“Jumpy?”
He eyed my phone in my hands. I quickly tucked it into my back pocket. I swear he smiled, just barely, but I saw it. I blushed.
There was a sheathed sword strapped to his back.
“Are you going to walk around like that?”
“Of course. I never go anywhere without a weapon. Demons don’t sleep, Genevieve.”
“Don’t you think people will find it a little odd? Halloween isn’t for another two weeks.”
“No one will see it.”
“Why, what do you mean? It’s pretty obvious you—ohhh… You use alucinatio?”
“Yes, all Flamma cast illusion.” By all, he was including demon hunters.
“Were you wearing a sword the night I met you?”
“As I said, I never go anywhere without a weapon.”
“I suppose I couldn’t see it then because I hadn’t ‘become aware’ or whatever.”
Somehow, this made me feel safer knowing I could now see what might be coming for me around any corner.
It was nearly six a.m. as I followed Jude down the stairs and through the courtyard. Misty morning light barely lit the path to the wrought-iron gate. As I tripped over an uneven brick, Jude caught me around my upper arm, steadied me and kept me close the rest of the way to the car. His touch was firm but gentle. The heat radiating through his fingers banded around my arm, making me feel safe, protected and something else. I slid into the passenger side, once again letting him take the driver’s seat. I wondered how often this would happen in our bizarre, demon-hunter-helps-demon-hunted relationship.
Chapter Six
“You need to turn—”
Jude had already made a left before I could tell him exactly where to go. I stopped giving him directions. He made the next one—correctly—without a word from me.
“You know where I live?”
A stiff nod. Stalker.
“So,” I said, swallowing a little pride. “I’ve given it some thought, and I think you’re right. I do need preparation or training or whatever as a Vessel.”
Amusement played across his features, though he never took his eyes from the road.
“Of course,” he agreed with no hint of smugness, though I knew he was just hiding it well. Grand illusionist, this one. “When would you like to meet?”
“When are you available?”
He stopped at a red light. Dark eyes shimmering with flecks of gold held mine for a moment. He picked up his iPhone from the console and clicked on the calendar app.
“What time are your classes scheduled on Monday?”
Ha! He didn’t know everything about me.
“I’m open from noon to four.”
“Noon, then.”
He plugged in our meeting time and date, then set the phone back on the console. Okay, I’m not normally a sneaky or nosy person, but I couldn’t help it. He’d left his weekly calendar open, so I saw the appointment he had scheduled for tonight: Kat—Jackson Square—10:00.
Kat? Jude had a girlfriend? The green-eyed monster inside me narrowed her feline eyes, growling and spitting at the prospect. What was I thinking? No matter what my initial impressions of this guy were, I knew he was not dating material. Kitty better retract her claws and get over it.
“Are you feeling all right? Do your stitches hurt?”
How did he notice my shifting mood so fast? He was like an emo-detector.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
He pulled up the drive of our small duplex. David’s car wasn’t in the driveway, thankfully. I didn’t feel like dealing with the saccharine-sweet couple at the moment. I suddenly felt on edge. Now that Jude had successfully saved my life, twice, I felt protected with him. As much as my pride bristled at being dependent on him or anyone else for that matter, the thought of being alone terrified me. I’d been wondering if I should even come back here, imagining a red-eyed demon breaking in, abducting me and killing Mindy in the process. Yeah, she was little, but she was feisty. No way would she cower and hide if my life were in danger.
“Can I call you if I have, well, visitors?”
“You will be safe. While in this building, no demon will be able to detect your presence.”
“Wait, you can cast illusions on a place?”
“Some Flamma can.”
He smiled. My heart fluttered. I wish he’d smile more often. On second thought, I was glad he didn’t.
“What do you mean some? Why not all?”
“The power of using illusion depends upon the strength of the user.”
“So, I’m guessing that hiding whole buildings takes a pretty powerful user.”
“Correct.”
Not bragging, a fact. He stepped out and came around to open my door. I didn’t know guys still did those kinds of things.
“Guess that makes me a lucky girl that you wandered into Tartarus that night,” I said as we came to a stop outside the door of the duplex.
