Mistaken for the Devil of New Orleans: Mistaken in New Orleans

By vanessa ashers

Paranormal meet cute with flirty banter, warm tension, and a curious outcome.

 

Clay Lenoir bartends with Southern charm and swagger, in a quiet New Orleans bar.  The establishment isn't supposed to make money, but wash money for the House organization.  Tiptoeing the line of legality, Clay has secrets and responsibilities, but, to be honest, he's feeling bored.

 

Clay is an Empath.  It's the least of his strangeness, but the hardest to ignore.  Things get complicated when he meets Ashlyn Deveau.  Her looks and demeanor shout damsel in distress, but her steel and intelligence make him cautious.  As her story unfolds, it looks like a set-up, but his empathy is telling him that she's not part of it.

 

Ashlyn Deveau has the shock of her life when a DNA test reveals she's not who she thought she was, but that isn't the most challenging part.  Something has changed in her.  She tastes voices, and hears things that aren't there.  It's all new, and it's dangerous to be different.  Afraid to tell anyone what's happening, she finds herself alone in New Orleans.

 

Searching for answers, Ashlyn channels her new strengths, as she plunges into a new world – the old-world charm, mystery, and magic of New Orleans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Quietly Publishing
• Release date: Nov 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798987164600

Book preview

Chapter 1  New Orleans

The window advertised ALL DAY BREAKFAST.  It was early afternoon and insufferably hot.  Ashlyn stepped inside and let the screen door close behind her.  She lifted her sunglasses to hold back her sandy blond hair.  She stopped, letting her eyes slowly adjust to the lower light.  She removed her earbuds.  The interior was blessedly quiet.  She waited, praying that the nervous awareness that followed her from the bus station would finally subside.  She would not allow one creepy guy to ruin her plan. 

At the bus station, she had hastily tapped the nearest recommendation for food.  The navigation app led her to Remi’s Diner, but unexpectedly, it was also a bar.  She sighed as she fished out her phone, and thumbed it on.  She needed a few more moments to compose herself and take in her surroundings without raising attention. 

The establishment straddled the line between all-night diner and roadhouse.  The linoleum floor was a black and white checker pattern.  Four booths with dark green vinyl seats sat along what should have been a bright window.  Instead, a heavy film covered the window, with large sections shouting out happy hours, karaoke, and the previously mentioned, ALL DAY BREAKFAST.  

02:03pm.  Ashlyn slipped her phone into her back pocket and scanned the room for other patrons.  The only staff member she spotted was the bartender, stacking pint glasses behind the bar. 

Undecided, she wavered.  The diner/bar was empty.  No one glanced her way, and no one followed her inside.  She let out a slow breath.  She felt sure that she was alone, and she wanted to remain that way.  Not sure if she should stay or go, she tried another favorite stall technique. 

May I use your bathroom? Ashlyn called out, taking only a few steps toward the bar. 

Without turning, but glancing at a mirror behind the bar, the bartender met her eyes briefly and nodded. 

With a small smile of thanks, she discreetly wove her way across the room, having spotted the pink neon sign for Le Bain.  She passed only the barest of customers, watching a soccer match on a widescreen.  None of the three looked up from their game.  It felt good to be invisible.  It felt safe.

The bathroom, like the rest of the diner, was quiet and empty.  Quickly making use of the facilities, Ashlyn took extra time at the mirror.  Her eyes remained the same as this morning, a deep brown that reminded her of her father.  She judged her reflection, and found it lacking appeal.  Her mascara and eyeliner had survived the heat and tears, but her nose had the soft blush of sun.  Her shoulder-length bob was messy as the long-denied curls sprung around her neckline, a consequence of a little too much sweat.  She finger-combed the front and gently blotted her upper lip and cheeks for moisture.  She didn’t want to – and she willed herself to acknowledge that it was nothing – but in the quiet, her mind insisted on reminding her of the incident. 

Earlier, when she stepped off the bus in the city, she instantly felt a prickly anxiousness.  Afraid she had forgotten something, she waited impatiently near the door for the remaining passengers to disembark.  When it was clear, she boarded the bus to check her seat again.  Walking down the aisle a second time, she checked her purse and thin laptop bag.  Reassured, she smiled at the driver and stepped off the bus again. 

The nagging sensation started immediately.  Someone was watching her.  Nervous, she tucked her purse more firmly to her side, and began following the crowd toward the main doors.  She scanned the crowd discreetly as she flowed with the others. 

