Of Wizards and Angels: A Supernatural Fantasy

Of Wizards and Angels

A supernatural fantasy

By Charles Louis Braai

©

Copyright 2003, 2011 Charles Louis Braai.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Copyright C. L. Braai 2003 TX u 1-112-121- Registered June 2003, with Library of Congress, when the manuscript then had its former title of Elizabeth a Wizard’s Progeny- It has since been edited and overwritten and the title has been changed e.g. Of Wizards and Angels

Places, certain structures and buildings, events, occurrences and characters described in this publication are factious, and are the product of the author’s imagination entirely; distinctly mentioned structures, buildings and occurrences, in truth, does not, nor have they ever existed. Descriptions of establishments, and also of places and buildings and characters mentioned here- within does not make claim that they have actually existed, or ever have happened and as such some may not correspond with true and genuine places, occurrences, persons and things.

Any similarity to any person place or thing is therefore purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-4269-5441-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4269-5442-9 (e)

Trafford rev. 07/25/2011

Image336.JPG www.trafford.com

North America & international

toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA & Canada)

phone: 250 383 6864 ♦ fax: 812 355 4082

Contents

Chapter One Nairobi-Kenya,-Africa Quarter Of The Twentieth Century

Chapter Two The New Orleans’ French Quarter

Chapter Three City Time Forgot

Chapter Four The Party

Chapter Five Ten Oaks

Chapter Six Tragedy

Chapter Seven Bourbon Street

Chapter Eight The Funeral

Chapter Nine The Ritual

Chapter Ten The Translation

Chapter Eleven Destiny Unfolded

Chapter Twelve Encounter

Chapter Thirteen The Reunion

Chapter Fourteen Special Delivery Package

Chapter Fifteen The Surprise

Chapter Sixteen Know What They Did To Witches

Chapter Seventeen Virtuosa

Chapter Eighteen Our Country’s Darkest Time

Chapter Nineteen The Paradox

Chapter Twenty The Announcement

Chapter Twenty One The Awaking

Chapter Twenty Two Africa, Unforgettable Africa.

Chapter Twenty Three The Confrontation

Chapter Twenty Four Strange Disappearances

Chapter Twenty Five The Baby Shower

Chapter Twenty Six End Of Time

Chapter Twenty Seven Just Some Visitor

Chapter Twenty Eight Son Of Lucifer

Chapter Twenty Nine What Power Is It That Can Do These Things?

CHAPTER ONE

Nairobi-Kenya,-Africa

quarter of the Twentieth Century

It was an early clear morning and a little chill still remained in the air, so Elizabeth just sat there in the morning breeze and watched the many activities from her veranda. Her intention was to enjoy her morning coffee as best she could. Still Elizabeth considered direfully what the future had to offer.

Elizabeth savored her coffee she gazed across the courtyard and curiously observed with some interest as a battalion of British engineers, jointly with the infantry, were busy setting up a command post they have been constructing on her plantation for weeks.

Elizabeth was annoyed by all sorts of commotion almost every night and as with most of the nights since the British arrived, Elizabeth could hardly sleep. However, the clamor of heavy trucks and machinery became unbearable, particularly at sunrise, and each morning was exactly the same as with the preceding mornings; the British started their construction at daybreak and Elizabeth was up early nearly every morning since the British’s arrival. So with little else to do, those activities served as entertainment.

Some troops were digging holes and others pitching tents. A large collection of the local people, those enlisted by the British engineers, was building a large structure said to be an armory. All of which was no surprise to Elizabeth because, for nearly six years, rumors had circled throughout most European countries that a war was inevitable. After Elizabeth’s visit to Europe, and upon her return to the plantation, she had found preparations were being made in Kenya for war. That was nearly four years earlier. Elizabeth had been home since then and in that time, particularly in the last two years; she had grown distressingly accustomed to the idea of a war. The circumstances were frightful; Elizabeth could do nothing but watch all the worrisome activities.

The plantation was drastically upturned and many of the local indigenous people, those living on the plantation, had moved into the bush to hide. For months Elizabeth had observed the fuss and hustle that disrupted the peaceful atmosphere which existed there on her beautiful plantation. Elizabeth realized that in those years the war had finally arrived. Yes, war was raging throughout England and most of the Continent.

It was rumored that Nazi Germany had already occupied the French Algerian Colony and battles were clashing in the Sahara. By then the war had steadily encroached on the African continent. Some battles were near, for many nights, when all should be quiet, but of course, with Elizabeth’s impeccably perfect ears, she was certain she heard artillery.

The war itself troubled Elizabeth’s personal wellbeing only slightly. She knew she couldn’t be physically harmed, after all she was immortal; nothing on this earth could harm her in any way. Her major concerns harbored about the war were the many friends she might lose or that its outcome would change the peaceful lifestyle there in Kenya or back home in Europe, maybe even the entire world. The circumstances were dreadful; Elizabeth could do nothing to change a thing. She would have to sit out the war and hope for the best. No one could go anywhere; crossing the Mediterranean or the Atlantic was practically impossible.

Elizabeth was trapped there in Africa with nothing to do but observe all the activities that were going on right there in her very own court yard; like all the preceding mornings since the arrival of the British, she just watched the men preforming all sorts of tasks, but those activities had become only adequately interesting.

However, losing interests after she watched those activities for days, boredom started setting in. Yet, off in the distance her curiosity returned for Elizabeth keenly watched a company of British infantry as they were going through their maneuvers.

Elizabeth seriously tried not to dwell on her situation, so she let her mind wonder and used the new distraction to fill her thoughts. She had always admired the British infantry when they marched and drilled. Their movements were always so impeccably precise. She was enthralled the way they performed their manual of arms and executed their arms inspections with those snappishly quick movements. Elizabeth became intrigued as they marched with such precision accompanied by a small corps of Scottish bagpipes and keenly she followed their movement.

