Tales from NOLA

There’s a certain kind of quiet in New Orleans after midnight. It’s not the peaceful kind—it’s the kind that comes after the storm, when the city’s heart stops pounding and you’re left with the echo of everything that just went wrong. Eddie and I walked in silence, the weight of the night pressing down on us like the thick, humid air.

Harold was dead. Nancy was gone. And Leander? Well, he’d won this round. Played us both from the start, and I hadn’t seen it coming until it was too damn late. We’d been nothing more than tools, moving pieces in some twisted game. And in the end, we’d handed Harold to them on a silver platter.

We ended up at The Green Door, our usual dive. The place was dark, damp, and smelled vaguely of old bourbon and bad decisions—perfect for a couple of guys trying to forget the world outside. The neon sign buzzed weakly, casting a sickly green glow over the peeling brick walls, and the music inside was just low enough to not drown out your thoughts, but loud enough to keep you from wanting to share them.

Eddie pushed the door open, and we slid into a booth in the back, far from prying eyes. It wasn’t like anyone would bother us here—this was the kind of place where people came to be forgotten. The bartender, Claude, gave us a nod as we sat down. He didn’t ask what we wanted; he already knew. Two glasses of whiskey appeared on the table before I’d even taken my hat off.

Eddie leaned back in the booth, swirling his drink lazily. “Well,” he said, breaking the silence, “that was a bloody disaster, wasn’t it?”

I grunted, taking a long sip of my whiskey. The burn was familiar, grounding. But it didn’t do much to dull the feeling that I’d let Harold down, even though I knew there wasn’t anything I could’ve done to stop what had happened. Leander had made sure of that.

Eddie shot me a sideways glance, his expression unreadable. “You going to sit there brooding all night, or are we going to talk about how we’re going to bill Harold for this?”

I snorted, despite myself. Leave it to Eddie to find humour in the worst of situations. “Guess we’ll have to forward the bill to Nancy. Or maybe Leander, since he’s the one who orchestrated the whole thing.”

“Assuming Harold’s not Nancy’s new zombie pet by tomorrow night,” Eddie quipped, his voice dry as the whiskey in his glass.

I shot him a look, but couldn’t hold back the smirk tugging at my lips. “That’s assuming Leander’s into zombies. Might be too much effort for him. He prefers his pets with a little more... vitality.”

Eddie raised his glass in a mock toast. “To Harold then—if he’s going to be raised from the dead, he’ll at least get his money’s worth.”

I clinked my glass against his, but the moment of levity didn’t last long. As much as I wanted to joke about it, the truth was I couldn’t shake the image of Harold’s lifeless body hitting the floor, Nancy’s blood-stained lips curled into that cold, detached smile. She hadn’t even flinched. Harold had poured out his soul, begged her to come home, and she’d thanked him by draining the life out of him. Just another victim to fuel her transformation into whatever Leander wanted her to be.

I downed the rest of my drink, slamming the glass down on the table harder than I meant to. “We were played, Eddie,” I muttered, staring at the empty glass. “The whole thing was a setup from the start. Leander knew exactly what he was doing. He used us to get Harold right where he wanted him.”

Eddie nodded, his expression serious for once. “Yeah, I figured that out about halfway through, but you seemed so invested in being the hero, I didn’t want to spoil the moment.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly, signalling Claude for another round.

Eddie leaned forward, elbows on the table, his gaze steady. “You can’t take it all on yourself, mate. Leander’s been playing this game for centuries. You and I? We’re just the latest distractions. You couldn’t have stopped what happened.”

“I could’ve seen it coming,” I said, rubbing a hand over my face. “I should’ve known he was setting us up. Hell, I walked Harold right into it.”

“You gave Harold a choice. He made it.” Eddie’s voice softened, just a little. “He was determined to see Nancy. Nothing you or I could’ve said would’ve stopped him. And if he hadn’t gone with us, he would’ve gone alone, and you know damn well how that would’ve ended.”

