Bad Boy Prince: A British Royal Stepbrother Romance

by Vivian Wood

  “Ah, Duverjay, you always know what I like,” Gabriel teased. Duverjay raised a brow, but otherwise did not respond. The man was from the classical school of butlers, and he would no more likely rise to Gabriel’s bait then he would begin a day of work in flip-flops.

  The Guardians tormented Duverjay mercilessly about the pristine black suit and white dress shirt he wore every day. The butler never deviated from his self-imposed uniform, but that didn’t stop him from shooting disapproving glances at the Guardians any time they lounged around the house in gym shorts and sneakers after a long day of sparring.

  Formed by Mere Marie with the specific intention to protect the city of New Orleans from a rising tide of evil power, specifically a slippery, shadowed figure known as Pere Mal, the Guardians spent most of their time patrolling the city streets. They generally monitored all the goings-on of the Kith, or paranormal community, but could be called upon to help humans if the need was great enough. When they weren’t patrolling, the Guardians were sparring or working on their weapon-handling skills, usually in the form of target practice with a handgun or crossbow.

  The butler made a point to keep a fresh suit and tie pressed and ready in the bedroom of each of the Guardians. As if it any moment, Rhys might ditch his jeans and shit kicking boots for what amounted to dinner wear. Of all the modern conveniences, Rhys loved fitted jeans and fast cars the most.

  Though he’d left behind a great deal in his old life, Rhys had come to appreciate certain parts of his new one. 2015 boasted a wealth of fine wines and whiskeys, for instance. The variation of clothing styles was astonishingly broad, though Duverjay did most of the actual purchasing for the Guardians; the man had an eye for the fit of a garment.

  There was also something to be said for the food, an eye-opening array of choices from every type of game or fowl Rhys had ever known, multiplied by a thousand. Rhys loved nothing more than a piece of roast salmon, fingerling potatoes, and a fresh salad of field greens. Usually finished with a glass of port or Scotch whiskey, though he kept his intake of alcohol low.

  Rhys’s stomach rumbled, and he realized that he was rhapsodizing about salmon because he’d worked up a huge appetite sparring with Gabriel. Damn the man, but the other Guardian was almost as good as Rhys with a sword now, and Rhys had to work a lot harder to keep them both on their toes.

  “Dinner?” Rhys asked the butler.

  “Gentlemen,” Duverjay said with a slight bow. “There is a very distressed young lady waiting for you in the foyer. You might want to see her before you eat.”

  Rhys gave Duverjay a curious glance, then headed into the front hall. A light skinned young woman waited there, wringing her hands. She wore a royal blue dress that clung to every curve. Paired with sky high white heels, her fashionable outfit clashed with the misery in her expression.

  Duverjay inserted himself between the girl and Rhys, placing a comforting hand on her arm. Rhys noticed that Gabriel hung back, seemingly content to watch the exchange.

  “This is Andrea,” Duverjay said, giving the girl a sympathetic, wincing smile. “Her mother’s in a bit of trouble. Isn’t that right, Andrea?”

  The young woman nodded, her lower lip wobbling. Rhys was startled to watch as Duverjay actively tried to comfort her; Duverjay rarely showed any visible emotion, and Rhys had never seen the Butler expressed sympathy of any kind.

  “That man, Pere Mal, he took my momma,” Andrea sobbed. “She didn’t do nothing wrong. The man can’t just take her off the street like that, just because she works at Le Marchè. Can he?”

  Mere Marie, the Guardians’ mercurial employer, sauntered down one of the two grand staircases that flanked the front hall, though Rhys hadn’t noticed her listening in. She was a petite woman of perhaps sixty years of age, though Rhys knew for a fact that Mere Marie was at least four or five times older than she looked. She had the distinctive coffee-and-cream skin tone of a Creole woman, but her straight salt-and-pepper hair and French-tinged New Orleans accent hinted at a farther-reaching blend of mixed heritage: Haitian, Creole, and white, perhaps even a little Spanish.

  As always, Mere Marie was dressed in a flowing set of cotton robes. Today she wore light yellow, and she’d pushed up the sleeves to her elbows. Rhys caught the scent of anise and bitter herbs, the herbal smell growing stronger as she neared. Her fingers and forearms were mottled with green and yellow stains, signs that she’d been at work in her apothecary room, making little sachets she called gris-gris.

