House of the Rising Sun

by Kristen Painter

  “Livie…” He took her hand again. “I just need to work out a way around this.”

  “I don’t think this is something you can charm your way out of.” She pulled her hand away, blinking hard and scowling. “I know about the Claustrum, Augustine. I don’t want you in that place. You think being Guardian is a death sentence? What kind of life will you have in that hellhole? A worse one, that’s what kind. If being locked in that place can even be considered a life.” She inhaled deeply. “I don’t want you—or anyone I love—ending up in prison. No matter what plane it’s on.”

  He took her hands in his and pulled her attention to him. Her heartbeat thumped in his ears. “Livie, Livie, I’m not going to let that happen, I promise. Look, I’ve got twenty-four hours to figure something out, and I will. It’s going to be all right. Even if I have to go away again for a while.”

  “That’s not an answer.” She gave him a short, unconvinced look, but already her pulse had dropped a few beats. “And I don’t like you being gone.”

  “I don’t, either.”

  A couple of breaths passed between them before she spoke again. “Promise me you’ll at least think about taking the job?”

  “Livie.” He sighed. “I’ll think about it.” It was a lie, one that hurt to tell, but if it made her feel better, that was all that mattered.

  “Promise,” she insisted.

  He nodded, unable to refuse her. “Promise.” There went the lie, but thinking about something and acting on it were two very different things.

  His answer calmed her. She blew out a sigh, collapsing in on herself a little. “Did you find Dulcinea? Maybe you should talk to her about this.”

  “I saw her last night. Not sure what good talking to her about this would do. She’s not going to want me to take the job, I can tell you that much.” None of their crew had ever had a great relationship with the Elektos. The years hadn’t changed that, either. At least for those who were still alive.

  “Let her read your cards.” Livie turned her gaze on him, something desperate in her eyes. “Let her read your cards and tell you what they say about this situation.”

  Augustine laughed. “Livie, she only does that to goof on tourists and line her pockets. It’s a performance, not a prediction. You can tell the future better than she can.”

  She made a grumpy noise. “I can tell the present much better. Suss out lies and truths. That’s my thing. Dulcinea can read those cards when she wants to.” Livie pressed to her feet, her fingers tight around the crystal top of her cane. “You go back to her this afternoon and see what she says.”

  From the doorway, Lally clucked her tongue. “We’d be awful sad for you to leave again. And life on the run ain’t no way to live.”

  “Fine.” Defeated, he raised his hands. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll go see Dulcinea.” He stood, walking out of the library alongside Livie.

  “Good. And thank you.” She stopped in front of the big hall mirror. “Now go wash up for lunch.”

  “Breakfast for me.”

  “Lazybones.”

  He winked at Lally, tipping his head toward Olivia. “You two sure like to boss me around.” But he understood. Being away from this place he considered home and these women he considered family had left him empty and out of sorts. Dulcinea would have no solution, but for their sake, he would ask what she thought.

  Lally stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Mr. Augustine, I see you cut your horns.”

  He nodded. “It was time.”

  Her eyes took on a funny light. “You still have ’em?”

  “They’re in my trash. Why?”

  “You mind if I have them? As a memento?” She smiled a little. “They’re a curiosity.”

  “Sure.”

  She nodded. “All right, then. Thank you. I’ll collect them next time I’m upstairs.”

  He waited until just before sunset to return to Jackson Square. He hoped to find Dulcinea there spinning tales for the tourists and that’s exactly where she was. The oil lamp on her table painted her with a mysterious light as dusk fell. Giselle was gone, probably didn’t like the rowdy crowd that emerged with the evening. He sat on the steps on the far side of the square and slightly behind Dulcinea, knowing she’d kick out her paying customer again if she saw him. He wasn’t about to keep her from earning.

  For February, the night came on cool and clear; the sky above sparked with stars. Most of the tourists were drifting toward Bourbon by now, ready to suck down drinks, dance in the street and flash each other for cheap beads, but the square was almost empty. That would change in a few weeks when Mardi Gras came. There’d be more tourists than any one street could handle and they’d clog the city with their drunken, happy selves. At least they left a lot of plastic behind.