He grew very quiet and still, gazing down at me. Unreadable thoughts flitted behind heavy-lidded eyes. When he spoke, his deep voice had dipped another octave.
“Do not go anywhere alone outside of this house, Genevieve. I will see you at noon on Monday.”
I nodded. The curtains by the door fluttered. I ducked my head and skirted past him. After bolting the lock behind me, I spun around to find Mindy propped on the sofa with a Cheshire-cat grin plastered stupidly on her face.
“O! M! G! Who was that? Was that him? Was that the guy from the club? He is so hot. No, he’s beyond hot! What happened? Where did you see him again?”
She spat out a string of questions. When she finally paused to suck air into her little lungs, I attempted to explain.
“Yes, that was the guy. I was—”
“Eeeeee!” Her squeal pierced my ears. “Did you and him, well, did you two, ya know—”
“No! Geez, Mindy, I just met the guy!”
“Well, I know, but damn, did you look at him? It’s like Vampire Diaries showing up on your doorstep.”
“There’s no such thing as vampires, Mindy.” And who did I sound like right now?
“You’re right,” she said, perking up with a devilish smile, “but he is definitely real.”
I sat down on the loveseat, wincing as the bandage rubbed the stitches.
“Oh no. Are you okay? Does your stomach hurt or something?”
“Actually, I was mugged right outside the dojo.”
“You’re kidding!”
I’d already come up with this excuse, an easy one for her to believe. Mindy and I’d been mugged once during Mardi Gras. We had wandered too far from our group on Canal Street to find a bathroom. Finding an available restroom in New Orleans during Mardi Gras was like scouring the Sahara searching for a swimming pool. Of course, we turned down a remote alley in our ridiculous nothing-can-harm-me, life-is-perfect giddiness. What can I say? We were sixteen and blind and stupid. This scruffy-looking guy pushed us into a niche in the wall and demanded money. I checked to see if he had a gun. He didn’t. I grabbed Mindy’s hand and ran. He chased us until we reached the next street, where tons of people milled up and down. Till the other night at Tartarus, that was my first and only brush with death. Sadly, I knew the two incidents since then were only the beginning.
“Yeah,” I continued. “I locked up the dojo for Dad, and this guy jumped out of nowhere. In the struggle, he cut me. Luckily, Jude came and ran the guy off.”
Okay, actually, none of that was a lie. I just left out minor facts—three guys, not one; demons, not humans; attempted kidnapping, not mugging. And, oh yeah, Jude killed one and scared the bejeezus out of the other two with his badass demon-killer mojo.
“Oh my God! Seriously, Gen. Are you okay? Did you call the police?”
“No. My dad has enough to worry about. If he knew this, he’d never let me out of the house alone again.”
This was definitely true.
“Let me see.”
“It’s not as bad as it seems,” I lied, so happy the wound was still covered by the bandage.
“Yikes! It’s really big. Thank goodness your hottie showed up. Why was he there?”
I ignored her reference to Jude being mine. That was beyond laughable. Could a demon hunter like Jude actually ever belong to anyone? However, I had come up with a decent lie for him being there.
“When I met him the other night, I’d told him where I worked. He mentioned he was a black belt.”
“Of course he is.”
“He was looking for my dad.”
“Of course he was.”
“He wants to do some moonlighting at the dojo.”
“Of course he does.”
“Stop it!”
Mindy had that wicked gleam in her eyes. “You stop it. He’s totally got the hots for you. And now he’s saved you from some crazy creeper on the streets? It’s like a requirement now that you two have some kind of passionate love affair.”
She sighed, leaning back with a purple throw pillow clutched to her chest, gazing up at the ceiling. There was no harm in letting her believe her delusions. Better to let her think that than know the truth. The very idea of Jude having the hots for me sent chills through my body all the way to the bone—terrifying, mind-numbing, body-shaking, somebody-save-me-now chills. I picked up the other throw pillow and chucked it at her face.
“Ow!” She giggled.
