SongBird | Ch. 2 | Louis de Pointe du Lac x Black Femme (feat. Stack)
Genre: Friends to Lovers; Slow Build; Smut in Later Chapters
Warnings: Strong Language
Synopsis: A seamstres-by-day, songstress-by-night gets the deal of a lifetime...but finds that her life may be on the line as a result. Trouble always has a way of finding her, and its name is Mr. du Lac.
No matter how hard she scrubbed, Odette couldn’t get that blood out of her dress. Knuckles red and fingers pruney, she let the fabric sink into the bucket against the washboard. Then she made her way to the bathtub—heart still racing— and dropped a capful of ammonia into the water. Her mind swirled as her hand stirred it.
‘A vampire?’ She didn’t know what kind of mess this would cause in her life, but she was sure that her pastor hadn’t prepared her for it. And at this point, she didn’t think that anything or anyone truly could have. The jezebel spirit that the church mothers warned about had become the least of her worries.
She never told another soul what happened that night; not even Slim. Though that may have been because she’d never want to admit that he was right to be suspicious of Louis—or that her discernment had failed her.
The days following the incident were hectic. Newspapers reported the massacre, but had no real leads. Whispers persisted, but no accusations were made. On the other hand, the crowds grew larger and louder at the Hall. The demand for Odette’s performances tripled as news of her talent spread and patrons from Le Fleur began to trickle over.
Odette had just finished rehearsing and was going through costume options with Louis in her dressing room. The distance between them felt more than physical.
“I was thinking you’d open with this little chiffon number. I like the movement it has.” He ran nimble fingers over delicate mesh, snagging a brown dress from the rack.
“You said that about the last three dresses.”
“They’re all nice. What else do you want me to say?”
“I want you to talk to me. You usually have an opinion on everything.”
“Well right now I have questions about everything.”
He sighed, pulling a cigar out of his jacket pocket with one hand and setting the dress back on the rack with the other. “Alright, go ahead.” He lit it with a deep inhale.
She felt her throat drying up like it did when she first played Mary in her church’s nativity play at the age of 13. “H-how long you been a vampire?”
“Couple years; they start to run together after while.”
“So…you only eat people?”
“I live on blood, mostly animal—but every now and then I treat myself to a deplorable or two.”
He chuckled, blowing smoke in her direction. “Or four. You can relax. You’re not on the menu.”
Louis paused, confidence faltering for the first time. “Old flame.”
She took note of his discomfort but decided not to pry. At least not at that moment. “So them folk that went missing last year…?”
“Old flame had quite an appetite, huh?”
“Insatiable, to say the least. How many more questions you got?”
“A million, but I’ll stop there…And don’t worry; I’ll keep your secret.”
Without hesitation, he replied, “I wasn’t worried. You’ve got some well-kept secrets of your own, Church Girl.”
Laying low is easy when you can’t leave the house until sundown anyway. Louis adjusted his burgundy tie and slid on his tinted shades before heading out. He had a few pickups to make.
The evening was eerily quiet, especially for this part of town. Eleanor’s block was usually hot ‘round this time, everyone out on their porches gabbing the night away. Louis pulled over and swung his legs over the side of the car, rather than opening it. He glanced around, shrugged, and approached the corner house. Three swift knocks, and the door swung open almost instantly.
“You’re late, Mr. du Lac. And a lady shouldn’t be answering her door after nine o’clock at night.” Elanor folded her arms, shifting to one side. She was a slightly older woman, in her early forties. Small, but she made up for it in personality. Her attitude gave her ‘bout two more feet in stature.
Louis offered a crooked smile. “A lady? I don’t see none of them ‘round here; do you?”
She rolled her eyes and took some money out of her night dress pocket. A heavy hand slapped it against his chest. “There’s your damn cash. Now get outta here before trouble comes to find you.”
“I am trouble, Miss Elanor.”
“Don’t I know it. Now, go’on. Heard it’s ‘sposed to rain tonight and all that pomade runnin’ down your face could make you go blind.” She cackled.