Unfortunately her gaze continued to follow the small parade as they marched by the wrought iron fence that surrounded the small graveyard. That was when Elizabeth’s attention became diverted and a saddened cloud overwhelmed her, for disturbingly, just a short distance away the little mausoleum was all too conspicuously seen and her attention was irefully deflected, for it was there where Elizabeth had buried her husband Jonathan eight years earlier..

Jonathan was the last, and most cherished of all her husbands. For a short moment, Elizabeth sadly peered at the quaint structure. Her gaze was then… no, not at it… but was through it; the setting was so depressing that her eyes glazed with tears as she focused passed the structure unto infinity and her mind began the sad but an often taken journey through the many years of more than four centuries. That diversion turned to something far less amusing; her wandering thoughts had then become unshakably trapped in those melancholy cravens of wheels and spiraling circles that resided inside her mind.

Like a dream her thoughts traveled far back in time to Bavaria, where Elizabeth was born more than four centuries earlier. That was when just twenty-one-years old Elizabeth discovered amongst her father’s things a great magic book entitled, Wizards Angels and Rituals. In some way, that magic book had become an instrument of despair.

A few years after discovering the book, when at age twenty-five, Elizabeth had used the book to conjure a ritual, and she was enchanted with immortality, perfect health and a beauty impossible to humanly describe. For all practical purposes it was then that her life had begun.

Over those years Elizabeth had shrewdly amassed a huge fortune she could never have spent in dozens of lifetimes. Ironically another dozen lifetimes would only add to her immense wealth; enough capital had been invested all over the world and her wealth accumulated faster than she could spend it. She had been born into nobility and through those many centuries she managed her resources wisely. Kings would have been jealous of her immense fortune, so why did she seem so unhappy?

Ironically Elizabeth carried a burden hard to live with and impossible to live without. That burden mingled with things awful to remember and with those too dear to forget. Sorrowfully, in her mind was a graveyard full of her children, her dear friends, relatives and her past lovers. All of those memories endlessly strived to torment her. She suffered almost permanent melancholia.

At the moment, her thoughts had temporally wondered from the parade, again to journey for a few minutes back to those past years. However abruptly, she was momentarily startled by another loud clamor from the marching troops as they trampled slightly outside of her perception and tenaciously attempted to keep her distracted. Best as Elizabeth could, for some unknown reason, she cast the distraction aside.

Still sitting there with that diversion blocked, for whatever reason, Elizabeth resumed her glaze out onto infinity. In her mind, her eyes and ears began bouncing back and forth in times before she had last seen the magic book. With an appeasing wish, Elizabeth wondered, if she still had the magic book maybe she could put an end to the war. Although she realized that thought was a foolish dream.

With her eyes again fixed keenly on infinity, Elizabeth then continued to dwell in the past and her psyche resumed the journey which was almost interrupted. Absentmindedly Elizabeth wondered back on all the searching she had done in those last eight years since she had buried Jonathan. However, that period since Jonathan’s demise had become the most trying time in all of the past four centuries. With Jonathan gone and without his connections, most any searches became more difficult.

It was back then when Elizabeth realized that changes were needed. With that in mind, she knew lots of attention was required for that chore. It was then she had decided to devote every resource to that purpose. So shortly after Jonathan’s death, Elizabeth had managers put in place to run the plantation.

However, Elizabeth became weary; the memories of Jonathon became too hard to digest, so then Elizabeth tenaciously pondered memories of her dear friends and family to distance her from having thoughts about Jonathon. However, those memories also became intolerable and those thoughts became equally disheartening, for she knew more names and faces of the dead, or of the lost and misplaced living continued to grow.

Those past memories reached back many years to before Elizabeth’s enchantment when she was still a young woman. With Elizabeth’s thoughts studied, those memories had then coupled together an important profile, which reflectively portrayed Elizabeth. With those memories examined and realized, Elizabeth could then be understood.

Elizabeth continued her daydreaming and with those dreams nestled inside Elizabeth’s mind revealed, her thoughts could be heard almost in her own words. Having privy to those pictures and words spoken to her mind’s ears and revealed even to her mind’s opened eyes, and when studied, then a full understanding of Elizabeth could be realized.

Elizabeth resumed watching the British infantrymen as they went through their drills, however that was not enough to set aside her sad thoughts or pacify her, and the drilling soldiers completely and finally lost its interest; her sorrow was then too unsettling, so she started a conversation with herself inside her mind, to help tolerate her ordeal.

Having peered deeply inside Elizabeth’s mind with both her ears and even her opened eyes, what was seen, and what was heard? Of course, it was not the daydreaming of an idle mind, but serious thought about the past. So then in her own words Elizabeth started a conversation inside her mind and to herself.

Elizabeth’s miseries seen and heard, as they unfold behind her opened eyes and ears in her own mind and in her own words, while Continuing a silent conversation with herself.

What a mess I’ve gotten myself into. The more I think about it, the more I realize what a terrible mistake I’ve made when I gave that book to Althea two hundred and fifty years ago, but she was my only child remaining alive. However I thought she needed it and I really expected I’d see her again. She was supposed to have taken the book with her to the new world and then after marrying a military officer settled there. Now how was I to know things would have turned out so dreadful and so long ago. That was, after all, sixteen ninety nine when the ship, that Althea had sailed, disappeared in the Atlantic while on its journey to the colonies in North America. Even so, in all that time no matter how I’ve tried, neither Althea nor the great magic book has ever been found. I had even put new directors in charge of the plantation, because I planned to go to Bavaria for some research concerning the sunken ship.

