“Did you try him again?” Macarthur Marmande asked his granddaughter Piper, his heart racing.
“Yesterday we were ready to sign contracts by next week, but now his secretary says he wants to freeze the process and review some things. He’s not available to talk to me.”
Mac, as all his friends called him, ran a shaky hand through his still-thick but white hair. He was beyond ready to leave the everyday operations to Piper, but not until they were on steadier ground. She didn’t deserve any more disasters.
She had lost first her mother, then her father, Mac’s son, not long afterward, leaving him and his wife Molly the responsibility of raising her. She was spunky and full of ambition, but Mac suspected it was a defense for the empty place left in her heart after his son took his own life, a place no one had been able to fill. Mac understood why his boy had given up, but he’d been the only parent Piper remembered. The death of Mac’s daughter-in-law had devastated two lives.
“I don’t need to explain how important this contract is to us, sweetheart.”
“It’s not enough to square with the bank, but I agreed to the deal because it’ll prove we’re still competitive and putting out the best product. Ideally not what we’re looking for long-term, but it’ll be a moot point since I can’t force this guy to take my call. We need to concentrate on who got to him and why.”
Piper stood and smoothed down her wool slacks in what Mac knew was a nervous habit, then paced to the window. The executive suites that overlooked their operations were comfortable, without the usual plush surroundings of a corner office. “Without something coming in, we won’t make payroll much longer, and another credit line won’t be an option, Pops, no matter how much they love you.”
“You haven’t heard any rumors lately?”
Piper glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled. “I’ve been swamped putting this together, so I’ve missed a month’s worth of chamber stuff, and lunch out has been impossible.” She sat on the edge of his desk close enough to take his hand. “Don’t worry. I always have more than one plan, and I won’t quit until I uncover what’s going on.”
“Just remember, sometimes there’s a bigger dog on the playground than you, my little pit bull. I’m here to help, and not only as window dressing.”
“You’re always my first call, Pops, so keep your phone handy.” She kissed him, then grabbed her purse and keys from her office. Something had blown up their best-case scenario, so she had to shore up her last option to keep the bank from foreclosing.
As Piper hurried to her small sports coupe, she dialed her cell phone and asked the woman who answered, “Is he in?”
“You saved me a call, Ms. Marmande. If you’re available, Mr. Delaney wants you to join him for lunch on his boat.”
“Great,” she said, not meaning it, but she had few options left. “I’ll try his cell and tell him I’m on my way.”
“It’s a beautiful day for a sail.”
To hell, maybe, Piper thought, but kept that thought to herself as she disconnected. I doubt I’ll find the answers Pops wants in the middle of Lake Pontchartrain, but I can only deal with one crisis at a time.
*
The limo driver from the Piquant waiting for Kendal at the airport was, thankfully, not a big talker, and he led her to the car after he collected her luggage. Thus far she could’ve been in any city in the world—nothing reminded her of the place she’d left in 1728. As she felt the trunk close, an unfamiliar excitement started to build.
The ride went smoothly and Kendal studied the scenery, but still nothing looked familiar. Since she’d been on a late flight, they’d hit the interstate into the city long after five o’clock traffic and arrived at the hotel in less than thirty minutes. The five-star facility hadn’t existed either when she left New Orleans so long ago, but the staff’s hospitality made her think of those who’d been special to her.
“Your group’s already checked in, Ms. Richoux, and left this for you.”
The thick packet contained the missing pieces of their puzzle and a schedule of all the meetings Bruce and his team had already set up. “Thank you, and if you could, I’d like a copy of the most recent map of the city.”
“We’ll send it up in a few minutes.”
A tremendous amount of paper covered every table and flat surface in the outer rooms of her suite when the porter opened the door for her. “Even though it’s Saturday, we got to meet with the bank leadership,” Bruce said, as if he never could start a conversation at the beginning. “The good-old-boys’ club didn’t act interested until I told them we’d organized a reception for their board tonight.”
