The Blazing Trilogy: The Blazing: a Vampire Story the Awakening: the Blazing Book Two the Rising: the Blazing Book Three

By Buffy M. Brinkley

THE BLAZING
Richard is a vampire. Viveca is the dream walker warrior who can save him. The Blazing is the cure, but it comes with a terrible risk. Can Viveca and Richard find a way through it without it costing them their lives or the love they have come to share?

THE AWAKENING
Richard is human again but Viveca sacrificed so much to save him. Can she find a way back to the warrior she once was? Forces of darkness are gathering in number and an enemy awakens. Can Viveca and Richard find the strength they need to fight it?

THE RISING
Viveca might lose Richard. The vampire returned and now there are two spirits at war within him. Something is happening to Richard. The rising is upon him and it comes with a power he must learn to control if he’s to protect everyone he loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664157392

Buffy M. Brinkley

BUFFY BRINKLEY fell in love with words at a very young age. Her love of reading sparked a love for writing. Throughout her adolescence and young adulthood, she had written numerous poems and short stories. As an adult, she has continued to write poetry, children's books, short stories, and novels that span the genres. Her love of writing is matched only by her love of family, writing recipes, and the culinary arts. She lives in Central City, Louisiana, where she spends her time developing story ideas, writing recipes, cooking, and running after her two dogs. This is her third book.

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Copyright © 2021 by Buffy M. Brinkley.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 02/10/2021

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

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CONTENTS

THE BLAZING

Prologue

PART ONE

Viveca

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

PART TWO

Richard

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

PART THREE

The Blazing

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

THE AWAKENING

Prologue

PART ONE

Viveca

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

PART TWO

Richard

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

PART THREE

The Awakening

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

THE RISING

Prologue

PART ONE

Viveca

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

PART TWO

Richard

Year One

Year Two

Year Three

PART THREE

The Rising

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Author’s Note

I

dedicate this book to my sisters, too numerous to count, who love me and expect me to be nothing more (or less) than myself. I love you.

To my parents, William and Doris, who raised me to be believe I could do anything. To my best friends for never letting me give up on that belief.

To Richard, for being the man worth dreaming about.

Special thanks to my Big Sister, Candida Orta, without whose beautiful spirit these books might never have been.

The Blazing

A Vampire Story

Buffy M. Brinkley

The Blazing

Prologue

February 21, 1903, New Orleans, Louisiana, 1:22 a.m.

Night had descended on the city of New Orleans like an impenetrable shroud. A thick fog rolled through the red-light district, blotting out the stars and the moon, leaving a sheen of moisture on the windows of the buildings and on the patches of grass that grew here and there among the cobblestones. The lanterns that hung on the veranda supports burned with eerie, haloing light.

It was cold. February was the coldest month of winter in the Deep South, and the working girls who stood temptingly under the overhangs of several brothels could feel the icy fingers of the weather stabbing at them through their thin garments. They wished for warmth, but warmth came only with patrons.

From out of the fog, a carriage rolled slowly up the cobblestone street. Its driver was a man of advancing age; thin, with a wizened visage and long bony fingers that gripped the reins tightly and drew the coach and two horses to a halt. The carriage itself was dark and almost sinister; its stillness both intrigued and frightened the girls on the verandas. Then a dark-gloved hand reached outside the carriage window and pressed on the small handle of the door, and the side panel opened outward; a small ledge was then visible as a means to step down from the darkness within it.

One man and then another stepped from the carriage. The shorter of the two gave instruction to the driver, who then drove the carriage toward the stables that lay ahead. The men were dressed smartly in dark trousers, overcoats, thinner adorned waistcoats, silken cravats, and top hats. Their appearance bespoke money, lots of it, and there were only two reasons to pay a visit to the red-light district: one was to employ a bartender, the other to employ a girl for pleasure. The girls readied themselves for the choosing.

∞

In the quiet hours before dawn, the dark carriage made its way back out of the red-light district of New Orleans and headed toward the more elegant parts of the city. Its shades were drawn tight, its occupants seated comfortably within.

I daresay, Richard, I cannot remember when I’ve had such a night.

You killed that girl for fun, Malcolm, Richard said wearily. Why?

Oh, come now, man. That’s what they’re for.

Richard was sulking again. Malcolm stared at him from the seat opposite. Richard, why do you fight it? Your nature will one day catch up to you. I almost pity the poor lass who finds herself in your company when it does, my friend.

Richard looked up then, his stark blue gaze glowing almost angelically in the near darkness. His brows inched closer together in an expression of anger for a moment, and then his facial features relaxed again. I never wanted to be . . . this. Richard nearly hissed.

Why do we have to have this discussion every time we dine out? Malcolm said drolly. Then upon seeing Richard’s miserable expression, he followed it up with, Oh, come now, Richard. You take human life too seriously.

And you do not take it seriously enough!

Malcolm laughed at this. Ever the martyr. Don’t you grow weary of controlling yourself all the time?

"I told you a century ago I would not change how I chose to manage this . . . thing we have."

"This thing? Oh, by thing, you mean the gift Alyssa bestowed on us?"

It’s a curse, not a gift.

Are you sure about that, Richard?

Yes. This one word Richard spat out like rotten fruit.

And where would you be without this gift . . . or curse . . . or whatever you choose to call it? Dead? Dead and buried and forgotten? Come, man. I brought you to Alyssa because we were the best of friends, brothers. You wouldn’t turn your back on a friend of two centuries for the blood of a prostitute, would you?

Despite her profession, she was an innocent. Haven’t you any mercy for them?

No, I don’t.

The girl you murdered—

Murdered? I did not murder her. I simply asked if she would like to die for me, and she agreed. But not to worry, brother, I made sure she would not return.