Before doing that, I considered all my motivations for determining whether or not Althea could still be alive, so again I’m reminded of those heartbreaking two hundred and fifty years. God alone knows how often I’ve revisited those times.

For the longest, I had assumed Althea drowned and I’m still not completely sure. It was just near the turn of the century and nearly a year after Althea had sailed and was late November of sixteen ninety nine, when on that dreadful day I had heard that wreckage of the Kismet had been discovered in the North Atlantic. Yet, even then, nearly two hundred and fifty years ago and nearly a year after Althea sailed, I realized my grief over losing Althea had softened some. For that reason, with my grief clouded with all that time, I had thought more rationally. As more time passed, I concluded to the contrary a possibility existed that Althea might have conjured a ritual with the magic book before Althea had sailed. So hopefully my daughter may have become immortal before the ship had sunk. With that notion, even to this day, I still do have some hope.

However, if that possibility exists that Althea, being aware that I’m immortal, also knows I must still be alive. Now I can’t help it, but those thoughts always troubled me because, if Althea is still alive, then why hasn’t she tried to contact me in two hundred and fifty years. Still and all, if Althea was picked up at sea, she could be anywhere; the rescue ship may have gone anyplace in the world… Or, of course, by my thinking that, I could have just been rationalizing my fears to protect my own feelings.

If I could only have reversed that ritual, which I had performed more than four centuries ago and had become mortal again, then I might live out my life as a mortal, knowing no more friends or loved ones would die or become abandon. I have always known that I haven’t the option of ending it all as many a mortal has done; obviously suicide is of no use to someone immortal. Even if so, should I have ended my life and so saved my mind, what a paradox that would have been.

I guess perfect health and immortality are the only things stopping me from going insane. However, even accepting my melancholia, it does seem that my enchantment has kept my mind sober and in good health the same as my body. My guess is, those qualities combined with my enchantment have kept me rational thus far. The very idea I could lose my sanity or lucidity if not for my enchantment has always concerned me. However, I must free my mind of that worry. Those ideas cause me to feel worse, so I must try to concentrate my thoughts on my search for my daughter and hopefully the magic book.

I know the book would have returned to me if Althea drowned with the book still in her possession, because the book always magically returns to its rightful possessor at midnight. So with the whereabouts of the magic book remaining a complete mystery that’s waiting to be solved, this prospect has become paramount.

Thinking back, it suggested to me that Althea may have performed a ritual and still may be alive somewhere with the magic book, so I do remember at that time thinking I did have some hope. It was long ago when that prospect reinforced my decision that I devote all my time to that quest. I realized even long before Jonathan had died that finding Althea, or hopefully the magic book and then to reverse that spell may be the only way to gain peace of mind.

As I think of my dear Jonathan, I’m grievously aroused with much discontentment; painful as it may become, I still must again revisit that time nearly two years after Jonathan had died. It was just after putting the new managers in place. With that notion, I’m motivated to reexamine all the things I did since then. Oh how often I do this, but I have little else to do.

How bewildered and lost I’d felt without Jonathan by my side; he was so strong and competent. Before his death, he was a retired Rear Admiral from the British Admiralty, and most knowledgeable in the affairs of the sea and of ships.

A long time prior to those passed two years, many rumors have surfaced about a coming war being inevitable and recalling that time, I remember how cautious I had felt. The very idea a war might have started any moment did trouble me, but I had no choice. So then like intended, I took the chance and went to Bavaria. It was to have been just a short stay, only long enough to find some details regarding the disappearance of Altheas ship. I knew the search was a long shot, but it kept me busy and made me feel like I was at least doing something. After that, I planned on coming back here to Nairobi, which I did, arriving here on the plantation about four years ago.

However that trip to Europe was practically in vain, and even with the newer ships, it was a long trip sailing to Europe. Although, in spite of my long absence I was surprised that Europe had changed very little except for the strange political atmosphere. After my arrival I opened my old home in Bavaria, which had been closed for most of the thirty-five years that I have spent in Africa. I found that everything was just as I left it when I had moved permanently to Africa with Jonathan. Although I soon realized, that after spending more than a third of a century in Kenya, the weather in Europe presented a drastic change; in Nairobi the climate is warm, but pleasant, with exception for some early afternoon hours becoming really intolerably hot… but for that one thing the climate’s nearly ideal.

Following my arrival in Europe, luck didn’t turn my way. Oh but of course I should have known that would be the case. All my investigations were hampered by the bizarre political environment that was prevalent, though it was still in the mid-thirties; regardless, everyone was afraid to talk, and I began wondering if going there had been a good idea. It was months before I could get started on my investigations. As I already suspected, a feeling persisted then that war was just around the corner and coming so soon; ironically the last war had hardly seemed over yet. It was nineteen-thirty-five by then and for some time Germany had become controlled by a psychopath who somehow had the people mesmerized. Of course for me all this had come at the most inopportune time.

Still, when thinking back to that time, I do remember hoping that Germany was just going through some strange sort of stage; I couldn’t believe those brilliant people would let their country remain in control of a maniac. I also thought the very idea of war was worrisome, but contrarily I had hoped that was the one thing that might have brought the people back to their senses.

Being in that situation I remembered having to maintain a low profile in my research, which was a hindrance, since communication with England, was difficult because of the political environment gripping most the continent and particularly Bavaria; information was hard to come by there, so the careful bribing of lots of people became necessary.

Still, finally I found information about the ship on which my daughter had sailed. I felt it was ironic, but the ship’s unusual name, the Kismet, has always suggested an innuendo of ties with destiny. I do vaguely remember thinking that maybe its ill fate had entwined with the sinking of many other ships that year. However, I always did have a habit of seeing magic at the slightest suggestion. Still knowing the ship’s name should have helped my search.