“An open bar and crab puffs usually grease the wheels of business most effectively,” she said, and laughed. The staff Bruce brought with him had left the best chair empty for her, but she stayed in the middle of the room with her coat draped over her shoulder. “The reception’s a good idea, but don’t set any meetings with these guys until we meet with Mr. Marmande. I’d prefer lunch with only the two of us so we don’t seem so hostile from the beginning.”
“If I can get a quick vote tonight, you don’t want me to close?” Bruce stood across from her, apparently trying to look and sound menacing.
Kendal kept what she hoped was a neutral expression because Bruce’s short stature made him appear more comical than scary. “From what I’ve read of Mr. Marmande, he deserves a healthy dose of respect.”
“You picked him this morning and you’ve never met,” he said through barely clenched teeth as he ran his hand through his thinning brown hair. “Why give him the opportunity to rebound?”
“Because I said so,” she said, her humor gone. When Bruce got this intense, he reminded her of his father, which only accentuated how short they both were. Granted, Bruce had helped her become successful in this lifetime, but unlike his father, he never knew when to stop. His life revolved around business, but the kill shot, not the thrill of the chase, drove him.
“We could set a new record with this one,” Bruce said after taking a few deep breaths. “In and out in a few days so we can concentrate on the L.A. deal.”
“Take a few more cleansing breaths and listen to what I’m telling you.” The room became very silent and still. “If you can’t, admit it now and I’ll meet with Mr. Marmande myself.”
“I have your back, you know that.” Bruce had lost his ferocity and stepped closer. “This can still be quick after you finish with the board members tonight. No way they can resist your charm.”
“You set it up, you handle it. I might have to sit with these guys eventually, but not tonight.”
“Kendal, come on. They’ll want to talk to you. It’s not like they can read up on you like you did with the old man,” Bruce said, referring to her unbending rule about granting any media access to her business or personal life.
“It doesn’t matter if they know what my favorite color is.” She stepped around him and headed for the door. “They just care about the health of my bank account.”
“What’s more important than this?” he asked, the lid coming off his temper.
She stared at his hand on her arm until he let go so suddenly he stumbled back. Her humor didn’t return until she got to the elevator and still didn’t hear a sound from the suite.
When the doorman opened the front entrance for her it was close to eleven, but the traffic on Canal Street was still heavy. The drivers didn’t appear to be in a hurry to get anywhere, but they acted like they were enjoying the scenery even though they were locals.
“Could you have this sent up to my room? Kendal Richoux,” she said, handing her coat to the doorman.
“My pleasure, ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “Can I get you a cab as well?”
“Thanks, but I’m in the mood to walk.”
“Please be careful. This is New Orleans, after all, and as much as it pains me to say it, sometimes the streets are scary.”
She laughed, glad to drop the façade of Kendal Richoux for a while because it wasn’t the way she thought of herself in this city full of life and frivolity. “Don’t tell me, the place is haunted.”
“I’m sure more than one goblin’s running around, but I’m more worried about the ones who’re alive and armed.” He pointed his finger at her like a gun.
“That’s true, but they should be scared of me.” She laughed along with him but decided that the cargo in her coat pockets might come in handy. “On second thought, give me my coat back.”
“What, is it bulletproof or something?”
Kendal smiled as she threw it over her shoulder and handed him a tip. “Or something is right.”
As she walked toward the river, she noticed the line of cars waiting for the all-too-brief spans of green at the traffic signals. Some drivers had their windows rolled down to enjoy the cool weather, and apparently so anyone walking could enjoy the blaring music pouring out of speakers worth more than the vehicles they were riding around in. This part of the city was unfamiliar too, but each step took her back to the familiar. She welcomed it with an anticipation she could almost reach out and touch. Had the heart of the city changed so much that she’d feel lost after having been away so long?
A new aquarium stood at the end of Canal Street, near a long walkway that meandered along the banks of the Mississippi River to the cusp of the French Quarter. Water lapped against the pilings that held up the sidewalk where she was standing, and as she began to stroll toward the old section, her eyes blurred with tears as memories washed over her like a gentle rain.