Don’t call me ‘brother.’ And you relished in taking that poor girl’s life. We don’t have to kill them, Malcolm.

You starve yourself, and to what end? For a mortal? They are dead anyway or dying. We simply free them.

But why the innocent? If you must kill, why could you not kill those who do harm to others?

Richard. This was not a new conversation, and Malcolm was all too tired of having it. The blood is sweeter, my friend. That is all.

You were a good man and a good friend. Do you really want to be this monster?

There is a fundamental difference between us, Richard. I have accepted what I am. I thrive in its power. And you . . . you are still fighting it. You waste your strength on trying to hold it at bay when all you have to do to be happy would be to give in.

I can’t exist like this anymore, Malcolm. I value the lives of the innocents too much to take it from them, and you do not seem to care. It’s all a game to you. These . . . people . . . Richard’s mind wandered a moment, and then he looked up at Malcolm. Have you forgotten that we were once like them? Don’t you even remember feeling the cold fingers of your own mortality on your shoulders?

And you long to feel those cold fingers again, Richard?

I long to exist in peace, to find a cure for this, whatever it is, and face my judgment when it comes.

Do you think that because you feed but do not kill, you are somehow better than I?

Of course not.

Well, my friend, what do you want of me?

Richard thought for a moment. What did he want from the fiend before him? And to what end, toward the peace he sought? After a lifetime of aimless wandering, he finally knew the answer. He raised his chin a bit and steadied his gaze on the man who was once his friend and brother. Nothing, I want nothing of you, Malcolm. I have remained in your company with the hope that you would see the need for this cure. But now I see this was a fool’s errand. I will take my leave of you tomorrow night and find my own way.

So you would turn your back on me. Malcolm seemed, for a moment, hurt—but only for a moment. Whatever his emotions were, were as suddenly extinguished from his features. Very well. I shall not try to stop you, Richard. But mark my words: one day you will come around, and you will seek me out. I only wonder how hospitable I will be then.

Malcolm, would you truly reduce yourself to hate me?

I don’t know, brother. Let’s see where the next century finds us.

PART ONE

Viveca

1

September 22, 1995, New Orleans, Louisiana, 4:17 p.m.

Viveca Moreau loved to hide from those who directed the church-led orphanage in which she lived. The cunning little girl always found a way to slip from Mother Superior’s attention and find herself on an adventure in the city. Despite the punishment that she might receive later, Viveca was nevertheless drawn toward the excitement of the French Quarter. People were everywhere, and they were always interesting to watch. There, a man was dressed like the Grim Reaper. There, a woman was in the shortest skirt she’d ever seen. There, a family of four huddled close together, lest they be separated by the throng of residents and tourists alike as they passed through the crosswalk on Bourbon Street.

Viveca looked back toward the little shop. She could still see the storefront, and as long as she stayed within a few blocks of it, she was positive she was safe. She was only eight, but she believed she was smart. And despite how many times she’d heard Mother Superior exclaim that she was very stupid to wander off, Viveca could not quench her sense of adventure. This was the perfect time of year for adventures too. The weather was cooler, summer was changing clothes with autumn, and the days were shorter.

She walked happily among the throng, moving toward that huddled family of four and away from the little shop. As she rounded the corner of Bourbon Street onto Canal Street, she headed toward the riverfront. Royal Street was just a block ahead, and she knew she could take Royal up to Saint Peter and make her way back to Bourbon Street from the cathedral. There were alleys she could take along the way to heighten her adventure. The old buildings fascinated her. Once, she’d made it all the way to Jackson Square and back before Mother Superior knew she was missing. It was a game. Whether she got caught or not didn’t matter.

Viveca took Royal and decided to take alleys toward the cathedral. As she approached the alley she intended to take, she found it blocked by the flotsam and jetsam of building renovations. She thought, at first, to turn back and make her way to the shop from whence she came, but she knew that it would take her longer, and Mother Superior would surely be onto her disappearance by then. Instead, she decided to travel one more block. Crossing through one of the alleys would be much faster than walking all the way around again.

As Viveca neared the next alley, the sun was beginning to set, and dusk was settling in around her. She knew that by five, dusk would begin to transcend into full night, and she would be in a lot of trouble. She knew Mother Superior would be leaving soon to take the children back to the orphanage. Oh, why had she decided to wander off? She picked up her pace and rounded the next corner. She could see Saint Louis Cathedral ahead. Perhaps, she thought, Mother Superior would not be missing her yet.

As she made her way down the alley, night began to descend. Viveca felt the day’s warmth ebb away. A light breeze sprung up around her, ruffled her uniform collar, and whispered through her hair. The overhead lamps flicked on and illuminated the alley. Shadows played ahead of her, danced across a collection of trash, waltzed up the building wall, disappeared, and reappeared on a dumpster farther down.

Viveca stepped gingerly around the trash and picked up her pace toward the cathedral. As she neared the dumpster, her pace slowed. She had no wish to go whizzing by and disturb a troupe of vermin. Careful and quiet was best.

She had just battened down her imagination about the rats when a strange sound rose behind her. She whirled and stared back down the alley. The breeze was picking through the trash as if it were a vagrant looking for food. She took a breath. Her imagination had certainly gotten away from her, but a sense of unease settled in her heart. Her heart beat faster; the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She sensed danger.

She peered into the shadows around the trash and listened intently for a moment. There was nothing. If it wasn’t the wind she’d heard, perhaps it was the scurrying of a rat or other animal beneath the trash. When she turned back toward the cathedral, she was suddenly pulled into arms too strong for her to get away from. Her face was pressed into the fabric of a dirty shirt. She flailed her arms about her, trying to wrench free from whoever had grabbed her, but to no avail. She began to scream.

