Morgan whistled. "Lieutenant Degaud, I had no idea," she laughed.
"That I was stinking rich?" he chuckled, feeling better than he had in days.
The willows that lined the graveled drive dipped low, and Morgan ran her hands through the fronds, a strange look on her face. She smiled when she caught Zac looking at her curiously and disappeared behind the curtain of leaves.
He hesitated, wondering if he should follow her or just continue up to the house, but she came back out, laughing. "Just look at things from another perspective, Degaud." She tugged on his arm and pulled him through the branches. "See, isn't that better?"
The air was cooler in the shade and the dimmed light was actually calming. Morgan shook her head and took his arm. They walked towards the manor and if he closed his eyes, Zac could almost imagine it was 1863 again. The night before he had left for Virginia, his parents had hosted a ball at the manor. He forgot what it was for, but walking arm in arm with a lady brought back the memory like it was yesterday.
Carriages had lined the road, filling the air with the sound of hooves on gravel, carrying finely dressed men and women come to social climb. Businessmen from New Orleans, property barons, plantation owners. His parents were obsessed with it and that's why it had cut them so deep when he joined the Confederate forces. His father had wanted him to take it all over, but it just made him feel sick.
Closing his eyes, Zac sighed. He could almost see the bright moonlit night, the perfumed smell of the wisteria on the warm air, the glow of the gas lamps. The music that filtered through the open doors and windows. The sick feeling in his stomach that had occupied him all night that he was going to Petersburg the following morning. It was a feeling that he wouldn't understand until much later. He wouldn't see this again, the house, his family. This place would never be alive again. He was going to his death.
"Zac?"
He jumped as Morgan's voice pulled him back.
"Where'd you go just then?" She was frowning at him, her head cocked to the side, waiting to see what he would say.
"Nowhere." He dropped her arm and scowled. They were standing in front of the front door and now he would have to go inside and come clean to Sam. "Stay here," he said, turning to Morgan.
"I can come in eventually, right?" she smiled.
"Yes," he said. "I just want to explain to Sam first."
"It's okay, Zac. I understand. Just let me know when I can come meet him."
"Sure."
"I'll be right here," she winked as he walked inside.
Closing the door behind him he knew Sam was in the parlor. He could feel him there. What was he going to say? Hey, so in the forties I kind of went psychopathic and I was saved by a vampire posing as a nurse ? Perhaps he should be less sarcastic.
"Zac." Sam stood as he came through the doorway, a concerned look plastered on his face. "Liz said…"
"Stop," Zac held his hand up. He didn't really want to be told off for trying to off himself.
"What's going on?"
He took a half empty bottle of whisky from the shelf and sat down on the sofa. "Look, I'm sorry about this morning, okay? It won't happen again."
Sam didn't look very convinced by this, but nodded anyway. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"
"Nothing bad ." Zac sighed and took a draught of the alcohol before placing it down heavily on the coffee table. Sam had ripped shreds off him when he found the damage he'd inflicted with his knife. The day Aya had brought him back from his last uncontrollable adventure. The table was antique. He didn't care. "Well," he continued. "Depends on how you want to look at it."
"Shit, Zac."
"Yeah, yeah." He waived a hand at his little brother.
"Just tell me. With what you pulled this morning, it'll be hard to top that."
He leant back into the sofa and grimaced. "We have a visitor."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "What kind of visitor."
"One from my sordid past."
"Care to elaborate further?"
"Her
"That I was stinking rich?" he chuckled, feeling better than he had in days.
The willows that lined the graveled drive dipped low, and Morgan ran her hands through the fronds, a strange look on her face. She smiled when she caught Zac looking at her curiously and disappeared behind the curtain of leaves.
He hesitated, wondering if he should follow her or just continue up to the house, but she came back out, laughing. "Just look at things from another perspective, Degaud." She tugged on his arm and pulled him through the branches. "See, isn't that better?"
The air was cooler in the shade and the dimmed light was actually calming. Morgan shook her head and took his arm. They walked towards the manor and if he closed his eyes, Zac could almost imagine it was 1863 again. The night before he had left for Virginia, his parents had hosted a ball at the manor. He forgot what it was for, but walking arm in arm with a lady brought back the memory like it was yesterday.
Carriages had lined the road, filling the air with the sound of hooves on gravel, carrying finely dressed men and women come to social climb. Businessmen from New Orleans, property barons, plantation owners. His parents were obsessed with it and that's why it had cut them so deep when he joined the Confederate forces. His father had wanted him to take it all over, but it just made him feel sick.
Closing his eyes, Zac sighed. He could almost see the bright moonlit night, the perfumed smell of the wisteria on the warm air, the glow of the gas lamps. The music that filtered through the open doors and windows. The sick feeling in his stomach that had occupied him all night that he was going to Petersburg the following morning. It was a feeling that he wouldn't understand until much later. He wouldn't see this again, the house, his family. This place would never be alive again. He was going to his death.
"Zac?"
He jumped as Morgan's voice pulled him back.
"Where'd you go just then?" She was frowning at him, her head cocked to the side, waiting to see what he would say.
"Nowhere." He dropped her arm and scowled. They were standing in front of the front door and now he would have to go inside and come clean to Sam. "Stay here," he said, turning to Morgan.
"I can come in eventually, right?" she smiled.
"Yes," he said. "I just want to explain to Sam first."
"It's okay, Zac. I understand. Just let me know when I can come meet him."
"Sure."
"I'll be right here," she winked as he walked inside.
Closing the door behind him he knew Sam was in the parlor. He could feel him there. What was he going to say? Hey, so in the forties I kind of went psychopathic and I was saved by a vampire posing as a nurse ? Perhaps he should be less sarcastic.
"Zac." Sam stood as he came through the doorway, a concerned look plastered on his face. "Liz said…"
"Stop," Zac held his hand up. He didn't really want to be told off for trying to off himself.
"What's going on?"
He took a half empty bottle of whisky from the shelf and sat down on the sofa. "Look, I'm sorry about this morning, okay? It won't happen again."
Sam didn't look very convinced by this, but nodded anyway. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"
"Nothing bad ." Zac sighed and took a draught of the alcohol before placing it down heavily on the coffee table. Sam had ripped shreds off him when he found the damage he'd inflicted with his knife. The day Aya had brought him back from his last uncontrollable adventure. The table was antique. He didn't care. "Well," he continued. "Depends on how you want to look at it."
"Shit, Zac."
"Yeah, yeah." He waived a hand at his little brother.
"Just tell me. With what you pulled this morning, it'll be hard to top that."
He leant back into the sofa and grimaced. "We have a visitor."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "What kind of visitor."
"One from my sordid past."
"Care to elaborate further?"
"Her
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