Bienvenue to the Chateau Rouge

By Bienvenue Press

At the Chateau Rouge, love is timeless

 

Welcome to the Chateau Rouge nestled in the heart of New Orleans. While Josey Jacobs checks you in to the elegant hotel, which was once one of the French Quarter's most talked about bordellos, you may realize everything is not what it seems.

 

Spirits here do not Rest In Peace.

 

Drinks disappear from the bar. The apparition of a woman flickers at the corner of your vision. Bloodthirsty creatures prowl the halls. No two visits are ever the same, and guests will forever be changed by what transpires.

 

Grab your room key from the desk and brace yourself for four unique stories told from within these enchanted walls:

 

"Immortal Love" by CJ Petterson

An ancient Viking desperately pleads for his beloved to join him in immortality. Her decision brings unimaginable anguish that shrouds one soul in darkness.

 

"Endings and Beginnings" by Chelsi Arnold and J D Boudreaux

Lured in by the secrets and charm of the Chateau Rouge, Jacqueline and Nick hoped for an enchanting weekend stay. The hotel, and its ghostly inhabitants have other plans. When Jacqueline finds herself haunted by the past, she begins to question her future with Nick. Will the Chateau Rouge's magic be enough to save a relationship in peril?

"A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody" by JD Boudreaux

New Orleans knows music and secrets. When Penny and Alex visit the Chateau Rouge for a romantic interlude, a chorus of hidden connections are revealed. The surprises in store for them will make hearts sing.

 

"Revelry's Requiem" by Jolie St. Amant and Carrie Dalby
(A Chateau Rouge and Possession Chronicles Crossover)

Danger arrives at Chateau Rouge during the 1911 carnival season in the form of an Italian violinist, Valentino De Fiore. Seeking to flaunt his fame, Valentino sends for his cousin, Father Claudio De Fiore, to visit from his small Louisiana parish. The instant Claudio arrives, he feels powers of darkness closing in around Valentino. In over their heads with the arrogant violinist and a young vampire who loves him, Josephine and Alcide must turn to Selena Prosperie, the oldest vampire in New Orleans in hopes of bringing secrecy back to their establishment. Can the vengeful immortal control the situation without unleashing her fury on the De Fiore cousins?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bienvenue Press
• Release date: May 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393285151

Book preview

Love is Immortal

By cj petterson

Chapter One

"Bienvenue ! Welcome to the Chateau Rouge. How may I help you?" Chloe Devereaux smiled broadly at the tall gentleman in front of her.

Checking in, he said and returned the smile of the fresh-faced, young brunette. You have a reservation for Tor Ivarson.

Chloe keyed in the name on the computer, hesitated, then asked, Could you spell....oh wait, here you are. Which credit card will you be using?

He pulled a slender wallet out of an inside coat pocket and handed over a sliver of black plastic. While she printed out copies of a receipt that he would need to sign and readied a room key, he looked around the Chateau Rouge’s lobby. He’d never stayed at the historic French Quarter hotel before. And if Tilde hadn’t called, he wouldn’t be in New Orleans during the lull between The Big Easy’s gala Christmas and Mardi Gras celebrations.

When his Viking senses picked up the presence of other immortals near him, a rush of adrenaline surged through him like an alarm going off. His eyes made a slow and deliberate tour of the lobby, admiring the décor as he searched for the source.

The lobby of the boutique hotel was adorned with French-style furnishings: a crystal chandelier, tapestries on pale blue walls, love seats covered in chocolate-colored velvet, and arrangements of blue hydrangeas complimenting tall stalks of white, calla lilies. He finished his circuit of the lobby, and his heart slowed a bit when he determined that what he sensed was cautious curiosity, not hostility.

A woman sitting at the concierge desk captured his attention, and he stared unabashedly. Her startling blue eyes, full, blood-red lips, and hair as shiny as polished onyx were a stark contrast to her almost-translucent, porcelain skin. 1940 Hollywood’s American beauty complexion. The woman was holding a quiet conversation with a muscular, tatooed man he recognized.

You are admiring the owner of Chateau Rouge, Chloe’s voice cut into his thoughts. Josey Jacobson.

Miss Jacobson is a woman to be admired. Very beautiful. Looks like Vivian Leigh reincarnated.

"Who?

A movie star before your time.

The gentleman with her is one of our permanent residents, Archer—

Archer Grayson. I wondered where he went when he abruptly quit touring. I enjoyed many of his rock music concerts. He turned his attention back to Chloe. Is it true that the Chateau Rouge is haunted?

That’s one of our claims to fame, Mr. Ivarson. Is that why you’re here? To visit with one of our ghostly residents?