  If he couldn’t find any security jobs right away, maybe he’d pick up a few shifts bouncing at one of the clubs, get a little of that plastic for himself. They always needed extra help during Mardi Gras. For all that he enjoyed Livie’s generosity, he liked making his own cash even more.

  He pulled rolling papers and a pouch of nequam out of his pocket and twisted himself a cigarette while he waited. The reddish brown smoke drifted upward, filling the air with the scent of burnt fruit and his brain with a subtle calm. His mind drifted to Angel, the woman who’d run from him on Nokturnos. He checked the women that passed, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to recognize her since he hadn’t seen her face. That evening felt so unfinished. All he wanted was a few more minutes with her. To talk her into staying.

  He was about halfway through the cigarette when Dulcinea’s customer got up and left. He took one more drag, ground out the cherry and tucked the rest into his pouch for later.

  He stood, then hesitated. A new group of people were loping past her table. A split second later, he knew they weren’t looking to have their fortune told or get drunk on Bourbon Street. At least not drunk on alcohol. Their eyes held the kind of wicked intent he’d seen a few times before.

  Vampires.

  Dulcinea knew it, too. She pointed at them. “Get out of my city, bloodsuckers.”

  A big male led the crew, a jagged scar running from cheek to lip. He gave a sign and the pack shifted direction. Dulce pulled a blade, causing them to laugh as they surrounded her. One caught a handful of Dulcinea’s dreads in his fist and yanked her toward him. “It’s our city now, fae.”

  With a curse, she slashed at him, but he let go and danced out of reach.

  Augustine grabbed the dagger from his boot and bolted toward them with a low growl. Dulce was stronger and faster than a human, but not as strong and fast as a fae with cleaner bloodlines.

  He vaulted over her table and went feetfirst into the chest of the nearest one. A small female. She held on, raking her nails down his ankle, ripping through his jeans and scratching the leather of his boots. Augustine kicked her away as he flung his blade into her chest. The big male howled in sorrow, reaching for her, but she went to ash before he touched her. He whipped around to glare rage at Augustine, baring his fangs and cursing.

  As the head vamp started forward, another male tore past Dulcinea, trying to grab her again, but she stabbed him, doing some damage but missing his heart. He sliced his nails across her face, cutting three gouges into her cheek before he fell and went to ash.

  She hadn’t missed his heart after all.

  The big, scarred male yelled for retreat and the pack backed away, but he kept his gaze on Augustine. “This will be settled, fae.”

  Augustine laughed, standing his ground. “Go suck yourself, leech.”

  “Go after them, Augustine,” Dulcinea urged. She started to sway. “Don’t let them get away.”

  “In a sec. You don’t look so hot.” Her cheek was still oozing blood. “He might have had poison on his nails. You’re not healing right.”

  She huffed. “I’m fine. If there was poison, I’d feel it. Now seriously, go finish them.” Except that her cheek was turning black, an unsettling
sight against her gray skin. She reached out for her table as her lids fluttered.

  “Like hell, you’re hurt and I’m not leaving you.” He grabbed her arm as he righted her chair and helped her into it, then he crouched to take a closer look at her cheek. Besides the skin retaining its normal color, the edges of the cuts should be pulling together by now, the bleeding done with. It wasn’t. “Dulce, this isn’t healing like it should.”

  She nodded, wincing even as she did it. “My face feels like it’s on fire.” She worked her jaw, testing her cheek. “Damn, that hurts. I still think you should go after them.”

  “Getting this cleaned up is more important than chasing those leeches. Trust me, they’re not coming back here tonight.”

  “What about tomorrow night? Or the day after? Khell’s dead, you know. Vamps slit his throat to keep him from using his scream. His dirty lieutenants aren’t going to snuff those buggers.” She hoisted a black messenger bag from under the table and fished around in it until she pulled out a small first aid kit.

