Nine While Nine

PrologueFive Years EarlierThe Scáthanna was there, watching. He was ceaselessly amazed at how oblivious humans were to their surroundings, what was always at the periphery of their vision, existing at the edge of their lives and senses, yet never realized. His ward, Isabeau Finne, was different. She seemed able to sense him, making her a little trickier to maneuver around. Perhaps it was her upbringing and her lineage that was the cause of this. Her mother had been an O’Cailleach, one in a long line of Scottish-Celtic witches. This gifted Isabeau with innate talents she was only on the threshold of truly discovering. It had scarcely been a year since she was placed under his watch. He’d been called into action after his predecessor had abandoned his post. Thanks to a slight manipulation of perception, no one on the red-eye flight out of LAX that October night noticed the severely handsome dark-haired man seated three rows behind the amber-headed beauty who was his charge. Manipulating perception was one of his kind’s many advantages over humans. Another, was never needing to make a reservation for travel. He could merely slip to the In-Between and move freely and invisibly among them. He slid the crumpled and overly browsed inflight magazine back into its snug seat-back pocket and watched as Isabeau gathered her costuming paraphernalia together to store her midair couture shop away. She’d spent nearly the entire first half of the flight embroidering miniscule silk ribbons into an array of fall leaves across the front of a gown she meant to wear at the annual party she was traveling to. It was her first journey to New Orleans, and with all the excitement and anticipation she was feeling, he was doubtful she would have found rest if it had not been for exhaustion finally taking over. He watched as she fell asleep against her boyfriend’s shoulder, curling her legs up under her as well as she could in the coach seat. She snuggled her pale cheek into the age-softened collar of his distressed black leather coat, with a content smile edging her lips. Since she was resting now, it was the perfect opportunity to catch a few very needed winks of his own. He pulled the miniscule airline blanket over his body, wishing he would have grabbed two on his way down the aisle before takeoff. Stuffing the tiny white pillow between his head and the window, he stretched his long legs across the other two seats. Conveniently, the flight was not fully booked, freeing up the entire row to relax his formidable physique across. Waking, he stretched his arms overhead, the muscles protesting from his nap in such cramped quarters. He watched as she stretched her arms above her head in unison, canting her head from left to right to work out the kinks she’d also acquired. She dug around in her bag, pulling out a small travel pouch that held her makeup. He watched Isabeau spruce herself up before popping a mint into her mouth. Following her lead, he dug into his pocket and withdrew his own tin of curiously strong mints, then took a swig of water from the tiny bottle the attendant handed him five hours earlier. He watched as she perched at the edge of the fountain that was the centerpiece of their French Quarter hotel’s brick courtyard. Clear spouts of water burbled from the mouths of four statuary frogs into the pool beneath their cement amphibian feet. She was cooing at a family of turtles, attempting to coerce them to the surface with a piece of croissant left over from her breakfast. He sat on the other side of the courtyard at a small verdigris café set, hidden from view by a newspaper and his influences. Waiting. On her first night in the Quarter, he decided that with the immense number of revelers on the streets, he could risk being in form and not hidden behind deceptions. With his hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of his long wool coat, he fell into step with her small group of friends, losing himself a few bodies behind her as they made their way through the fog-enshrouded streets. They navigated merrily down Esplanade Avenue, crossing to Royal, then down Ursulines and Chartres. With every step of their route, Isabeau’s eyes were full of wonder as she caught sight of one after another, after another of beautiful and captivating objects in shop windows. She stared up at the delicate and ornate, awe-inspiring architecture of the city, and marveled at the allied feeling of the people around her upon entering Jackson Square. Kindred spirits all gathering in this amazing city for the same event. All of them traversing through the magical night as a thick mist rolled in off the river to lend an even more dreamlike ambiance to the experience. The Scáthanna found himself completely enchanted by her. He watched as she drew her very first breath of the magic-tinged atmosphere of the Quarter. Her eyes grew wide and her smile enormous with each step deeper into the city she’d dreamed of visiting for ten years. Moisture clung to the exposed skin of his face, settled into his dark hair, further enhancing his features. He raked his fingers through his damp and slightly unruly locks, pushing them back from his face. He tugged his collar up higher to ward off a chill. The humidity of the day had abandoned them, and fall was officially taking its place. The full moon cast misty images of the people wandering through the night against the fog, turning them into shadow puppets in a play. They walked unaware of what wandered the streets among them, possibly hunting them. Not Isabeau. His Isabeau would be safe. He could feel her heart soaring. She beamed as she oohed and aahed over favored objects in the windows of the closed shops, steering Robert’s attention to any number of things as they passed. Jazz floated through the air along with the lingering and delectable scents of creole cuisine. She was giddy, and Robert got caught up in the lure of her infectious delight. He kissed her and vowed his undying love then and there. The Scáthanna clenched his jaw with