The First Male (15 page)

“Awww, Addie. Do not cry. Your sisters are fine. They are with
us, dear,” Rebecca said. She tossed the tissue into the trash.

“Don't you want to know how she met her demise?” Eli asked. “Of course you do,” he said, answering for her. “Well,” he said, as he took a seat in the chair, “she was hiding in Bahrain, acting as a peasant woman. When I found her, she pretended to not understand, but I didn't care. I shackled her and burned her alive in the desert.” He spoke easily, heartlessly. “You should have heard her skin sizzle. It was a marvelous sound, but that wasn't the end of it. I revived her and did it again. And again. And again. I lost count of how many times I roasted her. It really was . . . divine. You should have seen it, quite a spectacle. And you should have heard her dying words, so very unladylike.”

“Let us not be boastful, Eli,” Rebecca said. “Pride is one of the seven deadly sins.” Addie wanted to believe that his words were hyperbole, but she knew of his boundless cruelty.

“I almost forgot, Grandmother. I brought you a gift.” He extended his right hand, palm side up and then opened his mouth, expelling a black mist that swirled in the center of his hand. It morphed into a beautiful, shimmering red bottle that he placed on top of the dresser. He looked at her and smiled wickedly. “Do you want to know what it is? I think you'll love this. It's from Bertice—her screams. I captured them as a memento for you.” He uncorked the bottle and a fiery red mist escaped. Suddenly, the room was filled with the tortured screams of Addie's sister. Her voice was pained and drenched in horror, unspeakable misery. Addie was bulldozed by grief. Bertice's ghastly voice tore Addie apart and contained despair so profound that the walls in Addie's room bled, leaving red streaks down the pastel-colored walls.

“All of this could have been avoided had you simply helped us. Your sister could have enjoyed immunity and a life so rich and full of luxury that kings would have been envious. Instead, you
have condemned her to a life of burned flesh in the Shadowland. How does that make you feel?” he asked.

“Adelaide, we extend the offer of immunity to you and your other sister. What say you?” Rebecca tried to peer inside Addie, but met a solid, impenetrable wall. She had her answer.

In the dark corner of the room, a black mist was taking shape and a low hissing could be heard.

Addie. Addie
.

“Aww, we have company,” Rebecca said gleefully, clapping wildly. The mist took the shape of a huge black serpent with yellow eyes. “Say hello to your old friend, Eetwidomayloh.” The serpent hissed violently at Addie, but did not approach her. “Eli, show Adelaide your new trick.”

Eli smiled. “With pleasure, Mother.”

He stood up and quickly disrobed until he stood in the room completely naked.

“Do it, darling. Let us teach dear old Adelaide a lesson in manners.”

He smiled, stretched out his arms and suddenly exploded into hundreds of hissing serpents. They were angry and aggressive and focused their attention on Addie, who sat helplessly in her chair. Eetwidomayloh hissed something foul, the odor of his breath filling the room, and all of the snakes quickly slithered over to Addie. They crawled all over her body and underneath her robe. They nested in her hair, giving her the appearance of modern-day Medusa.

Then, he hissed something again and all of the snakes—all of them—dug their fangs into her flesh and injected her with venom. Rebecca clapped delightfully.

They bit her repeatedly until she could no longer endure the pain; she blacked out.

C
HAPTER
10

W
hen Simon walked into his apartment, the rich smell of Crawfish Etouffee, simmering on the stove, greeted him at the door. The scent swirled around the room and landed flatly against his nose. He closed the door and inhaled deeply, hoping to get a taste of his favorite dish from the air itself. His stomach, reacting to the enticing smell, rumbled. The sounds of Esmeralda, a local New Orleans blues singer, played softly in the background. Her sultry voice never failed to put Simon in a good mood.

He walked deeper into the apartment, dropping his keys and jacket on the couch. Brooke was standing over the stove, stirring the pot, wearing nothing but a short pink and white apron that stopped midway at her thighs. Her breasts spilled out from the sides of the apron, showing just enough skin to entice and titillate. It was a delectable sight and Simon fought the urge to rush over to her and gobble her up completely without saying a word; instead, he chose to play it cool.

He smiled, watching her watch him. She moved seductively and smiled coyly, leaning over deeply as she stirred the pot so that he'd get a better view of her lovely breasts. His love for her had become thick and solid during these troubling times, but still, it would remain silent. Instead of saying the word, he'd show her instead. He was good at that, good at expressing his love physically;
good at being tender and holding her in his arms. After all, what's in a word? It is actions that matter. He read somewhere that
love
is a verb; love is what it does, and he held onto that definition tightly. So the word itself couldn't possibly matter that much, could it?

This was Brooke at her best, anticipating his needs and desires. She looked genuinely pleased in making him happy, and he was thrilled to get back into their usual routine and not worry about the fantastical events that plagued him of late. He missed a sense of normalcy and routine in his life. He wanted things to go back to the way they were, before he dreamed of snakes and feared his dark side. It had been two full days since his last
episode
, and he was starting to think that the worst was behind him.

He let the music churn in his ears for a few more moments and then he bopped over to her, with a dip in his hip, and grabbed her by the waist. He pulled her into him and kissed her passionately, tasting the rich flavor of the dish on her lips and tongue.

