Chapter 1
The man glared at her with cold contempt, and his backhand struck the woman's cheek so hard she thought her eyeball was going to burst from its socket. She flew backward, crashed into a battered kitchen chair, flipped over it, and slammed against the stained plaster wall.
She lay there in pain, hearing jazz drift faintly through the humid night, along with the laughter of tourists who had no idea what was happening in this forgotten building outside the French Quarter.
"Ginny, I told you a thousand times. The minimum is two hundred bucks a night. I don't give a shit how many Johns you have to screw to get it. Two hundred dollars. That's the deal!"
She struggled to catch her breath, but the apartment was thick with the smell of stale cigarettes, mildew, cheap perfume, and spilled whiskey. The ancient window air conditioner rattled uselessly against the Louisiana heat, accomplishing little more than stirring the heavy air around the room.
"Please... Eddie. I've tried. I'm doing all I can. It's just been a slow night."
"Yeah?" he sneered. "And last night was pretty slow too. What'd you bring in? Two hundred, two-fifty? Half my girls pull in five hundred... six hundred dollars a night."
He took another step toward her.
"You gotta do better."
"I'm trying," she pleaded, one hand pressed against her aching jaw. "I really am. And with the little money you do give me," she continued, desperate to avoid another beating, "I'm not eating right. I'm not sleeping. It's hard to look pretty standing out on the street every night."
Eddie walked toward her. For one hopeful moment, Ginny thought he was going to help her up. Instead, he drove the toe of his heavy boot hard into her ribs.
Pain exploded through her side. She cried out and curled into herself, wrapping both arms around her ribs as she rolled across the filthy linoleum. She couldn't tell whether anything was broken, but every breath felt like someone was driving a knife deeper between them.
Eddie looked down at her without the slightest trace of sympathy.
"I've warned you," he screamed. "Again and again."
She looked up at him through tears.
"I'm doing the best I can."
"I don't care."
His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
As she cried, the mournful whistle of a Mississippi River steamboat echoed somewhere across the city, a long, low, ghostly sound that seemed almost meant for her alone. For a moment it filled the apartment before fading into the humid night. It sounded like death calling her.
He turned and started toward the door. Then he stopped.
"You know what, Ginny?"
He looked back at her, shaking his head in disgust.
"Maybe it's time I cut my losses."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade.
Click.
The blade snapped open. Its polished steel caught the weak yellow light hanging from the ceiling.
Eddie started toward her. She knew this time he wasn't coming to collect money. He was coming to kill her.
Just as Eddie was only moments away from plunging the knife into her heart, there came a knock at the apartment door. Three gentle taps, soft and polite.
Eddie froze.
"Who the hell is that?" he cursed.
His eyes darted from Ginny to the door. He knew that if it were the police, the last thing he needed was to answer it with a dead prostitute lying on the floor and a bloody knife in his hand.
Muttering another curse, he snapped the switchblade closed, slipped it back into his pocket, and walked to the door.
The hallway beyond was dimly lit, its paint peeling from decades of Louisiana humidity. Downstairs, an old radio played the blues while someone argued loudly in Spanish. The entire building creaked as though it were slowly sinking into the Louisiana mud.
When Eddie opened the door, he stopped in surprise.
Standing there was a beautiful African American woman in an elegant dark dress that looked completely out of place in this forgotten, rotting, rat-bitten apartment building. She carried herself with quiet confidence, smiling as though she had arrived at a mansion in the Garden District for a dinner party rather than one of the worst neighborhoods in the city.
Behind her, a grimy lightbulb in the hallway cast an almost unearthly glow around her, reminding Eddie of one of those old holy cards depicting the Virgin of Guadalupe.
His posture immediately relaxed, and his voice softened.
"Well, hey there, little honey. What can I do for you?"
She returned his smile.
"May I come in?" she asked.
"Well... sure, babe. Come right on in."
The woman knew he had no idea what he had just done.
"I'm Eddie," he said with a welcoming smile, eager to get closer to her.
