“Yes, my dear?” His eyes lit up when he saw them. “I’m afraid I don’t have any leads yet . . .”
Arachne was across the room in a second, and slammed her fist into the wall next to Saint-Germain’s face. She grabbed him by the scarf with the other hand and raised him from the floor.
“What did you do?” Arachne snapped.
Saint-Germain swallowed. “Whatever do you mean?”
“What. Did. You. Do?”
“Arachne! Take it easy!” Leo called out nervously.
“All I’ve done is what you asked, but I can’t keep secrets from you, I suppose.” He put his hands up innocently. “I did send out invitations.”
Arachne let him drop back to the floor. Saint-Germain landed lightly on his feet and meticulously dusted off his extravagant clothes.
“What invitations?” Arachne demanded.
“Well, of course, when you decided to become the new Queen of Darkness, I thought to myself, this is an excuse for a party! But then of course, I don’t need an excuse for a party,” he chuckled heartily. “Still, I thought we needed to begin recruiting a court of governance and support for your regime, so I took it upon myself to ensure your throne.”
“Get to the point.”
“I sent out invitations for my infamous Mardi Gras masquerade party to all our friends to rally allied support for your inevitable rule.” He beamed.
Arachne slapped her palm to her forehead.
“Here are your invitations.” Saint-Germain pulled a stack out of a drawer and handed them over. “I was going to send yours day-of to surprise you. I’ve already got a gown picked out for you . . .”
Leo opened the silk envelope to find a gold-and-diamond-encrusted invitation:
You are cordially invited to celebrate
Madame Arachne
daughter to Idmon of Colophon, of Hypaepa in Lydia, Ionia
In her new rule over the Creatures of the Night
At Master Rákóczi Compte de Saint Germain’s
Annual Mardi Gras Masquerade
Following the Krewe Nyx Mardi Gras Parade
Magnolia Mansion, Garden District, New Orleans
“Wow . . .” Leo traced his fingers over the gold lettering. “This is probably the most expensive thing I own now.” He carefully slipped it back into the silk envelope and into the pocket of his bomber jacket.
“Leo was attacked last night by the Casquette Sisters,” Arachne growled. “An evil someone— sounds like a demon—released them and sent them to kill Leo.”
“How dastardly!”
“But you see, Saint-Germain, clearly this demon is trying to off us so we can’t get the crown.”
“Yes, yes, clearly so,” he agreed, nodding furtively.
“Because you went and told everyone what we were doing,” Arachne slammed her fist on the cashier table, splintering the wood.
“Oh dear.” The realization hit his face. “I suppose I am to blame.”
Arachne rubbed her forehead with her index finger and thumb. Leo narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, suspiciously eyeing Saint-Germain.
“It’s going to be impossible to pin down the culprit.”
“This is a conundrum. However, might I suggest a guard accompanies you at all times? I would be concerned if you were the target of a political assassination.”
“Definitely not.” Arachne’s nose crinkled at the thought. “I value my privacy.”
“Maybe you should think about it,” Leo suggested. Arachne shot him a glare.
“What am I supposed to do now?” she sighed.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Saint-Germain laughed. “You’re coming to my party! We will toast to you and the new era of peace for the Crescent City!”
“I don’t like parties,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Of course, I know,” he tutted. “But there’s no use fussing about it. I’ve already received so many RSVPs and letters of support. Even the butterfly demon is rallying behind you. What a good show!” He winked.
“This isn’t a show.” Leo frowned. “There are consequences to our actions here. Which is why I didn’t think it was a good idea in the first place.”
“It’s too late now.” Saint-Germain stuck his nose in the air. “We’re having a party, and we’re going to find that crown.”
Leo and Arachne shared a long glance again. This had moved much quicker than either of them apparently anticipated, and not in a direction Leo cared for. And they were no closer to discovering who had it in for them than they were before.
“Ah, and I would be remiss if I failed to mention . . .” Saint-Germain’s nimble fingers danced in front of him with excitement. Arachne scowled, and Leo raised his eyebrows. “You shall be the crown jewel of all the Mardi Gras parades!”
