by Jaye Wells
When we walked back in, bodies scattered like cockroaches in a suddenly illuminated room. Giguhl and Brooks scampered over to the altar, where they tried their damnedest to look like they hadn’t just been eavesdropping.
Zenobia sat near the window like a queen waiting to receive visitors. I swallowed the flare of pride that threatened to make me renege on my promise to Adam. Instead, I called up Maisie’s face in my mind’s eye. I took a deep breath and reminded myself this apology was nothing more than a necessary evil en route to finding my sister. I stopped in front of the voodoo priestess and tried to look contrite. “I’m sorry I called you a cow.”
She inclined her head. “And?”
I paused, trying to figure out what else I had to apologize for. “And what?”
“You forgot to say you’ll be more generous in your attitude toward the mortally challenged.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, I thought. Adam cleared his throat, a subtle reminder to keep my temper in check. With great effort, I nodded. “I promise I’ll try.”
She ran a tongue over her teeth as she assessed my sincerity. “In addition, I demand that you vow not to feed on me, my employees, or my customers.”
I looked up at the ceiling, praying for patience. “Not a problem.” The truth was, with the exception of a slipup in New York no one knew about, I hadn’t fed directly from a human in weeks. I still didn’t like the taste of bagged blood, but I had to admit it saved me a lot of trouble.
Zen nodded in approval of my easy acceptance of her terms.
I continued. “Just point me in the direction of the nearest blood bank and we’ll be good to go.”
Zen drew back with a grimace. “I’ll do no such thing. The good people of New Orleans need that blood more than you.”
I sighed. “Look, lady, what do you expect me to do? Starve?”
“I didn’t say that,” Zen said. Her smile gave me a feeling I wouldn’t like the next thing out of her mouth. “There is another perfectly acceptable solution. A butcher friend of mine would be happy to sell you all the cow’s blood you’ll need.”
“Fine.” Not that I was looking forward to sucking on farm animals or anything, but I just wanted this conversation over with already. I raised an eyebrow, challenging her to add another stipulation.
Instead, she stood up with a clap. “Excellent! And now that that’s settled, why don’t I show you to your rooms?”
“Wait,” Adam said.
“Yes?” she said with a raised eyebrow.
“You’re still going to help us?”
“Of course, cher. A proper southern woman never allows a simple misunderstanding to get in the way of hospitality.” She chuckled and rose from her seat. She paused. “Besides, Rhea warned me about this one’s”—she nodded toward me—“colorful personality.”
She sauntered over to Adam and slid her arm through his. He laughed—somewhat uncomfortably, mind you—and seemed to enjoy playing the gallant gentleman as he led her from the room with Brooks and Giguhl trailing them. I glared after them but managed not to call out a colorful retort.
Zenobia’s passive-aggressive comment had painted me in a corner. If I argued her point, it would just prove she’d been right.
Before I joined them, I cracked my neck from side to side. Breathing in a martyred sigh, I reminded my temper to behave itself. If I’d learned one thing, it was that killing people who annoyed me generally created more problems than it solved.
I mentally patted myself on the back. See? Totally growing.
5
Half an hour later, Adam, Giguhl, and I walked toward the halogen lights in Jackson Square. After Zen had shown us our rooms—actually an attic apartment on the third floor of her building—we’d decided to do a quick walking tour of the immediate area. I wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing exactly where I was and what lurked in the French Quarter’s shadows.
We passed Pirate’s Alley and entered the square in front of St. Louis Cathedral. Two young boys played large plastic buckets like drums for a crowd of tourists. Palm readers sat behind card tables scattered throughout the area. No one found it ironic to offer such a pagan service in the shadow of the looming cathedral.
With a sigh, I allowed my worries to float away down the Mississippi. My shoulders unknotted, and my breathing slowed for the first time in days. I even found myself smiling at a persistent fortune-teller who promised she could tell my future. Even if I thought she could help—which I didn’t—I was content to allow myself to be in the now for the moment.
