The Satyr's Curse (The Satyr's Curse Series Book 1) by Alexandrea Weis

him, he would follow her inside and plop down on her green velvet sofa in her living room. Over the years they had shared a great deal on that sofa.
    “Maybe a little too much,” she mumbled as she reflected on their night together.
    She went to the arched doorway that marked the entrance to the living room and pulled the heavy cypress pocket doors open. After flipping on the lights, she surveyed the room.
    The green velvet Queen Anne mahogany sofa sat facing the enormous marble fireplace over a green and white Oriental rug. Against the far wall on either side of the walnut fireplace mantle with its delicate carvings of mythological creatures were matching green velvet Queen Anne mahogany chairs. Next to both chairs, white french windows looked out over the edge of the property. Just above the mantle, two brass sconces long ago converted to electric lights flickered to resemble gas lamps. Finally, Jazzmyn’s eyes rose above the decorative lights to the huge painting of a pretty, round-faced, young woman in a stylish lace gown.
    She approached the mantle and browsed the delicate features, pink, cherubic cheeks, and bright blue eyes in the portrait. The young woman’s dress was corseted at the waist and flared out in a hoopskirt fashion all the way to the ground. In her hand was a white fan, and around her slender shoulders was wrapped a white lace shawl.
    “Why are you staring at that painting?” Kyle asked as he stepped into the room. “Is there something wrong with it?”
    “Ah, no.” Jazzmyn motioned to the picture. “I was just remembering something Julian told me about the woman in the painting.”
    “Julian?” Kyle snorted with contempt. “What could he possibly know about old Odette?”
    She wheeled around to face him. “How did you know her name was Odette?”
    Kyle came up to her. “Jazzmyn, how many times have I been in your house?” He pointed at the portrait. “I’ve read the nameplate on the bottom of that painting about a hundred times.”
    Jazzmyn turned back to the mantle and admired the young woman’s innocent beauty.
    “What did the wino tell you?” he pestered.
    “Julian knew a lot about my family history.” She shook her head. “He knew a lot about many of the families in the French Quarter, as well. He told me stories about each family that lived in all the different houses we walked past. Funny thing was, all the people he spoke about have been dead for over a hundred a fifty years.”
    “You said he liked New Orleans history,” Kyle mentioned with a shrug. “Maybe he read that stuff in a book?”
    She glanced back at him. “When did I tell you he liked New Orleans history?”
    “You didn’t. You told everybody else in the restaurant about it and it got back to me.” He walked over to the sofa and sat down. “What did he tell you about Odette?”
    Jazzmyn traced her fingers along the dusty fireplace mantle. “That she was apparently engaged to some rich merchant’s son. The guy ran around on her, and out of shame she hung herself in the back garden.”
    “Oh, great!” Kyle howled. “If that doesn’t give you nightmares while sleeping in this old, creepy house, I don’t know what will.”
    She wiped the dust from her fingers. “Here’s the kicker. The rich merchant’s son Odette was engaged to was Julian’s ancestor, another Julian Devereau, and the one that all the male heirs in his family are named after.”
    “All of them? That must make for interesting family reunions.”
    Jazzmyn stepped over to the sofa. “He showed me his family home, built by his ancestor who was engaged to Odette. It was a big place on Bourbon and Esplanade.”
    “Not The Satyr House?” Kyle challenged with a look of trepidation in his eyes.
    “I think so.” She sat down next to him. “There was a big plaster shield above the front door of a half-man, half-goat creature playing a flute. I think that’s a satyr, isn’t it?”   
    “That’s The Satyr House,” Kyle confirmed,