Moonlight on the Bayou (The Story)

[Scayde]

There are places in New Orleans where time stands still. Where secrets hang in the air like Spanish moss from the trees, and where families have survived for generations on wealth and intrigue. The men are handsome and the women beautiful. Society is still in vogue and magic is more real than the tangible.
Down a few block on St. Charles Avenue sits an old manor house. The Chateau Du Rêves A place of great mystery, beautiful and tragic, haunted by the dreams of the family who has lived there for nearly two hundred years. The grounds of the manor come alive deep in the night, walls of dense flowers leading to the masters garden, a beautiful place of great mystery, full of trees and dense foliage. The garden is also the setting for many nocturnal clandestine meetings.The Convent Christoff Du Rêves borders the estate on one side and the Nuns of the order Christoff are often seen leaving the garden in the first light of morning............
Not far from the Manor House is a vast swamp, where many a person has gone missing, never to be seen again, and which is said to be inhabited by the spirit of Mechant Du Rêves, the great, great, great grandmother of Du Rêves, a Voodoo priestess. People of the City of New Orleans still speak her name in hushed tones...out of reverence, or fear...none can be too sure.
The manor is now resided in by her last know descendant, Bridges Du Rêves, A dark brooding man, highly intelligent and frighteningly handsome.

Many mysterious people have recently been arriving in the town, all asking questions about the mysterious Monsieur Du Rêves , and it has become clear that something is going on.....

[Scayde]

Bridges du Reves crossed the wide open forrier that lead to his office and strode through the immense doorway supported by heavy walnut beams, turned and locked the door behind him, then made his way to the desk. He sat down in the large overstuffed leather wingback chair and spun around to face the wall behind the desk. Placing his hand deftly on a crest in the cherry panel he pushed it into a hidden depression, revealing a hidden compartment. In this compartment was a box, very old and intricately inlaid with ivory. Next to this box lay a key. Bridges pulled out the box and key, turned to face his desk and with a heavy sigh, opened this cache of secrets. Taking the papers out and looking through them brought back a flood of memories. The obituaries of loved ones long gone, the newspaper clippings, the birth certificates of the sisters he had never known. Products of unions between his father and various nuns...all died in infancy. He guessed he was lucky to have lived...Finally, He found what he was looking for. A fat envelope, containing various newspaper clippings from Singapore, bills of sale for what looked like children, but he knew it must be for animals, and a contract.


The Chartren' Cartel, do hereby issue this contract to make null and void the life of Marcus Du Rêves.The agent bringing this to culmination with receive the sum of $1,000,000.00 U.S. If the above subject is not terminated by this contract, it will roll over to his next of kin.

He knew his father and mother had died while walking along an unstable cliff face on the side of a volcano while on a deep sea treasure hunting vacation in Malaysia....He started to wonder if it was an accident, or not....

[Scayde]

The evening sun filtered through the chancelery where Nova Dolorosa Peltier sat quietly in the company of Father Pru’Dhomme. Absently she allowed the elderly Friar’s voice to hum in the background as she teased his mind for secrets he wished not to reveal.

Drop by drop the information was collected as drip by drip she let the frozen water drizzle over the sugar cube and sluice through the silver slatted spoon to form the Louche, or shade, in the emerald splash of color below. She had learned the benefices of Absinthe in applying the art from her father, and Father always knew best.

Le Père, pourquoi vous avez gardé ce secret de ces enfants?

Surely this sin is on your head.

Father Pru’Dhomme’s head jerked around, startled at the implication.

“Mon Cher”, I assure you that the children’s father went to great lengths to ensure that this secret be kept. I think it is imprudent for you to question our wisdom in this matter.”

Doloros gingerly let the spoon down and looked up, her pale eyes empty and piercing.

“Pe're, I can do nothing but question the wisdom of such artifice. This is not casual intrigue we address. The consequences of this secret are far too dire.”

She gathered her flask and rosary from the table where they lay and gracefully rose from the table.


“Adue Pe're, there is much I must attend to.”

