House of Blood and Fire

By Kameron Gray

Frightening secrets of the past combine with voodoo, vampires, and everlasting love to create this lush, gothic novel set in the bayous of Louisiana.

Newlyweds David and Ashley Briscoe have just moved from Atlanta to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. In the mood to explore nearby River Road one evening, they see a plantation house named "The Cottage." Illuminated by candles and decorated for a fancy ball, the home looks warm and inviting, and the two stop to take a look. When women in gorgeous, hoop-skirt gowns and men in elegant evening attire reminiscent of the Civil War welcome them, the couple figure they've stumbled upon a costume ball.

The next morning they are shocked to learn that The Cottage burned down in 1960. When they drive out to the house and find nothing but ruins, Ashley decides to do some detective work and delves into the house's history. What she finds out is startling-and the Cottage's connection to her own family's past could spell disaster.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 15, 2007
• ISBN: 9780595861682

Kameron Gray

Kameron Gray majored in history at Louisiana State University and has practiced law for twenty-four years. He lives in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

Book preview

One 

Baton Rouge: Spring 2006

David and Ashley Briscoe were newlyweds. They’d met in Atlanta when David was a senior at Emory and Ashley was a junior at Georgia Tech. David was a native of Charlotte and had been captivated by the spunky Georgia peach’s green eyes, curly auburn hair, and the perfume she always wore. Ashley liked David’s sense of humor; they both enjoyed satire. The blond-haired stockbroker had an easy way about him. The fact that he was graying prematurely at the temples, and occasionally smoked a pipe while sipping Scotch, made him—in Ashley’s eyes, anyway—distinguished looking. The sanguine Ashley had always harbored a secret desire to ride a thoroughbred in the Kentucky Derby. Being the only girl in her family, and having four brothers—two younger and two older—there wasn’t a dare she wouldn’t take.

David’s brokerage firm had transferred him from Atlanta to Baton Rouge when it opened a new office there. Following the move, Ashley gave up her job with a small architectural firm. She was actually enjoying the time off. After moving into a house on Hyacinth Street in Southdowns, not far from the LSU campus, they decided to familiarize themselves with the city by following a map and taking a series of drives both during the day and at night. Sometimes David would drive, sometimes Ashley.

If I were you, I’d go to Louie’s, on State Street, just north of the LSU campus ... best breakfast in town. The mechanic wiped off his hands with a red rag he pulled out of his hip pocket and closed the hood. Your oil’s fine, mister.

After getting directions, David and Ashley drove to the diner. It was 7:15 in the morning when they arrived, and the place was already crowded, even though it was between the spring and summer semesters and few students remained on campus.

Wasn’t that awesome last night? Ashley remarked as she took a bite of eggs.

Sure was. I can’t believe how nice those folks were. And to not charge us for the tour ... unbelievable.

And I love those costumes, Ashley added. Those antebellum hoop skirts and the hats they wore ... they must’ve cost a fortune.

That guy Holt was a little strange, but hey, I’m not complaining. The wine was incredible. And you know—I thought about this after we left—I don’t think they even had the electricity on. Candles and kerosene lamps were the only lights I noticed.

Yes, it was beautiful, she agreed.

Lee Morris, a pudgy, middle-aged reporter for the local newspaper, happened to be sitting next to the young couple at the diner’s counter.

You folks just come from Rosedown or something? he asked politely. He didn’t want to interrupt, or sound like he’d been eavesdropping. One of those pilgrimages? Lee could tell by the look on David’s face that he didn’t know what a pilgrimage was. There are times when plantation homes are open to the public for tours; they’re called ‘pilgrimages,’ he explained.

Oh, OK. Then, no, David replied. It wasn’t a pilgrimage. We’re new to the area, and we were just driving down River Road last night. We started out at Mike the Tiger’s cage by the football stadium and decided to go south on River Road. We didn’t know where the plantations were, but we figured there might be some close by.

Oh, Lee said, but you must mean Nicholson Drive—Magnolia Mound—the old Duplantier place.

No, we were definitely on River Road. I have a map, and we saw the street sign. We crossed Nicholson to get there, then we turned left when we got to the levee.

Listen, I’m not trying to be nosey . by the way, I’m Lee Morris; I’m a reporter. He and David shook hands.

David ... David Briscoe. He turned toward Ashley. This is my wife, Ashley.

Nice to meet you both, Lee said. He took a sip of coffee. I’ve lived here all my life, and to my knowledge ... well ... unless they let you in down at Longwood or something, there aren’t any plantations in this area. How far down River Road did you drive?

David looked at Ashley and rolled his eyes. Why do we seem to run into crazy people all the time?his look implied. I don’t know ... maybe eight or nine miles; no more than ten for sure, he replied.

South of LSU on River Road? Lee was stunned.

