by Marie Castle
Mynx just shook her head. “Strange is right.”
We sat for a few more minutes, making plans, the file and photos between us like a hot brand neither of us wanted to touch. Then Mynx went to bed. Unfortunately, I had a few more calls to make.
Midnight was regular business hours for the Blood-Kin.
* * *
“I know what you are,” Jacq said softly.
The night was quiet. Her voice would carry far, and Cate, in the kitchen, was as close as a walk through the gardens. Through the swirling blue and green wall, gray eyes met glowing red ones. The hound raised its head from the ratty slipper it had been nuzzling before twitching its ears. Jacq squatted, their faces inches apart, separated only by the wards’ magic. “I know you understand what I’m saying.” The hound huffed, pushing hot air against the barrier before baring its teeth.
Jacq grinned back, nothing friendly in either’s smile. Predator to predator, they eyed each other, coming to a silent understanding. Finally she rose. The hound laid its head back down, looking bored. “I don’t know whose house you belong to, but I know you were not with the two that attacked, which is why I didn’t bother to track you down before. So you will do me the courtesy of delivering a message.”
The hound huffed again, but Jacq knew it would do as she’d asked. Its loyalty lay with its master, who would want to hear this. “Tell those you serve that I know they will come for her. But if Cate goes,” she let her growing power shine through, the silver so bright and pure that for a moment the night seemed like day, “she must go willingly.”
With that Jacq released her magic, letting it sink in again. The hound didn’t bat an eye as the woman left, and it likely wouldn’t. But while the demons might never fear such as her, Jacq had the feeling that they might soon learn to fear their wayward child. There was a reason—a very good one—why the demons had once enlisted her kind to care for their young.
And it had nothing to do with their flair for cleaning up dirty nappies.
* * *
Day Seven
“What are you hiding?”
At my words, Aunt Helena dropped her teacup. I jumped forward, grabbing it. She shouldn’t have been so startled. This talk had been coming for a long time. Although maybe I should be surprised at how easy it was to arise early and catch her alone in the kitchen.
“Thank you.” Aunt Helena took the proffered cup from my hand then turned to take another from the cabinet. I nodded in acceptance of her silent question. We’d have possibly the most important talk of my life over tea and toast. “What makes you think I’m hiding something?” She poured us each a cup of sweet chai with a dollop of milk.
“Aunt Helena, really…” I sighed, blowing at my steaming mug. “You practically run from the room every time we’re alone.” I looked at my aunt, and as always, sadness swept my heart. The jade eyes, the flame-red curls, the face…Aunt Helena was a true mirror image of her identical twin—my mother. It was like having my mom’s specter standing a heartbreaking inch beyond my reach.
The knot growing in my stomach made my tone urgent. “Tell me about the first time my mother went missing…before I was born.”
“How did you—” Jaw set, my aunt shook her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter how you know.” Anger flared in her eyes only to be swallowed by something much greater. Her gaze met mine. Grief, like a dark silent river, flowed within the jade depths. “I can’t—” She choked on the words.
“You can,” I urged. “Please.”
Aunt Helena looked away, shoulders slumping. There were dark circles under her eyes. Maybe my bad dreams had begun to spread to those around me.
I bit my cheek, watching my aunt’s throat work and her breaths quicken. My own anxiety grew with each moment. Whatever this secret was, it was tearing my aunt up inside, which meant it had to be bad. Really, really bad.
Finally she murmured, “It’s not my place to tell.”
I reached across the table and took her hand. It seemed so fragile in my slightly darker one. “Maybe not.” Aunt Helena’s eyes lifted. “But you’re the only one here, and I have a feeling that I need to know whatever it is that you fear telling me.”
“Oh, sweetie.” My aunt’s eyes watered then overflowed. Maybe it was a chain reaction because I too began to cry as she continued. “I’m not afraid for me. Evie and I were never afraid for us. We just didn’t want to hurt you.” I opened my mouth to reassure her, but she rushed on. “Or put you in a position to be hurt. I’ve always felt guilty because I wasn’t there that night. I was supposed to be. But your mother, she said things happened the way they were supposed to. Otherwise she wouldn’t have had you, and you were her greatest joy.”
