Konstantine’s men visibly tensed, sensing the implied threat.
“But I’m not as careless as Nico,” Dmitri said, those blue eyes frosting over.
Dmitri seized the man by the front shirt.
“That’s enough,” Konstantine said. He stepped forward, placing himself between his decoy and the Russian thug. “Are you threatening to hurt my men, Petrov?”
Dmitri loosened his grip on the other man’s collar and looked to Konstantine as if seeing him for the first time. “Ah yes. That’s better.” He took a deep breath as if inhaling Konstantine. “This makes much more sense.”
“Threaten to hurt my men again and I will—”
Dmitri held up a hand in surrender, stepping back. “No need for cloaks and daggers. You had only to introduce yourself properly.”
“I wanted to see if you were a man with manners. I am disappointed.”
Dmitri’s face twitched again, but Konstantine didn’t care. His proxy, the brave Stefano had fallen back in line with the other guards.
Dmitri’s men stood on one side and Konstantine’s on the other. Of course they had met in this public place so that no guns would fire, and no lives would be taken. Konstantine hoped they would continue to honor that code.
“Is everything your man said true?” Dmitri asked. “Is your woman a free agent?”
“I don’t believe anyone claimed she belonged to me like a dog.”
“Or a whore.” Dmitri smiled at this and it iced the blood in Konstantine’s veins. It was a knowing smile.
Konstantine realized he hadn’t done a good job of casting doubt. Dmitri knew Lou was real, wanted her to be real. And wanting her to be real would’ve been enough to keep him hungry and on her trail.
Dmitri leaned forward and whispered in Konstantine’s ear, almost companionably. “I will find her, Konstantine. And I will make her an offer she cannot refuse.”
“And if she refuses?”
“I’ll put her in the ground.”
When Dmitri pulled back, Konstantine mustered his most wicked smile. The one he forced himself to wear when he did something truly evil. When he must enter the darkness in order to salvage the light devoured.
Dmitri’s smile faltered.
“Buona Fortuna, amico mio,” Konstantine said. “Good luck.”
4
Daniella parked her car in the parking garage, two blocks from Melandra’s Fortunes and Fixes. Scooting back the front seat of her Dodge Dart as far as she could, she opened her laptop. There was one file folder, simply labeled Now.
She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, craning her neck in each direction of the parking garage to make sure she was alone. A man stood at the elevator waiting for his ride, nose close to the screen of his phone.
Satisfied, she double-clicked the folder embedded on her taskbar. Inside was a Scrivener file and collection of photos. She double-clicked on the first photo, and it enlarged on her screen.
A young woman in a leather jacket and boots, dark jeans, and mirrored sunglasses walked beside a man twice her size. Broad-shouldered, slightly hunched, he was mid-gesture as he spoke. His weight leaned to one side. The man she’d been able to identify easily—Robert King, retired and decorated agent for the DEA’s St. Louis unit. He now lived above an occult shop in the French Quarter of New Orleans.
It was the only person she’d been able to put with the woman. Her only lead. But if Daniella was worth her salt, she’d be able to find out the girl’s identity.
Looking once again through the photos, spotting landmarks in the Quarter for future investigation, Daniella closed and powered down the machine.
Pulling on her coat, she stepped into the garage and locked the laptop and suitcase in the trunk of her car. Then she walked east, two blocks to the job that awaited her.
Her cheeks were icy cold by the time she wiped her sneakers on the mat and pushed back the hood of her coat.
The earthy scent of incense consumed her, mixed with the sweet, cloying perfume of candles. Fake candles flickered electronically in an old-fashioned chandelier overhead. It looked like something from a Viking dining hall. Ghostly moans circled the room, sounding as if spirits of the undead raced overhead.
Dani felt eyes on her and turned to find a black woman, stepping out of a room and closing the door behind her. Gold bangles jingled on her wrists and two beautiful rings adorned her hands - a wide, flat onyx on her left, and a purple amethyst sparked on her right. Her head was wrapped in a gorgeous crimson scarf, which she tugged for good measure.
“You must be Dani,” she said, coming toward her. They met in the middle of the room beside a shelf of figurines and a basket of corn husk dolls. “I’m Melandra. You can call me Mel.”
The woman’s bangles tinkled again as she stretched her hand forward to shake Dani’s. It made Dani think of the windchimes in her mother’s garden on the other side of Lake Pontchartrain.
Dani plastered on her biggest grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re early.”
Dani released a tight laugh. “My momma said that it was best to be early if you want to make a good impression.”
“Intelligent woman.”
Dani forced a smile. She could say many things about her mother, but this was neither the time nor the place.
Mel gestured toward the cash register. “This job is fairly straightforward. You need to be mindful of the counter at all times, which you can see from anywhere in the store except the stockroom.” She pointed at the door she’d exited upon Dani’s arrival. “And for that there’s the chandelier.” Mel mimicked its ghostly moan.
Dani favored her with a good-natured smile and polite laugh.
“You said you had cashier experience.”
