You're sitting alone at the Café Du Monde in New Orleans, Louisiana enjoying one of their famous beignets and enjoying the sights and sounds of the Big Easy. Suddenly a stranger wipes the powered sugar from your bottom lip and a smooth voice like honey rumbles, "You look lonely, Cherie. Care for stroll?"
His ice blue eyes flash something feral, almost canine, and he has a mysterious charm around his neck.
(Writing prompt written by Krystal Sena, spelling corrected)
My first instinct is to slap his hand away, but I suppress the desire, plastering on a wide, flirty smile. "I'd love to, Darlin', but only if you promise to skirt the Quarter." The memorized phrase feels like sand on my tongue, and I pray that the words given to me by the information broker are correct.
The corner of his eye twitches, as if he recognizes the phrase, and there is a darkness in his expression that disappears so quickly I question whether I really saw it. He bows slightly, the crescent-moon charm thumping against his collarbone. "It would be my pleasure," he says, although his smooth voice takes on a stiffness to it that wasn't there before.
I accept his outstretched hand and let him help me to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest. I can hardly believe that my week of loitering around the famous Café Du Monde is finally paying off. I swallow, trying to keep my wits about me. "Lead the way," I say.
I follow him down Decatur street, weaving around tourists and locals enjoying themselves at the various cafes and restaurants. He leads me in the direction of the Mississippi River, passing by Toulouse Station before he comes to a fairly private spot--as private as you can get in the French Quarter, anyway.
As soon as we stop, he drops his easy-going, flirty demeanor, a look of suspicion and rage replacing it. "Who are you?" he demands, his voice a low growl. "How do you know that phrase?"
I cross my arms over my chest, using my own anger to disguise my fright. "Does it matter?" I take a deep breath and cut to the heart of the matter before my courage fails me. "Where's Alice??"
He rears back slightly, his ice blue eyes blinking in confusion. "What?"
"Alice?" I ask, my tone accusing. "Short girl with wavy, blue ombre hair? Last seen leaving Café Du Monde with a guy wearing a crescent moon choker? Been missing for nearly three weeks now?"
His eyes narrow. "Doesn't ring a bell," he says, his hand slipping into his jeans pocket.
I roll my eyes. "Right," I scoff. "Like there's another guy around that matches the description."
He cocks his head. "Actually, there are several people fitting your description."
I frown. "Don't mock me," I hiss. I grasp my upper arm so tightly I leave white nail marks on my skin.
He glares. "I wasn't mocking you." He fingers the crescent moon charm. "There really are several people who wear these."
My eyebrow shoots up in disbelief. "What, are they a symbol of your gang or something?"
The surprise on his face almost shakes my resolve. "You really have no idea who we are, do you?"
I place my hands on my hips. "I know you're a bunch of no good thugs who have something to do with my best friend's disappearance," I say.
He shakes his head. "Go home," he says, his voice taking on a tone that almost sounds like genuine concern. "You have no business in this world."
"No." I stand firm, trying to appear intimidating despite the fact that he's a full head taller than me. "Not until I find Alice."
He closes the distance between us, his expression hardening. "Go home," he says again, looking me in the eyes.
A jolt of fear slips down my spine as I realize that his ice blue eyes are no longer round, but slitted. And the realization and dread hit me like an oncoming wave: this guy is most definitely not human.
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