“Derek.” Oliver’s glare darkened, but Frankie couldn’t fathom why.
“Oh, Oli, knock it off.” Vanessa’s tone was gentle but Oliver winced like she’d snapped at him.
Oliver’s black eyes narrowed as he looked from Derek to Vanessa, his handsome features tightening. “What did you say to me?” he asked Vanessa but then sliced a hand through the air. “You weren’t like this before, Vanny.” He shot Frankie a darker, accusing look. “You’re poisoning them all.”
“Oliver.” Derek’s soothing tone was like Vanessa’s but the manager wasn’t having any part of it.
“Don’t say she’s not. Tommy-Tom was right, she should get her ass back to New York and leave things to those who know what the fuck is going on.” Oliver glared around him and nodded to Vivianne before stomping out of the bar.
Derek looked torn between his friend and staying for the exchange of pictures. With obvious reluctance, he sighed. “I need to make sure he’s all right. Pictures later, Frankie.” Lightly he pressed knuckles to chest and then whirled and jogged out of the bar after Oliver.
“So close,” Vanessa groaned and then jerked a look at Frankie. “Don’t you dare think about leaving us.” She turned to glare at Vivianne. “And you should think about what you’re doing. There’s going to be a reckoning. What side of that do you want to be on?”
Vivianne returned the glare, looking smug. “I’m going to be on the winning side, of course.”
“Not at the rate you’re going,” Vanessa said, sounding like her mother. “Anyway, I have work.” She hugged Frankie tightly and kissed her cheek. “Come by Three Compasses, okay? I work until closing, we have the best shrimp pasta you’ll ever eat.”
“I can beat that pasta,” Juan teased her.
“No, you can’t,” Vanessa demurred and curtsied before pressing her knuckles over her heart. Then she went bounding out into the heat of the afternoon.
That left the four of them—Sophia, Juan, Vivianne and herself.
“I hope you know what you’re going to do if Oliver doesn’t bother showing back up,” Vivianne said, voice tart.
Frankie did know. She was going to speed dial Jen and Beth and make them an offer neither could refuse. “Oh, I have a plan.” When she smiled at Vivianne, the assistant manager’s confidence wavered. Yes, Beth and Jen would make the work environment much more enjoyable. She had a huge house that could fit them all until they got settled. Again, she heard the phantom echo of Jen’s delighted laughter.
Oh, yes. Frankie had a plan.
“Let’s just finish getting this place in order before we worry about it, huh? Don’t give her a reason to fire you, Viv,” Juan suggested, as though he could read Frankie’s thoughts.
Viviane’s mouth fell open, and she whispered, “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, but I do dare,” Frankie replied. “You aren’t obligated to stay. If you think I need your charming personality today or any day, you’re wrong.” She motioned to the door. “That’s the way out. If you want to stay and be part of my team, you’re welcome to, but the attitude has got to go. I have work to do.”
“I’ve got work too,” Juan said. “Viv, you want to help in the kitchen or are you going to go?”
Vivianne looked like she might get sick. Clearly, she assumed her job was secure and she could do and say anything she pleased. Including insult her boss repeatedly. “I…yes, I want to stay and help. Kitchen sounds great.”
Sophia nodded and agreed, “I’m staying too. Maybe get these shelves filled and you can place tokens. Amy used to keep hers between the bottles.” She glanced after Vivianne with a sigh. “Just give her some time to adjust. Change has never been easy for her.”
Frankie nodded. “This isn’t easy for me either.” She swept a hand at the tokens standing in neat formation on the bar, ready to be tucked away.
She just started exploring the boxes of various alcohols when Barbara and Anthony showed up.
“He wasn’t kidding when he said he had the perfect mirror,” Anthony said as he regarded the new fixture. He carried a box in both arms and hefted it onto the end of the bar.
“We’re bringing a little something special for your whiskey collection since you lost yours,” Barbara said.
