Nine While Nine - A Dark Urban Fantasy Serial Novel- Prologue - Part One
Prologue
Five Years Before
His ward, Isabeau Finne, was different. It was almost as if she could sense him near her, making his job as her Scáthanna a little more problematic than the norm. Perhaps it was her upbringing, coupled with her lineage, which was the cause of this disconnected cognizance — her mother had been an O’Cailleach, one in a long line of Scottish-Celtic witches. This gifted Isabeau with innate talents she was only on the cusp of discovering were much more than she’d ever been made aware of.
It had scarcely been a year since he was appointed as her guard. He’d been called into action after his predecessor had mysteriously abandoned his post — and become one of the Missing.
Now he found himself on a plane heading to New Orleans. No one on the midnight flight out of LAX that October evening noticed the brutally handsome man sitting three rows behind the amber-haired beauty who was his charge. Manipulating perception was one of his kinds many advantages over humans. Another was never needing to make a reservation for travel. He could merely slip to the Vahel — a place in between the here and the there — and move freely and invisibly among them.
Sliding the crumpled and overly browsed inflight magazine back into its snug seat-back pocket, he watched as Isabeau gathered her costuming paraphernalia together. She carefully stashed away her midair couture shop into a leather bag before rising from her seat to stow it in the overhead compartment. For nearly half of the flight, she’d been embroidering minuscule silk threads and ribbons into an array of fall leaves across the front of a gown. It was a creation specifically designed to wear to the costume ball she was traveling towards.
The elaborate dress remained draped over her, a makeshift blanket on the increasingly chilly flight, too precious to risk being damaged in the overhead bin. It was her first journey to New Orleans, and with all the excitement and anticipation she was feeling, he was doubtful she would have found rest if it had not been for exhaustion finally taking over.
He watched as she fell asleep against her boyfriend’s shoulder, curling her legs up under her as well as she could in the coach seat. She snuggled her pale cheek into the age-softened collar of his distressed black leather coat, with a content smile edging her lips.
She was resting now, which gave him an excellent opportunity to catch a few desired winks of his own. Pulling an under-sized airline blanket over his body, he found himself wishing he would have grabbed two on his way down the aisle before takeoff. He stuffed a tiny white pillow between his head and the window, then stretched his long legs across the other two conveniently empty seats. The flight was not fully booked, freeing up the entire row to relax his formidable physique across.
THE PILOT ANNOUNCING their descent to the New Orleans International Airport interrupted the slumber of the plane’s passengers. Waking, the Shadow stretched his arms overhead, the muscles protesting from his nap in such cramped quarters. He watched as Isabeau mirrored his movements, her head tilting from left to right to work out the aches she’d also acquired. In search of her makeup, she rummaged through her bag until she found a travel pouch. He watched as she freshened up, applying a touch of makeup before popping a mint into her mouth. Following her lead, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew his own tin of curiously strong mints, then took a swig of water from the bottle the flight attendant had given him five hours before.
THE SCÁTHANNA WATCHED as Isabeau perched on the edge of the fountain that was the centerpiece of their French Quarter hotel’s brick courtyard. Clear waterspouts burbled from the mouths of four statuary frogs into the pool sitting beneath their cement amphibian feet. She was cooing at a family of turtles, attempting to coerce them to the surface with a piece of croissant left over from her breakfast. He sat on the other side of the courtyard at a verdigris café set, his presence casually hidden behind a newspaper and his intrinsic talent to mask. Waiting.
It was her first night in the Quarter, and he’d decided that with the immense number of revelers on the streets, there would be no need to hide behind the deceptions of his kind, other than a simple manipulation to disguise his true face.
With his hands buried deep within the pockets of his long wool coat, he discreetly trailed behind Isabeau and her group of friends as they departed from the courtyard. Expertly blending into the crowd, he positioned himself a few bodies behind her, as they made their way through the fog enshrouded streets. They strolled in merriment along Esplanade Avenue, crossing over to Royal, and continued their journey down Ursulines and then Chartres.
With every step of their route, Isabeau’s eyes were full of wonder. Beautiful and captivating objects in shop windows invited her consideration one after another. She stared up at the delicate and ornate, awe-inspiring architecture of the city. She marveled at the allied feeling of the people around her upon entering Jackson Square. Kindred spirits all gathering in this amazing city for the same event. All of them traversing through the magical night as thick mist rolled in off the river to lend an even more dream-like ambiance to the experience.
