Dark Perception: The Corde Noire Series

  lexandrea Weis

  Dark Perception

  By

  Alexandrea Weis

  Dark Perception

  By

  Alexandrea Weis

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © Alexandrea Weis 2016

  Smashwords Edition

  First Edition Weba Publishing February 9, 2016

  Smashwords Licensing Notes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  Book Cover: Laura Hidalgo Designs

  Editors: Maxine Bringenberg

  Chapter 1

  The energetic atmosphere of the French Quarter was almost palpable. Everywhere there was music, laughter, and the smell of some mouth-watering meal being prepared in one of the many restaurants.

  Emerging from the shaded sidewalks beneath the long balconies of the Pontalba Apartments, a stunning redhead turned off Chartres Street and into the bright sunlight radiating down on Jackson Square. Filled with people enjoying the last inklings of spring, the black fence around the Square showcased an eclectic array of artists, musicians, mimes, psychics, and tarot card readers. There to finagle some needed cash from the pockets of the ambling tourists, each of the street performers tried to outshine the rest. As the attractive woman passed a mime and a trio of violinists, she tugged at the brown leather backpack slung over her shoulder. Whipping her long braid of reddish-gold hair around, she stopped when she caught her reflection in a nearby store window.

  Her creamy skin was already turning pink, and though she tried to pat away the extra blush from her high cheekbones, she swore she resembled a strawberry. Her pink lipstick had disappeared—she never could keep the stuff on—and the black eyeliner she had so carefully traced around her bright green eyes was beginning to smear, making her look like a raccoon. It was at times like this Melinda Harris wished she had grown-up in a house full of women instead of a father and four brothers.

  “No wonder I’m better at throwing a football than applying mascara,” Melinda mumbled under her breath.

  Sticking to the shadows beneath the balconies of the Pontalba Apartments, she eyed a spot along the black, wrought iron fence that was lovingly shaded by a leaning oak tree. An empty, metal folding table and chairs beckoned. As she approached, a woman’s harsh voice made Melinda cringe.

  “You’re late.”

  With shocking pink hair and wearing a white, flowing cotton dress, the woman had a pair of vivid blue eyes that complemented her pale complexion, but clashed with the tattoos covering her arms and chest.

  “I overslept, Ellie. Sorry.” Melinda tossed the backpack on the table next to her.

  “I had to fight off that bitch, Antonia, for you. She wanted to do her aura readings in your spot.” Ellie inspected her face. “Do you have makeup on? You never wear makeup.”

  Melinda anxiously rubbed her hand over her cheek and then waved to the table by the fence. “Thanks for setting up for me.”

  “That wasn’t me and you know it. He set up your table and chairs first thing this morning. He’s been by twice already, asking for you.” Ellie looked her over again with her invasive blue eyes. “So who caused you to oversleep?”

  “Who?” Melinda gave her scornful smirk. “Very funny. I stayed for a late set at the Ritz-Carlton last night to make some extra cash.”

  Ellie sat back in her chair and frowned her hot pink lips. “I thought you were going to quit playing piano there.”

  “I may hate playing piano in the lobby of some posh hotel to a bunch of tone-deaf tourists, but it pays the rent.”

  “You need to pursue your music, Melinda. You’re never going to get anywhere in hotels or doing readings. You need to be spending your time writing music and performing in the clubs.”

  Melinda directed her attention to her backpack. “No bands are interested in hiring a piano player until they have cut an album. No one wants to cut an album with me until I have played in the clubs.” Melinda unzipped the backpack and pulled out a folded piece of green cloth. “So, until I’m discovered, I’m stuck hocking my pseudo-psychic skills and my music to tourists on street corners and in hotel lobbies.”

  “‘Pseudo-psychic skills’?” Ellie roared with deep-throated laughter. “Melinda, you’ve got more talent in your little finger than all the fakes hanging out here. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why you don’t go legit with your ability.”