We laughed the way girls laugh about hot guys. I popped two heaping bowls of buttery popcorn, made us some Coke Zero slushies, then we settled onto the sofas with fleecy blankets for an all-day marathon of Lord of the Rings. Mindy got her way last time with Harry Potter, so it was my turn. I tried to deny that I had an ulterior motive, but I couldn’t. Every time Aragorn swung his sword, the vision of another came to mind. Darker, fiercer and more beautiful beyond compare.
“Thank you again, Malcolm, for picking me up,” I said, pulling open the door to the library.
“No problem. I was happy to.”
He beamed at me. I wondered for a second if this was a bad idea. Not that I thought he wasn’t tough enough to frighten off a demon. Malcolm played rugby and filled out his six-one frame quite nicely. Much bigger than Steven, anyway. He would make Fabio or Spiky think twice before approaching. I wondered if perhaps I’d given Malcolm the wrong impression. I’d never asked him to my place, to pick me up or anything before. We’d always met up with Mary at the library for study group. I hoped he wasn’t reading into this. Like most girls, I knew when a guy was crushing on me. And Malcolm definitely was. He kept our relationship sort of flirty-friendly, but I’d just crossed that boundary like an idiot in my own selfish need to get out of the apartment.
Already waiting in our nook in the back corner by the reference shelves was a graveyard of research materials time had forgotten. Mary had her nose deep in her notes, highlighting away. Her short dark hair was pinned back with an overlarge bobby pin. With no makeup and silver, thin-rimmed glasses, she appeared to be about fourteen. She might be small and sweet, but don’t let that fool you. If you observed more closely, you’d notice a black widow tattooed on the fleshy part between her thumb and forefinger, getting ready to leap on the first person who got too close. And if you watched her mouth when she talked, you’d catch the glint of silver from the piercing in her tongue. She was shrewd and smart with just a tad of dark—my favorite kind of person.
Malcolm pulled out his usual half liter of Dr. Pepper and bag of Skittles, totally illegal to have in the library. Like he cared. Study food, he called it.
We set about rereading and analyzing passages of old Milton’s Paradise Lost. After two hours of rehashing Lucifer’s fall, his angst and feelings of betrayal, I was done. Beyond done.
“I’m sick of Milton,” I sighed, knowing full well I was simply exhausted from thoughts of angels, demons and their eternal war. Every aspect of my life was saturated by them. Malcolm slammed his book shut, definitively blocking out the hosts of heaven and hell. I wished I could do the same.
“Ditto, Drake. Let’s get something to eat.”
Malcolm had finished off his Skittles and DP an hour ago.
“Not me, guys,” said Mary, adjusting her glasses and stuffing her books into her I-heart-Poe satchel. “I’ve got work in the morning. And in addition to Bennett’s torture device he calls a midterm on Monday, I’ve got one in Sociology too. I need sleep right now.”
“How’s the coffee biz?” asked Malcolm.
“Same ole, same ole. Everyone needs caffeine in a pretty cup with sugary foam on top.”
I was only vaguely tuned in to the conversation as we packed and started walking to the door, my mind wandering somewhere it shouldn’t be. I couldn’t help myself.
“How about beignets, Malcolm?” I asked, only half-concerned this might be construed as a mini-date.
His eyes beamed. Uh-oh. “Sure. Awesome! There’s a new café over on St. Charles we could go to.”
“Nah. Let’s get the real deal,” I said. “Café du Monde.”
“The Quarter? On a Saturday night?” he asked, obviously surprised by my suggestion.
“Peace out. Y’all have fun,” said Mary, walking toward her car across the lot.
“See ya, Mary,” I called, looking back to Malcolm. “Yeah. Why not?”
I tried to sound casual as I climbed into his Jeep Cherokee. I knew “why not”. Saturday night in the French Quarter meant a number of things—noise, drunks, aggravating tourists, street vendors looking for tips, drunks, bachelor parties gone awry, slutty women, drunks. Need I say more? It was far from what most students would want after several grueling hours of studying.
“I’m in the mood for a little ambience,” I lied.
“If that’s what you want, Drake, let’s go.”
