“Whoa, now.” Dulcinea started to put a hand on Dreich’s shoulder, then apparently thought better of it. “Augustine’s just doing his job as Guardian. The same as Khell would have done.”
Dreich swallowed, gaze flicking from her to Augustine. He nodded, calming down some. “Petrick Hayden.”
Augustine didn’t know the man. “Why?”
Dreich shrugged. “There’s something sketchy about him. He’s been around the longest of the lieutenants. He’s just… odd. And don’t ask me how, man, you just have to meet the guy. Maybe he’s working a back-end deal so he can retire. And as long as we’re talking about that, you might want to look into Loudreux, too.”
Augustine stared at Dreich, surprised he’d actually named Hugo. “The Prime? Bold statement adding him to your list of suspects.”
Dreich frowned. “Khell thought there was corruption among the Elektos, so he started digging into a few things. Then he ends up dead. Coincidence? I don’t think so, man.”
“This is good information.” Augustine softened his expression. “Next time, don’t make me work so hard for it.” He checked the time. “Dulcinea, we’re on. Dreich, the front’s all yours.”
As Augustine started for the first floor, she fell into step behind him. “You okay?”
“Fine, why?”
“Really? After that information?” She glanced back toward Dreich’s position in the parking garage. “You’re not ready to storm Loudreux’s and interrogate him?”
“One raid at a time.” As they crossed the street to the hotel’s entrance, Augustine pulled out his LMD and shot Fenton a quick text.
“What about Petrick then? I don’t know the man. I’m assuming you don’t, either.”
“No, but he and Hugo are both worth investigating. Petrick first.” Augustine held up the LMD. “I’ve already told Fenton to pull whatever info he has on the man.” He stuck the device back in his pocket as they approached Sydra. “Let’s go clean out this nest, shall we?”
The lobby was small and the desk clerk sleepy. Sydra went ahead of them into the elevator while he and Dulcinea zipped toward the stairs. Sydra held the elevator until they were in the stairwell, then let the doors close. He and Dulcinea jogged the three flights, stopping outside the third-floor door. A few seconds later, the elevator chimed. Then came the swoosh of the opening doors. A few seconds after that, some more muted sounds. One a gasp cut off mid-voice, one the dull thunk of metal on bone.
The door handle turned and Sydra peeked in. Gray ash dusted her black hotel shirt. She nodded to Augustine. He nodded back, then he and Dulcinea slipped out. Ash coated the floor, crunching softly underfoot. The foyer between the two suites was smaller and darker than he’d expected.
As if reading his mind, Sydra pointed to the light fixture. The bulbs were gone. He nodded. Old habits died hard. The vampires still craved the darkness they were used to. Or they were expecting company and had hoped for the element of surprise. Except that fae saw about as well at night as they did during the day.
He pointed toward the suite on the right, motioning again for Sydra and Dulcinea to take the left one.
They moved into position and readied their weapons. Augustine eased his sword from its sheath, marveling at how light the fae blade was. This was going to be fun. He looked at his teammates and held up his master key in the other hand. Dulcinea waved hers back at him. He mouthed the words, “One, two, three.” On three, they each waved the keys in front of the locks.
As soon as the lock clicked open, Augustine pushed the door open and stepped into… more darkness, but this time it was utterly black. Fae eyes needed a sliver of light and the vamps had done a good job of eliminating most of it. He could see enough to make out furniture shapes, but not much else. Had they painted over the windows? They didn’t need the darkness, so they must have done it for advantage. Damn it. Were they expecting the raid?
If only these leeches had pulses, he’d be able to tell how many he was up against. They could certainly hear his if they were awake.
As best he could tell, the living room was empty. The soft thud like something shutting came from the room ahead of him. Then a zipping sound. He snuck toward the bedroom, sword at the ready. The door was ajar. He crouched outside it, listening.
