Free The Satyr's Curse (The Satyr's Curse Series Book 1) by Alexandrea Weis Page A

their house for most of the year. The only time they would open their doors was for Twelfth Night, and even then old Augustine senior had a deathly fear of yellow fever carrying off his family. But in those days everyone feared yellow fever.”
    “You’re surprisingly well-versed on all these old families who once lived in the French Quarter, Julian,” she reflected as they traipsed down Dumaine Street toward the Mississippi River.
    “A lifetime of study. I grew up running about these streets as a child,” he declared with a nod of his head. “I sometimes think learning about the people who once lived in this city is just as interesting as the city itself.”
    “But where do you get these stories?” Jazzmyn asked, examining his profile. “I’ve done a lot of research on New Orleans, but I never found any of the stories you mentioned today. Like when we walked by Brennan’s Restaurant, the site of the old Morphy Mansion, and you knew so much about Paul Morphy, the great chess player. You knew things about him and his life that I had never read before, like his love of apple brandy and how he was terrified of women. My father read a great deal about the man. He was something of an idol of his.”
    “Your father liked chess?” Julian questioned.
    “Adored it. Taught me how to play when I was five, and made me play with him every Sunday afternoon until I was in high school and found out that boys were more interesting than chess.”
    Julian stopped walking. “You play chess?” His warm, musical laugh made people on the street around them turn in their direction. “We must play sometime. I warn you though, I was taught by one of the best, and I’m a ruthless opponent.”
    “Who taught you chess?”
    He smiled slyly. “An old friend who had an uncanny gift for the game.”
    Jazzmyn stood before him as the afternoon sunlight sparkled in his eyes. She shook her head, turned away, and started back down the street. 
    Julian hurried alongside her, making sure to place his body between her and the curb of the street. He took her hand and squeezed it.
    “What is it?” he softly probed, inching closer to her.
    “How do you know all of these interesting facts about people who used to live in the city over a hundred years ago?”
    “Over a hundred and sixty years ago, actually,” he corrected.
    Jazzmyn giggled as she walked beside him.
    Julian furrowed his brow at her, appearing a little perplexed. “What is so funny?”
    She waved her hand at him. “You. You’re a walking contradiction, Julian Devereau. You have such an old-fashioned manner about you, like you’re out of place in today’s world, and then at times you can be so casual…so modern.”
    Julian frowned and glanced down at his jeans and starched white shirt. “How am I old-fashioned?” 
    Jazzmyn pointed to the sidewalk. “The way you insist on walking between me and the street, for one.”
    “That is what a gentleman did in the olden days to protect a lady from the mud splattered by passing carriages,” he clarified.
    “I suppose men in olden days ordered lunch for a lady, like you did for me at that vegetarian café. You even pulled out my chair for me, and stood whenever I left the table. Even the way you used your knife and fork when you were eating your sprout salad, and how you held your cup of herbal tea, seemed formal.” She gave him a curious side-glance. “Men don’t do things like that anymore,” she added.
    “The good ones do,” he insisted.
    Jazzmen smirked. “Maybe that’s my problem…I haven’t been with any of the good ones. The men I’ve dated couldn’t tell the difference between their shirtsleeve and a napkin.”
    “Oh, good Lord,” Julian roared. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
    Jazzmen glanced about the busy street. “I’m not.”
    “I would think your father would have insisted you court only upstanding gentlemen suiting the social station of a woman such as yourself.”
    Jazzmyn laughed again as