Hush now. A gravelly voice spoke above her head, a man, a dirty one from what she could tell. Hush, or I’ll cut ya.

Viveca silenced her screams but did not cease to struggle. The man smelled of dirt and cigarettes, and she dared not imagine what else. Be still, he ordered her, and she lessened her struggle but did not stop completely.

Be still, or I’ll kill ya! he growled. His voice was menacing. He meant what he said; she was sure of it. She stopped struggling, but she kept her wits about her. If he gave her any chance to run, she would.

Let’s see what I caught myself. He held her at arm’s length. His big hands around her arms didn’t allow her an inch of motion. She dared look up into his face. He was haggard looking with a tangle of long hair spilling out from under a dirty baseball cap. His eyes were dark and beady, his lips full and chapped, his cheeks sunken. He looked like a zombie from one of the comic books some of the older girls read. His shirt was dirty and matted with grime. His pants were dark and reeked of mildew and other things she didn’t want to think about.

Viveca’s eyes grew wide with fright. She didn’t know if he meant to kill her outright, but if he was going to do something to her, she believed she preferred that he just kill her. Lingering a moment longer in the refuse stench of him made her want to vomit.

He leaned down close to her face. He was quite tall and had been looming above her. Now his face was but inches from hers. Ah, you’re a pretty one, ain’t ya? Wanna make daddy a happy man?

His breath was foul, as foul as the grave, she feared. Had the devil himself been before her, she believed even his breath would not have been so foul. She looked into his terrible face. Her lower lip trembled, but she managed to say, No.

At this, he pushed her back hard against the brick of the building. Her head banged smartly against it, and the world flashed bright for a moment; then she could feel herself losing consciousness. In the growing haze of her condition, she felt him reach under her skirt and remove her underwear. These were the ones with the butterflies on them, and she didn’t want him to touch them—ever. Her mind screamed against it.

Then she heard a snap and the lowering of a zipper. She knew enough to understand what was about to happen to her. She prayed for an intervention. She prayed harder for unconsciousness. She did not want to feel the thrust of his filthiness. Tears leaked silently from her eyes. She heard Mother Superior’s admonitions in her mind and wished with all her heart she’d listened.

She waited for his obscene touch, but it did not come. Instead, she heard what sounded like a struggle, a muffled cry for help, a gurgling, and then the sharp snap of bone and the hard thud of something large hitting the alley floor.

She heard footsteps coming near her. Viveca struggled to open her eyes. Her vision was blurred by tears and pain. Sweetheart? a voice asked. It belonged to a different man. This voice was an angelic baritone, smooth and rich with a strange accent. Are you all right, love?

She tried to say something, but the pain in her head throbbed when she moved. She felt him kneel down next to her, and then she felt soft fabric being folded into her left hand. Her instincts told her it was her underwear, and she grabbed hold of it with all the strength she could muster. Tears still flowed ceaselessly from her eyes, but she did not make a sound. What had just happened? Had this new man saved her? I . . ., she managed to say at last.

Did he hurt you, love?

Viveca struggled to see this new man. She opened her eyes as much as she could. Now daring to move, she brought her right hand to her face and wiped her eyes free of tears. The pain in her head still wobbled her vision, but she could see him. He was kneeling next to her, his expression kind, his blue eyes full of concern. All around them, dusk had deepened toward night, the cathedral lights shone brightly at the other end of the alley, and soft lamps burned overhead. Viveca looked past the man who’d saved her life and let her gaze fall on the still heap that had once been her attacker. Her expression screwed up in pain and fear, and she began to cry again.

The man before her pulled her gently into his embrace. You needn’t worry about him any longer. He will not harm you.

Viveca leaned into him. He smells quite nice, she thought. He smelled of aftershave and soap and something woodsy she couldn’t identify. She associated these smells with safety and protection. He was going to . . . hurt me.

He will not now, love.

Your voice is funny. Viveca regretted her words almost as soon as she said them, but she was a child, and honesty usually came without filter.

The man laughed lightly, a sound that trilled through Viveca’s soul. This too she associated with safety and protection. Only angels laughed like that. She was sure of it. I suppose it is, isn’t it?

Why is it that way?

Because I’m not from here, love. I’m from England.

Viveca looked up into his face. He looked like a prince dressed in casual clothes. He was as handsome as the princes in her fairy-tale books. His dark hair spilled long to his shoulders. His eyebrows were dark and arched just so above the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. His long, aristocratic nose made him look regal, and his mouth, now curved up in a reassuring smile, was perfect. His jaw was somewhere between square and oval, just square enough to make him look strong and majestic and just oval enough to give him a kindness. He looked like a lion with compassion.

Viveca smiled up at him. This man wasn’t there to hurt her. This man had rescued her. This man was trust. Thank you for saving my life. She was only eight, but she was smart. She knew that was what he’d done.

He smiled down at her. What do you say we get you home?

Okay.

Where do you live, love?

Saint Mary’s.

The orphanage?

Yes, sir.

And what is your name?

Viveca Moreau. What’s yours?

Richard Ambrose. At your service, Miss Viveca.

Viveca smiled. Maybe he was an angel and a prince. Only angels were so kind, and only princes said things like that.

2

October 4, 2005, New Orleans, Louisiana, 6:09 a.m.

Viveca Moreau woke with a start. When the weather grew cooler, she had the old dream of the alley, about the man who had nearly raped her and the man who had saved her. Richard Ambrose had carried her all the way to Saint Mary’s that night. She did not want to believe she had imagined him. But Mother Superior and the good sisters were certain that she had imagined him because no one had been with her when they’d opened the door that evening. Only Viveca had been standing at the door, her head still bleeding slightly from the wound, her underwear in hand.