“What's all this for?” he asked.

“For you, of course. Let's say it's the beginning of a two-week celebration of your birthday.” Her smile was electric.

“Ahhh,” he said, “my birthday
is
coming up. I had forgotten with all the shit that's been happening.”

“We're gonna put all that behind us and get back to living and enjoying each other. This is a happy season. It's your birthday and then Christmas four days after that. So, let's enjoy it and each other.”

“I don't want you making a big deal about my birthday, and you know how I feel about Christmas.” She simply smiled and offered him a taste of etouffee on a spoon to pacify him.

Simon wasn't big on Christmas. Growing up in foster care, he received presents so rarely that he learned to not expect them.
His little heart couldn't stand the disappointment. He remembered feeling jealous when he looked out of the window and saw all the neighborhood kids riding their new bikes and playing with their toy guns and race cars.

“You still gonna go on the cruise with your parents?”

“Yes, and I wish you would reconsider. They really want you to come with us.”

He raised one eyebrow at her. “Me and your father on a two-week Mediterranean cruise doesn't sound like a good idea. Besides, I have to work.”

“I wish I could spend Christmas with you.”

“You can. Tell your parents you can't go on the cruise. Tell 'em you'll be with me instead.” Simon was only half-kidding. Just once he'd like to not spend Christmas alone, but he wouldn't dare impose on her.

“You know I would if I could. My mother would go through the roof if I didn't make it. She's been planning this cruise for three years and she finally got Daddy to agree. If I didn't go she'd disown me.”

“I'm kidding, baby. I want you to go and have a good time with your family.”

The word
family
rang in Simon's ears. It was during the holidays that his lack of familial ties hurt the most. Even now. “Are we still going to Franklin's show tonight?”

“If you're up to it after I finish with you,” she said with a hint of things to come.

“I like the way that sounds.” Simon moved over to the sink and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. He moved over to the refrigerator and poured a glass of wine.

“Simon, you shouldn't be drinking.”

“It's cool. I looked up the medication online and it said wine,
in moderation, was okay while I was on it.” She looked at him incredulously.

“Are you lying to me?”

“Of course not. Here, see for yourself.” He reached into his pocket and was about to pull up the popular website WebMD on his cell phone for confirmation.

“Never mind,” she said, “I trust you.”

When he moved near her he noticed a bright yellow piece of paper in the trash can. He immediately recognized it as a “Late Rent Notice” that Ms. Sanchez loved to tactlessly attach to tenants' doors.

“Ms. Sanchez was here?”

“Oh, yeah. She caught me when I came in, but don't worry about it. I took care of it.”

“Took care of what?”

“The rent. I gave her a check.”

Simon rolled his eyes hard. “Why the fuck would you do that? Brooke, I don't need you paying my rent. I have the money order in my wallet.”

“She said you were late, but it's no biggie. I'll get the check from her and you can give her the money order.”

“That's not the point. The point is, I'm a man and I can take care of my own bills. I don't need you taking care of me, not like that. I'm going to have to have a conversation with her about discussing my business with people.”

“I'm not
people
. I'm your girlfriend. Please don't be mad. I was trying to help and we're having a good evening. Let's not argue.”

“Brooke, you have to understand—” She stepped back and untied the apron, letting it fall to the floor. Her nakedness filled the room.

“I have to understand what?” Simon's unfinished criticism of
her was overwhelmed by his rising desire. “Why don't you come over here and show me how much of a man you really are?”

Halfway into the evening, Simon felt his two glasses of wine starting to work on his system. Franklin was on stage with a full band behind him while he sang with more heart and soul than a man three times his size. He voice was deep and rich with passion and power, and he hit every note precisely. His range and vocal affectations were remarkable and he held the entire room spellbound as he worked every inch of the stage thoroughly. Women swooned when they heard the fullness of his soulful voice and his intense and highly sexual lyrics; there would certainly be some panty-dropping tonight.

The darkened lounge was packed to the nines with people of varying shades and backgrounds. The Black Cat always attracted a diverse crop of people who came out to hear good music and to enjoy cocktails so strong that two of them were almost certain to knock you on your back. Their signature drink, Voodoo, had gained infamy in the city and had sent many folks to the drunk tank at the police station for an unexpected overnight stay.

The crowd that night was enthusiastic and lively, gyrating and grinding uninhibitedly against Franklin's charged lyrics and the hypnotic beats of the drummer. The vixen of a saxophonist, who was all lines and sensual curves, sent the crowd into a frenzy when she blew on her horn and sent notes so carnal into the air that legs immediately spread and backs arched instinctively.

Almost three-hundred throbbing people were squeezed into a place meant for no more than two hundred. Sweaty flesh pressed against equally sweaty and unfamiliar flesh, but no one seemed
to mind. There was a spell in the air, some of that old magic only New Orleans could produce. The heat generated by the crowd caused the concrete walls to perspire. The crowd was on its feet and Simon felt the old floor shift underneath him. He was pressed hard against Brooke from behind, acting as part protector and part lover. Their bodies swayed naturally and easily together.