“Augustine.”
“Fenton. Good to hear from you. I have a few things to go over.”
“Save them until you get to the address I just sent you. We have a situation.”
By the sound of Fenton’s voice, it wasn’t anything good. “Such as?”
“Just get here.”
Harlow was ecstatic that taking care of her fine had been so easy, but Augustine hadn’t been in much of a mood to talk on the ride home. He’d dropped her off and sped away, something about Guardian business. She went inside, her head spinning with the sense of release and what that meant for her life now.
Like staying in New Orleans and trying to make a new start for herself. One where everything she did was aboveboard and completely legit. “Lally,” she called out. “Where are you?”
“In the library, child.”
Harlow ran into the room. Lally was wiping the books down with a soft cloth. Harlow couldn’t keep the grin off her face. “It’s done. The fine’s taken care of.”
“Praise the Lord, that is good news!” Lally grinned right back. “I think that calls for a big supper, don’t you? Maybe cake.”
Harlow nodded. “Oh, yes. Chocolate. Please?”
Lally laughed and went back to cleaning off the books. “You got it. I got a chocolate cola cake recipe my tante give me that is to die for.”
“What’s a tante?”
Lally smiled. “Means my aunt.”
Harlow leaned against one of the built-in bookcases. “I have a lot to learn about this place.”
Lally slid the book she’d finished with back onto the shelf, then turned to Harlow again. “This means you’re staying, right? And you ain’t selling the house?”
Harlow went still for a moment, her smile leveling out. “I… am. Staying, that is. And no, I’m not selling the house.” She bit her lip. “The whole thing scares me witless, but the truth is, with my mother’s estate paying the fine I feel like I owe it to her to finally do something she wants.” And not just for legal reasons. It was time to make some changes in her life.
Relief lit Lally’s face. “You got to want it, too, child.”
“I do. A fresh start would do me good and with Branzino around, I feel safer here with you and Augustine than in Boston on my own.”
“That man is no good.”
“No, he’s not.” Harlow knew she’d be doing more digging on him now that Augustine had helped her connect Branzino as the client that had gotten her in trouble. “If it’s okay with you, I thought maybe I’d have a look at the rest of the house. Maybe my mother’s room.”
Lally tsked. “You don’t have to ask if that’s okay with me. It’s your house. You go on and explore all you want. Your mama’s room is on the second floor, same as yours. She took the elevator these last few years. Easier on the old bones.”
“Thanks.” A hint of sadness crept over Harlow at the thought of her mother growing old in this house and Harlow not being a part of those years. That regret would be with her the rest of her life. “I’m sorry we didn’t get off to a better start. I’m glad you were here for my mother. That she had such a good friend with her.” When I wasn’t. But those words seemed implied.
Lally flicked the cleaning cloth at her. “Go on, now, before I go all weepy.” But she smiled and nodded like she understood.
Harlow climbed the stairs to the second floor and found her mother’s room on the first try. The moment she entered, the fragrance of her mother’s lemony perfume greeted her, making her feel like Olivia might walk in the room at any moment. The master suite was impressively furnished, although a bit overdone for Harlow’s tastes. Olivia’s had always run toward the dramatic, so the ivory, green, and purple that swathed the space was no surprise.
Mementos of the movies she’d worked on were scattered throughout; pictures from some of the sets or Olivia in costume, shadow boxes containing small props, the Oscar she’d won for supporting actress for the last role she’d taken before retiring.
Harlow’s gloved fingers traced the gleaming statuette. There was so much she’d missed out on in her mother’s life. Harlow opened a set of double doors and walked into the most amazing closet she’d ever seen.
The air was thick with the scent of her mother’s perfume here, but there was comfort in that lemony tang. She walked past the racks of clothes, her fingers trailing over the gorgeous fabrics. The back of the closet held the fanciest dresses of all. Harlow stood there for a moment, admiring the gowns covered in crystals and feathers and sequins. “Ooo… shiny.”
A soft breeze slid past her bare ankles.
She glanced down. How was there a breeze in here? Lally’s statement about the house being haunted echoed through her head, but she refused to believe what she’d felt had anything to do with a ghost. She crouched down to look. One of the gowns had feathers down the skirt. They fluttered just enough to make her even more curious. She dug her hands between the dresses and shoved them back.
A seam ran up the wall. She followed it with her fingers. It outlined the shape of a small door. There was no handle, so she pushed on it. Nothing. Not even a creak. She pushed the clothes farther apart and leaned her ear against the door. The breeze she’d felt made a whispering noise on the other side. One that almost sounded like words. She stood back and stared.
As much as the space intrigued her, she supposed it wasn’t that unusual. Old houses all had secret rooms, right? And they were drafty. Didn’t mean there was anything in there. Probably just led into the closet in the next room. Plus, she’d come up here for more than just looking at her mother’s room. Harlow wanted to try a little experiment. She spread the dresses back over the space, covering the hidden door, then left the closet to look around for an item that would work—and found something perfect on her mother’s dresser.
