Something is off.

To most, today would seem like just another day. Jazz music filters out of the bars that are already doing a brisk business despite it barely being noon. The street hawkers aggressively peddle their wares to clueless out of towners. The sweet scent of frying beignets wafts through the air, carried on thick humidity.

Even a day ago, I would have ignored the cold knot of dread in my stomach that screamed wrong, but those few minutes inside Erzulie’s shop ripped the veil from my eyes.

I can see, but even more importantly, I can feel.

A young couple tries to push past a man selling t-shirts on the sidewalk. From one second to the next, his jovial grin curls into a snarl and he grabs the man’s arm, shoving him back into the display and collapsing the flimsy card table, piles of cheap purple cotton falling on the ground around him.

I stop, almost trembling at the pure rage I feel coming from the man. The ever-present police that wander Bourbon Street are absent, and I watch helplessly as he curls his fingers around the smaller man's neck and drags him up, oblivious to the shrieks of his victim's girlfriend. He glances over his shoulder and sees me.

His eyes are pure black.

Like an afterthought, he drops his intended victim like a rag doll and stalks towards me. His head cocks to the side like a curious animal.

I take a step back, the confidence from the little red mojo bag stuffed in my purse draining away as I stare into those dead black eyes. Every instinct tells me to run, but my feet stay riveted to the spot as that thing dressed up as a man inches closer.

“Now now, it’s a bit early for senseless violence, isn’t it?”

The creature immediately stops its advance at the bored-sounding voice, the black eyes focusing on the figure behind me. I turn to see two men watching the scene play out.

They are a study in contrast standing next to each other. The smaller of the two men leans against a lamppost, watching the whole terrifying scenario with pale blue eyes that seem to glint in amusement at it all. He looks like one of the golden boys of Tulane, much more likely to spend his days lazing in one of the French Quarter mansions rather than dirtying himself on Bourbon in his immaculate white suit.

Cherubic, my mind absently supplies the word, but despite his flawless good looks, my eyes are drawn to his companion.

Oh.

He wears a black suit that hugs his muscular frame like a second skin, and he moves with the gait of a predator as he steps around me. Just a hint of stubble darkens the tanned skin of his chiseled jaw, and my eyes unwillingly follow the contours of his face, tracing razor-sharp cheekbones up to eyes dark enough to swallow the light.

He touches my arm as he crosses in front of me, blocking the assailant that I genuinely forgot about. "Maybe later, sweetheart," he says idly. When his fingers brush my arm, he falters in his step, his attention snapping from the black-eyed man to me in an instant.

“How?” he asks, his fingers tightening around my wrist as he stares into my eyes as if searching for something.

“Planning on taking care of that anytime soon, brother?” Annoyance flashes across his features as the blond’s comment pulls us both back to reality. He lingers just a moment longer, his fingers warm against my pulse before letting me go and turning back to our little problem.

“You’re one of mine,” he growls, stalking towards the creature who stands perfectly still, its black eyes watching him almost expectantly. “A nasty one too. All that rage just boiling over with no real form anymore. And you’re just the start,” he mutters to himself. “You know where you belong. I have better things to do than collect each one of you,” he spits, closing the last foot between them and pressing his palm against its forehead.

The blackness drains out of its eyes, leaving a perfectly normal shade of brown in its wake, and the man slumps to the ground looking dazed.

“You’re one of mine.”

His words repeat in my head. He’s the one who turned a perfectly normal person into a monster in the space of an eye blink.

I take a step backward, willing his focus to stay off me for just another moment as I slip through the crowd that grew around us. Thankful for the love of any spectacle that constantly permeates New Orleans I push my way through the gawkers and duck into an alleyway.

I follow the winding back streets, walking as fast as I dare.

Don’t run. If you run, that gives them a reason to chase you.

I put half a dozen blocks between myself and the scene before I allow myself to stop. I lean against the wall, the cool dampness of the stone soaking through my dress as I try and fail to make myself stop shaking.

Power.

It poured off him in waves. He stopped that creature like it was nothing, ripping out whatever had infected that man with the ease of pulling out a splinter.

“And you’re just the start.”