<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: comic sans ms;"><br/>Part 1: Hell is what you make it!<br/><br/><br/>New Orleans, Spring, just before Mardi Gras<br/><br/>A carriage pulled up along the road way, stopping at the docks. Climbing down the tall slim man, with skin as dark as the rich Louisiana mud, scanned the area, filled with people of all shapes and sizes, as 6 different ships unloaded. Men and a few women of varied skin tones toiled at the backbreaking job of unloading or stood in finery,  watching and waiting. In a few cases even cursing the ones at labor, floats from France were being lifted from the holds, all manner of trunks and cargo.<br/><br/>The man stretched up to look over the crowds and spotted the lady he had been sent for. She stood in an eddy of calm as 3 men carried a trunk to stack by her feet. Motioning to the other that had stood at the rear of the carriage, another dark skin man, this one shorter but broader, they hurried toward the woman.<br/><br/>Alex took deep breaths enjoying the fragrance, the hints of scents, the ocean mixed with the shore and then mixed again with what could only be called the flavor of New Orleans. Spicy and sweet all mixed together. It had been almost 3 years since she had left this very dock, a weeks past her eighteenth birthday. She had not admitted it at the time but she had been a bit scared. She had realized standing on that dock, 3 years ago, that she was alone, with no close family and she was leaving behind the only friends she really had. Going off to something unknown but hinted at. The fire inside had pushed her, carried her and now she had returned and she liked to think she was stronger, calmer and clear eyed, focused and fired with a conviction. <br/><br/>Yet she knew the fire still was there, justice for the wronged, vengeance meted out. She knew finally what she was…a rule breaker, a rogue and gambler that set her at odds with the god’s that had chosen her to serve them.<br/><br/>Alex head jerked up at the loud Meow that came from her companion, the cat named Pharaoh sat regally on one truck and nodded to her left. Glancing that way she saw the two men part through the throng and approached her. Her lips curled in a soft smile as she recognized both as servants to the house of Baptiste DuMonde. The smile in the eyes of the taller one, even though he kept his face serious was priceless, “Milady Kitterland, I must apologize for being tardy we were expecting your ship later the day”<br/><br/>“Do I want to know how you even knew I was arriving back in the colonies?” her right eyebrow arched up in that sexy questioning way. The smaller man eyes widen a bit as he responded. “Lady, Mr. DuMonde sent word you would be arriving, though he is not home at this time he said he would be honored again if would you stay at his estate. He also said to let you know he should return in time for Mardi Gras”<br/><br/>Both men began to carry her things as if it was a foregone conclusion she would stay at the mansion and she supposed it had been. Her lips curled in a soft smile as she adjusted the shaded glasses on her delicate nose and followed them to the carriage. The grey cat his tail held high leading all of them.<br/><br/>As she settled into the soft leather seat of the carriage and listened to the men load her things her mind wandered back. Almost 5 years before.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><em><strong>The river docks on the east side of New Orleans 5 years earlier.</strong><br/><br/>The past week had been the deepest form of hell for her. It had seemed simple, traveling upriver toward Vicksburg her father playing cards and gathering intelligence on things she had decided that were dark and evil. <br/><br/>Her father had for some years had been working with a group based in New Orleans, which seemed to be headed by his close friend Baptiste DuMonde. In the Dumonde mansion, they spoke of magic and dead and life and an evil newly awoken that had driven its fear deep into the hearts of many. Planning and exchanging information. Finally deciding that someone had to travel to Vicksburg to check the story’s coming from there. That being her father and of course herself as well.<br/><br/>Her mind was quick as she absorbed the words spoken seeing the plans and understanding the danger and her father’s part. She also had begun to understand why ‘Uncle’ Baptiste could not do the things her father did, his cream tea colored skin limited him within society and especially within the south. Her father though was white and a titled noble of Great Britain; this gave him access to many places the group needed to go or to have eyes in. It was silly really, her uncle, which of course wasn’t really her uncle but he had insisted she call him that, was far more educated then most men she had met in the years she had traveled with her father. He had delighted in helping polish her French when they had stayed at the mansion during the years. He had sat in deep talks with her about all sorts of things, philosophy, science, trust, and honor. He had laughed as she took his gold in poker, at the age of 14, nearly as skilled as her father in the game. He had been like an uncle and even an older brother one she had seen off and on as her father traveled the south and even into the North.<br/><br/>Uncle Baptiste had insisted they wait till her 16th birthday, he had planned a grand ball to welcome her out and it had been that. Dressed in fine French silk and swirled across the dance floor by her father and then her uncle and even by Jefferson Davis. It had been a high point for her.  A memory of finer things and innocent times.<br/><br/>How she huddled beside the berth in the captain’s cabin, naked and feeling alone. Her father murdered before her eyes, she had then been carried to a cabin only to be raped by the horrid men, which had killed her father. Raped for almost a day by the murderers before she had been turned over to the captain. She had realized the he and most of the crew as well as the 3 men had been part of the ambush. <br/>The captain was heavy and smelly as he raped her then placed a leather band around her neck, hammering the rivets tight himself. A manacle kept her chained to the bunk and she had ‘entertained’ various crew members besides the captain for a week. He had told her much during the time, how her blood uncle, Baron of Westchester had offered a great deal for her. Other names one which the captain seemed very afraid of, Flinchum.<br/><br/>Her mind wandered to that time she and her father had visited the family lands in England. They had gone to pay respects to her grandfather’s grave and to be seen again. There she had seen her uncle’s eyes; how they had devoured her and though she was just 8 she knew he was bad.<br/><br/>Setting there in the dim light, night outside flickering she heard the thud that sounded loud…a second then a half strangled scream and a horrible sounding crack. The door to the cabin seemed to be explode inwards as she cringed. Then a voice she knew. Soft and tender, Uncle Basptite spoke, “I am so very sorry, we never thought it was trap meant for you and your father.” He somehow yanked and the chain parted from the bunk, wrapping the young woman in a blanket he carried her from the riverboat, as flames licked and danced along the deck. Several others closed ranks around him as they hurried into the depths of New Orleans</em></span>[/i]<br/><br/><br/> New Orleans the docks:<br/>The carriage began to move, the wheels clink clanking along the cobble stones as it began to weave into the bustling city.</span><br/><br/>