A man waited for her near the entrance.  There was recognition and a thinning of the lips that could have been a smile.  He met her eyes and she balked.  He looked normal, and he held a stack of tourist maps, but he didn’t blink.  She didn’t know him, but clearly he waited for her.  She moved aside and checked her phone, thinking.  She watched him without staring.  He offered maps to those passing him, but his attention remained focused on her.  As she stalled, he drifted nearer.  Behind her, the station was clearing out.  She didn’t want to miss the chance to stay with the crowd.  She made a quick selection from the navigation app, and melted back into the stream of people and angled away from him.  She tried to ignore him as she walked past, but he darted forward and blocked her way.  She had to stop or run into him.  Chilled, his dark eyes bore into her, and his lips never lifted to a smile.  She took the map he handed her.  The disturbing tension broke when someone brushed too close to her.  Jostled, she darted away, and rushed to rejoin the crowd. 

On edge from her experience only minutes before, she flinched at sudden uproar over the soccer game.  The commotion grabbed her attention, and a strange chill crept over her skin, raising goosebumps.  She listened more carefully, focusing on the sounds in the next room.  On the television, the soccer commentators were rehashing the details of the last play.  The crowd settled, as the commotion died down, and she heard the shuffling and swishy noises of the men returning to their seats.  Stretching a little more, she heard the click of glasses as the bartender completed his tasks.  She never remembered being able to hear as clearly before. 

She glanced again at her reflection.  It pulled her from her thoughts and reminded her that she was safe.  She looked good, but tired.  She wanted to smile at her reflection, but stopped at a pursed lip smirk.  She was alone and no one knew where she was.  As she stared, strangely, she heard her own heartbeat, solid and reassuring.  She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.  She automatically brushed the wrinkles in her shorts and straightened her blouse.  She reminded herself that she was tough enough for anything with strength and grace.  She took a deep breath, and shook her hair back.  She mustered her resolve, and thought ahead.  She would order a sweet tea.  It would give her at least a half-hour of this quiet.  By then, everything would be set. 

Taking a more direct path toward the bar, she avoided the television and promptly had the attention of the bartender.  She flushed at his gaze.  She stood taller, thinking to herself, strength and grace.  She was definitely not invisible. 

As she crossed to the bar, she watched him back.  He was real – a beautiful mix of contradictions – both steady and original.  His longish, red-brown hair hung around his face, lending an artist or slacker quality.  His broad, strong shoulders screamed fighter and protector.  Casual and relaxed, his plain cotton t-shirt showcased his chest and defined biceps.  His hazel eyes smiled with warmth and intelligence.  He looked her up and down quickly.

Wasn’t sure if you would join me, the bartender said, with humor and a smirk, as Ashlyn stepped closer to the bar.

I wasn’t sure either, Ashlyn said, feeling awkward.  Pulling out her phone and setting it down before seating herself on a high stool, she replied, May I have a sweet tea?

The bartender, Clay, if the tag at the register was to be believed, dropped a napkin in front of her, before heading off.  Ashlyn thumbed on her phone, and took a deep breath.  She got started on her plan.

Over the last hour of the bus ride, she had made a promise to herself and a plan.  She would keep her nerves under control, and stay focused on her goals.  Within minutes, she had a private vacation rental for a three-night stay.  Incredibly, it was nearby with check-in available within the hour.  She sipped her tea, as she mentally tallied her options.  She had a place to stay.  She had her phone, laptop, and two credit cards for expenses.  She didn’t have any clothes for tomorrow, or a toothbrush, or deodorant.  Her car was more than 60 miles away.  She sighed, glancing around. 

With a small frown, she put her phone face down on the bar.  Looking for inspiration, she took in the many neon signs around the bar, each spilling colored pools of fuchsia and purple light.  She quickly spotted another television tuned to the soccer game. 

The next step was more complicated and nuanced.  She didn’t know where to begin.  The answer wasn’t as simple as a Google search; or a clever hack.  Without a planned script, she was afraid she would botch her opportunity.  She had only started, but she felt unprepared.

Suddenly, the television crowd erupted in cheers, and Ashlyn felt a nervous itch on her neck.  She was being watched.  Without turning, she studied the room in the mirror behind the bar.  Everything appeared the same, but the feeling remained.  No one had walked in since she arrived. 