The police had been called, and her underwear, despite her unwillingness to let it go, had been examined for traces of her story. She had been examined as well. The police had searched the alley, but no sign of the man who had attacked her was found and, stranger still, no trace of Richard Ambrose. The only trace of him, she realized, was in her memory, and even that was starting to fade with the decade. She had the sharpest images of him in her dreams. The only thing she remembered vividly, even now, was the exact color of his eyes—blue with hints of gray and green, deep royal blue in the light, clouded with gray and green in lesser light and shadow. His eyes were of a color only God could have made, and in her heart, she believed that Richard Ambrose existed. She believed now, as she had believed then, that he was a guardian angel sent by her parents to watch over her.

She stretched and took a few deep breaths to awaken fully for the day. At the foot of the bed, a small ball of fur stretched as well. Her cat, Ebony, lifted her head and looked at Viveca with sleepy amber eyes. Viveca sat up and reached to scratch behind the cat’s ears. Good morning, baby.

Ebony studied her mistress for a moment and then proceeded to curl back up to sleep. Oh no, you don’t. If I have to be up, you have to be up, Viveca teased. She knew Ebony wouldn’t pay her any mind. Ebony curled up and purred herself back to sleep while Viveca rose and prepared for the day.

Even as she packed her things, her mind drifted back to that long-ago alley and to the voice that haunted her dreams. Who are you, Richard Ambrose? she wondered not for the first time.

You’ll come back, won’t you? You won’t go off to college and forget about us? From the doorway, a girl a few years younger than Viveca pulled her from her musings.

Of course, I’ll come visit you, Della. Viveca smiled. I would never forget my friends.

Don’t worry, she won’t forget you. Another girl, about Viveca’s age, came to stand behind Della and draped an arm around her shoulders. She’s staying in New Orleans, and she’ll only be about a half hour away. I bet she’ll visit all the time.

Della smiled up at the newcomer. You’re going to Baton Rouge, aren’t you, Stacey?

Stacey sent a smile out to Viveca and then returned her attention to Della. Yes, I am. I’m going to major in civil engineering, and the university here doesn’t have a program. It will be harder for me to visit, but I’ll try, kiddo.

I’m going to miss you, Della said sadly.

Hey, Del, don’t be sad, Viveca said kindly. I’ll be over to visit as soon as I can. You still have Maggie and Jeanne and Paula. They’re your friends too.

I know, but I really like hanging out with you and Stacey, Viv.

Everything is going to be okay, Del. You’re a year older, so they’ll need you just like you needed us. You’ll see. Now go on and see if Maggie or Jeanne wants to help you with setting the table today.

Della’s smile returned, and she left to find her friends.

So it’s your last day, Stacey said.

Yours too, Viveca noted.

True, but I’m not attached to this place like you are. Stacey laughed.

I’m not attached.

Really? So why are you still in your pajamas and packing at a speed that suggests you’ll be here till Christmas?

I’m just taking my time. My appointment with my landlord isn’t until eleven, and my admissions counselor will meet with me later this afternoon. I’ve got plenty of time to pack, say goodbye, and get going.

You coming to breakfast? Stacey grinned.

I’ll be there soon. Just going to take a shower.

Okay, see you down there.

After her shower, Viveca joined her friends in the dining hall. The good sisters gathered at the head of the table, and Mother Superior led them all in a blessing. Everyone was respectfully quiet until the blessing was said. Then the usual banter sprung up around Viveca as breakfast was consumed.

Subjects flew around the room, changing at lightning speed. It was always an exciting time when people were leaving. And now it was Viveca’s turn to step beyond the orphanage doors and discover the world beyond its walls. Mostly, she was asked if she was excited, and she decided that she was. New experiences were always scary, but as she reflected on her first day at the orphanage, she knew her life was so much better now than then.

Viveca had been six years old when her parents were killed in an automobile accident. She too, had been in the vehicle, but she had been spared her parents’ fate. After a short stay in the hospital, children’s services determined she had no other family, and she was placed in the orphanage. At first, Viveca was hopeful that someone would adopt her or that family she never knew existed would come to find her.

By the time she was eight, she stopped allowing herself to believe that anyone would come looking for her. She sought gratitude instead. The good sisters had sheltered her with both a physical domain and love. She had made a few friends, she had her adventures, and she had met the most beautiful man in the world. Or at least she believed so. There were so many others worse off than herself.

As breakfast drew to a close and the girls began leaving the table, Mother Superior approached Viveca. Before you leave, child, please stop by my office.

Yes, ma’am, Viveca answered, and Mother Superior walked away.

What was that all about? Stacey asked.

I have no idea. I’ll let you know as soon as I speak with her.

Viv, are you still going to work at Butler’s Printing while you’re in school?

I have to. My scholarship to the university will take care of tuition and fees and would have taken care of a dorm, but I can’t leave Ebony. So I will have to live off campus, and my job is the only way I can afford rent.

Viveca had been working steadily for the small print shop since she was sixteen, and she had managed to save enough money to make a life for herself—well, the start of one anyway. Today was the day she would take a final look at the furnished apartment she would lease. It wasn’t far from the university. The French Quarter branch of Butler’s had been her bread and butter for the past couple of years. Butler’s specialized in printing services from simple copies to professional binding. The university branch was designed more for the students, who constantly supplied the business with orders for copies and binding of research and thesis papers. Viveca had been granted a transfer from the French Quarter to the university branch when she announced she’d be going to school in the spring. A small adjustment to her work schedule meant she could take a full schedule of classes while maintaining her full-time job. She knew it was going to be tough to maintain such an arduous schedule, but she was determined to try.

