House of the Rising Sun

by Kristen Painter

  Lally just shook her head.

  Augustine held a hand up. “I need to make sure Branzino’s gone, but when I get back, I want to hear this story. All of it.”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Harlow assured him.

  “Don’t be so sure. As Guardian I have deep pockets and endless resources. We’ll figure something out later, okay?”

  She nodded like she was agreeing, but there was no way his budget as Guardian included shelling out nearly a million dollars to pay her fine. She wasn’t even a citizen of this city. So unless he could come up with eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars out of his own pocket, there really wasn’t much to talk about.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  With Harlow’s bombshell heavy on his mind, Augustine left her in Lally’s capable hands and slipped out the back door to do a quick perimeter check. As he walked the grounds, he called the Guardian house and asked Dulcinea if she was available to stand watch. She was, so he told her he’d be over to pick her up shortly. She and Harlow might not get along the greatest, but he wasn’t leaving Harlow and Lally alone while he got back to searching for the traitor behind the vampire influx.

  He called Fenton next.

  “Morning, Augustine. I was just about to call you. There’s been another tourist murdered.”

  “Damn it. I assume vampires.”

  “Yes. I’m handling it, but we’ve got to make headway on this.”

  “Agreed. Unfortunately, I’m going to be late getting to the Pelcrum this morning. Any news on Branzino?”

  “Not really. He’s a virtual dead end. His online information is so clean that it must be purposeful. There is very little in his name and only slightly more in the name of his company. I imagine we’ll find more in time, but it’s going to take a concerted effort by someone more talented than I.”

  Augustine swore. “I don’t know if it matters. He was here this morning. He got rough with Harlow so I threw him out of the house and threatened him if he came back.”

  Fenton made a disgusted noise. “It would still be good to know who we’re dealing with. If this Branzino is the kind of man to retaliate.” Fenton paused. “May I ask what the altercation was about? Seems odd that a man trying to create a relationship with the daughter he’s never known would fight with her.”

  “Agreed, but he wanted more from Harlow than just a relationship. He wanted to give her the money to buy out my half of the house, then compensate her further so he could use the place as a B-and-B but keep it in her name. Does that make any sense to you? Why would a businessman from Chicago want to open a B-and-B here?”

  After a moment of silence, Fenton spoke. “Branzino is fae, correct?”

  “Yes, but no idea what kind. I think he’s using some kind of enchantment to pass as human.” Just like Augustine’s father had done with his mother.

  “It’s not unheard-of. That could mean he’s hiding a very unsettling bloodline.” Fenton continued. “And yes, Branzino’s plan for the house does make sense. Any fae with a criminal record is prohibited from owning land or property within a Haven city’s limits. If he keeps the house in Harlow’s name, he bypasses that. If indeed he has a criminal record.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. Just like it wouldn’t surprise me that he’s trying to gain a foothold in New Orleans.” Augustine had walked the entire property and now stood in the front yard near the gate. Giselle walked toward him, dark sunglasses hiding her eyes.

  “That gives me another idea about how I might find out more about him,” Fenton said. “Let me do some more searching and then get back to you. What’s your next plan for going after the vampires?”

  “I need to go. I’ll call you later and fill you in.” Augustine hung up, then checked the time. One minute to nine. “Punctual. That’s good.” He opened the gate for her. “You have it?”

  She didn’t come into the yard, just pulled an envelope from her coat and handed it over. “I’m sure you’ll be happy with this list of names. It’s much more inclusive.”

  “Excellent.” It definitely felt thicker than the first one. “Then come in and we’ll go over it.”

  “I can’t right now. My sister’s not feeling well and I need to check in on her.” Giselle pushed her sunglasses onto her head. “Give me a day or two, all right?”

  After Harlow’s experience this morning, he wasn’t in the mood to add to her stress by bringing another stranger into the house. “Fine. I’ll be in touch.” He let the gate swing shut behind him.

  “Thanks.” She pulled her sunglasses back down, turned and walked the way she’d come. He jogged back into the house and opened the envelope.

  Name after name filled the pages until he got the distinct feeling all she’d done was list every member of the New Orleans Circle. “That witch.” She’d played him.

  “Augustine?”

  He looked up. Harlow stood at the end of the hall. “Do you need me?” Giselle and the witches could wait.

  She walked toward him, something in her gloved hand gleaming softly. “Lally found this when she was cleaning up the library.” She held her hand out. In her palm was the small silver cross he’d been meaning to ask her about, waiting until the time was right to broach the subject of her doing another reading. “Is this yours?”

  “Sort of.” He took it.

  “Did my mother give it to you?”

  “No.” He turned it in his fingers. “It’s evidence, actually.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of whoever else is involved in bringing vampires into the city.”

  “And who’s responsible for killing my mother?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes widened a little. “What have you learned from it?”

  “Nothing. That’s the problem.” He looked at her, then back at the cross, shifting uncomfortably. He needed her for this, but he wasn’t interested in putting her through another reading right after her father had almost beaten the daylights out of her.

  She balled her hands into fists. “That’s what you wanted to talk to me about, isn’t it? You want me to read it. See if I can pick anything up like I did with the jacket.”

