House of the Rising Sun

by Kristen Painter

  She had a feeling. “You need me to read that, don’t you?”

  He hooked his arm around her shoulders. She tried to shrug it off and failed. He walked them toward the main street. “You catch on fast.” His hand squeezed hard, stopping them. “Which is good, because I don’t want to have this discussion again. If you ever deliberately put yourself in danger again, I will assign you a personal bodyguard. One who will stick to you like stink on a skunk.”

  She pulled away from him. “Like hell you will. I’m a grown woman. I don’t need a bodyguard.” She’d spent too many years of her life being followed around by thugs for hire. She wasn’t about to repeat that now.

  “And I don’t need to worry about you.”

  “Then don’t. I’m not your responsibility.”

  Something in his gaze darkened. “But you are. You’re here because of what happened to your mother. What I caused. So until that’s fixed, yes, you are my responsibility.”

  She was about to respond when he caught her gloved hand and held it. “Please, Harlow, if something happened to you… something I could have prevented…” He looked away, but the war in his eyes was plain.

  Whether it was the desire to know the truth or the desire to make him suffer, she couldn’t say, but the urge to make him speak pushed her. “Then what? Why do you care what happens to me?”

  “I like you.”

  “You like Dulcinea, too.”

  He steeled his expression as he pulled her close. Barely an inch separated them. His smoky scent and radiating heat made her feel like she was standing in a fire. “I like you in a very different way than I like Dulcinea.”

  Despite all that heat and smoke, she shivered. Because deep down inside, she knew exactly what he meant. She liked him, too. And nothing had ever scared her quite that much.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Giselle poured rainwater over the money in her copper bowl, thankful that the plastic bills would still be usable after the scrying was done. Paying Father Ogun had been as exorbitant as expected. In front of the bowl, she placed a small mirror on a stand. Being that the man she sought was fae, the silver-backed glass should be especially effective.

  Clearing her mind, she sat back and positioned her hands over the bowl. “Goddess of the bayou moon, mistress of the holy night, bring to me this man I seek, show him to me with your light. He who touched this money last, reveal his home within my glass.”

  The mirror fogged, then cleared. A house appeared, Garden District by the looks of it. Made sense since the affluent and important fae tended to cluster there. She jotted down the number above the door. Finding the street would take a little more work, but at least she had something to go on now.

  A sense of calm filled her. This was going to work. She would be able to protect herself and no one would be the wiser. In fact, if all went according to plan, things would be tied up in a neat little bow.

  She smiled, but then she remembered she’d still be in debt to Father Ogun. Her smile faltered. She sat back and lifted her chin. He might be a high priest of voodoo, but he was still a man, and she’d yet to meet a man who didn’t have some weakness.

  All she had to do was figure out where Father Ogun’s Achilles’ heel was. Then hold a knife to it.

  Dulcinea was walking the perimeter when Augustine returned. “How’s the night going so far?”

  “Quiet,” she answered. “Lally went to bed a little bit ago and Harlow hasn’t come out of her room.”

  He forced himself not to react. “Really? How do you know she hasn’t left?”

  Dulcinea glanced up toward the guest room. Blue light flickered in the window. “Computer hasn’t stopped. She’s all hunkered down, playing some kind of game. Got a headset on and everything.”

  “And you’ve seen her up there yourself, have you?”

  “Not in a while but…” The back door slammed. “What don’t I know?”

  “That would be Harlow going inside.” She hadn’t spoken to him since his confession in the alley. “She followed me. Don’t know how, but she showed up.”

  Dulcinea groaned. “Total lieutenant fail. I’m so sorry.” She glanced toward the window and shook her head. “She didn’t get hurt, did she?”

  “No. Fortunately. Because if she had—”

  Dulcinea held her hands up. “I know, it would have been my fault.” She sighed long and hard. “She’s mad at me and I’m not sure why, but I get the sense she picked up a little something extra from me again on this last reading.”

  “I know. She figured out that you and I slept together.”

  “Sorry, Gussie.” Dulcinea cursed softly. “She knows that was years ago, right?”

  He nodded. “She knows. She just didn’t seem to care.”

  “How was the hunting?” Dulcinea smiled. “I smell ash, so I’m thinking good.”

  “There’s one less vampire in town, but I’m no closer to finding the nest. Although I know they’re Young Bloods now.” He pulled out the amulet. “I took this off the one I staked. It matches the one the vamp at the Hotel St. Helene wore, the one he bit into that lit him up like a fireball.”

  She took it and sniffed it, her lip curling. Varcolai had a keener sense of smell than fae; maybe that side of her would pick something up. “Totally hinky.” She smelled it again. “There might be silver in this. Mixed with something else, obviously, because there’s no way a vampire could wear silver next to his skin.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  She handed it back. “You going to have Harlow read this, too?”

  He tucked the piece in his pocket. “Yes. She already knows I don’t know how else to get information out of it and I need her help. She said she’d think about it.”

  “She’d probably do it if I said I thought it was a bad idea.”

