Knight of Wands (Knights of the Tarot Book 1)

by Mason, Nina

  “No, but thank you anyway.”

  She only wanted blood and Callum.

  “How about something to eat? You must be hungry after all that time in the air.”

  “No thanks.” She was ravenous, but not for whatever he had in mind.

  She started toward the baggage carousels, located the one for her flight, and scouted for her suitcases.

  Mr. Armstrong came alongside. “How’d you leave things with Lyon?”

  “We parted friends.”

  “So…he didn’t suspect why you were there?”

  “Not as far as I know.” She hated telling all these lies and wished he would change the subject.

  Spying her suitcase, she grabbed it off the carousel, pulled out the retractable handle and turned to her boss. “Where are you parked?”

  “I’m in the short-term parking garage.”

  She followed him through the automatic glass doors, stopping short when the humidity hit her in the face like a wet rag. “Holy shit,” she exclaimed, forgetting her manners. “It’s like a sweaty armpit out here.”

  He tossed a big grin over his shoulder. “This ain’t nothing. Just wait until July.”

  As she followed him into the parking structure, she thought about the things Callum had said about him, including that he was a Scorpio—the same sign Nick had been.

  Old wounds opened and started to ooze. She’d hardly thought about Nick the whole time she was in Scotland. Tossing his memory away, she studied Mr. Armstrong, wondering if the other things Callum had said were true. She had no reason to doubt his word and was sure he was right about Mr. Armstrong’s astrological sign. He definitely had the piercing gaze, good build, and handsome face of a Scorpion. He also had the disarming demeanor and crackling intensity Nick had used to fool everyone but her.

  She’d learned the hard way that Scorpios, while cool on the surface, were bubbling cauldrons of passion underneath—and not in a good way. They could be obsessive, addictive, seductive, and downright dangerous.

  Nick certainly had been. Luckily, she saw the signs and dumped him before he hit her.

  “When’s your birthday?” Her voice echoed through the cavernous structure in an unnerving way.

  Mr. Armstrong gave her a funny look. “It’s in November. Why?”

  “I’m trying to guess your sign.”

  “You into astrology?”

  “You could say that.”

  “That’s cool,” he said without turning. “Know anything about voodoo?”

  “I’ve read a little, but would love to know more.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  He slowed enough to allow her to catch up. That was when she noticed he was wearing one of those pouches around his neck like she’d seen at Madam Rue’s. By the time they reached his car, a midnight blue Volvo station wagon, she was drenched in sweat. In San Francisco, she’d never experienced humidity like this or even known it existed.

  After loading her suitcases in the rear, he opened the passenger door for her. She slid in and set her handbag on the floor behind her ankles. He strolled around to the driver’s side, climbed in, and closed the door. The scent of his blood clobbered her senses, arousing her entangled appetites. She squirmed, crossed her legs, and metaphorically kicked herself. What was she going to do without Callum? She already missed him so much she felt like crying.

  Mr. Armstrong started the car, backed out of the space, and drove toward the exit gate. “You must be tired…or were you able to catch a few winks during the flight?”

  “I didn’t, I’m sorry to say.” She gave him a smile. “I’m one of those unfortunate people who can’t seem to sleep on airplanes.”

  “I’m the same way. My wife, on the other hand, goes out when the landing gear goes up and doesn’t rouse till it comes back down.” As they exited the parking garage, he added, “If you’re not too tired, I thought we’d take a vampire tour tonight, then stop in at Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop…just for fun.”

  She shot him a puzzled look. “Why a blacksmith shop?”

  “It’s a bar, sweetheart,” he said with a good-natured laugh. “The oldest in the city and a local institution. The pirate brothers Jean and Pierre Lafitte used it as a front for their more nefarious pursuits. Since the forties, it’s been a popular watering hole for locals, tourists, and even some celebrities. Lenny Kravitz, for one, has been spotted there.”

  “Really? Cool.” She was genuinely impressed.

  “How’s eight o’clock sound?”

  “Eight sounds great.” As long as she could feed beforehand as Nala. Not that the thought of hunting alone in a creepy swamp filled with crocodiles (or was it alligators?) thrilled her in the least, but it sure beat the hell out of the alternative.

