by Ken Lange
Of course. The ability to read other people’s thoughts would make any outing a living hell. “I’m sorry.”
He pointed at one of the wing chairs and grabbed a bottle of scotch. “Care for a drink?”
I glanced at my watch. “It’s not even eight in the morning.”
He didn’t reply before pouring us a drink. “Welcome to New Orleans.” He sat back in his seat and relaxed. “It’s been nice having you here. I didn’t realize how much it weighed on me to have all those noises in my head until they weren’t there.”
I picked up my glass and toasted him before taking a sip. “Glad I could help.” With another drink, I couldn’t help but feel optimistic about the future. “So, I guess I’m some sort of wet blanket to your abilities…that’s my superpower.”
The comment almost made him spit out his drink. “I doubt that seriously. It’s more likely a side effect of something else. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Sitting there, I stared at my glass as the scotch stuck to the sides, pulling itself down the glass and creating the most beautiful lines as I slowly swirled it. I let my thoughts wander. What lay ahead for a man like me? Walter may’ve been ancient looking, but I hadn’t seen any twisted, melted skin on his body. So what did that say about me? It wasn’t as if I’d taken pleasure in my job, but I’d never shied away from it either. Would that be reflected in my body? Only time would tell.
Chapter 8
By the time Heather Broussard arrived with an armful of groceries, Andrew was on his fourth scotch, and I was nursing a second. It took the three of us twenty minutes to unload the car and carry everything upstairs. It wasn’t a bad job, as I got to watch Heather glide up and down the stairs.
She was tall, toned, and a classic kind of pretty that would’ve given Audrey Hepburn a run for her money. Her blue-green eyes sparkled behind her tortoiseshell glasses, and her short auburn hair was parted to one side.
After we dropped everything in the kitchen and living room, she shooed us away, insisting that she had work to do. We made our way back to the scotch and allowed her to tend to her duties.
About a half hour later, Heather appeared with a wry grin on her lips as she wagged a finger in my direction. “The top of the washer is not a hamper.”
I blushed. “Sorry about that. I’d planned on doing laundry this afternoon.”
A brilliant smile spread across her face. “It’s already in the wash.” She bit her bottom lip and hesitantly asked, “Was that everything? I poked around, but there was nothing else for me to throw in with it.”
Blood continued to rush to my cheeks. “Yeah, that’s everything.” I shrugged. “Going shopping is one of the things on my to-do list.”
Heather chuckled. “Good luck with that.” She shook her head. “The city isn’t exactly overrun with big and tall shops, so you’ll be hard-pressed to find things in your size.”
Andrew stroked his chin and sighed. “She’s right.” He appraised me as if for the first time, taking full stock of my size. While he had a couple of inches on me, I was considerably bigger in every other way. He groaned. “Damn, boy! What did they feed you?” He chuckled as he waved off my attempt to answer. “Never mind. I’ll give George Nguyen a call, and he’ll take care of you.”
I frowned. “Who’s that?”
Heather pivoted, her tennis shoes squeaking against the floor. “He’s the best tailor in town.” She gestured at herself. “All this is his work…the man’s a genius with cloth. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”
As she trotted off toward the kitchen, I couldn’t—well, wouldn’t—stop watching her. Once she disappeared, I turned to Andrew, who eyed me with great amusement. “What?”
Andrew held up his hands and shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He picked up the phone and dialed a number. “George? This is Andrew… Good morning to you as well. I hate to ask this of you on such short notice, but I have someone who’s in desperate need of your services… Today would be best, if you can fit him in. I’d consider it a personal favor… Really? Outstanding. See you at three.”
Andrew hung up and looked over at me, raising his glass. “George will be by to take your measurements.” He stroked his beard. “If I had to guess, you’ll have a new set of clothes within the week.”
Nerves made my voice crack. “I appreciate the effort, but an entire wardrobe of custom-made clothing is going to cost me a pretty penny…and in case you’ve forgotten, I’m between jobs at the moment.”
Andrew waved a dismissive hand in my direction. “The cost is negligible since you’ll be receiving a family discount.”
That made me laugh. “Last I checked, neither of us are a Nguyen.”
Andrew snorted. “We’re not, but since I do a lot of work for Mr. Nguyen, he tailors my clothing, and now yours, at no cost.”
I nearly choked. “That’s one hell of a discount…but are you sure he’s willing to extend that to me?”
Andrew nodded. “I am.” He gave a hapless shrug before giving me the Vanna White wave at himself. “I haven’t needed his services in years, so he kind of owes me.”
I rubbed my temples. “Why? What is it you do for the man?”
Andrew chewed on his bottom lip. “As I said earlier, I have many unique abilities. One of them is as an enchanter, and I imbue all the material he uses with added protection.”
“What does that mean?”
Andrew blew out a long breath. “It means that the clothing in question should protect the wearer from most physical, and even some magical, harm. As I said, this city is exceptionally dangerous.”
“I’ve got an odd question.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you do charm everything for him? Wouldn’t it be good business to have multiple enchanters on call?”
Andrew straightened up as pride filled him. “Enchanters are very rare. So, when someone finds one they can work with, they tend to be exclusive… Besides, a new enchanter would mean he’d have to have two sets of tools.”
