The Satyr's Curse III: Redemption: The Satyr's Curse Series, #3

By Alexandrea Weis

Since returning from Fairview Plantation, Jazzmyn Livaudais has noticed strange occurrences in her Garden District home. She attributes the ghostly happenings to Julian Devereau.

Trapped in a world between death and life, Julian waits. Jazzmyn is torn between her feelings for him, and her impending nuptials to her temperamental chef, Kyle Baker.

But before she can consider Julian’s fate, she must deal with a detective eager to solve the horrific murders of women that have plagued New Orleans for decades. The detective suspects Julian is the killer, and his frequent visits to The Sweet Note are putting everyone on edge.

With Julian’s time running out, Jazzmyn discovers there may be another spirit hanging around her home. One who is out to settle an old score.

Will Jazzmyn rescue Julian from his self-imposed limbo? And what will happen if he returns?

When one curse ends, another can begin. Beware The Satyr’s Curse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexandrea Weis
• Release date: Oct 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536500196

Book preview

Prologue

Streams of morning sunlight were creeping through the pink curtains of the nursery, bathing the room in a comforting glow. The rays settled on the rocking chair where Jazzmyn had fallen asleep. Swatting at the bright light shining down on her face, she opened her eyes. Her back aching, she rose from the rocking chair and took in the pink walls of her daughter’s room.

A loud yawn escaped her lips while she stretched out the kinks in her back. About to go to the crib and check on Jackie, Jazzmyn’s eyes settled on something strange.

On the wall, not far from the pink crib, Jazzmyn spotted a single daisy painted between two posters of fairy tale castles. The small flower stood out amidst the décor of castles, clouds, and princesses in tiaras decorating the walls. Jazzmyn moved closer and inspected the daisy.

Where did that come from?

It had not been there the night before. Jazzmyn had memorized every inch of the nursery, having spent so many days and nights in the room with her daughter. Then, she recalled the murals of gardens bursting with brightly colored flowers, butterflies, caterpillars, and grasshoppers on the walls of Jackie’s room in the Fairview Plantation caretaker’s cottage. Her heart plummeted when she pictured Jackie’s father and how he had lovingly attended to his daughter.

Julian.

His name still created such an ache that there were times when Jazzmyn was sure she could not go on.

But her misery turned to curiosity as she moved closer to the flower painted on the wall. Her fingers brushed over it. The rough surface of the dry paint convinced her that this was not a dream. 

Turning to her daughter, still asleep in the crib, Jazzmyn suddenly became afraid. How could this be happening? Julian was gone, banished to some strange existence.

At the crib, Jazzmyn gazed down at the child’s head of dark, curly hair. It so much reminded her of Julian. Jackie was very much like her father, compounding Jazzmyn’s grief. She curled her arms around her sleeping daughter and lifted her out of the crib.

Jackie never woke as Jazzmyn positioned her against her chest. How she envied her daughter’s peaceful slumber. Jazzmyn felt like it had been years since she had known a restful night.

She was about to take Jackie to the changing table when an object on the headboard of the crib made Jazzmyn’s blood run cold.

There, a small daisy had been painted. Jazzmyn touched the rendering and felt the dry paint. Her eyes flew back to the daisy on the wall, and a sickening burn rose in her stomach.

Holding her daughter close, Jazzmyn’s eyes darted about the room.

What in the hell is going on? 

Chapter 1

The silvery light of the full moon filtered through the branches of the four imposing oaks dotting the back garden of the majestic New Orleans mansion. A light breeze drifted by, bringing a hint of relief from the heavy, humid night air. Encouraged by the wind, the branches on the trees rocked back and forth, casting eerie, ghost-like shadows on the ground.

Jazzmyn Livaudais, dressed only in her white nightshirt, sat on the wooden bench outside the back door of her family home. While her gray tabby was curled up asleep next to her, Jazzmyn took another sip from her glass of Jack Daniels. She eyed a scar on the thick tree branch not far from the back steps. Her father had tied a rope to the branch many years ago to make a swing. Jazzmyn had spent countless hours playing beneath that tree, often finding solace from the shouting that plagued her home when her mother had lived there.

