Page 6 of Relic

SIX

Life in New Orleans feels like a fever dream. In my imagination anyway. I’ve never fainted in my life, but so far, the city is having a strange effect on me. I’m off balance and need to find my way again. The best solution for that problem is always art.

After a brief nape then sitting around for a while simply trying to make sense of what’s happened to me so far, I get off my bed, wolf down a quickly aging banana, and study my measly pile of art supplies I managed to take with me when I left Linx. A shiver runs down my back. Dang, even thinking his name scares me.

From the stack I select a medium canvas and my box of oil paints. I flip through the tiny tubes, my heart sinking at how low the levels are. I won’t be able to do much until I can afford to buy more. My fingers settle on a tube of red that’s almost full, an orange one, and black. I can work with that.

I grab my well worn tray and squeeze some paint onto it, giving my brain space to find that creative spot while I study the colors. Images flood my mind, a blending of vibrant colors and smells that embody this alluring but strange city.

I let my fingers lead the way, pressing into the cool pigments and spreading them into shapes and swirls that eventually form an interesting scene. A black sky above, fiery red and orange streets below. Reaching for another tube, I find the white I have and dot the top of the canvas creating stars and a moon.

A new image passes through my mind, and my fingers swirl through the paint, creating circles of radiating white in the black, but then I’m drawn back to the red, and as I add a blob to the canvas, my mind conjures visions of… I tilt my head as I stare at my work.

Blood. Pools of it.

Never one to deny my muse, I work with the paint until there are streaks of blood dripping just above the street in my painting. Using some of the pink, I finish the work by deepening or lifting the bloody spots until I’m satisfied.

When I lean back, I’m shocked by what I created. It’s darker than most of my work, resembling a literal hellscape. I shake my shoulders in the hope of getting rid of whatever energy causes this creation but I do feel better. That same grounded confidence I always feel after working on my art. Maybe this is my next phase.

I’ve hidden in my apartment as long as I can take, and even my art wasn’t enough to distract me from my real problem. My constantly growling stomach and growing headache. I have to go out there again if I want to eat more than fruit.

Walking over to the window, I steady myself with a deep breath before I peel back the curtain to look onto the street below. It’s relatively quiet, as much as the French Quarter can be, and as since the sun is still out, there’s nothing too ominous lurking.

My stomach growls again, painfully this time, and I make a decision. I have to go.

Grabbing my keys and phone, I take a deep breath, then open my door and head out. With so many restaurants around, it won’t take me long to grab a bite to-go and get back to the safety of my room.

The thing really bothering me right now is why I’m afraid to go outside. I guess fainting at Relic and not having much memory of the last twenty-four hours is reason enough, but it feels more intense than that. As if I’m somehow afraid of something on a level that my conscious mind can’t recognize. Anyway, I need food, so here I go.

Once I’m at street level, I hurry to get to Bourbon Street, where there are a ton of places to eat. As the crowd engulfs me, my nerves settle. Safety in numbers and all that. I look for the restaurant with the shortest wait and get in line. A shrimp po’boy sounds delicious, and that’s what I order when it’s my turn.

As I wait, leaning against the wall, warmth and comfort washes over me, as if I’m being wrapped in a blanket. A pleasant scent breezes by, like cognac, cigars, and something I can’t name, but it’s heady and seductive.

My name is called and I grab the bag, turning to head back to my apartment, but bumping straight into Horatio.

“Oh. Hello.”

He smiles. “Hello again. Our paths cross once more.”

“Yeah. Um, I was getting something to eat. You?”

“Just finished, actually.”

“Oh.” His scent hits my nose and I realize that was the smell. My mouth actually waters, but I clear my throat. This man is my boss. “I should probably get on my way then.”

Horatio tilts his head, focusing his eyes on mine. I can’t look away. It’s like he has some kind of hold on me. He moves in strange ways that don’t seem normal, almost inhuman. His actions are all at once too quick and too smooth.

“You can walk me home if you want.” The words are out of my mouth before I even thought about them.

“I would like that.”

I nod, slipping past him to lead the way, and searching my brain for what the actual fuck made me say that.

“How have you been feeling since I last saw you?”

“Odd.” I glance at him as we saunter, dodging tourists around us. “Confused. I have no idea why I fainted.”

“As long as you’re unharmed, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Perhaps you’re a little dehydrated.”

“That could be.”

The trip back to my apartment is shorter than I’d like, so I linger in front of the entry door, glancing around and definitely stalling.

“This building has quite an interesting history,” Horatio begins, his head tilted up. “Do you know it?”

“No.”

“Ah. It’s part of the most popular vampire tours. The rumor is it was home to a coven of vampires when New Orleans was first settled by the French.”

“Vampires? I guess you believe in them given what you sell at Relic.”

“You don’t?”

“They aren’t real.”

“Oh, Emery. You have a lot to learn about the French Quarter.”