Someone—had to be a vampire by the smell—passed by the door. He coasted his fingers up the wall and found a light panel. He tapped it and reared back to kick in the door, the crystal chandelier flaming to life as the wood exploded into the room.
A male vampire stood in the middle of the room, suitcase in hand. He made eye contact, hissed and darted toward the balcony window, which had indeed been painted black.
“Not so fast, bloodsucker.” Augustine threw his sword like a javelin, catching the vampire in the back.
He dropped the suitcase and arched in pain as he clawed for the blade, mewling like a wounded animal. Augustine tackled him to the ground. The vampire twisted, unable to turn onto his back because of the sword, but enough to get a swipe at Augustine, cutting his cheek.
Augustine punched him in the face. “Where’s your leader?”
The vampire spit out a fang. “Go to hell, faery.” He yanked one leg up, planted his foot on Augustine’s chest and shoved him off.
As he fell back, Augustine reached for the dagger strapped to his thigh—another of his new weapons—and the vampire reached for the suitcase. Augustine flipped to his feet, but the vampire was in no hurry to bolt. With a queer smile, the vamp wrapped one arm around the suitcase, then lifted the circular amulet around his neck to his mouth, put it between his teeth and bit down.
Augustine had no idea what that was supposed to—
The vamp got out half a laugh before bursting into flames. Augustine shielded himself with his hands, but the fire was quick, taking the vampire and the suitcase to ash in seconds. The fae blade clattered to the floor unharmed. “Sturka.” The amulet had been the vampire version of a suicide pill. If there were any other vamps in the suite, they would have attacked by now. This one must have been alone.
His cheek stung where the vamp had sliced him. Maybe Dulcinea and Sydra had had better luck. He loped through the suite and started across the foyer to the other one, but the women were on their way out.
Sydra collapsed her bow as she shook her head. “No one in there and the place is picked clean.”
Augustine muttered a curse and punched the wall. “One vampire. Must have been the one sent to clean things up, but when he realized he was caught, he incinerated himself and anything that might have helped us find the rest of them.”
Dulcinea looked stricken. “You think someone tipped them off that we were coming?”
He did, but he didn’t want to reveal that in front of Sydra. “No. I think they got spooked by the episode at Olivia’s. Figured it was time to change venues.” His hands itched to break something. Or someone.
“What now, boss?” Sydra asked.
Dulcinea answered as she dug into her hip purse. “Now we clean up those scratches on his face before they scar over.” She pulled out the stuff she’d used before, wet a cotton ball and went to work on him.
He put his hands on his hips while she cleaned him up. He stared at the ash coating the foyer floor. Somewhere out there, the person responsible for letting a horde of murderous vampires into their city was still roaming the streets. He’d let the citizens of New Orleans down. “Done?”
Dulcinea stepped back. “Good as new.”
“Great. Now, I can go home while the rest of you go back to whatever sources you have and see if you can find anything that will bring this dead end back to life.” He sighed deeply. “In the meantime, I have a friend to bury.”
Sydra hit the panel for the elevator as Dulcinea gave his hand a little squeeze. “We’ll get them, boss. We’ll get them.”
Chapter Nineteen
Harlow looked at the woman in the cheval mirror and frowned. It was her reflection, but she looked like an imposter. The plain black dre
ss, the reserved makeup, the hair blown out and let loose… none of it seemed like her, but she knew if her mother could see her, she’d have been pleased. The outfit was a small concession to make on such a dreadful day, but dressing up didn’t mean she was over what her mother had done. Not a word about her father and half the house. The house wasn’t nearly as important as her father, but Olivia’s slight would take time to get over.
She shook her head, trying to let her anger go as she slipped into a pair of simple black heels she’d found in the back of her mother’s closet. The last time Harlow had worn heels, she’d just graduated from college and was on her way to her first—and last—job interview. She’d learned pretty quickly that no one was going to pay her what she could earn doing gray work, the kind of backdoor security stuff that meant keeping her identity hidden. Which was fine with her. Most of the people who hired her didn’t know she was female or fae. With her computer skills, they didn’t care.