his fists held tightly in his pocket. An adorable tabby cat sat serenely in the window of a loom shop. Isabeau tapped on the glass and spoke to the feline as he rubbed his furry jowls against the glass, trying to reach her hand to be petted. Lost in his own beguiled state of mind, her Shadow nearly ran into her. He veered away just before colliding into the couple, barely sidestepping from jouncing the three of them into the store front. The startled cat dashed away from the glass and into the depths of the shop. The Scáthanna, regaining his normally cool composure, slid effortlessly away. He remained unseen by Isabeau, but still observed the sweet expressions of her face as she looked into the night sky, breathing in the magic of the city . . . and the love of her young man. She pulled her attention back to Robert as she slipped her hand into his. Their group peered into a toy store window, all exuberant as children at the old-fashioned toys tucked away inside. Before continuing on their way, they paused to ask a young woman walking by to snap a photo of them. Cat removed the Nikon 35mm from around her neck, handed it carefully to the woman, and briefly showed her how it worked. They all struck a silly pose in front of the toy store window that was bursting with color and cheerful lighting. Her Shadow couldn’t help but grin widely at Isabeau’s jubilance as she pointed into the window and pulled a goofy face for the camera before bursting into laughter. Onward they went, laughing and carousing down the slate pavement through Jackson Square, past Madeleine’s—where the young women all agreed to gather in the morning for café au lait and pastries—toward Decatur. They waited for a mule-drawn carriage to pass, then crossed the street and entered the mecca that was Café Du Monde. Isabeau hooked her arm through Robert’s and let him lead her to a vacant table near the railing where they could watch passersby and have a front row seat to the trio of jazz musicians taking up roost near the café. A tattered hat was set on the ground in front of their feet collecting tips from many music lovers as they paused to enjoy the impromptu performance. Her Shadow watched as she had her first sip of café au lait made with chicory and her first taste of a beignet. He delighted as her face became awash in bliss with the very first bite. She giggled while trying to remove the avalanche of powdered sugar that cascaded down the front of her velvet dress and settled onto her lap. The white stood out starkly against the black velvet. He followed as Isabeau wandered away to watch the making of beignets through the large viewing window at the back of the café and as she first set eyes on the meandering Mississippi. “Down by the river where it’s warm and green.” He heard her sing dreamily, a line from a song by Concrete Blonde. As they walked hand-in-hand along the Moon Walk, Robert pulled her into his arms, twirled her in a circle, bringing forth another bout of her sweet laughter, before whispering in her ear and kissing her. Her Shadow turned his eyes away. She was a truly enticing creature, and this boy could never fully appreciate her. He watched as she fell more in love with the city the longer they meandered throughout the Quarter. He stayed with them, with her, to be certain she remained safe on their walk to the hotel. Remaining vigilant until she was safely tucked away in her room, before retiring to his own. Her Scáthanna was indulging in an evening cup of dark French roast and a pastry from Croissant D’Or when the four young women met up at the courtyard fountain, breathless with excitement and fawning over each other. Exclamations of excitement wafted to his ears on the breeze. They were adorned in elaborate costumes for the Halloween festivities being held at St. Elizabeth’s. Isabeau was wearing the Georgian ball gown she’d been putting finishing touches on while in flight. She was close to otherworldly as she swept past him, never glancing his way as she rushed with her friends through the gas-lamp-lit enclosure to the cab outside the wrought-iron gates. The three young men trailed behind, adjusting cuffs and cravats, and deep in conversation about the bands playing tonight. They were running late and anxious to get to the gathering. Her Shadow folded the newspaper he’d been reading and left it lying on the table for the next patron looking for a quick read. Gathering his coffee-to-go cup and pastry wrapper, he deposited them in the waste bin on his way out the gate. He had dressed for the occasion as well and was decked out in a costume worthy of being seen in Lord of the Rings, the difference being that it was not a costume but attire he was very accustomed to wearing on a regular basis when he rode front steed of the Ard Sciath, the highest division of the Eirr Rúnaigh. The masquerade ball was beyond any and all expectations. The venue, St. Elizabeth’s, had once been an orphanage, but was now the private residence of a much-celebrated author. It was expansive and opulent, covering an entire city block in the lush Garden District. No expense had been spared by the hostess when it came to decorations, entertainment, or refreshments. The recently renovated building now showcased highly polished dark wood floors, wall tapestries, draperies, and furniture of the most luxurious quality. It was a step back in time. It was a dream night. Trinkets, keepsakes, and programs were being handed out at the door as enthusiasts of the author passed over the threshold. Food and drinks were being served endlessly in the courtyard. Not an hour had passed since their arrival before the close-knit friends found themselves gathered beneath a strand of gently swinging paper lanterns that festooned the giant oak trees lining the perimeter of the huge courtyard. They were engaged in a somewhat lively exchange of words with a couple they’d met while waiting in line at the outdoor bar. The conversation centered around a series of books by the author, and whether the movie was better than the book.