House of the Rising Sun

by Kristen Painter

  Augustine stood. “Harlow, this is my friend Dulcinea.”

  Dulcinea wiggled her fingers. At least she had the usual five. “Hey. I hear you’ve got some real gifts, huh? But you’re not sure what to do with them.”

  Harlow stiffened. “I know exactly what to do with them—keep them hidden. But I want my mother’s killer found as much as Augustine does, so I’ve agreed to try to help.”

  Dulcinea made a face as she looked at Augustine. “A fae who doesn’t like being fae? Bizarro.”

  The conversation made Harlow’s skin itch. “I’m barely fae. A tiny percentage from my mother.”

  Dulcinea laughed and pointed at Harlow’s hands. “Babe, if it was a tiny percentage, you wouldn’t be wearing those gloves. You pass as human pretty well, though. If not for your hair and eye color, it would be pretty hard to tell. Why not dye your hair and wear colored contacts if you hate being fae so much?”

  Augustine rubbed his forehead. “Dulce, leave it be. That’s none of your business.”

  A shot of pleasure ran through Harlow at Augustine’s defense, but not enough to override the intrusion of Dulcinea’s question or make Harlow dislike him any less. “He’s right. It isn’t any of your business, but I’ll tell you why. I like the color of my hair.” She tousled her shaggy mop for emphasis. “As for contacts, I stare at computer screens all day, every day. They’re not practical or comfortable. Anything else?”

  Dulcinea sat back down, a ghost of a smile playing on her mouth. “All right then.”

  Harlow put her hands on her hips and turned her gaze to Augustine. “Can we do this?”

  Looking somewhat dumbfounded by her outburst, he nodded. “Sure, but I didn’t think you wanted to.”

  “I don’t, but this isn’t just some parlor game for the sake of seeing what I can do. This is about my mother. It’s important.” The sooner she did this, the sooner it would be over. She looked at the small crystal clock on the closest table. “And I need to get ready for the lawyer.”

  He gestured to Dulcinea. “You know more about this than I do. What do we need to do?”

  “Not much.” Dulcinea scooted forward so she could reach the leather jacket still splayed over the coffee table. “I’ll put my hands on the jacket, then Harlow, you put your hands on me and do whatever you did the last time. I should be able to control the influx of information so that you don’t have the same reaction.”

  Harlow wasn’t convinced. “Have you ever done this before?”

  “No, but in theory fae powers can be chained like this.”

  Harlow pulled back a little. “In theory?”

  Dulcinea sighed, her patience clearly wearing thin, not that Harlow cared. “It’s been done.”

  Augustine nodded, looking hopeful, as he sat back down.

  Dulcinea tipped her head at Harlow. “Just not with such a thinly blooded fae like you and a remnant like me.”

  “What’s a remnant?”

  Dulcinea shook her head. “You really don’t know much about othernaturals, do you? A remnant is someone who’s a part varcolai—that’s shifter—and part fae and part human. Or maybe just fae and varcolai. Basically it would be like a person’s mother was half human, half wolf varcolai and their dad was human with a quarter cypher fae in him. That kind of thing.”

  Harlow felt a certain satisfaction. “So you’re a mutt.”

  Dulcinea’s eyes did a weird glowy thing. “You want to see if I bite?”

  Harlow ground her back teeth together. “You want to read this jacket yourself? See what information you can get without me?”

  Augustine’s heavy sigh cut through the tension. “Dulce, enough, okay? Harlow, please, I need this help from you.”

  “Fine.” Harlow took the chair next to the couch Dulcinea sat on. “Do you have enough control to prevent your own emotions from spilling into me, too? Because I’d prefer not to have anything extra in my head.”

  Dulcinea held up her hands. “I’ll do what I can, but that might be stretching me a little thin. Although, I can guarantee you won’t get the same shock you did the first time. I have enough control over my abilities to prevent that.” Her lips bunched to one side. “And so would you, probably, if you practiced with them instead of pretending they didn’t exist.”

  A retort danced on Harlow’s tongue but she held it back, satisfied that the great and powerful Dulcinea wasn’t that great and powerful.

