Coffin Girls (Elegantly Undead: Book 1 of the Coffin Girls Witch Vampire Series) (7 page)

Anais wasn’t telepathic and had no idea of the verbal
warfare going on in front of her. What she saw as flirtatious by-play made her
want to claim him blood and body! God, those fucking hormones again! She
really, really needed to get laid – as soon as the witches were gone.

A booming voice shook them out of their thoughts. “Y’all
goin’ stand there and let my cookin’ go cold or y’all goin’ to eat?” Miss
Suzette was watching the inter-play, twitching lips betraying the demanding
voice as she stood with her hands on her hips pretending to glare.

“Boy, they don’t teach you manners in that Ireland of
yours?”

“I’m sorry. Excuse my poor manners, please. My ma would be
ashamed to think she’d wasted her time boxing my ears for nothing. My name’s
Conall and…”

Miss Suzette grabbed his outstretched hand and pulled him
into her ample bosom for a huge bear-hug. “The name’s Miss Suzette. Welcome to
Papillion.” 

Veronique entered the kitchen, Marie hot on her Choos,
followed by two equally hot guys. Strike that – the Choos always won.

V rolled her eyes, “I see that you’re already getting the
home-grown treatment.” No harm will come from making up an excuse to cover up
the sneaky hair-pulling she witnessed Miss Suzette treat Conall too – no doubt
for some of her kitchen magick. “I’m Veronique but you can call me V like
everyone else round here.”

Marie stepped forward and shook his hand, “Marie”.

“Conall,” he returned. This woman was one of few words… and
she reeked of magick that wasn’t quite that of a vampire or witch, yet he
couldn’t detect its origins. Something was off. Not wrong, just not entirely
right. On the surface, this would look like any initial gathering of new
acquaintances but there was more to these women than great looks and vampire
magick. He projected that thought to his friends as they stepped up to
introduce themselves.

“You’re all very welcome.” Anais concluded the
introductions. “Please, let’s sit and eat.” She indicated the table. “We’re
very fortunate to have Miss Suzette as part of our family and as she makes the
most divine culinary creations, she holds the power in this household.” Anais
grinned at Miss Suzette’s bashful wave of her hands. “You’ve probably already
picked up that she’s not a vampire.”

“I did,” acknowledged Conall while Sylvain and Niul nodded.
Miss Suzette smelled like a human with magick, a pulsing energy surrounded her.
“You do have magick though, Miss Suzette.” Conall turned to look at the object
of their conversation as he took a bowl of steaming seafood. “Not just in the
kitchen, I think. Your magick is strong but different to mine.”

“God has been kind enough to bless me with the gift of a bit
of kitchen magick.” At the sceptic look he threw at her, she cackled, “I see
there’s no wool to pull over your eyes boy. You’ll know it as voodoo.”

Conall nodded in understanding. “I’ve heard of voodoo. We
don’t have many that practice it in Ireland but I can respect a gift of magick
as old and beneficent as ours.” He waved at his friends to include them in the
categorization.

“So you’re all three witches?” Sophie asked, bringing over
pitchers of mint sweet iced tea, choosing to sit next to Sylvain. She was
intrigued by him. He was a juxtaposition of physical qualities, slight of build
and not as broad as Conall and his other guard, Niul but just as muscular,
honey-colored hair like innocent sunshine and sky-blue eyes that glittered with
mischief.

“We’re all of magick.” Sylvain’s answer was as close to the
truth as he could allow. He looked at Sophie and seamlessly changed the topic.
“Tell me of this beautiful house and the delights it has in store for us. Have
you always owned it?”

“It’s Anais’ late husband’s family plantation. He was an
only child and they didn’t have any kids so Anais fully inherited it.”

Anais chirped in from across the table. Conall was sitting
next to her and she’d decided that entering enthusiastically into the conversation
would prove as best a distraction as she could come up with. The next time
she’d have to enlist her friends’ help to ensure that the seating arrangements
were not repeated.

