Under the Blood Moon

by Tracie Provost

  Part of me resented being dictated to, but I saw the wisdom of his words so I acquiesced. “Alright.”

  “I’ll call tomorrow and let you know the time.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter 11

  JOSH RANG MY doorbell just before 11 p.m. two nights later to take me to the gun range. “Ready to do some shooting?” he asked in that lazy drawl of his.

  I nodded, picking up my purse from the table. I locked the door behind us, careful to set the alarm.

  Josh’s bright-red car sat at the curb. It was larger than other automobiles I had ridden in and lacked a roof. As Josh held the passenger door open for me, he asked, “How do you like her?”

  “Her?”

  “My car. Ain’t she a beauty?” Once I was inside the vehicle, Josh closed the door and crossed to the driver’s side.

  “She is beautiful,” I said, and it wasn’t an empty compliment. The dashboard had few confusing dials. The well-worn black leather seats were comfortable, and there was plenty of legroom, unlike Andre’s car that had been cramped and slightly claustrophobic.

  “Since having a real horse ain’t practical here in the city, I had to settle for this steel horse. She’s a 1969 Mustang. I rebuilt her myself,” Josh said proudly. “OK, so having a car in this city ain’t so practical either, but I gotta have something.”

  I laughed and he drove us out of the French Quarter. I enjoyed the wind in my hair and even though the car was open, I did not have the terror I had experienced on the back of Mike’s motorcycle.

  We drove out of the city into an area that had been nothing but wilderness and escaped slaves when I had lived here before. It was now neat rows of houses that gave way to a business district. Josh pulled the car into a parking lot next to a nondescript, windowless building and parked. Streetlights illuminated the area, chasing away the shadows.

  “This is the range?” I asked. I had expected something else, something outdoors.

  “Yep. No point in dragging you out to the swamp to shoot tin cans when we can come to a place like this,” Josh said as he opened my door for me. “Wait a sec. I got something I gotta get out of the back.”

  I waited while Josh opened the car trunk and pulled out a largish box. I could hear glass clink inside as he palmed the box and closed the trunk. We walked around the building to a covered entranceway. Two bright pots of geraniums sat on either side of the smoked glass door. Josh pushed what looked like a doorbell and almost immediately the door was opened by a distinguished, older gentleman in a gray suit.

  “Ah, Joshua, I am so glad you remembered to bring my cognac,” the man said as he led us into a large lobby. A crystal chandelier glittered over an Italian marble floor. Several groupings of brown leather chairs and dark-wood coffee tables dotted the room. The faint smell of cigars lingered among the dark-paneled walls.

  “Richard, thanks for letting us come after hours like this, and on such short notice,” Josh said.

  The man laughed. “Mon ami, you always come late or after hours. When you come bearing hundred-year-old cognac, how can I refuse?”

  “True dat, Richard.”

  “Who is your lovely companion, Joshua?”

  “Please let me introduce you to Juliette de Grammont. Juliette, this is Richard Monmartre,” Josh said.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur,” I said, extending my hand to him.

  Taking it, he brought my hand to his lips. “Enchanted. You bring great beauty to my establishment. What are you doing with this scoundrel?”

  I laughed politely, but had no idea what to say. I was saved by Josh elbowing Richard jokingly in the side. “Hey there. Be nice or I’ll take back the cognac. ‘Sides, she ain’t your type.”

  Richard gave a throaty chuckle. “You wound me, Joshua. Trying to deprive me of good liquor.”

  “Gotta keep you in line somehow. Where do you want this box anyway?”

  “Give it to me. I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you take Miss Juliette back to the range. It is all set up for you.”

  “Thanks, Richard,” Josh said as he put his hand on the small of my back to guide me to the door at the back of the lobby. He led me through a short corridor into a room set up in long stalls with a paper target at the end of each.

  “Pick a spot, Juliette,” Josh said, and I walked to the nearest stall and pulled two guns from my purse, setting them on the conveniently provided table.

  “See you’re carrying the gun I gave you. Where’d you get the other?”

  “Gabe gave it to me. I should return yours to you,” I said.

  “Naw. Better you have more than one. Before we leave tonight, we’ll see what Richard has in the way of holsters for the one I gave you.”

  “What about you? Won’t you need the gun?” I asked.