I moved around the table to hug my aunt. As I knelt there, loosely holding her, Aunt Helena’s eyes closed, tears leaking from beneath her lids. Her hand absently stroked my hair. After a few minutes, she said hoarsely, “You’re right. For your own safety, the time has come for you to know this.”
She took a few shuddering breaths then began. “Over thirty years ago, a rogue cult tried to open a darkmirror. By a chance of fate, your mother got there first. I was at a night class when the cult began their spell. I left immediately but had a blowout. I spelled the tire rather than waste time changing it. Even so, I arrived just as Evie opened the gate, creating an outgoing path so the cult couldn’t create an incoming one. Things went terribly wrong.” Her head shook in agitation. “And your mother and the cult members were sucked in. The house the gate was in collapsed. By the time I got to the mirror it was closed. And without knowing the destination, I couldn’t follow.”
As the story progressed, my eyes dried. I’d already cried so many tears. There really weren’t that many left. But my aunt still wept an occasional silent tear, unburdening her soul and releasing years of bottled grief. Lost in memory, she seemed to forget that I was there. Aunt Helena had been so strong when my mother had disappeared three years ago for what I now knew was the second time. I’d always thought my aunt had grieved in private. I’d heard my Nana cry more than once behind her closed door. Goddess knows, I’d done the same. Now, I thought maybe Aunt Helena had never allowed herself the necessity of mourning. She and Nana thought I didn’t know their traveling was cover for their continued search for my mother. Like me, both women had worked themselves to exhaustion looking.
We sat like that for a long time, Aunt Helena sharing what my mother had told her about her stay in Denoir, the first of Hell’s realms, and the man she’d loved. When Mynx returned we helped my emotionally drained aunt upstairs. Maybe my face didn’t reflect my emptiness, my shock. Or maybe Mynx saw from Aunt Helena’s troubled state all she needed to. Whatever the reason, I was grateful that Mynx didn’t ask any questions.
I tucked my pale aunt into bed and kissed her forehead, saying, “Sleep. Everything will be better tomorrow.” If only I could believe my own words.
I closed the drapes against the hot noonday sun then closed her door tightly behind me. It should’ve felt strange to have our roles reversed. I should’ve been angry to hear my life’s story told with details I’d never known and saddened to know a new side of my mother and not have her here to explain it. Maybe I should’ve felt all of those things. But at that exact moment, I couldn’t feel anything. I was completely…and utterly…numb.
I’d been shocked to learn that my mother had been trapped in the Otherworld before I’d been born. My world had been rocked on its axis when I’d learned that she had loved a demon. And not just any demon, but one whose blood was my own.
My father had been a demon.
All these years, I’d joked about Hex being a hell-spawn when I was literally one. Or, at least, half of me was. That would’ve been enough to knock me to the floor, but the most overwhelming fact hadn’t been my aunt’s words. No, it had been the immense sense of déjà vu they had evoked.
Without a doubt, I knew details that Aunt Helena hadn’t said. Likely couldn’t have said. Like the fact that my father’s hair wo
uld be the same raven black as my own. I scrubbed my hands over my face as I headed downstairs. I couldn’t consider this. My mind emptied of everything but work. Perhaps it would have been better if I hadn’t sent Jacq away this morning.
At this moment, the infuriating, smoldering detective would have been a welcome distraction.
I was still viewing the world with a dispassionate eye when Mynx and I left later that night. As the day had progressed, my numbness had grown, sinking deeper into my body and mind, chilling me until even my soul felt frozen. As the sun set, we drove toward The Burg. The thermometer registered ninety. But while the outside might be a steam box, inside I was so cold I almost asked Mynx to turn on the heater. But I stopped myself. No external heat would help this.
There would be no quick thaw for my soul, not even if heated by the fires of Hell. I released a mirthless laugh. Mynx gave me an inquiring look. She probably already knew as much or more than I did about the events leading to my birth. Still, I kept my own counsel.
Tonight was a night for revealing secrets, just not mine.
* * *
Carlisle couldn’t believe his luck. No one needed his services tonight, not Nicodemus, the Council, or Louisiana’s Vampire King. That left him free to serve the master he owed true allegiance to—himself.