“Why?”
Andrew spoke thoughtfully. “As I said earlier, the enchantments I place on the material provide protection…think of it as stylish body armor.”
I blinked. “Like Kevlar?”
He made a meh sound. “Sort of… Only the tools I provide can bypass those enchantments.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.”
“Thanks.” He held up his scotch in a silent toast then took a drink. “Now, don’t worry about anything. He’ll tend to everything you need…including a better suit.” He frowned. “The black one was a bit lacking for a man of your station.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And what station is that?”
He chuckled and shrugged. “You’re my nephew. And you’ll need to dress appropriately when you register at the Archive next week.”
The last bit gave me pause. “Why do I have to register?”
Andrew set his glass on the table. “It’s the law. Once you took up your stone, you stepped into our world, and you’re now subject to the rules of the Archive.” He grimaced. “Normally, you’re given thirty days to check in, but considering we don’t know who the next vigil will be, we can’t be sure they’re not going to be a total asshole…so it’s better to do it sooner than later.”
I finished my drink and nodded. “Fine, I’ll tend to it as soon as possible.”
It was about noon when Heather completed her duties and joined us in the living room. She took the seat nearest to mine, and held her hand out. “I know we exchanged names when I first arrived, but that’s hardly a proper introduction.” Her blue green eyes locked onto mine. “I’m Heather Broussard. And you are?”
I grinned. “Gavin Randall.”
She held onto my hand for a moment longer then glanced back at Andrew. “Any relation?”
He nodded. “Gavin’s my nephew.”
Embarrassed, I let go of her hand. “I’ve been away for a while.”
Heather eyed me curiously. “If he’d mentioned you wer
e coming to visit, I would’ve picked up some extra food.”
I winced and shifted in my seat. “That’s not his fault since he didn’t know until I showed up on his doorstep.”
Her gaze flitted to my left hand for the third or fourth time since she’d arrived. “You said you’d been away. Were you out of the country?”
That spot in the back of my mind started to itch. “I was. Flew in from Naples on Wednesday.”
Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she let out a low groan. Rubbing her temples, she grumbled, “Goddamn it!”
Andrew suddenly looked like a man who’d forgotten to hide his porn. “Shit.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, dear, I should’ve told you when you first arrived that Gavin is something of a special case.”
I just loved being at the center of a conversation without being invited to participate. “Is there a problem?”
Andrew waved a hand toward her. “No…not really. Heather is a very clever and powerful witch.” A slight smile crossed his lips. “Her mother, Kim, is a dear friend, and asked me to help her with her telepathy.” He held out a reassuring hand. “She didn’t mean anything by it. She was just trying to strengthen her talent.” Glancing over at Heather, he said, “If it’s any consolation, Gavin is a blank to me as well.”
Heather’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
Andrew downed his scotch. “Neither did I.”
I sighed. “No harm done, but in the future, you might want to inform your test subject first.”
Heather gave me a sheepish expression. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to offend…I was just curious.”
“No worries.”
She glanced over at my uncle and frowned. “Sorry.”
Andrew held up his hands to stop her. “This is between you two.”
“Fine.” Turning to me, she asked, “How long will you be in town?”
I grabbed the bottle and poured another dram. “Not sure, but I’ll be around for a while. Why do you ask?”
Her cheeks reddened. “No reason, just wondering if I’ll get to see you again.”
The way she said it caused my mind to stroll through the gutter. I cleared my throat and nodded. “I’m sure you will.”
Heather winked at me before turning to Andrew. “I’ve got to pull the clothes out of the dryer, and there are a few other odds and ends to tend to before I leave. Is there anything else you need?”
Andrew smiled. “Thanks, but I think we’re good.”
Heather stood and held out her hand, which I took. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.” She turned and patted Andrew’s shoulder. “Call me if anything comes up, and remember I’ll be busy Sunday night with that wedding.”
Andrew nodded. “Have a great time.”
She frowned. “Doubtful.”
He glanced up at her. “Really?”
She groaned. “Yeah, my father made sure I had an escort.”
Andrew winced. “Sorry.”
She shrugged. “It’s better than having a bunch of old men hit on me.” Shaking her head, she said, “At least this guy is close to my age…the other option is a mortal in his eighties.”
Andrew shivered. “Heaven forbid.”
With that, Heather sauntered out of the room, and again, I couldn’t help watching.
Once she was out of sight, I asked, “Is telepathy commonplace?”
“No.”
I gave a curt nod. “Good, because for a moment I thought Isidore might try it on me next.”
Andrew laughed. “Weres normally don’t have magical ability. It could happen, I suppose, but in all the years I’ve known Isidore, he’s never shown any inclination for the art.”
I snickered. “He’s all of, what…twenty-five?”
He coughed out a laugh. “Oh god, he’d completely fall in love with you if he heard you say that. No, he’ll be ninety this year.”
I sat there, unable to say anything for a long moment. “Seriously? Ninety?”
Andrew nudged the book he’d shown me earlier. “They’re very long-lived.”
