn’t fight it!”

“Is this the first time it’s happened?” Her fear ratcheted up at the echoing silence to her question. “Remi!”

Another beat passed, and he said, “Non.”

“Where is she?”

“Asleep in our bed.”

Luc strolled back into the room, muttering to himself about vintages and the work in growing grapes worthy of a wine. Then he noticed Paulette, with tears in her eyes.

He raised his hands, palms up, and mouthed, “What is it now?”

With a look of terror and a trembling hand holding the receiver against her chest, she whispered, “It’s Remi! He’s lost control, Luc! He tried to kill Michelle! Mon Dieu! He’s the vampire gone rogue!”

With a slicing motion at his throat, signaling her to stop speaking, he flashed out the door, and then a moment later he returned to her side and yanked the phone from her hand.

To her, he said, “I had to make sure The Directive hadn’t heard you.” Then he spoke into the phone. “Remi, get here. Now.”