"Eddie," she repeated softly, as though committing the name to memory. Then she gave a slight nod.
As she entered the apartment with effortless poise, her eyes settled for a brief moment on Ginny, bruised and crying against the wall, before returning to Eddie.
Eddie could barely believe what he was seeing.
She was breathtaking.
Far beyond any woman he had ever put out on the streets.
The women who worked for him made money.
But this one...
This one could make fortunes.
His predatory instincts shifted instantly from violence to profit. A slow smile spread across his face.
"Well, now," he said, slipping into a thick New Orleans accent. "You know, sweetheart, a woman like you doesn't belong walking around streets like this."
His eyes wandered over her with open approval.
"Why, you are wasted here, darling."
He grinned, his mind already filling with visions of easy money.
"I've got clients with more money than they know what to do with."
He took another slow step toward her.
"Not street trash."
He shook his head.
"Oh, no. These are private clients. Judges, businessmen, politicians... men who appreciate real beauty. The crème de la crème of New Orleans."
His smile widened.
"A woman like you could make two thousand dollars a night."
He shrugged.
"No... three."
"Four."
"Hell..."
He laughed and shook his head.
"I've got men who'd gladly pay ten thousand dollars just to spend one night with you."
He spread his hands as though presenting the opportunity of a lifetime.
"After my cut, of course."
He looked her over one more time.
"You'd never have to worry about money again."
The woman regarded him with quiet amusement. Then she glanced once more at Ginny, still huddled against the wall, her frightened eyes fixed on Eddie.
"Well, Eddie..." she said pleasantly, as though discussing the weather, "there is one very small problem with your proposal."
"Oh?" he asked, wondering what objection she could possibly have.
She smiled.
"You are about to die."
Eddie's smile vanished as thunder rolled somewhere over the Mississippi. The sound lingered for a moment before fading into the distant music drifting up from the streets below.
His hand slipped into his pocket, and the switchblade flashed back into his hand.
"I think, lady," he said, his voice suddenly as cold as ice, "you just made a big mistake."
"No," she replied with a faint shrug. Her smile never faltered. "I really didn't."
She spoke with such calm certainty that it frightened him far more than anger ever could have.
Ginny watched the exchange in stunned silence.
Ginny watched in terror.
"All right," Eddie snarled. "I'm done with this shit."
He lunged, driving the knife deep into her side.
The impact should have doubled her over in agony.
Instead, she merely glanced down with mild concern.
"Oh," she sighed with genuine regret. "I've ruined another dress."
Eddie's eyes widened.
She wasn't screaming. She wasn't even breathing harder.
Almost absentmindedly, she wrapped her delicate fingers around the knife's handle and eased it free. The wound closed almost as quickly as the blade left her body, leaving only a dark stain spreading across the rich fabric of her dress.
A thin smear of blood glistened on the blade.
She examined it with quiet curiosity.
Then, to Eddie's utter horror, she slowly ran her tongue along one side of the knife and then the other, cleaning the blade.
She smiled.
"I've always hated to waste blood."
With a casual flick of her wrist, she threw the knife. It buried itself deep in the wooden doorjamb.
Twang!
The steel vibrated loudly in the tiny apartment, the metallic hum seeming to linger in the room.
"Well..." she said calmly, as though the entire exchange had been a minor inconvenience. "I suppose it's time to get down to business."
The expression on her face struck terror into Eddie's heart.
Before he could even react, she was standing directly in front of him.
Ginny never saw her move. One moment the woman stood several feet away. The next, she had Eddie by the throat.
His eyes bulged.
With one hand, she lifted him completely off the floor as though he weighed no more than a rag doll. His shoes kicked helplessly several inches above the worn linoleum as he clawed frantically at her wrist.
She didn't even bother to tighten her grip. She simply continued to smile.
Then she leaned forward, and her fangs slipped effortlessly into his neck.
Eddie screamed.
The sound echoed through the apartment before dissolving into desperate choking. His fists hammered against her shoulders. His legs kicked wildly. Nothing mattered. Nothing slowed her. Nothing stopped her.