[Scayde]

Dolores stepped out into the evening mist which snaked down the boulevard like the Devil's breath. Her slender form glided along the sidewalk. Children skittered from the street, afraid to be caught by her gaze.

“La sorcière de chagrin”, they called her. “Sorrowful Witch” It was said that her gaze would blight a person’s soul and render unto them a life of sorrow and regret. Most people preferred not to take the chance.

At 22 she was uncommonly beautiful, that was until you looked into her eyes.
Pale green and clear as water, their vacant stared rose through heavy lashes of obsidian. Her father’s eyes.
Eyes that saw things others feared to imagine. Eyes that could draw the truth from the lies. An encounter with those eyes would leave a person forever changed.

Without a sound, she made her way up St. Charles to the Garden District a folded note tucked inside her sleeve.

[Scayde]

She placed a delicate hand on the Iron Gate and gently pushed it open. Slowly she made her way up the path to the oversized door that graced the entrance of the aged manse. She paused briefly on the front step, hesitating under the weight of what she knew she must do. Slowly she lifted her had to the bell and pressed the buzzer. A tall man answered the door. A man who’s energy preceded him. His aura radiated through the evening atmosphere. Long dark curls graced his broad shoulders; his muscular build cut through the light fabric of his finely tailored linen suit. The setting sun filtered through the moss-lined trees outside the veranda casting a warm glow on his finely chiseled features. Slowly Dolores looked up into eyes as clear and pale as her own....

Bon monsieur, I bring you a message from my Papa...

Carefully she pulled the folded note from her sleeve.

Forgive me Monsuer, My name is Dolores Peltier, My Papa is Juliene Peltier, he knew your Papa.....
They were, in business together. I believe that you should read the note before we speak further.

Dolores let her eyes fall the the yellowed parchment in du Reves' hand.

The gentleman opened the note and slowly began to read the elaborate Edwardian Script obviously penned in blood...

Vodun was at work here. The color drained from his handsome features as he stood staring at the letter in his hands.


Le bon Monsieur,
This is a matter of the blood. We must speak. Tell no one about this until after we meet.

Votre Serviteur Humble,
Juliene Peltier


du Reves looked up from the letter, and directly into the woman's eyes...His gaze narrowed as he stared into the emptiness he saw there.

"What the hell is all of this about? "

[Scayde]

"S'il vous plaît le Monsieur, We are not alone. Our business is not for other ears. My Papa and I request that you join us tonight for a late supper in our rooms at L'Hôtel de Saint Louis. We will be quite alone there and can discuss our business openly."

Her eyes seemed to dilate as she returned his stare. Her gaze penetrated deeply into his consciousness as she peered through sea-coloured windows. She looked not so much at him as into him, then offered a knowing smile.

"I promise you, the Feuillantine de Crustacés alone will be worth your time."

She raised her chin slightly, satisfied by the look of surprise on his face. Yes, she had been correct. It was his favourite.

"May we expect you at ten?"

[Aegis]

The circle of people surrounding the card table had been growing steadily throughout the night, as it always did when Remy was in the midst of a game. People would flock from the streets, into whatever establishment he was in, to witness the luck of the Acadian card player first hand. Remy would rarely let them down. This particular night, he was in a dive on the edge of the harbour, la Chambre De Bière anglaise De Merchent. While not of low quality, people often turned away from it, and it's patrons. Tonight, however, seemed to be an exception.

Remy sat across the table, an already large pile of winnings before him, with another moderatly size pile in the centre of the table. Three other men sat at the table, two with their hands folded, watching the contest between Remy and the other man. Behind Remy, a woman leaned over his shoulder, pressing her bust almost into his face, the ****tail dress she wore doing nothing for her modesty. Remy seemed unconcerned, he only sat, watching the man across from him, a confident smirk on his face . He watched the other man visible sweat, his hand resting on his wager, and the crowd of onlookers watched with baited breath.