Under the permanent gazebo built where the river made a slight bend, she stopped and gripped the railing. Kendal didn’t want to remember, but her heart wouldn’t listen. She had kept the history of her time here at bay long enough, and like the churning brown water below, it wouldn’t be held back any longer.
New Orleans, October 1726
“Master, the captain says the ship should be in port by tomorrow.” Lionel St. Louis bowed slightly, even though the person he was addressing faced away from him, his eyes on the Gulf. His master’s gloved hand clutched one of the thick ropes that held up the sails, and he seemed lost in thought.
“Not a day too soon, eh, Lionel?”
“I could’ve lived without all those waves. If I throw up one more time, I may not be able to carry the bags down the plank.” His French was almost as flawless as his master’s, causing one of the crew to stop and stare at them disgustedly. Usually, slaves barely spoke broken English, but he routinely drew attention since he wore a suit that rivaled his master’s and his French would have passed muster in the French royal court.
“Don’t worry, Lionel, we may flout tradition, but I’ll help if it comes to that.” The Marquis Jacques St. Louis turned around and smiled. As always, Lionel became lost in the pale eyes rimmed in yellow that seemed to look into his soul and decipher all his secrets.
Jacques, a tall, handsome man, owned a plantation outside New Orleans, but unlike most of his counterparts who worked their slaves into an early grave, he was known for his gentle nature. The French royal had ventured out of his comfortable life in the north of France to make a name for himself in the New World and had achieved his goal in only five years.
Oakgrove Plantation cultivated sugarcane, tobacco, and cotton on over ten thousand acres of cleared land along the Mississippi River north of New Orleans. Jacques owned more than five hundred slaves, whom he treated like his extended family instead of chattel. Many people had asked questions about him since his arrival, but he gave them only a smile and wink. The city dwellers knew only that no wife or children shared the large home he’d built, and he came to the city only to sell his harvest.
“No, sir, even if I have to crawl off this beast from hell, I won’t let you do my work. I wonder if anyone missed us?” Lionel fastened his cloak as the wind picked up and put an extra snap in the sails.
“I’m sure they’ve noticed our absence. As much as I miss my homeland at times, I’m glad to be returning to Oakgrove. After selling my family’s land in France, I consider this my home now.”
Their recent trip to Europe had taken a little over fourteen months, but now Lionel joined Jacques at the rail to scan the horizon for land. He couldn’t think of anything sweeter than stepping back on solid ground and seeing his wife and sons again. Unlike most of the other landowners in the area, Jacques never split up couples, much less any children that resulted from the unions they themselves negotiated.
Since coming to the plantation, Lionel had received his own quarters to share with a young woman named Celia he’d fallen in love with. Their four small children often ran after Jacques’s horse when he visited the large cluster of cabins the servants occupied, and it was common to see them perched on his lap talking him out of the candies he carried in his pockets. A slew of children usually sat at his feet listening to stories created from his extraordinary imagination about people who lived long ago. As on the other plantations, Oakgrove required plenty of work, but Jacques worked right next to his slaves and never carried a whip. No one at Oakgrove feared a lashing.
“Sir, will you tell me more of your family?” A few of the curls that had escaped Jacques’s ever-present ponytail flew freely around his forehead. Some of the men in New Orleans used the powdered wigs popular in their countries of origin, but not Jacques. Lionel had seen more than one woman’s lingering stare on his master when they did come into town. The combination of his thick black hair and his interesting eyes was unusual among the French and Spanish settlers who had made New Orleans their home.
The silence grew between them, and when Lionel saw Jacques’s grip tighten on the rope, he thought he’d made a mistake. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean anything. It’s not my place to question you.”
“It’s all right. I’ve told you most of my history so far, and you have a right to the rest. I have only one family member left, but he’s lost to me and I don’t like to talk about him. You have to understand that some choose their lot in life and others have it thrust upon them. Those who get to pick are lucky.”