Eager to forget the past, Jazzmyn raised the glass to her lips. She grimaced slightly as the liquid burned the back of her throat. Then the image of the small daisy painted on Jackie’s bedroom wall returned to the forefront of her thoughts.

How could it just appear like that? And where did the one on her crib come from? Maybe I’m losing it.

Who are you talking to? Mr. JP? a man’s deep voice questioned from the kitchen doorway.

Jazzmyn sighed but did not look up. In her mind, she could picture his cold blue eyes, judging her, while his thin lips would be turned down in that petulant scowl that seemed to haunt his features day and night.

What are you doing up, Kyle?

In only his blue pajama bottoms, Kyle Baker’s muscular chest appeared almost deathly white in the moonlight. He took a seat on the bench next to her and rubbed behind the tabby’s gray ears. Perturbed by the intrusion, Mr. JP jumped down from the bench and, with his tail haughtily in the air, sauntered off the porch.

I couldn’t sleep.

You? You always sleep like a rock. When did this start? she asked, feigning interest.

Just after you came back from being with your mom. I keep having these strange dreams about a girl in white. She’s trying to wake me up like she wants to talk to me. It’s just weird.

Yep, sounds pretty weird, she commented, raising her glass.

Kyle snatched her drink away. I can’t believe you’re drinking my JD. You never drink JD.

It’s all we had in the house.

Kyle drained the last dregs of the dusky liquid from the old-fashioned glass. Her eyes browsed the curve of his chiseled jaw, slightly bent nose, and high forehead.

He set the glass on the porch deck. You want to tell me why you needed a drink?

I’ve just been edgy, she confessed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

Is this about the wedding?

No. I told you I’m fine with getting married this October.

You didn’t act fine about it when my mother called wanting to make plans. I thought you were going to rip my cell phone apart.

Yeah, well, Jazzmyn let out a long sigh, the way she went on and on about picking out the right flowers and finding the best caterers made me realize there’s more to this wedding stuff than I’d imagined.

I’m sorry. I know we said we were going to keep the wedding small, but when my mother found out that we were finally getting hitched, she really wanted to be a part of it. I can’t tell her no.

Jazzmyn ached for another hit of alcohol. I don’t mind your mother, Kyle.

You may change your mind after she takes you shopping for your wedding dress. The woman is a relentless shopper.

Might be nice having her to help out with things.

I still don’t know why you haven’t asked your mother to be a part of the wedding. Considering you two got so close when she was here last month.

Jazzmyn shifted nervously on the bench. A picture of Julian dashed across her mind. I can’t ask her, she mumbled.

I thought you said things went well with the two of you.

Well enough, but there are ... a lot of things we haven’t settled between us.

Perhaps the wedding could help you two settle them.

No, Jazzmyn barked. I don’t want her here, and I don’t want her knowing about our wedding.

He sat in silence, studying her. Are you not telling me everything that went on between the two of you? he eventually asked. I’m beginning to get the impression that it wasn’t all as good as you made it out to be.

We still have a lot of issues. Things we never discussed, and will probably never discuss. I guess I’m still coming to terms with everything that happened. 

He patted her thigh. Give it time. I’m sure Noreen will come around. She’s opened the door. Your mother won’t disappear out of your life again.

I wish I could believe that. Somehow I think it’ll be haunting me for a while.

Kyle stood from the bench. Haunting? That’s an odd way of putting it. He held out his hand to her. She’s your mother, Jazzmyn, not some ghost.

She took his hand and stood up, wobbling a little from the Jack Daniels.

Kyle slipped his arms around her waist. You really shouldn’t drink.

I just needed to unwind.

With alcohol? There’s no room in the family for two boozers. He escorted her to the back door. Why don’t you leave the drinking to me?

Are you ever going to give up drinking? You’ve promised me before that—

Are you ever going to tell me what goes on in your head? he interrupted with a slight chuckle. Maybe I drink because you keep me shut out of your thoughts.

