[Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine

by Barbara Monajem

  Fine, but it wasn’t going to be a present, not for either of them. He was so beautiful and completely impossible, and she would absolutely die if he shunned her. How could he do anything else? It must be bad enough to be under constant scrutiny. He wouldn’t want a lover—or even a friend—who saw right through him all the time, who humiliated him by her very existence. She sat on a kitchen chair and tried to paint the little toe on her left foot, but her hand shook. “Damn.”

  He left the room and came back a few seconds later with the nail polish remover. He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her. “Spit it out, babe. It can’t be that bad.” He cleaned up the mess on her toe and set to work.

  “It is.” She took a breath and blurted, “I see auras.”

  “I figured it was something like that. Excellently cool.”

  Oh, crap, he was one of those. She hadn’t told all that many people, but those she had fell into two categories: enthusiastic, curious, and often jealous, or frankly appalled. Usually the first group merged with the second in the end, once they realized what the auras told her.

  “So what’s the big deal?”

  That was a different response, but since he had so many weird abilities, hers probably didn’t come as a surprise. “I can tell a lot about people by their auras,” she said.

  “Yeah, obviously,” he said. “So what’s the problem? It seems like a useful tool.”

  “Right, like camouflaging yourself against a towel and watching someone. Useful and completely nosy and obnoxious.”

  “Come on now,” he said. “You don’t really mind me watching you.”

  She felt herself blushing. Cripes, she wasn’t sixteen anymore.

  “I assumed tricking you a little would get the confession over with faster,” he said.

  “How did you do it? Is that why Lavonia didn’t see you in the tree?”

  A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. He had a great mouth and astonishing kisses. “It’s just illusion,” he said. “I can telepath images as well as thoughts, to make people see what I want them to. In that instance, the image blended my shape with the tree’s, so they didn’t notice me.” He paused, carefully painting her little toe. “A friend of mine is a true chameleon. He genuinely blends into the background. It would be interesting to know if you can see his aura when he’s in total camouflage.”

  Marguerite sipped her cappuccino and said nothing. Maybe if she let him talk, he wouldn’t ask any more questions.

  He finished one foot and started on the other. For a guy, he did a mighty good job of painting toenails. “So what do auras look like? It’s got to be more than colors, like I’ve read about in books.”

  “It’s complicated,” she said with a sigh. “Yes, it’s partly colors, but nothing simple like red being anger and green being envy. Auras manifest themselves in varying combinations of colors, shapes, and sizes, and they move constantly, sort of like electronic waves with irregular cycles. Some people have very, uh, talkative auras, while others are calmer and more restrained. Some people—maybe your friend is one of them—can hide their auras almost completely. It’s a lot like reading body language, only there’s another dimension, which makes it easier to recognize the nuances of feelings people are trying to hide, like anger, jealousy, fear.” She paused; this was his chance to explain what had happened last night—what had made him so afraid.

  He didn’t. Evidently, he didn’t want to discuss it. She didn’t blame him; a vigilante wouldn’t willingly admit to being scared. He was putting a good face on it, pretending last night’s humiliation didn’t matter, and she should respect what little privacy he still possessed.

  But not about what he’d shown her of his own volition. “These illusions you produce. Is that why people say they see visions at your concerts? Like snakes and eagles and spiders? Like the bear that prowled through my head at Eaton’s?”

  “Yeah, except that rather than trying to blend, I expand my aura—at least I assume that’s what it is—and send telepathic images. It’s fun to do, and fans like it.” He capped the bottle of nail polish and set it aside.

  He hadn’t freaked out about her aura-reading ability. He’d seemed merely… interested. That practically qualified as a miracle.

  Maybe he was so used to people prying into his private life that he just didn’t care. Marguerite’s mother had certainly found it unbearable. Dad had been harder to read, except when the scandal broke and he’d been hurt, but everyone knew that, and he’d welcomed her childish sympathy. Marguerite had been dropped by a couple of boyfriends and had dropped a few as well because of her stupid ability. As for her uncle… oh, how that jerk had hated her for seeing in his aura that he had lustful feelings for her. She’d only been a kid, but she’d threatened to scream bloody murder if he so much as touched her, and he’d backed off.