“I don’t understand, master.”
“Could you perhaps, while we’re talking as friends, call me Jacques? It’s been years since I’ve heard anyone besides myself say my name.”
Lionel laughed from nerves and tightened his grip on the railing. “But we’re not friends, sir.”
Jacques’s expression softened but he didn’t move from his spot. “In this moment we are much more, Lionel. I’ve watched you grow from an angry young man who didn’t want to let his heritage go, to a fine father and husband. I may own you in the eyes of the law, but in your heart you’ll always be free, my friend. Did you think I wouldn’t discover that you’re the son of a king in your homeland who teaches your four little ones your language and your traditions at night?”
For a brief moment, the long voyage to a new, cruel world after his capture returned to Lionel. The trip was in some ways more humiliating than being put on the auction block. Every day more and more lifeless bodies collected from the belly of the ship were tossed overboard. He came to think of those who found their freedom in the waves as the lucky ones. They were either dead or too weak to be worth anything once they docked.
The young men from his tribe who had been captured with him looked to him for guidance, but demoralized and shackled, he had none to give. Now he’d come to terms with his capture and enslavement and had found people to love. However, this man who owned him could end his newfound peace with one strong shove and have no fear of recrimination. “In this moment we are much more, Lionel,” Jacques had said. Would he throw him overboard for teaching his children the way of his tribe like his father had done for him?
“Please, master, I only told them stories to put them to sleep. I didn’t mean any disrespect.” He spoke in a rush laced with panic.
Jacques moved his hand from the rope to Lionel’s shoulder. “I meant what I said. I’ve watched you because for so much of my life I was you. No one’s ever enslaved me, but I’ve been angry with the choices that I couldn’t make but that affected me nonetheless. I value your friendship, Lionel, that’s what I meant. Sometimes I wish I had sons like you to pass on the vast experience and knowledge I’ve accumulated through the years.” He squeezed Lionel’s shoulder and smiled. “See, sometimes you’re the lucky one, even if you think your life could be better. We’re both slaves to circumstance, my friend. That makes us closer than family.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Won’t you consider my request?”
“Thank you, Jacques.” The name rolled strangely off his tongue since he’d never uttered it, not even when he was alone with his thoughts. His own enslavement was grossly unfair, but it could have been much worse. He didn’t intend to disrespect someone who had treated him like a man.
“And I thank you, Lionel.” They left the rail, walked toward a row of barrels the crew had lashed to the front for storage, and sat down. “Now let me try to make you understand what I said about my only family. My brother, Henri, chose his path and walked into the darkness alone. And because he did, I had no choice but to make my own future or face the same darkness. I received a gift as a way to escape my brother’s wrath, and when I accepted, my fate was set. Like everything in life, however, it comes with a price.” Jacques looked out at the water again and sighed. “I’m sorry, Lionel, that’s all I can share with you now.”
“Does Henri still walk the dark path?” Lionel asked, not wanting their conversation to end. Children weren’t the only ones who got lost in Jacques’s voice and stories.
“He revels in it and has only grown worse with time.”
They sat together in silence until sunset, when it became too cold to stay on deck. As they stood to make their way back to their cabins for a bite to eat, Lionel spotted the signal fires the port lit at night to guide ships into the mouth of the Mississippi. With any luck they’d be in New Orleans by dawn and back at Oakgrove within days.
New Orleans, present day
Kendal had assumed so many personas through the decades, but her time as Jacques St. Louis had left a mark on her soul. The boat had docked the next morning all those years ago at the spot where she now stood.
So many lifetimes had passed, yet the memories and the bittersweet pain they brought with them were still fresh because she had left so many things undone. It still angered her that she couldn’t save so many of the people she loved.
“Ah, Kendal, weeping still, sister? Always the sentimental one, weren’t you? Tears are for the foolish and the weak. Aren’t you above that by now? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I thought we agreed long ago you were never to return here. We each must have our realms, and this is mine.”