  “Are we ready then?” Augustine looked at Harlow, his eyes filled with hope and pain.

  The guilt he must be feeling… but she shook off feeling sorry for him. He’d earned that pain. “Yes. I’m ready.”

  Dulcinea pushed her sleeve up so that her arm was bare, then she put her hands on the jacket. “Let’s do this.”

  Harlow stripped her gloves. “Are you sure you can’t get anything off the jacket?” Maybe she wouldn’t have to do this again after all.

  Dulcinea shook her head. “I can’t read objects. Just people. And even then…” Dulcinea tilted her hand back and forth to indicate her skills weren’t all that hot. Amazing how her bluster disappeared in the face of reality. “This is all you.”

  With a resigned sigh, Harlow reached out and slowly wrapped her fingers around Dulcinea’s forearm.

  The visions hit a second later. More pins and needles but without the same intense pain. They hurt, but she could bear it, at least for a little while.

  This time, they also weren’t the blurred mess of information they had been before. Instead they came in shadowy screenshots, pixilated images and snippets of scent and sound. Not much more readable than the first try. She concentrated harder as she realized some of the input was coming from her surroundings. She closed her eyes in an effort to narrow her focus to only what was in her head.

  Nothing made sense at first. Then slowly she began to separate a few things. The scent of sweat and the image of gray skin on gray skin had to be from Dulcinea. Revolted, she pushed that aside and tried to pull something useful from the onslaught, but some of the images went by so quickly they were gone before she could interpret them.

  They sped by, each one as fragmented as the next, none of them lasting long enough for her to latch on to.

  Her frustration built until at last something clean enough to read came through. A woman’s name. She yanked her hands off Dulcinea’s arm and gasped for breath. Her heart thumped like it might explode. “Helen. Does that mean anything? I saw the name Helen.”

  Dulcinea looked at Augustine. “Was that the female you killed?”

  He shook his head, so grateful for what Harlow had done but telling her wouldn’t do any good. “I don’t know her name. Still, it seems familiar.” Instead, he leaned toward her. “Harlow, are you okay? Your heart sounds like it might explode.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “I forgot you could hear that.” She put a hand to her chest. “I’m fine.”

  He wasn’t so sure. She was breathing openmouthed, but obviously didn’t want to be fussed over. He tried to think why the name should mean something. “What else did you see? Anything you remember could be useful, even if you think it’s not.”

  She slouched in the chair and stared at the ceiling like she was trying to recall what had just happened. “All I remember is a jumble of bits and pieces, nothing really clear until that name came across.”

  “How did it look?” he asked.

  She scrolled a finger through the air. “Fancy. Like calligraphy. White on black. Maybe fabric.” She nodded. “Something that moved like… like it was blowing in the wind? It seemed familiar, but I don’t know why. It’s not like I know this town well enough to recognize anything. Except that… it smelled like the French Quarter. Maybe.”

  The first nudge of an idea straightened him. “Are you sure it was Helen? Maybe it was Helene?”

  Dulcinea’s eyes widened. She had to be thinking the same thing he was.

  Harlow closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked at him. “Yes, that’s it. Helene.”
>
  Anticipation zipped through him. “Hot damn. I know where the vampires are,” he answered. “Hotel St. Helene.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The phone rang but Augustine ignored it. Lally would answer it and he was too amped up with this new information to talk about anything else. He caught Dulcinea’s gaze. “Beatrice will want in on this. Those vamps killed Khell and she wants blood just as much as we do.”

  “I’m sure she does,” Dulcinea answered. “And Beatrice is a lot more lethal than she looks. You know how vampires feel about fire.”

  “So long as she doesn’t ignite them before I find out who’s behind all this.”

  Harlow pulled her feet onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her pulse was slowly winding down, putting Augustine’s mind at ease that the stress of the read had been too much for her. He needed her help, but not at the cost of her health. No matter what she thought of him, she was still Olivia’s daughter. That was reason enough to protect her. Not because he was having any kind of feelings for this amber-eyed hellion who just wanted him gone. No, it was all because of Olivia. For her sake, he’d do whatever it meant to keep Harlow from harm.

