Beneath a Blood Red Moon

Startled, she looked up. Lucian, immaculate in black frockcoat, top hat, and sweeping cape, stood over her, amused. “The morgue was empty, eh?” he mocked.



She stood, tottering to her feet, smoothing back her hair. It did her little good. Her face was smeared, her hair bloodied.



“The morgue was empty,” she agreed, embarrassed, and not at all sure why.



“And you are still in pain,” he said softly.



“No,” she lied.



“Come with me.”



“No.”



But he led her to a pond, where she washed, and while she did so, she heard him hacking off the head of the beast she had chosen. He came back to her, covering her with his cloak. “I nearly killed a drunkard tonight,” she told him tonelessly.



“But you did not. So ... when such a night comes again, there are, of course, more cows. And when you cannot bear what is happening to you ...” His hand came around hers. She felt the swirl of mist that had transported her once before. She found herself in a foul place with a stench even worse than that of the slaughterhouse. Filthy straw littered the floor. Men and women, as dirty as the straw, lay listlessly about behind barred sections. “The prison,” Lucian said softly. “And there, Jean LeBeau, the killer of thirteen women.



He goes to the guillotine tomorrow at dawn. There, a more pathetic fellow. Hector Roderigo, a Spaniard convicted of killing his young wife in a rage. He is repentant, but too late, for she lies dead and buried. He cries, you see ... there are more, but there you have it, if you must be a moralistic demon, choose a worthy— or unworthy— victim.”



“Who am I to judge them?”



“My dear, they are already judged. Their death sentences have been given them. Take LeBeau—



who deserves the worst death. The guillotine is too good for him. Then there is poor Roderigo... so afraid. He could be taken so much more gently from this life!” He waited, watching her.



“I will take Roderigo,” she said after a moment, hanging her head. “I will be gentle,” she said softly.



“Your kiss will be far more tender than that of Madame Guillotine,” he assured her.



Lucian left her.



And she heard Roderigo, sobbing, praying to the Virgin, bemoaning his wife, despising himself, praying that he would not show his fear before the masses when he was forced to walk to meet the blade of the guillotine.



And so she went to Roderigo, and she soothed him as he cried, smoothing his hair, touching him, and she promised him that there was more to life, that there was a God, and that she believed He forgave. Then she drank ...



The week had been long.



And painful.



Maggie hadn’t realized that she’d been moping around most of the week until first Cissy, then Angie, commented on her quiet mood.



“Hey! Is there life in there?” Cissy asked, playfully tapping her on the head as closing time rolled around on Friday.



“Yeah.”



“We haven’t talked about dinner,” Angie said, taking a seat on the corner of Maggie’s desk.



“Did you want to go somewhere for dinner?” Maggie asked.



“No, I have a date,” Angie informed her, crossing her arms over her chest.



“Good for you. The cop?”



Angie nodded.



“Well, boss lady,” Cissy drawled, “I’d love to accompany you somewhere to get you out of your funk, but I have a date as well.”



“Good for you. Another cop?”



“Yep. Adonis.”



“If you both have dates for dinner, why are you bringing it up to me?” Maggie asked.



“Because you, Miss Montgomery,” Angie chastised, “should have taken better care of the lieutenant.”



“Really?” Maggie tapped her pencil on her desk, arching a brow imperiously. She wished she could have taken better care of him. She was just so afraid of getting involved. With a Canady, with a cop.



But fear hadn’t helped the anguish that had plagued her all week. God, it had been wonderful.



Wonderful. Lying alone and awake at night, she could almost feel his touch again. She had silently railed against herself, telling herself that she couldn’t be such a fool regarding a physical relationship, except that it had been more than physical. Even if it had been wildly, wickedly, incredibly physical, it had been more.



And she’d sent him away. And now she was grieving. It was the only right thing to do. She didn’t want an involvement. The minute his eyes touched hers, it was an involvement.



“Back to the dinner thing, honey! You know, Angie and I are double dating and you’re more than welcome to join us,” Cissy told her.



“No ... but thanks. And hey, since you ladies do have plans this evening, go on, get out of here.”



“Really, I was just teasing you before—you should come with us,” Angie pleaded.



“Angie, honest, I think I know what I’m doing,” Maggie assured her.



