Vivienne's parents found the perfect house. A stunning Nineteenth Century Victorian at Rue Renaud, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
One of those houses with personality and vibe; good enough to charm even a reluctant teen into moving to what she dubbed th...
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The hot water of the Gulf of Mexico is treacherous and although big storms are reserved for summer, even winter showers can rattle a city that is below sea level.
When it comes to weather, New Orleans dances on the edge of a knife.
Storms roll in with walls of water, merciless winds, and inevitable disaster in their wake. People know to be prepared as soon as summer kicks off. However, a storm with the force of a tropical event in winter, seemingly coming out of nowhere, was the type of oddity that didn't go unnoticed.
In the city, the doors were closed, the streets were empty of locals and tourists.
While the wind and the persistent drizzle cleaned the sidewalks of the colorful trail of plastic cups in metallic tones and glass bottles; the owners of the small businesses in Pirate's Alley and Decatur closed the doors, and opened their back rooms.
Those who understood omens started to pray, even if they had no idea what, or who they were praying for.
Altars to the Virgin, prayer rooms for those who believe in not conceiving an image for God in heaven, chants to Changó or fine lines defining the paths of Legba. Whoever believed that afternoon raised a simple prayer. Nothing brings a city together as the phrase "If God be willing and the creek don't rise."
Gabriel and Daria returned to Baton Rouge, facing the worst storm they had seen since arriving in Louisiana. The lights of the car barely cut through the thick sheets of rain. It was the type of weather that required complete attention to the road, and somehow, they felt relieved for it. They had reconciled, but at the same time felt as if they were discovering one another.
For the first time in two decades, Dorian was able to see herself and show all the truth about her to the one she loved. It took her some time to adjust, to this strange new freedom.
Gabriel, on his part, had many things to say, but she decided to give himself time. For the best, at least, the words were not kept in anger. He was also learning things about himself he needed to accept.
The Lombardi witch he had met at the crossroad, the one he thought about as Hope, told him he was a conduit. And now, as clear as Daria by his side, he could see the young woman, dead so long ago, dancing barefoot ahead, on the road.
"What's she doing?" His wife asked.
"Can you see her?"
"I can sense her, but she's your ghost."
"She dances, and sings. Sometimes it looks as if she can pull the moon down a little to light the road, but everything is happening at once in my head. It might as well be the fog lights."
He had promised no more secrets, but at that moment, the song was just for him. Daria said it herself, it was his ghost. The witch sang about terrible tests and great rewards. She promised beginnings that looked like the end. She asked of him to keep the faith.
