Name : Roland D. Yeomans
Title : French Quarter Nocturne
Genre : Urban Fantasy
It rained lies and death today.
But some things even Hurricane Katrina couldn’t change.
As it had for the past century and a half, the setting sun took its last look on St. Peter’s street as it transformed to Rue La Mort. The flooded street sparkled with flakes of burning silver. Beneath the muddy water, spirits swam restlessly, looking nothing so much as seeping blood under the sea.
Though I had seen the transformation a thousand times, tonight’s still hollowed out my chest. My vision blurred. My head became light. Reality stretched like taffy pulled by some demented demon-child.
The world looked as if I were viewing it from the wrong end of a telescope. My head felt full of helium. I half-expected it to float off my shoulders.
The evening fog became blood mists billowing over the flooded street. The mists became figures out of nightmare. I stood my ground. There were dazed innocents behind me, and I would protect them as I had protected them for a hundred and fifty years.
Frightening me never worked. The ghost demons fell back to the tried and true, murmuring hollow promises in my ear.  I felt off-balanced as if I would fall into madness. I still stood my ground. Hissing in anger, they drifted off down the flooded Rue La Mort in search of more gullible souls.
A shadow loomed over me. I held onto my Stetson and craned my neck, looking up. There it was in all its hellish glory.
Meilori’s, the Crossroads of Worlds.

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