Death Angel

Chapter 4: The Debut (Part 1)

I used to enjoy lavish parties. The people, both beautiful and powerful, that gathered at these events. The elegant silverware, the fine food, wine and the almost shameless extravagance of it all.  Even the conversation was enjoyable. I was one of the beautiful people after all, so being with people was easy, they were trying to please me instead of the other way around, so it was second-nature to me.

Mere days after my demise and I found myself back in the same environment. My death just days ago, was at one such a party, and yet here I was again, the party girl.

I guess old habits die hard, no pun intended.

We had been invited to an elegant plantation-style home on Cleveland Place, with beautiful tall glass windows overlooking Lake Ponchartrain as it glistened before us. Like all things New Orleans, the home was an elegant mix of old and new. The outside had the old-world feel, with its expansive gardens, replete with marble statues, creeping vines and bubbling fountains. Here, in New Orleans’ old and new, rich and poor, I found comfort and solace.

The people were the same too. A mix of the Nouveau Riche and Old Money; southern families who gained prominence and wealth during the plantation era. When men were not created equal. It was a travesty, that time, one that many prefer to forget, and yet bad history, like man’s many mistakes have a tendency not to be forgotten.

“Enjoying yourself, cherie?” Death was as charming as ever.

“I’m not quite sure yet, although I am certainly enjoying your real world self,” I said, smiling wryly at Death.

Death winked at me. He had lost the Fedora, his dark hair and dark eyes complimented him. he looked very much the part of the powerful and influential stock broker that he portrayed himself to be. What better disguise than a man who would attract the attention of the IRS? He was right after all. Death and Taxes.

“Look at this crowd of beautiful people,” Death waving his hand at the well dressed group in front of us and taking a sip of the Pinot Noir he had in his hand, holding the glass daintily by the stem and expertly swishing vigorously without spilling a drop. “You’ll allow me to re-introduce you of course?”

I smiled, and gracefully took his hand. “It would bring me nothing but pleasure.”

***

I remember myself still visibly shaking long after my original brush with the Class- D Vampire. It was a combination of the adrenaline rush I received and the enormity of everything I had learned just gradually sinking in.

“What do you mean my soul didn’t have a color?” I asked back then.

“There are a small number of extraordinary souls through the ages that don’t have a color. For those people, their destinies are theirs to write. The buddhists have a word for it: Nirvana. To ascend to divinity without going into the world beyond. These are souls that are capable of being reborn, to find another life because they cannot be judged.” Death took my hand calmly as we walked along the streets of the French Quarter.

“A soul without color is someone who can defy Death,” he said simply.

“Then you have cheated me by forcing your contract upon me without telling me this fact.”

“No, dear Vanessa, it’s quite the opposite,” said Death as he calmly strolled the streets. “You were offered the contract precisely because your soul didn’t have a color.”

I was walking at a rather rapid pace alongside Death. We strolled along St. Peter Street, near Louis Armstrong Park heading back toward Treme. St. Louis Cathedral was far behind us now. It had rained the night before, I remembered, or perhaps the very afternoon when I fell to my death. I wondered where my body was and how it was doing. It was likely in a very cold place right now, being examined for forensic evidence. I shivered at the thought.