“No, you don’t,” Angie said stubbornly.



“Well, I’ll have to live with my own foolishness then,” she said, rising. She brushed past them and out into the hallway where a small spiral stairway led down to the shop below. When she reached the ground floor, it was just five-thirty. The store was empty, and though Gema and Allie hadn’t yet locked the door, Allie was in the back at the register desk, working on the day’s receipts.



“Hey, lady, how are you doing?” Maggie asked her.



Allie flashed her a warm smile. “I’m doing just fine.”



“You’re sure you feel well?”



“I feel great. And I’m so glad to have worked the last two days. I feel ... normal. That’s most important.”



“Definitely. And I’m so glad you’re back as well. But, listen, it’s been a long day, why don’t you go ahead on home? I’ll finish up here.”



“That would be nice, because I’m meeting a friend for dinner. But Gema was going to give me a ride—”



“That’s fine. Gema can take off now, too. I don’t have a thing to do tonight, and I’m a little restless. You two get moving.”



Gema, straightening out the folds of a ball gown on a mannequin, looked up. “You sure, Maggie?”



“I’m positive. Out with you both.”



Gema shrugged. “Okay, Allie. Get our purses, will you? Thanks, Maggie.”



“Hey, you guys stay late for me all the time.”



Gema laughed, a happy woman with Allie back in the store with her. “Right. But overtime is great as well.”



“Don’t worry, you’re not being docked. Get out of here.”



Waving good-bye, the two left. Maggie frowned once they were gone, trying to concentrate on one of the receipts she couldn’t quite read. When she heard the light tinkling of the bell at the front door, she was startled, and realized she had forgotten to lock up.



“I’m so sorry, we’re closed—” she began, calling out. But then she saw the man standing just inside the doorway.



Tall, slim, he had a strong, wiry build. He was dressed in casual black pants and a soft silk shirt. His features were classical and arresting, his eyes were a curious gold-hazel, almost like a serpent’s eyes. He was a good-looking man with a startlingly sensual appeal. Immaculate, charming.



“Hello—Maggie,” he said.



“Oh, God!” she breathed.



She set down her receipts.



“Maggie, you don’t look happy to see an old friend. I tried to warn you that I was in town. I came by to see the pretty old lady the other day. Didn’t she tell you?” Her mouth was dry. “No, no, she didn’t tell me. She had a blackout, a memory loss. She spent the night in the hospital.”



“I’m so sorry to hear that; she was a right charming old bird.”



“You didn’t—you didn’t hurt her—”



“Now, Maggie! I wouldn’t have hurt the old darling for the world. I did wind up taking her out for cafe au lait—she does know her coffees. We had a lovely walk, and I brought her back here, safe and sound.”



Maggie hesitated a long moment, trying to control both her fear and her temper. “Thank you.”



“My pleasure.”



“And what have you been doing?” she demanded somewhat nervously, her heart seeming to sink in her chest. “You haven’t come to New Orleans to be kind to old ladies.” He studied his nails. They were long, neatly manicured, buffed to a shine.



“No. It’s absolutely perfect at the ski resorts in Switzerland, this time of year.” She dreaded her next question.



“Then why—why are you here?”



By then, he had reached the rear desk. He leaned against it, smiling. “For the sake of old times!” he said softly. He touched her cheek. “I care about you, Maggie. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”



“It’s been over between us for a long time!” she reminded him.



“Umm. Maybe. That’s what you believe. There is, however, always the future, isn’t there?”



“No.”



“Well, of course I can just leave ...”



“Wait!”



“What was that?” he inquired, arching a brow.



Maggie gritted her teeth. “Please wait,” she said.



“Ah?”



He perched upon the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. He smiled like a well-fed cat.



“Please, tell me why you’re here,” she said. “Oh, God, you haven’t been ...”



“Excuse me?”



“Lucian, I—”



“No! I haven’t been.”



“Then .. .?”



His smile faded. His eyes touched her in a way that brought a trembling to her limbs. He did care about her. In his way.



“I’ve come to warn you,” he told her softly.



By the time Angie and Cissy came down from upstairs, showered and ready for their dates, Maggie was alone again, staring at the front door, seeing nothing.



“Is everything all right?” Angie asked her.