The House of Bourbon

Chapter 6

Jamison arrived at the familiar chateauesque property, a house that seemed to defy the passage of time. It stood in the heart of the French Quarter, a looming testament to the rule of the vampire queen. Its imposing structure, with towering columns like sentinels of ancient power, held the air captive beneath their shadow. Combining classical elegance and decaying beauty, the building's exterior whispered untold secrets. It commanded not just attention but awe from anyone who passed, a place where no mortal dared linger too long.

Dark ironwork curled around the balconies like delicate lace, framing the windows from which the queen watched her city, her kingdom. Thick, twisted ivy crawled up the walls, its vines unnaturally alive, drawn to the dark force radiating from within the house. Wild and unyielding vines seemed like silent sentinels, serving the queen's will as they wound themselves tightly around the house, weaving it into the shadows.

Jamison stepped through the grand entrance into a house as much a fortress as a dwelling. Inside, the air was thick with power. The high ceilings allowed the rooms to breathe, but the heavy velvet drapes and dark wood furniture swallowed any hint of light. Faint flickers from candelabras cast long, wavering shadows along the walls. Exchanging like glittering webs, Chandeliers cast soft, dancing lights as if in rhythm with the house's unseen secrets.

Each room was a museum of dark history, filled with antique furnishings chosen for their beauty and their ties to the past. In the parlor, the vampire queen ruled from her throne of eternal night. A grand piano stood in the corner, untouched save for the nights when she desired haunting melodies to fill the air, each note echoing the weight of her reign.

But the garden beyond the house held the queen's deepest secrets. Overgrown and untamed, it bloomed under the moon's pale light, its vibrant, unnatural hues a testament to the darker forces at play. The garden thrived on something far more potent than soil, its blooms a sight that could captivate even the most jaded visitor.

By nightfall, the house became more than just a home—it became her fortress. Shadows moved with purpose, whispers of long-forgotten souls filled the air, their stories lost to time. The queen herself could be felt in every corner, her presence a palpable force beyond mortal comprehension. Like its mistress, the house was a monument to timeless beauty and raw power, an eternal reminder of her reign. Jamison felt the weight of it as he stepped deeper inside, knowing he was in the presence of something ancient and terrifying.

"Jamison," a voice called softly from across the room.

Madame Lalaurie sat behind the desk, her eyes gleaming in the low light. She had been expecting him for quite some time, her patience honed over centuries. Jamison was ushered into the center of the room by the Queen's goons, each movement a show of force. One guard gripped each of his arms, firm but not rough, while two others flanked his back like statues. Another stood vigilant at the door, and two more positioned themselves at either side of Lalaurie, their postures stiff, eyes scanning the room for any threat. The scene screamed overkill, and Jamison couldn't help but inwardly scoffed at the display.

A little much. He thought, his glare landing on Lalaurie, but he kept his thoughts behind tightly sealed lips. He knew better than to speak freely in the presence of his Queen.

"It's been too long," Lalaurie remarked, taking a languid puff from her cigarette holder. Her voice dripped with familiarity, as though they were old friends sharing a casual moment, but there was no mistaking the weight of her presence. Her movements were fluid and graceful, as though the room bent to her rhythm. She wore her authority effortlessly, like a finely tailored gown, and yet her attire was anything but formal. Dressed in elegant yet relaxed evening wear, she had the air of someone who had just emerged from a spa, serene and unhurried. But there was no mistaking the sharpness behind her eyes.