  * * * *

  The house Mr. Armstrong had rented for Vanessa was a bit on the bijou side, but still brimming with vintage Southern charm. It had two bedrooms, hardwood floors, a brick fireplace, built-in bookcases, and a cute front porch complete with a couple of white wooden rocking chairs. The tiny bathroom could use updating, the crappy curtains would have to go, and the back garden was in serious need of pruning shears, but it still had oodles of potential as a retreat in her off hours.

  She still had boxes to unpack, so she spent most of the afternoon putting things away and hanging pictures—anything to keep her from thinking about Callum, who she missed more than she’d thought possible. Unfortunately, while emptying a box of old books, she came across her copy of Love in Your Stars, a guide to astrological compatibility in romantic relationships.

  Flipping through the yellowed, dust-mite infested pages, she found the section on Leo men and began to read. When she reached the part that read, “You’d better forget about pursuing a career. He’s your raison d’etre, darling, and don’t you forget it,” she threw the book at the wall in frustration.

  He wasn’t the only one who could roar. She was a strong and independent woman with opinions and dreams of her own. If he didn’t like it, that was too damn bad. She was better off without him anyway. Granted, she didn’t feel better off at the moment, but the emptiness and longing would probably pass as quickly as her feelings for Nick had.

  Taking a breath, she made up her mind not to call Callum. Yes, she would talk to him if he called her, but she’d leave it to him to make the first move. In the meantime, she’d go hunting. After changing into something easy to get off and on, she dialed Bayou Manac into her phone’s Google Maps app and headed out. Luckily, Mr. Armstrong had also rented her a car—a champagne-colored Ford Taurus—to use until she could buy one for herself. All in all, despite what Callum had said, he seemed like a very nice man.

  Stepping onto the front porch, she pulled the locked front door closed behind her. Ugh. The humidity was still stifling and the symphony of insects made her feel like she was in darkest Africa.

  She got in the car and propped her phone in the cup holder between the front seats. She really should charge it before setting off, but she doubted the dark hunger would wait that long. With the aid of her navigator, she found her way to the bayou, parked her car on the shoulder, and picked her way into the swamp.

  Tendrils of silver moss swayed from ghostly branches over her head as fireflies flashed here and there like neon-yellow twinkle lights. The air reeked of swamp gas and rotting vegetation. Night had just fallen, but the humidity remained unbearable. Choirs of creatures sang all around. Cicadas, crickets, toads, crocodiles, and God knew what else.

  Taking cover behind one of the larger trees, she stripped, shifted, and went in search of prey. Now that Callum wasn’t around, she had an idea she wanted to try: her own version of catch and release. Yes, he’d warned her not to let her prey live, but he’d failed to provide a compelling reason.

  She caught a doe, drank her fill, and set the deer free. Though her belly was full, her heart still felt empty. It almost killed her to leave him, but her logical side refused to surrender any ground. Wait a few weeks, it kept telling her. Wait un
til you’re sure he’s not like the others. Wait until you’re sure about your feelings. Now, unfortunately, she was less sure than ever.

  With a heavy sigh, she pushed Callum from her thoughts and spoke the counter spell. When she’d resumed her true form, she returned to the tree where she’d left her clothes and got dressed. With trembling hands and bated breath, she drew her mobile from her handbag, praying she’d find a voicemail or missed call from her Simba.

  Tears pricked her eyes when she discovered the phone was out of juice. With a heavy sigh, she started the car and pulled onto the road. In half an hour, she was meeting Mr. Armstrong at Jackson Square for the vampire tour. Just as she got up to speed, a loud bang gave her a start. Seconds later, the car began to shimmy alarmingly. She was no mechanic, but she was pretty sure she’d blown a tire.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  Scanning the shoulder for a safe place to pull over, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel and eased the car off the pavement. Crap, now what? Try changing the tire herself or walk somewhere in hopes of finding a phone?