Yep. David wiped his mouth with his napkin. Are you about finished? he asked Ashley, as he reached into his pocket for his wallet.

Lee could read the doubt on their faces. No, wait, Mr. Briscoe; I’m serious. The only thing that’s out there on River Road in that vicinity is the ruins of The Cottage plantation. It burned down in 1960.

I think we need to go, Ashley said. She was starting to fear that Lee Morris was mentally disturbed, and she didn’t want to continue the conversation.

Tell you what, folks. You drive out there right now, and I’ll bet you a hundred bucks all you’ll find is rubble—a few of the old columns and bricks strewn here and there—but that’s it.

It’s been nice meeting you, Mr. Morris, David said. He shook the man’s hand again as he got up. He then placed his hand gently on Ashley’s back and led her toward the exit.

When they were out of earshot, David whispered, Good grief!What a nut, huh?

I know. Seemed like a nice-enough guy . but these days you just never know.

The sun was shining, and it was already warm outside as they walked across the parking lot. David opened the door for Ashley, then he walked around the front of the car toward the driver’s door. Glancing back at the diner, he saw Lee Morris leaving the building. The reporter smiled and waved at the young couple. David waved back. Then he got into the car and started the engine. What do you think, Ash? Wanna go out there again? Just to check it out?

What, and waste more gas? She shook her head. Nope, I don’t think so.

But it’s Saturday. We’ve moved into the house. We don’t really have anything pressing, do we? David’s curiosity was getting the best of him. It won’t take long, babe. Let’s go. If the guy’s nuts, he’s nuts.

Ashley looked over at David and sighed. What if it’s a setup, Dave? What if he follows us and wants to rob us or something? She gazed nervously into the mirror mounted on the side of her door and watched Lee Morris get behind the wheel of his old pickup truck.

David reached over and gently cradled Ashley’s chin in his right hand. Ashley Briscoe, he began, you know I won’t let anything like that happen. Besides, that’s what rearview mirrors are for. If somebody’s following us, I’ll either pull over and let them pass, or I’ll drive on to the next road leading back to town. We have a map, you know.

Ashley looked at David. At first, she couldn’t tell whether he was teasing or serious, but his eyes let her know that he meant what he said. Oh, all right. I guess it’s OK. He seemed harmless enough. Anyway, I’d like to see the place in the daytime. I’ll bet it’s even more beautiful than it was last night.

Tell you what, Ash. It’s such a pretty day; let’s put the top down, David replied, smiling as he glanced up at the black, convertible roof.

That’s a great idea, babe. She grinned at David, then winked.

Do you want your scarf? He reached toward the glove box. Ashley touched his hand. No, I think I’m just going to let my hair down. Then she shook her head, sending auburn curls flying.

Sasha! David growled, trying to sound sexy.

Grrrr! Ashley replied, as she eased her torso over the console and put her arms around David’s neck. She began kissing him passionately.

Whoa, woman! David said, after several seconds. I need some air!

Not man enough to handle little old me? Ashley batted her eyelashes flirtatiously and crawled back to her seat. Then she folded her arms across her chest as if pouting.

Oh, I’m plenty man enough, David replied. But there’s a time and a place for everything. They both started laughing as they reached up to unsnap the locks where the roof rested on the corners of the windshield.

Let’s drive through LSU. The magnolias are in bloom, and the fragrance is heavenly, Ashley said, when the convertible top had folded down completely.

Sounds good to me. David turned south onto Highland Road and headed toward campus.

Ashley looked out the window as they passed the law school. What beautiful columns ... they remind me of The Cottage. I wonder what the place was like before the Civil War.

After they’d driven through campus, Ashley grabbed the newspaper off the back seat and began to scan the titles of articles. In the People section, she noticed a column by Lee Morris. A picture of the writer was at the top, next to the title: History repeats itself. Wow, OK; so, I guess he really is legit, she thought to herself, as she began reading the article.

Listen to this, Dave, she began. ’History repeats itself,’ by our friend, Lee Morris. He turned down the radio, as Ashley began reading.

"’History repeats itself, and that’s one of the things that’s wrong with history.’ That’s a quote from Clarence Darrow. ‘Former Governor Edwin W. Edwards is serving a ten-year prison sentence after having been indicted by a federal grand jury and convicted by a jury of his peers.’

He also writes that ‘those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.’ She continued scanning, searching for something else that might be of interest.

According to Lee, this guy Edwards was a three-term governor. Lee cites several preelection newspaper articles that apparently warned the public about Edwards’s track record. The guy was reelected by a fairly wide margin.

Wow! David commented, shaking his head. That’s pretty scary. This state is bizarre. Why would people elect someone like that, after having been warned?

Well, I think it’s pretty cool that we met Lee, don’t you? Ashley asked. I’m OK with him now.

Yeah; I guess so, David agreed. Boy is he gonna be surprised when he sees the place in the daytime.