Outside, the bell of a passing streetcar rang somewhere beyond the neighborhood. Life in New Orleans continued without interruption, indifferent to the horror unfolding inside the little apartment.
A few moments later, Eddie's struggles weakened.
Then they stopped altogether.
She held him for several more seconds, simply to be certain. Then she released him.
His body struck the floor with a dull, lifeless thud.
Like yesterday's trash...
Eddie was dead.
Ginny stared in absolute horror.
She had backed herself as tightly into the corner of the room as she could, her knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped protectively around herself. Every instinct screamed at her not to move.
Eddie's body lay only a few feet away, his empty eyes staring sightlessly across the room.
Then the woman slowly turned toward her.
Ginny flinched.
She expected to see the triumphant grin of a killer.
Instead, she found herself looking into warm brown eyes.
The woman smiled.
Not the cruel smile of a predator savoring its next victim, nor the twisted satisfaction Eddie had worn so many times.
It was simply the gentle smile of one woman looking at another.
There was no anger.
No hunger.
No hatred.
Only kindness.
"Hello," the woman said softly.
Her voice was calm, almost musical.
"What is your name?"
She tried to answer, but nothing came out. Her jaw trembled, and her throat had become so tight she could barely breathe.
Finally, she managed a whisper.
"G...Ginny."
The woman smiled.
"I'm Estelle. Estelle Barré."
She knelt several feet away, careful not to invade the small measure of safety Ginny still felt.
"Is Ginny your full name?"
She slowly shook her head.
"N-no."
Then, after a long moment, she swallowed.
"It's...Virginia."
Estelle's smile grew warmer.
"Virginia Mason," she finally managed to say.
Estelle nodded thoughtfully.
"I like that much better."
Virginia could only stare at her. The vampire glanced briefly toward Eddie's lifeless body before looking back.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," she said, her voice carrying genuine regret. "But I believe he was about to kill you." She looked once more toward the body before continuing. "Now..." She smiled gently. "...he won't."
She spoke as though she were simply stating a fact, as ordinary as saying the sky was blue. Virginia felt herself relax, if only a little. It wasn't much, but it was enough to let her breathe more easily. Her eyes never left Estelle.
"What..." Her voice cracked. "What are you going to do?"
Estelle looked genuinely puzzled.
"Do?"
Virginia swallowed hard again.
"...Are you going to kill me too?"
For just a moment, Estelle looked almost heartbroken. Then she laughed—not at Virginia, but at the thought itself.
"Oh, goodness, no." She gently shook her head. "I'm not going to kill you. I came here to save you."
Virginia simply stared. Nothing about tonight made sense anymore. First, the beautiful stranger had walked into her apartment. Then she had survived a knife wound as though it were nothing. Then she had lifted Eddie off the floor with one hand. Then she had killed him. Now she was apologizing for frightening her. Virginia had no idea what to believe anymore.
"Are you hungry?" Estelle asked.
Virginia frowned.
"Hungry?"
She wasn't even sure she had heard correctly.
Estelle smiled.
"Yes. Food. Are you hungry? When was the last time you had a really good meal?"
Virginia frowned as she tried to remember. It took longer than she expected. Finally, she lowered her eyes.
"It's been..." She sighed, feeling the emptiness in her stomach. "...a while. Eddie never gave me much money. I could usually grab a hamburger or something from a fast-food place." She gave a weary shrug. "I haven't had a decent meal in..."
She stopped and thought again.
"My God..."
It was difficult to remember.
"...months."
Estelle's smile faded.
"I was afraid of that."
Sadness briefly crossed her face before her gentle smile returned.
"Well..." She laughed, glancing toward Eddie. "I've just dined..." She caught herself and chuckled. "...figuratively speaking, that is."
Virginia couldn't help flinching.
Estelle laughed softly.
"Oh, dear. I suppose that's a poor choice of words coming from me."
To Virginia's surprise, she found herself smiling, if only a little.
