Sanctuary

I've been staying in New Orleans for the past week, staying with John at his place, to be exact. I'll come back to that, but first, let's play a little catch-up.

The poor murdered girl I found in that old abandoned house? Well turns out, she was a distant cousin of mine. Talk about a blow. My family is very upset, as am I; I was not expecting that...

I never knew her that well; we had only met maybe twice when we were kids, but she seemed like a sweet girl. She was a little wild, the black sheep of the family, you could say. Like many of the women in my family, she had a touch of psychic ability; lucky at buying lottery tickets, knowing family secrets, that sort of thing. She drank and dabbled in drugs, probably to quiet her brain and deal with something totally beyond her control.

The frequency of my dreams is wearing on me: dead relatives invading my sleep, doom predictions, warnings, foreboding messages. The other night, my great grandmother appeared to me, young and pretty, bewitching in a long white gown, admonishing me for not calling on my gifts and using the spells that could help me and the other women. Other women?

Like all ghosts, she vanished before revealing the important details. The crazy dead: loving to haunt you, but so unreliable sometimes.

One night, I awoke to find myself in the attic. I had sleepwalked into the hight dusty attic, sweating and sticky from the heat and the layers of dust coating my slick skin. I looked down to see I was holding the old leathery bound book of spells; my family's Book of Shadows. The pages were so delicate and old with age, pages and pages of stiff parchment filled with ancient incantations and various grimoires. I carried it begrudgingly back down to my bedroom, stowing it under my bed.

Soon after, I told John I was thinking about staying in a nice hotel in New Orleans for a few days, just to get away from the locals' stares and questions and bad dreams. The next day, he came to my house, told me to pack a bag, and whisked me away to an opulent French Quarter hotel for two days and nights! There was a huge tub in the Parisian bathroom, with its beautiful gold and red wallpaper and decor, and a massive sturdy bed with a thick down comforter and soft sheets. It was so exquisite to do it in a new bed, in a new place. (Details in the next post, I promise!)

After we left the hotel, he coaxed me into staying with him for a few days, but I didn't need much convincing. It's been so much fun with him; I feel safe. It's kinda like playing house, cooking and picking out movies to watch, walking together through the shops in the French Quarter holding hands, and not being able to wait until we both slip into bed together each night. That first touch in the dark, the weight of him on top of me, making my skin burn so hot; sometimes rough and fast and hard, yet always ending in soft embraces. Like a raging fire, slowly fading to coals of glowing embers.