  “This is going to need more than a Band-Aid.”

  She gave Augustine a look as she popped open the box and took out a brown glass bottle and some cotton wool. She wet the wool with liquid from the bottle and started dabbing at her cheek. “A little help?”

  He took the wool from her and cleaned her face. The green liquid smelled bitter. As he worked, the cuts began to heal and her color returned to normal. “What is this stuff?”

  “Tincture of jewelweed. Neutralizes most plant- and insect-based poisons. I take it it’s working?”

  “Like a charm.” Her cheek was almost back to normal. He wiped off the last of the blood and pushed to his feet. “When did you go all earth mother on me?”

  “I didn’t make it. I bought it off Giselle’s sister down at the farmers’ market. Now that I know it works, I like Zara even better. Giselle can still suck it.” She put the first aid kit away and stood. “What are you doing down here anyway? I thought you’d be having some big dinner with Livie tonight.”

  “Not exactly.” He filled her in on the demands the Elektos had made. “Livie made me promise to let you read my cards. She thinks you can find an answer for me.”

  “I don’t need cards to tell you what to do.” She wound a slim dread around her finger. “You should take the job. It would solve all your problems.” She dropped the dread and raised her hand before he could speak. “But I know you. I know you’re going to do everything you can to get out of this.” With a sigh, she took her seat.

  “The job would only create more problems.” He righted the little folding stool on the other side of the table and sat. “I know you’re not in the mood, but will you read my cards anyway? Since I promised Livie.”

  Her mouth was a hard, thin line, which translated as “I’m only tolerating you right now.” Breathing deeply, she gathered her cards from where they were scattered over her table, neatened the deck and set it in front of him. “Cut the stack.”

  He picked up half the cards and set them beside the other half.

  She rejoined the two piles, shuffled them and fanned them out on the black velvet draping. “Pick one and I’ll give you your answer.”

  He grinned. “The down-and-dirty version, eh?”

  She didn’t smile back. “Pick one.”

  Damn. He’d seen Dulcinea angry before, but not at him. Subdued, he tapped a card near the end of the right side. “This one.”

  She pulled the card and flipped it over directly in front of him. “The hanged man.”

  “That’s cheery.” He snorted. “So there it is then. If I take the Guardianship, I end up dead. Good enough for me.” He started to get up.

  “Sit down.” Dulcinea’s glare put him back in his seat. Then she continued. “The hanged man is a card of decisive surrender. It represents martyrdom and sacrifice to the greater good.”

  She stared at him, her oddly colored eyes piercing even in the weak glow of her oil lamp and the flickering streetlights. “This is a card you should meditate on to help you break bad habits and old behaviors. To learn to leave behind things that restrict you from following the path you’re meant to travel.”

  He sprang from the stool like he’d been bitten. “Did Olivia put you up to that? I didn’t think you’d play those kinds of games with me, Dulcinea.”

  She narrowed her gaze and shook her head. “You picked the card. I simply told you what it means.”

  “I’m out of here.” He flipped up the collar of his long coat and strode off. He needed the walk, to think and to cool down. He’d never yelled at Olivia and he didn’t want tonight to be the first time, but it was wrong of her to try to force his hand like this. And for Dulcinea to go along with it? He was shocked, really. She wasn’t what anyone would consider a team player by any means.

  He lost himself in the streets, moving on instinct and muscle memory. There was no good solution for the problem at hand. No clear path that would lead him out of this mess. He’d have to leave. Again.

  Maybe for good.

  The bitterness of that thought sank into him, blinding him to the people he passed. All he saw was everything he loved in life being taken away. He thought about his half brother, living fat in Paradise City. Even if Mortalis did work for a vampire, he had a cushy life. Hell, he’d always had a cushy life, something Augustine hadn’t known anything about until Livie had taken him in.

  He stumbled over a root protruding through the cracked sidewalk, catching himself on the tree’s massive trunk. Behind him, footsteps scraped to a sudden stop. He turned, but there was no one there. He listened. Nothing. Not a heartbeat, not a breath. If the Elektos was having him followed, they could go screw themselves.

