Tales from NOLA

Night falls heavy over New Orleans, the kind of dark that sticks to your skin and settles in your bones. The streets were slick from a quick downpour, and the usual crowd of tourists and locals alike spilled from bars and jazz clubs, drunk on the sounds, smells, and whatever else they could grab. Eddie and I were weaving through the French Quarter, stopping at a few of my regular haunts to see what the underbelly of NOLA had to offer on our case.

First stop was Loup Garou, a werewolf dive bar in Tremé where the regulars could smell a lie before you could open your mouth. I’ve gotten good tips in there before, but tonight, nothing. Next was a psychic’s parlor on Magazine Street, run by an old fortune teller named Madame T. She took one look at the talisman Eddie found at the Shoemaker place and handed it back like it was a snake. "Vampires," she said, spitting the word like it left a bad taste in her mouth. Yeah, no kidding. I already knew that part.

Finally, we ended up at Club Neo.

From the outside, it didn’t look like much—a nondescript building tucked between a couple of rundown storefronts, its sign flickering neon red. You wouldn’t know it was a supernatural hotspot unless you were looking for it, which, tonight, we were. Word on the street was that Club Neo was run by Leander, one of the big vampire players in town. Suave, manipulative, and old enough that he probably remembered when the Spanish first planted their flag in Louisiana. If Nancy had gotten tangled up with vampires, Leander would know about it. Hell, Leander was probably behind it.

The bouncer at the door, a massive guy with the unmistakable scent of werewolf, gave me a once-over and growled, "What do you want, Broussard?"

“I’m here to see Leander,” I said, flashing him the talisman we found at the Shoemaker house. “Think he’ll want to know why I’ve got one of his trinkets.”

The bouncer grunted, eyes narrowing, but he stepped aside and opened the door. Eddie shot me a smirk as we stepped in. “Your charm still works wonders, Jake.”

Inside, Club Neo was the kind of place that hit you in the face. Loud, pulsing music filled the air, thumping through the walls and your chest, the lighting low and seductive, shadows moving between flashes of neon. Humans and supernaturals alike mingled on the dance floor, some swaying to the music, others locked in too-close embraces that had nothing to do with the beat. The air crackled with a strange energy—magic, hunger, danger. The scent of blood hung faintly under the layers of cheap perfume and sweat.

I could feel eyes on us as we moved through the club, sizing us up, wondering what we were doing there. Not that it was a secret—anyone who knew me knew I wasn’t there to dance. Eddie, though, he fit in like he belonged there, all smooth lines and crisp clothes. He could’ve been one of them, for all they knew.

Leander sat in the VIP section, of course. A sleek corner of the club, draped in deep red velvet and guarded by a couple more werewolves who looked ready to tear out throats if anyone got too close. Leander himself lounged on a low couch, surrounded by a few of his “followers”—young, pale, beautiful, and no doubt hopelessly under his thrall. He didn’t even look up when we approached, but I could feel the weight of his attention shift to us, like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Leander,” I said, not bothering with formalities. “We need to talk.”

He finally looked up, and there was that smile, all teeth and charm. Leander was handsome, in a way only a vampire could be—sharp features, dark hair slicked back, eyes like black pools that never quite revealed what was lurking underneath. He waved a hand, dismissing the pretty things draped around him, and leaned back, gesturing for us to sit.

“Broussard,” he purred, voice like silk. “What brings you to my humble establishment? I don’t recall inviting you.”

“I’ve got a missing persons case,” I said, holding up the talisman. “Nancy Shoemaker. She’s been hanging around with one of your people. You want to explain why I found this in her house?”

Leander’s eyes flicked to the talisman, his smile never wavering. “Ah, Nancy. Yes, I was wondering when you’d come sniffing around for her. You always did have a knack for poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze pinning me in place. “Nancy isn’t missing, Broussard. She’s exactly where she wants to be.”

I didn’t flinch. “With you.”