It was ashamed, but more bribes became necessary before I had been given any help. With so many bribes, the official who finally helped me had become rich by the time I was led to the proper records, but ultimately I became busy and probed through all the old notices that concerned the sinking of Altheas ship.

Some information, mostly dates and times, had already been gathered in the beginning of the Eighteenth Century, which was just after I heard Altheas ship had sunk. That prior information, when combined with what I have discovered, helped pinpoint the exact time the ship had sank and I soon had records of every bit of cargo and lists of the crew and passengers.

Yes, I knew it was a long shot, but I hoped to get help from friends in the Admiralty. Though, to the contrary, the circumstance that existed in Bavaria by then, had constrained most contacts with England. Although aside from that, I do remember having found an old log of another ship where its captain had recorded that some cargo supposed to have been lost on the Kismet, had been discovered on some islands off the northern coast of South America. It was well known that those Caribbean Islands were frequented in those days by pirates and slave traders. As I had then analyzed that information, more fears surfaced. Burdened with that thought, I dreadfully surmised the ship could have survived a serious storm, but still helplessly floundered. Then, possibly without sail and perhaps with no rudder, it may then have drifted around the Atlantic with only the currents to steer her; Altheas ship would have been defenseless and easy prey for pirates. It could have been plundered and sunk with all hands.

I’m still distressed by those thoughts, because the fears at that particular time have continued to haunt me. I was burdened with much anxiety; the idea of pirates plundering Altheas ship is horrible and those dreaded ideas made me become more depressed. Still, even now I’m jolted back to that memory with some alarm. Such ideas still take on a more unsettling meaning, for what if Althea had been taken a captive by pirates; then oh, what an awful fate that could have been. I know that such ideas only added to my grief and I need to struggle and reject them. Regardless, after spending nearly a year with my research and wrestling my way through several dead ends, I became more unsettled with the information I found.

While still in Europe I did recall that a short time before he died, Jonathan had mentioned something about an old ‘Nanga Shaman’, who had lived on the plantation. He told me that this witch doctor had a reputation of being accurate with her predictions and visions. How ironic the way things turned out; after having searched all that time in Europe with little success, it became necessary that I come back here to Africa to find more information. Still, I returned to Africa promptly, but I wasn’t distressed with that necessity, for by then I had missed the plantation anyway. However that brought with it more enormously huge bribes.

Even so, I had realized that a war was eminent, and booking passage was nearly impossible and cost me another king’s ransom. However, I still enjoyed that sail back to Africa; it gave me time to relax and seriously contemplate what the outcome may be.

As Elizabeth’s conversation inside of her mind started to recount that recent meeting with the ‘Nganga Shaman,’ she was again distracted.

Elizabeth suddenly became fully aware and adjusted to the present activities that surrounded her. Again the disturbance created by the bagpipes close at hand returned her mind back to where she was sitting and thus her perception was snatched back to that conscious time of the present; Elizabeth’s psyche rejoined herself in body and in mind, where she had sat there on her veranda throughout all those memories. For the time being at least, Elizabeth’s visionary journey was put off.

Elizabeth’s conversation with herself was over and ended, so she watched the marching troops, and they were headed directly toward her. So the dwelling that concerned that meeting with the shaman was further halted. However, she knew that the war, at least in part, had come to Africa. It was the latter part of nineteen-forty-two, and by then the war had been going on throughout most of Europe. Africa, it seemed, was involved with a war ironically where two opposing sides were both foreign to Africa. Elizabeth also knew that the fighting would be near and hoped it wouldn’t last long, and that it wouldn’t spoil her beautiful Africa. However, Elizabeth had to stay such thoughts until another time when such annoyances would not bother her.

The drilling soldiers were getting closer and the pipes became louder, and strangely that screaming and haunting whine of the bagpipes started entertaining her pleasurably. Elizabeth briefly flashed back to the many military ceremonies she attended with Jonathan, where the Scottish bagpipes had then led ceremonies. However, Elizabeth’s attention was tethered to her present day time and place there on her veranda.

It had been more than four years since she had returned from Europe to the plantation, and in that time a World War had started. Though the war was long from over, Elizabeth shuffled those troubling ideas to the back recesses of her mind and tried thinking of things yet to come. However, what the future held for Elizabeth was a long dark mystery filled with adventure and suspense; things she could never have envisioned were to unfold. Unimaginable adventures awaited her over half a century into the future.

Fate was predestined for Elizabeth and in her future, extreme and horrifically apocalyptic conflicts would need to be put down that required the use of strong magic. Soon all civilized man was to be threatened by future confrontations, perhaps even the entire planet, but even so it was assured they’d be challenged; to Elizabeth it mattered not how perilously troubled they’d be. Although, those adventures, laden with danger to her and the rest of civilization, were so far unknown to her.

Elizabeth became wearied of thinking what the future might hold. After all, Elizabeth had no idea of the ordeals she’d have to face. Then as she again dwelled on her present tasks, meager as they were, she put all such trivialities aside. Elizabeth realized she had much to do. Shaking off those annoyances, she took on a lighthearted mood.

Elizabeth again watched the troops, as they marched with moderate amusement to the accompaniment of the bagpipes.

Having learned a substantial part of Elizabeth’s past, her mysterious persona at least had been partly revealed. So, having learned of what she had been through and some of what to expect, the scene had been mysteriously set.

But for Elizabeth, thinking about all those depressing thoughts had become tiring. She wanted to stop, and relax. With all that said and done, for the time being, with nothing else to do, Elizabeth just sat back and enjoyed the haunting whine of the Scottish pipes.

CHAPTER TWO

The New Orleans’ French Quarter

Brandon had very little sleep, having been up most of the night distressed. Brandon needed to be out of there before seven; he was almost three months behind with his rent and kicked out of his apartment. He had very little sleep, having been up most of the night distressed.