I knew he was right. But that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

The second round of whiskey arrived, and I took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in. The familiar warmth spread through my chest, but it couldn’t chase away the hollow feeling sitting in the pit of my stomach.

“This city chews people up,” I muttered, staring at the amber liquid in my glass. “No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, it’s always the same. Everyone’s just a pawn in the bigger game.”

Eddie tilted his head, watching me with that sharp gaze of his. “It’s New Orleans, Jake. You know how it is. The supernatural runs the show here. Humans like Harold? They’re just... collateral. If it wasn’t Leander, it would’ve been someone else.”

I knew that, too. But knowing didn’t make it feel any better. Leander wasn’t the first vampire to twist someone’s life into a nightmare, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. New Orleans was a supernatural crossroads, a place where the lines between human and monster blurred every day. And people like me? We just tried to keep things from falling apart, even though deep down, we knew we were barely holding it together ourselves.

“So, what now?” Eddie asked, lighting a cigarette and taking a slow drag. “What’s the next step for the great Jake Broussard? You gonna march back to Leander and demand justice, or are we just going to drink until this whole mess fades into the background?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not stupid enough to start a war with Leander. He played his hand, and he won. For now, at least.”

Eddie blew out a stream of smoke, his lips twitching into a smirk. “For now, huh? So, you’re planning on settling the score eventually?”

I shrugged, leaning back in the booth. “We’ll see. Leander’s been around a long time, but nobody lasts forever. Especially not in this town. One way or another, his time will come.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Eddie said, though there was a hint of caution in his voice. “Just don’t get yourself killed chasing revenge, alright? I’d hate to have to find a new drinking buddy.”

I managed a smile. “I’ll try not to.”

For a moment, the silence between us was comfortable, the tension of the night easing away as the whiskey did its work. But the weight of everything that had happened still hung in the air, a reminder that in New Orleans, nothing ever really ended cleanly. There was always another twist, another game being played just beneath the surface.

Eddie took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. “So, what do you think happens to Nancy now?”

I thought about it for a moment, the image of her cold, vampire eyes flashing through my mind. “She’s Leander’s now. Whatever plans he has for her, she’ll follow them. But that doesn’t mean she’s happy. She might’ve made her choice, but that doesn’t mean it’s what she really wanted.”

Eddie nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. Choices in this city tend to have a way of biting back, don’t they?”

I raised my glass. “No pun intended.”

He chuckled, clinking his glass against mine. “No promises.”

The night wore on, and the bar around us hummed with the quiet sounds of people drowning their own sorrows. Claude, the bartender, kept the whiskey coming, and for a little while, the weight of the night lifted, replaced by the familiar haze of alcohol and old friendship.

Eventually, though, reality set back in, creeping around the edges of my thoughts like the fog rolling in off the river. The case was over, but the feeling of failure wasn’t going anywhere. New Orleans had a way of reminding you that no matter how hard you fought, the city always won. The supernatural powers that ruled the streets and the shadows—they were bigger than me, bigger than any one case.

Eddie drained the last of his drink and leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. “Well, Jake, what do you say we call it a night? We’ve done all we can for Harold. Time to move on to the next poor bastard who needs our help.”

I sighed, tossing some cash on the table and standing up. “Yeah. Time to move on.”

But even as I said it, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Not here. Not in New Orleans.

We stepped out into the night, the air heavy and thick, and I paused for a moment, looking back at the bar. In this city, everyone was a pawn, moving through a game they didn’t even know they were playing. But I’d learned one thing: pawns can be dangerous if you know how to use them.

I didn’t have any grand plans for revenge, no schemes to take down Leander. Not yet, anyway. But someday? Someday, I’d make him regret using me. Regret what he did to Harold.

I’d settle the bill eventually.

And with that thought, I shoved my hands in my pockets and followed Eddie into the dark.