  She looked at him. “You’re just going to go after them? Three against how many ever there are?”

  He nodded. “Pretty much. You have a better idea?”

  “I could… go with you.” She hugged her knees tighter, reminding Augustine of a scared little girl. Maybe that’s all Harlow really was. He felt sorry for her, not pity exactly, but the kind of sorry that lay heavy on his heart for taking her mother away from her. Despite the distance between Harlow and Livie, Harlow had obviously loved her mother to some extent. Your mother was your mother, no matter what.

  “Absolutely not.”

  She stopped hugging her knees to drop her feet to the floor. “I could be a lookout or something.” The words were almost a whisper. “She was my mother.”

  Before he could say anything, Lally came in. “That phone call was from Miss Olivia’s lawyer. He said if we wanted to come in early, we could since he had another appointment cancel.”

  “Fine with me.” He looked at Harlow. “You okay with that?”

  “I can be ready in a few minutes.” She seemed subdued since the reading. Had something else come through that she wasn’t sharing? At least the call had given her something else to focus on besides accompanying them on the raid.

  He turned to Dulcinea. “Will you stay and keep an eye on the house? They’re supposed to deliver Livie’s urn this afternoon.” He couldn’t bring himself to say ashes. It just seemed so… final.

  “Of course.” Dulcinea smiled at Lally. “Any chance I can raid the fridge?”

  Lally’s joy at the opportunity to unload some food was obvious. “I’d be happy if you would. People’ve brought so much food I’m out of room.”

  Dulcinea rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Oh, I’ll make you some room, don’t you worry.”

  Harlow stood, her face still not registering much readable emotion. What else had she seen? “Ten minutes and I’ll be back down.” She left, moving like she was walking through mud.

  Lally disappeared after her, leaving him and Dulcinea alone.

  She leaned over, her voice low. “I think your little fae got more than she bargained for.”

  Harlow wasn’t his, but correcting Dulcinea would do zero good. He frowned instead. That was exactly what he’d been afraid of. “Like what?”

  “I couldn’t read anything that came through—it whipped by so fast my fingers are still tingling—but I could certainly feel it. There was a lot of energy flowing through me. A lot.” Dulcinea bit her lip. “I can’t be sure some of my own stuff didn’t leak through.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I might have been thinking about something you and I did a long time ago—”

  “Dulce, why would you do that?”

  She threw her hands up. “I was worried she might get a whiff of it, so I was trying really hard not to think about it, which turned into me thinking about it.” She raised her brows a tiny bit. “Sorry.”

  “Damn it. That’s not going to help.” Augustine sighed. There was nothing he could do about it now—except hope the fallout didn’t come back to bite him. “What’s done is done. We got what we need and she won’t have to do it again. That’s probably all she cares about anyway. Besides getting me out of this house.”

  He stood and Dulcinea got up with him. She hitched her thumb toward the back of the house. “I’m off to the kitchen. When you get back, I can help you pack up your stuff if you want.”

  “Thanks. For everything.”

  “You got it.” She waved as she walked out, and his mind shifted to what Livie had left in her will for him and Lally. He really hoped it wasn’t much. Taking anything from her when he was responsible for her death seemed very, very wrong.

  A half hour later, the three of them sat in Lionel Cuthridge’s office, Lally in the middle, Harlow and him in the side chairs.

  Lionel adjusted his glasses, a sheaf of official papers before him. He glanced over his frames at Lally. “I’ll start with you, Miss Hughes.”

  She nodded stiffly, her small purse clutched on her lap, her mouth a thin, tense line.

  “Let me see now,” Mr. Cuthridge began. “Yes, here it is. To Eulalie Hughes, my dearest friend and most abiding companion, I bequeath the sum of two million dollars and the case of Macallan in the wine vault.”

  Harlow glanced over, surprise plain on her face.

  Lally’s expression froze as she leaned forward. “I don’t believe I heard you right.”