No, but I imagine that reputation attracts a lot of curiosity seekers, ghost hunters, and the like.

Chloe laughed and slid the registration form and a pen across the counter. It does. I’m not usually behind the reception desk. I’m the hotel’s public relations liaison, and one of my jobs is to make sure we always have enough ghosts around to keep people happy. We want our guests’ experience at Chateau Rouge to be as memorable as we can make it.

She handed Tor his room key concealed in a tiny card. Your room number and code for the free Wi-Fi are inside the card, Mr. Ivarson. Breakfast in The Laveau Lounge begins at six-thirty a.m. If there’s anything we can do to make your stay—

Is it too late to get something to eat here at the hotel?

Not at all. The lounge serves small plates and appetizers until ten on Friday and Saturday evenings. You have your choice of eating in The Laveau or delivery to your room.

The Laveau it is.

He slid onto a stool at the end of a polished mahogany bar where another American beauty woman was toweling off a wet spot.

"Good evening, and bienvenue. I’m Ivy. What can I serve you this evening?"

He leaned in closer to hear Ivy’s soft voice over the laughter and buzz of conversations in the crowded room.

I was told it wasn’t too late to get a bite to eat.

That’s true, she said and brought up a menu from under the bar. There’ll be a wait, but I’ll be happy to serve you here at the bar.

The cock of her head, flash in her eyes, and impish grin told Tor she was flirting with him.

The bar is fine, and you’re way too young for me.

Ooh, I’m way older than I look. Ivy laughed and locked eyes with him.

So am I. He shook his head and humored her with a smile. You’re cute and tempting, but I’m tired. What’s good on the menu tonight?

Ivy’s grin disappeared with a sigh. If you like Cajun and spicy, I recommend the Shrimp Diablo. Our version of shrimp and grits. I had a bowl earlier, and it is dee-lish.

Sounds like I should have some. And a cup of coffee to start, please.

He turned his back to the bar and scanned the room until he found the face he was looking for. The clunk of the coffee mug Ivy set on the bar broke his concentration, and he turned to watch her fill the cup from an antique, silver carafe. He waved off the cream she offered and took a sip of the dark, chicory-flavored brew.

Is there a florist nearby?

Out the front door, turn left, and a couple of stores down you’ll find NOLA’s Flowers.

Hold off on my food until I return, please, he said and left the bar before Ivy could answer. He dipped his head slightly toward Josey on her way into the lounge.

Kind of sexy, huh? Ivy said when Josey climbed aboard a bar stool. I think he looks a lot like the United Kingdom’s Prince Harry.

Josey smiled and rolled her eyes at always-on-the hunt Ivy. Except this guy is taller, broader, and his curly, red hair ends in a thick ponytail tied with a burgundy ribbon at the nape of his neck. I’m sensing something about him that I can’t put my finger on...yet. He’s not an ordinary man.

I’ll drink to that, Ivy said with a giggle.

If we can sense something different about him, I wonder if he feels the same about us. I’ll ask Alcide to check him out. By the way, I like your hair.

Ivy ran black-lacquered fingernails like a comb through her hair that reached below her shoulders. Thanks. I was listening to some oldies but goodies this afternoon and Prince singing Purple Rain" gave me the inspiration.

Tor returned to the lounge fifteen minutes later carrying a pale lavender, bud vase holding one flouncy, yellow rose. He walked in a straight line toward an elderly woman whose pale face reflected faintly in the window. He reached around her shoulder and set the gift in front of her on the small, bistro table.

She stared at it for several moments without looking to see who had placed it there. Then she breathed in the bloom’s fragrance and opened the card tied to the vase with a lavender ribbon.  "Ek em hí, dýrr tilde." she read aloud. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she repeated, I am here, dear Tilde.  She reached for his hand. Tor. No one but you has ever called me that.

Before he could answer, Ivy appeared at his side. Will you be joining Madame Clotilde?

Tilde nodded. Yes, Ivy, he will be joining Madame Clotilde.  Her fingers, skeletal in their frailty, tightened on his hand. Thank you for coming.

Back behind the bar after delivering Tor’s Shrimp Diablo, Ivy leaned close to Josey and whispered, Did you see the gorgeous rose he brought Madame? That was the sweetest thing. Wouldn’t it be a kick if she’s really a cougar?

She is still a beautiful woman, Josey said. He’s the right age, but cougars age out at about sixty-five, and she’s, what, ninety-one? It does appear that Madame is the reason Mr. Ivarson is here. She must be special to him because he’s obviously very fond of her.