“I don’t fully own it anymore.” Anais waved an arm at the
rest of her friends. “It’s ours. When I inherited it, Marie and Veronique moved
in – they’d been widowed during the civil war; their husbands were the owners
of nearby plantations. It was the time of the battle and riot. Between the
soldiers and the slaves, nothing much was left of their homes. I’d already set
the slaves here free. In return, they protected the land and it remained
largely unscathed. I’d earned, not enforced, their loyalty. Miss Suzette’s
wards helped reinforce the protection.” Anais took a sip of milky coffee,
relishing the how the warmth pushed away the cold of the memories as it slid
down her throat. “We eventually sold off the land of the other two plantations
and used the money to fund and maintain various business ventures over the
decades. Currently, we’re wedding and event coordinators at Papillion with the
houses in the Garden District and The Quarter serving as additional venues.”

“Did you inherit the houses in town too?” Niul, the business
mind behind the O’Leary Empire, enquired. He was serious and introverted in
nature but when he did speak his voice was as authoritative as his build was
brawny.

“Yes. Veronique’s plantation was the most damaged and she’d
been living in the Garden District. The house in the quarter was the town house
Jean, my late husband, and I used when he had to conduct business in New
Orleans.” Her smile was poignant. “Traveling between Papillion and New Orleans
wasn’t as easy back then with dirt roads, robbery and horses.”

Intrigued, Conall probed, “I heard you’re French originally
and from the same town. How did three friends from across the globe land up in
one place and all as vampires?”

“We were casket girls.” Veronique offered, adding some of
Marie’s signature dressing to the salad heaped on her plate. 

“Ah, so the legend of the ‘coffin girls’ is true then – you
were French immigrant vampires?” Sylvain enquired.

“No, we were turned after we arrived here and the ‘coffin
girls’ you’re referring to is relevant to our late mothers-in-law.”

“I see you didn’t have time to Google, Niul.” Conall noted.
“The casquette girls or coffin girls came over from France during the early
French colonial days. They were so called because of the wooden caskets they
brought over, containing church-given trousseau, hence the term. The locals,
according to Google,” He looked at his bevy of hosts lest he offend, “were
naturally superstitious and tales of vampires in these wooden coffin-like
chests abound.”

Anais looked at men around the table. Her nerves were fraught
– desire to jump Conall battled suspicion and urged her to bring the evening to
an end. The feeling from the wedding the day before had also begun sneaking
more and more into her, like a flippin’ parasite. “You’ll be staying in the
original slave cottages. They’ve been completed refurbished into luxury
accommodation. We use it for antsy brides that want to stay over before the
wedding. It is close enough that we’re right here if you need anything and far
enough to give you privacy.”

“Of course, we’d have loved to have you stay in the main
house but we’re kind of full up.” She swallowed down the beignet with sweet,
milky coffee. “We all live here.”

“And Raulf,” added Miss Suzette, time to stir the pot again.
Nothing like a bit of jealousy to add spice to the pot. 

“Raulf?” Niul quizzed.

“My nephew - helps out here and stays over sometimes.” Miss
Suzette glanced coyly at Anais who was baffled by the look.

Sophie took the metaphorical wooden spoon from Miss Suzette
and gave the pot a stir too. Lips curved, she embellished, “He’s family to us
too. A pity…if we didn’t think of him as a brother…” She pretended to shake the
put-on dreamy look she’d employed and looked at Anais, subtly winking. Anais’s
blush was the perfect ending to that interlude if Conall’s black look was
anything to go by.

Conall’s scowl deepened. Sylvain linked into his mind, “Con,
get a grip.”

Conall gathered himself and responded, “Anything you have
for us is fine. It would be an honor to sleep in a part of history (and to sink
myself into a woman that has lived that history he thought not realizing that
he’d broadcasted that thought to his friends until he caught their smirks).”

V interjected, subtly providing an explanation for furry
activity. “The slave quarters are pretty close to the wilder part of the land
so don’t het if you hear strange sounds. Crocodiles catching prey in the
Mississippi, owls hooting and other animal sounds. We’ve even heard wolves
howl.”

At their guests, quizzical looks, Anais stated, not batting
an eyelid, “There’s much that is strange in the bayou.”

Tap. Tap. Tap. The plonk of ceramic on wood next to her on
the bedside stand startled Anais awake as she took in the smell male and beast.
Raulf. She was going to kill him just as soon as she could lift herself!

Anais groaned in her bedroom. The vampire in her knew it was
day despite the complete darkness afforded by the heavy, brocades cream
curtains on the windows. After the night they had, she didn’t draw the curtains
on the antique French walnut four-poster bed. They were more decorative anyway.
She rolled around in the extra-large king-sized bed, relishing the feel of the
300 thread-count sheets; she wanted to bury herself further in the bed.