  He snorted. “Can’t blame her for being like her mother.” He paused, thinking. “If they’re all wearing these amulets, then they weren’t made here, but she might get another location off it. Like where it’s been most recently.” He dug into his other pocket. “Speaking of being somewhere recently… Renny gave me this.” He held out the note the gator shifter had asked him to pass on to Dulcinea.

  She looked at it but didn’t touch it.

  Augustine pushed it into her hand. “I’m just the messenger.”

  “Hmph.” She stuffed the note into the pocket of her long sweater coat.

  “He’s sweet on you.”

  “He’s sweet on a lot a women, that’s his problem. I’m sure you understand that.” Her gaze shifted toward the front of the house. “I’ll stay out here. You go talk to Harlow. If you need me to buffer again, just holler.”

  So ended the conversation about Renny. Augustine nodded. “Will do.” He headed into the house, going in through the back door quietly to keep from disturbing Lally, but her light was on. He knocked softly on her door.

  “Come in,” she called.

  He stuck his head in. She was in bed, reading. The cross, key and locket dangling from her chain gleamed against her mint-green nightgown. Her antique radio played the local gospel station quietly. “Just wanted to let you know I ran into a vampire down in the Quarter tonight.” The part about Harlow being there he’d keep to himself.

  She nodded thoughtfully. “He related to Miss Olivia’s murder?”

  “I believe he’s part of the same group, yes.”

  She nodded again. “You kill him?”

  He’d never had this kind of conversation with Lally before. There was something unsettling about those words coming out of her kind mouth. “I did.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Satisfaction gleamed in her eyes, a strange sight. “You have a good night then, Augie. I’m gonna sleep a little easier because of that.”

  He closed her door, oddly shaken by the exchange. It felt like they’d entered a period of war where hard truths and cold reality were the order of the day. If he could get Harlow to understand that, maybe couch it in terms of a real-life computer game, she cou
ld become a partner in this fight. Especially if Cuthridge could get this fine taken care of and she ended up staying here in New Orleans. He’d sure come to rely on her unique skills. And if she could track him, her skills were even more impressive.

  As he walked down the hall, a familiar lemon verbena scent floated toward him. He slowed, moving toward the mirror. “Livie,” he whispered.

  The surface of the mirror shimmered and for a moment, he swore he’d caught a glimpse of the Claustrum. He shook his head. He was so tired he was seeing things. He turned away.

  “Augie.”

  He froze at the sound of Olivia’s voice.

  “Augie, are you there?”

  He spun back toward the mirror. “Livie?” There was a shape there, a form that could be her. As he went closer and got directly in front of the mirror, she came into focus. “Livie!”

  “Augie, you’re there!” She reached out for him, but her image stayed flat, trapped in the mirror’s glass. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but you never seemed to hear me. I guess I wasn’t powerful enough until now.”

  “Trying to reach me where? In the mirror?”

  “Yes, and when you were here on the fae plane.”

  “You mean you’re really there? At the Claustrum? Why did you end up there?”

  “It was the last place on my mind, I guess. I was worried about you, about what you’d do to those vampires and how the Elektos would react.”

  “You had nothing to worry about.”

  She looked at him like he was full of it. “Any unsanctioned action you take could be perceived by the Elektos as aggressive. Then Fartus will be at the door again.”

  “Fenton’s already come back.”

  “And?”

  “And we sorted everything out. He’s not as bad as you think.”

  Her eyes lit with an uncertain light. “Did you take the Guardianship?”

  He hesitated, but only because it seemed so odd to even be having such a conversation with her. “I did.”

  “Augie.” Liquid rimmed her lower lids. “I am so very proud of you.”

  He looked away. He didn’t want her pride at that moment. Not when he was the cause of all of this. “It shouldn’t have taken you being attacked. They came for me.”

  “We never know the paths our lives are meant to take, cher. What’s it like being Guardian? Have you staked those fanged bastards, yet?” That was Livie, forgive and forget.

  “Not exactly.” His gaze traveled up the steps toward Harlow’s room. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about. Something personal.”

  She smiled. “I’m a little on the dead side, cher. I’ve got no secrets anymore.”

  “I think you’re more of a ghost.”

  She laughed. “That’s still dead.”

  “Either way, I’m coming through.” He slipped through the mirror and stood facing her, the fae plane oddly still for once. He reached out to her. The second their hands met, he grinned. “You’re real. At least on this plane.”

  She pulled him in for a hug. “Good to know, because I really wasn’t sure. Especially since I don’t need that damn cane anymore.” She let him go, the smile on her face adding some much-needed light to the dreary world around them. “Now, what did you need to talk to me about?”

  “Harlow. She came for the funeral and the reading of the will—”

  Livie laughed. “How’d that go over?”

  “She didn’t love it.”

  “I didn’t expect her to.” Livie sniffed. “I guess she hightailed it on back to Boston after that.”

  “Actually, she’s still in New Orleans. Staying in the big guest room on the third floor.”

  Livie’s mouth dropped. “I never would have guessed. After I turned down her request for her father’s name and the money, I didn’t expect to ever see her again.”

  “What money?”

  She looked away. “I’m not sure it’s something I should share.”

  “If it was to pay the eight-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar fine for hacking into some company’s accounts, I already know about it. I’m assuming you know she’s facing jail time if that fine’s not paid.”