A handful of costume jewelry was strewn over the velvet-draped surface, but in the center sat a large fleur-de-lis marcasite pendant on a chain, just the sort of sparkly bit her mother would like. Harlow picked it up and sat in the ivory silk club chair in the suite’s sitting area.
She laid it on her lap, then pulled her gloves off. Staying in New Orleans meant accepting who she was. No more running from being fae, something that was almost impossible in a place where everyone already knew that’s what she was. If she could use her gifts to help, then they couldn’t be bad, could they? The only way for her to get really comfortable with her heritage was to learn to control—and use—these gifts she’d been born with.
Starting with the one that had crippled her.
She eased her bare fingers under the pendant, the cool metal warming as it touched her skin. Like a switch had been flipped, images began rushing through her mind. The scent of her mother’s perfume intensified and distant laughter filled her ears. She dropped the necklace and took a few deep breaths. She could do this. She would do this.
Slipping her fingers beneath the pendant, she closed her eyes and mentally clamped down the same way she did when entering a fragged database.
This time the images slowed and the overwhelming scent of lemon faded to a tolerable level. The laughter seemed to gain clarity, enough that Harlow knew it belonged to Olivia. The first image that came through clearly was of Augustine, his horns as large as they’d been the night of Nokturnos, handing over a box. A feeling of joy followed, then a sense of loss that Harlow understood because she was the one who’d caused it.
She dropped the pendant, opened her eyes and sat back. The pendant had been a gift from him to Olivia. Harlow knew it with an undeniable certainty. The gesture had given her mother great happiness but had also reminded Olivia of Harlow’s absence in her life.
Harlow tipped her head back and took a deep breath in an effort to stem the tears threatening to spill. A few leaked anyway, trickling down into her hairline. Is this what it was going to take to master this gift? Feeling things so deeply that it was like experiencing them as the person they belonged to? Having her emotions shredded?
S
he lifted her head and wiped at her eyes before putting her gloves back on, then she picked up the pendant and stared at how it caught the light. No wonder her mother had loved it.
Olivia had always seen the good in people, the bright side of every situation, the silver lining in every storm. Harlow shook her head, the lump in her throat almost impossible to swallow around. She’d never be her mother, but maybe, if she really worked at it, she could become a fraction of the person her mother had wanted her to. The fae her mother had wanted her to be.
Harlow fastened the chain around her neck. The metal warmed to her skin. She sat, letting the emotions from the piece run through her until there was nothing left. At least this way, she could feel like a part of her mother was still with her.
It was the only way Harlow could think of to make peace with the past.
Chapter Thirty-one
Damn it.” Augustine stared at the body dangling from the railing of the second story of the Garden District house and shook his head. Dreich, his lieutenant and Khell’s cousin, had hung himself. “What happened?”
Fenton sighed. “Guilt, I guess.”
“Over what?”
“He left a note confessing to letting the vampires in.”
“Dreich?” Augustine shook his head. “I’m not buying it. He might have been involved, but I have good reason to believe Branzino is in on this. Where’s the note?”
“On his tablet. It was left open and unlocked.”
“That’s convenient.”
Fenton nodded. “Agreed. You really think Branzino is part of this?”
“Yes. I found out a hell of lot more about him from Livie. He’s raptor fae, but basically lives as human mafia.”
Fenton’s brows shot up. “That’s doubly bad. Why would he get involved in all this then?”
Augustine mapped out the conclusions he and Harlow had come up with.
Fenton sighed. “It’s convoluted, but I’ve heard worse.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “We have a lot of work to do getting to the bottom of this. Do you think Branzino suspects you’re aware of his involvement?”
“No. And we should keep it that way.”
“Agreed. Why don’t we spin this then, let Dreich shoulder the whole burden of guilt until we know otherwise.”
Augustine nodded. “I don’t like letting a potentially innocent man be the fall guy, but it’s a solid plan.”
“I wouldn’t say potentially innocent. A cursory check of his bank account showed several large deposits recently.” Fenton swiped at his mouth. “He looks good for at least being involved. Maybe he was jealous of his cousin’s position, who knows. It’ll come out as we investigate further.”
“I never figured him for this.” Augustine stepped aside to let a police officer pass. “What’s the human take going to be?”
Fenton’s gaze followed the officer until he was out the door. “Same as our story. Just as it looks, a suicide.”
Augustine raised a brow. “Let’s say he is involved. This suicide is awfully neat. So either Branzino is still in town or he’s got people here.”
Fenton blew out a sigh.
Augustine waited for a second cop to go by. “It’s just too convenient we now have a confession that leads to an instant dead end—excuse the expression. Other than these deposits, we don’t have any other evidence that points to Dreich. All I know is that Giselle is the witch behind the spell on the cross and she claims to have done it for a fae named Dell, so am I supposed to think that Dell is Dreich and consider this case closed? Because I don’t. Not until I do more digging.”
Fenton shook his head. “It stinks.”
“Damn straight it does. Can we trust the police to work with us on this?”
“Yes. They don’t want vampires in this city any more than we do.” Fenton held up a finger. “But for now, we move forward like we believe this is exactly what it appears to be. That we have our vampire connection sewn up.”