“Ugh, don’t tell me—” she rolled her eyes.
“You shall be Goddess Nyx XIII, waving from your float above the crowds.” He held his hands to his heart. “The darling of New Orleans. Vous serez la royauté, le diamant de la fête!”
“I don’t like parades . . .”
Leo burst into laughter.
“You . . . you’re going to wear a glittery dress and wave from a parade float?” Tears dripped down from his eyes unexpectedly. He could hardly imagine her like that, with her usually wearing a dark blouse, tight jeans, and high-heeled black boots.
“Ha, go on and laugh.” Arachne sulked. “It’s not happening.”
“Mais, ma chérie, they already voted for you! You absolutely must!” Saint-Germain gasped.
“After you coerced them all!”
Saint-Germain shrugged his shoulders. “How could I coerce witches? I simply made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”
“That’s what coercion is—fuck!”
Arachne stormed out of the shop. Leo took one last glance at Saint-Germain, who was beaming like a child on Christmas morning, then dashed out after her. He followed her down the busy streets and to a park bench overlooking the river. They sat and watched people bustle back and forth for a few minutes while she cooled off. Arachne let out a sigh.
“I was finally coming to terms with what we’re about to do.” She leaned back on the bench. “The Casquette Sisters were never a match for me. Whoever let them out—they just wanted to kill you, Leo. They wanted to send me a message. And they wanted me to kill the Casquette Sisters and clean up the mess without question.”
“I get that. Seems like a set-up. You really think it was a . . . demon?” Leo wondered. His mind was reeling. There were so many different creatures of the night, it was hard to keep up.
“It could be. There’s a hierarchy,” she explained. “At the top were the gods, before they left. Then there are demons. If a demon is powerful enough, they rule over their own creatures of the night.”
“How many demons are there?”
“Innumerable. Some are more dangerous than others; elite. But candidly, it could have been anyone or anything. Josephine’s description wasn’t particularly helpful.”
“And you trust Saint-Germain?” Leo raised a skeptical eyebrow. “He seems sly.”
“I trust him with my life.”
He watched the way her lips moved, how the wind swept her rosy hair across her face and the winter chill blushed her cheeks. She stared off into the distance.
“Arachne.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t guarantee everything will work out. In fact, with Saint-Germain at the helm, I can definitely guarantee shenanigans.”
She flashed a fanged grin at him and laughed weakly.
“All I can say is that, no matter what, we’re in this together.” He held out his hand. She tentatively rested her petite hand in his. He guided her up from the bench and turned to face her.
“A beautiful Mardi Gras royal needs a date to the ball.” Leo smiled nervously down at her. “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to Saint-Germain’s masquerade, future Queen of Darkness?”
Arachne’s lips parted and
her eyes widened, her shoulders tensing up at the mere mention of Mardi Gras.
“You’re as insufferable as your naked heart! Almost as bad as that damn Count.” She met his amber eyes with mischief in hers, and a wry smile touched her lips. Then she bowed deeply. “I graciously accept your offer, Sir Leonidas. With any hope, we can at least have a little fun.”
They were halfway home when she stopped them in front of a cafe.
“You look terrible,” Arachne frowned.
“I didn’t really sleep last night . . .”
“The least I can do is offer you a small comfort.” She pushed the cafe door in and motioned for him to step through. They ordered coffee, and for Leo eggs, bacon, and beignets, sitting in plush armchairs across from one another near the window. Leo devoured his breakfast greedily.
“I suppose I should have suspected you’d ask me out on a date.” She sipped her coffee. “Even though I warned you not to.”
“Again, I don’t care how old you are.”
“Clearly,” she scoffed. “But if you were a couple thousand years old, don’t you think this would all seem trite to you?”
“I see . . . You must have a lot of exes,” Leo teased.
Arachne blushed and sipped her coffee again, a telltale scowl creeping on her face.