You can say that again, Ashley said, as she folded the paper and tossed it into the back seat. David turned onto River Road and headed south. I can’t wait to see it myself, she added. This is going to be so much fun!

Two 

Conrad’s Bend: Sunday, February 27, 1859

BOOM! The two-story, brick mansion shook to its foundation.

Frances Conrad bolted upright in bed. What on earth was that? she gasped, reaching over and shaking her husband. Frederick! she screamed.

I heard it, he said, sounding very concerned.

BOOM! A second explosion. Windows shattered downstairs from the concussion. Frederick grabbed a match and lit the candle on the nightstand. They both heard the children crying for their mother. Frances jumped out of the bed and rushed into the hallway toward the children’s bedrooms.

Frederick flung open the doors that opened onto the balcony from the master bedroom. The sky was aglow across the levee; low fog hugged the ground. Fire on the river! he yelled. Fire! Then he rushed back into the bedroom and grabbed his trousers.

The explosion had awakened Mordecai, the head carpenter, and one of the Conrads’ 250 slaves. He jumped up and looked out the window toward the river, then woke his son and told him to start ringing the alarm bell in the yard outside the slave cabins. Mordecai quickly pulled on his overalls, lit a lantern, and ran down the gravel lane toward the river.

As Mordecai approached the levee, he could hear people screaming. Thick fog shrouded the surface of the water. There was no moonlight, but the bright orange and yellow flames from the sinking Princess shot a hundred feet into the sky, creating an eerie effect; the fog on the water looked like a blanket of constantly changing hues of orange, yellow, and red. Because he was one of the few slaves who’d learned to swim, Mordecai quickly pulled off his boots and jumped into the icy waters. Other slaves, along with Andrew Haman, the overseer, stood on the bank at the water’s edge.

Get the bateaus! Haman commanded Chief, the straw boss of the field hands. He took off running toward where the flat-bottomed boats were stored, upside down on the levee. And any of you bastards who can swim, git in the water and start rescuin’ folk. Women and children—white women and children—first.

Three more male servants pulled off their boots and jumped into the water as the first bodies began floating toward the shore. Ebenezer, the head coachman, rounded up a handful of other slaves and told them to get into the boats and paddle out to rescue anyone in the water. White folk first! he yelled dutifully.

With each powerful stroke of his great arms, Mordecai strained to see if he could make out any silhouettes of victims in the water. One by one, he found them. The first was a badly burned, middle-aged woman. He dragged her onto the bank, then jumped back into the water. During the next twenty minutes, Mordecai brought four more women and six children to safety. With the exception of Ebenezer, the other slaves quickly tired from the grueling rescue effort in the water, so they helped load the injured into wagons that were now appearing on the crown of the levee. Ebenezer soon flagged and had to rest himself. Almost without exception, the confused victims were fighting their rescuers, flailing their arms around, resisting their efforts. Only a handful seemed to understand what was happening and thankfully wrapped their arms around their savior’s necks.

The scene was utter chaos. Men and women, their clothing on fire, were jumping off the sinking ship into the mist, some drowning in dangerous eddies swirling about the vessel. The captain stayed topside, sending distress signals with the ship’s horn, as fire began to engulf the wheelhouse. The tormented screams and cries of the injured and dying echoed across the water.

On the levee, wagons loaded with sacks of flour began to arrive. The slaves on shore dumped the flour on the ground so that those victims still engulfed in flames could roll in it when they came ashore. The smell of charred flesh, mixed with burnt flour and fuel, filled the air.

It soon became obvious to Mordecai that the only way to save those left on board was to somehow get the ship closer to the bank. It was about seventy-five feet from shore, slowly floating downstream. He swam out and yelled for someone to throw him a rope. An alert deck hand obliged. Mordecai struggled as he tied it around his waist; then he swam back to shore and gave the rope to another slave before jumping back in to rescue more of the drowning. At first he thought he was bumping into small pieces of driftwood, but when the flames rose higher he could see clearly what the pieces were: human arms, legs, hands, and feet. When a woman’s decapitated, bloody torso hit him in the head as he swam, he vomited.

Take that there rope up the levee and hook it up to a team of horses or mules or whatever you kin find strong enough to start pullin’ her toward the bank!

Haman yelled. Ebenezer sprinted up the levee and found a wagon hitched to eight mules. He quickly unhitched the chains and tied the rope around the front axle. Then he attached another rope to the swedge buckle on the halter, and began to lead the mules upstream on the levee. The hulking Princess slowly responded and began to inch toward the bank. Had the vessel exploded a few hundred yards farther downstream, there would’ve been no way to pull it in; the current was simply too strong.

Mordecai struggled to determine whom to save as bodies and dismembered limbs floated past him. Nearly exhausted, and badly burned on the back of his left arm and the left side of his face, he was now groping wildly for those who had enough energy and fight left in