He wished her a good night with a tip of his hat. After hopping back into his car, his ears picked up the sound of rustling in a nearby cluster of bushes. A momentary pause yielded nothing, so he continued on, revving up the engine. Another rustle of leaves grabbed his attention again, but it was more annoying than anything else. A dimly lit figure darted across his line of vision, but he decided it wasn’t worth investigating. That was some White people shit.
Wednesday night Bible study felt heavy, dark clouds looming over the church house and Odette’s spirit. Her good friend, Magnolia, saved her seat as usual—but was unusually dull in greeting.
“Everything okay, Maggie?”
“Oh, you must’a not heard…” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she absentmindedly wrung her handkerchief. “Brother Leroy gone on to glory.”
“What? When?” Odette looked around and the somber mood made sense, several folks crying and sniffling as the preacher read scripture. “How?”
“We still don’t know. Sister Ruth said the authorities brought him home looking like something done bit him up and sucked him dry.”
Odette’s heart dropped into her stomach, eyes shifting towards the altar to see Ruth laid before it in bereavement. A deaconess draped a white cloth over her as she rocked back and forth. ‘He wouldn’t have…’ And in her heart of hearts, Odette hoped that she could count on what little was left of Louis’ humanity. If anything at all.
“There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance.”
Wracked by guilt, Odette took the scriptures to heart. With unsteady hands and feet, she stood, approached the altar, and quietly kneeled next to Ruth, embracing her. The older woman cried harder at the display of care.
Odette had no proof that Louis had done it. But she had no proof that he didn’t either. What if she could have prevented it? As she began to spiral, only one thought was coherent: she had to talk to him.
It was pouring down by the time she left the church. Rather than stay and chat with other congregants, she ran straight for the nearest bus stop. And by the time she made it to Royal Street, she was completely soaked.
Louis had one of them big ‘ole houses from what she heard. The kind where everybody got to have their own room, with room to spare. But according to him, he was the only one there. What he need all that space for? To hide some shit?
With a deep inhale and exhale, Odette quieted her speculation and stepped forward to knock on the door. Not even a second later, it was open. There he was, well-tailored, luxurious black robe and all. And there she was, soggy shoes, sopping clothes, and all. “...Everything alright, Dot?”
She shook her head, expression grim. “Tell me you didn’t do it, Louis.”
“What?” He reached forward and pulled her into his home, shutting the door behind her. “What the hell are you talking about? And what are you doing all the way over here this late—and in the fucking rain? You have any idea what this’ll do to your voice?”
She felt her throat tighten as she tried to find the words. “Did. You. Do it?”
“Kill an innocent man from my church! ‘Bout 5’9, dark skin, round in the middle, aint-never-done-nothin’-to-nobody. He was dropped off to his wife all bit up with not a drop of blood in him, and can’t no animal do that—did you kill him?!” She stepped closer with every descriptor until she was face to face with Louis.
His brow, previously furrowed in confusion and irritation, slowly uncreased. Oh, he fully understood now. “What you askin’ me for? Evidently, you’ve already decided the answer.”
“Don’t you turn this on me. I’m not the–”
“The what? The monster? Like I am? So, benefit of the doubt must only be given to humans, huh?”
“Stop putting words in my mouth!”
“Stop putting that man’s blood in mine.”
Odette took a deep breath before continuing. “I….I’m sorry; I just….I didn’t know what to think.”
Louis watched her shrink for a moment before turning to go upstairs.
“To get you some dry clothes.”
Louis’ night clothes were snug on her, but they’d have to do. She sat on his couch, meek as a mouse, fingernail tapping the warm white porcelain of a tea cup.
“You mind?” Louis spoke from a nearby plush chair, one leg crossed over the other and fingers massaging his temple. Once her finger ceased its tapping, he looked over. Almost felt bad for her. “Where did Leroy live?”
He immediately recalled that being the name of Elanor’s street. “I wasn’t there when it happened on Monday, but I did stop by this evening for business. Something seemed…off.”
“What business you got over there?” Her tone was more so perplexed than defiant.
“None of yours. You worry about being able to sing this weekend. Drink.”
She frowned at him before taking another sip of ginger tea (with lemon and extra honey, as she requested and he begrudgingly obliged).