“No need to explain. When you’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it a thousand times. I’ve only had two girlfriends in my entire life. I get it.”
“Then you understand why Saint-Germain pisses me off.” She rolled her eyes. “Every year he throws an extravagant party . . . sometimes several. They’re all the same tedious affairs. Most of them are boring, but occasionally his parties end up starting wars. I’m afraid this is going to be one of the latter.”
“Are you sure you trust him?” Leo’s eyes squinted. “You did hold him up against the wall.” He munched into a beignet as he watched Arachne’s face soften. Powdered sugar dusted Leo’s fingers like fresh snow.
“I need to cull my temper,” she admitted. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Leo nodded pointedly.
“I met the Count while traveling through Paris in the 1750s,” Arachne explained. “He was employed by King Louis XV on diplomatic missions across Europe. More importantly, the king had built a laboratory for him to experiment with dyeing fine French fabric. I was in search of the most brilliantly dyed fabric in the world, and rumors had spread across Europe that Count Saint-Germain had succeeded in producing as much. His reputation preceded him, but even that didn’t prepare me for when I paid him a visit.”
Leo sipped his coffee, listening intently.
“When I walked into the laboratory, I found the Count trying to seduce Madame de Pompadour. He showered her with praises and made promises of maintaining her youth with enchanted cosmetics. The second he laid eyes on me, he was entranced, and demanded I come to dinner that evening with friends and guests of Madame de Pompadour.
“At dinner he did not eat, only sipping from his wine, but talked nonstop from the beginning to the end. He was a captivating conversationalist, and once he starts talking, as you know, it’s difficult to get him to shut up. But I needed access to his dyed fabric, so I played nice, and I suspected something mysterious about him. At one point, he claimed he was over 300 years old. This piqued my interest, so later that night, I cornered him.
“He likes to talk, so it wasn’t hard to get the truth from him. He said he had extensively studied immortality. At first, he was able to achieve great success just by fasting for most of the day or several days at a time. He ate rarely and maintained his youthful complexion for a while. He traveled to Buddhist monasteries to learn their wisdom in meditation and bodily manipulation. He knew that this would only prolong his life, and that eventually he would die. So, he extensively studied myth and folklore to uncover our secrets.
“Eventually, he was able to persuade a vampire he wooed to lend him their blood. And so, Saint-Germain still rarely ate, and instead drank the vampire blood mixed with wine. He was able to live for over 300 years between all these tactics. I explained to him who I was, and affirmed his suspicions that if he died with vampire blood in his system, he would become one himself. I offered him my own blood, incredibly potent, in exchange for his most richly colored fabrics, fit for a king. He agreed.
“The Count died in 1784. He found me later that year with carriages of his most prized possessions, seeking safe storage and immortal companions. Since he’d been gallivanting throughout Europe, making a name for himself to the upper-crusts, I suggested he follow the caravan to the New World, where he may not be as easily recognized after his death. He persuaded me to go with him, and that’s how we ended up in New Orleans.”
“How did he die?” Leo asked.
“Well . . .” Arachne finished off her coffee. “He told me he died of poison, but that’s all I know.”
Leo stared at her, astonished.
“You may still be suspicious of Saint-Germain.” Arachne smiled wryly. “Despite his flaws and mistakes, I trust him.”
“That’s fine,” Leo said. “But I’m keeping an eye on him. I’m not letting anyone hurt you.”
Arachne snorted out a laugh. “How do you expect to protect me?”
Leo shifted in his chair with embarrassment. “I, uh . . . started lifting weights.”
“We’ll see how your newfound human strength compares to that of vampires and demons!” Arachne clucked her tongue in amused disapproval.
Leo leaned back into the armchair and patted his stomach. The food weighed heavy in his belly, and the sugar and caffeine were blasting to his sleep-deprived brain. Arachne’s mood seemed to shift as she stared out at the Mississippi River.
“There are many more dangerous demons out there, and I won’t have any control over what they’re about to do.” She frowned. “It’s going to attract more trouble than it’s worth. I’d prefer if you stayed out of harm’s way.”