Abez’s voice was the same one that haunted her waking dreams when she closed her eyes, and it still held traces of the French he loved to speak after he fell in love with his creation, Henri St. Louis. But a cultured accent along with the outer appearance of a French nobleman couldn’t hide the monster he was—not then, and certainly not now.
“How did you know I was back?” she asked, trying to gauge how powerful he’d grown.
“Your blood, my sweet. Its distinctive scent is like no other in the world. I smelled you in my sleep the moment your plane landed. But that doesn’t answer my question, does it?”
“I’m here on business, Abez, and as for our agreement, it ended eighty-four years ago. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your pets?” Kendal had yet to turn around, since she wasn’t without skills. She was content to watch the tugboats on the river haul barges in both directions. The Mississippi had changed and grown massive over the years, but its years of roaming free were over. The levees the Army Corps of Engineers had built kept it well confined, most of the time.
“I’m sure you’ve better things to do. Why now?” Something must have caught Henri’s attention because he snapped his fingers, making one of the women with him move away at inhuman speed.
“Because as the old saying goes, brother, to every thing there’s a season. It was my time to come back even though I didn’t want to, believe me. Like always, you do whatever pleases you without thinking of the consequences. Experience should have taught you everything has consequences, some more costly than others. Did you think they’d give you free rein forever? Surely the Elders have sent warnings about your behavior before my arrival?” She turned to face him.
Time had also stopped for Abez, so he was still handsome and tall, but his white skin appeared almost like marble. His suit looked like black velvet, and the ruffled shirt seemed a better fit than the first time they’d met in New Orleans, but Henri was too much of a monster to display sentimentality.
“Yes, they have, but with time comes power, if you’re willing to take chances. You always followed the rules and orders, the consummate perfect little soldier. Doesn’t it ever bore you to be so good? The time of such obedience has passed.”
“This isn’t about you and me or your list of perceived wrongs the world has committed against you. It’s about balance, so grow up.”
“It’s about both, don’t be ignorant. You robbed me of Father’s love and managed to always get the glory.” The woman who had run to do Henri’s bidding was back, appearing flushed. Her skin, which moments before had resembled carved alabaster, now looked warm to the touch.
“You sound like a petulant child.”
“Stay away from me, sister. This will be my only warning.”
She turned around again when he left, not afraid that he would return. So many things about Abez never changed, besides his face. He still couldn’t face any conflict without a few of his minions to act as his backbone. He had never fought his own battles, yet his life revolved around constant conflict. But if he wanted a fight, it wouldn’t come an hour before dawn. Henri was at home in New Orleans, a place he’d stayed since 1728, giving him an advantage, but he wasn’t reckless enough to face her at a time that might leave him vulnerable.
This ancient city was filling Kendal’s head with painful memories, yet some of them brought a sense of calm. In a city that seldom slept, an hour before sunrise was as close as it got to total silence; she focused on the sound of the water and turned her face to the east. She loved to watch the sunrise, but here it had a deeper meaning, as if the new day brought a new beginning. As pink fingers crept across the sky, she raised her hands and started to murmur a prayer her father had taught her as a small child in a temple near their home.
“Father Ra, bringer of life, protect me. Give me strength to do your work and make me true to my spirit and to my cause.”
Any scholar would give their firstborn to hear the old Egyptian dialect spoken correctly and with the proper accent. The language was as dead as the men who’d spoken it, but it gave Kendal a sense of belonging. She opened her eyes as the sun first appeared, and as always, a charge traveled through her as if the ancient god Ra had answered her prayer. If only he would give her the wisdom to make the right decisions in the coming days.
With one final sigh, she turned and made her way to Café du Monde for a strong cup of Louisiana coffee with steamed milk. It was one of the things Kendal missed most about the city in her long absence. The French and Spanish settlers who built New Orleans had brought with them the recipe for strong, full-bodied coffee that had changed only slightly over the years with the addition of chicory. The filler, an inexpensive way to stretch the grounds during times of war and ration, had become as much a part of Southern culture as pecan pie.