  Mr. Cuthridge glanced up from the papers. “Miss Goodwin has left you two million dollars and if I may say so, a case of very fine Scotch whisky.”

  Augustine barely heard the jump of her pulse over the thud of his own. He could only pray Livie hadn’t been remotely that generous with him. She wouldn’t be, would she? She’d already done so much for him and they weren’t blood relatives. Not that that had ever stopped him from thinking of Olivia as family. Lally had been with her longer, too. That had to come into play, didn’t it?

  “Two million.” Lally breathed the words out like a prayer. “I can’t accept that. It’s too much.”

  Mr. Cuthridge smiled. “You may do whatever you like with the money, but you do have to accept it. It’s what Miss Goodwin wanted you to have.”

  She turned to Augustine. “What do I do?”

  He reached out and squeezed her hand. “You take it. It’s what Livie wanted.”

  Lally nodded, as if she was suddenly coming to her senses. “I can’t believe Miss Olivia did that. Except that I can.” Her eyes welled up. “That woman. God bless her soul.”

  Mr. Cuthridge continued. “Now, on to Harlow Goodwin and Augustine Robelais.” More shuffling of papers. “Here we are. I, Olivia Goodwin, do hereby bequeath to my daughter, Harlow Goodwin, half of my current estate to include—”

  Harlow’s mouth dropped open.

  Mr. Cuthridge continued. “All monetary assets such as stocks and bonds, accrued interest, film and television residuals, and to include all and any other sources as handled by my trust which shall be purposed for maintaining the Garden District property. In addition, I hereby bequeath the other half of my current estate to Augustine Robelais, also to include all listed monetary assets. These details are laid out in the trust.”

  Augustine went cold.

  “In addition, Harlow shall not be permitted to sell the Garden District property to anyone but Augustine and Augustine shall not be permitted to sell the Garden District property to anyone but Harlow. Nor shall they be permitted to sell the Garden District property jointly and divide the profit or loss.

  “Furthermore, the funds generated by the estate, including royalties, investments and other incomes, are to be administered by the executor of the trust for the sole purpose of maintaining the Garden District property and satisfying the expenses generated by said property.”
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br />   Harlow paled. “There’s nothing else? No letter? No envelope of information? No paperwork? Nothing about who my father might be? Can you check again? Maybe you missed something.”

  Cuthridge shook his head. “I’m sorry, there is only what I read.”

  Her shoulders slumped forward. “That’s it then. Not a word about my father and half the house. And he gets the other half? And neither of us can sell it unless we own the whole thing? And on top of that, all the money in the trust is so the house can be taken care of?”

  “That’s exactly what this means, Miss Goodwin.” Mr. Cuthridge turned to Augustine. “Do you have any questions about the meaning of this decree?”

  He sat back, his disappointment at being included in Livie’s will not great enough to keep him from smiling. Guilt overwhelmed him, but he had no questions. He knew exactly what Livie had done. How she must have laughed when she’d finalized this plan, knowing what trouble she would cause. “That was perfectly clear to me.” Beside him Lally covered her mouth with her hand.

  Harlow stood, trembling slightly. “I need to sell that house.” She looked at Augustine. “You have to sell me your half so I can sell it outright. Please.” She pointed at Mr. Cuthridge. “I can do that, right? Sell the whole thing if he sells me his half?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Cuthridge answered. “That would be perfectly allowable.”

  Augustine raised a finger. “Now I do have a question. What’s the house worth?”

  Mr. Cuthridge thought a moment. “I’m not a Realtor, you understand, but current market value seems to me to be around twelve and a half million dollars.”

  “Thank you.” Augustine steepled his fingers and smiled at Harlow. Clearly, Livie had wanted her daughter here in New Orleans. He could at least hold up that end of her machinations. “I’ll give you a deal. You can buy my half for five million.”

  “Five mil—are you out of your mind? I don’t have that kind of money.”

  Neither did he, something Livie had no doubt planned on. Augustine stood and offered Lally his hand to help her up. “Then you don’t have my half of the house, either.”