“I’m not leaving your side,” he said firmly. “I’m already a target. They’re not going to stop until we win or I’m dead.”
“What about your family?” Her eyebrows furled together as she stared back at him.
“I’ll protect them with my life.”
“This is absurd,” Arachne said. “You have a life to live.”
“I had a life, until everything turned upside down.” Leo shook his head. “Don’t tell me to live my life. You are part of my world now. There’s no going back.”
Arachne’s face blushed bright pink, and she pursed her lips together indignantly.
“Fine. It’s your choice.”
Chapter 9
Arachne headed toward her front door and muttered under her breath, “Eshe should just perform a protection spell . . .”
“Wait, a spell?” Leo was dazed. Dark circles hung under his eyes. He hadn’t slept for over a day, and he wallowed in confusion for a few moments. He remembered the night he met Eshe and how a dark shroud enveloped the street, freezing everyone in place. “Vampires can do magic?”
“Vampires can’t cast spells.” Arachne fought back a laugh. “But Eshe isn’t just a vampire. She’s half-vampire, half-witch.”
Leo stuck his head out in confusion and shoved his hands into his pockets. Of course.
“I take it Eshe isn’t really your niece.”
“Her parents were old friends of mine,” Arachne explained. “And when they . . . could no longer care for Eshe, I adopted her as my own.”
But when they opened the door, Eshe was not alone. A slender young woman with cascading ebony hair and olive-toned skin stood in the living room. Her eyes glittered like rubies, refracting like the warm glow of a lit hearth.
“Arachne!” she squealed in delight and then pounced on her friend. “It’s been at least a century!”
“Oof, you’re squeezing too hard!” Arachne protested the hug, trying to squirm out from under it.
“I’m in town for the festivities. I’m supposed to be your . . . how do they say, Grand M
arshal, on the parade float? Your second in command!” The woman started fixing Arachne’s hair, but stopped as Arachne ducked away, and her gaze shifted to Leo. Her demeanor chilled about ten degrees. “And who is this treat?”
“This is my friend, Leo,” Arachne motioned to him and then back to the woman. “Leo, this is my dearest, oldest friend, basically my sister, Keres.”
“I’m Arachne’s date to the masquerade ball.” Leo held out his hand smugly. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Keres hesitated, glanced back to Arachne, and then shook his hand. He tried not to gasp as she crushed his hand like it was made of dough.
“The pleasure is mine.” Her rose-red lips curled up to feign a smile, flashing her pearly white fangs at him. Leo rubbed his throbbing hand and gave her a ‘what-the-fuck’ kind of look. She cocked her head playfully and winked.
“We’re about to have Eshe perform a protection spell on Leo.” Arachne nodded toward Eshe, who scurried to the kitchen for ingredients. “I didn’t think it was necessary until last night. Someone is targeting us.”
Keres tensed up, her long fingernails digging into her palms.
“I didn’t realize this had become so dangerous for you.”
“I’m fine,” Arachne said dismissively. “Let’s perform this spell before you lose any more blood, Leo.”
Eshe poured fine black sand onto the living room floor, forming a circle with an intricate symbol in the center.
“Step into the middle.” She pointed. Leo did so, carefully trying not to smudge the sand. Eshe lit some sage and began uttering a spell under her breath. Leo coughed as he inhaled the sweet, pungent smoke.
“Now for the blood of the protector.” Eshe held out a dagger. Arachne took it and swiftly cut the palm of her hand.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Leo tried to step forward, but couldn’t move his legs.
“The protection spell works by binding your life to that of another,” Eshe explained dreamily. “Arachne is powerful. Her blood will shield you from danger as it shields her.”
“Then if I die, so will Arachne?”
Eshe nodded once.
“Wait, no!” Keres exclaimed. “This is dangerous!”
Blood Moon (A Louisiana Demontale): Book 1 of the Crescent Crown Saga Page 7