  “Yes, but I can’t ask you to do that, not after everything you’ve just been through with your fath—”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  “Sorry. With Branzino.” He took a breath. “Maybe this isn’t the best time.”

  “Screw Branzino.” Her chin quivered. “I’ve got enough to deal with without worrying about him.”

  “I appreciate that, but you’re still shaking.” He tucked the cross into the pocket of his jeans. “It can wait.” He moved toward the stairs.

  She stepped into his path. “I’m shaking, I’m not falling apart. And this can’t wait. Not if it’s going to lead you to whoever killed my mother.”

  He stared at her hard, assessing her current state. He’d known her for a short time, but he couldn’t imagine her looking any more determined than she did right now. “You’re absolutely sure about this? Even knowing what happened last time.”

  “Yes, I’m sure and yes, even with what happened last time, but I also don’t plan on doing this without Dulcinea’s help again.” She lifted her chin slightly. “How soon can you get her over here?”

  “I’m leaving right now to get her.” He smiled, then impulsively grabbed her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

  As Augustine ran out of the house, Harlow put a hand to her cheek, trembling for a brand-new reason. The quick skin-to-skin contact had caused a lightning flare of emotion to zip through her. She grabbed the stair newel and sat on the steps, trying to get her breathing under control.

  The things she’d felt from Augustine weren’t immediately definable as individual emotions, but as she calmed, the tangled threads winding through her began to make sense. He cared about her, but he was struggling to keep his feelings platonic. Odd that such a thing would make her feel better, but after Branzino’s insistence that Augustine was only bei
ng nice to sway her for financial gain, it did.

  Augustine was also worried about her. Actually, the vibe she got from him was that he was worried about her leaving. Worried that if she did, he wouldn’t be able to look after her. Which wasn’t his job, but she was willing to let that slide.

  But mostly, he was proud of her. For agreeing to stay, for offering to help, for finding strength after Branzino’s attack.

  That pride brought a stinging heat to her eyes. She’d never felt that from anyone. Oh, she knew her mother had probably been proud of her in the way that all mothers were proud of their children, but at some point, she’d begun to doubt that. Olivia had no good reason to be proud of Harlow, so why should she be? Harlow had done nothing to earn her mother’s pride. In fact, she’d done a lot to destroy it.

  But Augustine’s pride was so genuine it sang through her body like white light, searching out the dark, ugly places and making them… less ugly.

  It was a lot to live up to. Too much, maybe.

  She bent her head to her knees, her breath at last regulating even as her spirits sank. This was why she didn’t like being around people, why she shied away from contact of any kind. To know what a person expected of you was crippling.

  Maybe offering to read that cross had been a mistake. What if she failed? What would Augustine think of her then?

  The pressure built in her skull like steam she had no way of releasing. She raised her head. What would her mother do in a situation like this? She had no idea, but she knew who would. “Lally?”

  A moment later, the housekeeper came out from the parlor with a feather duster in one hand. “What can I do for you, Miss Harlow?” She frowned. “Are you all right, child? You look shaken up. You still fretting over that business with that man?”

  She loved how Lally called Branzino that man. “No, not really, it’s just that plus everything else, I guess.”

  Lally nodded. “You sure have had a time of it.”

  “I was wondering, what would my mother do to calm herself down when she got stressed?”

  Lally tapped the feather duster against her leg. “Well, your mama wasn’t a big one for letting stress get to her.”

  “Say when she called or emailed me and I didn’t answer.” Harlow smiled sadly. “I did that a lot.”

  Lally nodded. “Yes, child, you did. Lots of times after that, she and I would go sit out on the porch and have a mint julep. You ever had one of those?” She grinned. “The way I make ’em, one makes you forget your troubles and two will bring you a brand-new kind of happy. Your mama loved them.”

  Harlow smiled. “I’ve never had one, but it sounds like just the thing.” She sighed. “Too bad it’s too early.”

  “Too early for what?” Lally asked.

  “For a drink.”

  This time Lally laughed. “You got a lot to learn, Miss Harlow. This is New Orleans. Ain’t no such thing as too early for a drink in this town.”

  Augustine parked the Thrun in the side garage near the back of the house, then he and Dulcinea jumped out and walked toward the rear porch. On the way over, he’d filled her in on the morning’s events.

  Laughter rang out. He rounded the corner to see Lally and Harlow in the big wicker chairs, a silver pitcher and two glasses on the little table between them. Even without the smell of bourbon and the mint sprigs floating on top of the ice cubes, Augustine would have guessed they were drinking juleps. The drink had been Livie’s favorite when she’d needed to lighten her mood. He hadn’t guessed Harlow shared that love.

  “I see brunch is being served Olivia-style this morning,” Dulcinea said.

  Augustine took the porch steps two at a time. Harlow’s cheeks glowed with the flush of good bourbon, but her lids looked a little heavy. He guessed also from the bourbon. “Everything okay?”

  “It is now.” She raised her glass. “We’re de-stressing.”

  “I see that.” Her words had the roundness of someone on the edge of a good buzz. “Lally, you have anything to add?”

