Sunny: Mona Lisa Darkening

My blinders were off after one week of no improvement, of no healing. My people's blinders were still on. Those who were closest to me, they still treated me as if I were special.

Amber was here three days out of the week now, the other four days spent back in his territory. He alternated with Tomas and Aquila, who had become his pinch hitters during this crisis. When he was with me, the other two were in Mississippi. When Amber was gone, Dontaine was there, watching over me. My two Monère lovers. My personal protectors. They both treated me like spun glass, easily breakable. But in all other ways, they treated me the same — as if I was desirable, attractive. As if I were still their Queen.

Oddly enough, it was hardest to bear from Dontaine. Amber and I had a longer relationship, a love more deeply grown. My relationship, my love with Dontaine, on the other hand, was new, freshly fragile, much more easily broken. That it hadn't yet surprised me. That he persisted in his courtship made me feel guilty, if what I was beginning to suspect was true — that I would never again be what I once was.

I spent more time with Tersa and Jamie, keeping them company. Or rather the other way around — they kept me company while they did their chores. They refused, utterly refused, to let me help them. Had been horrified, in fact, when I had offered to lend a hand. When I realized I was not only slowing them a great deal but that my hovering presence was making them feel terribly awkward, I gave up my attempt to seek comfort for myself. And it had been comfort I had been selfishly seeking. I wanted to be with others as weak as me. To see and understand how they did it — moved around a world where others were so much stronger.

My brother was thankfully more comfortable in my presence, and we carved out a routine, grabbing a drink and snack at the diner near the library just before sunset, then driving back home in time for the main meal. I treasured that time spent with Thaddeus, but he wasn't truly weak like I was. He was a Mixed Blood, but he was special as I had been and no longer was.

Only among other humans did some of that tension ease in me. Only among them did I finally relax. Only among them was I among people as weak as I.

I started venturing out more to New Orleans. Nothing like the hustle and bustle of the French Quarter if you wanted to be among people. But not on the days when Amber was with me. On those days, I was, for the most part, happy and content to stay at home and be with him. I'd taken him once into the city, into the rowdy French Quarter when I had gotten restless, and it had been a disaster. Amber had flinched at every sound. Hated the casual chaos, the vast number of people, and what he saw as an overwhelming number of threats to my fragile self. He'd actually growled at people who had lightly brushed me in passing. By the time we left, a short ten minutes later, he had been sweating, his entire body tense as if he had just endured an arduous ordeal.

Funny that what made me feel safe, being lost in a crowd of people, made him feel most threatened — not for himself but for me. One person, he said, could not guard me adequately enough. He had gruffly offered to bring along more guards the next time I wished to venture into the city. I had smiled and said I was happy to stay at home… on the days he was with me. When Dontaine was with me, though, that was when I quenched my need to bury myself among people.

Maybe it was growing up here and having so much Monère-owned business based in the city that gave Dontaine the ease he had, moving among the crowded populace of New Orleans — because he'd done it all his life. Whatever the reason, he walked down Bourbon Street, Royal Street, and the rest of the crowded thoroughfares of the French Quarter as if he owned them, guiding us through the crowds with an ease and surety that Amber had not possessed.

The first day we lingered at Jackson Square, listening to a jazz band playing there, then wandered through several antique stores where all the salespeople, for some reason, had been most attentive. In the third store we stopped in, Dontaine asked if I wanted to bring the jewelry box, an exquisite piece that I had stopped to admire, back home with us. I told him that I didn't have enough money on me to make the purchase. Even if I did, I would never have bought anything so expensive. It was fun to look at, but I had no interest in buying anything so pricey. When Dontaine said that I didn't need money, that I owned the store, I suddenly realized why they had all been so attentive. They had recognized Dontaine.

I glanced at the price tag. A mere five hundred dollars — and I wasn't being sarcastic. The jewelry box was one of the least expensive items in the store. A second clerk was busy ringing up the sale of a twelve-thousand-dollar antique writing desk that another couple had just purchased. I know because I had glanced at the price tag when we had first walked in. Frankly, I couldn't imagine paying that much for a desk. To find out that I owned the shop, with all its outrageously expensive items, was even more shocking.

"People actually pay these outrageous prices?" I don't know why I asked. Proof was being rung up right in front of my eyes.

Dontaine smiled, while the saleswoman's eyes darted nervously to the couple making the purchase, obviously hoping they hadn't heard my gauche remark, and soured the deal.

"There are always people willing to pay for quality," Dontaine murmured quietly and steered me out the door, to the saleswoman's relief.

"What about the first store? Did I own that, too?"

Dontaine nodded.

When I asked, "Any other stores here?" he pointed out a gift shop and a small bank.

"I own a bank?"

"You did not know?"

"No. Aquila wants to introduce me to all my holdings, but we haven't gotten around to it yet. One thing or another always comes up." More like one disaster after another, but I didn't say that.

"Would you like me to show you all your businesses here in the French Quarter?"

Maybe not my businesses for much longer, I thought.

I shook my head. "No need. Let's just enjoy the night." And we did, wandering leisurely around, soaking in the sound, the music, the atmosphere.

The second night, he drove me to the garden district and parked at a street corner. It was more residential, without the hustle and bustle of tourists.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

"Do you remember when you said that you did not see us as equals in terms of beauty?"

I nodded.

"I thought of a way to remedy that."

I glanced at the beauty salon where we were parked. "What did you have in mind?" I asked with enough wariness in my voice to make him smile.

"Nothing so terribly bad. Just a haircut and a manicure. Painless procedures."

"Maybe for you," I muttered, "not for me."

I hated change. I really did. Having things change beyond my control was one thing. Bringing about deliberate change when there was no need to — that was another entirely different matter. And not only did I hate change, but I was a miser at heart. I didn't like spending money on myself when I didn't need to. On other people, fine. On myself, no. The jeans and T-shirt I had on were over ten years old — old, worn, and comfortable. Familiar, like old friends. And my hairstyle — long, usually in a ponytail, but more recently left loose to please the men — was not only easy but cheap for me. I didn't have to cut my hair often, just trim it a couple of times a year.

"A haircut and manicure are not going to make me as pretty as you, Dontaine."

"You do not know until you try."

For a moment I thought he was joking, but he wasn't. He was utterly serious.

"Why waste everyone's time, effort, and money on something that isn't going to work?" I asked bluntly. "It'll be a dreadful waste of money."