  A useful tool, Constantine put it. Well, it had saved her from the sexual molestation her uncle had envisioned. And she’d been insane with worry when, after her father’s death, her mother had decided to move to Baton Rouge with Marguerite’s timid little sister, because he might try it with her, and he might succeed. Mom had refused to believe a word against him. Marguerite would have had to make a huge stink. Another media freak-out, a slander suit from her uncle—it had all spread out before her in a ghastly array. She’d had no proof, and she’d never been able to find any. She just knew.

  And then Uncle Dan had beaten up Leopard, Constantine had publicly sworn vengeance, and soon afterward, her uncle had shot himself.

  She didn’t agree with physical or psychic violence. It didn’t feel right to thank him for causing her uncle’s death—to approve of causing anyone’s death—but in this case she sure wanted to. She wanted—

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The doorbell rang. Thankful for the reprieve, Constantine sprang up to answer it. He might not be able to read auras, but she’d clearly been thinking about asking him something, probably something personal. He’d told her how he produced illusions to avoid any personal questions. There were so many rumors about his psychic abilities that it didn’t matter whether she blabbed about it or not. He listened for the chicken in his head, but there was only silence.

  Which didn’t mean he wasn’t a coward. It meant he already knew he was.

  Leopard walked in and figured him out right away. “Jeez, man. You didn’t get laid yet? Jabez says she’s a hottie.” He was carrying a mug of his usual execrable coffee.

  When they arrived in the kitchen, Marguerite smiled at Lep and put out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Lep shook her hand. “Looking good. You holding out on him, girl?” Typical Lep, getting straight to the point.

  “I don’t think so,” Marguerite said seriously, “but I haven’t had the opportunity to find out for sure.”

  “If you’d just take him to bed and get it over with, we’d all appreciate it very much.”

  Constantine’s guide had ignored him so far this morning, but now he felt it rolling its eyes. Amen, it said.

  “I’ll be sure to take your wishes into consideration.” Marguerite smiled.

  Yearning slammed Constantine. He wanted her in his bed, in his life, smiling at him every damn day, making love every night.

  Making love. Not the way he usually thought of it. Hadn’t thought about it like that for too many years, if ever. Love… just wasn’t an emotion he allowed himself to feel.

  So, he asked the guide, if I have sex with her, the next step is love?

  Afraid so. The guide sounded amused. Constantine returned to chopping veggies for omelets.

  “Jabez is doing such a good job of keeping Nathan away from you that he’s stalking me now.” Lep scrolled down the screen of his phone. “And I quote: ‘For your safety as well as C’s, talk to me.’ He’s such a drama queen. I’ll have to get a new email address.”

  “This is a different spin,” Constantine said. “Yesterday he was worried about the safety of everyone else in town.”

  “It so
unds to me,” Marguerite grumped, “as if he’ll take any twisted idea and run with it.”

  “Pretty much,” Constantine said. Compared to love, Nathan’s crap was easy to handle. “Might as well see what he has to say, Lep. After what happened last night, we have to follow every avenue.”

  Constantine turned to Marguerite. “I’m giving an interview today at the Cat. You want to come, babe?”

  Marguerite glared. “Of course not.”

  So much for the prospect of love. His spirit guide might love him—it must, to stick to him through thick and thin—but he wasn’t a lovable guy, and Marguerite hated the media. “It’s Rolling Stone,” he cajoled. “I know the guy. As interviews go, it won’t be too bad.” She showed no sign of weakening, so he added, “Better than staying here. They’ve already started showing up, and it’ll just get worse.”

  “Who, they?” she asked, but immediately realization crossed her face. “There are reporters out there?”

  “Some,” he said. “Jabez comes by from time to time to disperse them, but they’re a persistent bunch.”

  “They’re crazy. I have nothing to say to them. Won’t they just follow you?” She didn’t seem to need an answer. She swallowed and paced a bit. “No, because I’m easier prey. Even after we make it clear we’re not together, they’ll harass me for a while.” She threw up her hands. “I have to go to work. Yes, I know it’s Sunday, but I have to pick up some stuff to prepare for classes. I’m teaching a new course this term.”

