First, if you haven't already entered into the contest or whatever we're calling it for a free copy of both Shades of Gray and Shades of Desire, time is running out! If you haven't commented on a post by midnight on Halloween/Samhain, you'll have to fight for another time. If you've already received a copy, understand that you've got to share the wealth. And understand that I just wrote a big check for rent, which I 'm not ashamed to admit is more important than buying books.
Second, if you haven't made your way to either BlogwithBite.com or Quackers & Tease, then you've missed the first two stops on my blog tour! There was a stop planned for today, but complications arose, and so we're back here. Tomorrow I'll be at The Bookish Snob, and the final stop will be on Tuesday the 2nd.
But, since we're here--story time! Break out the candy corn or the caramel apples or the pumpkin seeds (I think that last one is a Yankee thing, because just the thought of them weirds me out).
There's a house in New Orleans, on the corner of Royal and Ursulines, that has minimal security. By which I mean there's a padlock on the door. And even though it's come up for sale a time or two, nobody can track down the owner. Interesting, right? It gets better.
At the turn of the previous century, a man named Jacque St. Germaine occupied this house. He was cultured, sophisticated, threw amazing parties, fabulous conversationalist--this guy was the schznitz. He did, however, have a little bad habit. Actually it was more like a big bad habit.
One evening, an, ahem, lady of the evening comes hauling booty into the police station. She informs them that after purchasing her services, St. Germaine attacked her and bit her. Bit her severely enough that she died later that evening in Charity Hospital. The police decide that it might be a good idea to have a little talk with St. Germaine, a longer one than the little touch base they'd had after first finding out about the incident.
Problem. St Germaine done left town. After doing a walkthrough, they seal the place back up--but not before grabbing a few bottles of primo wine. Imagine the cop's surprise later when he pours that wine into a glass, takes a sip, and finds out it's liberally laced with blood. I'd be brushing my teeth for a very long time after that.
Legend says that St. Germaine still pops up in the city now and then. You'll be out on the streets after dark and a well dressed man will approach you, ask you for a light. If you don't have one, his response is usually along the line of "That's too bad. It's a nice night for Jack." People talk about a great feeling of unease when around him. Others have reported stranger, more frightening results of running into this man that may or may not be St. Germaine. Since it's after dark on the Devil's Night, you'll have to do your own research if you want to find out more--I'm a little too superstitious for that kind of talk.
Thus concludes story time. Join me tomorrow at The Bookish Snob for another story and to find out what happens when you throw me on a grill!
And of course--HAPPY HALLOWEEN!