  Deciding she’d at least give changing the flat a try, she popped the trunk and stepped from air-conditioned heaven into sweltering hell. She found a jack, but no tire iron. After slipping the jack under the chassis, she cranked until there was no more weight on the tire. Then, she attempted to loosen the lug nuts by hand, thinking it would be a breeze with her new supernatural strength. Unfortunately, try as she might, she couldn’t get a firm enough grip on the bolts to even attempt to unscrew them.

  Frustration thrummed through her system. So much for self-sufficiency. Now, her only option was to wait for a passing motorist to stop and offer help. Returning to the front seat, she folded her arms and settled in, feeling strangely peckish despite having fed. Maybe she hadn’t taken enough blood from the doe after all. She still wasn’t sure what constituted enough. Even when she’d killed before, only because Callum insisted, she got uneasy toward the end, fearing she might miscalculate when the heart would stop. Drinking dead blood, he’d warned her, would make her violently ill.

  The thought of her Scottish lion raked her heart, so she blinked it away. She wouldn’t think about him, wouldn’t indulge the weak and pathetic part of herself that pined for him. She didn’t need him or anyone else to make her feel happy or complete. The flat tire was just a teensy bump she could easily overcome.

  Some sort of animal howled in the distance. The lonesome sound sent a chill down her spine and raised gooseflesh on her arms. She’d never heard its like before.

  Swallowing, she pulled the phone out of the cup-holder and tried turning it on. Sadly, it was as lifeless as her courage. She shot an anxious glance at the driver’s side mirror. Her heart almost stopped when she spotted a pair of headlights beaming through the rear window. They belonged to a big blue pick-up truck that had pulled in behind her Taurus.

  She watched as the driver hopped down from the cab and approached her side of the car. Tall and lean with dark-hair, he wore jeans, a sweater with the arms pushed up, and a pair of cowboy boots—the perfect apparel for changing a tire. Provided, of course, he kept a lug wrench in his truck.

  “Good evening, little lady.” Bending, he tapped on the glass and offered her a friendly smile. “What seems to be the trouble?”

  She sighed forlornly and cracked the window just enough to be heard. “A flat tire, I’m afraid.”

  As he set his hands on the roof of the car, she caught his scent. He smelled mouthwateringly good. The dark hunger roared inside her, fierce and rapacious. Her whole body convulsed with need.

  Holy shit. This isn’t good.

  Swallowing hard, she struggled within herself to maintain the illusion of composure. If she stayed in the car, she might be all right. “I tried to change it myself, but I don’t seem to have the right tools.”

  His nose was long and straight, his lips were full, and his emerald-green eyes were clear and alert. The well-manicured beard he wore accentuated the square line of his jaw. His easy smile only added to his allure. “I have the tools if you have a spare.”

  “There’s one in the trunk,” she said.

  “I’ll just go and get it.”

  Her human conscience told her to stay in the car and lock the door, while her faery instincts told her to pounce and drain every ounce of fluid she flowing through his veins. She stayed put.

  He came back with the lug wrench and squatted before the jacked tire. Watching him work through the side mirror, she ran her tongue over her fangs. With admirable efficiency, he loosened the lug nuts, pulled off the damaged tire, and secured the little donut of a spare to the wheel.

  When he’d finished the job, he came back to the window. “You’re all set, little lady. Just be sure to get the tire repaired as soon as you can. Because you do not want to be driving around on that spare for any longer than absolutely necessary.”

  She offered him a grateful smile. “Thanks for helping.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he said with another dazzling grin. “I’m always happy to help a damsel in distress.”

  “What’s your name, kind stranger?”

  “Finn,” he said. “Finn MacKnight. What’s yours, pretty lady?”

  “Vanessa.”

  “Nice to meet you, Vanessa.”

  “Same here. Thanks again for stopping.”

  “Damn.” He brought the hand he’d been loosening the nuts with to his mouth and sucked on a knuckle.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I nicked myself…but not too bad.”

  She lowered the window. “Can I see? I think I might have a first-aid kit in the trunk.”

  He showed her the wound—on the knuckle of his middle finger. He was right; the gouge didn’t look too deep. It was, however, bleeding.

  When the smell hit her nose, it took everything she had to stay in the car. Human blood shouldn’t do that to her—not so soon after hunting, anyway. Fighting to keep her composure, she asked, “Where are you from, Finn MacKnight?”

