Black-Hearted Devil

by Sierra Dean

  I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or insulted.

  I decided I would just be grateful it meant I now got to avoid all the pomp and circumstance of begging for an audience with Cain every time I showed up.

  Making my way up the narrow staircase to the second floor, the soft sounds of jazz floated down to greet me. The upper level, usually dim and full of secret spaces, had the curtains open, letting in pale morning sunshine, and completely changing the whole area. It looked as if it could be a cozy little coffee shop now, the hardwood floor shining a warm brown and faint dust motes swimming in the still air.

  The man I was after was standing behind the big bar along the back wall, leaning against the service counter. There was a newspaper unfolded in front of him and cup of fresh coffee by his elbow, steam rising from it even now, as if he’d just poured it.

  “Good morning, Eugenia,” he said, without lifting his eyes.

  Either he was psychic or there was a monitor behind that counter somewhere. Neither would surprise me.

  Really, nothing about Cain would surprise me.

  Except maybe finding out he had, like, a My Little Pony collection or something. That might make me scratch my head a bit.

  I walked up to the bar and seated myself on one of the high stools, which kept us eye to eye. He continued to read the newspaper as if I wasn’t there, flipping slowing through the pages. Over the speakers, the jazz continued to play. Something with piano. Monk or maybe Peterson. I wasn’t ever very good at distinguishing the difference, no matter how hard my ex-boyfriend Cash had tried to educate me. I liked it, but if you paid me a million bucks I wouldn’t know the name of the pianist or the song.

  “I can’t help but notice you’re carrying a coffee and not a human skull,” he said. “I don’t supposed that purse of yours is big enough to fit a head inside.”

  “Fresh out of heads here, sorry.”

  I put my coffee down on his newspaper.

  He looked up at me then, his cool, pale eyes appraising me. Cain was a big man. Like linebacker big. And even though his hair was graying and there were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, he didn’t look any less intimidating than I imagine he must have in his twenties.

  For a long time, I had been very, very afraid of him.

  Now I met his gaze with a level stare of my own.

  “We had an agreement, Miss McQueen.” He lifted up my paper cup and set it to the side, then folded the paper shut. He was doing his best impression of someone that didn’t have a care in the world, but I knew him better than that by now.

  “We did.”

  “Then would you like to explain to me why it is I find you here without the item we had agreed on? I like you, Genie, but you and I are not friends. I do free favors for my friends. You still have to pay.”

  “I’m hurt, Beau, I was working really hard on a friendship bracelet for you and everything.”

  His nostrils flared. It was just the most imperceptible thing telling me how annoyed he was. The rest of his face gave nothing away.

  “If you’re not here to make good on your promises, that begs the question of why you’re here at all.” He sipped his own coffee, maintaining a cool, calm exterior. I could tell his blood was boiling.

  “Here’s the thing about that, and I hope you won’t think I’m here making excuses, but I’ve run into a bit of trouble collecting the… item.”

  “Couldn’t find it?”

  “Oh, I found it.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Well, it’s still attached to the owner’s body.”

  His brow creased, and I watched the gears work inside his mind. He knew as well as I did how Mercy had been killed. “Attached?”

  “And then there’s the bonus problem of the body being alive.”

  Cain’s bravado fell away in an instant, he complexion going completely ashen. I feel you, dude.

  “Can you repeat that?”

  “Nah, you got it the first time.”

  We stared at each other, and I couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle me or barf. Might have been both.

  “You’re saying Mercy is alive.”

  “I’m saying she’s alive and pissed as hell. She burned down the bar at Callum’s estate last night. I don’t know what your history with my mother is, but if you think there might be some bad blood, then I’d tell you politely you might want to watch your back.”

  This was what I’d come for, to see how he’d react to this, and his sick, pale expression told me that, for one thing, he was not responsible for bringing her back, and for another, he didn’t want her here anymore than I did.

  “Do you want to tell me how it’s possible that my dead, beheaded mother is walking around and playing with matches, Beau?”

  “You think I’m responsible for this?”

  “No, but I think there was a really good reason you wanted to have her skull sitting on your bookshelf, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s because you knew something like this might happen and wanted to keep an eye on her.”

  He scowled at me, and with a faintly trembling hand took another sip of his still-warm coffee. Yeah, he was spooked. I wasn’t sure if I should feel smug or worried about it. I’d seen Cain square off against some pretty terrible circumstances and do it with a boyish grin and a wink.

  If Mercy being back had him this shaken, then things might be even worse than I was worried about.

  “Are you absolutely sure?” he asked.

  “You know, I’m getting pretty sick of people asking me that question.”

  “This isn’t something I want to leave to chance.”

  “I didn’t just imagine her. She stood right in front of me. She spoke to me. She wasn’t an apparition or a ghost. Her skull wasn’t in the grave and she was there, less than ten feet away from me, telling me what a naughty girl I’d been.” It would be laughably absurd if it wasn’t so bloody scary.

  “Have you told anyone else about this?”