She’s special to me, too, Ivy said. I never knew my grandmother, but I pretend she was just like Madame. Maybe she’s his grandmother for real.

Chapter Two

An hour later, Tilde left her rosewood cane by a chair and depended on Tor’s arm as she guided him on a tour of the hotel’s serene, walled courtyard. She recounted the history of Chateau Rouge, its transformation from bordello to hotel under the expert eye of Josey Jacobson, and recited the Latin names of the potted palms and tropical flowers. When they completed the circle, she dropped onto one of the colorful cushions in a wrought-iron chair and shivered.

Nights in New Orleans can turn cool, even after a warm day, Tor said. He took a faux tiger fur throw off of a chaise and draped it over her shoulders then crouched next to her and took her hand.

Especially here by the pool in this courtyard, Tilde said, and I am an old woman who suffers from the cold. In the heat of summer, this place is a wonderful oasis in the middle of a busy New Orleans world. She laughed softly. Only you would think to bring me a yellow rose in a lavender vase.

That was the closest I could get to the colors of Louisiana State University, he said. A little homage to the day we first met.

I remember that day vividly. I walked into your lecture course in Ancient Norse History and fell head over heels in lust.

Really? Then why did it take until the end of the semester to agree to go out for something as simple as coffee?

I had to wait until I was certain that I would walk out of LSU with my sheepskin in hand. Falling into your arms too early would have obliterated my goal of earning my master’s degree in ancient cults and religions.

Do you come to this place often?

I live here. It’s the perfect place. I’m never lonely. I get to enjoy the company and excitement of new guests arriving from all over the world. I don’t have to keep house, no dusting, no cooking, no doing dishes. I don’t even have to make my own bed. Every one of the staff here is thoughtful and caring and attentive. She laughed softly. I think I remind them of their grandmothers.

He lifted the palm of her hand to his lips. I meant to say do you come to the courtyard often. I’ve always known where you were.

I find peace here in this courtyard. I love it. Thank you for keeping your promise to not interfere with my life.

I’ll admit there were times ... You married, became Madame Clotilde de Bertrand. He did not ask if she had loved her husband. He knew she had, as he had loved other women.

Florent was a good man, and he was good to me, she said as if to defend her choice. He died ten years ago. We had a daughter who died in childbirth, giving us a beautiful granddaughter. She’s twenty-three now, and her name is Margarete, but you must know all that, too.

He nodded and kissed her hand again. I do. What I don’t know is why you left without saying goodbye.

She shifted in the chaise and avoided his gaze for several moments. It was time for me to go. If I had stayed to say goodbye, I wouldn’t have been strong enough to leave. You can be very persuasive, she said with a knowing smile. I shouldn’t have called you. It was selfish of me. I didn’t consider that you might still have feelings for me after all these years. I’m sorry.

Don’t apologize, Tilde. My love for you is as immortal as I am. 

This is why I had to leave. She reached into her purse and retrieved a faded photograph that she held out. What do you see?

Us. At the Sugar Bowl. LSU’s Fighting Tigers scored the only touchdown of the game and came away with their first National Championship.

That was in 1958. Look again.

Tor angled the photo toward the flame of a white taper set inside a hurricane shade on the table and took a closer look. What am I supposed to see?

She took the picture and pointed at her image. The wrinkles on my face. The gray in my hair. I was forty and already looked ten years older than you. I didn’t want our friends to watch me age beyond your apparent years. And don’t say we could have moved away. Wherever we lived, I would’ve eventually been mistaken for your mother and then your grandmother, like, I’m sure, I am now.

He understood the angst that aging caused her, because many times he’d felt the same angst for not aging. If only I weren’t—

Don’t, Tor. I cherish our years together. They are precious to me. You are who you are because someone loved you to the point of her death.

The painful memories of his wife’s murder at the hands of King Harald Fairhair’s frenzied marauders scrolled across his mind like the trailer of a horror movie he couldn’t switch off. The vision of wild men, armed with battleaxes and swords, swarming the village, killing and plundering, almost rekindled a rage he kept buried deep within him. He cooled the heat of his anger by concentrating on the soothing sound of water falling into the fountain at the far end of the courtyard.

That was centuries ago, Tor said. We had no warriors to protect our homes, our families. We were simple fishermen, unprepared and ill-equipped to defend against the king’s berserkers. Those memories will never fade. He guided Tilde’s hand to his cheek. "Yes, I am who I am because of Siv. I cradled her in my arms, believing we would die together. Instead, with her dying breath, she invoked a pagan curse that made me immortal. Sometimes I wish she hadn’t, but then I would never have met you. I’ve had many lovers since