Candlelight ceremony scheduled for the anniversary of the disastrous Yellow Fever Epidemic of 1853.
New Orleans remembers tragedy and the ancestors lost during the questionable epidemic. History claims widespread disease caused by the vicious outbreak, a mosquito-borne viral disease, tearing through the town like wildfire, infecting anyone in its path. By the time scientists were able to diagnose the cause, thousands had perished. But legend has it, not all deaths were caused by the devastating infection.
There’s no denying New Orleans has earned its nickname, City of the Dead. The spirited town, whether you believe or not, is known heavily for being the home of voodoo and black magic, loss and destruction. Legend has written the town turned to voodoo for a cure. Marie Laveau, a well-known voodoo priestess during the era, was called in, requesting her assistance in healing the sick.
Many during that time owe their life and devotion to the queen of voodoo, but some say it was not without a price.
Lore has it, Marie Laveau was in search of securing an army. When she passed, they would follow her into immortality. The lives saved were of men sacrificing their own for their loved ones. Sick wives and children. Mothers and grandmothers. She would cure the sick, and in return, ask for their eternal dedication—an assembled army that would take control of the New Orleans underground.
Rumors are said some went willingly. To live forever was a flourishing gift they couldn’t refuse. Some at the hands of their dying loved ones. Many lives were saved by hands of the voodoo queen, and in their place, the disappearance of many husbands and sons.
Thousands were reported dead from yellow fever, but merely a third of those bodies were accounted for. Amongst the missing were prominent names. From the governor, to the city’s waterworks committee, to lawyers and high ranked generals.
The words on the page begin to blur. The article means nothing to me. It’s the photo next to it: an old black and white snapshot of five men standing tall, wearing armor. A tremor shoots through me, and my hands start to shake. The room begins to spin. I’m barely able to keep my footing as I stare at the man on the end.
Macareus Thurlow
Confederate Lieutenant General of third ward, Army Reserves.
Supposed Death: October 27, 1853.
Everything blurs. My hands tremble so bad, the newspaper falls from my grip. As it drops to the ground, a card extracts from the paper, landing next to it, face up. I remember it. I feel it inside my soul as I stare down at a woman riding a horse, her head dangerously lying in the mouth of the lion.
About JD Hollyfield
J.D. Hollyfield is a creative designer by day and superhero by night. When she’s not cooking, event planning, or spending time with her family, she’s relaxing with her nose stuck in a book. With her love for romance, and her head full of book boyfriends, she was inspired to test her creative abilities and bring her own stories to life. Living in the Midwest, she’s currently at work on blowing the minds of readers, with the additions of her new books and series, along with her charm, humor and HEA’s.
J.D. Hollyfield dabbles in all genres, from romantic comedy, contemporary romance, historical romance, paranormal romance, fantasy and erotica! Want to know more! Follow her on all platforms!
Can’t Forget You
Kristen Middleton
Stalked by a stranger she met on a dating site, Sophia finds that the law isn't always on her side... and must take matters into her own hands.
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The characters and events portrayed in these books are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. The author acknowledges the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which has been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
Stalked by a stranger she met on a dating site, Sophia Jordan finds that the law isn't always on her side... and must take matters into her own hands.