  “Of course. I told Callum, Ben, Wilder. I’ve told everyone I thought should know, because this wasn’t something I wanted to hush up. People had to prepare themselves.”

  “Did you tell them about our agreement?”

  “Only Wilder knows about that.”

  Cain nodded, accepting this.

  “Though I find it funny you’re asking me that right now, if you really don’t have anything to do with it.”

  Cain rolled his eyes at me, all his bravado and composure restored. Now that he’d had a little time to let the news settle he had apparently been able to gather himself well enough to be the Beau Cain everyone new and loathed.

  But I’d seen it. The tremble in his hand. The terror in his eyes.

  “I don’t need anyone else thinking what you came here thinking. I have enough trouble at my heels on any given day without your uncle’s pack thinking I brought Mercy McQueen back from the dead.”

  “Could you have?”

  Our eyes met and the silence stretched long and awkward.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Liar. Answer the question.”

  He glanced behind me, his expression unfocused. For a moment I worried there might be someone else in the room, but then he returned his gaze to me.

  “I, personally, couldn’t bring anyone back to life. But you know perfectly well I have ways to get things like this done. I can have just about anything done if I want it.” His eyes narrowed and a chill slithered down my back. His words tasted like a threat.

  “Who?”

  Cain smirked and it was dark and unsettling.

  “You know who, Genie.”

  Chapter Eight

  “I don’t like this.” Wilder stared up at the old plantation house in the Garden District.

  “I know.”

  “You’re sure we have to do this? Cain could have been lying.”

  “I know.” I played with my sunglasses and looked up at the house, hating what was coming.

 
Last resort option one had become the next stop on my mystery-solving tour, which meant I now found myself standing in front of Santiago’s house. It didn’t matter that it was a lovely, sunny afternoon, and the temperature was warm even though it was November. I still got a shiver looking up at the place.

  I’d called Wilder as soon as I left Cain’s place. I might be able to keep him on the periphery visiting Cain, but he would not be okay with me going to see Santiago on my own. The truth was, I hadn’t invited him just to keep from bruising his ego. I didn’t want to be alone with Santiago. I didn’t trust myself with him.

  It wasn’t just that he was handsome and didn’t hide his sexual interest in me. I was an adult, I could keep my hands to myself and not yield to the temptations of a sexy dude. But the reason I didn’t trust myself with him was that my power craved him. Whenever we were in the same room together it was electric, and the witchy part of me wanted very badly to know what might come of the two of us joining together.

  Trouble was, the combination of power needed… sacrifice. Blood, life, sex, you name it, there was no free ride when it came to getting a taste of his magic, and I worried that the witch in me wouldn’t care about the cost. The thirst for power was hard to ignore.

  So I called Wilder, because I had a feeling Santiago knew precisely how to play me in order to make me do something I might regret down the road.

  I wasn’t sure if it made me weak, overly cautious, or just smart. It didn’t matter. I was going to make sure I never let myself be in a room alone with Santiago if I could help it.

  He rattled my cage.

  Wilder just didn’t like the guy. Probably didn’t help that Santiago had openly tried to seduce me once right in front of him. I mean, that’s not going to make a great first impression.

  Since then, Wilder and I had better determined what our relationship was, and I wanted to make sure my boyfriend trusted me even if he didn’t trust the man we were here to see.

  Plus, Wilder was my bodyguard. This seemed like a good occasion for him to do both jobs at the same time.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” I grumbled.

  If I had any other options aside from being here, I would have taken them, but Cain had basically aimed me right for the house. Which could have been his way of stirring up shit—a beloved Beau Cain pastime—but I didn’t think so. Not right now.

  Of course, I’d been wrong about Cain’s motivations in the past.

  I slipped my sunglasses up into my hair and pushed open Santiago’s wrought iron front gate. Even though it was late in the season, it didn’t seem to matter to his garden. There were still flowers and herbs in bloom everywhere, altogether oblivious to the season for growing being over.

  It smelled incredible, heady.

  I hated this place because of how much I loved it. It felt like coming home, but to a home that had never and would never be mine. I knew a part of me belonged here, but that part of me was not the one calling the shots.

  Santiago answered the door after my second knock, so of course he’d been standing on the other side of it, watching as we came up the walk.

  “Genie.” He smiled, a grin smooth and sweet as honey. My stomach clenched and every instinct in my body screamed run away.

  Instead, like a stupid little fish, I swam right into the shark’s mouth.

  “Hello Santiago.”

  His gaze trailed over my shoulder like a physical touch and landed on Wilder. “Hello Wilder.” I was a little surprised he didn’t intentionally use the wrong name or do something equally immature just to set Wilder off. It seemed for the time being that at least one of them was going to play nice.

  “Santiago,” Wilder replied, his voice so tight I knew he was clenching his jaw without looking at him.

  I was just grateful Santiago was wearing a shirt today.