  Being employed by a Voodoo priestess was never boring, that much was certain. Rhys edged away from the overwhelming licorice scent pouring off Mere Marie, and waited to hear what she’d say about the butler bringing strangers into the Manor.

  “Ah, Duverjay, I see you’re bringing your family to visit at work now,” Mere Marie said, arching a brow.

  Rhys looked at Duverjay and Andrea, and suddenly it was obvious that they were related. They had similar noses, and the same chocolatey brown eyes. Duverjay glared at Rhys and Gabriel, as if challenging them to say something about him or Andrea.

  “My niece, ma’am,” Duverjay said to Mere Marie. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Rhys glanced at Mere Marie, wondering for the thousandth time precisely what Mere Marie had done to earn the man’s loyalty and respect. Duverjay didn’t defer to many people, but with Mere Marie he was the very picture of politeness.

  “Let’s hear it, then,” Mere Marie said, giving the young woman a skeptical glance.

  “Well, I was at my work, Stiletto’s, talking to one of my regulars. This guy Amos, good tipper.” Andrea paused and took a shaky breath. “I told him a story about my momma, about her work in the Voodoo market, how she meets all these people. Witches and psychics, people who come to her for herbs stuff.”

  “Your mother has very high quality products,” Marie said with a nod.

  “Well, I didn’t realize that Amos works for some… I don’t know who these guys are, but they snatched my momma right off the street. She didn’t even get a close her shop or nothing, left the door wide open. Lucky everybody scared of my momma.” Andrea scowled.

  “And did Amos tell you where your mother is?” Duverjay asked.

  “Naw. I guess that guy, Perma or whatever his name is, has some some spot across the bridge where he keeps people. Amos make it sound like…” Andrea paused and shivered. “Like it’s no big thing. That’s fucked up.”

  “You mean Pere Mal, I think. Why are they holding your mother? Does she have something they want?” Mere Marie asked, cocking her head.

  “Amos was tipping me real good a couple of weeks ago, asking me to look out for a certain kinda person. A medium, he called it. Somebody real strong, with no shields to keep people out, and nobody to look after them. Momma reads auras and shit, you know,” Andrea said, circling her hand around her head to imitate an aura. “She said this lady comes in and gets some kinda herb, something to make it so she don’t see ghosts and stuff. Momma says that lady’s aura is a little blue, means she don’t got anybody waiting for her at home. Anyway, Amos was asking, so I told him about the lady. I figured he wanted to contact a ghost or something.”

  “And they took your mother to find the lady?” Rhys asked, filling in the gaps in the story.

  “Yeah. Her name’s Echo Caballero. Amos called her something else, too… A light or some shit,” Andrea sighed.

  “Language,” Duverjay warned with a frown.

  “Sorry, Uncle George.” Andrea gave him an apologetic grimace and Duverjay gave her a gentle hug.

  “Let’s get you something to drink, huh?” Duverjay said, shooting Rhys a meaningful glance as he shepherded his niece toward the kitchen. “Let them work on how to get your mother back.”

  The second they were out of hearing range, Gabriel gave a beleaguered sigh.

  “I didn’t realize that we were doing Duverjay’s personal errands now,” he lamented.

  “That’s not why Duverjay brought her here,” Mere Marie snapped, shooting Gabri
el an irritable glance. “He brought her because it involves Pere Mal. And it’s a good thing he did, if this woman is what I think she is. The Three Lights must be protected, kept from Pere Mal at all costs.”

  “What are the Three Lights?” Rhys asked.

  Working for Mere Marie had opened up a whole new world for him, and every damned magical thing seemed to have a special title and a backstory. That wasn’t even accounting for all the weird New Orleans history and mythology that Mere Marie and Duverjay were steeped in. God help you if you pronounced Burgundy Street like the wine, when locals called it Ber-GUN-dee.

  “Where’s Aeric?” Mere Marie asked, fanning herself. “I need all three Guardians for this task.”