He was barely in the door of his favorite club, Lady D’s House of Delights, when the hottest babe in the place signaled she wanted to play. His fangs were straining at his gums, itching to pop out and sink into her throat, before the brunette—sleek in black leather boots, a kitty-cat mask, and the largest black whip he’d ever seen—even reached him. He usually wasn’t a submissive…but for her, he’d make an exception. Besides, if things went too far, he could switch roles easily. Inhuman strength was one benefit of being a vampire.
She purred then crooked her finger. He followed as they made their way past a vamp woman tied with leather straps to an X. Another woman, part Fae, whipped her with a cat-of-nine-tails then fondled her bare breasts. The ball in the tied woman’s mouth barely muffled her cries of pleasure. This was why he came to Lady D’s. Vamps thrived on sex and blood. But Carlisle needed pain, too, and this was the place to find all three. Anything went here—as long as no one died. And he’d heard that rule could be broken if enough money changed hands. There was good reason why such a popular club was in an isolated section of the backwoods.
They passed more couples engaging in all manner of activities. Some were hetero, others same-sex, and some were of the magical variety where their sex was indistinguishable. A witch in a sex swing moaned as she was penetrated from both sides by two bulky male Weres. As Carlisle realized their destination, his blood—what little flowed in his veins—headed south. The extensive one-floor House had three public sections: Bar, Dance Club, and BDSM zone. Newer players warmed up in the first two before making their way to the third.
They were headed to a fourth, private area. He’d used the VIP section only once. It was usually for the more messy players. Carlisle didn’t hesitate. The tight, leather-encased ass swaying in front of him was worth making a mess. She stopped at the giant bouncer and ran the handle of her whip down his chest before handing him something. The red rope was pulled back. She stepped into a dark hall, turned, and again crooked her finger.
Carlisle stepped into the darkness behind her. Nothing out there could compare to the pleasure he was about to experience with this vixen.
The club’s heavy music dimmed, but there was music of another kind. The constant sounds of heavy, nearly violent fucking came from behind every black door they passed. The steady slap, slap…the wet slurp, slurp…the rich moans and groans…all were a sensual symphony to his ears. Added to this was the ripe smell of sex, strong like he’d just shoved his nose right between a woman’s wet lower lips. He licked his own lips in anticipation. Maybe after he was done playing her bitch boy, he’d show her exactly where a vamp’s fangs could go. It was enough to bring any warm-blooded male to his knees. Thankfully, he was cold-blooded and able to muster the strength to carry on.
He followed the click, click of her heels and the scent of woman in heat into the hall’s last room. She began a slow tease of undressing him, starting with his silk tie and ending with his Italian designer boxers. She laid his thousand dollar suit carefully over a chair, but he didn’t notice. She could have put it in a shredder for all he cared. He was in such a sensual haze that he barely registered the feel of rubber sheets against his back as she pushed him onto the bed.
In anticipation of sex, he’d fed well before coming to the club. His only concern now was the demanding pain in his groin. He didn’t notice the magically reinforced titanium manacles being attached to his ankles and wrists. As he watched her in the room’s mirrored ceiling, he had his first moment of unease. Claws that looked much too sharp extended from each fingertip. Even so, he didn’t realize his mistake until she cupped his tight balls and those claws pricked him as she purred, “Now, tell me about Nicodemus.”
Chapter Twelve
“In the South, a story never starts where it should. Ask a man why he killed his neighbor, and he might start by saying, ‘Well, I had Cream of Wheat for breakfast then put on my favorite flannel shirt…’ An hour later, he’ll get to the point. This is why you never ask a Southern man why he doesn’t love you. The answer usually starts when he was five and continues on through every previous love.”
—Becca Hartford
“Exactly why are we here when I shouldn’t be seen with you two?” Fera asked, half-amused, half-irritated. She lounged beside Jacq on a white leather sofa similar to the one I occupied. Jacq, her usual masked expression in place, sat with arms crossed. I sensed her anger but couldn’t tell if it was directed at me or Fera, whose feet were sprawled in Jacq’s lap. Though I didn’t appreciate Fera’s relaxed pose, I was glad she hadn’t chosen to lounge in the big white bed with gray satin sheets against the far wall.