"Oh, come now, mon ami, you've lasted this long. Do you not want the chance to beat the Gambling King of New Orleans?" he added in a delighted chuckle afterwards, relishing in goading his oppenant into betting. It seemed to work, as the man pushed the remaining money into the centre pile. Remy quirked his brow, amused. "Then perhaps my reign is over. If the man is that confident, perhaps my luck is nought but run dry. Call, mon ami."

Remy's words seemed to lift the confidence of the man, taking them as nothing more than false bravado. He put his hand onto the table, face up, the four Queens all looking right at Remy. "Well, monsieur. Show your hand, and reveal to the crowd who it is that has defeated the Gambling King of New Orleans." The man began to laugh, but it was quickly replaced by a choking sound as Remy flipped his own hand.

"'Fraid not, mon ami. While I do so love the ladies, they are not my cup o' tea tonight. I dine with a Full House!" Remy smiled widely, and the crowd erupted in cheering, as the winnings were swept over to Remy.

After the cheering died down, and Remy looked over his winnings briefly, he stood up from the table, casually brushing the whore hanging off his back to the side. "While I enjoyed your company, Amour, this is where we part." The whore gave a dissatisfied 'humph', before stalking off to another part of the bar. "Now, if you shall all excuse me... I must go dine!" Remy annouced to the crowd around him. They gave off one last cheer, as Remy made his way to the exit, his winnings all stuffed into pockets.

Once outside, he stopped by the entrance, the dull light from a nearby lamp post did little to illuminate the harbour front street, but Remy cared little. He took a deep breath of the ocean air, before turning on his heel, in search of a fine meal...

[The Z]

The crowd was thick with three kinds of people: Native Indian, Caucasian, and of course, mixes of the two. Carefully examining the rabble, Logan Wright ran his hand through his coarse black hair. He needed answers and he needed them now; he wanted to be sure that this wasn't a joke. I will pay millions for any set of artifacts - modern or not - from the Chateau du Reves the letter had said. This sum, the greatest heist of his career, could send him to retirement and the Caribbean early. All he had to do was find an upper-class mansion and rob it. But he decided to have some fun before going to work.

A dazzling red-haired woman strolled past him, leaving a whiff of strong perfume hanging inside his nostrils. Something glittered on her wrist - a moderately expensive bracelet ripe for the picking. Smirking, he chose her to be his first victim.

"Excuse me madamoisselle, might you know the way to the Chateau du Reves?"

The woman stared at him as if he were mad, "Monsieur, I would not dare go near such a place if----"

"Then perhaps you might show me the way to your home and we can...make a chateau of our own."

Logan pressed his stocky frame to the woman and held her hand to his leg. With a priceless look of repulsion, she desperately squirmed to loosen his grip. He continued his charade.

"Ahhh...a fighter eh? Just the way I like 'em."

Upon kissing her, the sharp sting of a slap stuck to his face. He had let one of her hands go and he paid the price. She yanked herself out of his embrace and swore at him, then stormed out of the bar in obvious disgust. Her bracelet, however, dangled percariously off one of Logan's fingers. Grinning he swaggered back to the bartender and slipped him a five.

"Hey bartender, who do I talk to for information 'round here?"

"Talk to Remy Cyr, the Gambling King of New Orleans; he's involved in a poker match over there. Oh, and be careful, he has more connections than you'd believe. "

Grabbing his drink, Logan headed in the direction the bartender had motioned to and found an intense, if a little small, poker game at hand. Two of the four had folded and one of the remainder was sweating like a pig in the summer. The other was all charm and could probably bluff his way through cops with a murder jack pinned on him. Currently he was working his magic on the sweating man. Circling the table and slithering through the rowdy audience, Logan caught a glimpse of both hands. At that moment the charming one caught his attention:

"Well, monsieur. Show your hand, and reveal to the crowd who it is that has defeated the Gambling King of New Orleans."

His opponent showed his hand.

'Fraid not, mon ami. While I do so love the ladies, they are not my cup o' tea tonight. I dine with a Full House!"