  Melinda shook out the green fabric from her backpack and placed it over the edge of her table. She then secured the cloth under her leather backpack, collected two red candles, and set them on top of the cloth to keep it weighted down.

  “I thought my talent was my music, not reading people.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, kiddo, you’re a really good piano player,” Ellie told her with a shrug. “Still, your reading skills are better than anyone I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been doing readings here for close to ten years.”

  Melinda retrieved a deck of tarot cards from her backpack and placed them on the green cloth. “I appreciate that, Ellie, really I do, but I want to be a serious musician, not some crazy woman on late night TV selling her psychic abilities to drunks and bored housewives.”

  “Maybe you should use those skills of yours to help fund your musical aspirations.” Ellie waggled her finger at Melinda. “You and I both know there are a ton of people in this town who would love to get their hands on a legit psychic.”

  “There are no legit psychics on Jackson Square, remember?” Melinda scoffed while yanking a beige money purse from her backpack. “You and Jack told me from day one that once you end up here, you’ll always be labeled as a fraud.”

  “You’re never gonna be seen as no fraud, Melinda. Everyone knows you have a gift.”

  Melinda’s light snicker floated in the air. “Jack says I have a problem.”

  “If you ask me, Jack’s the one with the problem.” Ellie gazed into the crowds. “Speaking of which, where is our cohort in crime? He should be passing by about now with our coffees.”

  Melinda made herself comfortable in her chair, and then placed the money purse in her lap. “You know Jack. He probably stopped to flirt with the girls over at Café Du Monde.”

  “Oh, please.” Ellie gave an overly dramatic roll of her blue eyes. “He may flirt with every skirt he sees, but his heart belongs to you.”

  “Stop playing matchmaker, Ellie. It’s getting old.”

  “Just stating a fact, kiddo. Why do you think he’s always buying you coffee, setting up your table? He doesn’t do it out of kindness. He likes you.”

  Melinda leveled her green eyes on her friend. “How many times have I told you? Jack and I—”

  “Have no interest in being more than friends,” Ellie jumped in, finishing her words. “You keep telling me that. But when that man looks at you, I don’t see friendship in his eyes.”

  “Then you need glasses,” Melinda countered. “You and I both know Jack is a better friend than a boyfriend. How many girlfriends has he gone through since we met him?”

  Ellie gave a throaty rumble of laughter. “I lost count.”

  Melinda pulled at the green fabric on her table, pretending to smooth out some invisible wrinkle. “Well, I’ve kept count. He’s gone through ten girlfriends since the first time we both met him three years ago. We w
ere—”

  “Fighting with Mark Jessups over our spot here under the tree.” Ellie peered up at the leaning oak tree behind them. “Jack stepped in and came to our rescue. He’s been at our side every day since. Hell, he’s been more reliable than my husband.”

  “Leave Bill out of this. He’s a good man, better than …” Melinda’s voice faltered.

  Ellie studied the delicate redhead next to her. “It’s been three years, Melinda. You need to let him go.”

  Melinda lowered her eyes to her table. “I have let him go. I’ve moved on.”

  “Sausage Neck is not my idea of moving on. He’s more like moving backwards.”

  Melinda swerved her angry green eyes to her friend. “Mike Johnson is a great guy, and he doesn’t have a sausage neck. He plays professional baseball, and—”

  “Semi-professional baseball. The Zephyrs aren’t exactly the Yankees,” Ellie cut in.

  “It’s baseball, and he gets paid to play it.” Melinda eagerly scanned the few tourists milling about. “So that makes it professional.”

  Ellie crossed her arms and stared at Melinda. “Perhaps you should wait until you two have been dating for a few months before you start defending his career choice. You’ve had what … two dates with the guy? Already you’re struggling to find reasons to keep seeing him.”

  “I am not,” Melinda boldly defended.

  “Are not what?” a man’s deep voice harassed.