3

After packing the last of her things and placing Ebony comfortably in a kennel, Viveca said goodbye to her friends and made her way to Mother Superior’s office. In the twelve years she had lived there, she had seen the inside of Mother Superior’s office twice. Both times, she had been scolded for her adventures and been made to complete additional chores for her penance. She wondered, as she approached the door, what Mother Superior could possibly want of her.

Viveca knocked softly and then entered upon hearing the elderly nun’s bid to come in. Mother Superior was watering the many plants that resided in her office. Good morning again, Viveca, Mother Superior said without turning to look at her.

Good morning, Mother Superior.

Are you ready to depart, my child?

Yes, ma’am.

Mother Superior watered the last of the plants, set the watering can down, and then took a seat behind her desk. At last, she turned her gaze to Viveca. I must say that these past several years have seen you grow into quite a responsible young woman. I’m very proud of you, my dear.

Viveca blushed slightly. It was rare Mother Superior gave compliments. Thank you.

You were brought to Saint Mary’s after your parents were killed in an accident when you were six years old. You had no other relatives who were able to take you in at the time. And while you did give us some trying moments, you have since been quite a blessing to us.

Viveca sat and listened. Mother Superior was happy to make the conversation a monologue, and Viveca began wondering where this was going. When Mother Superior paused, Viveca took the opportunity to speak. I am sorry for all the trouble I caused when I was younger.

Mother Superior opened a drawer on the right side of her desk and withdrew two envelopes. Both envelopes were inscribed with Viveca’s name. Viveca’s heart began to race. What on earth was about to happen? The morning after you were returned to us all those years ago, someone has been sending documents to us on your behalf with instructions to present these envelopes to you when you come of age. Now that you are eighteen and preparing to leave, I am here to do my duty by these instructions.

I don’t understand. I don’t have any family. Who would send anything at all on my behalf?

There has never been any return address or name on any of these documents. I received the last envelope with instructions on validating the contents. I have done so, according to the instructions, and can now assure you that whoever has been doing this for you is, indeed, looking out for you, my dear.

I’m sorry. I don’t understand.

In this envelope—Mother Superior held up the envelope in her right hand so Viveca could see it—is documentation regarding a trust fund that has been set up in your name, which is now mature and contains a sum of one hundred thousand dollars. Mother Superior paused as Viveca’s eyes grew wide with wonder and astonishment. Mother Superior smiled at her young charge. Yes, my dear, it’s all for you.

But why? Who?

I’m sorry, but there has never been any way for us to find out.

And in the other envelope? Viveca dared ask.

Information about your maternal grandmother.

My what? Viveca all but whispered. She could barely believe that, in an instant, she was more financially secure than she ever dreamed possible, but to have family as well was more than she could ever have imagined. That envelope meant she wasn’t alone in the world. It meant that she had a connection to her mother. It meant that she wouldn’t just wander through her life never knowing a true sense of family. Viveca’s tears began staining her cheeks.

My dear, this is happy news.

Viveca nodded emphatically. It is, Mother Superior. And I am so grateful.

I have seen to it that your trust fund will be issued to you in installments per the instructions. And while it does not stipulate that you cannot work, it certainly would allow you to complete your classes without having to keep a full-time job while you are in school. And as far as the information on your maternal grandmother is concerned, I can tell you that she lives here in New Orleans, in the Garden District.

Viveca’s tears stopped, and she looked quizzically at Mother Superior. She lives here? Didn’t she know about me?

I don’t know, my dear. And we had no information about her until yesterday, when the envelope arrived, Mother Superior said and handed the envelopes to Viveca.

Viveca held the smooth paper of the envelopes between her fingers. Inside them was her future—a future she dared not even dream about before now. Thank you so much. She stood and stepped around the desk to hug Mother Superior.

The elderly nun patted Viveca on the back and held her for a moment. Now you must go and find your way. You will always be in our prayers, and if ever you should need us, our doors are always open to you. Mother Superior then pushed Viveca at arm’s length and gave her a smile.

Thank you for everything you have done.

You are welcome, dear. Now it’s time to depart.

Yes. Viveca gave one last smile and then took her leave from Mother Superior’s side. She collected her suitcase and cat kennel, placed the envelopes Mother Superior had given her in her purse, and made her way to her new life.

4

The move to her new apartment had been easy. Twelve years of living in the orphanage had taught her how to get by with very little belongings. A suitcase and a cat kennel were all she brought with her.

She met with her landlord, signed the lease, and moved in all within an hour. Settling in was a bit more daunting. She was used to little space shared with many. Now she had an entire apartment to herself. She walked a circuit through the place and, once done, walked it again.

Her meeting with her admissions counselor was in a couple of hours, and Viveca decided to make a grocery list and head into town. She took the trolley to the farmer’s market and bought enough food for the week. Then she ducked into the local general store and bought food and litter for Ebony.

When she returned, Ebony was sleeping on the couch. Apparently, it had taken no time for her cat to settle in. She smiled to herself and busied herself with putting groceries away and preparing Ebony’s litter box and water bowl. She sat on the couch and stroked Ebony’s fur. The cat purred in its sleep but did not wake. We’re home, baby, she whispered.

When it was time to go meet her admissions counselor, Viveca placed a bowl of food out for Ebony and then left for the trolley. Ordinarily, first- and second-year students resided in the on-campus dormitories, but Viveca had submitted a special request form along with her admissions application to live off campus. With the understanding that her scholarship would not cover her off-campus expenditures, she was afforded permission to live off campus, where she would be able to keep her cat.