Brandon needed his coffee much as ever; he practically lived on coffee. He dumped yesterday’s grounds in the sink, and he filled the carafe with water and then stumbled over to the pantry for the coffee can. Shit, he uttered out loudly. The can was almost empty; just a pittance remained, a little more than a tablespoon. Shaking the can and tapping the bottom hard, Brandon dumped every precious granule into the coffee maker. Then he scooped yesterday’s old wet grounds out of the sink and added those to the cherished appliance. He then emptied half the water, helping it to make a stronger brew. Brandon cursed at himself again, but it had to do.

As Brandon waited for the brew, he did a last minute check of the apartment in case he might have overlooked something. Later he poured the last of the three cups he managed to brew into his plastic mug. He was already packed, so after cleaning the coffee maker Brandon also packed it away; it was the only thing he kept besides his few clothes and an old picture of his real father. Then Brandon went outside to analyze his situation.

Brandon just sat on the steps of his apartment building savoring his coffee as he counted his little bankroll. Just yesterday he sold all his crummy furniture for a lousy fifty dollars. With no place to go he had no choice. The buyer was supposed to meet Brandon and collect the stuff. However, it wasn’t his first time; he’d been through similar experiences many times.

Three months ago Brandon was fired from his job at the book store on Canal Street. He managed by doing odd jobs, but it was just enough for food and some minor incidentals; he couldn’t make up the rent. He hardly had any clothes and didn’t own a car or anything else worth mentioning.

Brandon hadn’t done much with his life since his mother had died. His life since then was nothing more than living from payday to payday and that was when, and if, he did have some kind of a payday.

Brandon believed he would never recover from the remorse his mother’s death had left him. He felt that his life’s most treasured alliance had been taken from him, and much too soon. When his mother died, it destroyed him and resigned him into a careless bum; he loved her almost idealistically.

Brandon’s mother had always been very religious, almost excessively to a fault. His stepfather was also very religious, but unfortunately was an alcoholic as well, and very abusive. Brandon hadn’t seen his stepfather since he was about twelve years old, which was just as well far as he concerned.

Brandon’s mother never told him much about his real father. However, he remembered hearing her talk to other people and she had always called him an angel and a saint. His father died when Brandon was at such a young age that he couldn’t remember him; he believed it was unfair and resented that. The best he had was an old picture his mother had stuffed in a drawer. The way the story went, his father was killed while saving a child if he remembered hearing the tales right, though to him the accounts seemed a little melodramatic.

As Brandon sat there, he started thinking about his boyhood. That was something he’d done often and he wondered why he had such bad luck. He too, was very religious as a child, even going to catholic school until the sixth grade. As a child, he never missed Sunday mass, and was always kind and benevolent.

Brandon remembered how he loved that school, "the Holy Name of Mary," which was nestled in the small town of Algiers, a district of New Orleans that was just across from the French Quarter, on the west side of the Mississippi River. Brandon cherished that school, and when younger, Brandon, from time to time crossed the river to just walk by and gaze at it with tears in his eyes.

Brandon still remembered that in a corner of the stairway landing sitting in-between the first and the second floor of that school a beautiful statue of an Archangel stood there. The statue exemplified the angel as he divinely slew a serpentine creature having a tail, legs and head like a small dragon. Within his mind and without any doubt that beast obviously had symbolized the embodiment of Satan. When younger he used to dream about that statue often; he still did, only not quite as frequently.

All those thoughts, particularly about his behavior before his mother’s death, where he was such a very well-mannered child, had made him wonder why he had so much misfortune. Aside from that Brandon knew of other people, innocent people, who were very young and also were kind and benevolent who suffered many hardships. He presumed that people needed to take their fate as it came. He definitely had, and he learned to deal with it. Brandon recalled all those things often, in fact every time he was down on his luck he was reminded of them.

With near hopelessness, Brandon snapped out of his daydreams. Considering the few lousy bucks in his pocket the rewards of his bounty for his carelessness, he thoroughly realized he needed to pick himself up by his boot straps, sort things out and get on with his life.

The situation Brandon was in, left him disappointed with himself. His thoughts were, if only he had some ambition; he had plenty when he joined the army. He finished his education while in the army and managed to go to Officer Candidate’s school and even earned a commission in the US Army. That was done for the allotment he could send his mother. However, when his mother died, he resigned at the first chance. It was downhill from there. Brandon knew thoughts like that were depressing; he knew he needed to quit feeling sorry for himself and get on with it.

His notion toward his predicament had to be set aside anyway; the people were there for the furniture, and he was rescued from his torment. Still, he remained aware of his dreadful situation. Nothing could rescue him from that.

With that out of the way Brandon figured he should quit daydreaming and get moving; he needed to find something quick. It was time he put aside those feelings of self-pity so he decided to take a walk and purposively change his attitude.

It was June and then very hot, even for that early in the morning. However, it was quiet at that time of day and a pleasure avoiding a bunch of panhandlers. Brandon dropped in at the Alley-Cat, a little secluded bar in the French Quarter to visit Ethel who worked there as a barmaid. She was a close friend he’d known a long time who had helped him out more times than he wanted to remember.

The place stayed open all night and Ethel had just knocked off work. Ethel could tell Brandon was in trouble; he had that old worn-out army duffle-bag with him. It was packed full and she figured it probably contained everything he owned. Together, they both had some coffee and talked a while before she would leave for the day. Brandon asked if she knew of anyone that might be hiring.

She wished she could be of some help but couldn’t offer much except kind words. Well we really don’t need anybody around here Brandon, maybe just someone to mop the floors and clean up; I know you don’t want that. However, if you’re looking for a place to stay, I have plenty of room at my place.