It was Dani’s chance to recite one of her many practiced lies. “I do. I worked in a grocery store back in my hometown. Biggly Bounds.”
“What a name.”
And the obligatory follow-up lies, of course. “It was a local mom and pop store.”
Melandra arched her eyebrows. “Then you know how to count change. I’ll put the money in the register in the morning. And Piper or I will close it out at night. So you won’t have to do anything else except the transactions during your shift.”
“And if there are no customers?” Dani’s eyes trailed up the stairs beside the storeroom. They led to the landing above, which no doubt would take her to the ex-agent’s apartment. Though there were two doors—one on the left and one on the right.
“You won’t need to go up there,” Melandra said. “Those are our apartments.”
Dani realized she’d been staring too long.
“That one is mine,” Melandra said, pointing at the right-side door. “And my friend Robert lives in the other. You’ll meet him soon. He’s in and out quite a bit.”
“Cool,” she said, aiming for indifference.
“To answer your question, when there are no customers, I want you to tackle the to-do list. I’ll always put it here by the register for you. There won’t be anything too hard. It might be restocking, or stickering merchandise, or cleaning. Just do what you can when it’s slow. If it’s too busy, don’t worry about it. Customers come first.”
“It sounds easy enough,” Dani said. Her voice stuck in her throat when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Black nails, dark eyeliner and a rock t-shirt. She even wore ripped jeans. If her mother, the great Beverly Allendale saw her, she would die.
Mel was speaking again. “Let me show you the appointment book.”
She bent beneath the glass case on which the cash register rested and pulled out a thick leather book. Dani was certain its ominous appearance was intentional. The cover looked like tanned flesh crudely stitched together by a rough hand. The pages were stiff yellowed parchment.
As the woman with the painted eyes flipped through the pages to find the line where a customer must sign, Dani knew the patrons must find a thrill in it—signing their name in such a book. In fact, they likely enjoye
d every detail of the shop. The ambiance was perfect for those looking to venture into the dark. From the low, sultry music and the clouds of incense hanging on the air, to the trinkets, charms and all the magic they promised.
“If someone comes in and wants a reading, put them down here and write what they want. Palm, tarot, tea leaves, past life regression, medium, ghost communication—there’s a whole list here and the price. Be sure to tell them the price. Piper can only be scheduled for palm, tarot and tea leaves readings. Piper, PPT, got it?”
Dani nodded. “How will I know your available times?”
Melandra slipped the book back out of sight and then grabbed the notebook off the counter. “Here’s the to-do list. But on the back—” She flipped the notebook over to reveal its cardboard backing. “Here’s the weekly availability. It says on the price sheet how long each reading is and the price for each person. I charge more than Piper. But you can figure out the rest. It’s not as complicated as it sounds.”
“I’m a quick study.”
Melandra smiled. “Good. Come around here and stand behind the register then, and see how it feels.”
Dani obeyed, marveling again at her painted black nails and the silver rings on her own fingers. She kept forgetting what kind of girl she was supposed to be today…and every day, until she got what she came for.
Mel came around the counter and surveyed Dani there. She nodded as if satisfied with what she saw. “Any questions?”
“It’s pretty straightforward.”
“Perfect. I’ve got you here until four today, when Piper comes in.”
The ghostly chime rang again and a young woman bounded across the mat. “Mel, King just said he saw Lou—” The girl’s voice broke off mid-speech when she spotted Dani standing behind the register. She slowed her pace until she crested the last row of merchandise and found Mel standing there on the other side of the counter.
Mel arched an eyebrow curiously. “Yes?”
“Uh, I need to talk to you when you’ve got a second.”
Mel pointed upstairs at her apartment. “I was about to make myself a cup of tea. You want to join me?”
“Sure. But then I’ve got to get back. King sent me for sandwiches and to…give you an update.”
Dani forced a smile, hoping it made her look sweet, innocuous and at the very least, uninterested. When she thought perhaps the stare itself was too much, she slid her gaze down the to-do list. She tapped the ink pen against the pad as she pretended to read it.
“Piper, this is Dani,” Mel said, clicking her manicured nails against glass.
“Hi,” Piper said, reaching up to touch the cuff on her upper ear. A slight blush had pooled in her cheeks.
“Hi,” Dani said. She returned the smile and offered her hand over the glass counter.
5
Lou paced her apartment, her Browning tapping her thigh lightly as she passed her kitchen island. Once, twice…twenty times. Long after she lost count, she turned to the counter again and stared at the cream-colored letter open-faced on the marbled surface.
The dead shouldn’t be able to write to the living.
Lou understood that Lucy had probably composed the letter in the early days of her illness. Perhaps back in May or June, once she learned the inevitable was coming.
The letter was no less haunting.
She’d read it three times through before placing it on the counter and backing away from it as if it were as dangerous as the creature prowling the shores of La Loon.
One line repeated in her head again and again. There is a woman I want you to meet. You know how to find her.
Please Lou. Please talk to her. At least once.
Lou did know how to find her. Her compass could do that difficult task on her behalf.