The Scáthanna found himself completely enchanted by her. He watched as she drew her first breath of the magic-tinged atmosphere of the French Quarter. Her eyes grew wide and her smile enormous with each step deeper into the city she’d dreamed of visiting for ten years.
Moisture clung to the exposed skin of his face, settled into his dark hair, further enhancing his features. He raked his fingers through his damp and slightly unruly locks, pushing them back from his face. He tugged his collar up higher to ward off a chill. The humidity of the day had abandoned them, and fall was officially taking its place.
The full moon cast misty images of the people wandering through the night against the fog, turning them into shadow puppets in a play. They walked unaware of what wandered the streets among them, possibly hunting them. Not Isabeau. His Isabeau would be safe.
He could feel her heart soaring. She beamed as she oohed and aahed over favored objects in the windows of the closed shops, steering Robert’s attention to any number of things as they passed. Jazz floated through the air along with the lingering and delectable scents of creole cuisine. She was giddy, and Robert got caught up in the lure of her infectious delight. He kissed her and vowed his undying love then and there. The Scáthanna clenched his jaw, with his fists held tightly in his pocket.
An adorable tabby cat sat serenely in the window of a loom shop. Isabeau tapped on the glass and spoke to the feline as he rubbed his furry jowls against the glass, trying to reach her hand to be petted.
Lost in his own beguiled state of mind, her Shadow nearly ran into her. He veered away just before colliding into the couple, narrowly avoiding sending all three of them crashing into the storefront. The startled cat dashed away from the glass and into the depths of the shop. Regaining his normally cool composure, the Scáthanna slid effortlessly away. He remained unseen by Isabeau, but still observed the sweet expressions on her face as she looked into the night sky, breathing in the magic of the city . . . and the love of her young man.
She pulled her attention back to Robert as she slipped her hand into his. Their group peered into a toy store window, all exuberant as children at the old-fashioned toys tucked away inside. Before continuing on their way, they paused to ask a young woman walking by to snap a photo of them. Cat removed the vintage Nikon 35mm from around her neck, handed it carefully to the woman, and briefly showed her how it worked.
They all struck a silly pose in front of the toy store window that was bursting with color and cheerful lighting. Her Shadow couldn’t help but grin widely at Isabeau’s jubilance as she pointed into the window and pulled a goofy face for the camera before bursting into laughter. Onward they went, laughing and carousing down the slate pavement through Jackson Square, past Madeleine’s — where the young women all agreed to gather in the morning for café au lait and pastries — toward Decatur. They waited for a mule-drawn carriage to pass, then crossed the street and entered the mecca that was Café Du Monde.
Isabeau hooked her arm through Robert’s and let him lead her to a vacant table near the railing where they could people-watch and have a front row seat to the trio of jazz musicians taking up roost near the café. A tattered hat was set on the ground in front of their feet collecting tips from many music lovers as they paused to enjoy the impromptu performance.
Her Shadow watched as she had her first sip of café au lait made with chicory and her first taste of a beignet. He was delighted as her face became awash in bliss with the very first bite. She giggled while trying to remove the avalanche of powdered sugar that cascaded down the front of her velvet dress and touched down onto her lap. The white stood out starkly against the black velvet.
He followed as Isabeau wandered away to observe the making of beignets through the large viewing window at the back of the café, and as she first set eyes on the meandering Mississippi. “Down by the river where it’s warm and green.” He heard her sing dreamily, a line from a song by Concrete Blonde.
As they walked hand-in-hand along the Moon Walk, Robert pulled her into his arms, twirled her in a circle, bringing forth another bout of her sweet laughter, before whispering in her ear and kissing her.
Her Shadow turned his eyes away. She was a truly enticing creature, and this boy could never adequately appreciate her.
He watched as she fell more in love with the city the longer they meandered throughout the Quarter. He stayed with them, with her, to be certain she remained safe on their walk to the hotel. Remaining vigilant until she was safely tucked away in her room, before retiring to his own.
**To Be Continued (This is a full-length, completed novel of 459 pages)
**Mysterious dreams, copious hours of music, and obscene amounts of coffee fuel my writing sessions of magical surrealism, dark urban fantasy, paranormal romance, and light horror.
Nine While Nine — ©2024