Oh it’s early. I still have the rest of the day to see what I might find. Brandon should have known Ethel would come up with a sweet offer and at times he worried, with her sweet innocent ways, that someone would take advantage of her. Still, he knew he’d probably need some place to crash until he found his own place. So Brandon thanked her, and not wanting to carry his duffel-bag all over the French Quarter, he asked for a rain-check and if she didn’t mind keeping the duffle until later.

After Brandon walked her home and dropped his belongings at Ethel’s, he started to pound the pavement in hope he might find something in the quarter. He might be in serious trouble if he needed to go outside the quarter for a job without a car, but there in the French Quarter Brandon didn’t need a car; in the Quarter he could walk wherever he wanted, that wasn’t the problem. Parking a car in the quarter was the real problem. In the French Quarter, parking was big business for the city; the city made tons of money on parking tickets and towing fees.

Usually, finding some kind of work in the French Quarter wasn’t very hard. However, Brandon needed a real job, not some grill scraping hamburger flipping service-job. Brandon knew if he didn’t find something soon, he’d be sleeping on the sidewalk; he, after all couldn’t expect to stay at Ethel’s forever.

Brandon walked everywhere and looked for people he knew. He talked to a few, but no one knew of anything that helped.

It was still a little early for lunch, but with the little money he had from selling his furniture, he had a few bucks to spare, enough for a couple of meals for a few days. Brandon hadn’t had any breakfast yet, so he stopped for a late breakfast at a cheap little café. It was where many street people ate and not the fancy tourist trap. It also could serve for lunch, and helped to conserve his remaining funds.

The café wasn’t crowded and Brandon found a clean table that was near a window and made him comfortable. While waiting to be served, he found a newspaper just a day old on a chair next to him. Brandon folded the paper to the want-ads’ section and laid it on the table as he ordered breakfast. He had some coffee while waiting on breakfast.

After Brandon finished breakfast, he started searching the want-ads to see what he might find. However, a stranger, who somehow had been sitting at a table right next to him, came over and started a conversation. Brandon was a little surprised when encountered by the stranger; he had forgotten if he had seen the stranger sitting there when he first came in, or whether he saw the stranger come in later and sit there.

The stranger excused himself and said, I couldn’t help seeing you searching the help wanted section and I wondered if you’re looking for a job.

With a little surprise! Brandon glanced up at the stranger. Yeah, he said, and urgently.

It seemed the stranger knew a man who was looking for some help. He told Brandon the man was down the street by the Pizza Palace.

Come on, I’m sure he’s still there. I’ll take you over and introduce you, urged the stranger.

While on the way over, they swapped their names with each other as they took the short walk together.

I’m Brandon… Brandon Holms, then he shook the stranger’s hand.

My name’s Michael, everyone calls me Mike, replied the stranger.

It was near the café, and when they arrived the man was still there. So Brandon’s new friend took him over to meet Warren Biggs, an imposing man who exhibited an image no one ever forgot.

I want you to meet Warren. Brandon’s new friend gestured, then put his hand on Brandon’s shoulder; the stranger said with a board smile, Warren… this is Brandon… err, Brandon Holms. He’s looking for a job, Big W.

Seemed that most people close to this enormous hulk of a man called, Warren, Big W. He was certainly a huge man. He was six foot six or more, and might have weighed near four hundred pounds.

Then Big W. struggled as he turned around to look over at Brandon while still finishing off that bite of pizza. Big W. started right in talking to Brandon as he chewed his pizza.

I own an antique book store that’s right here in the Quarter and I need some help with a little experience…

After a short pause, Big W. swallowed what last remaining bit of pizza he was chewing. Then he gave the stranger a few bucks and thanked him. Then Big W. offered Brandon some pizza.

No sir, but thanks anyway, Brandon quickly answered, and was amazed, as he saw what was a uniquely lucky opportunity.

Brandon further replied using all the confidence that he could muster. I used to work at the big book store near the corner of Canal and Royal. However, Brandon wanted to be honest, so he added, They fired me more than three months ago; I was supposed to wear a suit to work but I don’t own one.

No kidding… well, what-char-know about that, Warren remarked, also expressing a little surprise about the coincidence of the situation. "This sure is a lucky day for both of us.

"Sure as in hell, you won’t need a suit here in the Quarter. It’s very casual, and really too damn warm to always be dressed in a fucking suit. You can come in for a try, if it works out the job’s yours, but it doesn’t pay very much.

I hope you can handle the job. Now it might be a little different from what you’ve been accustomed. You see most of the books in my store are extremely rare, the only thing they have in common is, actually, they’re fucking old. Lots of the books are handwritten without an author’s name, or even a date. Truth is most are one-of-a-kind. Many were never ever published in any true sense. The word, copyright, doesn’t even appear on many of them; it’s a terminology that didn’t exist when some of these books were created.

I don’t care. I’ll take the job, said Brandon. Though, to be honest, I’m not a librarian, but I do love working with books, especially old ones. It gives me a chance to do lots of reading when I’m not too busy. Where else can I read so many books free, unless when working at a book store. I’ve read a lot and it has broadened my knowledge tremendously, but it hasn’t helped me land a really good job.

Brandon overdid it a bit with all the trashy explanations, but figured he needed to sell himself if he wanted to get the job.

So if I’m hired, when can I start? Brandon’s showed his expectation and the big man saw it.

This huge hulk of a man, who in truth was kindhearted as he was tremendous, saw something in Brandon. Big W hoped he could work something out, even if he had to increase the ante some. He was quick to negotiate some kind of offer.

If you work out all right, you’re hired, but until we see how things fare, the rate will be little more than minimum wage… Come to the bookstore tomorrow morning. It’s on St. Louis Street, Big W. replied as he shook Brandon’s hand.

Need any carfare? Big W. asked.

