The Vampire (THE VAMPIRE Book 1) Read online

  ISBN: 9781483548968

  Find the thing you love

  and let that kill you

  ∼Charles Bukowski

  Maspero

  Interlude

  Beacon Street

  ∼Adjustments∼

  May

  June

  July

  August

  September

  Raven Winter’s Journal

  Montreal

  Savannah

  Aftermath

  Salem

  Fleur de Lis

  Venice

  Paris

  London

  Highgate

  Following Highgate

  Debriefing

  Minnesota

  Nola Redux

  Muriel Revelations

  ∼Return to Abnormal∼

  Departure

  Telephone Call

  Into the Realm

  Carrie

  Nola Xmas

  Chapter 1

  Maspero

  Blues and zydeco. Chicory coffee and hot, sugary beignets. Bourbon Street and Hurricanes and ghosts and history; beautiful courtyards. Gumbo and jambalaya. What was there not to love about New Orleans?

  Daydreaming had been Jason Sterling’s means of getting through the work day ever since impending layoffs had been announced in January. This was his first job since college and he only had two years working at Media dot Com; unless his previous tenure as student intern for one year counted, which it likely would not, he was sure to be one of those to be let go. By the end of March, everyone would know where they stood.

  Jason had already started being careful with his money. He had been sharing an apartment and suspected he would have to move back in with his parents until he could find work again. He wasn’t looking forward to that.

  But before he plunged into the unemployment pool, he wanted to take a trip somewhere. A final fling. Who knew when he might get the chance to travel again any time soon? The idea of spending money now was risky. But the idea of an adventure helped lift his spirits and lessen his anxiety, helped him to feel optimistic; he rationalized if he could manage to do this then maybe everything would work out okay somehow.

  New Orleans was shaping up as his first choice. He wanted to travel to so many places, but he had not seen and done half of what he had wanted to when he had spent two days in New Orleans on a high school trip. Now New Orleans in particular called out to him.

  He had first been introduced to New Orleans and its mysterious and unique charm by one of his favorite authors, Anne Rice. Her first vampire book had totally captivated him. There seemed to be so much to recommend the city, and not just the promise of vampires; real or not, she had made them real for him. But there was also history and the many haunted places, the beautiful architecture, great food and an appreciation of the good things in life. Paris, London, Venice, Egypt and Tahiti—all of these would have to wait. It was going to be New Orleans.

  He’d almost gotten there a few times since high school. Plans to go to Mardi Gras always fell through. He and his girlfriend had talked about going. Ex-girlfriend, now. They had broken up a few weeks ago after a two-year relationship.

  I need this trip. Jason sighed. I need to have something fun and exciting to look forward to. I can take my ghost hunting equipment. Maybe make it a long weekend, if I can afford it.

  The plan was to hang onto the job as long as he could. His birthday was in mid-March. Once he knew where things stood, he would plan his trip. If it all played out the way he thought it would, he would be celebrating his twenty-third birthday with a Hurricane in hand at Pat O’Brien’s.

  His last day at work was March 15. On the 16th, he left the cold of Minnesota on a flight south. While in the air, literally and figuratively, Jason considered his future. Did he want to stay in the same field? He was a media analyst, making 32K. With more experience and probably more education he could eventually make as much as 60K. He liked the work, but the job market was tight. Should he stay in Minnesota? He liked the idea of living in Boston. He had gotten his BA in Media and Communications at Boston University. But the cost of living there was pretty high.

  He missed Carly suddenly. “She should be at my side right now,” he sighed. But he could admit to himself he was glad their relationship was over. I think I just miss the idea of her, of having someone, he thought. He still wasn’t quite sure what had gone wrong between them.

  At first they seemed to share so much: similar taste in books, movies, travel plans, even political views. Of course, there were differences. His passion for ghost investigations and going to paranormal-themed conferences was one of them. And then there was his involvement in the goth sub-culture. She had been accepting enough of his passion for the darker aesthetics, of his longish hair, preference for black clothes, his ear piercings…at first.

  They had known each other only casually in high school; they had hung out with different crowds. She was the popular kid, while he hung out with the artistic, weird, and unusual types.

  He had left Minnesota to go to college and found a goth scene in Boston he could identify with. Those were his happiest years. Club ManRay was like a second home.

  An internship in Boston had not led to a full time job as he had hoped so he had returned to Minnesota where the job competition was a little less intense. He took some post-grad courses, then the second internship, which had gotten him his present job.

  After returning home, he couldn’t be part of the crowd. A lot of his friends, especially the arty types he had hung out with, had moved away. Those who were still around now had disappointingly settled into a routine which revolved around beer and weekly poker games, sports, worry about bills and mortgages, kids and the next Disney vacation. Jason didn’t fit in and he didn’t want to.