  He broke into a jog, eager to get home, however much longer that word would apply. He approached Livie’s house and jumped over the block wall surrounding the property. The lights were on downstairs, so she was still up. Probably waiting for him, but he was in no mood to talk. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough.

  With practiced ease, he scaled the trellis on the side of the house, then vaulted onto the second-story porch. From there, he climbed the gutters to the attic and the big window he never locked for this very reason. Once inside, he cranked up some blues, a sign he was home but wanted to be left alone. He collapsed onto the bed, folding his arms over his face. His head hurt from trying to come up with something, anything, that would get him out of this mess.

  Exhausted, he drifted off.

  The low whine of bluesy horns lifted Olivia’s head from her tablet. Augustine was home. And unhappy, by the sounds of his musical selection. Did that mean things hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted with Dulcinea? She’d have to wait to find out. When he listened to blues, it meant he was in a pensive mood.

  Let him think. They could talk before breakfast. Before Harlow arrived. Olivia reread the last line of the book on her display, The Mother-Daughter Dilemma, but it had no solution on how to handle her relationship with Harlow. That child. How many times could one person break your heart? Tomorrow Harlow would suffer through breakfast so she could get her money, then she’d disappear again. Agreeing not to discuss her father would only make Harlow hate Olivia even more, but Olivia saw no other way. Protecting Harlow was all that mattered. All that had ever mattered since that horrible night.

  With a shudder, she tapped off the tablet’s power and got to her feet, picking up her cane from where it rested against the couch before walking out into the hall to stare up the steps.

  She sighed, the tiniest niggle of guilt creeping into her bones. Maybe she should have pushed Augustine harder to become more independent, but she wasn’t the boy’s mother. As much as she acted like it. Or wished she could have been. Perhaps indulgent aunt was a better description.

  He lived here rent-free, worry-free, responsibility-free. And all because she allowed it. Was that any different than paying Harlow to spend time with her? The niggle turned into a genuine pang and she shook her head, disgusted with herself
. She’d failed Harlow; would she fail Augustine, too? Sweet St. Elizabeth, that boy needed some sense talked into him. Tough love, they used to call it. She tapped her cane on the floor. “Augie!”

  No response. “Augustine, come down here. We need to talk.”

  Still nothing. Her mouth bunched in frustration. She hadn’t taken those stairs in years thanks to the house’s elevator, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now. Fae hearing was excellent. He could hear her, even over those whining horns. If he wanted to behave like a child, so be it. “I’m going outside to sit on the porch, Augustine. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll come out there and join me.” They did some of their best talking out there. No reason they couldn’t work this thing out tonight.

  Otherwise, she’d ream him a new one in the morning before Harlow arrived. The position of Guardian was potentially fraught with danger, that was true, but then what part of life wasn’t? People keeled over from heart attacks while doing nothing. Better to face one’s fears and stare death in the eyes than have it creep up on you in your seniority.

  She stormed out of the house, slamming the big leaded-glass door so hard she cringed and waited for the crack of glass, but it never came. Exhaling her relief, she took her place in one of the rattan rockers, easing her weary bones onto the cushions. If only every aspect of life was this easy. Sit, rock, let your thoughts drift. That was part of the life she’d envisioned when she’d left Hollywood to return to New Orleans’s welcoming embrace. That and having Harlow here with her, going to school at Tulane, living at home, the two of them happy. As they should always have been.

  Instead, Harlow had ignored Olivia’s pleas to move here, ignored the promises of school paid for, of a new car, of providing anything Harlow needed to be happy. Except the one thing Olivia could never, ever give her—her father’s name.

  Then Olivia had met Augustine. He’d scared the daylights out of her at first, but she couldn’t help but feel pity for him. For what he’d been through. How he’d kept himself alive. That boy had needed her. His mother had done such a job on that child. Torn the boy down until he felt as worthless and wrong as his mother had led him to believe, and then she’d kicked him out.