He stood up and stretched a bit, taking a few steps toward the stairs. “I don’t know who’s doing this, but I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, tell your loved ones to be in before dark for a little while. You’ll stay here tonight.”
“Do you really think that’s appropriate?”
He paused in front of her and bent down slightly. “Do you really want to get eaten?”
A light flush dusted her cheeks. “I suppose not.”
And with a soft, “Goodnight, Odette,” he ascended to his room once more.
She set her cup on the table and laid down, feeling unsure of everything. Everything except him. She was sure that he wasn’t a monster. “Goodnight, Louis…”
It was the calm before the storm, just a few hours before opening. Odette sat at the bar with a nearly empty cup. Swirling it around, she watched the mint leaves shapeshift.
“You mighty quiet,” Slim’s tone was gentle, yet teasing. His long, achy legs settled over the stool next to her.
She took one last sip and turned her cup over on the matching saucer. “You and Louis swear I got a motormouth.” Meeting his knowing gaze, she huffed. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong. I just…got some things on my mind is all.”
“Wanna talk about it?” He gave a nod of appreciation to the bartender who slid him a beer.
“You mentioned hearing some things about Mr. du Lac and his old business partner. What kind of things?”
“The kind that might even make me go back to the church house. That White man—word on the street is he kin to the devil himself.”
“Slim,” she tilted her head in skepticism. “He just White. Can’t be no more evil than the ones we deal with ‘round here. What, he Klan or something?”
“Some evil ain’t from this side, if you know what I mean. But he ain’t been seen in a year, so maybe we won’t have to worry about him.”
She could feel the worry gathering at the center of her brows, thick and heavy. With tentative hands, she slowly flipped the cup rightside up and set it on the plate. Her elder leaned over slightly. “Look like teeth to me. Fangs,” he emphasized by baring his own.
Her blood nearly ran cold at the thought, but she brushed it off. Looking closer at the cup, she squinted a bit. “I see…a boat.”
“Yeah, but…the question is who?” She glanced toward the back of the parlor as Louis discreetly tucked a piece of paper into his pocket and swiftly headed through one of the doors, presumably on his way to his office.
A knock on the dressing room door startled her. “You decent?”
“‘Bout as decent as I could be in this damn nightie you got me wearin’.”
“Back to your normal self, I see.” Louis sauntered into the room, closing the door behind himself.
“I’m trying to be.” She dusted the last bit of rouge onto her cheeks, glancing in the mirror. “Um…Louis?”
His reflection tilted its head in a silent response.
“I really am sorry for jumping to conclusions.” She met his softened gaze.
“I know. And I understand why you did.”
“Doesn’t make it hurt any less, I’m sure.”
“Who said I was hurt?” He took a step forward.
“Them blue eyes can’t hide much, Mr. du Lac.” Her quick wit was met with a smile.
A delicate hand skimmed the vanity before landing on three bobbie pins. She’d stuck one between her teeth before Louis’ hand came to rest on hers.
His voice was as gentle as his touch. “I…The audience like it wild.” She turned to face him, and his agile fingers plucked the pin from her mouth. “Matter fact, I got you something.” He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a little gold bullet. “Go on, open it.”
She took it and pulled the cap, revealing a deep, dark cherry red. “Now Louis, I done told you I can’t wear this color.”
“Why not? ‘Cause Pastor said so?” he all but teased.
“You think you real funny, huh?”
“I do, actually. C’mon, Dot, just try it. It would look beautiful on you.”
She paused for a second. “Oh, I don’t know…It’s just so…bold.”
“And I can’t think of a better way to describe you. The real you, out on that stage…and even down at the church when you sing. You can only hold back but so much.”
She closed the tube, took his hand, and placed it in his palm. He was right, but rather than tell him, she opted for silence. With a knowing smirk, he opened it again. “You trust me?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
Louis’ thumb swiped over the tip of the lipstick, his eyes never leaving hers. “Then we’ll take this slow, okay?” His nodding prompted hers. Slow. Entranced. And as his hand lifted to tilt her chin up, he painted a subtle wash of cherry across her lips. Slow. Intentional. Almost as if he were memorizing every ridge.