Clay watched her from the end of the bar, as he studied the Solitaire game spread out on the bar top.  He watched as she went from driven, to uncertain, to sullen.  She looked out of place in his bar.  As he turned cards looking for an opening play, he ran through the most likely scenarios – bridesmaid, bride, or jilted lover – that brought a woman to his establishment.  After each card flip, he glanced toward her.  None of the normal situations seemed to match.  She had composure and polish.  She wasn’t calling people, texting, or crying.  When he reached the end of the deck, he frowned and was tempted to recheck the cards.  Not a single Ace presented itself.  Clay didn’t believe in luck, but the odds of dealing an unplayable hand had his attention.  Instead of fighting, he shuffled the deck, accepting his fate.  He slid the cards back into the box, as he glanced her way again.  She sat with a resting face, looking lost.  He didn’t wait for her to start crying.  He went to interrupt her from her thoughts.

You look like you have a lot on your mind.  After a pause, he asked, More tea? 

Ashlyn startled at his voice.  She had been idly staring at the television, not really thinking.  His presence pulled her back to the moment, and returned her attention to her problems.  Seeing polite concern in his eyes, she let slip the first question in her mind.

Do you know how much it would cost to replace all the windows on a car? she asked shyly.

"Cher, I have no idea," Clay replied with a smile.  She smiled back at the polite endearment, and watched him as he refilled her sweet tea. 

I would guess at least a few hundred per window.  Do a quick search.  They probably do online quotes.  When he set the pitcher down, he continued with a daring grin and mischievous glint, Are you planning on breaking out someone’s windows?  

I would never!  Ashlyn saw the smirk and was pierced through.  She couldn’t control the laugh that bubbled up, and spoke up to defend herself.

I was driving this morning and all at once, all the glass broke! she explained, her voice low to convey her honesty.  Still confused by what had happened, she continued.  Every window.  I was so scared that I grabbed my things and left the car.  I hopped on a bus.  Now, I’m here, and I don’t know if I should go back for the car.

Unsure, she watched his reaction.  Clay nodded his acceptance of the situation, unfazed by the puzzling details.

I suppose it depends on where you’re going, he said with a Cheshire-like smirk.

Glad to be glossing over the oddness, Ashlyn liked his approach.  It was like viewing each problem on its own, unique but surmountable.  Taking a breath, she felt she could say what was on her mind without the baggage of explaining the full situation. 

Monday or Tuesday, I’ll need to go back to my apartment at ‘Bama, she replied, easily.  Otherwise, I have a plan, but it’s flexible. 

Graduating?  That’s great!  Taking it a step further, Clay asked, You’re in town interviewing for a job, then?

No.  I think I’m here looking for my biological father, Ashlyn said.  Immediately, she froze, embarrassed that the truth blurted itself out, as if it had been waiting for any opening.  She had looked away, but she nervously glanced up after his silence.

His body was motionless as he watched her.  In a strange trick of light, his eyes reflected small flecks of the neon lights around the bar.  She saw his surprise at her disclosure.  She felt his concern and compassion in the way he held her eyes.  Ashlyn couldn’t stop herself from spilling the rest. 

Today has been just crazy, Ashlyn said.  I went to talk to my mom and she didn’t take it well.  She said I was lying to hurt her and Daddy, and not to come back.  Thinking back to the ugly scene, her mother’s shrillness echoed in her thoughts and made her want to cringe.  Ashlyn fought the lump in her throat as she continued.  She said she was going to pray for me, and to leave before she got the shotgun. 

Ashlyn paused, waiting for him to interrupt her, but instead, she felt comforted by his stillness and steady attention.  He thinned his lips – not a smile – reassuring her that he was there with her. 

Then, on the road back South to school, I got distracted from crying.  I missed hitting a semi, and the car ran into the grass.  Then, all the windows shattered.  Breaking eye contact with him, she grabbed for her tea, letting the cool condensation in the glass distract her. 

Thinking back, it still made no sense.  Ashlyn’s heart raced, and the air turned to molasses, making it hard to breathe.  She remembered the sharp noise and the checkered pattern before the glass shattered.  She felt her frustration and tears again, but fought back.  Trying to distract herself before she fell apart, she straightened her back and checked her posture. 