  Gabriel turned, cupping his hands to his mouth, and bellowed Aeric’s name toward the second floor where the viking's rooms lay. The four upper floors were all arranged so that a row of dark wood doors exited onto a long, broad landing that connected to the staircases mounted on each side of the house. This meant that looking up from the foyer, The volume of his shout was particularly impressive, and Rhys smirked at Mere Marie’s expression of displeasure at being so close to the sound.

  Seconds later, a door on the second floor opened and a massive dark blond man stepped into view, looking irate.

  “Yes?” Aeric asked, walking up to the landing’s railing and leaning on it to peer down at them. Aeric’s English was coming along well, considering that at the time of his arrival at the Manor he’d known none at all, but even so he was still taciturn.

  “Mistress needs all of us,” Gabriel said, using the title Mere Marie insisted upon.

  Aeric shot them all a steely glare, then trudged down the hall and down the stairs.

  “I’m in the middle of something,” the former Viking informed them all. His medieval Norwegian accent was thick as sludge when he did choose to speak, and Rhys sometimes struggled to pick out words amongst Aeric’s mumbling.

  “Not anymore,” Mere Marie told him crisply, turning and leading them back into the vast living area. Duverjay and Andrea were huddled in the open kitchen, sitting at the bar and talking in low tones.

  Mere Marie stalked to what the Guardians called The Table, which was a massive oak table flanked by several heavy benches. It was their usual meeting place when discussing the business of slaying demons and generally fighting evil forces that threatened New Orleans.

  She took a seat at the far end, leaving Rhys, Aeric, and Gabriel to find seats around her.

  “Pere Mal has abducted a relative of Duverjay’s,” Mere Marie told Aeric, waving a hand at the butler.

  Aeric pursed his lips, perhaps wondering about the wisdom of Pere Mal abducting someone so closely connected to the Guardians, but he said nothing. Whether Pere Mal was yet aware of the Guardians was a frequent topic of debate at the Manor, and now was not the time to start another heated argument about a tangental topic.

  “Andrea said that Pere Mal’s guy called the woman a Light. As in one of the Three Lights,” Mere Marie said, launching into a short lecture. “Pere Mal is obsessed with destroying the Veil, the protective barrier between the spirit world and ours. He wants to be able to rule over the spirits of his ancestors, call their power as his own. Unfortunately, he doesn’t care what else will come through the Veil.”

  “I’m guessing nothing we’d like,” Gabriel said.

  “Let’s just say that we’ve all got ghosts in our pasts, and vengeful spirits would be a blessing compared to some of the darker forces that would emerge,” Mere Marie said.

  “So what are the Lights?” Rhys prompted, curious.

  “Pere Mal believes that Baron Samedi, an old Voodoo priest, found a way to open the Veil. ‘Seven nights, seven moons, seven secrets, seven tombs.’ Some people believe that to be the key to finding and unlocking the Gates of Guinee, leading straight into the realm of the spirits. From there, certain… spells… could be used to tear the Veil forever.”

  Aeric finally spoke up, giving Mere Marie a frank glance. “I am curious as to how you know these things about Pere Mal.”

  Mere Marie stiffened for the barest second, then relaxed once more. It happened so quickly that Rhys might have imagined it.

  “I have many informants,” was her only answer.

  Her words were true, of course; she had a vast network of informants throughout the city, all whispering to one another, passing secrets from one to the next until they reached Mere Marie’s ear. Mere Marie had a charming side, a way of making people relax and laugh until they wanted to tell her everything.

  “Right,” Rhys said, shaking his head for a brief moment. “So the Lights are part of the ritual or something?”

  “I’m not certain,” Mere Marie said, surprising Rhys. “They all serve different functions. Andrea mentioned that this girl, Echo, is a medium. It would appear that Pere Mal needs her to summon and commune with a ghost.”

  “There’s no way of knowing who he wants to talk to,” Gabriel surmised. “Could be Baron Samedi himself, or a member of his family. Could be…”

  “Anyone,” Rhys finished with a nod. “I’m not sure how we fight against something we have absolutely no way of finding.”

  “The girl. We find the girl,” Mere Marie said. “We need to use her to find the secret before Pere Mal does.”