As Remy Cyr, the Gambling King, gathered his earnings and slipped out the door, Logan stalked after him, but not before giving a moderately expensive bracelet to the loser of the game.

[dragon wench]

Daylight had given way to sultry darkness and the swamp had responded with the raucous croaking of frogs, the sinister whine of mosquitoes and the hushed whispers of unknown forms that slid through velvet night... Silken strands of Spanish moss trailed from ancient trees... shrouding still pools below.

The small hut concealed by snaking vines and verdant foliage might have escaped notice.... were it not for the singular flame of a candle flickering within.

Alba Des Glaces studied the man seated across her table. He was unusual, this one, customarily it were only the women who asked for the cards. His expression betrayed fear and uncertainty as her hand moved to reveal the first card...

The Moon...

Alba observed her client... His pale features had blanched still further... and his hand shook as he sought the small goblet at his side....

Monsieur.... il faut pas craindre la maitresse cachee... laisser sa caresse vous montrer des secrets que vous ne pouver pas s'imaginer...

She fixed the dark golden glow of her eyes upon his ashen visage... and then lifted her hand to disclose the portent the next card held...

[Aegis]

Remy walked the near-empty streets of the docks, for the most part, unconcerned with the passing shore-men, and whores that seemed to litter the harbour come the night. Creatures of the night, he thought to him, then grinned. His casual stride betrayed no drive, or rush. One hand held the top of his smooth, black cane comfortably, the cane moving in stride with his legs. His other hand was placed behind the small of his back. In all, he appeared to be of high class, aristocracy, though, few would even know that to be truth or not. If it were not true, he acted the roll well. If so, then it would not be so unthought of. Either way, Remy was confident.

He slowly made his way from the docks of New Orleans, moving more in the middle-class district of the town, full of Creole blood. Gradually, Remy watched as the amount of shore-men and whores decreased, to be replaced only by the night life that accompanied the Creole culture. The smell of cajun cooking was thick in the air, with the brisk feel of the cool air only seeming to amplify the smell. He came in search of a meal, and this district never dissapointed him.

He passed by several small shops and restaurants before finding something that caught both his eye, and his desires. He stopped outside a small restaurant. Leaning lightly on his cane, and crossing his legs at the ankle he watched it for a moment. The floor was full with a mixture of Acadian and Creole people, all enjoying their meal. The staff seemed busy as well. He watched as the side door of the building openned, and a young woman, no more than twenty, came out, holding a large canister, and appearing to have some difficulties balancing it. Remy was on the move immediatly.

"Here, amour," Remy said as he came near the woman, a hand reached out, taking hold of the canister. Glancing inside, he saw the contents full of the nights refuse. He offered a slight cringe, and then turned to the woman. "A petite femme should not be made to do such labour." He flashed a smile at the woman as she relinquished the canister.

"Monsieur, You needent worry about me." the woman said sheepishly, not quite sure what to make of Remy yet. As she spoke, Remy took the canister to a near by pile of refuse, and emptied its contents.

"Nonsense." He turned and set the canister on the ground, and then closed the minor distance between him and the woman. "Besides, mon amour, lovely hand such as your should not have to touch such filth." Remy smiled again, and took her hand. Then, with the grace of an aristocratic man, he kissed the back of her hand. "Come, tell me about yourself."

With his free hand, he slowly placed his hand on the small of her back, but instead of turning her back to the building, or even the open streets, he began to lead her deeper into the alley.

"M-monsiuer!" the woman said sheepishly. "I must be getting back to my duties." He voice quivered slightly as he continued to lead her.

"Soon enough, cher. Soon enough." As he spoke, he slowly angled his body behind the womans. As he finished his sentence, he lowered his lips to the base of his ear, and gently kissed the skin, slowly moving down the edge. This seemed to pacify the woman a bit, taking some minor pleasue for the feel of his lips, though she still was tense.

There was something about this man, the woman thought. A part of her wanted to scream for help, and run, but the other part told her to stay put. She let out a small sigh of pleasure as she felt him nip slightly on the base of her neck, and as the sigh faded, so seemed her concerns. The two remained that way for several minutes, a silent expression of joy on the woman's face, Remy keeping his lips locked onto her neck, almost in a deadly embrace.