  Livie swallowed and nodded hard. “I do and I only said I wasn’t going to give her the money out of anger. I had every intention of giving her the funds at breakfast the next morning. I’d do anything to keep her out of prison. Oh, Augie, you have to get a hold of Lionel Cuthridge; he’s the lawyer you went to see about the trust and all—”

  “She’s already calling him so she should have an appointment with him tomorrow morning.”

  “Excellent. Go with her. Tell him I said to draw the funds from the account in the Caymans. He’ll know that you talked to me that way. You have to keep Harlow safe, Augie.”

  “I will. I already promised you that, didn’t I?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “You did. Have I said how proud I am of you for taking the Guardianship?”

  “You mentioned it.”

  “How’s Lally? Oh, you must bring her through so we can visit.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You know bringing a human to the fae plane is part of what got me in trouble in the first place.” He shook his head. “She’s doing well, but she does miss you something awful. She did a beautiful job on your funeral. The turnout was incredible.”

  She preened a little, then her face went stern. “Augustine. You’re the Guardian now. If you deem it necessary to bring a human to the fae plane, who’s going to stop you? Now, no more sass. Bring Lally through. Bring some bourbon, too. This place is dry as a bone.”

  “Livie, there’s something else I need to ask you about. Someone, really.”

  She sat on a nearby outcropping of rock, patting the stone ledge next to her. “Who’s that, cher?”

  He stayed standing. “Joseph Branzino.”

  She paled, a considerable feat for a woman who was technically dead. Her hand drifted toward her throat. “I haven’t heard that name in years. How… how do you know that name?”

  “He showed up at the cemetery claiming to be Harlow’s father.”

  “I knew this would happen when I was gone.” She shook her head. “Is Harlow all right? What happened?”

  “I took care of it. Is he Harlow’s father?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes went hollow, the spark of joy that had been there dying off like the last of the summer lightning bugs. “He’s also the most evil man I know.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Giselle followed the man she knew as Dell, slipping into his house under cover of the masking spell she’d used. Despite being hidden that way, she’d uncharacteristically dressed in all black. Just in case she had to make a quick getaway and disappear into the night.

  He paused once in the kitchen as he unpacked the takeout dinner he’d brought home. He stared in her direction like he’d heard something. She froze, pressing herself into a dark corner and praying to the goddess he wouldn’t look too closely. The masking spell wasn’t exactly a cloak of invisibility.

  When he went back to his dinner, she exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Rice and beans with a greasy sausage and a side of fried okra. That would do nicely. He took a beer from the fridge and as he was about to carry his meal into the other room, she used a small spell to make the doorbell ring.

  He put the food down and left to answer it. She flew into action, mixing the powder Father Ogun had sold her into his dinner. It disappeared into the red beans and rice without a trace.

  “Damn kids,” he muttered as he returned. He picked up his food and his beer and headed for the living room, where he turned on the holovision and settled down to eat. She stayed in the kitchen where she could see him, but not too close. This wasn’t some underequipped human she was dealing with. Some fae could sense things and she didn’t know enough about this one to judge exactly what his abilities were.

  Halfway through the basketball game, he got up for another beer. She prayed to the goddess that the alcohol would help her ca
use. After he finished his meal, she gave him another fifteen minutes, just to make sure the powder had taken hold.

  Then she snuck into the living room and bent down from behind the sofa to whisper in his ear. “Scratch your head.”

  He went very still and for a second, she thought he was going to turn and ask her what the hell she was doing in his house. Then his hand drifted into his hair and scratched.

  She smiled. Father Ogun’s powder had been worth the price. She bent down again, this time with new instructions. “Get your tablet. You want to write a note.”

  He stood and walked zombie-like down the hall and into a small office. They passed a stairway with a small curved landing at the top that overlooked the foyer. She made a note of that for later.

  He went through the motions of unlocking the tablet. It came to life, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his blown-out pupils. He was well under the drug’s thrall. She leaned toward him, whispering what she needed him to type.

  When he was done, she instructed him to leave the tablet open on his desk, then began filling his head with exactly what she needed him to do next.

  “What on earth would make you get involved with that man, Livie?” Augustine stared at her in a way that made her feel small, but that feeling wasn’t really his doing. It was her own disgust with herself.

  “I met him on a movie set. He was one of the moneymen, so everyone treated him like a king, but I was the only one of the actresses in the film that didn’t jump into his bed the second he looked at them.”

  She sighed, remembering. “He had a way about him, a charm so thick it made seeing what lay beneath impossible. But it wasn’t the sweet talk and the gifts that got me, it was his ability to listen, the way he’d sit for hours asking me about myself and just acting as though my stories fed his soul in some kind of way.” She snorted, a bitter, disillusioned noise of self-deprecation. “I had no idea how true that was.”

  Augie finally sat beside her. “What do you mean?”

  She turned to him and took his hand, squeezing it hard because it was so good to be able to touch someone again and so good to have him near. Fear she hadn’t felt in years choked her. “Branzino has barely any human blood in him at all. When he goes out in public, he uses magic to pass as human.”