  When Melinda spotted a pair of inquisitive hazel eyes staring back at her, she smiled. Not what most women would have considered handsome—with a wiry build, and unruly, thick, light brown hair—he had dimples in both cheeks and a smattering of freckles around his crooked nose, which only added to his boyish good looks. His face was square, his mouth wide, and his short forehead protruded slightly over his brow, but it was his smile that always warmed Melinda. She admired the way his dimples deepened when he smiled, and how his eyes seemed to disappear beneath his chiseled cheekbones. Often opting for faded blue jeans with more than a few holes, loose-fitting T-shirts, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow, Jack Deron reminded Melinda of a character from a Mark Twain novel who was too engrossed in his adventurous life to care how others perceived him.

  “Are you going to tell me what you two are arguing about?” Jack tipped his head to the side and held out a white coffee cup to Melinda.

  Melinda became distracted by his long hands. He had an effortless ease when he moved. One of the most graceful men she had ever met, Jack was a walking symphony of dulcet tones to Melinda. He was like a haunting melody—lingering with her long after his physical presence had left her side.

  “We weren’t arguing. We were talking about Sausage Neck,” Ellie informed him.

  Jack laughed, and again Melinda was reminded of music. His deep bellow was soulful, vibrant, and sounded more like an emotional release rather than a casual lilt of amusement.

  “Oh, yeah. How is Sausage Neck?”

  Melinda snatched the cup of coffee from his hand and slammed it down on her table. “Stop calling him that.”

  Jack leaned in and examined her face. “Are you wearing makeup?”

  “Yep, I noticed it, too,” Ellie added from her chair.

  Jack took a seat on the chair in front of Melinda’s table. “Expecting someone today? Perhaps Sausage Neck?”

  Melinda rolled her eyes. “I’m wearing makeup, so what? Is that a crime?”

  “Only the way you wear it,” Jack muttered, plunking his coffee cup on Melinda’s table.

  “If you children can’t play well together, I’ll take away your coffee,” Ellie threatened next to them. “Let’s see how long you two last out here without your caffeine fix.”

  Melinda grabbed her cup of coffee and sulked in her chair.

  “It’s not Mike you’re hoping to see, is it, Maddie?” Jack interrogated in a low, heavy voice.

  Melinda sipped from her coffee, avoiding his eyes.

  “You don’t care about this baseball player,” Jack went on. “You’ll grow bored with him just like you’ve grown bored with all the others after a few dates. Admit it, you’re not in love with Sausage Neck any more than you were in love with the vampire.”

  “Doug was a nurse who happened to work nights,” Melinda protested.

  “What about the leech?” Ellie probed.

  Jack turned to Ellie. “Was that the attorney?”

  “Accountant,” Melinda corrected.

  “The ambulance chaser was the attorney,” Ellie explained.

  Jack softly chuckled. “Oh yeah, I forgot about him. He came after Garlic Breath.”

  Melinda thumped her coffee cup on the table. “Earl was a chef.”

  Jack’s jaw slackened, accentuating his dismay. “Maddie, he made pizzas for that greasy spoon down on Rampart. You went out with him after you dumped that musician with the warts on his hands.”

  “Which one was that?” Ellie questioned.

  Jack reached for his coffee. “Lester the molester.”

  Melinda threw her hands in the air. “Enough!”

  “Boy, am I glad I’m married,” Ellie commented.

  Jack leered playfully at Melinda. “Let us not forget Zombie Guy.”

  Ellie’s exuberant snort of laughter filled the air. “Oh, God, Zombie Guy. He was the best one yet. He would fall asleep everywhere we went. Poor guy even fell asleep in his margarita.”

  “Lawrence was in medical school and was just tired all the time,” Melinda loudly pointed out.

  Jack arched an eyebrow at her. “Maddie, he was narcoleptic.”

  “But he was an entertaining narcoleptic,” Ellie confessed. “Never saw a sober person fall asleep in their drink before.”