“With me, with my coven,” Leander confirmed, his smile widening. “She’s made her choice, Jake. She’s embraced a new life. One far more... fulfilling than anything she had with her husband.”

I leaned back in the chair, trying to keep my anger in check. Leander was playing with me, like a cat with a mouse, enjoying every second. “Her husband says she’s been acting strange. Withdrawn. Sneaking out at night. Sounds like more than a choice to me.”

Leander waved a hand dismissively. “Humans always think they know best. They never understand the power of real freedom. Nancy was unhappy, trapped in a life she didn’t want anymore. I simply showed her there was another way.”

Eddie, sitting beside me, spoke up, his voice as casual as ever. “So, what? You charmed her, glamour’d her into believing this was her choice? Isn’t that a bit... heavy-handed, even for you, Leander?”

Leander chuckled, dark and rich. “I didn’t need to glamour her, Mr. LeBlanc. Nancy was already halfway here before I even laid eyes on her. She was lost, searching for something more. I merely gave her a nudge in the right direction.”

My stomach twisted. Leander was telling the truth—or at least some version of it. Nancy might not have been outright kidnapped, but she wasn’t free, either. Vampires were insidious like that, manipulating people’s desires until they didn’t know where the manipulation ended and their own wants began.

“I want to see her,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I want to hear it from her.”

Leander’s eyes gleamed, clearly amused by my insistence. “As you wish. But I warn you, Jake, you may not like what she has to say.”

He snapped his fingers, and one of the werewolves near the VIP section disappeared into the back. A few minutes later, Nancy Shoemaker walked out, moving with a grace and confidence that was miles away from the timid housewife Harold had described. Her skin was pale, almost luminescent in the club’s dim light, and her eyes—once soft and warm, I assumed—were now sharp, cold, and distant. She wore a flowing black dress, something elegant and understated, but there was nothing understated about the power she radiated.

She wasn’t fully turned. Not yet, anyway. But she was close. Too close.

“Nancy,” I said, standing as she approached.

She looked at me, her expression blank, detached. “Jake Broussard. I’ve heard about you.”

“Your husband’s looking for you. He’s worried sick.”

She tilted her head, as if considering the information, then shrugged. “Harold doesn’t understand. He never did. I’m where I belong now.”

I could feel Eddie’s tension beside me, but I stayed focused on her. “You think you belong with Leander? You really think this is what you want?”

Nancy smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s not about what I want anymore, Jake. It’s about what I need. This is my choice. I’ve chosen a new life, one where Harold has no place.”

There was something off in her voice, something hollow, like she was reciting lines someone else had written for her. I didn’t buy it. This wasn’t just a woman running away from a bad marriage—this was something deeper, something darker. A ritual, maybe, or a bond, tying her to Leander in ways I couldn’t see yet.

“You’re sure about that?” I asked, one last attempt to reach her. “Because once you cross that line, there’s no going back.”

Her eyes met mine, cold and resolute. “I’ve already crossed it.”

The air between us hung heavy with finality. She wasn’t coming back. Not to Harold, not to her old life. And whether it was her choice or Leander’s manipulation didn’t matter anymore. She’d made up her mind, or it had been made for her, and that was that.

Leander stood, looking pleased with himself, like a cat who’d just swallowed a bird whole. “Well, Broussard, you’ve had your conversation. Satisfied?”

I clenched my jaw, trying to suppress the anger boiling inside me. “Yeah,” I muttered. “I’ve seen enough.”

Without another word, Eddie and I turned to leave, the weight of Nancy’s cold gaze lingering on me as we walked away.

Back outside, the night air was thick and oppressive, but I could breathe easier than I had in that den of bloodsuckers.

“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Eddie asked, lighting a cigarette and blowing a thin stream of smoke into the air.

I nodded, staring out at the streets of New Orleans, the city alive and humming beneath my feet. “Yeah. She’s gone.”

And now, I had to go back and tell Harold his wife wasn’t missing.

She was gone forever.