Dark Perception: The Corde Noire Series

lexandrea Weis

Dark Perception

By

Alexandrea Weis

Dark Perception

By

Alexandrea Weis

This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as
real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations,
or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © Alexandrea Weis
2016

Smashwords Edition

First Edition Weba Publishing February
9, 2016

Smashwords Licensing
Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this
book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without
written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied
in articles and reviews.

Book Cover: Laura Hidalgo
Designs

Editors: Maxine Bringenberg

Chapter 1

The energetic atmosphere of the French
Quarter was almost palpable. Everywhere there was music, laughter,
and the smell of some mouth-watering meal being prepared in one of
the many restaurants.

Emerging from the shaded sidewalks
beneath the long balconies of the Pontalba Apartments, a stunning
redhead turned off Chartres Street and into the bright sunlight
radiating down on Jackson Square. Filled with people enjoying the
last inklings of spring, the black fence around the Square
showcased an eclectic array of artists, musicians, mimes, psychics,
and tarot card readers. There to finagle some needed cash from the
pockets of the ambling tourists, each of the street performers
tried to outshine the rest. As the attractive woman passed a mime
and a trio of violinists, she tugged at the brown leather backpack
slung over her shoulder. Whipping her long braid of reddish-gold
hair around, she stopped when she caught her reflection in a nearby
store window.

Her creamy skin was already turning
pink, and though she tried to pat away the extra blush from her
high cheekbones, she swore she resembled a strawberry. Her pink
lipstick had disappeared—she never could keep the stuff on—and the
black eyeliner she had so carefully traced around her bright green
eyes was beginning to smear, making her look like a raccoon. It was
at times like this Melinda Harris wished she had grown-up in a
house full of women instead of a father and four
brothers.

“
No wonder I’m better at
throwing a football than applying mascara,” Melinda mumbled under
her breath.

Sticking to the shadows beneath the
balconies of the Pontalba Apartments, she eyed a spot along the
black, wrought iron fence that was lovingly shaded by a leaning oak
tree. An empty, metal folding table and chairs beckoned. As she
approached, a woman’s harsh voice made Melinda cringe.

“
You’re late.”

With shocking pink hair and wearing a
white, flowing cotton dress, the woman had a pair of vivid blue
eyes that complemented her pale complexion, but clashed with the
tattoos covering her arms and chest.

“
I overslept, Ellie.
Sorry.” Melinda tossed the backpack on the table next to
her.

“
I had to fight off that
bitch, Antonia, for you. She wanted to do her aura readings in your
spot.” Ellie inspected her face. “Do you have makeup on? You never
wear makeup.”

Melinda anxiously rubbed her hand over
her cheek and then waved to the table by the fence. “Thanks for
setting up for me.”

“
That wasn’t me and you
know it. He set up your table and chairs first thing this morning.
He’s been by twice already, asking for you.” Ellie looked her over
again with her invasive blue eyes. “So who caused you to
oversleep?”

“
Who?” Melinda gave her
scornful smirk. “Very funny. I stayed for a late set at the
Ritz-Carlton last night to make some extra cash.”

Ellie sat back in her chair and
frowned her hot pink lips. “I thought you were going to quit
playing piano there.”

“
I may hate playing piano
in the lobby of some posh hotel to a bunch of tone-deaf tourists,
but it pays the rent.”

“
You need to pursue your
music, Melinda. You’re never going to get anywhere in hotels or
doing readings. You need to be spending your time writing music and
performing in the clubs.”

Melinda directed her attention to her
backpack. “No bands are interested in hiring a piano player until
they have cut an album. No one wants to cut an album with me until
I have played in the clubs.” Melinda unzipped the backpack and
pulled out a folded piece of green cloth. “So, until I’m
discovered, I’m stuck hocking my pseudo-psychic skills and my music
to tourists on street corners and in hotel lobbies.”

“‘
Pseudo-psychic skills’?”
Ellie roared with deep-throated laughter. “Melinda, you’ve got more
talent in your little finger than all the fakes hanging out here.
For the life of me, I can’t figure out why you don’t go legit with
your ability.”

Melinda shook out the green fabric
from her backpack and placed it over the edge of her table. She
then secured the cloth under her leather backpack, collected two
red candles, and set them on top of the cloth to keep it weighted
down.

“
I thought my talent was my
music, not reading people.”

“
Don’t get me wrong, kiddo,
you’re a really good piano player,” Ellie told her with a shrug.
“Still, your reading skills are better than anyone I’ve ever seen,
and I’ve been doing readings here for close to ten
years.”

Melinda retrieved a deck of tarot
cards from her backpack and placed them on the green cloth. “I
appreciate that, Ellie, really I do, but I want to be a serious
musician, not some crazy woman on late night TV selling her psychic
abilities to drunks and bored housewives.”

“
Maybe you should use those
skills of yours to help fund your musical aspirations.” Ellie
waggled her finger at Melinda. “You and I both know there are a ton
of people in this town who would love to get their hands on a legit
psychic.”

“
There are no legit
psychics on Jackson Square, remember?” Melinda scoffed while
yanking a beige money purse from her backpack. “You and Jack told
me from day one that once you end up here, you’ll always be labeled
as a fraud.”

“
You’re never gonna be seen
as no fraud, Melinda. Everyone knows you have a gift.”