“Oh, I can’t accept that,” Frankie said, as Anthony started removing various bottles from the box. “Of course, you bring the scotch.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “Don’t waste your Welton stubbornness on us. It won’t do you any good.” Anthony was as calm and unflappable as Frankie remembered him from the wake.
“This is so awkward. You’ve done so much for me already.”
“Not nearly as much as you’ve done for us,” Barbara said firmly. Her tone suggested she knew the danger Christopher had been in the night before.
“Just smile and say ‘thank you’,” Anthony suggested.
“Thank you,” Frankie whispered, throat tight.
“We wanted to make sure you have our tokens as well,” Barbara said, pulling a pair of figurines from the box. Carved in pale wood, they were about the height of a pint glass. King and Queen, crowned and robed.
She reached out to touch them. The polished surface was smooth and, deeper, she sensed the steady pulse from them like she sensed with the dagger Mambo gifted her with.
“We’ve been waiting a long time for you to have these,” Barbara said and wrapped her in a tight hug. “Welcome home, Lady Welton.”
Frankie returned the hug without her usual hesitation. “They are beautiful.”
King and Queen. Leaders. Was that why Mambo was calling Vanessa Princess? Dozens of questions tangled in her throat but she couldn’t ask here while she was still in hiding.
She set the king and queen at the center of the bar, in the middle of the new pieces, and felt everything click neatly into place. Right. Chess. Amy’s desire to always play the game with Frankie made more sense in this context. Learning to see moves ahead.
“We’ll explain later,” Anthony promised in a whisper as he took his turn at giving a tight hug.
“Hate to drop these things and leave but no rest for the wicked.” Barbara put her fist to her chest, so respectful, her eyes gleaming with emotion.
Anthony echoed the motion. “We will answer all the questions you have, Frankie. Call us if you need anything while you’re setting up. Sophia. Juan. Viv,” he called back to the kitchen. Arm in arm, the pair turned and departed, and there was no denying the regal elegance. They really were the king and queen.
Chapter 23
The Uprising
Frankie pushed the questions out of her mind and focused on stocking the liquor. No expense had been spared in the selection provided for her new setup.
With Sophia’s help, they got everything shelved, which included cleaning and putting away all the new glasses. The small blonde and Vivianne went to work replacing the back stock while Frankie arranged the tokens. She found places they could sit without being knocked free when bottles were moved.
She was adjusting the king and queen up on the top shelf with that old scotch when the door banged open and a handful of men came swaggering in. The six were young, dressed in their best leather jackets as they filed into the bar.
Behind her, Vivianne sucked in a sharp breath. The cold grabbed at Frankie as the leader strode forward. He glared around the room, fixed his attention on Frankie.
He had a lean, hungry build, his skin was pale and his black-brown hair brushed back from a high forehead. The expression curved into an arrogant smile as he made his way toward Frankie. “Looks different since last time we visited.”
The now-familiar sensation scratched behind her eyes. This time it came with the squeal of metal inside her head threatening to make her eyes water. She struggled to hold her expression neutral.
His dark gaze moved over her after looking into her. His smile twisted in disbelief. “You are really a pawn!” He laughed.
“We’re not open yet, kids,” she told them, perf
orming a threat assessment on the small crowd.
They were like the young men she faced off with on the street. Dressed with fine new jackets unadorned with any patches. Pretty boys playing at being thugs. They were also armed with those horrible knives.
The leader peeled off his jacket, tossing it over the bar. Under it, he wore a homemade fur vest. The pelt gleamed like spun gold and simmered with ethereal energies as he moved.
Disregarding Frankie, he smirked at Vivianne with a brotherly familiarity. “Hey, baby, we’re here to take things in hand. You can go ahead and go.” He glanced around and asked, “Where’s the golden-haired bitch who works the bar with you?” When he said, golden, he stroked the front of his vest.
“What are you doing?” Vivianne demanded in a horrified voice and looked at the others. “This wasn’t the plan.”
“Oh, we didn’t share this uncomfortable detail with you. Thank you for your support, Viv. Get out before we change our mind about your usefulness,” the leader growled.
