Page 44 of Ghoul Kisses

We stroll along the streets of downtown New Orleans. The people are vibrant. Women dance in the street as a short, round woman sings blues, and I unconsciously sway to her beautiful song. It’s amazing here.

“Do you want to eat before we go to Meagan’s house?” Eric asks, tugging on his baseball cap.

“Sure.”

I settle for SoBou which is located in the French Quarter. The light is dim, the smell of Cajun food lingers in the air, and jazz music hums in the background. A perfect date for a human and a ghoul. The host shows us to our booth and hands us our menus. Five minutes later, the waitress comes to our table with a pen and pad in her hand. She eyeballs Eric, placing her hand over her mouth. Her face is white as paper.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” I ask. She nods, trying to regain her composure.

“What would you like to order?” she asks with a shaky voice. I scan the menu and settle with Caribbean Style Shrimp Salad and a medium coke. Eric orders a glass of water. She collects our menus and storms off. As soon as she is out of earshot, I turn my focus to Eric.

“What was that about? She looks like she saw a ghost,” I say. He places his hand over mine.

“She knows I’m a ghoul,” Eric deadpans.

“What? How?”

He clears his throat before speaking.

“Louisiana is the most supernatural place to live. Most of the people here are witches; this is their breeding ground.”

The same waitress sets our drinks down and quickly walks away. I take a sip of my coke, letting the bubbles burn my throat.

“So you can be yourself here and not worry about being killed?”

I search his face for an answer.

“Yes and no. Most of the witches won’t bother me unless I’m harming a human, but some are not too fond of ghouls.”

The waitress sets my salad in front of me. I scoop a shrimp into my mouth. The food is tasty. I think back to the auction and the girl mistaking me for someone else. I remember how startled she looked when she saw Eric.

“You remember the redhead back at the auction? Is she a witch?” I ask between bites. Eric sips his water before answering.

“She is a white witch, which means she is a healer. They don’t believe in harming others.”

The supernatural world is so complex compared to the normal life I am used to. There is so much I could learn about each race or species. My mind wanders to Clayton, the son of a bitch who tried to kill me. How he looks so different from any werewolves I’ve read about. Everything around me feels surreal.

I finish my meal and drink the remainder of my soda. Eric pulls out his wallet, and I slap it out of his hand.

“My treat,” I say playfully. I fish for my wallet in my designer purse and slap a twenty on the table.

The drive from the restaurant is about an hour away from the witch’s house. Louis Armstrong plays through the speakers.

“I didn’t know you liked Jazz,” I say as I lean my head against the car window.

The sky is the hint of purple and orange; it’s almost nightfall.

“Jazz is my favorite genre,” Eric answers. He takes his right hand off the steering wheel and intertwines his fingers with mine.

“What do you like to do besides watch porn?” I recall what he said to me when I was trying to have a conversation with him in those tumultuous first days. He laughs at my question.

“I was fucking with you when I said that.”

“Sure.”

“You annoyed the shit out of me when I first met you.”

“Did not. For real, what do you like to do?”

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