“We’re waiting,” I answered. While my eyes stayed fixed on the floor, my thoughts returned to Jacq. If I’d been feeling anything, I might’ve been concerned at her distance. I might’ve been saddened to think she could be angry with me. But I was neither. Just like the mask on my own face, I was empty and cold inside.
Even though I’d gotten up early, Aunt Helena had slept in, so I hadn’t confronted her until after breakfast. That meal had been so difficult I’d wanted desperately to go back to sleep. Not only had I gone to bed very late, but my sleep had been plagued with restless dreams ranging from the erotic to the horrifying. Then I had to sit across the table from Jacq, who’d stayed to eat with us. She had smiled the entire time. I’d tried to smile back, unsure how to act—unsure of what I’d seen in those photos. Those uncertainties had made me want to overreact. To avoid this I’d gone into professional mode. I’d given Jacq specific instructions about meeting me here tonight with Fera. Then I’d asked her, politely, to leave. I’d desperately needed some time to myself and time to speak with my aunt, but I’d given Jacq other less personal reasons—like the fact that I had calls to return. And surely she had things to do, too. I couldn’t expect her to be attached to my hip twenty-four-seven.
At first, the obstinate woman wouldn’t leave, arguing that there was still a third hound lurking around. Jacq had spotted its tracks repeatedly circling the house’s wards and had presented two very tattered Mr. Bunny slippers as proof. They’d apparently been left at the entrance to the back gardens. I’d almost forgotten about that pesky urinating mutt. For some reason, thoughts of that demon hound didn’t worry me, especially after seeing that it had returned my slippers. Just my luck, I’d finally found a dog that would fetch my shoes and it was more likely to break the house than be housebroken.
To reassure Jacq, I’d promised not to venture past the wards alone. The necessity of making such a promise irritated me. I might be younger, but I was also a capable warrior. The voice of reason had saved the good detective’s bacon. I might have powers, but she didn’t know about them
. Mynx and I were coming to the club together, so it wasn’t a hard promise to keep. But that hadn’t made me any happier with the stubborn, chivalrous woman.
Now Jacq, Fera and I sat here in the club’s little known upper level. This room was twice as large as the one below. A portion of the floor was rolled away to reveal a two-way mirror set in the ceiling of the room below. It was this room I was watching while analyzing the other women. Jacq kept eying the space beside me where Mynx should have been. Jacq thought I’d broken my promise and come alone.
She would see soon enough.
The room visible through the two-way glass was currently empty of all but a padded chair and a large, black-sheeted bed. The club’s downstairs had been done in black. Few knew about the white rooms upstairs. The area where we were seated was for Lady D’s more famous clientele’s vice of voyeurism. And if the glass floor wasn’t enough, there were four massive flat screens, one on each wall, showing live feed from the currently empty room. Each showed a different view of the room below. Sound was piped in, too. But currently everything was quiet, which was why I’d picked that room. It was the best insulated.
Lady D’s House of Delights was the address Benito Carmel, the Blood-Kin’s man-of-business, had given me when I’d called regarding our leak. Or rather, his leak. Carlisle not only worked for the Council but for Benito’s boss, Louisiana’s Vampire King. And the time Benito had advised was fast approaching. Earlier in the day, I’d called Darryl Quinton, the club’s drag-queen owner, to let him know we were coming. He also happened to be the city’s reigning Voodoo Queen, Lady D, and my good friend.
I’d been fortunate that of all the clubs in the area, the loose-lipped council agent frequented this one. Darryl and I went way back, to my days tracking down cheating spouses. He’d hired me to spy on a business/bed partner he’d suspected of skimming profits. I’d caught the crook with one hand in the cookie jar and the other up a skirt. Only one of those had been Darryl’s, and it had been the wrong one. I’d given D the evidence and walked away. I wasn’t sure what had happened to the man. And I didn’t ask. I owed the club’s owner more than I could repay. But more importantly, Voodoo was one of the few things that scared the bejeezus right out of me.