  “Oh, ha, ha! You two have had your laugh at my expense. So what if the men I’ve dated aren’t that great?” Melinda huffed. “I remember some of the women you’ve been with, Jack. There were five strippers, three bartenders, one massage therapist, and a long line of waitresses. At least the men I dated had college educations.”

  Jack grinned into his coffee. “Some of those girls were working their way through school.”

  “High school, perhaps.” Melinda moved her coffee cup to the ground by her chair.

  “Excuse me,” an older woman edged in. “Are you Melinda?”

  Melinda noted her serene face and long silver hair piled atop her head. “Yes, ma’am.” She waved Jack out of the chair in front of her table. “Can I give you a reading?”

  Jack stood from the chair, holding his coffee. “Have a seat, ma’am. Melinda’s one of the best readers on the Square … next to me, of course.”

  “Oh, you do readings, too?” the woman inquired, taking a seat.

  Melinda reached for the deck of tarot cards on her table. “Among other things,” she murmured.

  Jack stood next to Melinda. “Yes, Melinda and I both have the gift.”

  Melinda’s green eyes focused on the woman seated across from her. “What’s your name?”

  “Margaret,” the woman said as she demurely folded her hands in her lap.

  “Very well, Margaret,” Melinda began. “I do fifteen-minute readings for twenty dollars, and thirty-minute readings for forty dollars.”

  “A full thirty-minute reading, please. I have a lot to discover.”

  Melinda nodded to the deck of cards on her table. “What’s before you is a deck of tarot cards. I want you to divide the deck into three stacks, and then pick the one that you want me to use for your reading.”

  “I’ll leave you to it.” Jack observed Margaret. “Oh, and make sure Melinda tells you about the new grandbaby.”

  Melinda shot Jack a dirty look.

  “Here we go,” Ellie whispered next to them. “Let the grandstanding begin.”

  Jack shrugged his broad shoulders. “What? You were going to tell her about the baby, right?”

  “I just found out about the baby two days ago,” Margaret gushed. “We’re still uncertain about—”

  “It’
s a boy,” Melinda calmly stated, never taking her eyes off Jack.

  He grinned at her. “So it is. I’ll be at my table if you need any more help.” Jack held up his coffee cup to Melinda and then walked away.

  “Are you sure it’s a boy?” Margaret breathlessly demanded.

  “Positive.” Melinda gave the woman an encouraging smile. “He’ll be born a month early, but he will be healthy, and your daughter will name him Mark.”

  Margaret’s eyes glistened with tears. “That was her father’s name. My first husband was Mark. He died when my daughter was sixteen.”

  “Then it’s meant to be.” Melinda pointed to the deck of cards on the table. “Divide the deck into three parts and let’s get started. I have a lot to tell you.”

  Margaret reached for the cards. “I’m already floored. I can’t imagine what else there could be.”

  “The cards hold many surprises, Margaret.” Melinda watched Margaret divide the deck into three parts. “Which of the three do you feel drawn to?”

  As Margaret’s eager brown eyes vacillated between the three piles, Melinda envied the woman. She was about to get a glimpse into her future, something Melinda had never been able to do for herself. No matter how hard she tried, she could never break through the veil of darkness to see what was coming for her. It was as if there was some unspoken rule with her ability: she could use it to help others, but never herself.

  “I choose this one,” Margaret proclaimed as she tapped the center deck of cards.

  Melinda took a deep breath as she picked up the deck. “Let’s see what else is in store for you.”

  Chapter 2

  The sun had just settled below the horizon and the crowds around Jackson Square had thinned as people went in search of other forms of entertainment. Melinda felt the weight of the money purse in her lap; it had been a very good day.

  After a bit of a slow start, a steady stream of customers had come to her table, having watched from the sidelines as she had read others. Satisfied with her earnings, she felt reassured that she would once again have enough to pay the rent on her small apartment on St. Ann Street. Being dependent on tips from tourists was not the steadiest of incomes, but for the past three years, it had been Melinda’s chief means of support.