Vivianne gasped when the man looked at her, head jerking back as though he’d slapped her.
Frankie snapped fingers under his nose, using her body to block his view. Satisfyingly, she got to look down her broken nose at his arrogant features. “The people who work for me aren’t here for your amusement. Get the fuck out.”
That drew his focus off Vivianne and he scowled up at Frankie. “I hear interesting things about you, girl.”
“Can’t say that I’ve heard anything about you. What’s your name, cutie pie?”
One of the guys hissed out a laugh. It was one of the fools from the street fight. His face was a swollen mess of bruises from their scuffle.
“You run a gang with douchebags who get their asses handed to them by a girl? Shameful.”
“You want to know what’s shameful? A pawn about to get herself crushed when we take over.”
“I’m not the person you want to fuck with. You’ll discover I don’t take well to threats.”
The sensation scrabbled more insistently when he looked at her. But he couldn’t get in. Something about this touch didn’t seem right either. He was desperate but there was also something ugly and tainted about him. When he came up empty, his expression hardened.
“Bitch, you don’t know shit about shit. I had hoped we might come to an understanding. I can help you. I have helped a lot of people in your—condition.” His tone changed, it became slippery and solicits.
“And what condition are you referring to?”
“Your painful ignorance. Your failure to fulfill the basic function of your station, pawn.” He laughed heartily.
“The function of my station will be shoving my foot up your ass,” she said.
“For now, we are only here for the sexy blonde slut.” He licked his lips. “If you’re not going to be accommodating and hand her over, we will make this difficult for you.”
“That sounds like another threat.” She flexed her arms and flashed an unfriendly smile at the lot of them, giving her chin a jerk toward the door. “Get out. You’re stinking up my place.”
“You don’t know what you are messing with.” At his word and a signal of his hand, his group responded in a unified attack. They rushed forward with knives drawn. All of them wielded those hungry, curved harvesting blades.
At least there were no animal forms leaping across the room. They were men she could fight with her familiar mortal brawn. She balanced her stance, ready for them and realized Vivianne was holding her ground too.
Juan strode out of the kitchen with a heavy chef knife in hand. He looked at the group, his expression set in anger. “Do you think you can do as you please because Amy’s not here? Do you think it won’t be noticed?”
The leader rolled his lanky shoulders. “Don’t matter. A change is coming. It’s all about who’s bold enough to take the power that bitch left behind.”
“That isn’t the way it works. You don’t want to do this,” Juan assured him. “Unless you want to bring all the Tribe down on you.”
Several men chuckled but they didn’t advance. “I dare them to try. Their hides will make vests like any other. We’re in the modern age and we’re done being treated like crap because we don’t trace our roots from the old world. We have our own Tribe and soon you’ll be licking our boots!”
That’s when Sophia came in through the backroom. She gawked owlishly around. “What’s going on?”
Hunger burned in their eyes. They were going to make vests out of Sophia? Fear clutched at Frankie, followed by the fierce protective spike running through her.
“Hey pretty,” the leader purred low as he looked Sophia over, but the most unusual thing happened. One moment he was leering and the next he crumbled to the floor. A spasm of pain washed across his features as his head jerked back.
Vivianne lifted her hand into the air, her fingers closed into a fist as she glared at them. Color washed from her face and Frankie felt a surge through those delicate threads, the flecks of color brightened against the fragile strands.
The men hesitated, attention torn from Sophia to Vivianne.
“Viv! You said you were with us in this. Going to be part of the uprising. This is all for you. Kill the blue blood and take her skin for your own!”
Intuition snarled softly in the back of her head, You can’t allow this to continue.
“Viv?” Sophia whispered in horror, powder-blue eyes wide.
“No,” Vivianne whimpered. “You said you wanted to make sure things didn’t fall apart.” Viv swayed on her feet. “You said I would take up Amy’s seat.”
“Vivianne!” Juan gasped in shock. He moved forward with kitchen knife held like a sword rather than a cooking implement.