Jazzmyn pulled away. So now your drinking is my fault?

Kyle’s hands fell to his sides. That’s not what I meant. I’ve known you so long, but sometimes I feel I don’t know you at all. We used to talk all the time about everything. But ever since ...

Jazzmyn stopped just before they reached the back door. Ever since what?

I swore I would never mention his name again. But Jackie is his daughter, and one day we will have to tell her the truth about her father, but you .... Kyle leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. There’s a part of you that misses him, Jazzmyn. Ever since he came into our lives, you’ve been different. Then you started doing things you would never have done before. Like running off to be with your mother. That wasn’t you; or at least, not the you I used to know.

Why do you automatically assume everything is about him?

Because he’s a part of you. He’s connected with you in a way I can’t understand, and it frustrates the hell out of me.

Her mouth dropped, and then Jazzmyn regained her composure.

Don’t look so shocked. Jazzmyn. I’ve tried to figure out why you would even want to remember that ... creature. Then I have to stop and remind myself that Jackie is his. No matter what Julian Devereau was, his daughter is none of those things.

Jazzmyn ran her hands over her face, wanting to sink into a hole and disappear. Kyle, there are things you don’t know about Julian.

What things? He let out an abrasive snort. He was a murderer and a monster. What else is there to know?

Jazzmyn bit her tongue, knowing it was not the time to broach the subject. There were things Kyle needed to hear, but he wasn’t ready.

Never mind. I’m just tired.

You’re always tired, Jazz. Maybe if you weren’t up painting daisies in Jackie’s room all night, you wouldn’t always be too exhausted for me.

Jazzmyn’s hand gripped the brass door handle. I was just playing around last night when I couldn’t sleep. My being tired all the time has nothing to do with you.

Yes, it does.

She wheeled around to Kyle. Just because I don’t want to have sex every night, doesn’t mean—

He pushed her aside. Forget it, Jazz. Kyle slapped the back door open and stepped into the kitchen.

Jazzmyn stood on the porch, closed her eyes, and counted to ten. Her proven method for dealing with Kyle at the restaurant, she found herself stopping throughout their evenings together and reining in her anger. Once she had reached the number ten, Jazzmyn let out a long breath and walked through the open kitchen door. Inside, the cool air wafted over her warm skin.

Jazz? Kyle called from the hallway.

She cringed at the sound of his voice. It struck her how intolerant she’d become of something that had once been deeply seductive. Shutting the kitchen door and setting the deadbolt, Jazzmyn headed to the entrance of her home.

At the wide oak staircase, she noticed Kyle staring at the open pocket doors to the living room.

What is it? she asked, coming up to his side.

He said nothing, and then pointed into the living room.

Jazzmyn gazed past the green velvet Queen Anne mahogany sofa to the grand walnut mantle with its delicate carvings of mythological creatures. She raised her eyes to the portrait of a woman in a corseted white lace gown. But the painting of Odette Livaudais was not where it was supposed to be. Instead of hanging upright above the mantle, it had been turned on its side.

Tell me you did that?

You know I couldn’t lift that thing. She went to the mantle to get a closer look.

Well, I certainly didn’t do it. He came up beside her. Maybe it just fell over, you know, with time.

Jazzmyn tugged at one of the green mahogany chairs. Help me fix it.

Jazz, leave it. We’ll get it tomorrow.

She pushed the chair in front of the mantle. What if it falls during the night? I can’t risk damaging it, Kyle.

Yeah, like you wouldn’t like seeing old Odette’s portrait on the floor. It would give us an excuse to hang something else up there.

She climbed on the chair. Very funny. What would you suggest we put there?

A nice Jazz Fest poster, perhaps. After everything that happened, and all we learned about Odette and your boyfriend, I would be happy to see this monstrosity banished to the attic once and for all.

Jazzmyn stretched for the heavy portrait. Julian is ... was not my boyfriend. Secondly, this is an expensive work of art and a family heirloom. We can’t just stuff it in the attic.

