“Gabe will be here for you in a few minutes,” Andre said and disappeared into the master suite to get ready for his evening out. Or at least, so I assumed. Disgusted with my sire, I opted to wait for Gabe outside.
I had not been on the sidewalk for more than a minute when Gabe’s dark automobile pulled up to the curb. I quickly got in.
“What’s wrong? Why didn’t you wait for me in the house? It isn’t safe for you on the street,” Gabe chided as I fastened my seatbelt.
“Everything is fine,” I lied.
Gabe cast me a disbelieving glance. “I felt your magic from a block away. It was pulsating. Did you and Andre have a dust up?”
“I would rather not speak of it,” I said. Damn, I should have clamped down on my magic and power immediately.
“Suit yourself,” he said.
Wishing to change the subject, I asked, “Do you know why the Grandmaster wanted to see me so urgently? Is Chris alright?”
“Chris is fine but there has been another werewolf attack. We didn’t get there in time to clean it up so the cops are involved.”
“Was it a human or vampire who was attacked?”
“Human,” Gabe said as he pulled to a stop in the courtyard of Gautier Mansion.
Sophie met me as I exited the vehicle. “I am so glad you could come,” she said.
“I would not refuse a summons from Monsieur Gautier.”
“How is Andre?” Sophie asked as she led me to the Grandmaster’s office.
“He seems,” I paused to find a suitably vague word, “fine.”
“And how are you?”
“Fine.”
“I see,” was all Sophie said, and I was sure she did. It would be inappropriate for me to complain about my sire, no matter how bad his treatment of me was. I was bound to Andre by Aether custom. By our law, I owed him unquestioning obedience; however, that had not been the tone of our relationship before I was staked. The sire/childe bond took many forms. I knew some childer who were treated no better than slaves while others were loved and cosseted. Andre had always cherished me and showed me every courtesy. While I would very much like to confide my concerns and feelings with Sophie, I could not. Besides, dirty laundry was not to be aired publicly. I might be able to talk to Frederique about matters because she was my coven leader and friend, but I was not even comfortable with that. I was raised to keep my own council and not complain. I would work through this somehow.
Sophie knocked briskly on the office door and without waiting for an answer, opened it. Marc, seated behind his massive desk, rose as we entered the room. So did the swarthy man in front of the desk.
“Madame Grammont, thank you for joining us on such short notice. May I introduce Mike Angelletti, a detective with the New Orleans Police Department? Mike, this is Juliette de Grammont. Madame Grammont is the Aether who healed Chris.”
“Madame,” he said, enthusiastically pumping my outstretched hand. The detective was very tall, well over six feet. His charcoal-gray suit was impeccably tailored, providing an interesting contrast to his wavy mop of black hair and several days of beard growth. With his dark complexion, he reminded me of a pirate.
“It is nice to make your acquaintance,” I said.
Marc gestured to the second seat in front of the desk. “Please, have a seat.” The two men remained standing until I sat and then took their own seats.
“Monsieur Gabe told me there had been another werewolf attack,” I said.
Marc nodded gravely. “Yes, that is why I asked you here. Can your magic heal people after they are dead?”
“I can heal vampires, but I have never tried to heal a dead human. I think it may be possible,” I replied.
“Would you be willing to try? A man was killed during the latest attack and the human authorities now have his body. For obvious reasons, signs of a werewolf must be erased. Mike can get you into the morgue if you are willing to try to alter the body.”
“Even if I cannot heal him, I have spells that can transform the wounds to make them look like some other kind of attack,” I said.
“That is exactly what we need to happen. I also must know if it was the same creature that attacked Chris or if we have a second Stray on our hands.”
“That should not be a problem,” I said.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to tell? A lot of people have handled the body,” Mike asked.
“Unless he has been washed, I can tell.”
Marc nodded enthusiastically. “While Madame Grammont deals with the body, Mike, you need to destroy the crime scene photos and whatever other evidence the forensics team collected.”