After some time, Remy gently pushed the woman away. The estatic look on her face hadn't faded, but she had little strength to stand. She lowered herself slowly to the ground, dizzy, and seemingly unaware of her surroundings. Remy raised his hand, and wiped the corner of his mouth slightly. "Mes mercis, chers. Vous étiez délectable". He smiled again, and turned around. The woman lay on the ground, sound asleep, completly unaware of the two small puncture marks on her neck, nor the small line of crimson blood that was now rolling down her soft skin.

Remy began to walk out of the alley, but stopped slowly as the silhouette of a man was before him, a smaller man, who's face was framed in dark black hair.

"Oui, monsieur?" Remy asked casually...

[Scayde]

Bridges du Reves stared down into eyes so familiar, so like his own, he felt in a way he was looking into a reflection of himself. Could it be? Could she really have picked apart the threads of his mind to tease the information, which she so carelessly flaunted? Feuillantine de Crustacés had long been his favourite, but then any waitress in the French Quarter could have known this. Parlor tricks du Reves was not so easily impressed, still...the note had said this was a matter of the Blood. Bridges took many things for granted, but Family was of paramount importance.

Oui Mon Petite. Tell your Papa he may expect me at ten...and I will be expecting some answers.

[Scayde]

Dolores made her way down the darkened boulevard through the Garden District. She held her head erect as she passed windows that closed at her passing. She let her mind drift and wondered what went on behind the worn shutters. She could sense the warmth of the lovers’ embraces, the wonder of their closeness, a gift she had never known. Her footsteps were soundless as she turned onto Bienville Avenue and made her way up the street to L'Hôtel de Saint Louis. The regal facade of the old building greeted her and she allowed the warm glow of the crystal chandeliers in the fourier to draw her inside.

She made her way to their rooms. A lace-gloved hand retrieved the key from her purse and slid it into the lock, opening the door to the suit. She was met with a warm embrace by her father.

It was good to be home.

“Did you deliver the note ma fille?”

‘Oui Papa. le Monsieur has the note. I delivered it as you instructed.

[The Z]

Logan swore under his breath. He had momentarily looked away from Remy and upon turning to face his prey again, he was confronted with the unnerving darkness. The surroundings were foreign to him and Logan began to regret not bringing a map. Finding his way back to his lodging, L'Hôtel de Saint Louis, would be an unwelcome challenge. Sighing, he began to take in the area. He was no longer by the docks, he had figured that much. Remy had led him to an urban district and judging by the inhabitants on the street, it was predominantly Creole.

The smell of cooking filled Logan's nostrils and he was reminded that he hadn't eaten since the morning. While cursing Remy for moving stealthily and quickly, he began to search for a restaurant. Eventually Logan stumbled upon a somewhat busy cafe and was about to enter when he heard an ever so delicate sigh of pleasure from nearby.

Cautiously, Logan approached the shadows and peered into the narrow alley. Silently he proceeded into the unknown and found Remy "doing his thing" with a petite woman, almost too young to be involved in such an act. After a good few minutes of feeling perverse and invasive while watching them, Logan was about to turn and wait when Remy laid the woman to the floor, blood flowing slightly from two puncture wounds in the neck. Only slightly appalled, Logan's eyes narrowed, wondering who or what could make such perfect punctures into a person's neck. It didn't appear as jagged as bites usually did. Filing this in his memory, he approached the would-be-aristocrat.

To his surprise, Remy spotted him first and asked, "Oui, monsieur?"

Quickly masking his shock, Logan looked up at the man, who, though much larger, did not intimidate him. He slouched and put on his best diplomat act.

"You're questioning me when you're the one out here in an alley biting under-age women?"

