The sea air was a courtesan, practiced and soft as it slid into Saint Augustine with the scent of exotica and the lure of the unknown. There was a subtle malevolence that threaded through that sweetness, a hidden chill that fought through the cloying humidity of the afternoon.

Morning tide had brought the trader ship Reliant into port and with it, foreign goods. There were spices, silks, teas and flesh.

It was the flesh that caught the eye of young Martine Bartlett, the newly named master of Casa de la Sangre.

She was dirty, this slave, her exact ethnicity impossible to determine beneath all of the grime. Slender and young, obviously some gentleman’s by-blow, judging from the green of her eyes. Her hair fell in matted knots to her waist and a simple muslin shift did little to hide her body.

But it wasn’t her woman’s charms that caught his attention. It was the tattoo on her arm, though barely visible through the layers of filth, it was there nonetheless. A serpent’s tail began on her wrist and wrapped around her arm several times until the animal’s head came to rest on her collarbone.

There was something intriguing about her- the tattoo, made him want to touch her, to have her. He stepped forward and was about to inspect her further when a bulky form inserted itself between Martine and his intended purchase.

“That’s not one for a fine gentleman such as yourself.”

“No?”

“She’s bound for hard labor in the cane fields. Not a man’s bed.”

“And what did she do, this terrible felon?” He nodded to the girl, amused.

“She slit her master’s throat as he slept and bathed herself in the blood of his children.”

“Indeed.” The explanation may as well have been an account of the weather for all it mattered to Martine. “And where is she from that such terror could occur? That a slave could murder her master?”

“The Revolution, Haiti.”

“I will have her.”

The trader eyed him carefully. “There were many offers before you. Why should I sell her now?”

“Because you’re afraid of her. The others were afraid of her and of the Revolution that she might seek to bring here.” He looked to the girl again. “But I am not afraid. There will be no Revolution at Casa de la Sangre.”