  Silence reigned for several long beats.

  “Are you suggesting that we use her in precisely the same manner as the man from whom we are rescuing her?” Gabriel asked, his brows lowering with displeasure.

  “Yes. And I believe…” Mere Marie pretended to look around at the house for a moment. “Ah, yes. I am still in charge here. So when I ask you to go find the girl, and do it soon… I think you’d better do it.”

  She pushed to her feet, giving them all a threatening glance.

  “Use the scrying mirror. Find the girl. I want her in the Manor by sunrise,” she commanded. She rolled her neck, producing several sharp pops, and left the room without so much as a backward glance.

  “Well… alright,” Gabriel said, resentment plain on his face. “I guess I’ll get the mirror.”

  4

  Chapter Four

  Rhys

  Wednesday, 11am

  “We need more than just a vague location,” Rhys said as all three men stared into the scrying mirror, which was reflecting a pleasant and brightly colored block of the Faubourg Marigny, an upscale neighborhood close to the French Quarter filled with immaculately kept traditional Creole cottage style homes. “The fact that she’s somewhere on Spain Street doesn’t really help.”

  “Mmmm…” Gabriel said, considering. “Well, there’s one thing I can try. I haven’t done it before, but I found an obscure spell that might show us what our girl looks like.”

  “Will it kill anyone? Scorch any eyebrows?” Aeric asked, giving Gabriel a meaningful glance. A month into their residence at the Manor, Aeric had let Gabriel use him as the test subject on a summoning spell. The apple in Aeric’s hand didn’t move an inch, much less fly into Gabriel’s waiting hand, but Gabriel did somehow manage to singe off Aeric’s eyebrows and eyelashes, which Rhys found quite funny.

  “No,” Gabriel said defensively. “I told you, one of the words in that spell was smudged. It wasn't my fault.”

  “All magic belongs to the magician,” Aeric started in. The Viking had strong feelings about magical responsibility, making Rhys wonder once more about Aeric’s former life. He was secretive about his ability to shift and his knowledge of magic, distrustful of women, and easily overwhelmed by new technologies. Unfortunately for Rhys’s inquiring mind, Aeric was a tight-lipped, overly private bastard who never talked about his past for more than a moment or two.

  “Okay, okay,” Rhys said, checking the gold watch on his wrist. “We don’t have time for this. Gabriel, do the spell.”

  “I need the girl. Andrea, I mean,” Gabriel said.

  Andrea was brought over, Duverjay hovering in the background and shooting the Guardians distrustful glances. G
abriel had recently begun to take a page from Mere Marie’s book; when he did spells, he now combined the physical ingredients ahead of time and tucked them into a palm-sized white linen sachet. Depending on the spell, the sachet might be worn under clothing and against the skin, burned as it lay inside a circle of salt, cast into the river, or any other number of symbolic gestures.

  This spell called for Andrea to place the coin-sized sachet on her tongue as she pictured the spell’s target. Rhys winced sympathetically as Andrea sniffed the sachet and blanched at the scent of it, but she dutifully followed orders and then closed her eyes.

  After a brief incantation, Gabriel raised his hands before Andrea’s face. He made a pulling gesture, grabbing at the air near her eyes and pulling his hands backward. A thin gray mist appeared in the air, giving them a flickering black and white moving picture of the young woman who Andrea’s mother befriended.

  The image was shoddy, giving few details. The woman had pale skin, light-colored hair, and dark eyes set in a heart-shaped face. The single glimpse of her body revealed a sweetly curved hourglass figure clad in a chic but modest retro-style dress. For some reason, though the details about her were few, Rhys felt a stirring of attraction low in his belly.

  He pulled a face, suppressing his strange reaction. He hadn’t had a woman since he’d arrived in New Orleans. Modern women were a complete puzzle to him, playing by rules he didn’t understand, using technology he didn’t want or need, expecting… Well, certainly not courtship, if Rhys had that much right.

  He was lonely at the Manor, and unlike Gabriel, he wasn’t making any effort to get used to the city’s smoky bars and loud dance clubs. The dancing was the worst part, actually. The most forced social interaction of all, to “music” Rhys despised, all while pressed up against a strange woman…