With a grunt, Kyle helped her lift the heavy decorative wood frame. Then donate it to The New Orleans Museum of Art. Let them take care of it.

You know I could never part with it, or any other in the house.

You’re too attached to this old place, Jazz. 

The two of them huffed as they pulled the painting right side up and made sure the heavy wire behind it was securely hanging from the hooks mounted above the mantle.

Is that straight? she inquired, holding the corners of the large portrait.

Kyle stood back from the mantle. Yeah, close enough.

Is it straight or not?

Yes, Kyle answered, raising his voice.

Jazzmyn climbed down from the chair. Then why didn’t you just say that? She pushed the chair back to its place next to the window.

Why are you so touchy? I didn’t move the picture.

I know you didn’t move it. She waved her hand at the mantle. It probably just slipped or something. The damn thing has been hanging up there for over a hundred and fifty years.

That or we have a ghost, Kyle joked.

But Jazzmyn didn’t find the comment amusing at all. Her angry eyes glared at him.

What? he asked, taking in her scowl. You know I’m not serious, right?

She shook her head, not wanting to argue. Let’s go to bed. I’m exhausted. Jazzmyn hurried to the pocket doors.

Are you sleeping with me tonight or Jackie?

Jazzmyn stopped at the doors. Let me just make sure she’s settled in and then I’ll come to bed.

Kyle strolled up to her. That’s what you’ve been telling me every night for over a month. He slipped his arms around her waist and nibbled on her neck. Come right to bed. Jackie is fine. She’s probably fast asleep.

Jazzmyn squirmed in his arms. You don’t know that.

Listen ... there’s no screaming, so the little monster has to be asleep. His teeth grazed her neck. Come on. I need to be with you, baby.

Jazzmyn’s stomach shriveled into a tight ball. The idea of being with Kyle made her physically ill. It was as if she were cheating on Julian. She wanted to laugh out loud at the idea, but then she thought of the daisies painted in her daughter’s room and the mysterious shift of Odette’s portrait. Was Julian with them, somewhere in the house?

She pushed him away. Kyle, I think we—

A loud thud made them both spin around.

What was that? Kyle rushed to the mantle.

Jazzmyn stood by the pocket doors, the hair standing up on her arms.

She waited as Kyle went to the windows and checked outside.

Maybe I should go and take a look.

It was probably a possum or something hitting the side of the house.

He glanced back to her. It sounded like something a lot bigger than a possum, Jazz.

It’s an old house. It makes strange noises.

Kyle marched up to her, his blue eyes wide with alarm. I’ve never heard anything like that before.

I have, she lied. Placing her hand on his forearm, she gave him an encouraging smile. We’re both tired. Let’s just go upstairs.

Won over, Kyle escorted her from the room. At the pocket doors, Jazzmyn took one last look around. Her ears strained to pick up the slightest sounds, but there was nothing. Her eyes rose to the painting above the mantle of the young woman with the cherubic pink cheeks. For a split second, she could have sworn the blue eyes in the painting moved.

Are you coming? Kyle questioned from the stairs.

Jazzmyn hurriedly pulled the pocket doors closed and then headed to the wide oak staircase. When she rested her hand on the intricately carved banister, an unsettling sensation fluttered in her belly.

You all right?

Jazzmyn glanced up to see Kyle staring down at her from the step above.

I’m fine.

Jogging, Jazzmyn passed him on the stairs. On the second-floor landing, she kept up a brisk pace down the hall to her daughter’s bedroom.

At the door, she turned to see Kyle observing her from the top of the stairs. Jazzmyn searched for a thousand different things to tell him. Some excuse that would soothe the distress she saw lingering in his eyes, but instead of placating him, she simply turned the door handle and stepped inside. After entering the room, she leaned her head against the thick cypress door and closed her eyes.

First the daisies, now Odette’s portrait. What in the hell is going on?

A happy gurgle came from across the room. Seeing her daughter struggling to stand in her crib melted the fear from her mind.

Hey, Jacks.