  When he ran into Carly one evening at the movies with a group of her friends, they had started talking and she had asked him out to a movie the next week. That was how their relationship began. Then, over time, she had become less and less tolerant of his gothic tendencies, or his punk phase, as she referred to it. As if it were something she needed to wait for him to outgrow. Perhaps as an act of defiance he had added a wide streak of blue to his nearly black hair. She had not been amused. And when he showed up at her house for a date one evening, after he had gotten a fourth ear piercing and his blue black hair was now slightly shorter and definitely spiked in a more punk fashion, she reacted as if he had gotten a tall Mohawk and gone tribal.

  She shook her head. “Well, I don’t know, Jason…it is kind of extreme, and well, sort of gay.”

  He had laughed a little then, running his hand through the soft but stiff-looking spikes. “It’s just a little different. I really like it. And we both know I’m not gay.”

  In time other differences became apparent.

  Jason craved a life that would challenge him in positive ways. He had always felt he was not destined for a boring, mundane, normal existence. Though he was close to his family, he always saw himself living somewhere apart. Carly felt just the opposite: “All of my family lives here. I don’t see any reason to move somewhere else. This is where I belong. My life is just the way I want it.” But he was happy and comfortable with his choices too.

  When she declined to see the same kinds of movies they had once enjoyed together he knew it was she who had changed. They no longer fit together. And he finally realized if she couldn’t accept him the way he was then what was the point? Sadly, it was just over. No recriminations, just a mutual acceptance of the situation.

  Still, the romantic in him clung to the idea of a relationship based on mutual acceptance of each other’s quirks and interests. I just have to find someone who is as weird as I am. Or at least someone who can accept me as I am. Right now he had other concerns. Like how he was going to live and pay the rent. Romance would have to wait, indefinitely.

  Before he left on his trip, he updated his resume and sent some out to prospective employers. He hoped to come home to find positive responses. At least that was what he told himself he should expect. He tried to remain hopeful.

  At school he would have taken a degree in parapsychology, if one had been offered. But having that degree and being gainfully employed did not always go hand in hand. He had enjoyed his courses in sociology, psych, English lit. and film studies. He had gravitated to a job that seemed to include many of those interests, and now he was unemployed in that field. He felt unsure of his future now.

  It was a very pleasant 62 degrees when he arrived in New Orleans, perfect weather for him. His hotel in the French Quarter was a little pricey, but centrally located. As soon as he dropped off his luggage at the room, he headed for the streets to look around.

  By the time he had walked to Jackson Square, he had probably taken more than sixty photos of all the things that had caught his eye. For a while, he sat and looked out over Decatur Street and St. Louis Cathedral, watching people and checking out the local artists work hanging up along the Square. He started planning his own adventures as he watched horse-drawn carriages whisk tourists past him. He walked up the steps to look out over the levee at the boat traffic on the Mississippi. His body resonated with the sounds of the loud horn from the steamboat Natchez as it came into port then lingered over his first café au lait and hot beignets, drenched in powdered sugar, at the Café du Monde. He felt more alive in those first hours in New Orleans than he had in a very long time. The city welcomed him as if he had at long last come home.
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  His joy was momentarily overshadowed as a dark cloud found him and hovered overhead. Looking for a new job—just the thought of that whole process—depressed him. His recent job had been in a rather laid back work environment with not a lot of direct public contact. He had been able to wear some of his gothic accessories; his casually spiked hair was not a problem. Still, he suspected he was on the fringe of acceptability there, and probably well over the line at other businesses. He was going to miss that freedom to be able to express his true self as he ventured out into the unknowns of the workplace again.

  Okay; enough of this. He was not going to allow himself to dwell on that. Not right now. Plenty of time for that later. I want to be in the here and now and totally enjoy myself in the moment. He decided he would take one of the walking tours to orient himself to the French Quarter and beyond, and then see where fate would lead him.

  Everywhere held sights and sounds to delight him. Various music styles filled the air, as aromas of different cooking smells and unknown spices enticed him. The ambience of the French Quarter lifted his spirits. People seemed genuinely friendly.

  He chose a cemetery and garden district tour for late that afternoon, and then signed on for a ghost tour for the evening. He visited the Gallier House and got caught up in thinking about the lives lived there. He walked about as if in a dream, at once real and totally unlike anything he had ever experienced. He paused to peer into lushly exotic courtyards, imagining what it would be like to spend time in such peaceful oasis. He enjoyed a Szaerac and then a View Carre 75, and was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol when he realized he hadn’t eaten yet. He had a fully satisfying meal at Bubba Gump’s, and sampled a drink called Fleur de Lis, charmed by the fun ambience of the movie-related décor, an indulgence of his passion for cinema. He found that evening’s ghost tour to be highly entertaining and informative. At the end of the night he took a different route back to his hotel, just to experience all the craziness Bourbon Street had to offer. He already felt as comfortable as if he had been in town for several days.

  I’m not ever leaving here, he thought, getting somewhat teary eyed, even as he laughed at himself for getting so emotional. Life was good. He had made the right choice in coming to New Orleans. This is what a vacation should be.

  When he got back to the hotel, he found he needed to crank up the room’s air conditioning, then took a shower, and quickly fell into blissful asleep.