But who was this woman? Why did her aunt want her to meet some stranger months after her death? And worse still: She knows who you are. What we can do. You can trust her.
That would be enough to send Lou into a fury, into making her feel exposed and betrayed by the woman who raised her. But the simple I trust her tacked onto the letter lessened the blow.
Lucy was as terrible at trust as Lou herself. In some ways, worse. So I trust her was as powerful of an admission as Lou could ask for.
A mysterious woman that Lucy trusted. And that Lou must meet.
It sounded so simple. Then why did this dread well up inside her at the thought?
As if sensing this discord, the compass whirled to life inside her. The immediate tug. The whirling confusion only amplified Lou’s fear.
But then she felt the dark, brooding energy at the end of the line and knew it wasn’t some possession by a dead aunt. She wasn’t being forced into a clandestine meeting with a stranger against her will.
It was Konstantine.
Konstantine—all gun smoke and leather—who was calling to her.
She had not heard from him since he’d returned her father’s bulletproof vest to her months ago. She hadn’t seen him since he’d apologized for building a room that could imprison her, should she turn against him. It was three months since they’d forged an uneasy truce.
Was this simply the limitation of his patience? The longest he could go without seeing her?
No. It felt more…urgent.
Cursing, Lou pulled on her combat boots and laced them tight. She stepped into her converted linen closet.
She even brought a gun, though carrying it around was beginning to feel like a joke.
Her back pressed against the cool grain. Splinters scratched at her arms. She should sand down the walls. Maybe that’s what she’d do with her next sleepless night.
For a moment, exhaustion pressed itself heavily against her mind.
She felt herself sliding toward it. Toward that inevitable collapse.
But instead, she slipped sideways through the dark. It softened, opening to accept her.
When the world formed around her again, she stood in a shadowed apartment on the edge of the Arno river.
Konstantine paced between the wall and bed of his loft, looking as unsettled as she had moments before. He hadn’t noticed her arrival. His head was bowed in deep concentration. His eyebrows were pulled together in tight focus.
She almost laughed. The earnestness was too much. Or she was what her aunt sometimes called punch drunk—when sleeplessness made the world all the more ridiculous.
Then he turned and looked at her. His hair was longer than when she’d seen it last and falling forward into his eyes.
“Louie,” he said and a rush of relief and something else seized those hard features. “You came.”
* * *
For a moment Konstantine could only stare at her. She didn’t look well. Dark circles spread under each eye. She was too thin. Some of that muscle definition he’d admired was lost.
She tapped the gun impatiently against her leg, and the spell broke.
“This is how you dress in January?” he asked, wondering if perhaps she’d been somewhere warmer. Hunting criminals in the opium fields of Bogota perhaps?
“My apartment has better heating than yours,” she said, glancing around his bedroom. “Apparently.”
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Have you been sick?”
“I’m fine.” It was a flat refusal to share more. Konstantine didn’t want her to bolt so he dropped it.
“I’m sorry to call you like this,” he said, finding his voice steady again.
He wondered where he should put his body. There was only the bed. That may seem too much like an invitation. So he sat down on the very edge, and rested his forearms on his knees. “I wanted to warn you.”
She didn’t come to him, didn’t sit on the bed beside him. She only stood there, staring with those dark eyes beneath thick, black lashes. There was none of that warm heat that had passed between them after surviving Nico’s siege. She’d kissed him. He’d thought he was forgiven.
Perhaps this wasn’t about him.
“Dmitri
Petrov is…”
“I know who he is,” she said.
Konstantine shrugged. A kind of acquiescence. “I saw him in London two days ago. He made it clear he wants to meet you. I would say he is hunting you.”
“To kill me?”
“No, actually,” Konstantine said with a bitter laugh. “He said he wants to pay you.”
She said nothing. What did she need to say? They both knew she would put Dmitri Petrov in the ground the second he showed his face.
“He has no way of finding me,” she said finally.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he said. “I delete every photo, every mention I come across, but it would be foolish to think I don’t miss something from time to time. Though you have been…quiet this winter.”
“How do you know what I’ve been doing?” she asked.
She stepped into the light. He saw then the dark lines beneath her eyes were even worse than he initially thought. The gun trembled in her hand, almost imperceptible. But he also saw the dried blood on both of her arms. And the bruises, far more bruises than Konstantine had ever seen on her. Was she using her fists instead of her guns?
“When is the last time you’ve slept?” he asked.
She said nothing.
“You need to be at your best if you plan to face him,” Konstantine said.
“How do you know what I’ve been doing?” she insisted again, and he saw the gun shift in her hand.
“I keep an eye on you,” he admitted.
“Why?”
He didn’t know how to answer that. He knew the truth, but was equally certain she didn’t want to hear it.
“Why?”
“We’re…friends,” he said.
“Are we?” she scoffed.
He forced a smile, but her words had stung like a slap across his cheek. A slap from his mother’s own hand perhaps. He knew he deserved it. If he hadn’t built that room of light, his archrival Nico would have never been able to capture her. Hurt her.
Danse Macabre Page 3