Viveca stepped off the trolley at Saint Charles Street and followed the pathway to the admissions building. In the pleasant atmosphere of the admissions office, she checked in with a student advisor and sat among other students awaiting the campus tour. The university campus was beautiful. The academic buildings rose before her like ancient white-stoned titans. Dormitories contrasted in size and color of bricks, and the science building, where she would spend most of her studies, looked its part with its gleaming titanium structure and beveled glass windows. Viveca took the tour in with excitement. The spring semester would begin in a few months, and she could hardly wait to get started.

The tour ended where it had begun, and each student waited to meet with their admissions counselors. Viveca’s name was called, and she was led to an office not far down the hallway. A kind-looking middle-aged woman sat behind a large desk. She looked up at Viveca and smiled. You must be Viveca Moreau. I’m Dr. Helen Kyle. I’ll be your admissions and academic counselor for the duration of your undergraduate studies.

Viveca reached out and shook Dr. Kyle’s hand. Nice to meet you, Dr. Kyle, Viveca said with a smile.

Have a seat, Viveca. Dr. Kyle motioned toward a chair in front of the desk, and Viveca sat. Dr. Kyle turned toward her computer screen and tapped a few keys on her keyboard. I see that you’re majoring in psychology.

Yes, ma’am.

How far are you intending to take it?

I’m sorry?

Do you plan to go to graduate school once you’ve earned your bachelor’s degree?

I haven’t decided yet. I am interested in behavioral science and criminology, and I thought that psychology would be a good place to start.

I see. There are several behavioral science classes offered under your psychology degree, although they are not required to graduate. You can, however, take them as electives. I assume that you’ve decided on a career path?

I’d like to work with law enforcement. I’m interested in why people do the things they do to each other.

Dr. Kyle sat musing for a moment and then sat forward in her chair. Most people who are interested in law enforcement simply join the police academy.

True, but I think that if I am to do any good at all in the field, then I need to understand human behavior. I don’t set my sights on being a beat cop. I want to be a detective or a behavioral consultant. I don’t just want to catch a criminal. I want to understand them.

You certainly do know what you want. That’s so rare to see in my line of work. Usually, students have no idea what they want to do. Let’s put a preliminary schedule together for you, and I look forward to seeing you in the spring.

Viveca smiled. Thank you.

5

Viveca returned to her apartment with a sense of accomplishment and excitement. Ebony was still asleep on the couch, but the food in the cat’s bowl was gone, so Viveca knew that, for at least a little bit of time, the cat had been exploring its new surroundings. Viveca sat down next to Ebony and began stroking the cat’s soft fur. The cat didn’t wake, but it moved into her touch instinctively and began purring softly. Awake or asleep, Ebony always knew the touch of the person who loved her.

Viveca reached into her purse and pulled out the two envelopes Mother Superior had given her. So much had happened in so short a time. Her life—the life she had imagined—was suddenly changed. She read through the contents of the envelopes over and over. Her grandmother’s address was burned into her brain, and she planned to make a visit once she’d settled into her apartment. The gifts of financial security and family lay before her. Who had done such a thing? Could this somehow have been her grandmother’s doing? Maybe the trust fund was something her parents had created when she was born. These were questions she would rely on her grandmother answering.

Excitement rushed upon her anew. She had a grandmother, her mother’s mother, a connection, a family. Where her grandmother had been all this time was of no consequence to her. She was not alone in the world any longer, and that was all that mattered to her.

6

Viveca spent several days arranging the furniture to her liking, acclimating Ebony to her new surroundings, and adjusting to life outside the orphanage. Although she would be receiving regular payments from her trust fund, Viveca had also decided to keep her job. She enjoyed working at Butler’s. And since Stacey had made the move to Baton Rouge, her only friend outside the orphanage was her coworker, Brenda Matthews. She and Brenda had come to work at Butler’s in the same month and had become fast friends. And although Brenda was several years older, she and Viveca had been close as sisters nearly from the start.

Over the years, Viveca had confided much in Brenda. She was grateful for the big-sister figure in her life, someone she could talk to who would listen wholeheartedly and offer advice with compassion and love. When she was in Brenda’s company, she didn’t feel like she was without family. The friendship had sparked instantly between them, and the relationship grew closer over the years. Viveca could hardly wait to tell Brenda about the discovery of her grandmother and her trust fund and all that had happened over the past couple of days.

Viveca planned to visit her grandmother on Saturday, her next day off from work; and excitement, nervousness, and anticipation churned in her stomach in cycles of pleasant and unpleasant fluttering of butterfly wings. She chose to believe, for the moment, that her grandmother did not know she existed. If her mind wandered from this belief even for a moment, the nagging question of why her grandmother had allowed her to grow up in an orphanage would rush in and weigh on her mind and heart.

7

On Friday, Viveca found herself busy with Butler’s patrons. University students came in droves to have their midterm papers printed and bound. Brenda worked alongside her for much of the day, but neither had a moment to talk, and because of the busyness of the shop, the two women staggered their lunch breaks.

When Viveca and Brenda came side by side again, Viveca asked, Dinner tonight? Much to tell.

"Sure, hon, if we ever get out of here." Brenda shot Viveca a warm smile and chuckled in between greeting, assisting, and taking payment from students. Viveca reflected her smile, and the remainder of the day flew in a mirage of desperate students needing papers printed, copied, and bound.

8

Viveca turned the key in the lock and made sure the door to Butler’s was secure. See you in an hour? Viveca asked Brenda as she placed the key in her purse.

The seafood joint on Tchoupitoulas? Brenda suggested.

Sounds great.

You’re up to something, Brenda observed.

No. Just have lots to tell.

Who is he?

What?

You met someone, right?

Better. Viveca raised her eyebrows and gave a smart-aleck smile to her friend.

And you’re gonna make me wait?

An hour won’t kill you.

It might.

No, it won’t. See you there.