“You can count on me, Mr. Gautier,” Mike said.
“When do we need to do this? Now?” I asked.
Marc looked at the detective. “When can the two of you get in unobserved?” he asked.
Mike looked at his wrist and said, “Morgue should be empty or maybe have one attendant at this time of night.”
“As long as the attendant is not magic resistant, I can make him forget we were ever there,” I said.
Mike nodded his approval. “That’s handy.”
“It is imperative that this attack not be connected with the supernatural in any way. Do what you need to do to make this disappear,” Marc admonished.
Mike stood. “I understand, sir. Do you want me to bring Mrs. Grammont back here when we are finished?”
The Grandmaster thought for a moment and then said, “No, just take her back to her residence. You can just call me with her findings.”
The detective and I both nodded.
“Thank you both for your assistance in this matter,” the Grandmaster said, dismissing us.
I nodded in obeisance and followed the detective from the room.
When we were in the foyer, Mike said to me, “I’m parked in the courtyard.”
Odd. I did not remember another car in the courtyard when Gabe and I came in. Mike and I walked down the long corridor to the back of the house in companionable silence. Sophie met us when we entered the kitchen.
“Mike, you should probably take my car,” she said, holding out a set of keys.
“Why? Mrs. Grammont’s in pants and I’ve got an extra helmet.”
“Madame Grammont has never been on a motorcycle,” Sophie explained.
Mike looked at me and grinned. “Really? You’re in for a treat then.”
“Mike, I don’t think . . .” Sophie’s protest was cut off by Mike’s kiss. I was a little surprised. The detective didn’t seem to be Sophie’s type and she hadn’t mentioned being married or dating anyone when we had gone out shopping.
“You think entirely too much, sweetheart. She’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen to her. I’ll even drive the speed limit,” Mike promised.
Sophie looked to me to protest. I just shrugged. I had no idea what a motorcycle was, but better I find out now. Obviously neither Sophie nor Marc had told the detective my full story.
I followed the detective out into the courtyard with Sophie trailing us. Mike walked to a sleek, black, two-wheeled machine. Pulling a spare helmet from a saddlebag, he handed it to me. “Give me your purse and I’ll put it in here. You’ll need both hands to hang on.”
I obediently handed over my handbag and put the helmet on my head. I was utterly confounded by the chin strap and looked to Sophie for help. Buckling the thin leather pieces together, Sophie asked, “Are you sure about this, Juliette?”
“I have ridden pillion on a horse before. I cannot imagine this will be much different,” I assured her.
“Oh, it’s a lot different,” she said as she watched me mount the bike. If she said anything else, it was lost as Mike started the engine. I wrapped my arms around his waist and we began our journey. At first the ride was quite s
imilar to, if not smoother than, my experiences on a horse. Mike slowly left the courtyard and as we wound our way through the French Quarter, I could not understand Sophie’s concern. Once we crossed Canal Street, however, I knew exactly why she worried. Without the automobile and pedestrian traffic to hinder our progress, Mike sped up. Soon we were travelling much faster than I ever had on a horse. While it was exhilarating, it was far more terrifying. I closed my eyes and held on tight, believing Mike’s promise to Sophie to keep me safe.
For long moments after we stopped moving and the engine cut off, I did not open my eyes. When I finally did, I saw we were parked next to a drab, inhospitable building. After I disengaged my death grip from around the detective’s torso, I slid from the back of the motorcycle. My legs felt like jelly and I had to fight to remain standing.
I fumbled with the chin strap while Mike dismounted. “So what’d ya think of your first ride?”
Please God, do not let there be a second. That sentiment would have been impolite to voice, so I settled for, “It was unlike anything I have ever experienced.”
“It’s a great rush.”
I just nodded and took my proffered handbag.
We walked to the squat building. Taking a card from his wallet, Mike slid it through a vertical slot next to the entrance. After a loud buzzing sound, he pulled open the door and ushered me inside.