"Tell you what," Estelle said. "Let's go find a nice restaurant. I think it's time someone bought you a proper dinner."
Virginia simply stared. She had to be dreaming. Nothing else made sense. Only a few minutes earlier, she had expected to die on the filthy floor of her apartment. Now the woman who had saved her was inviting her out to dinner.
She slowly looked around the room. Eddie still lay exactly where he had fallen. The knife remained buried in the doorframe.
No.
This wasn't a dream.
She looked back at Estelle.
"What..." She hesitated. "...what are you?"
Estelle raised an eyebrow. Then she smiled.
"My dear...I thought that would be rather obvious. I'm a vampire." She glanced toward Eddie's body. "I thought you might have figured that out after what happened to poor Eddie over there."
Virginia looked at Eddie's lifeless body and then back at Estelle.
"And..." She hesitated for a moment. "...you're really not going to hurt me?"
She still had trouble accepting this new reality.
Estelle's expression softened.
"No. I've already told you. I'm not going to hurt you." She smiled, already thinking of a few nearby restaurants. "I'm going to buy you dinner."
Virginia searched her face, expecting to find deception, cruelty, or some hidden motive. Instead, all she saw was kindness.
Slowly, wincing as pain shot through her bruised ribs, she pressed one hand against the wall and pushed herself to her feet. She stood there for a moment, waiting for the room to stop spinning, still wondering whether the world had somehow gone completely insane.
With obvious discomfort, she managed a faint smile.
"Okay."
She shook her head in disbelief.
"So..." she asked after a few seconds, "where are we going to eat?"
Estelle's eyes sparkled.
"Now that..." She looked thoughtfully toward the ceiling. "...is an excellent question." She smiled mischievously. "This is New Orleans. We have wonderful restaurants. I don't eat the food myself, but that shouldn't stop you from enjoying it."
Then she looked Virginia up and down with an approving smile.
"But first...let's get you cleaned up a little and put on your best dress. A lady should always look like a lady."
Virginia simply stared at her.
A lady.
The words echoed through her mind.
She had been called a whore.
A slut.
A tramp.
A junkie.
Trash.
Worthless.
Men had called her whatever they wished, usually just before using her and tossing a few crumpled bills onto the bed.
But no one...
No one ever...
had called her a lady.
To her surprise, tears welled in her eyes. Oddly enough, the savage violence she had just witnessed wasn't what overwhelmed her. It was a simple act of kindness. For one brief moment, a strange thought crossed her mind. If she died tonight, at least someone would remember her as a lady.
A faint smile appeared on her bruised face. Every movement reminded her of Eddie's boot as Estelle patiently waited while she showered and changed into her best dress. She never hurried her, never complained. She simply stood there as though she had all the time in the world.
When Virginia finally emerged, Estelle smiled.
"Come on," she said. "Let's go talk."
Still uncertain...still frightened...yet somehow beginning to believe she might actually survive the night, Virginia followed her toward the door.
"What about Eddie?" she asked.
Estelle glanced back over her shoulder.
"Just close the door." She smiled at the body. "He isn't going anywhere for a while." Then she added almost conversationally, "After you've had a good meal, I'll come back before sunrise and clean up the mess." She gave a slight shrug. "The gators have to eat too."
Despite everything, Virginia smiled.
"I suppose they do," she said, barely above a whisper.
Then she pulled the apartment door shut behind her. Without another word, the two women walked down the dim hallway, descended the narrow staircase, and stepped out into the warm New Orleans night.
The humid air wrapped around them like a familiar blanket. Somewhere in the distance, a saxophone played a slow, lonely jazz melody that drifted through the streets. Carriage horses carrying tourists clopped over uneven pavement several blocks away while laughter spilled from bars beneath wrought-iron balconies draped with flowers. Another clap of thunder rolled in from the Mississippi.
Life went on.
New Orleans went on.
As though nothing had happened.
For the first time in many years, Virginia walked beside someone who saw her not as a commodity, but as a human being.