“Go away Raulf. I’m sleeping” Anais moaned. The darn tingles
she got around him were back; oblivious to the nausea and throbbing headache
she was feeling.

“Ah, cher, you don’t mean that.” She felt the bed move under
his weight as he sat down next to her and took her hand. His skin was as rough
against her hands as the sheets were soft on her skin.

She snatched her hand away irritably. “I had a long night
and I’m tired. Go away. I need to sleep.” She peeked up at him, despite the
dark room, she could see him vividly. It was painful to move a muscle, open her
eyes, so she quickly shut them again and lay still.

Raulf laughed softly but it sounded like canon balls going
off in her room and she winced.

“Sorry. Forgot that your hearing is nearly as sensitive as
mine.” Raulf maintained a steadfast belief that his powers were superior to
those of vampires. “You’re not sleepy.”

“And you’d know because you’re suddenly possessing my body,”
Anais snapped at him.

Raulf grinned, possessing her body was a pleasant thought to
have in the morning. “What you have, Anais, is a hangover. Your first, I
believe. Courtesy of an after-dinner vurricane-fest.”

“Fuck vurricanes. I’m never touching that vile toxin again!”
She cursed the drink as Raulf continued to grin.

“Famous last words. I’ll remind you of them when you have
your next hangover.” Raulf continued attempting to take her hand, which she
continued to pull away.

Anais didn’t think that any over-indulgence in alcohol would
be part of her life in future. It had seemed like a good idea at the time and
they’d all enjoyed a couple, especially when it helped lift the concerns they’d
been carrying around for a moment. Today, it was so not worth it though as the
fog struggled to clear and her head pounded.

“I need sleep.” Anais reiterated and unsuccessfully tried to
kick him off the bed. The movement was painful; every muscle she used seemed to
resonate with an aching prick in her head. He didn’t budge. As he’d grown in
height and build he must’ve grown in strength too. She kept forgetting that he
was an alpha and a full grown man.

“You need the hangover cure.” Raulf picked up the
vile-smelling, gross-looking liquid Miss Suzette had concocted in batches for
the women this morning. The smell made her want to wretch.

“Come on now,
cher
. Be a good vampire and drink the
stuff,” Raulf urged. “It’ll help the sick feeling and the headache.”

Anais narrowed her eyes at Raulf, “I’m onto you. I’ve seen
the others, you included, try – I repeat, try – to drink that stuff. No amount
of ‘
cher
-ring’ me’s gonna get me to swallow that!” She pointed at ‘the
hangover cure’ as Miss Suzette had labeled it.

“And it worked for us.” Raulf pulled out the trump card,
“You need to be at your best to deal with your witch guests.”

“You play dirty,” Anais growled louder in frustration, and
moved slowly, very, very slowly into an upright position so that she rested
against the head board. The pillows uncomfortably bundled in the small of her
back hardly registered with the hangover as its competitor for discomfort.
“Okay, I’ll drink the stuff and then you go. Deal?”

“No deal,” Raulf shook his head sympathetically. “I’m under
strict orders from Miss Suzette. She’s tending to the others and I’m to stay
here, see that you drink the yummy cure and then have some toast and tea before
you go back to sleep. She’s got her hands full and wanted one on one attention
for you because of your new job as witch-sitter.” He smirked and she glared.
“And I’m the happy nurse.”

“Fuck off, Raulf,” The brute was enjoying her current situation.
As soon as she felt better she was going to whack him over the head a few times
to see if it improved the workings of his grey matter!

Raulf tsked, “Such a dirty mouth. Be nice or I’ll force-feed
it to you – I’d rather you be pissed off with me than my aunt.”

“Oh, give me the darn stuff. If it helps me get rid of you
and get back to sleep, it will be worth it.”

His lips curved, “You’re entertaining when you don’t feel
great.” Seeing a retort about to escape her lips, he held up his hands in
surrender, “Truce. I’m sorry for ragging you. Let’s get that stuff into you.”
He came slowly forward and gave her the brew, sip by wretched sip so she didn’t
bring it all up over her Egyptian cotton bedding. Anais was touched by his
gentleness, so she dutifully complied with his administrations.