His gaze dropped to her lips and hers did the same to his, noticing the kindness in the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t until he pulled away that she realized she had been holding her breath. Surely that’s why she was so lightheaded.
“Take a look,” he smiled, turning her by her shoulders to face the mirror.
The color was diffused; much softer than if the waxy substance were directly dragged along her lips. She was suddenly a fan of the just-kissed, freshly-bitten look. In fact, she found herself craving the real thing. When she looked at Louis through the mirror again, she noticed his jaw was clenched. But it only lasted for a moment until he relaxed. “No need to thank me.”
“Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Now git. I got a show to put on.” She winked at him and he nodded once.
“Yes ma’am. And you make it one to remember. We got a special guest in the house tonight. Front row. Red hat.” He glided back to the door. “See if you can make ‘em sweat.”
Odette noticed him. Front row. Dead center. Mahogany pinstripe suit—and well-made too. Wide brimmed, brick red fedora. Silver ring on his pinky finger and red shades that glinted in the candle light. He had money, that’s for sure. She figured he must’ve been the special guest, if not for his command of attention, then certainly for the fact that he behaved like he owned the place. So she made a point to ignore him for the first two songs.
And she could tell that he knew.
“Tired of bein' lonely, tired of bein' blue.
I wished I had some good man to tell my troubles to.”
She finally locked eyes with him and offered a coy smile. Then she made her way down the small staircase before walking right past him. A man about half his size both ways leaned forward in his seat as Odette approached.
“I can stand a bit of lovin', oh so bad.
I feel so funny, I feel so sad.”
His knee bounced in eagerness…or maybe self restraint. Wasn’t much of a looker, but he always tipped well. She trailed one finger down his chest as she sang, and he guided her hand to his pants pocket. She reached inside and plucked out a dollar. Tucking it in her bra, she sauntered back to her special guest.
He flashed his teeth, giving her a glimpse of silver-capped fangs to match his ring. Odette took his hat and placed it on her head, tilting it to the side just as he’d worn it. His smile widened, and she couldn’t help but notice something sinister about it.
“I need a little steam-heat on my floor.
Maybe I can fix things up, so they'll go.
What's the matter hard papa?
Come on and save your mama's soul.”
She slid both hands down his chest to unbutton his suit jacket. The material felt expensive, and the stitching was superb. He got more comfortable in his seat, leaning back slightly and spreading his legs. As she crooned, she pulled three dollars from his jacket pocket. His laughter was dark and rich.
"'Cause I need a little sugar, in my bowl, doggone it.
I need some sugar in my bowl.”
And as she pulled away, she glanced toward the balcony to find Louis. His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth in an expression that Odette couldn’t quite read.
Louis sat in his office, reading a letter for what felt like the tenth time, when he heard three firm knocks at the door. “Come in, and make it quick,” he called, sliding his shades back on.
The door creaked open and closed. “That any way to talk to a friend comin’ to see yo’ ass from outta town?”
The voice immediately got Louis’ attention. “Stack?”
“Nah, nigga it’s Bojangles.”
“Shut the fuck up.” With a snort, Louis got up to shake hands with the man in red before pulling him into a hug. “It’s good to see you. Where’s Smoke? He owes me inventory.”
Stack paused for a moment, looking painfully sober as he took off his hat and crossed it over his chest. “Well…You’ll be waitin’ for that inventory til you turn blue in the face. Smoke, he uh…He gone.”
Louis knew words wouldn’t do much, but he still offered, “I’m sorry to hear that. I know what it’s like to lose a brother, but a twin? I can’t even imagine.”
“Paul gone, too?” He sat in the chair behind Louis’ desk, pulling a cigar out of his pocket to offer before grabbing one for himself.
Louis nodded in response. After lighting the cigar, he held the flame out for Stack. With a few deep exhales, a thick cloud of smoke filled the room. “How’d Smoke die?”
“Long story. What about Paul?”
“Took himself out…I wish I could understand why.”