Brenda smiled and made her way to her car while Viveca turned and walked toward home.

The night opened up like a beautiful glowing flower. The residential streets around Butler’s and the university were full of students gathering for parties and walking to various restaurants nearby. Viveca walked toward home with a sense of warmth around her. The night was cool, but she felt as if some dashing hero had chivalrously placed his jacket about her shoulders. The thought made her smile, and she practically skipped up the steps to her door. Of all the things Viveca was, the part of her that was an incurable romantic surprised her most. Orphans didn’t usually cling to hope; they were realists. So why was she so incurable?

She took in a breath, and a memory came to her suddenly—so suddenly as to leave her breathless. She had been fifteen years old. Every year the all-girls Catholic school where she spent most of her elementary and secondary studies gave a dance and invited students from the all-boys Catholic school. She had been excited that she was finally old enough to attend.

His name was Charlie. He and his friends were seniors, and they each made their way around the dance floor, asking all the girls to dance. Viveca and Stacey had been sneaking peeks of the dance for the past two years, and then that year, they stood among those girls waiting for their turn to dance with Charlie. When Viveca had first seen him two years before, her crush was instant. He was tall and handsome and had a glorious smile, and he looked kind. His friends were the same.

Then came her turn. Charlie approached her, held out his hand, and asked her to dance. Viveca reached out to take his hand, and he pulled her to the dance floor in one graceful, fluid motion. Her dress twirled about her as he spun her around once and then pulled her into his arms, crushing her to his chest, his left hand at the small of her back and her left hand in his right. You’re lovely, he said, his voice much deeper than she had imagined. His eyes were a honey-brown liquid with a longing she didn’t understand. And his hands were holding her just a bit too tight in that moment.

She smiled up at him and spoke her thanks but tried to distance herself a bit. She moved her right hand from his shoulder to the upper part of his chest and pushed against him. He held fast. Where are you trying to go, Viveca? he asked.

You’re holding me just a little too tight. Will you let go? she asked and looked up to meet his eyes again. When she did, she could find no kindness. A harsh coldness looked back at her. Her instinct told her to end the dance, but her manners told her to stay for the duration of the song. As the melody played itself out, Viveca tried to keep calm. She was, after all, in a room full of people. If his intention was to hurt her, she was sure he wouldn’t try with so many witnesses.

As the song reached its midpoint, a hand fell to Charlie’s shoulder, and a voice spoke, quiet but authoritative, a voice she knew—a voice she’d never forget. May I cut in?

Charlie looked back and immediately loosened his grip. He released Viveca to the man who spoke, and Viveca found herself dancing with Richard Ambrose. Miss Viveca, he said as he held her lightly and moved her about the room.

Viveca said nothing but allowed him to lead her around the floor. Warmth swathed her—a distinct feeling of safety—and she was suddenly the most beautiful girl there, her own version of Cinderella dancing with the prince.

When the song ended, he brought her hand to his lips and left her side. She tried to follow him with her eyes, but he had moved too quickly and disappeared into the crowd. Viveca made her way back to Stacey’s side. Was he nice? Stacey asked.

He was beautiful, Viveca announced dreamily.

Can’t wait for my turn.

Viveca looked at her friend. Your turn?

Of course! You got to dance with Charlie. Why not me?

Viveca shook her head. Not Charlie. Richard, Viveca corrected.

Who?

You must have seen him. He interrupted my dance with Charlie.

Um, no. I saw Charlie leave. Then I saw you move to the other side of the room. I just figured you were letting the rest of the dancers have the floor.

You didn’t see him? Tall, handsome, dark hair, blue eyes, strong jaw, aristocratic nose, older gentleman?

"If a man had been here who looked like that, I’d have seen him!"

But he danced with me. Surely, you saw!

Sorry, Viveca. I didn’t see him. Wish I had.

9

So how does it feel to be out of the orphanage, and what is it you wanted to tell me? Brenda asked between bites of shrimp and sips of wine.

Viveca shrugged and then said, It feels strange some days. And other days, it feels wonderful. It’s an adjustment, either way.

You’re stalling. Spill it!

I spoke with Mother Superior as I was leaving the orphanage. She gave me two envelopes. One contained information on a trust fund in my name for a substantial sum of money—

Wow, your parents?

I don’t know. There wasn’t any other information attached.

And in the other envelope? Brenda had forgotten all about her seafood and was intently staring at Viveca with her elbows propped on the table.

Information about my maternal grandmother.

Grandmother? You have a grandmother?

Yes. I can’t believe it. I have a family, Brenda.

Oh, sweetie, that’s wonderful.

You know you’ve always been like a sister to me, right? I don’t know how I could have—

And I’ll always be that sister to you, Viveca, always. But now you’ve got a blood relative. That’s so exciting!

I’m still so confused about it. Where has she been?

Viveca, can I ask you a something?

Of course.

About a month ago, you confided in me the strange man you encountered in the alley near Saint Louis Cathedral. Now you’ve received information about your grandmother and a trust fund that will allow you to do whatever you want. Do you think he might have something to do with it?

Viveca thought about it for a moment. I don’t even know if he really existed. The good sisters told me that he must have been a figment of my imagination, that I must have somehow gotten away from the bad man in the alley, and that I was so traumatized that I made up my rescuer as a way to deal with the trauma. Honestly, Brenda, I want to believe he exists. But why did he disappear? Where has he been? And where is he now?

The two women sat in silence for a moment, and then Brenda spoke. You said that you stopped going on your little adventures after this encounter. But don’t you ever get the urge to just go do your thing and walk around the city?

I do. And in some ways, I have these past few days. I don’t live far from here. I walked here tonight to meet you. The city is so full of beauty and culture, but it has its teeth too as I well remember. I’m just more careful.