  “Then you’ll take Jabez with you,” Constantine said, and when she bristled, he added, “I insist.”

  “I understand that I need a bodyguard,” she said irritably, “but Jabez needs his beauty sleep.”

  “Give her Reuben,” Lep said, alight with mischief.

  Let Lep have his fun, although Reuben had better not. “Sure,” he said, and, annoyingly, she agreed.

  Lep left after breakfast, and ten minutes later, Reuben arrived. “Your bodyguard’s coming up the walk,” Constantine said, wondering if his aura was giving off jealousy vibes. Since he couldn’t do anything about it, he decided he didn’t care. “I’ve gotta go. Later, babe.”

  Those hazel eyes that saw so much shone with sadness, acknowledging that what little they’d had together was done. “I’m going to miss kissing you,” she said.

  Shaken, he opened the door and left.

  Feeling like a wimp, Marguerite drove over to Hellebore University accompanied by a gorgeous blond bodybuilder and Lawless. No way she was leaving him at home alone because for all she knew the intruder would come back again.

  It was true that she had work to do this morning, but she shouldn’t be so cowardly when it came to the media. Compared to what Constantine went through day in and day out, a little bit of harassment was nothing. Quite frankly, she needed to grow up.

  Thanks to Reuben and Jabez, she’d made it to the car unmolested. A cop at the end of the street ushered them through the crush of cars and reporters and gave them a good head start. Once they were well away, she peered across at him. “Have I seen you on the cover of a romance novel?”

  “One or two,” Reuben said nonchalantly. Then he grinned. Sounding much more like a normal guy, he added, “Actually, you haven’t seen them yet. I got my first contract a few months ago, so the books won’t be out for a while. One of these days, I’ll be voted Mr. Romance. Just you wait and see.”

  “I can believe that,” Marguerite said. “I’ll be looking for those covers for sure.”

  Encouraged, he gave her his card with his website and Facebook addresses. “I’ll be posting them there, too.” Then he asked, “Have you slept with Constantine yet?”

  Cripes. “You guys are like a bunch of gossipy girls! What business is it of yours or Lep’s, or anyone else’s for that matter?”

  “Whoa,” Reuben said, holding up his hands. “Don’t get all bent out of shape. We like the dude. It does him good to get laid.”

  “Sure, but sex isn’t necessary. It’s his business if he does without.” She frowned. “Besides, how can you tell?”

  Reuben laughed without much humor. “Believe me, we can tell. Do us all a favor and seduce him.”

  “That’s more or less what Lep said.” She pondered how to probe without revealing what little she knew. She’d had to appeal to Constantine’s sense of fair play to get him to admit anything at all. “It’s not like he’d have a hard time finding a willing woman. Maybe he prefers being celibate.”

  Reuben snorted. All right, so she already knew that wasn’t the case. “Let’s assume he wants it. Why does he do without?”

  “Beats me,” Reuben said.

  “Okay, then, how long has he done without?”

  “Can’t say for sure,” Reuben said. “He’s only become unbearable in the last six months or so.”

  “Has he had any girlfriends since his wife died?”

  Reuben considered. “Nothing that lasted long. Can’t say I blame him for being turned off a bit after Jonetta, but the other chicks were okay.”

  At least she now knew how to direct her prodding. They were approaching the road that ran in front of the Humanities Building. “Are you supposed to dog my every footstep?” she asked.

  “’Fraid so.”

  “I don’t think anything bad is likely to happen to me in here,” she said. “Especially since I have a real dog with me. And people who don’t have keys can’t get in on weekends.”

  “Maybe, but something bad will happen to me if I don’t stick with you,” Reuben said. “Simple as that.”