Frankie blocked the swing from a man trying to rush past her to get to Sophia. Her strike caught him in the throat when he swung wide. They might be supernaturally charged, but they were not skilled at fighting. He was fast though, and strong, able to get a hit to her stomach before she could bend back his wrist. His fingers twitched and surrendered his grip on the knife in a spasm.
The doors banged open, a hot gust of wind whipping in.
“What the fuck is going on in here?” a voice boomed from the doorway.
Her heart dropped as Mambo came sauntering in. In his dusty leather jacket and jeans, he looked small and harmless. His cold silver eyes saw everything as he prowled into the bar.
Rubbing at his jaw with the back of ringed knuckles, he turned to size up each of the young men in quiet deliberation. Finally, he lifted his chin at Frankie in acknowledgment, his attention solely on her. He spared no more of his attention on the men or the disturbance he walked in on.
His arrival stopped the brawling but not the groans of pain. Behind him came the assorted men who’d helped fix the bar. Chaze followed him, his ugly face twisted with disgust.
“Evening, Lady Welton.” Mambo inclined his head to Frankie as his group pressed fist to chest. He settled himself onto the bar stool as though this were normal.
Fear had blossomed in the leader’s eyes, his knife-wielding hand trembling sharply. Even that shuddering movement didn’t alter Mambo’s attention from Frankie.
“Little sister,” he purred and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he regarded her. “You are looking well.” She felt a brush against her mind, as his gaze met hers, a feathery-light caress. She thought it was pride that gleamed in his slow, feline smile.
“Mano.” She figured it appropriate to use his real name in this situation. “What’s up, bro?”
“Mmm.” He rolled one shoulder, assuming a bored little pout. “You know, the usual. Oh, guess what? I hear there has been some…drama.” Mano finally turned to lock that sharp gaze on the leader in his pelt garment. “That’s an interesting vest, kid.”
“Your days are done here. Now that the bitch is dead you have no one to hide behind.” Arrogance made his voice pitch higher. “Our other boys are down at the Hideout, making sure those jerks are taken care of
too. Going to be a clean sweep. Nice and tidy.”
“Sounds awfully messy to me,” Mano said, his tone sad. “It will draw a lot of unwanted attention. Do you have any idea what will happen if you—”
“Do you”—the punk cut him off with a slash of the knife through the air—“have any idea the strength we have? We’re not worried about you dried-up has-beens. Your time is over. It’s time for a change of power. You should have listened when we told you. You’ve spent your time poorly.”
“Have I? You kids are getting in way over your heads. You stumbled onto something powerful and think you know everything? For generations, folks have lived here and made it a safe space. Someone’s fucking with the order of things, and I’m going to find out who started it.”
“But you can’t—”
“Oh, but I can.” Mano’s voice dropped into a low register, his features twisted in disgust. “I cannot abide by this half-assed skinning. It is dangerous. You craft questionable knives and jury-rig together some knowledge, and have some balls but you are fucking with things that will get outsiders sniffing around.”
“Outsiders can’t stop us,” the leader said, smoothing his hands down the glossy golden pelt.
“It’s all going to end up in the shit if this is not handled. You couldn’t be happy with what you caught for yourself. You wanted the bigger fish. Funny that you didn’t think you were going to summon the sharks. Now, you’re going to have to pay.”
“It won’t save the others,” the kid snarled, shuddering as though he were fighting against some compulsion, face white. “You can’t stop all of us.”
Frankie’s heart pounded faster. Christopher. The other Harris-Wallace family. All the others. What were they doing to them? She started to push forward, to move away from the bar and go to the door but Mano’s words stopped her.
“You think they can’t take care of themselves?” he asked the group of youngsters, his expression amused now. “You must not be paying attention. They have watched over this place for generations. They keep all the secrets. They’re not going to bend to you.” He turned to Frankie and gave her a small nod of his head. “Go and check on them, though.”
Lies That Blind Page 18
