DayStar has interrupted Victor's first date with his ghoul friend, Alice Wentworth, to give them the "Tour of the Damned" of the French Quarter:
One heartbeat we were on Rue La Mort. The next we were on 717 Orleans Street. I smiled sadly. Seven was the number of DayStar’s adversary.
He spat on the concrete. It ate through the sidewalk like acid, leaving only a smoking hole. Knowing him, it wouldn’t stop til it burned down to his kingdom.
He sneered, “As if you knew. Look where we are.”
I looked. The Bourbon Orleans Hotel. I shrugged.
“So, Mister Historian? You know of this place.”
“Hey, Gruesome. I just got here to New Orleans. I’m just finding my way around these parts. I haven’t lived eons like you.”
DayStar looked as if he were going to eat the lips off my face. Alice went pale even for her. She took both my hands.
“I know of this place, Victor.”
Looking as if the words burned her lips, she said, “This was the site of the infamous Quadroon Balls, where wealthy white men would come to form …”
My Victorian princess looked like she was going to be ill, “ to form … alliances with free women of color, who were one-fourth to one-eighth black.”
DayStar laughed til the tears came to his eyes. “And in so doing, they went from free to slave in the most delightful way. The cream to this pudding is that you talking monkeys later established a convent here, Sisters of the Holy Family, the second oldest order of black nuns in this miserable nation.”
Alice rushed in as if to cut off his amusement at the agony of others, “The founder, whose mother had been a Quadroon Mistress herself, was Henriette Delille, now being presented to the Vatican for consideration of sainthood.”
DayStar’s nose wrinkled as if his upper lip smelled bad. “Shall I tell you two of the atrocities committed by that institution?”
“Spare us,” I groaned.
His gray eyes glowed hot, though the rest of his long face was hidden by living shadows. “I shall do no such thing, maggot.”
Nor did he. But you have to read the rest for yourselves.