There was no cell phone signal, and I felt like I was being watched.  So, when a bus stopped, it seemed best to keep going.  She took a sip of tea and waited.  She took a longer breath.  In her mind, she repeated the last part again.  It felt like the most bizarre set of events, but when she looked up, the bartender offered a small nod of understanding and a small smile. 

Clay listened to her story.  He wanted to smile at her colorful entrance – with broken glass and a long bus ride – but she was shaken by the events.  He didn’t find the details strange or jarring.  He had heard many unsettling tales from across the bar.  New Orleans had its own gravity and tugged people into her orbit when she wanted them.  Like jilted lovers or disloyal bridesmaids, for each newcomer life changed, and forevermore would be defined by "before and after" New Orleans.  The city became a permanent mark on their Fate line.  

That being said, his thoughts reeled from her first revelation.  She was looking for her biological father.  He frowned.  Not knowing his own father, he felt a certain wrath for those that held irresponsible relations.  He carefully put his feelings aside.

He watched her, struggling to maintain her poise and confidence.  The Fates and New Orleans had tugged hard to shake loose this gem from her customary place.  His heart went out to her. 

So, was there a particular clue that led you to my bar, looking for your father?  A Polaroid?  Or matchbook? he said with a flirty smirk.  A lot of the regulars have been here for decades.  I can round ‘em up for questioning.

He had caught her by surprise and her smile beamed, searing him. 

"What?!  Ashlyn turned, shocked and charmed.  His voice was mirth and sass.  She smiled at his enjoyment.  After a moment, she began stammering, No, I didn’t follow any clues to your bar.  I followed an app." 

At Clay’s perplexed look, she held his eyes, hers wide and shook her head. 

"I’m in the city to look for family, but that’s not why I’m in your bar.  I’m here because the app said it was a diner," she said, hoping to clear up any further questions.

You’re sure?

I’m sure.

Are you asking to see our menu? he quipped back, with an exaggerated eyebrow raise and generous smile. 

Ashlyn laughed until tears came.  The uncertainty and fear that lodged in her chest all day, melted away.  She would figure this out. 

Chapter 2

Saturday

It drove her, from school, to her home to confront her mother.  It drove her away from everything she knew.  It drove her to New Orleans.  It kept her awake all night.  It was a simple cheek swab that revealed genetic ancestry.  It was a classroom exercise to confront the bias of racial identity.  It was meant to challenge assumptions.  It was DNA science, and it cut her off from the past and her family. 

It cut.  The stories she loved about her father’s family in central Texas no longer applied to her.  His jokes about barbeque being in their blood were not true.  Her genes did not reveal a single connection to the family she had heard so much about.  Learning that she belonged somewhere else, it hurt.  Learning that she could no longer say that she had her father’s eyes, it robbed her.  She was a leaf from the wrong tree – she felt misplaced.  She was in the place where all missing earrings disappeared to, a place outside or under where she had been just yesterday.  Lost.

The next morning, Ashlyn was up with the dawn.  She brewed a coffee with a complimentary singles pack.  Outside the window, she caught glimpses of the yellow-clad, street cleaning crew as they scrubbed the city for the new day.  Taking a small sip, she turned back to her room, studying the space.  The vacation rental was a small, clean, studio apartment with a full-size bed, and a futon sofa.  The listing claimed it slept four, but it was scarcely larger than her childhood bedroom.  The bathroom didn’t have a sink, but at least the toilet and shower were behind a pocket door.  The room had a door-sized window and iron railing, but no balcony to step on to.  Still, there was a coffee maker, microwave and mini fridge.  Last night, between bouts of crying, she had tried unsuccessfully to mentally rearrange the sparse furniture to make more sense.  It seemed there was no way to fit the sofa, except to have it facing the bed – making the bed seem like a stage.  It was frustrating, but a welcome distraction. 

News of their fight had gotten around the family.  Ashlyn almost buckled at the outpouring of vitriol from her family.  In the early morning, Ashlyn ignorantly answered the first call.  Instead of asking about her whereabouts, her aunt refused to allow her to speak, raising her voice to continue her lecture on honoring one’s parents.  As she listened, Ashlyn quietly cried at the anger directed her way.  To end the conversation, she mumbled her agreement to call her mother, but not to a specific time.  Within the hour, another family member called, and Ashlyn declined the call.  After listening to the first moments of the message, she deleted it and let all others go directly to voicemail. 

Perhaps to show support, her favorite cousin texted with the facts being