  “Let’s go get a coffee then,” she said. “This is going to take a while.” She turned right instead of left into the parking lot of a restaurant that made tolerable lattes. She parked under a tree, leaving the window down for Lawless, and they went inside. On Sunday mornings it was invariably packed for brunch. Almost immediately, they ran into Al Bonnard, Lavonia, Janie, and Roy Lutsky, an ill-assorted crew if ever she’d seen one. The AC wasn’t on particularly high—nothing like Lavonia’s house—and Lavonia’s hands were clasped around a mug of steaming coffee, but she was shivering. So was her aura. She gave Marguerite a wan little smile.

  “I hear you had quite a night last night,” Al said. “Have a bonbon.” He held out a bag to her. Janie had one scrunched-up wrapper in front of her, but Lutsky had a pile. Chocolate-freak Lavonia seemed to have lost her appetite.

  “Thanks.” Marguerite took two and offered one to Reuben, who shook his head. She dropped the other candy in her backpack. Chocolate always came in handy sooner or later.

  Lutsky glowered. “As usual, I missed everything. Anywhere Dufray is, I’m not. Marguerite, you have to get me an interview with him.”

  Behind her, Reuben made a rude noise. Lutsky scowled at the bodyguard and swore under his breath. Janie, needless to say, was assessing Reuben’s charms. “Jeez, Marguerite. There are pics on the Internet this morning of that middle-aged playboy fondling your butt. That’s how many hot guys in two days? Four? Five?

  “Only three,” Marguerite said. “This is Reuben, my bodyguard for the morning. Tony was last night. Reuben, would you mind ordering takeout for us? I’d like a latte.”

  Reuben sauntered over to the counter, followed by Janie’s hungry eyes and Lutsky’s angry ones. Marguerite unwrapped her bonbon and savored it.

  “For someone who just had a near-death experience, you look mighty cheerful,” Al said.

  “I’d be cheerful, too, if I had three hot guys in a twenty-four-hour period, one of them a rock star,” Janie said bitterly. “Actually, Reuben’s better looking than Constantine.”

  “Reuben is a romance novel cover model,” Marguerite said. “He doesn’t seem to be anywhere near as violent as Constantine.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” muttered Lutsky, while Janie took off to scope out Reuben up close. “Have you had sex with Dufray yet?”

  Before Marguerite had a chance to gather herself to retort, Al cast his eyes heavenward. “Are there no sane p
eople left in Bayou Gavotte? Either they’re violent, obsessed with sex, or just plain obsessed. Even my stable, practical Lavonia, who only dabbles in witchcraft, isn’t immune. She’s a basket case this morning.”

  “I had nightmares after I got home to bed,” Lavonia said. “Really horrible ones.”

  “Maybe you’re coming down with something,” Marguerite said, ignoring Lutsky’s glare, hoping he would realize he was way out of line. “Sometimes fever will bring on nightmares, and you don’t look at all well.”

  “I don’t have a fever.” Lavonia opened her mouth as if to say more, then shut it again, but it didn’t take special sight to see she was deathly afraid. Of what?

  Oh, hell. Now Lavonia thought she was having prophetic dreams? “Call me when you get home,” Marguerite said. “I’ll make you chicken soup or something. I’ll have to bring Constantine or one of his bodyguards, too, and there may be a pack of newshounds on my trail.”

  “Yes, please make sure you have a bodyguard at all times. You don’t need to come over, though, because I’m not sick. I refuse to be, because Al and I are going to a play tonight.” She picked up a bonbon.

  Al shook his head. “You’ve been overdoing the chocolate lately.”

  “Right.” Lavonia sighed and put the candy down again. “I’ve heard there’s a new costume designer at the theater, and the costumes are scrumptious.”

  “Who gives a damn about costumes?” Lutsky stood, looming over Marguerite. “I need information. Did you have sex with Dufray or didn’t you?”

  Marguerite felt her face go red as a poinsettia. People at the nearby tables stared. Mustering her calm, she said quietly, “That’s none of your business.”

  “It damned well is my business,” Lutsky bellowed, and now every head in the room turned. “If you fucked Dufray, I need to know!”

  Reuben appeared at her side. “Need help?”

  “No.” Not unless you can wipe the memories of everyone in the entire room. “For God’s sake, Roy,” she hissed.