I settled back into the seat, belted myself in and tried to ignore the niggling fact that I wanted neither beignets nor Malcolm’s company. My mind registered only two facts in determining our destination. Café du Monde was perfectly positioned with a wide view of Jackson Square. And it was nearly ten o’clock.
Chapter Seven
Thirty minutes later, we were parked near Jax Brewery and walking the few blocks to Café du Monde. Café Maspero’s had a line a mile long wrapped around the corner block of Toulouse. Those waiting for platters of fried seafood, overstuffed po’boys, and the best French onion soup in town sipped on dollar strawberry daiquiris as they waited. My mouth watered, thinking of cold, salty raw oysters with horseradish sauce, but Maspero’s was two blocks away from Jackson Square. Too far away.
A cacophony of noise that was distinctly the French Quarter filled the night—sporadic laughter, plates and glasses tinkling, jazz music, car horns, random shouts, horses clip-clopping as they pulled tourist carriages along Decatur, and the distant horn of merchant ships on the Mississippi River. Café du Monde wasn’t as crowded as usual. A bearded man played an upbeat rendition of “When the Saints Go Marchin’ In” on his saxophone at the entrance.
“Hmph. Wish they’d hurry,” I mumbled.
“What’s that, Drake?”
“Oh, nothing.”
I squeezed past the smiling tourists dropping dollars and coins in his open case and beelined for a table on the outer edge of the awning. Malcolm followed. I winced as my stomach bumped the back of a chair right over my wound, but hid my grimace, not wanting Malcolm to ask unwanted questions.
“Didn’t know you were a fan of this scene,” he said from behind.
“Sometimes.” I smiled tightly, scooting my chair away from bumping the table behind me. They crammed as many teeny-tiny round tables in this place as possible, and usually every one of them was full.
I glanced at Malcolm, who gave me a nervous smile. We’d never been anywhere but class or study group together. I hated lying to him. Worse, I hated using him, but who was I kidding? I wanted to know who this Kat person was. I’d just
get a glimpse, then I’d be satisfied. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
“Order?”
A pallid Asian woman in a white uniform wiped the remains of powdered sugar off the table, never even making eye contact.
“Two orders of beignets and café au lait,” said Malcolm.
Within six minutes, we were served and enjoying the famous delicacy. Funny thing was, I usually did enjoy the ambience of the Quarter and its distractions. Tonight, my eyes were peeled for one and only one person. My Vessel senses prickled along my skin. I smiled inwardly because I could actually feel the slow change. I was becoming aware, as Jude had said. I could feel my VS, Vessel Sense, on a primitive level, some secret awakening tickling along the outer edges of my mind and body. There were definitely Flamma out tonight, but I was either too far away or they were good at hiding. I couldn’t find them in the crowds, but I knew they were there. Still, I felt no immediate threat zoning in on me.
“I swear, it was the coolest thing ever. Peter Jackson is a freakin’ genius,” Malcolm was saying. “So, you want to go see the new one coming out?”
“I’m sorry?” I asked, sipping my chicory coffee.
“You know, the new Peter Jackson flick. It’ll be awesome!”
“Sure,” I mumbled, scanning the Square across the street.
“Awesome.”
Malcolm bit into his fourth beignet, having finished his order and moved on to mine. After all of my faked enthusiasm for beignets, I could hardly eat a bite. I was draining the last of my café au lait when I saw him.
Striding across Decatur like a man on a mission, he wore black jeans, a black leather jacket and black boots. No matter his dark allure, something about him made everyone step clearly out of his way. I knew what that something was—eau de Jude. Despite his magnificence, he emanated an aura of back-the-fuck-off wherever he went. My heart skipped a beat, even though I’d firmly resolved to keep my heart out of this. I’d decided Jude was entirely off-limits in the dating category, but he knew a hell of a lot more about what I was than he was letting on. I needed answers, and if that meant I had to resort to becoming the stalker in this relationship, well, then, so be it. Oh hell, who was I fooling? Honestly, I just really wanted to see who this Kat person was.
Forged in Fire Page 6
