[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] my boots. I've said it once, and I'm saying it once more. I made an excellent choice with you. Your time will come soon. If something should happen to me, I've made arrangements for you and those loyal to me." Renee smiled sadly, genuinely. Charlotte's expression changed from fear to confusion. "You speak like someone who is dying, but I know better. Is there something I need to know?" Renee continued to smile. "Just know that I am tired of needing, wanting, and not having. I do not know what that means for me anymore, just that I am tired." Renee's smile faltered. "Thank you. Leave it be. I'll handle this my own way. You can go." After Charlotte closed the door, uncertainty struck her. Was this the same vampire who killed that kid just because she bored her? What does she mean that she'll handle this in her own way? "What's going on here?" * * * Again, Renee took her seat. If Charlotte only knew., I'm sure someday I'll meet an enemy clever enough to do what I can't. She sighed as her thoughts took a turn. I bet I know what you're doing right now, Tasha. Painting something nice and dark. I miss you. She glanced at the desk calendar, pondering the year. If I had not touched you, you would be 73. Older, but just as beautiful. Did I make a mistake? Did I? Would you have stayed? Or would my heart still be just as dead? Renee let out a bitter laugh. "I guess I will never know." A hollow emptiness settled over her, and she knew of only one way to fill it now. There were still hours left until daylight - 75 - and maybe just a few women would meet her morbid specifications. Renee knew it was insanity, but it was one of the only things keeping her together, however tenuously. That and the brief glimpses she was allowed of Natasha from time to time. How much longer until this ritual is not enough? She knew the answer, but did not dare speak it out loud. * * * Jordan scowled at the car radio and turned it off. The constant static was starting to get to him. It had been a long time since he had last made this trek through Terrebonne Parish. In fact, he was barely out of boyhood the last time he was here. If the public only knew what he had seen and sometimes participated in, he knew his fall from grace would be swift. He would be a laughing stock. Voodoo was commonplace in Louisiana, but it had become commercialized. Still, there were some who took it seriously, some who practiced and reveled in it as a way of life. This could be said about his family, especially the older generation, and they kept the secret well. He sighed and turned up the air conditioning in the borrowed truck. It was not what he was used to, but right now, it paid to be inconspicuous. Unofficially, he had taken the morning off. On paper, he was attending a lengthy meeting with city bigwigs. Highway 56 seemed to go for miles. The ride was scenic. One minute the land was lush trees and the smell of honeysuckle, and the next it was marshy and almost looked dead. Jordan smiled as he finally saw the sign telling him that he was entering Cocodrie. The roads were barely paved and the small town was surrounded by a body of water, Bay Cocodrie. Jordan remembered fondly riding on shrimp boats and watching the men haul huge nets out of the water filled with the small - 76 - aquatic creature. He peered out of the car window as he drove further in. The town had not changed a bit. Most houses were on stilts because of frequent flooding and the danger of hurricanes. Yearly predictions were habitually ominous, warning of history-making storms that had yet to arrive and wash the coastal town away. Through it all, Cocodrie remained. The place itself could be a nice escape for those wishing to put city life behind them. It was slow, everyone knew everyone, but they kept to themselves. They were a God- fearing bunch, like most in these parts, but Jordan did not blame them one bit. "You have to believe in something," his mother used to tell him. He pulled the beat up Ford truck into the dusty parking lot of a small, non-descript convenience store. The old men sitting on the porch in rocking chairs eyed his every move. Jordan got out of truck. He pulled the wife beater out of his jeans and wiped the sweat off his face. His appearance was derived to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl blacksoulman.xlx.pl