She navigated her way to the dresser, testing her stability. Some women, like her mother, could walk in heels as if they’d been born to it. She was not one of those women. Not like her mother in a lot of ways, actually. Not as beautiful, not as charming, not as easily the center of attention. There was a reason her mother had risen to such stardom. All the things that Harlow was not.
She added a pair of diamond studs and a slim diamond bracelet—both gifts from her mother on various birthdays—and a pair of short black gloves. Considering today’s event and how far south they were, no one would question the gloves, so if people noticed them, she wasn’t concerned. Not that she cared anyway.
She pushed her sleeve back to check her watch. Twenty minutes and people would start arriving. As if the crowd wasn’t bad enough, there would be the questions about how she was doing, the condolences, the remembrances of a woman she felt so disconnected to and yet was still grieving for. A shudder ran through her. The afternoon would be a tedious exercise in pretending while trying to maintain control, but she would get through it and in a day or two, she’d go home, put this all behind her and prepare for the horrific reality of life behind bars.
Her mother’s decision to split ownership of the house had changed nothing. Harlow still had a fine to pay and since she couldn’t, she still had to face jail time. Once that was served, she’d still be broke and would go right back to living job to job, getting ahead only enough to slip under again with the next bill. She sighed. It was her own fault for expecting her mother’s estate to provide a windfall. She’d gotten exactly what she deserved.
Nothing. Except more complications.
“Harlow?” The biggest—and most fascinating—of those complications called her name from the other side of the door. “You doing okay?”
“Yes.” Augustine sounded genuinely concerned, but if he really wanted to be nice to her, he’d sell her his half of the house for a dollar and let her get on with her life. She could always tell him about the fine, play on his sympathies, but the fewer people who knew about that embarrassment, the better. “I’ll be down shortly.”
She waited until she was sure he’d be downstairs giving last-minute instructions to the caterers or whatever it was that needed doing, then she headed into the fray. It wasn’t possible to dread these next few hours any more than she already did. She picked her way down the steps slowly, partly because of her reluctance and partly because of her heels. The last thing she needed was an injury from a fall that would keep her here longer than she could afford.
The soft buzz of preparations rose up to meet her as she descended. Servers in white shirts and black bow ties sailed past with silver trays of finger foods. She stopped on the bottom step to let one go past.
A long, low whistle brought her head around.
Augustine stood in the dining room looking at her with a slightly confused expression. Like he didn’t quite recognize her.
“What?” She knew what she looked like. She didn’t need him pointing it out. Being judged made her want to run back to her room.
He blinked a few times and shook his head. “You look… beautiful. Like the pictures of your mom from her movie days. Like the woman I met on Bourbon Street. Without the mask, of course.”
She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth to keep from calling him a liar, because his eyes held no guile. He actually meant what he said. She swallowed the sharp words and managed to say, “Thank you,” instead.
And then, as if remembering who he was and who she was, he nodded and lost the mesmerized expression in favor of something much more aloof. “You’re welcome. You really do clean up nice. Not that you were dirty before. I mean—you know what I mean, right?”
She smiled. It was rare a man got tongue-tied around her. “You clean up nice, too.” He did. Not that she’d ever seen him looking remotely shabby, but what man didn’t look nice in a dark suit and tie with a crisp white shirt? His horns had grown enough to be noticeable through his hair. To remind her with every glance he was the man who’d kissed her senseless on the streets of the French Quarter. “How did your raid on the hotel go this morning? Did you catch them?”
A sudden darkness crossed his face and he looked away. She could have sworn she saw a shimmer of heat around him. “It was a bust. But I will get them. I swear it.”
“That’s too bad.” She still thought she should have gone, but something about his earnestness dissolved most of her anger. Today of all days, there should be peace between them. “Is there anything else I can read for you? Like I did with the jacket?”
