Read The Vampire (THE VAMPIRE Book 1) Online
Authors: Sandrine Genier
The Vampire (THE VAMPIRE Book 1)
ISBN: 9781483548968
Find the thing you love
and let that kill you
∼Charles Bukowski
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 16
th
, 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.
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
.