We were finally getting somewhere, and while the situation was far from ideal, I could almost feel Maisie here. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but the city pulsed with magic. A dark, earthy energy swirled beneath the streets, down in the city’s swampy foundations.
But I also detected a lighter, more familiar power in the air. If this magic had a color, it was cool cobalt blue. If this magic had a scent, it was bright cedar and jasmine.
My chest swelled with hope and my pulse picked up. Maisie was here somewhere. I just knew it.
Then my gaze landed on a middle-aged woman forking a twenty over to a fortune-teller with greasy hair and a couple of missing teeth. The trust and naked hope in the customer’s face gave me pause. Did my expression mirror hers?
Adam backtracked a few steps to check on me. Giguhl was perched on his shoulders, but the cat was too busy taking in the carnival of the senses to notice my distress.
“Red? You all right?” Adam asked.
I took a deep breath and dragged my eyes from the desperate woman at the table. I knew better than to put my faith in intangibles. Gut feelings, talismans, prayers to selfish gods—these things wouldn’t get Maisie back. Only clear thinking and strategy would get the job done.
I nodded at Adam. “Yeah, just watching foolish mortals get suckered out of their rent money.” Dismissing the scene with a wave, I pulled him away. As we walked, I pulled Giguhl onto my shoulders. For some reason, the weight and warmth of his little body helped dispel some of the lingering fog of worry.
We skirted the square containing a statue of Andrew Jackson and headed up the brick avenue toward the river. A crowd gathered at the corner, watching a living statue pose. The woman was dressed to resemble the Statue of Liberty, with her skin painted convincing verdigris. We paused at the edge of the crowd and watched her for a moment.
“Oh, my gods, what’s that smell?” Giguhl hissed from my shoulder. His little pink nose went up like a periscope searching for the source by smell alone.
I sniffed the air. The muddy scent of the Mississippi melded with the seductive aroma of warm blood flowing through all those mortal veins. But I was confident neither mud nor blood were making Giguhl squirm and snort the air like it was cocaine. Instead, I took a wild stab that it might be the scents of sugary fried beignets and smoky chicory coffee coming from the other side of the street.
“Café du Monde,” Adam said, pointing to the patio with its green-and-white-striped awning and the long line of mortals looking for a fix.
“Can we get some?” the demon cat hissed by my ear. “Pleeease.”
I exchanged a look with Adam. The defeated kind two tired parents shared over the head of a whining toddler. Finally, the mage sighed. “You want some, too?”
I shook my head. Adam lifted the hairless cat from my shoulder and held him like an ugly football under his arm. “Come on.” He shot me a long-suffering look. “We’ll be right back.”
While the mage jogged across the street to join the long line outside the café, I leaned against a brick wall to watch the performers. The area was humming with activity. In addition to Lady Liberty, a man in a tinfoil suit performed The Robot to music blaring from a boom box near his feet. Beyond them, artists hawked portraits of jazz greats and woven reed baskets to tourists exiting the hansom cabs parked along Decatur Street. Further downriver, a paddleboat curtsied in the water like a young miss at a cotillion.
I was just about to carry on with my str
oll when a familiar screech made my veins go arctic. I ducked out of instinct and scanned the sky. Sure enough, a white-feathered form circled the cathedral’s spire. I knew without a closer look that the owl had blood-red eyes.
Stryx.
The owl had followed me for weeks—all the way from Los Angeles to San Francisco and then across the country to New York. Originally, Adam and I thought Stryx was a spy that worked for the goddess Lilith. She was stuck in Irkalla, the dark-race underworld, and it was believed Stryx served as her eyes on earth. Back then Stryx mostly stayed out of my way, so I considered him harmless.
But in New York I found out he hadn’t worked for Lilith at all, but instead had been spying on me for the Caste of Nod. The owl had shared my location with them so they could orchestrate attempts on my life. During the big battle at the mage compound I’d shot the winged rat, but apparently he’d recovered from his injuries.
And his presence in New Orleans meant we were on the right track.