They spent the next God-knows-how-long shooting the shit, catching up on life—but they were both holding back. Vulnerability was something that felt foreign. Or maybe, forbidden.
“Figured I’d stop here, see an old friend, maybe find something to distract me for a bit. Someone to keep me company.”
“Ah..Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone that meets your standards here.”
Stack smirked and dusted his third cigar in a nearby ash tray. He mentally skimmed Louis’ catalogue of women, noting the ones he’d been with before. Fun, but not what he was looking for this time. “The one who sang…”
“Dot? Oh, she’s uh…not that type of performer.”
“Everyone has a price.” He leaned back, propping his snakeskin shoes on the desk. The words struck Louis as his own, but they sounded worse coming from Stack.
Louis reached over and pushed Stack’s feet off the desk, causing him to laugh. “Not her. All she do here is sing.”
“I’ll make her sing, alright,” Stack teased, eyeing the way Louis’ jaw tightened. “Unless, of course, she’s spoken for? Ain’t no shame in indulging in your own inventory. I know I’ve done it.”
“I’d be hard pressed to think of some shit you haven’t done. Besides…she a church girl. She wouldn’t know how to fuck in the first place.” Louis wasn’t sure why he felt so protective of her, but he continued to try and dissuade Stack from setting his sights on her.
“Well, neither did you before I showed you how it’s done.” Despite the weight of it, the comment rolled off Stack’s tongue with ease.
Louis took one last puff before putting his second cigar out. “That’s not how I remember it.”
Stack slowly stood up, sauntering around the desk. “No? Why don’t you go’on and refresh my memory, then?”
“Here you go, bringing up old shit,” Louis mumbled. He ran a hand over his face before glancing at the razor-sharp smile etched on Stack’s mug. “That summer, out near the willow tree…Anna Mae Brown decided she didn’t wanna choose between us. So, we told her she didn’t have to.” Louis noticed the distance between them getting smaller and smaller. “And she, uh…mounted me first before—”
“Before I took over, right? Grabbed her right before you hit that peak, and I did what needed to be done. But there was one thing I noticed…” He took his last inhale, blowing smoke toward Louis as he put out the cigar. “You spent more time lookin’ at me than you did lookin’ at her…”
Louis waved him off, attempting to turn away. “Man, you must be out of your m—” A rough hand gripped his jaw and brought him back.
“You think I’m stupid?” Stack’s tone was almost teasing.
“I think your memory is foggy as fuck.” His breathing was slightly labored, though he couldn’t place why.
“Then let's relive it…” Despite Louis’ squirming, Stack held on and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Call Dot in here.”
Louis pushed him back with a bit more force, causing his own tinted glasses to fall off. “Stack, I’m really not in the mood for your games right now.”
“…Now, I know you Creole and all, but since when were your eyes that fuckin’ light?”
“Long story,” he parroted, meeting Stack’s interrogating gaze as it widened in realization.
Without moving his lips, Stack asked, ‘Shit, they done got you too?’
‘Irish motherfucker,’ he thought in response, pulling off his own glasses to reveal deep purple.
The door suddenly cracked open. “Louis, you almost done in h—oh, I’m sorry, Mr. du Lac.” Odette noticed the two men standing in silence, making intense eye contact.
‘She knows about our kind,’ Louis quickly informed Stack via telepathy before speaking aloud. “Just catching up with a friend from back in the day. It’s alright, Dot.”
Stack raised an eyebrow at him before turning his attention elsewhere. “More than alright,” Stack added. “I was actually hoping to meet you.”
“I guess that means you enjoyed the show. Happy to entertain, Mr….?” She held out a hand to shake.
He glanced down and chuckled, gently taking her hand to humor her, despite never really shaking hands with women. “You can call me Stack. Nice grip you got there.” His finger ghosted over the pulse point at her wrist, and as she made direct eye contact with him for the first time, she noticed a purple glow.
Odette had learned her lesson about jumping to conclusions, but damn if her knees weren’t poised to leap.
Requested tags: @h3avenlyglory @holierthancunt
Author's Note: I really appreciate all the kind comments on chapter 1. I'm a bit rusty after years away from fanfic writing, so they were really encouraging!
