Treme'

Dark Was the Knight

Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.

—Anton Chekhov—

French pastries and creole' seasonings scented the earthy river air, as fishermen on large boats hastily brought in the morning's catch. Docked shrimp boats with nets filled with crustaceans lined the old hurricane beaten wooden platforms.

New Orleans was beginning to wake, one restaurant and tourist laden tavern at a time. Even on such a gloomy morning, tourists were loading into brightly colored buses that would take them on a journey through the city. Phones at the ready to take pictures or videos of themselves at all the most popular sights. Listening intently as the guide told the history behind each monument, street, or gravesite. Giving a watered-down version of New Orleans' root work as they stopped at a spiritual gift shop. There tourists could buy faux voodoo dolls or brightly decorated toy chicken feet, as mementos of their New Orleans visit.

No one ever really wanted to hear the real version of that saccharine rendition of New Orleans' history that the guides spouted with their over embellished Creole' or Cajun accents. That, along with the casket girls, there were also Le' placage. Which, because it involved rich white men and free black women, was a history lesson almost never mentioned by the guides. Conveniently, they also never cautioned that any non-natives who wondered past the designated tourist locations, like Bourbon Street, were likely to get robbed, or worse—go missing. Oh, they spun wonderfully woven yarns of the infamous Jacques St. Germain, the religious fear mongering tale of the Rougarou, and of course there's the tale of Grunch Road. Yet, never once did they ever mention that there were real supernatural beings in the city. Supernaturals that walked among them and blended almost seamlessly into society. Beings that, unlike the movies and books portrayed, weren't limited to the night.

Hayley ambled along the wharf, pushing a sleek black stroller across the uneven wooden walkway. Its subtle rocking doing a wonderful job of lulling a fussy baby Hope into a land of dreams. Casually, her eyes drifted to the docks. The mighty Mississippi never looked so pristine as it gently lapped at the passing river boats. Even the old warehouses, rusted by age and nearly abandoned, seemed almost ethereal to her.

The air was warm despite the weather and felt wonderful as gentle breeze after gentle breeze lapped against her skin, teasing the stray hairs of her otherwise sleek low ponytail. The flavors of New Orleans teased her senses both playfully and invitingly.

Her mouth began to water from the aroma of freshly baked doughnuts, hot Beignets dusted with powder sugar, and warm coffee with chicory and fresh cream. Carefully, she began to make her way away from the wharf's wooden docks to a sidewalk that led to the bustling streets and delicious food. Realizing it had quickly become darker than normal, she looked skyward.

Clouds—dark and heavy with unfallen rain loomed menacingly over the New Orleans skyline. Which she found odd because the local weather report had said clear skies today. Yet, before her very eyes, more and more rain clouds continued to fill the sky.

While unusual, it was not an uncommon thing around this time of year. Weather in general could be unpredictable and there had been plenty of times the reports had been wrong, but for some reason she just couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling she had.

It felt almost, ominous. Like a warning of what was to come. It made her feel like she was the little house in Kansas right before the tornado hit it and whisked Dorothy off to Oz.

Deciding that continuing to think about her unease would do no good, she instead, chose to look around absentmindedly. Looking but not really seeing anything. Though, she kept her other senses on high alert—just in case.