I turned to go tell Adam, but the scent of copper hit my nose like a punch. Unlike the pleasant metallic scent of warm blood, the telltale aroma of vampire stunk like the residue of copper pennies on the skin.
My stomach dropped as I swiveled to scan the area. So many people milled around I didn’t see her at first. Then, as if Moses had parted it, the crowd dispersed.
She stood as still as one of the living statues in front of the iron fence skirting the square. Her carmine hair stood out like a wound against the funeral-ready black dress she wore like a shroud.
Lavinia.
I’m not sure if I whispered her name aloud or screamed it in my head. Either way, seeing her stand not fifty feet away made my pulse jack into hyperdrive. Cold sweat drenched my skin, and every muscle in my body tensed. I froze, waiting for her to run or attack or… something.
Instead, she merely raised an eyebrow in challenge. In typical Lavinia fashion, she was making me come to her. My sweaty palm curled into a fist. I briefly considered pulling my gun, but with so many mortal witnesses it would be too risky.
Moving slowly, I narrowed the distance between us. My mind spun through every possible scenario. Lavinia hadn’t randomly chosen this spot. Despite vampires having little concern over the safety of mortals, for the most part we followed an unwritten rule that required discretion around them. As Alpha Domina, Lavinia might consider herself above that rule, but she was counting on me being very aware of our audience. Which meant she wanted to talk. And that heightened my anxiety even more. A fight I could handle, but a talk meant surprises. I’d had enough of those to last me eternity. Especially since my grandmother always knew which buttons to push—the ones that would fuck with my head.
Of course, I showed none of this unease to her. I simply stopped and tilted my head, telling her it was her move. The corner of her blood-red lips lifted, but she humored me and took several steps forward. Now only about five feet separated us.
Five feet and a chasm of bitterness so wide and deep it could never be crossed. Not without one of us dying. And I planned on living for a long time yet.
“Sabina,” she purred. Behind her, Stryx came to land on the tall black gate. His red eyes didn’t blink as he watched me. “You don’t call. You don’t write. It’s enough to break a grandmother’s heart.”
My eyes narrowed. I wanted to punch that shit-eating grin off her face. Instead, I said, “Oh, Lavinia.” Her eyes narrowed at my impertinent use of her given name. Good. “Let’s not fool ourselves. We both know you don’t have a heart to break.” As I spoke, my hand snaked back between my waistband and leather jacket.
“You’ve always been such a troublesome child. Always needing to be reminded to use your head,” she said, clucking her tongue and looking pointedly at my bent arm. “However will you find that sister of yours if you kill me now?”
“First of all, there’s no way killing you wouldn’t be the best thing that happened to me ever.” The sweat-slicked surface of my palm slid across the butt of my gun. “And as for Maisie, well, you let me worry about that.”
She crossed her arms and regarded me with a tilt of her head. “If I may offer another suggestion?”
I hated myself for hesitating. I should have already put a bullet between her eyes, witnesses be damned. But concern for Maisie and, frankly, plain gut-twisting fear stilled my hand. My eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Surrender.”
A laugh escaped from me. A harsh, angry sound. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re naive if you think you’ll emerge victorious if this comes to a battle. Besides, do you really want your sister’s death on your conscience—”
“Please. Drop the patronizing act, okay? We both know you’ll kill Maisie if I surrender.”
She pursed her lips so hard they turned white. “Do not interrupt me again, child. You forget to whom you speak. Do you think I achieved the rank of Alpha Domina by being nice? I have spilled a river of blood in my lifetime. One mighty enough to rival the one behind you.”
I raised my chin. “I killed Tanith.” If I couldn’t tell her the truth, I’d use a lie to my advantage.
Her expression flickered. “So I heard. A regrettable loss. Tanith had a killer instinct for business, but she was no fighter. Do you honestly think you can best me?”
My hands trembled now. I ignored her question. No point in answering it anyway. We both understood the odds here. “If you’re so confident in your victory, why not let it play out?”