Augustine nodded. “Hopefully whoever he was working with will think they’re off the hook. All they need to do is feel comfortable enough to slip up.” He glanced around the police officers. “Who’s in charge of the human side of this investigation?”
“Come with me.” Fenton led him into the office. Dreich’s tablet was on the desk, black dust covering all the surfaces. If the cops were looking for prints, they didn’t think this was a suicide, either. Or they were at least going through the motions. A familiar-looking man stood in one corner, his rumpled sport coat making him look like he’d yet to get to bed, as did the cup of takeout coffee he was nursing. The officer he was talking with left as they approached. “This is Detective Grantham. Detective, this is Augustine Robelais. He’s our newly appointed Guardian.”
Grantham stuck his hand out. His skin was a shade or two darker than Lally’s, and his knuckles showed a matrix of scars. “Good to meet you.”
Augustine shook the man’s hand. “Are you… J.J. ‘One Punch’ Grantham?”
The detective laughed. “I haven’t heard that name since I forgot to take out the trash and my wife yelled at me. Yeah, that was me. Lotta years ago.”
“Your last fight was at Harrah’s, right? You were a legend.”
“Around here, maybe, but…” He shrugged. “Time came to move on and do something that wouldn’t turn me into a crippled mess in my old age.” He sipped his coffee. “You knew the deceased?”
“I did. Not well, though. His cousin was the last Guardian, the one killed by vampires a week ago.”
Grantham nodded. “That is one problem I’d like to eradicate. Immediately. I’m tired of seeing tourists in my morgue.”
“It’s not good for any of us, fae or human.”
Fenton interrupted. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Augustine, call me if you need me.” He nodded at the detective. “Grantham.”
Grantham nodded back. “Fenton.” Then he returned his attention to Augustine. “You buy the confession Dreich left?”
Augustine shook his head. “Yes and no.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning maybe he was involved, but I questioned him a day ago before we raided the Hotel St. Helene on a lead that the vampires were holed up there. They were, but someone must have tipped them off…” Augustine glanced back toward the foyer, where the coroner was in the process of cutting the body down. “Damn it. I really don’t want him to have been behind this.”
“Then who?”
“I don’t know.” He wasn’t ready to share his theory on Branzino with the cops. Anything they did could tip him off. “It feels bigger than one person, though.”
Grantham nodded. “I’d buy that.”
“The witches are involved. I don’t know how deeply, but I know Giselle Vincent had her hands in this.” Augustine explained how the vampire they’d taken into custody had gotten killed, about the cross he’d found and how he’d had it read, but left Harlow’s name out of it. “If you and your guys find anything that links back to any of the witches, I want to know immediately.”
“I’ll make sure of it, but you really think Giselle Vincent is involved in this? Her father’s a pretty big deal. Why would she do anything to muck that up?”
“Because she hates the rule the fae have imposed on the witches.”
One of the forensic agents came in. “Detective, we found some kind of powder on the kitchen counter.” She held up what looked like an empty glassine bag.
“Any idea what it is?” Grantham asked as he took the bag.
She shook her head. “No, and there was barely enough on the counter to get a sample but we’ll rush it to lab as soon as we get back.”
He opened it and sniffed. “Hmm.” Then he held it out to Augustine.
Augustine took a whiff, but shook his head. “Nothing I recognize, but it smells… earthy. And old. Like dirt, but not dirt.”
“Good assessment.” Grantham sealed the bag and handed it back to the forensic officer. “Smells like bokura to me.”
&n
bsp; “What’s that?”
Grantham’s face took on the kind of serious air Augustine recognized as that of a man about to go to war. “In layman’s terms, zombie powder.”
Augustine almost snorted. “Are you serious?”
“The practice of voodoo is just as prevalent in the dark corners of this city as the witches’ magic is. Used in the right doses, bokura could make a man very pliable. A person could drug someone with bokura and get them to do all sorts of things they’d never consider sober.”
Augustine swore under his breath. “Vampires, witches and voodoo. I picked a great time to become Guardian.” He shook his head. “Voodoo is one thing I’ve always steered clear of. All the fae do, it’s considered as off-limits as witchcraft to us, but not because we have any dark history with it. Because of that, I have no real sources to go to on this.”
“I do,” Grantham answered. “My grandmother is a mambo, a voodoo priestess.”
Augustine nodded, happy he hadn’t said anything about voodoo being crazy.
“I’ll talk to her,” Grantham said. “See what she can tell me about who might have made this powder, but more than that, who might have sold some recently. Fenton gave me your contact info before you got here, so I’ll fill you in once I know something.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Although he had a feeling if the circles in the voodoo world were as closed as the witches’, he wouldn’t be getting much information. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some vampires to kill.”
Harlow knew something was up by the slam of the door. She dropped her laptop and raced downstairs, running into Augustine half a flight down. “What’s going on?”
A hardness she hadn’t seen before had taken over his face. “I’ve had enough. Too many deaths, too many damn vampires.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small black amulet. “You said you’d read this for me. Are you okay with doing that now? If so I’ll get Dulcinea over here as soon as—”
House of the Rising Sun Page 34