Melinda’s light snicker floated in the
air. “Jack says I have a problem.”

“
If you ask me, Jack’s the
one with the problem.” Ellie gazed into the crowds. “Speaking of
which, where is our cohort in crime? He should be passing by about
now with our coffees.”

Melinda made herself comfortable in
her chair, and then placed the money purse in her lap. “You know
Jack. He probably stopped to flirt with the girls over at Café Du
Monde.”

“
Oh, please.” Ellie gave an
overly dramatic roll of her blue eyes. “He may flirt with every
skirt he sees, but his heart belongs to you.”

“
Stop playing matchmaker,
Ellie. It’s getting old.”

“
Just stating a fact,
kiddo. Why do you think he’s always buying you coffee, setting up
your table? He doesn’t do it out of kindness. He likes
you.”

Melinda leveled her green eyes on her
friend. “How many times have I told you? Jack and I—”

“
Have no interest in being
more than friends,” Ellie jumped in, finishing her words. “You keep
telling me that. But when that man looks at you, I don’t see
friendship in his eyes.”

“
Then you need glasses,”
Melinda countered. “You and I both know Jack is a better friend
than a boyfriend. How many girlfriends has he gone through since we
met him?”

Ellie gave a throaty rumble of
laughter. “I lost count.”

Melinda pulled at the green fabric on
her table, pretending to smooth out some invisible wrinkle. “Well,
I’ve kept count. He’s gone through ten girlfriends since the first
time we both met him three years ago. We were—”

“
Fighting with Mark Jessups
over our spot here under the tree.” Ellie peered up at the leaning
oak tree behind them. “Jack stepped in and came to our rescue. He’s
been at our side every day since. Hell, he’s been more reliable
than my husband.”

“
Leave Bill out of this.
He’s a good man, better than …” Melinda’s voice
faltered.

Ellie studied the delicate redhead
next to her. “It’s been three years, Melinda. You need to let him
go.”

Melinda lowered her eyes to her table.
“I have let him go. I’ve moved on.”

“
Sausage Neck is not my
idea of moving on. He’s more like moving backwards.”

Melinda swerved her angry green eyes
to her friend. “Mike Johnson is a great guy, and he doesn’t have a
sausage neck. He plays professional baseball, and—”

“
Semi-professional
baseball. The Zephyrs aren’t exactly the Yankees,” Ellie cut
in.

“
It’s baseball, and he gets
paid to play it.” Melinda eagerly scanned the few tourists milling
about. “So that makes it professional.”

Ellie crossed her arms and stared at
Melinda. “Perhaps you should wait until you two have been dating
for a few months before you start defending his career choice.
You’ve had what … two dates with the guy? Already you’re struggling
to find reasons to keep seeing him.”

“
I am not,” Melinda boldly
defended.

“
Are not what?” a man’s
deep voice harassed.

When Melinda spotted a pair of
inquisitive hazel eyes staring back at her, she smiled. Not what
most women would have considered handsome—with a wiry build, and
unruly, thick, light brown hair—he had dimples in both cheeks and a
smattering of freckles around his crooked nose, which only added to
his boyish good looks. His face was square, his mouth wide, and his
short forehead protruded slightly over his brow, but it was his
smile that always warmed Melinda. She admired the way his dimples
deepened when he smiled, and how his eyes seemed to disappear
beneath his chiseled cheekbones. Often opting for faded blue jeans
with more than a few holes, loose-fitting T-shirts, and a perpetual
five o’clock shadow, Jack Deron reminded Melinda of a character
from a Mark Twain novel who was too engrossed in his adventurous
life to care how others perceived him.

“
Are you going to tell me
what you two are arguing about?” Jack tipped his head to the side
and held out a white coffee cup to Melinda.

Melinda became distracted by his long
hands. He had an effortless ease when he moved. One of the most
graceful men she had ever met, Jack was a walking symphony of
dulcet tones to Melinda. He was like a haunting melody—lingering
with her long after his physical presence had left her
side.

“
We weren’t arguing. We
were talking about Sausage Neck,” Ellie informed him.

Jack laughed, and again Melinda was
reminded of music. His deep bellow was soulful, vibrant, and
sounded more like an emotional release rather than a casual lilt of
amusement.

“
Oh, yeah. How is Sausage
Neck?”

Melinda snatched the cup of coffee
from his hand and slammed it down on her table. “Stop calling him
that.”

Jack leaned in and examined her face.
“Are you wearing makeup?”

“
Yep, I noticed it, too,”
Ellie added from her chair.

Jack took a seat on the chair in front
of Melinda’s table. “Expecting someone today? Perhaps Sausage
Neck?”

Melinda rolled her eyes. “I’m wearing
makeup, so what? Is that a crime?”

“
Only the way you wear it,”
Jack muttered, plunking his coffee cup on Melinda’s
table.

“
If you children can’t play
well together, I’ll take away your coffee,” Ellie threatened next
to them. “Let’s see how long you two last out here without your
caffeine fix.”

Melinda grabbed her cup of coffee and
sulked in her chair.

“
It’s not Mike you’re
hoping to see, is it, Maddie?” Jack interrogated in a low, heavy
voice.

Melinda sipped from her coffee,
avoiding his eyes.