Page 8

After spending way too much money on moisturizer, cleanser, and makeup, I drove down to the French Market.

Had to be done. Yes, it was a tourist sinkhole, but it had been so long since I'd been to New Orleans and the last time I was there, there was no Cafe Du Monde.

I desperately wanted to try beignets. And no, I may have lived in France and New Orleans, but I've never had a beignet.

They weren't in the region I was from in France, and I didn't live long enough in New Orleans to get around to having one.

As I strolled down the crowded sidewalks of the French Market, gaining admirers as I went, I ruminated on my past life in that very city.

It wasn't my only past life—far from it—but it was a turning point in history and in that particular life.

Louis wasn't the first royal I'd been with.

I had a type. Rich, powerful, and handsome.

Louis had been young when we were together—he was just nineteen, and I was seventeen.

He didn't age well. They tried to mask that in his portraits, but I heard stories. Good for him, that bastard.

“A table for . . .” the server at Cafe Du Monde looked around as if a companion might magically appear.

“One,” I finished for him. “It's just me.”

“But no!” He gaped. “How can you be alone, cher? Not you.”

I laughed. “Darlin', I like it that way. Now, I lived in New Orleans many years ago, but I've never been here. I'm ready to be amazed.”

“No, you shock me again! How is it possible to live here and never visit us?”

I shrugged. “Too touristy for my taste. But I've decided to give in. I have a mouth full of sweet teeth, after all.”

“You know we're open all day and all night, sugah.” He winked at me.

“You don't have to come when it's crowded.

Although you risk being served by someone who isn't here.” He grabbed a tiny menu and headed into the packed restaurant.

“I'll put you near the edge so you can people-watch.” He paused to look back at me.

“And by that, I mean, people will watch you and we'll attract even more customers!”

“You're a charmer.” I pushed at his shoulder. “Go on now. Give me a quiet table.”

“No such thing, cher.” He pulled out a chair at a tiny table near an iron fence.

I sat down, took the menu, and then tapped his arm with it. “What did you mean about being served by someone who isn't here?”

“Oh! Haven't you heard about our ghost waiter?”

“No. Do tell.”

He chuckled. “People who come late at night sometimes complain. They say they've put in their order but don't get their food. When we ask who helped them, they can't find him.” He leaned in to whisper, “Because he's a ghost.”

“Is that right?” I chuckled and looked around. “I rather doubt that.”

“I do too,” he admitted. “Never seen a ghost myself, and I've lived here all my life. But it's good for business.”

“Can I order now?”

“Of course! The menu is simple, eh? A glance is all you need. What would you like?”

“A mocha and an order of beignets. Oh, and a glass of water to cool me down after the mocha.”

“I'll bring you a bottle.”

“Perfect. Thank you.” I handed him the menu. It was only drinks and beignets. Simple is an understatement.

“You're very welcome.” He dashed off.

I looked around the cafe, several stares trying to catch mine.

I didn't see anyone worth staring at, so I ignored them.

Besides, I was more interested in ghosts.

If there was a ghost there, the New Orleans Cerberus wasn't doing their job.

I doubted that. Still, I wondered if I'd have a sense for them since I'd recently been one myself.

“Nothing.” I sighed and looked out toward the street.

Middle of the day and it was crowded. New Orleans, as crowded and gross as it was (thanks to the crowds), smelled much better than it had the last time I was there. Frowning, I steeled myself as memories rose. They weren't memories of New Orleans, though. They were of Louis.

“The motherfucker,” I muttered.

Granted, he was a nice boy. He'd been raised to be King of France.

The previous Louis, his great grandpa, died when Louis was little.

His uncle—the same one they named New Orleans after—took care of things until Louis was crowned.

I think he was only thirteen when they crowned him.

These days, most people would think thirteen was way too young to be ruling a country.

But back then, it was the age of maturity. We didn't live as long.

Louis got married shortly after he was crowned, and his wife was a few years older than him. He loved her. Told me so. But she was always pregnant and tired. Love didn't stop him from straying.

That should have been a red flag for me.

But I was young too, and a king showing interest in me was too much for me to resist. A young, handsome king, at that.

Our affair was so intense that he promised to give up the crown for me.

He couldn't marry me because he was already married and even if he left his wife, I wasn't a noblewoman.

I was a lady's maid to one of his wife's companions.

He could fuck me all he wanted and no one would lift a brow, but marry me? Not happening.

So, yes, Louis made me a grand promise, and I believed him.

Stupid. Real dumb. But I didn't have the knowledge of my past lives to help me back then. And Louis could be really convincing. He was a charming man, even at that age, and he had a way with words. I fell for it.

Then I woke up in the hold of a ship.

I still don't know why Louis sent me to America.

Against my will. He could have simply banished me from court.

He could have had someone else do it. There was no call for shipping me out of the country to what was then a backwoods colony of fur traders, merchants, and other rough sorts.

I suppose it seemed too perfect a solution for him to pass up.

A few shipments of women had already gone to New Orleans to help “grow” the colony.

It had only been men before, and as much as men can have fun with other men, they can't make babies together.

Plus, the local tribes were getting annoyed with the white men trying to take their women.

So, Louis's grandpa started sending women to New Orleans. He'd done it before with another colony. It was a tried-and-true way of establishing French rule in the new world. But those other women had gone willingly. I did not.

As I said, I woke up onboard, below deck, in a rickety bunk. There was little air flow, even less room, and a lot of women. I spent two miserable months in that hold, cursing Louis every minute. And then we arrived.

I wasn't very religious, but I had prayed. On that terrible voyage, I had hoped that the end would be better than the beginning. That maybe I'd find a new life in this new world where status didn't matter. Where a maid could become a queen. Maybe Louis had done me a favor.

And maybe he had. Who was I to know what would have happened to me in France?

But the colony I found was not the one I was hoping for.

It wasn't much more than shacks and mud, with a bunch of men who didn't know how to treat a lady.

Oh, and a group of crazy nuns who were meant to keep things nice and civilized.

Ha! Fur traders and merchants didn't give a shit about a woman's devotion to God.

She was just a woman in a robe. It was the guards who had come from France with the nuns who kept the other men at bay.

“Here you are, cher.” The server set down a plate of fried dough covered in powdered sugar and a mug of chocolaty coffee.

“Thank you.”

“You need anything else, let me know. Otherwise, here's your check.” He slid it on the table. “Not to rush you. You take your time.”

“Thank you,” I said again.

And then I had my first bite of a beignet.

I groaned and licked my sugared lips. It was lovely.

But what made it so much better was that I didn't have to share the experience.

Those taste buds were all mine, and without the static of another soul involved, I could fully enjoy the flavor of my first French donut.

I took a sip of coffee next, then leaned back and looked at the spread.

Technically, it was my first meal. I had champagne earlier, but nothing solid.

I figured babies had to start on liquids, and my body was basically a newborn.

I chuckled at the thought of feeding my new body champagne instead of milk. It does a body a good. Then I remembered I was immortal, and I realized what that meant where food was concerned. Super fast healing meant a super fast metabolism. I didn't have to worry about wrinkles or gaining weight!

I started to eat in earnest. When I finished all the beignets, I drank my coffee. After paying my check, I left the cafe with a new goal in mind—to find every culinary delight in New Orleans and devour it.