I chuckle, not buying his schtick at all as I open the door and step inside. Horatio remains still.

“Do you want to come up and tell me about it?”

His eyebrow rises as he grins. “You invite strange men in often?”

“You’re not a strange man. You’re my boss.”

“Excellent distinction. I would love to accompany you upstairs.”

We ascend the creaky stairs as Horatio drags his hand along the wall of fading wallpaper. As I unlock my door, he looks around slowly, methodically, as if he’s memorizing the space, and standing so close to me it should bother me, but it weirdly doesn’t.

“Come in.”

He nods and steps over the threshold, taking in the tiny space.

“It’s not much, but it’s nice and clean.”

“It’s lovely.”

“I figured I wouldn’t be home much between working and looking for places to sell my work.”

“Do you have enough space here to produce your art?”

“It’ll be tight, but I can do it.” I sit on the edge of my bed and open the bag. “Hope you don’t mind me eating. I’m starving.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Horatio crosses the small space and focuses his attention on my art. “May I?”

“Sure.”

I take several bites of my sandwich, moaning happily as the warm, spicy shrimp melts on my tongue. I’m eating like I have no manners, but I don’t care. I’m so hungry.

Horatio kneels, flipping through my canvases. He pauses on the one I just did, tilting his head and truly eyeing it like someone who appreciates art. Maybe he does.

“You did this?”

Nodding, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “A couple of hours ago. It just came to me.”

“It’s different from the others. Darker.”

“I noticed,” I reply, shrugging. “I figure it’s NOLA energy, you know?”

“Is this meant to be blood?”

“I think so. I painted what came to me in my mind’s eye.”

“I see.” He stands, turning to face me. “You’re very talented.”

“You think so?” I pluck a shrimp from the bread to pop it in my mouth. “Talented enough to sell it?”

“The city is filled with artists, making it harder to stand out, but there’s talent here. I believe you’ll find your buyers.”

A smile spreads across my face.

“I have a space that could work as a studio at my home. It has beautiful natural lighting. You should come see it.”

I open my mouth to object, but the only word that comes out is “Okay.”

“Good.” Horatio smiles, watching me finish off the sandwich in record time, even for my appetite. “Better?”

“Much.” I pat my belly. “So you were gonna tell me about life in the French Quarter.”

“Yes.” He has that same intense look on his face as he did earlier.

“You have really nice eyes,” I hear myself murmur.

“I’m so glad you think so.” He puts his hand over mine. “I could make sure you stay safe always. Even when I’m not with you.”

“Safe?”

“Yes. Like an extra layer of protection. Would you like that, Emery?”

“Do I need it?”

“I believe you do, yes.”

Out of nowhere, a wave of warmth blankets me. “What is it?”

“Trust me?”

I nod, still gazing into his eyes. I have no idea why I’m being so agreeable.

“Say it, Emery. Say you trust me.”

“I trust you, Horatio.” Do I? Where are these words coming from?

“Your heart,” Horatio says softly. “You can’t hide from me.”

I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of his words but coming up blank.

“Now, close your eyes. This won’t hurt a bit.”

I close my eyes as if in a trance. My rational mind weakly objects, but shuts up real fast. A sense of fog swirling around me takes over but a sharp sting in my neck forces my eyes open. I’m vaguely aware of Horatio biting me, holding me in his arms as my head falls back. The fog is heavier now, pulling my eyes closed again.

“Emery,” Horatio whispers. “Open your eyes, my sweet beignet.”

My eyes flutter open to see his handsome face hovering over mine.

“Hi.” He sweeps my hair off my forehead. “How do you feel?”

“So good. What did you do?”

“I took care of you. You’ll be safe now should danger arise. If anyone says anything you dislike, or that you fear, simply say my name and I’ll be there.”

“Say your name…?” My mind tries to process how he could show up just by saying his name, but nothing comes to me. Maybe he’s a superhero. I snort a laugh.

Smiling, he says, “Softly if you wish. I’ll hear you. We’re connected now. Actually, you belong to me.”

I nod, completely relaxed in his arms, weirdly not alarmed by his strangeness. “Okay, Horatio.”

“Good. I’m going to go now and let you rest. I’ll see you in the morning for work.”

“Work.”

“Remember, if you need help, what will you do?”

“Say your name.”

“And who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Right.”

Leaning in, he plants a kiss on my forehead. “I hope I’ve made the right decision and you won’t be my ruin.”

My brow crinkles in confusion. “How could I ruin you?” I drag my hands over his pecs. “You’re so big and strong.”

Horatio chuckles. “Good night, my little bon bon.”

“Night.”

Sinking into my bed, I hear the clicking of my door, but I’m too overcome with sleepiness to care about anything other than rest. I burrow my face into my pillow and give in to exhaustion. As sleep takes me under, visions of Horatio’s handsome face dance in my mind. There are definitely worse dreams to have.