  “Here,” he said, “but I was born in Scotland. My parents died when I was a baby—in a car accident—so I was sent to New Orleans to live with my uncle.”

  As he spoke, she saw that he had the same slight luminosity as she and Callum did. Was he faery or maybe elven? “You’re a lifesaver,” she told him. “How can I ever thank you enough?”

  “There’s no need to thank me…but if you’ve got nothing better to do some night, stop by Napoleon House for a drink. I work there as a bartender and make a mean Pimms Cup.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Our signature drink.”

  The pulsing blue cord on his neck called to her. Temptation pulled on every cell in her body. God, he smelled good. Just like Callum. She bit her lip. It had only been one day, and she was already a basket case. Holy hell. How was she going to manage?

  She’d make a note of Napoleon House—as a place to avoid. She didn’t need the added temptation and he didn’t need any paranormal investigators hanging around to make trouble for him.

  “Well, thanks again,” she said, smiling through her struggles. “I’ll stop by for that drink. With my boyfriend.”

  After sending Finn on his way, Vanessa collected herself enough to start to process what had happened. Clearly she’d underestimated her body’s need for blood and sex. No wonder Callum had been so keen on keeping her close.

  Now, he seemed so far away. Had she screwed herself by coming home? She took a deep breath, blew it out, and started the engine. She wanted so badly to talk to him, to tell him how much she missed him, and to beg him to visit.

  She also wanted to tell him about Finn. Her sudden hunger worried her. Although she and Callum had agreed to sleep with other people if the need arose, she hadn’t expected the need to arise quite so quickly—or so violently—especially when she’d taken the precaution of hunting in the swamp. Had letting the doe live maybe been the cause? Still chewing on the thought, she pulled out onto the road in the direction s
he’d come, praying she’d find her way to Jackson Square without her GPS.

  Chapter 14

  “The city was named for the Duke of Orleans, the Regent of France at the time the colony was founded,” Mr. Armstrong told Vanessa as they made their way across Jackson Square Park toward the St. Louis Cathedral—the starting point for his private vampire tour. “The advantages of the site were its relatively high elevation on the flood-prone banks of the Mississippi River and its proximity to trade routes. Its disadvantages were snakes, alligators, malaria-carrying mosquitoes, hurricanes, and the fact that it started life as a penal colony.”

  As they stopped under an old-fashioned street lamp, she looked up at the cathedral’s towering white face and jagged black spires. Inside, the pipe organ boomed out a somber hymn, lending a ghoulish feel to the church and the balmy night.

  She followed as he led the way down a long, narrow street flanked by aged buildings with sidewalk pillars and ornate iron balconies. The air carried a foul bouquet of mildew, stale beer, and sewer gas.

  “Our first stop’s gonna be the Old Ursuline Convent,” he said as they walked. “It’s the only structure from the original colony still standing.”

  “How long ago was it built?” she asked, genuinely interested.

  “Back around seventeen fifty,” he replied. “King Louis had it built for the Sisters of Ursuline, who came over from France to provide medical care and to run a school for the daughters of the wealthy Creoles. There’s a great old story that tells how it was saved from the Great Fire of New Orleans by Our Lady of Prompt Succor.”

  “How’d she do it?” Vanessa asked, fighting a grin. “Appear out of the clouds with a fire extinguisher?”

  “Not exactly.” He gave her a censorious glare, letting her know wisecracks were an unwelcome addition to his script. “As the story goes, the convent was facing imminent destruction. The fire had already consumed the cathedral, the rectory, and scores of surrounding shops and houses. A strong wind was blowing across Jackson Square, driving the flames straight toward the nunnery. When the order was given to evacuate, some of the sisters and the Mother Superior ran up the staircase clutching a small golden statue of the Madonna. They set the figure on a window seat, facing the flames, and began to pray. ‘Our Lady of Prompt Succor, we are lost unless you hasten to our aid!’ Almost instantly, the wind changed direction, blowing back the flames and saving the convent.” He ran a hand through his hair as his gaze met Vanessa’s. “It’s just too bad the statue wasn’t there during Hurricane Katrina.”