When he faced her, his eyes held surprise. “I appreciate that. I really do. Why don’t we talk about it after we get through today?”
“Okay.” Relieved that her offer of help hadn’t turned into anything immediate, she pointed at his throat. “Your tie’s a little crooked.”
He reached for it, then came around to the hall mirror to adjust it. “Thanks.”
She walked down the last step and stood beside him at the mirror. “I see you rehung it.” Until today, the mirror had been leaning against the foyer wall. She pointed to the black cloth draping the top of the frame. “Is that some sort of New Orleans tradition?”
He nodded, tie now straightened. “It’s a fae tradition.”
She turned her gaze to the small table in front of the mirror, which now held a portrait of Olivia, also draped in black. “I don’t know anything about those sorts of things.”
She could feel his eyes on her, but refused to look at him when he spoke. To be sucked in by that hypnotic gaze of his. “I didn’t, either, until I hooked up with my crew. I learned some more when your mother took me in. I still don’t know as much as I should.”
That brought her head up. “My mother taught you about fae stuff?”
He nodded solemnly. “Some of the history, yes. She wasn’t as versed in it as some are, but she knew enough people to get answers for things she didn’t know.”
“I guess your own mother didn’t teach you much.” Even as she said the words, she knew she had no right to broach that subject with him.
“The only thing she taught me was to be ashamed of what I was. Just like her.”
A prickly silence strung out between them.
Finally, Harlow broke it. “Olivia… always wanted me to embrace being fae.” She shook her head. “I never understood that. And then, after things changed—”
“You mean after the covenant was broken?”
She nodded. “When humans suddenly realized that all these nightmare creatures were real and living among them, when they could see the othernaturals for what they really were, I was so happy that I’d distanced myself from her.”
“Because of the way she came out?”
Harlow remembered the online articles, the pictures, the exposés. “Entertainment news was filled with stories about what stars were othernaturals.” She exhaled hard. “The joy those rags took in revealing that Olivia Goodwin, beloved ‘vampire queen,’ was actually fae was disgusting.”
“I
remember that. Your mother didn’t think it was disgusting. She really enjoyed the press. And the bump in royalties from the new interest in her work.”
Harlow laughed and glanced at the ceiling. “Of course she did. Meanwhile, I was praying no one would link us.” But then, how would they? She’d been living under a screen name for years by then. She turned away from the photo, her throat thick with emotion. “This is really hard for me to say, but I’m glad you were here for her. I’m glad she had someone who… who… was everything I wasn’t.”
She started to walk away but he put his hand on her shoulder, the warmth seeping through to her skin comforting in a way she hadn’t expected. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you this, but her last words to me were ‘Tell Harlow I love her.’ I’m sorry I’m just telling you this now, but it’s true. She did love you. Deeply.”
Harlow just shook her head, unable to speak for a moment until the wave of pain in her chest subsided. “Thanks for letting me know.”
The doorbell rang, cutting off further conversation. Lally came out from the back of the house, dressed in a black skirt suit. “Don’t you two look nice.” She pointed toward the parlor. “If y’all want a minute with Miss Olivia before the crowds come, I can hold them off. Or you can wait until we leave for the cemetery to have some last words.”
Augustine stepped out of Harlow’s way. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ve had lots of time alone with her.”
She balked. “No, I’m good.”
He raised a brow. “You sure?”
“Yes. I can wait until we get through all these people.” A little sigh and she looked at Lally. “Go ahead, let them in.”
Augustine leaned down. “You really do look beautiful. And I know you’re dreading dealing with all these people, but I’m happy to handle them. Just stay next to me and I’ll do the heavy lifting.” He reached into his suit pocket and took out his LMD. “In fact, why don’t we exchange numbers? That way if you can’t find me and you need me, I’m just a call away. You can do that, right? I’m really not that great with that thing yet.”
House of the Rising Sun Page 22