  It was a threadbare Guns n’ Roses shirt, with holes along the neckline, and the black so faded it was now charcoal gray. He had paired the tee with some tattered blue jeans that looked as soft as velour. He was barefoot. His dark hair, shaved and the sides, was a jumble of loose curls hanging in his eyes. The tattoos that covered his arms and up his neck to his temples felt like more of a sneaky secret now that they were partially covered by a shirt.

  I knew they were all a part of his spellcraft. Runes and enchantments he had carved into his body to make himself stronger.

  There was a reason Santiago was one of the most powerful witches in New Orleans, and it was at least in part due to what he was willing to give of himself.

  “Would you like to come in?” His chocolate brown eyes were only for me, even though the invitation was clearly meant for both of us.

  “Please.”

  He stepped out of the doorway, letting Wilder and I pass into his inner sanctum. The house smelled of incense and vanilla, and a stirring mix of darker things like wood smoke and blood.

  This place was brimming to the rafters with magic and it made all the hair on my body stand on end. I wanted to rub against the walls and burrow my face in the curtains. Everything here teased and tantalized.

  There was no music playing, only the muted jangle of wind chimes from outside and a faint breeze through a window rustling the curtains. Yet the whole house buzzed, like a struck chord that hummed through my body.

  I wanted to reach for Wilder’s hand and seek out some kind of familiar comfort there, but I also knew I couldn’t show weakness, especially in front of someone who was just a man. A very, very powerful man, but a human man nonetheless.

  I knew, from Santiago’s own admission, that he had needed to learn all the magic he knew. A learned witch wasn’t the same as a hereditary one. While he might have known the ins and outs of spellcraft better than I did, the magic was in my blood in a way it simply wasn’t for him.

  And sometimes that manifested itself in genuinely terrifying ways.

  Focus.

  I had to get out of here quickly, but we needed answers first. The sooner I got them, the sooner we could leave, and I wouldn’t need to see Santiago again hopefully for a very long time.

  He closed the door behind us and the stillness of the house was overwhelming.

  “I was just making some tea, do you guys want anything?”

  I shook my head firmly at Wilder. We would not eat or drink anything in this house. Usually that rule was only necessary around fairies, but I didn’t trust a damn thing Santiago offered me. It could all be enchanted.

  “Just Earl Grey, I swear,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Straight out of the Twinnings box if you want to see it for yourself.”

  “Like that would stop you,” I said. There was no venom in my voice in spite of the barbed words.

  Santiago grinned. “Clever girl. Have a seat, then, I’ll be right back.”

  He left us alone in the living room and I let my gaze trail all over the art and knick-knacks spread throughout the space. Carved wooden boxes, a variety of animal skulls, an honest to God shrunken head under a bell jar, teeth—some of which looked supernatural to me, vampire, maybe wolf—and dozens of jars of unidentifiable substances.

  The books on the shelves ran the gamut from spell work, to leather-bound tomes with titles written in languages I couldn’t read, to a shelf containing what appeared to be the entirety of Dennis Lehane and Michael Connelly’s written works.

  What a weirdo.

  Santiago returned, carrying a mug, and took a seat in a beaten-up red armchair, leaving the couch empty for Wilder and myself.

  We sat cautiously, and I stayed much closer to him than I needed to, our thighs pressed against each other. I felt more at ease immediately, letting out a little breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  I could do this. No problem.

  “I admit, I wasn’t expecting to see either of you so soon again after the… situation last month.”

  The situation he was referring to was a demon-possessed sorority house that was sucking co-eds into the walls as a form of sacrifice.

>   “Yeah, we were sort of hoping we wouldn’t need your help again.” Ever was the unspoken word at the end of the sentence.

  The real problem with Santiago was how much I didn’t hate him at all. In different circumstances I might even want to be friends with him. He had an easy charm and a crackling sense of humor. He also had no understanding of personal boundaries and was an enormous pain in the ass.

  He held his hot mug comfortably in his hands and did nothing to rush me. It was as if he had all the time in the world to wait for me to get to the point, and that was all the more frustrating somehow.

  “I was with Cain this morning, and he made a less than subtle indication that if someone wanted a person brought back from the dead, you might be the kind of man to ask.”

  Santiago gave me a wary smirk, sipped his tea, and said nothing.

  I waited. I waited a full minute expecting that once he had swallowed he would say something. Either agree, or deny it, maybe ask me for more details. Instead he just tipped his head to the side.

  I hadn’t asked him anything, I realized.

  “Can you bring people back from the dead?”

  “That’s a complicated request.”

  “Then simplify it for me.”

  He set his tea down on a nearby stack of books, the bergamot scent filling the room so fully I was sure the drink really was enchanted somehow. Call me paranoid if you want, but paranoid people aren’t always wrong.

  “There are many different kinds of death, Genie, which I suspect you probably know.”

  I had some familiarity with this. Secret herself had technically been dead once, which was how she’d ultimately lost her vampire and werewolf powers. A clean slate of sorts. And vampires represented a death undone, or a new life after death.

  Yeah, I guess it was a complicated question, but he knew what I meant and was just dragging this out.

  “I’m not a necromancer, if that’s what you’re implying.”