Before Remy could respond, Logan continued, "Frankly, I don't care what you do in your spare time. Nothing you've done is anything new to me; I've been around. I'm here on 'business' matters and you seem to be the guy everyone's referring me to. Now, there's a cafe right around the corner where we can discuss this more comfortably if you don't mind. And if you need a little nudging, I can promise you thousands when my job is done. You are the 'gambling-king' aren't you?"

And sooner or later I'll find out who or what you really are, and what's up with your teeth Logan thought to himself.

[dragon wench]

The candle had burned down to a sputter, and the loneliness of the night had closed in.... Though aware of its taunting whispers, Alba focused her attention upon the cards still face down on the table. Her client, increasingly wan, waited for her to reveal the next image. His expression, simultaneously anticipating and apprehensive, followed her every move.

Alba frowned... usually the herbal liqueur she customarily served to clients had a more calming effect. She wondered what it was this man at once feared and desired.

The Nine of Swords.... Alba suppressed the shudder that snaked down her spine.. but it was evident from his sharp intake of breath that he too knew the cards....

Though she knew she should not, Alba let herself feel the swirling energies encircling her client... and she allowed herself to pass through the mists protecting the present.... Despite the humid warmth cloaked about the swamp Alba shivered at jagged visions swimming into her mind.

He had interested her, this one, she had considered drawing him into her weave so that she would not need to face the darkness alone... but knowing now what her gift had allowed her to see, Alba withdrew slightly and looked only towards the third card...

The Ace of Swords....

Alba let out a breath she did not realise she had been holding...

The candle finally gave way to its intended fate, and the hut was plunged into swift blackness. At this near absence of light the sounds of the swamp rose up... threatening to engulf them. Perfumes that only flowered beneath night's canopy crept within... carrying the presence of beings long vanquished.

Vous n'avez pas une autre chandelle Madame?

His voice broke into the cacophony of silence.

Mais oui Monsieur.

Alba rose from her chair... but this time lit a lantern... Its glow illuminated the entire hut.. and only shadows reminded them of the dark outside.

[Gwalchmai]

“That old woman, ‘Toothless Willie, had been right!” thought Guy Diamond, the roving reporter for WGUN Channel 17 News, New Orleans, “This Alba des Glaces is a classic fortune teller!” He peered through the cobweb-encrusted window of her small shack in the swamp. She has the burning incense, herbal liquor, a silk headscarf, guttering candles, and all the trappings of the trade. She will make the perfect subject for his upcoming exposé on the chicanery of the Nuevo Voodoo.

He silently lifted his tiny video camera to the pane and began filming Alba as she performed a tarot reading for a particularly gullible-looking mark. He whispered into the microphone, “This is Guy Diamond for Channel 17. I’m here on location at the ‘house’ of one Alba des Glaces, where she is currently telling the ‘future’ for some poor schlub who undoubtedly paid her substantial amounts of money or traded valuable trinkets for her opinion of his future. Let us watch the expert flim-flam artist at work.”

He continued to film the session. This footage will be excellent in the promos. They would have to blur-out the worried-looking man’s face in the studio. Unless he was some low-ranked government official, of course. Wouldn’t that be great! As soon as the man left, Guy would knock on the door and ask for his own reading about some made up problem with a bogus sister. A special spy camera in his briefcase would capture the whole thing. Guy almost danced with anticipatory glee.

The tarot card session seemed to take a long time. He wondered if Alba might conclude the tarot reading with a little prostitution. He had heard that these mystics often would offer themselves up for a little extra coin. He would get that Edward R. Murrow award for sure if that was the case! He might try to steer the conversation that way himself after his own reading. Alba des Glaces wasn’t that bad looking.

Guy shifted his feet uncomfortably in the mud beneath the window. He didn’t hear the very large alligator rise up out of the water behind him. Guy didn’t realize what was happening when he was suddenly wrenched backward into the swamp. When the pain in his legs finally hit his brain he tried to scream, but only got a lungful of brackish swamp water for his efforts.

The dropped camera filmed the last thrashings of Guy Diamond. Then the camera continued to film the dark, stilling waters and small swamp creatures outside Alba’s home until the battery finally ran out and the scene faded to black.