About a half hour later, Heather strolled through the living room on the way to the door, pausing to catch my eye. “If you need a tour guide, let me know.” She glanced over at Andrew. “He’s got my number if you want it.” Looking down at my hand, she smiled. “Perhaps I’ll ply you with drinks, and then you’ll tell me about that.” She waved at me and then Andrew. “You always know the most interesting people.”
Heather didn’t wait for a response as she strode through the door, closing it behind her.
Andrew wisely kept his attention on the bottle of Dalmore and poured us another round before checking his watch. “We should grab a bite to eat before George arrives.”
An hour later, George was measuring me for what he called proper attire. During the tour of my closet, he bombarded me with random questions. When he finished with me, it was a little after five. On his way out, he assured me I’d have a full set of clothing by Monday afternoon, and told me not to get myself killed between now and then.
My stomach growled. Somehow, I was hungry again. Ever since I’d picked up my stone, my appetite had grown exponentially.
In the kitchen, I found Andrew pulling something out of the oven. He turned and gave me an appraising look. “How did it go?”
I waved a dismissive hand at myself and grunted. “George was exceptionally displeased with my current attire.”
Andrew turned his attention to the long glass baking pans on the stove. “He’s a bit of an elitist when it comes to clothing.”
I tried and failed to keep my sarcasm at bay. “No…really? Hadn’t noticed.”
Andrew tittered. “I assure you, he’s excellent at judging someone’s character and what makes them comfortable. Which means you won’t be wearing suits every day.”
Well, that explained the question and answer part of my day.
“Thank god. I was worried he was going to try to style me for an issue of GQ.”
Andrew snickered. “You’ll be fine. Now let’s eat.”
He turned and brought two plates heaped with beef enchiladas with red sauce to the table. We sat there talking, and about halfway through dinner, the subject of my grandfather came up. I pushed my plate to the side, and sighed. “I’ll finish that later.” Grumbling more to myself than Andrew, I said, “I’d like to get settled in here before you ship me off to see him.”
Andrew held up his hands. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but hopefully you can work it out.”
The memory of the hole he’d thrown me into as a child came back to me, and I shook my head. “I doubt he’s interested in working anything out.”
He grimaced. “Be that as it may, I’d like you to at least try.”
I frowned. “I’ll think about it.”
A quiet laugh escaped him. “Fair enough.” He gestured at the door. “I’ll load you up with books so you can familiarize yourself with…well, everything.”
It was like being in school again, but this time the homework involved even older, dustier books. “I’ll start on the journal tonight.”
Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door. We marched into the living room, and I opened the door to find Isidore carrying two overflowing banker’s boxes precariously stacked atop one another. I grabbed the top box and stepped out of the way to let him enter.
Isidore was clearly irritated. He turned to Andrew. “Captain Hotard and Sonia are here to see you.” He gestured at the boxes. “They have several more downstairs, and insisted that I take them ‘off their hands.’”
He might as well have finished that sentence by calling them a couple of assholes. And, from the expression on my uncle’s face, he was about as pleased with the situation as Isidore.
Andrew glowered. “He’s already cleaned out her office?”
Isidore’s cheeks flushed when he gestured at the boxes. “Apparently, he couldn’t wait. He said he needed the space for actual officers, doing act
ual work.”
Irritation was written all over Andrew’s face. “Where is the bastard?”
Isidore pointed at the floor. “Downstairs. He’s insisting on speaking with you.” He hesitated. “I was about to head out for the evening… Should I wait till you finish with the captain?”
Andrew grumbled as he waved off the idea. “Gavin and I can handle it from here. Besides, it’s only a few days to the full moon.”
Isidore nodded at my uncle. His gaze swept over me and stopped when it landed on my hand. “What happened?”
I flexed my hand, and turned it for him to see. “Rough night.”
He shook his head. “Right…” He let out a growl. “We’ll get into it when we don’t have unwanted guests downstairs, and I have more time.” He turned to Andrew. “I’ll be back in the morning to check in on you two.”
Andrew nodded, and we followed him downstairs to meet Captain Hotard, who was, much to my chagrin, accompanied by Officer Trahan. I’d seen but not met Captain Hotard at the funeral. He was a chubby man, nearly a foot shorter than myself. From this angle, I got a good look at the terrible combover of his obviously dyed, deep brown hair. His round face lacked a chin, and his forest green eyes darted all around the room as if something were about to jump out of the shadows. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he continuously blotted it with a heavily stained, yellowing handkerchief.
Officer Trahan looked much the same as she had at the funeral, only now she wore a defiant smugness on her round face. By the way she stared at me, it was clear she hated my guts. Her expression wavered when she looked at Andrew, though. Something about him scared her, even though I had a good eighty pounds of muscle on the old man.
Andrew glared at the dozen boxes littering the floor all around the captain and his henchman. “Bryan, you couldn’t wait until I could send someone to collect her things?”
Captain Hotard turned crimson as anger crept into his voice. “Mr. Randall, I’d appreciate it if you’d address me by my proper rank.”
Andrew took a step closer, and both officers shrank back. “Do you really want to get into a dick-measuring contest with me, Bryan?” Andrew held his gaze for a moment longer. “We both know who’d win.”