Jazzmyn scooped her daughter into her arms. But as she held on to Jackie, the child began feverishly pointing at something on the wall next to her crib.

Jazzmyn kissed her extended hand. What is it? Her eyes followed the child’s finger to another small daisy painted on the wall.

She held Jackie close and murmured, Did you see who did this?

As if she were expecting an intelligible answer from a nine-month-old, Jazzmyn waited for her daughter’s reply. But Jackie only giggled with happiness and then pointed again at the daisy on the wall.

The unsettling feeling in Jazzmyn’s stomach strengthened. She wondered if the daisies were messages from Julian. The only question that bothered her more than the idea that Julian might be trying to communicate with her was, why?

Chapter 2

Monday morning, Jazzmyn awoke in the rocking chair in Jackie’s room to find no more daisies. When she stretched the kinks out of her back, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted in from the open bedroom door. She stared at the door, knowing she had shut it the night before, but figured Kyle had probably left it open after checking on her.

She went to the crib to find Jackie fast asleep. Relieved, she tiptoed out of the room.

In her spacious kitchen, the coffeepot was filled to the rim with the rich, dark liquid. She scanned the antique stove, the breakfast table in the corner, and the butler’s entrance that led to the mahogany-paneled dining room, but there was no Kyle. As the fluorescent lights flickered, she heard a clattering of footsteps on the stairs. When she saw Kyle rounding the stairs, still dressed in his blue pajama bottoms and rubbing his chin, she was momentarily confused.

How did he get back upstairs so fast?

Mornin’, he chirped as he came up to her. He pecked her cheek and then breezed by. Great, you made coffee.

Jazzmyn squelched a scream.

Kyle went to the cabinets and pulled out two blue mugs. I woke up alone and guessed you spent the whole night with Jackie again. He filled the two mugs with coffee. I thought I would be the first one up.

Ah, no. She raised her hand to her mouth, a sickening feeling rising up the back of her throat. I got up a little while ago.

Well, if you're not going to sleep with me, the least you can do is make the coffee first thing. He motioned to the kitchen entrance. How did you beat me here from the living room?

What are you talking about?

His hand waved down her white nightshirt. I saw you in the living room after I came down the stairs. Wearing your nightshirt and pacing in front of the mantle. He handed her a coffee mug. Except your hair looked different. It was piled up on your head.

Jazzmyn scrunched her brow at him. Kyle, I wasn’t in the living room this morning. 

He gave her a leery gaze and then replaced the coffeepot on the warmer. Maybe I need this coffee more than I thought. 

She downed a hearty sip of coffee, hoping to relieve her uneasiness. 

Are you going to go to the church today to meet with Father McKinnon? Kyle questioned. He needs to go over an itinerary for the church service.

Jazzmyn shuddered at the idea of having to take time out of her busy day to make wedding plans. I’ll see if I can get away, but you know how much catching up I need to do on Mondays at the restaurant. I’ve got inventory to order.

Last week you had to catch up on bills. What’s your excuse going to be next week? Kyle added sugar to his coffee. Do you even want to have a wedding?

You’re the one who wanted to have it in a church, and now with your mother involved, things are getting out of hand. You know I don’t have time to organize a big wedding.

That’s what my mother is for, he insisted.

She’s in California, Kyle. She can’t do everything over the phone.

Then she can come here. Stay with us for a while and help take care of Jackie. She’d love to do it.

Jazzmyn groaned. No. I have enough to deal with right now. Jackie does better with Ms. Helen than your mother.

Kyle opened his mouth to say something, but took a sip of his coffee instead. 

Jazzmyn peered down at the old linoleum floor. The burgeoning silence between them was eating her up. Did you come and check on Jackie and me last night?

His lips pressed together, Kyle shrugged. I never woke up once during the night. Why?

Jazzmyn tightened her grip on her coffee mug. No reason. I was just wondering.

His demeanor changed, and he elbowed her playfully. Wanted me to come in, pick you up, and carry you to bed, eh? I can do that if you want. Might be kind of romantic.

You never struck me as the romantic type.

Kyle rested his finger under