“Because despite your high opinion of your significance, you’re merely an inconvenience. One I’d like to dispose of quickly so I can focus on more important issues.”
The jab hit home, but I didn’t show it. “You mean the war.”
She tipped her chin to acknowledge the truth of that statement. “Among other things.”
“So the prophecy, then? If you really believe I’m destined to fuck up your war plans, why haven’t you killed me yet?”
“What I believe in is inconsequential. Master Mahan has plans that happen to support my personal goals.” When she said that name—“Master Mahan”—Stryx hooted softly. I ignored him because, well, I didn’t like looking at him with his freaky red eyes and his creepy tendency to screech my name at odd intervals.
I’d never heard the name in my life. “Who is that?”
Lavinia tilted her head and gave me the same look one might give a slow child. “Master Mahan”—another hoot “—is the leader of the Caste… among other things. And he’s eager to meet you, Sabina.”
Obviously, I needed more information about that, but I knew she was trying to sidetrack me. “And what do you want?”
“To erase all mages from the planet.” She smiled with anticipation that made my blood run cold. “Especially the mixed-bloods.”
I didn’t react to her bait. After all, it’s not like she’d said anything I didn’t already know. “And Master Mahan? What does he want?”
She shrugged. “He wants the mages dead, as well, but for a different reason.”
“You forgot to mention he wants me dead, too. To ensure the war happens, right?”
Her eyes shot left. “You’ll find out his plans for you soon enough.”
I sighed. Cryptic bullshit always annoyed me. “How can I be sure Maisie’s even still alive?”
She withdrew something from the pocket of her dress. Gold glinted as she held it up to the light. Recognizing the jewelry, my veins went icy.
Maisie’s necklace.
The amulet symbolized her position as the High Priestess of the Chaste Moon. The moonstone matched the one around my own neck, as did the inscription on the gold setting, which read: For she is the torchbearer, this daughter of Hekate; she will light the way. In fact, the only difference between my necklace and Maisie’s was the smear of blood across the surface of her moonstone.
My stomach cramped with fear for my twin. I reached for the amulet, but Lavinia pulled it out of range, forcing me to step forward to capture it. Finally, my
hand closed around the warm golden chain and I jerked it away.
“This doesn’t prove shit,” I gritted through clenched teeth.
“It’s the best you’re getting. Surrender now and you can go see her for yourself tonight.”
“Where is she?”
“Someplace most vampires wouldn’t be caught dead.” She chuckled as if she’d made a joke. “Now, are you going to surrender? Or are you going to force my hand and make me pick off each of your friends to make you see reason?” She jerked her head to indicate something behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see Adam crossing the street. The cat’s ass jutted from inside a white paper bag in his arms. The mage’s eyes scanned the crowd, obviously looking for me.
I turned back to my grandmother with a smile and crossed my arms. I opened my mouth to say something about it being too late to surrender, not that I ever really considered the option.
But before the words came out, Lavinia leaned in. Cold white hands clamped around my upper arms. “Her blood tastes like nectar.”
A flash of white rage exploded in my brain. Then an image of my grandmother bent over Maisie’s neck made my vision go bloody. I sprang forward with hands bent into claws and fangs snapping.
From far away, I heard Adam shout, “Sabina!”
Too late. Too late for reason. Too late for strategy or cool heads. The reel tape of Lavinia feeding from Maisie played over and over in fast-forward. And the soundtrack to that horror film was the voice in my head chanting kill, kill, kill.
Lavinia stumbled back, out of reach. Rage rocketed me forward. My nails sunk into the flesh of her shoulders. Slow motion. The whites of her eyes. My fangs throbbing. The descent toward her throbbing jugular. A loud pop. Stryx’s ear-piercing screech. Flapping wings. A hot blast of magic.
My momentum thrust me forward into empty air. The spot where she’d stood only milliseconds before. Ground rushed to meet my face. Crack of bone against brick. Stinging palms. The air and all sense knocked out of me.