The air was cool, bordering on cold, and the sweet stench of death permeated it. The vestibule in which we stood was spartan. There were no pictures on the whitewashed walls, no rugs on the hard cement floor. A battered, metal desk sat directly in front of us, half-blocking a long corridor. Two wooden chairs were pushed against one of the walls.
“Good, it looks like no one is on duty tonight,” Mike said as he picked a clipboard up off the desk. Flipping several pages back, he found what he was looking for. “The body is in Autopsy Room 3.”
“They would not have cleaned the body, would they?” I asked. If they had, then this trip would take much longer and be much more draining than I had anticipated. I could still alter the wounds, but would then need to spell the body so that anyone who had seen the wounds before would forget the claw and teeth marks and only remember what they were currently viewing. Also, cleaning the body would destroy any scent the killer had left behind.
Mike led me around the desk and down the long hallway, our footsteps echoing through the empty space. He finally pushed open a door on the right and let me into the autopsy room. Three of the five tables were occupied by sheet-draped cadavers. The fourth had a long, human-sized black bag on it, and the fifth was empty. Along the wall, several dozen small square doors formed uniformed rows that reminded me of the vaults built into the outer wall of St. Louis Cemetery. I assumed that these too held bodies.
Mike checked the toe tags hanging underneath each of the white sheets. Not finding the corpse he was searching for among them, he approached the bag. He unzipped it, looked inside, then back at me, and said, “This is the one.”
I nodded and joined him at the table. Luckily the body appeared unprocessed. The clothes hung in rags where the werewolf’s claws and jaws had shredded them. Blood caked the wounds, obscuring their actual size and shape. I bent close to the body and inhaled. My nostrils filled with the coppery tang of blood and the beginnings of decay. The smell of several humans who had handled the deceased clung to the body. Concentrating, I picked out a faint trace of the man’s cologne and his own body’s odor. Overlaying this was the stench of werewolf. Not one but two distinct scents.
Raising my head, I said to the detective, “Tell the Grandmaster we are looking for two Strays, not one.”
Mike’s eyes grew wide. “Are you sure?”
“Very.”
“Shit.”
Mike stepped out to make the phone call, leaving me alone with the body. I considered casting a protective circle but decided against it. It would take too long to clean up afterwards, and if I was tired, I might miss a chalk mark or two. I wanted no trace left behind that a non-magically inclined person might pick up on.
I closed my eyes and called on my magic. I sent a tendril toward the body, exploring the wounds. Unlike with Chris, whom I had just poured power into to heal, I needed to be selective in what I healed and altered on this body. This man had been mauled badly and it was going to take a good deal of time and magic to erase all traces of the werewolves.
WHEN I WALKED out of the autopsy room two and a half hours later, the man no longer looked like the victim of a werewolf attack. Instead, he seemed to have run afoul of a rather wicked knife. As expected, I had expended a great deal of magic and was now famished.
Mike pushed himself upright from where he had slouched against the wall as the door swung shut behind me. “How’d it go?” he asked.
I smiled wearily and nodded. “Well. No teeth or claw marks left.”
“Great. I took care of the other evidence, so we should be in the clear. Thanks so much for doing this. Contaminating evidence is simple enough but making a body disappear without arousing suspicion is tough.”
“I am glad to be of service. Might I ask you a favor?”
“Sure, whacha need?”
“The magic took a great deal out of me and I am very hungry. Could we stop somewhere that I may feed before returning home?”
Mike smiled broadly. “That’s easy to do. Heck, I could do with a bite myself. I know just the place.”
THE HOUSE WAS quiet except for the beeping of the alarm as I typed in the arm code and the unnerving female voice informed me that the system was set. I half-expected Andre to stride into the foyer and demand to know what I had been doing for the Grandmaster, but to my relief that did not happen. I did not feel his power aura in the front section of the house, but that did not mean he was not home. He might be on the loggia or closed in the master bedroom.