  “Just what the child said. We’re getting calm the same way Miss Olivia liked to.”

  “Calm is good. Comatose is not.” A cord of anger began to knot in Augustine’s gut. “Harlow, I need you clearheaded to be able to read this cross. Are you going to be able to do that?”

  She waved him off. “Sure. I’m fine. Better ’an fine. I’m a brand-new kind of happy.” Then she looked at Lally and burst into laughter.

  Dulcinea raised her brows. “Oh, that’s a new kind of happy all right.” She pulled Augustine into the house. “You better get some of that alcohol out of her system before she attempts to read anything. She can barely control her powers sober.”

  “Agreed.” He stared out the kitchen window, listening to Harlow laugh. He soaked up the sound, wondering how long it had been since she’d felt like this. And how long it would be until she felt this again without the help of alcohol. She’d seemed unhappy since she’d arrived, which was understandable considering the circumstances, but especially since she’d revealed the fate that awaited her when she returned to Boston. What wasn’t understandable was how he felt responsible for a small part of her unhappiness.

  Like maybe if he hadn’t been such a big part of Livie’s life, she would have tried harder to reconnect with Harlow. He knew deep down Harlow blamed him for some of that. Even if she wasn’t consciously aware of it, those feelings of resentment would surface someday.

  Dulcinea put her hand on his arm. “Hey, I know you’re anxious to get on with chasing these vamps—we all are—but considering the last couple of days, I’m more shocked this little cocktail party didn’t happen sooner.”

  He looked away from the window. “You’re right.”

  “Judging by the sound of what’s going on out there, Harlow’s not much of a drinker.” Dulcinea moved toward the door. “How about I help her upstairs, get her to lie down for a bit? A little nap might help.”

  “I’ll help her.” After all Olivia had done for him, he could look after Harlow. Showing her he wasn’t such a bad guy was just a side bonus. Like being close to her, even if she was half out of her head.

  Dulcinea made a funny little noise as he opened the door.

  He paused, already regretting that he was about to dig further into whatever nonsense she was cooking. “What?”

  “You’re so gentlemanly.” She waggled her brows suggestively. “It’s very sweet.”

  “Stop reading into what’s not there.” He scowled. “I’m the Guardian. It’s my job to take care of people.”

  “Especially if those people are super-cute and kinda tipsy.” She snickered.

  With a sigh, he left Dulce behind to squat by Harlow’s chair. “Hey, how about we get you upstairs for a little nap before you read that cross for me? Make sure you’re in good shape for it.”

  Harlow sucked down the last of her mint julep, then plunked the glass onto the table. “Those are really, really good. Lally is a mean mix-alog… misholist… mixologist.” Her eyelids had gone from heavy to drooping, but her face held a sad sweetness unlike anything he’d seen there before.

  “Yes, she is.” His traces of remaining anger dissolved. Harlow’s indulging might have cost him some time, but pushing her wasn’t healthy. She was already dealing with so much. “What do you think? You want to catch some shut-eye before we do some work?”

  “Sure.” She yawned and tipped her head back like she might go to sleep right there, but at the last second raised her hand to him. “Help me up.”

  He stood and took her hand. Her glove was damp with the condensation off the glass. He pulled her to her feet. She sagged against him, so he hooked his arm around her waist and held her upright.

  “You’re tall,” she muttered. “And you smell like barbecue.”

  Lally laughed. “She’s right. You do. Y’always smell like you been working the smoker at Quinton’s Rib Shack.”

  “It’s my smokesinger blood—can we talk about what I smell like later and maybe
get her someplace to lay down?”

  Lally threw her hands up. “All right, all right.”

  But Dulcinea already had the door open. “You need help?”

  “No, I got her.” He scooped Harlow into his arms and carried her into the house.

  When they hit the steps, her head lolled back and she smiled at him, eyes dreamy and half closed. “No one’s ever carried me before.”

  “I’m taking you up to your room.” And trying not to think about the body filling his arms. Warm, soft, curvy. There was no way her baggy clothes could hide her shape now. If not for Nokturnos, when he’d first held her against him, and the little black dress she’d worn to the memorial, he would have been more surprised, but now… now his brain couldn’t help but connect how she looked in that dress to how she felt in his arms.

  He pushed her door open with his foot and carried her to the bed.

  As he set her down, she reached up and wrapped her fingers around the nub of one of his horns. “I’ve wanted to touch these ever since they started peeking through your hair.”

  He swallowed hard. “You already touched them during Nokturnos.” Even though her hands were gloved, the sensation made his lids drop to half-mast and a little groan escape his throat. She had no idea what she was doing. No idea how the feathery touch of her fabric-encased fingers shot sparks into his blood and raised pleasure bumps over his skin. He tried to pull away but her grip tightened possessively. His body constricted in response.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know that was you then.” She laughed softly. “What are these things for anyway?”

  Shaking his head only caused more friction. “They, um, they…” He inhaled, hoping to clear his head, but succeeded only in filling his lungs with her sweet bourbony, minty perfume. “I… you should probably… stop.”

  Instead, her other hand latched on to the second protruding root. She grinned like she’d just won something. “Are they handles, Augie?”