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    White Hot
    White Hot
    White Hot
    Ebook45 pages50 minutes

    White Hot

    By Deborah LeBlanc

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    About this ebook

    Odel lives deep in the Louisiana bayous, away from prying eyes. She guards a secret--one shared with very few. She is the last surviving descendent of the infamous Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau. And Odel's power are not to be taken lightly. If you find her in the swamps, she'll grant a wish, but be careful what you wish for. Odel has a habit of giving quite a bit more than you ask for . . .

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDeborah LeBlanc
    Release dateSep 22, 2010
    ISBN9781452355078
    White Hot
    Author

    Deborah LeBlanc

    Award-winning and best-selling author, Deborah LeBlanc, is a business owner, a licensed death scene investigator, and an active paranormal investigator. She’s the President of the Horror Writers Association and Mystery Writers of America’s Southwest Chapter. Deborah is also the founder of the Literacy Challenge, a national campaign that encourages more people to read and Literacy Inc., a non-profit organization whose mission is to fight illiteracy in America's teens.

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      Book preview

      White Hot - Deborah LeBlanc

      WHITE-HOT

      Deborah Leblanc

      Published by Deborah Leblanc at Smashwords

      Copyright 2010 Deborah Leblanc

      The eye never did fit right. It bulged out too far from the socket, and the iris was the color of dirt instead of deep mahogany like Odel’s real, right eye. She supposed she shouldn’t complain since it hadn’t cost her a cent, thanks to Medicare. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t come with a price, one she’d been paying since she was thirteen. Nothing in life was truly free.

      Odel hadn’t inherited the physical attributes society used to define beauty, and a bulging eye certainly didn’t help the matter. Left up to her, she would never wear the damn thing. It just wasn’t natural for a person to have a glass marble stuck in their head. But people had a tendency to get squeamish around an empty eye socket. Not that she really cared what others thought. Most people were only interested in one thing anyway. Themselves. How they felt or looked, what they wanted or needed. Normally, the only interest they had in anyone else was what they could get out of them. It was one of the reasons she’d moved out of the French Quarter, where her family had lived for generations. Being the last twig from her infamous family tree, she’d grown tired of people always hounding her for one thing or another.

      But Odel had special company coming tonight, and she wanted to look as nice as possible. She’d sensed him searching for her earlier, but it wasn’t until about twenty minutes ago that she got a sharp mental image of the guy. He looked good for a white man. Thirty-three or four years old, six feet tall, give or take an inch, with an average build and collar-length blond hair. His hazel eyes held a fire in them that excited her, as did the mustache that framed his full lips and ended at his strong, square chin.

      Few people braved the woods and swamp to come here. Most who tried turned back long before they reached her house. The last man who’d made it all the way to her door had come about a week ago. Unfortunately, he’d made the mistake of underestimating her. A lot of men were like that, though, always thinking they were smarter and better than women. Never wanting to give ladies their due. Too much testosterone if you asked her.

      As much as Odel hated to admit it, she wanted a little of that testosterone right now. Her biological clock might be ticking past forty, but she still had needs like any other woman. Sadly, those needs accentuated the irony in her life. What she was able to use to help other women, she was unable to use for herself.If she wanted the physical enjoyment of a man, all she had to depend on were the few feminine wiles she possessed—or threats. And it almost always boiled down to the latter. Maybe the man coming tonight would be different. Maybe.

      Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Odel popped the artificial eye into its appropriate socket, adjusted the orb so the iris was centered, then reached into a side drawer and pulled out a tube of lipstick. It was the only one she’d ever owned. The black plastic case had a crack down one side, but the name on the base, WHITE-HOT, was just as legible as the day she’d bought it. That had been twelve years ago, when she was going through her this might help me look beautiful stage. Although the actual lipstick color was bright

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