I looked at the mantle clock. 3:32. I really needed to try to create that soul jar again, but I was tired. I decided I would rather start fresh the next night. There were several history books and a number of magazines that Sophie had given me to study. In order to function in this society, I had to become familiar with them. Being with Mike tonight had proved that not everyone knew the circumstances of my return. The more I thought about it, the more I thought the Grandmaster and his steward were right not to tell people. Obviously the Elders would know, as would Aether coven members, but everyone else could simply be told that I had returned to New Orleans after a long absence as Mike had been.
I walked into the living room where I had stacked the books and magazines on a mostly empty bookshelf. It seemed as though the two bookshelves served more as a display case for knickknacks than their true purpose, to hold books. This struck me as odd but many of Andre’s decorating habits confused me. I realized that I was stuck with the gaudy Louis Quattorze motif for the foreseeable future. Ugh.
I chose a random magazine from the stack and settled on the couch. I squirmed quite a bit trying to find a comfortable position but failed miserably. I gave up and began flipping through the glossy pages of Cosmopolitan. I was met with sleek ads for wrinkle cream and perfume. The articles were few and far between. ‘Paris Fashion Week, Fall 2009’ was more pictures than words, but I tried to familiarize myself with the haute couture designers and their favored styles. I was more than a bit scandalized by the article ‘69 Ways to Please Your Man in Bed.’ While I was well aware of methods of sexual pleasure and had, on occasion, frankly discussed them with my patients, I had never seen them written down in such an explicit manner. In a woman’s magazine, no less. I moved on to the tamer pieces since I was sure that fellatio was still not a proper topic for polite conversation. Not that much could have changed in two hundred years. ‘Hottest Fall Hair Trends’ was not helpful in the cultural sense, but it did persuade me to cut my hair. It was currently waist length and took forever to style when I woke up.
I needed to talk to Sophie and see who she recommended as a stylist.
Finding Cosmopolitan lacking in popular culture references, I moved on to Star magazine. The headline screamed ‘I Had an Alien Baby.’ I quickly put that aside and picked up a People. Several beautiful people graced the cover and promised ‘The Real Story of Brad and Angelina.’ This might be more like what I was looking for.
I shifted uncomfortably on the couch once again and heard the alarm being taken down. Andre was home.
Andre strolled into the living room and regarded the scene in front of him; me ensconced on the sofa with half a dozen magazines strewn on the floor around me. “I see you have made yourself at home, Juliette,” Andre remarked.
I bit back my well, this is my house retort and simply smiled, nodding. Andre looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded once. “Are those the cultural references that Sophie gave you to study?”
“Yes. They are . . . interesting. Some seem to be far more helpful than the others,” I said hesitantly. I did not know how to read his mood.
“You might find TV a quicker immersion tool,” he said as he picked up a long, slim, black object from an end table. Pointing it at a large black rectangle mounted on the wall, Andre pushed a button. Suddenly, a moving scene, complete with sound, was displayed in the rectangle.
“A scrying tool?” I asked. That was the only thing I knew that could produce images such as this, but usually the vision was unclear and never had sound.
Andre laughed at me again. “No, not a scrying device. Those, unfortunately, haven’t changed. This is a television. It has a multitude of channels with programs ranging from news to movies. You might start with CNN. It is channel 62. Here’s the remote,” he said, handing me the device in his hand.
Looking at it, I saw many of the buttons had numbers. I pressed the six and then the two. The channel changed to a distinguished-looking man sitting behind a desk, talking about the day’s events. I was rather pleased that I had managed the remote without instruction or ridicule from Andre.
“I’ll leave it to you then,” Andre said. “It has been a long night and I am going to bed. You can tell me why the Grandmaster summoned you when we rise this evening.” Then to my amazement, he bent down and brushed a kiss across my forehead. “Good rest, Juliette.”
Under the Blood Moon Page 8