Thanks, but no sir, I live here in the Quarter. I’m used to walking everywhere, Brandon replied.

When he left the Pizza Palace, Brandon went straight to Ethel’s place, but found her asleep. He should have known; she worked all night. So he hung out in the Quarter and killed time around the square and stalled some while watching the artists.

Killing time became a bore. Nevertheless, he felt very good, especially since things had turned out extremely well and so quickly. Brandon never liked to drink until late evening and actually preferred waiting until after dark, but he didn’t want to spoil his happy mood, so he stopped for a few beers. He also convinced himself, if it wasn’t June it’d be nearly dark by then anyway. Then with his reasoning conveniently rationalized, he nursed a few beers.

Feeling good, and with evening finally upon him, Brandon walked back to Ethel’s. He hated having to depend so much on Ethel for help. She’d helped him out so often that he felt ashamed. All the same, he had no choice, so with begging-bowl in hand he continued back to Ethel’s.

Brandon found her up making coffee when he got there, and smelled something cooking. He poked his head in the kitchen door and said, Hi Sweetie, I see you’re up.

Come on in and join me, Ethel said, always happy and cheerful.

Brandon really needed the coffee, and Ethel had just cooked a big omelet. It was perfect timing; he looked forward to the meal. Brandon sat though the meal thinking about the job offer.

After Brandon finished eating, and then thinking he needed to pay his way, he figured he’d take care of the dishes. So as they stood, he said, I’ll get the mess cleared up, it’s the least I can do.

Ethel answered, OK Sweetie, if you really want to. Then she looked at Brandon curiously, as she started to leave, and then asked, What’s up? Not expecting an answer Ethel then gave Brandon a kiss on the cheek as she walked by him. But before Ethel left the kitchen Brandon attracted her attention. While gathering the dishes, he told her the good news about the offer at the book store.

I came to collect on the rain check, Brandon said, and if it’s OK, I’ll straighten up the rest of place before I turn in.

Fine, and use the bed, Sweetie. It’ll be morning before I get home anyway, Ethel replied aloud from across the room, as she went into the bathroom.

Soon Brandon finished cleaning the kitchen and was relaxing with a beer watching TV, when Ethel came out of the bathroom. She wasn’t wearing a thing; she just held a small towel in front of her as she ran the short distance to the bedroom. His view of her rear end bouncing down the short hallway was thought provoking at the least. Brandon momentarily began thinking that perhaps he should reconsider his intentions about Ethel.

Brandon wanted to keep busy, so he quickly straightened up around the living room some, had a shower, and was in bed before Ethel left for work. He slept well that night, since his luck had finally changed. Morning came before he knew it, and Ethel was waking him with some French Market coffee and beignets she had picked up on the way from work.

Ethel always mothered Brandon. In some ways it made him feel inadequate. He hated that feeling, although that didn’t make him like her any less; she did what she did out of kindness. Deep down he knew Ethel was a sweet person. She was always offering him help whenever it was needed. Brandon couldn’t help it, but he felt like he was using her. He knew she had romantic notions about him and that made him feel worse, however, he knew he wasn’t leading her on.

Then one day, Ethel came across some clothes, stored in her closet, which had belonged to an old boyfriend. They were clean and freshly pressed with the clear plastic wraps still on them. As Brandon brushed his teeth, she hollered through the bathroom door, Hey Brandon, try these on and see how they fit. Ethel was impatient and squeezed the clothes in and around the bathroom door without waiting for an answer.

Soon he came out from the bathroom dressed in his new clothes; he gave Ethel a quick comical pose as if to make a little fun. They fit perfectly and Brandon looked sharp. Ethel walked around him as if thoroughly inspecting him. She was satisfied and told Brandon how nice he looked.

Gee Ethel, what can I say. If it’s all right, I guess I could bring them back when I get new clothes of my own? Brandon felt obligated, not knowing what else to say.

"You can have them, Brandon; I planned to give them to the Goodwill Store anyway."

Brandon was finally ready to leave. He gave Ethel a big hug and thanked her for putting up with him. Just before leaving, he said to her with a guilty expression on his face, Ethel, I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.

He gave her a kiss and hugged her again, and he was off to work.

While he walked over to the bookstore, Brandon couldn’t help thinking about Ethel, and what he just said to her. Talking under his breath as he walked to the book store, he said to himself, I don’t know what I’d ever do without you. Again he repeated under his breath, "I don’t know what I’d ever do without you… what a cliché. Then still mumbling to himself, Many were the times Ethel had helped me out, and without her, I’d of been in deep shit,"

Brandon’s mumbling turned into a berating, I need to do better than that, could that be all I owe her, a simple unoriginal compliment. Brandon needed to examine his thoughts again while still reprimanding himself.

After all she’s done for me, I definitely need to do something to make this up to her. She deserves much more, but I don’t have the slightest clue about what I can do, at least not now. If only this job turns out well, maybe then I’ll think of something really special for her. Brandon was in such deep thought he mumbled all the way to the store.

The walk to the book shop wasn’t long. It was on St. Louis Street just like Big W. had said. Oh, of course Brandon knew exactly where it was; he’d passed there often, but just vaguely noticed the place, as it seemed so pedestrian, Brandon had to wonder if it could attract much attention. He recalled having barely glanced in the windows as he had often walked by it again and again.

The front was just the usually plain window covered with the customary chain-linked fencing, framed so it could be taken down whenever the store was opened.

As Brandon peered in the front window, he noticed a few beautiful old books exhibited on expensive stands. He glanced around, and as expected, there was a small door in a little recess set back to the right of the window which obviously served as an entrance. The same chain- link fencing covered the door’s familiar multiple glass panes. Behind two small panes hung two ordinary signs, both hardly visibly through their own small insignificant orifice. Each displaying the customary word ENTRANCE printed on one, CLOSED on the other.