Yes, and aren’t you scared to live by yourself?

Strangely, no. I am more cautious, as I’ve said, but I’ve never felt like I needed to fear this city or anyone in it. I feel like I was protected then and that I’m somehow protected now. It’s weird, I know, but I’m not afraid.

Brenda smiled. Your guardian angel still watches over you then.

Viveca smiled. Yes, I believe he does.

When dinner was over, she walked with her friend to the bus stop and waited until the bus had picked up her friend before heading home. The streets were well lit. There were people all around her. She walked among them without fear but not without her wits. She knew well that danger lurked close by and that, at any moment, the happy bubble around her could burst.

As she neared her apartment, she thought about that long-ago night in the alley. The memory in her waking mind always frustrated her. She could see, hear, and smell her would-be attacker vividly, but Richard Ambrose always seemed to elude her. She sighed heavily and stopped trying to force it on herself. She remembered his name, at least. That was something. Yet apart from brilliant blue eyes that haunted her dreams, his name was all she had of him.

10

Ah, you’re a pretty one, ain’t ya? Wanna make Daddy a happy man? Viveca tossed and turned in her sleep. The echoes of a long-ago threat thrust her back into her childhood where she stood in a dingy alley as the sun had all but set and dusk was settling all around her. Her heart beat rapidly.

No, she said as her eight-year-old self and felt his big hands shove her backward and the sickening thwack of her head hitting the brick wall behind her. The dirty man’s image blurred and wavered in front of her, and she could feel herself losing consciousness.

Stay awake! she told herself. Then as it was in life, she felt his hands under her skirt grasping at the waistband of her underwear and pulling them from her body. Her mind rebelled. No! No! No! Don’t!

She could hear him grunt his approval of the butterflies on her underwear. Her grown-up mind understood this grunt. She understood that he was happy that her underwear reminded him that he was about to hurt a child. Her child/adult mind tossed her stomach into a queasy state. And she waited for the scumbag to touch her.

Then there was another sound, an almost inaudible thud, and then the sounds of useless struggle and of sucking through a flattened straw. Then there was another thud—a louder one—and then the sound of a voice that could only have come from an angel. Sweetheart?

And the dream twisted in her memory. She was no longer in the alley, no longer eight years old. She was sitting in her new apartment, in the living room, on her sofa. One foot was folded under her, and one touched the floor. And across from her, sitting in her recliner, was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Richard, she said as she gazed on him.

Miss Viveca. He almost sang; his low baritone, soothing and comforting, sounded all around her like music and enfolded her in a strange warmth.

She rose from her seat and approached him. As she neared, he seemed to be stiffening in his posture, almost as if he were systematically placing controls over every muscle in his body. She knelt before him and reached her hand out to touch his face. Don’t, he said softly, and she paused her hand where it had extended toward him.

Her eyes met his, and what she saw there broke her heart. A deep, fathomless sadness looked back at her. As close as he was physically, he was a million light-years removed with just that expression in his eyes. She withdrew her hand but remained kneeling before him. Why can’t I remember you?

He gave a half smile that only accentuated the sadness in his eyes. You only need to know that you are safe.

Did you send me the information about my grandmother? Are you behind this trust fund?

You are safe, sweetheart. That is all that matters.

Are you my guardian angel?

He gave a rueful chuckle. I could only wish to be such a figure. But no, my dear, I am no angel, far from it, I’m afraid.

But you saved me all those years ago. I didn’t imagine you, did I?

That half smile again and those sad eyes. Sleep now, Miss Viveca. All will be better in the morning. He stood then and reached his hand down to her. She readily placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She looked up at him.

He was tall and broad shouldered. He beheld a handsomeness and charm beyond her comprehension. His dark hair was long and tied back, his eyes were a stark blue in the light of her living room, his straight nose lent him an aristocratic air, his mouth was perfect, his jaw was square and strong but with just an ounce of softness that assuaged his fierceness and gave him a kindness. And he was something more. He was a special sort of alluring. She was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Her silly fairy-tale fantasies about him that she had had as a child were being replaced with a soft desire that had begun to burn in the center of her soul. She was assessing him now as a woman attracted to a man, and she knew she must keep herself in check. If he was only a dream, she wouldn’t be able to withstand waking with the morning light.

And there was something else she was just now considering: a decade had passed, yet he had not seemed to have aged a day. This she shrugged off without much thought. Her childhood memories were incomplete. His age she could have mistaken, and she let this thought go immediately.

There was a new sensation. She was being pulled along toward her bedroom. Where are you taking me? she asked, already knowing.

You must rest. You have a big day tomorrow, do you not?

How did you know about that?

I just do. Nothing to be frightened about, Miss Viveca. You may rely on it.

She smiled then. He had such a fine way of speaking. The English were always so proper in her experience, but there was something so antiquated about his manners and the words he chose to use. He didn’t use modern jargon at all. She found it refreshing.

At the doorway, he said, Good night, Miss Viveca. He brought the fingers of her hand he still held to his lips and alighted a brief kiss of respect on them. Then he released her hand and stood aside so she could enter her room.

Will you come back? she asked, pausing in the doorway and looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

He smiled ruefully down at her and took a step back away from her. The distance between them suddenly expanded, and Viveca could feel herself falling backward. She gasped awake, safe in her bed, with Ebony sleeping soundly next to her and the apartment as silent as when she first fell asleep. She tried to blink back her tears, but a few managed to escape and fall hopelessly to the blanket. She wiped her eyes and lay back on the pillows.

The digital clock on her nightstand displayed 4:23 a.m. She closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep, but she couldn’t. She was being haunted now by memories of sad deep blue eyes and the feeling of being held at a