“Is that a threat?”

“Look to the fields, Ghislaine.”

The girl’s eyes followed where her master pointed and there, in the fields, the other slaves were still toiling diligently. There was no overseer, no one to crack the whip, no foreman- there was no one. But still they worked and labored over the cane, even though dusk had fallen.

There was something in the way that they moved, something familiar in that silent unison that she couldn’t place. She wanted to ask him again if he was threatening her, if those terrible things he spoke of would be working the cane fields, or being given to those slaves for entertainment. But he’d turned from her now and though she did not know him, she could tell by the hard set of his jaw that he would discuss it no more. Some things were universal in all men.

If she was surprised when he opened the door to his home himself, she didn’t show it. There was no butler, no maid; Casa de la Sangre was seemingly deserted. It was another question that she wanted to ask, but the throbbing in her head reminded her to keep her mouth shut.

“Up the stairs and to the left you will find my apartments. There is water for washing. Make use of it.”

Ghislaine did as she was told, though several times during her bath, she felt as if she were being watched. There was a cold sensation on the back of her neck, but when she would turn around, there was nothing there. Several times, she thought she’d caught a glimpse of a shadow in one of the mirrors, but always it was gone before she could define it.

The prayers of her ancestors came to her lips softly now, invoking protection and strength. She called upon loa after loa to serve her, defend her and protect her against the evils of Casa de la Sangre.

Even though there was a darkness to the place, she was grateful to be clean. And the bed in which Martine Bartlett would indulge his depravity, it was soft and decadent. She lay against the overstuffed pillows and waited.

She must have slept because when she opened her eyes, the candle had burned to nothing. The shadows were thick and heavy, blanketing the room with a deeper darkness. There was someone in the bed next to her, laying atop the blanket.

“Shh, my lovely.”

A woman’s voice.

“Such a prize my son has brought home to us.”

“I,” she began, until a cold and waxy hand closed over mouth.

“He would be very angry if he knew I was here.” That hand now cupped her cheek and smoothed her hair away from her face. “So beautiful.” Another touch slipped down her naked shoulder, caressing the carefully inked snake. “The rainbow serpent once guarded you, but she has no power here at Casa de la Sangre.”

And suddenly, she was gone.