On a huge and crude wrought iron trestle protruding far out over the sidewalk from the structure above the window was a large heavy sign displaying an unimaginatively simple inscription, ‘Vieux Carré Antique Books’. The huge sign was suspended far and out over the sidewalk high enough for even the tallest pedestrians to walk under.

Brandon had noticed the store many times, as he had often passed there. To him the store did seem quite small and nondescript from the outside. Brandon remembered the many times he had passed the store, so he again surmised it couldn’t have much to offer, and ironically even with his acute interest in books Brandon never went in; he had thought it was just some ordinary secondhand book store.

The store was still closed when he arrived. So he just waited as he wondered how the shop made any money. He didn’t see much there that would draw in any customers.

However, his wait wasn’t long and as he glanced down the sidewalk, Brandon saw Big Warren walking to the shop from almost two blocks away, his huge hulk standing out from the few pedestrians who were out that early in the morning.

Finally Warren arrived with a polite, Good morning, as he opened the shop and invited Brandon in.

As they entered through the narrow entranceway and just a few feet to the back, the store assumed the width of the entire building. What a surprise, it was much bigger than it looked from the outside. Brandon was impressed; he saw hundreds of old books. Some were on tables, but many must have been very valuable, and were locked in glass door cabinets that lined one whole wall. These were obviously not just secondhand books, but they were rare antique books and that many could be worth thousands of dollars. The place had so many beautifully rare books he pondered how it defied reason; Brandon wondered how could all these books be there in that one place, and all at the very same time.

If he hadn’t known better, Brandon thought he could easily be persuaded that every old handwritten or rare book in existence was there in the store. That such a place existed there in the Quarter right under his nose for the past few years defied all reason. To Brandon, it was a wonderful place, and if he didn’t need the money he’d have worked there free without ever wanted to be paid.

As usual, Brandon started to daydream, and stood there staring in a full circle all around the store. In his mind he envisioned what ancient stories could be found in some of those books. Then the rambling of his mind was put on hold, as Big W. suggested he show him the rest of the store.

Brandon ushered himself back into reality and then he walked along with Big W. With his attention again on the many different books, Brandon noticed that all the books were not ancient treasures. Some new books were up front, along with mostly how-to manuals and some technical stuff. Of course, also up front was the usual magazine rack.

They proceeded further to the back. It was to the rear of the shop where the really important books were displayed. The further back it was more evident that became. Brandon became excited, thinking he’d see some truly old and marvelous treasures.

Brandon couldn’t help but notice the place smelled slightly of the musky old books, though the shop was impeccably clean and seemed to have been restored to its original decor. Its high ceilings and walls had been appropriately painted and papered in styles, accurately complementing the antiquity of the original structure. From the high ceilings hung several old delicate crystal chandeliers; certainly they were antiques in their own right. The only things that spoiled the store’s nostalgic ambiance were the air-conditioning ducts that were hastily contrived and not hidden behind the walls or ceilings.

As they proceeded further, the books matured into more uniquely rare specimens. Then, almost suddenly, as it seemed they were nearing the end, they approached an old, but a marvelously well maintained beautiful spiral staircase with its exquisitely gorgeous bannisters of polished oak that entwined their way up to the second and third floors. There Brandon started his daydreaming again as he ascended the stairs.

That was a compulsive habit Brandon had. He tried imagining who could have used that stairway a hundred or more years before. It was as though he became drawn into some psychological time machine, which he kept safely stored in some vacant cavern of his mind. His thoughts, urged on by that time machine, sometimes retreated deeply into the past. At times Brandon entered his mental time machine, and there he saw images behind even his own opened eyes where they were unwound with his extravagant imagination.

As they reached the next landing, Brandon shook himself back to reality. After they arrived at the second floor, they came onto five small rooms. Across the middle of each room, there spanned two nearly empty tall book cases. The rooms were lined with long shelves on the walls. On the walls all the shelves were not full completely, but in those five rooms, thousands of old books were displayed.

There of course was the third floor, and it was there where Brandon’s assignment lay. His chore was to arrange those hundreds of old books, scattered about in terrible disarray, into some kind of order. He was to incorporate that disrupted myriad of books, spread out on the third floor, as far as possible, with the books on the empty shelves in the rooms below. Brandon needed to separate the books according to their genre, if such could be determined. Brandon was to give the shelves some sorts of coded numbers that corresponded to their proper identity concerning the books displayed. Whatever was left of the remaining books, he was to put into the same kind of order on the top floor.

After, he was to systematically compile a sort of card index so all the books could be quickly located. Brandon was no librarian, but was sure he could design some sort a system that worked with such a special set of circumstances. He couldn’t wait to get started, and was disappointed when having to leave when night came.

After knocking off, he went back to Ethel’s. Then he told her the good news. In doing so, Brandon rambled on and on about all the old and wonderful books he’d get to examine. He carried on much like some child with a job in a toy store.

She told him how happy she was for him. Then she went on with her favorite subject, about how he was welcomed to stay long as he needed. She explained, Now Brandon, you know you’re welcome here, to stay long as you want.

As she spoke, she tilted her head to one side. Ethel tried her best to always look cute and appealing; it was a talent and habitual obsession that she had acquired working all those years as a barmaid.

Cunningly, and almost clandestine-like, Ethel eased over close to Brandon and she kissed his cheek. She had a thing, almost a mania about kissing Brandon that bugged him. Using the frailest excuse, Ethel would kiss Brandon at every chance. However it seemed he hadn’t even realized that she did this quite so often.

Ethel went on to justify the many reasons for him to stay. She explained to him, that the place was bigger than needed for herself.

"I don’t use that spare room that is accepting to store some old junk that I have. I could get rid