Title:
Lalin Bonheur
Author:
Margaret O. Howard
Genre:
Paranormal Mystery / Romance
When
Lalin Bonheur shape shifts, she roams the Vieux Carre as a sleek
tuxedo cat to learn the secrets of her city.
But
on her debut at a Quadroon Ball in 1830 this octoroon beauty meets
and falls in love with French aristocrat, Etienne Legendre. Etienne
becomes her protector and he soon learns that his mistress leads a
second life as a healer and voudou priestess.
Their
story takes a bizarre turn after Lalin's protector marries. His wife,
Minette, dies mysteriously and he is charged with murder. Lalin
concocts a zombie potion to assist him in his escape from jail.
The
couple sail upriver to hide until they can prove his innocence. But
their struggles only become more challenging, when they face the
fearsome loup-garou (wolf men of Louisiana) and then a giant bird.
Lalin must use her magic to battle these monsters. But it's what she
learns about the vicious feathered creature that brings the story to
its climax.
Author
Bio
Margaret O. Howard
is a writer and former dancer, who grew up in the Deep South and
currently walks the gulf beaches of Florida every morning, She adores
her two sons, three rescue cats, cool weather, travel, photography,
ballet, books, and mermaids. Her novel, Lalin Bonheur, is set in the
city of voudou queens, New Orleans. You can visit her at
margaretohoward.wordpress,com, Margaret Howard Trammell on Facebook,
or @howardomargaret on Twitter.
Links
Amazon
(Kindle):
https://www.amazon.com/Lalin-Bonheur-Margaret-O-Howard-ebook/dp/B01N5RJK5G/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1486920223&sr=8-1&keywords=lalin+bonheur
Amazon
(Paperback):
https://www.amazon.com/Lalin-Bonheur-Margaret-O-Howard/dp/161798194X/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1486920223&sr=8-1
EXCERPT
In
this year, 1830, life here in the Creole Quarter of my city can be
elegant. The French aristocrats live high. They do no labor. No, they
leave all that to those that come from Santo Domingo or some black
folks from lands across the ocean in Africa. They call us people of
color, quadroons or octoroons like me. Our papas, they are white men,
sometimes from France or Spain. But we are free people. Still there
are some who are slaves to French Creoles. It’s not a happy thing,
but I give my magic to all who wish to have it.
About
us women, we’re lucky there’s no labor for us. No, when we are
sixteen years or so, we get picked to be a mistress for these fine
gentlemen like my Etienne. Creoles, those French or Spanish people,
are the first in their families to be born in this country. These
folks have white skin and say they have no mixed blood for
themselves. There are French Creole girls, too, but they don’t like
us so much. Guess I know why that is.
The
men say we are beautiful. Features so fine and some of us almost
blond like a French Creole girl. But my hair is black with no curl in
it. My skin is what they call café au lait. When Monsieur Legendre,
Etienne’s papa, saw me, he said, “You have good taste, my
son. A jewel set in gold, that girl is. The loveliest of all.”
When
I hear him say it, I feel I’ve just swallowed a tiny bit of
sunshine that sends sparks all through my body. My life begins to
blossom right in my head.
They
have the big coming-out party for us, a Quadroon Ball. And we get
introduced to society, which means these Creole gentlemen get to
choose us for a lover—not a wife, mind you. But they take good care
of us. Buy us a house and anything we need. And some quadroons even
have babies with these men. Me, I don’t want that. I devote myself
to him, but also to my magic. A Creole wife may someday give him
children, if he wishes.
At
my first Quadroon Ball long ago, I see Etienne from a distance. Then
I catch his eye and he comes to me like I have conjured him. We make
some small talk, and he wants to dance with me, so we waltz, making
giant circles on the ballroom floor. He whispers in my ear, and I
feel his breath on me. This man is the most handsome I’ve seen
anywhere. Tall, he is, with broad shoulders stretching seams along
his waistcoat. Deep brown eyes give me hints of a fierce emotion
flowing through him. One strand of his dark hair falls across his
smooth forehead, as he lifts my fingers to his lips. A smile, he has,
to melt my heart. He is indeed the most perfect gentleman.
Then
he asks me, Please to come on the balcony with me. I cannot resist.
There, leaning against the railings, we share our first kisses. Mon
Dieu, I say to myself, I hope this man will want to keep me. And it
all comes true. He did make his choice that night.
His
papa called on my mama the next day to make all the plans. Then I got
my small house with fine damask drapes and silk dresses ordered from
Paris. Many things I have now. Monsieur Legendre is happy, too, that
he’s giving his son the pleasure palace, which is me.
Many
Creole men take care of two families for their whole lives, the
quadroon mistress and later the married wife. Some few will leave
their mistress after they marry; this will not happen to me. We have
been in love for one year. Every night he comes to me.
* * * *
* * * *
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