Vieux Carre Lune - Moonrising Book 3

Chapter 5

Saturday, September 9th 2015 3:02 p.m. CST

New Orleans, Louisiana

Roel

The first four rooms I came to on the second floor of the three story building looked as if they had already been taken, even though nobody seemed to be around. Where the hell is everyone?

The pecking of laptop keys had me slowing and looking into the fifth room on the right.

Roland Volkner-otherwise known by his pen name as Roland McRae by his smut lovers, Roland Corwen by his horror and mystery readers and Roland Harris by his Sci-Fi fans-sat with his back rested against the black iron headboard of his king bed, MacBook on his lap, unbuttoned Diesel jeans, no shirt and his bare feet crossed at the ankles as if he had just finished doing a photo shoot for GQ.

He was probably one of few who I'd heard mention that he was bringing all his personal belongings and furniture with him. Most of us sold everything in Alabama to keep from moving the shit. With a quick glance around the room, I gathered that his more intimate furniture and play things-used to satisfy the sexual needs of his partners and himself-were stashed away somewhere or still packed in a U-Haul trailer outside, because the only thing in the room, besides his laptop, a blanket, eight hundred thread count sheets and himself, was the four thousand dollar bed he was sitting on.

His dark hair was tousled as if he'd been napping, and then had woken to a brilliant ending to his next best-selling story and had to write it immediately. The guy must have published over two hundred books by now. Every few decades or so, he had to choose a new pen name or write in a different genre to keep the public from discovering that he wasn't aging. And he never, ever agreed to do any sort of book signings or meet-and-greet the author thingies. To his readers, he was a ghost-or a woman, for all they knew. They didn't care what he was. It didn't stop them from devouring his words.

Roland's brown eyes flicked up to see me watching him.

"S'up, Roel," Roland said, his raspy voice monotone. "Glad you finally made it."

"That makes one of us." I nodded toward the Mac. "You working on something new?"

"Nah." Roland frowned as he set the laptop on the tangled sheets and rubbed his eyes, pushing his black-rimmed glasses to his forehead as he did so. He was one of the only weres I knew who wore glasses. Rumor had it that he was nearly blind when he'd been bitten, and the change had only fixed so much of his eyesight. "I've been working on this one for over eighty years. It took me four years just to type what I'd written from notebooks when computers were invented. It's my autobiography."

My eyebrows popped up. "Interesting." It really was interesting. I could only imagine the shit that was written in that book. Roland wasn't exactly an angel. Actually, none of us were. We all had pasts that haunted us in some way or another.

Roland stood, picked up a t-shirt from the foot of his bed then pulled it over his head. "You hungry? I skipped lunch, so I'm starving."

At the mention of eating, my stomach growled. I actually couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten. Two, maybe three days ago. The Jack was still sloshing around in there a bit, making me regret last night all over again. My clothes were beginning to hang on me, and I could tell my muscle mass wasn't what it used to be. I knew I was a mess, but just the thought of eating made me want to hurl. "Actually, I think I'll find a room and crash for a while. I'm tired from the drive."

"A'right. Well, I'll be in the kitchen eating what's left of the Chinese take-out and pizza if you change your mind." Roland pointed to a room adjacent to his. "I think that one's still empty. It's probably filthy, so if you want to catch a few hours' sleep, you can use my bed. I won't need it. I'm going to drive to the city later and see if I can't find some trouble to get into." He glanced at the bed then back to me. "Just don't fuck with my laptop or I'll have to kill you."