Villere House (Blood of My Blood) by CD Hussey, Leslie Fear Page A
Authors: CD Hussey, Leslie Fear
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and tried to not think about anything but putting one foot in front of the other. It worked for about five minutes. Nose to phone, she followed the path mapped out with only the occasional glance to verify the GPS location matched the street signs. It was a perfect system for getting somewhere quickly and blindly until she looked up and knew exactly where she was, despite the fact that she'd never actually been there.
The colors of some of the buildings had changed, the street looked different, but she still recognized all the buildings. Especially one.
She approached it with caution. The front shutters were drawn tight and painted a different color, but she knew it as much as she knew her childhood home.
This was the house from her dreams. The home Élise Cantrelle lived in. Lottie remembered entering in through the back room, soaked from a rainy walk home and dripping water.
Frozen in place, she wasn't sure what to do next. Her phone said she only had a couple blocks before arriving at Molly's and the safety of her friends, but she couldn't seem to move. This house… this was the house, Élise's house. How could she leave that?
She stood there for a few minutes, staring at the façade. Three stories with balconies on the second and third story. A narrow alley lead to a small courtyard. She could see it from where she stood, but more than that, she remembered it. And in the back, a larger courtyard separated the main house from the barn and servant's quarters. She wasn't sure how she knew that, since it hadn't been in her dreams, but she did. Just as she could picture so many details of the historic home. The layout of the stairs, the kitchen, Amélie's bedroom… What did it look like now? Were there apartments inside? Was it still a single-family home? And who lived there?
Chin tucked, posture hunched, hands shoved into pockets, a man approached the building from the opposite direction. Even though his face was hidden, Lottie knew exactly who he was. She'd spent an hour staring at him.
It was the doctor from the emergency room.
And he walked right into the alley like he owned the place. Hell, maybe he did.
Having something more familiar, more tangible than her odd dreams to tie her to the house gave her the confidence she needed to follow him. She hadn't thought of an excuse for why she was there when she reached the door, but it didn't stop her from knocking—she'd figure something out.
But the knocking got her nowhere. She knocked again. Music seeped through the closed door, but it wasn't the type of music one would expect a doctor to be playing at three a.m. It was hard, heavy, industrial dance music. The type played at bars…
She tested the knob and surprisingly it turned. The music didn't lie; pushing the door open did actually reveal a bar.
It should have made her feel more comfortable stepping inside but it didn't. The room felt moody, dark, and dangerous. The lowered ceilings were painted as black as the nails, eyes, hair, and clothing of most of the patrons.
She had to be in some underground Goth bar. Ignoring the huge, muscled bartender's disapproving stare, she sat on the empty barstool next to the doctor. When she said his name he turned, wide-eyed and looking like he'd just been caught standing over a dead body and holding a smoking gun.
His mouth opened like he was going to speak but only a string of nonsensical gibberish came out. His eyes darted to the bartender and then back to her.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to follow you."
"Ch-Ch-Charlotte. What… How…" His throat cleared. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. No more fences, I promise." She tried to offer a reassuring smile. Their roles were suddenly reversed and she couldn't imagine why he seemed so nervous. So he liked a little Gothic nightcap. Definitely not something to be ashamed of.
His pleading eyes darted back to the bartender, who nodded and disappeared behind velvet curtains.
"Did you follow me?"
"Sort of. Only inside. I came
The colors of some of the buildings had changed, the street looked different, but she still recognized all the buildings. Especially one.
She approached it with caution. The front shutters were drawn tight and painted a different color, but she knew it as much as she knew her childhood home.
This was the house from her dreams. The home Élise Cantrelle lived in. Lottie remembered entering in through the back room, soaked from a rainy walk home and dripping water.
Frozen in place, she wasn't sure what to do next. Her phone said she only had a couple blocks before arriving at Molly's and the safety of her friends, but she couldn't seem to move. This house… this was the house, Élise's house. How could she leave that?
She stood there for a few minutes, staring at the façade. Three stories with balconies on the second and third story. A narrow alley lead to a small courtyard. She could see it from where she stood, but more than that, she remembered it. And in the back, a larger courtyard separated the main house from the barn and servant's quarters. She wasn't sure how she knew that, since it hadn't been in her dreams, but she did. Just as she could picture so many details of the historic home. The layout of the stairs, the kitchen, Amélie's bedroom… What did it look like now? Were there apartments inside? Was it still a single-family home? And who lived there?
Chin tucked, posture hunched, hands shoved into pockets, a man approached the building from the opposite direction. Even though his face was hidden, Lottie knew exactly who he was. She'd spent an hour staring at him.
It was the doctor from the emergency room.
And he walked right into the alley like he owned the place. Hell, maybe he did.
Having something more familiar, more tangible than her odd dreams to tie her to the house gave her the confidence she needed to follow him. She hadn't thought of an excuse for why she was there when she reached the door, but it didn't stop her from knocking—she'd figure something out.
But the knocking got her nowhere. She knocked again. Music seeped through the closed door, but it wasn't the type of music one would expect a doctor to be playing at three a.m. It was hard, heavy, industrial dance music. The type played at bars…
She tested the knob and surprisingly it turned. The music didn't lie; pushing the door open did actually reveal a bar.
It should have made her feel more comfortable stepping inside but it didn't. The room felt moody, dark, and dangerous. The lowered ceilings were painted as black as the nails, eyes, hair, and clothing of most of the patrons.
She had to be in some underground Goth bar. Ignoring the huge, muscled bartender's disapproving stare, she sat on the empty barstool next to the doctor. When she said his name he turned, wide-eyed and looking like he'd just been caught standing over a dead body and holding a smoking gun.
His mouth opened like he was going to speak but only a string of nonsensical gibberish came out. His eyes darted to the bartender and then back to her.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to follow you."
"Ch-Ch-Charlotte. What… How…" His throat cleared. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. No more fences, I promise." She tried to offer a reassuring smile. Their roles were suddenly reversed and she couldn't imagine why he seemed so nervous. So he liked a little Gothic nightcap. Definitely not something to be ashamed of.
His pleading eyes darted back to the bartender, who nodded and disappeared behind velvet curtains.
"Did you follow me?"
"Sort of. Only inside. I came
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