  The next morning, March 18th, was his birthday. He intended to make his way to Pat O’Brien’s later to celebrate with a Hurricane. He was sure this was going to be a memorable day and he felt ready for new and different experiences. He didn’t care if what he did was considered typical tourist stuff or not. He wanted to see and do it all.

  He got an early start with what turned out to be one of the best breakfasts ever at the Camellia Grill, a small quirky place on Chartres. He wandered into various shops around the Quarter, looking over all of the interestingly weird souvenirs. He remembered to gather some post cards to send to his sister Carrie, and would send some to himself as well, noting the date, what he was doing or planned to do that day. He regarded these as brief journal entries, a memory to enjoy when he returned, feeling only slightly self-conscious about the sentimental side of him he was reluctant to show to others.

  His day was filled with pleasant surprises and tasty new food experiences, including his first praline; freshly made and still warm, it almost melted in his mouth. He found the Maspero Café to be a great place for lunch. He ate fresh fruit at the French Market and then bought small silver jewelry items there as well as T-shirts and several elaborate but inexpensive decorative masks. Later he browsed in a voodoo shop then checked out antique shops on Royal Street. He ended up buying a few more silly and scandalous trinkets and souvenirs for himself and family. Finally he was exhausted from all of the walking and decided to go back to his hotel to drop off his purchases and take a nap. Later, feeling refreshed, he headed out for the evening where, in the space of a few hours, he had joined in a Cajun two-step, enjoyed rowdy piano tunes at Pat O’Brien’s after drinking two Hurricanes, watched a street performer walk barefoot on broken glass on Bourbon Street, listened to sad soulful tunes in one bar and then heard some lively Zydeco, which he termed “feel good music” at another bar to round out his night.

  He climbed into bed happy and exhausted, thinking how this had been the best birthday of his life. “This couldn’t get any better. I should make it a point to be here every year on my birthday.”

  His next morning began at the Camellia Grill again; he loved the atmosphere and camaraderie of the place. Out of all the many good places to eat he already had some favorites. He finished his breakfast and dashed out to catch the Natchez for a paddlewheel boat ride on the Mississippi. As he waited to board, he witnessed a second line parade: people following musicians in a sad, then happy remembrance of someone who had passed. The mournful, slow tribute deeply touched him. Someone’s ashes were being taken to be distributed into the river. People know how to live here, he thought. They know exactly what the most important thing is; and whether it’s a good time or a sad one, they do it right.

  Later that afternoon he spent a pleasant hour listening to Yes Ma’am, a street band performing near Royal Street. They became an instant favorite and he bought one of their CD’s. He discovered the meaning of lagniappe and was delighted with the custom of receiving a little something extra with some of his purchases. That evening he splurged on dinner at Arnaud’s and then sampled local cocktail specialties at several bars before taking a Vampire walking tour to finish up the evening. He found the Vampire tour to be rather too theatrical, but some of the stories were intriguing enough to follow up on when he got a chance to do so.

  He slept in the next morning, waking up a little late to try to find breakfast close by, and decided he would return to a new favorite, the Maspero Café, for lunch instead, with no definite plans yet for the rest of the day.

  It was 11:45 by the time he entered the café, just after they had opened. He expected the lunch crowd would be filling up the place soon.

  The first thought he had when he entered was the place was not quite open yet. He saw absolutely no one at first. And then just one person, a man standing at the bar, with his back to the door, caught his eye. Slowly the man turned in Jason’s direction.

  Jason stared, wondering if he should say something, or leave, or stand there and wait. The man was tall, thin, dressed in a dark gray business suit, narrow red tie. His neatly groomed, longish dark hair brushed his shoulders. He gazed toward the doorway as if expecting someone. Jason suddenly felt self-conscious about staring and glanced away. Then he blinked several times and looked all around him in amazement: the place was busy and nearly full of customers. In fact there weren’t any open tables. He shook his head, feeling as if he probably wasn’t fully awake yet. The place had seemed quiet and empty a moment ago.

  Jason stood and waited. People started coming in and waiting behind him. A young couple got up from their table suddenly and headed for the door, moving quickly past Jason. It appeared they had not even ordered yet; their table was still clean.

  Jason caught the eye of one of the servers; she nodded at the empty table and he moved toward it, taking the seat that faced the bar. The server arrived a few minutes later with ice water and a menu.

  I’m starved, Jason thought. Hungry enough to eat a whole muffaletta. I’m going to need coffee too, to wake me up. Maybe a glass of wine also. Why not? So what if it’s not quite noon— I’m on vacation.

  He took in his surroundings again now as he waited for the server to return. He loved the exposed brick and wood beams; the comfortable informality of the place; the big open windows, perfect for watching the crowds and traffic moving along busy Decatur Street.

  He took a look at the menu. The food was good, plentiful and easy on the budget. There were the expected gumbo and seafood dishes; jambalaya and etouffe. But they had burgers, fries and salads as well. He intended to try local specialties everywhere he went.

  As he sat and waited to order, he began to feel as if someone was staring at him. He took a casual look around him but no one seemed to be paying him any attention.