  “That was just the spare I carry. I’ve got more. ‘Sides it’s a good excuse to buy another piece. Richard’s got a nice little Beretta I’ve had my eye on. I think I’ll treat myself.”

  While Josh busied himself pulling out boxes of ammunition from cupboards on the far wall, I wandered through the room. Where the lobby was opulent, this room was functional. Deep-maroon carpet covered the floor, and the walls were dotted with what I originally thought was art until I noticed that all the canvasses had the same design on them and were uniformly spaced. Josh noticed my interest and said, “Sound dampening tiles. Even with ear protection, the room was gettin’ too loud, so Richard installed them to absorb the noise.”

  “Oh.” I had not thought about how loud gun shots were or how they would be amplified in such a close space.

  “Um, Juliette . . .”

  I turned to see Josh staring intently at the two guns I had laid on the table. “Yes?”

  “You got some sorta magic going on with one of these guns?”

  I stared at him for a moment. I had spent much of the previous two nights modifying a spell originally designed to ignite wooden arrows to do the same thing to metal bullets. I was unsure if it had worked or not and wasn’t going to say anything in case it hadn’t. But Josh felt the magicked bullets? I wonder what else he can sense. “Not the guns, the bullets in the revolver that Gabe gave me. I cast a charm so they ignite on impact. At least they should,” I said.

  “You hoodooed bullets?”

  It wasn’t hoodoo exactly, but I did not feel like explaining. “I tried. I have not fired one yet, so I am unsure if the spell will work as I intended.”

  “If you managed to spell bullets to burst into flame, Gabe is gonna love you.”

  “Why?”

  “Gabe likes to shoot things and he likes to watch stuff burn. You have put two of his favorite things together. Will these things kill vamps?”

  “I am rather hoping they will,” I said, and to my immense satisfaction they did burst into flame upon impact. I had spelled the six bullets Gabe had given me with the revolver and each one of them had incinerated the paper target. I would need to create more of these ‘hoodoo bullets’ as Josh called them.

  I discovered I was a competent shot even without the flaming bullets. After we had finished shooting to Josh’s satisfaction, he taught me how to disassemble and clean the automatic he had given me. I already understood the mechanics of the revolver and cleaned that as well.

  Josh did buy the small, nondescript Beretta. It became what he called ‘his boot gun,’ since it tucked nicely into the custom holster inside his cowboy boots. The Beretta was a striking contrast to his main weapon, a flashy pearl-handled pistol. He told me it was one of a set his sister had bought him while he was a Ranger. “Ain’t as practical as an automatic but it is pretty and got sentimental value. If I suspect there’s gonna be trouble, I leave this one at home and bring my Glock. It’s got thirteen rounds and one in the chamber. Although if you could hoodoo more bullets, I might just
be able to keep carrying the revolver,” Josh said.

  “Is there trouble often?” I asked.

  “We haven’t had anything real serious since Katrina, but I suspect something’s brewing.”

  “Because of the fire at Frederique’s?”

  “Mighty suspicious that fire takin’ out all the Aether right before this prophecy is to take place. That and this werewolf activity. There are way too many Strays showing up for it to be a coincidence. If it were Mardi Gras, that’d be one thing. Everybody’s got amnesty as long as they don’t cause problems. Its protocol to present yourself if you’re visiting, but that ain’t always practical during Carnival season. And the kid, Jaime, said she was hunting demons. That someone was summoning ‘em. Yeah, there’s trouble coming.”

  This wasn’t at all what I wanted to hear. I had rather hoped to hear that I was being paranoid and making far more out of these incidents than there really was. There are times I hate being right.

  Josh drove me home and walked me to the door. “Would you like to come in for a drink?” I asked. It was partly out of politeness, but I did enjoy his company. A lot. Far more than I should. Andre had been gone barely a week. I told myself that I was simply making a strategic alliance, even if I really didn’t believe it.

  “Naw, I can’t tonight. I gotta swing by the bar and check on some stuff, and I promised Em I’d go over and help her rehearse.”

  “Em? Your sister?” I asked.

  “Yeah, she’s performing at the Gala and wants me to go over some of the music with her,” Josh explained.

  “Perhaps another time then.”

  “Count on it, darlin’,” he said as he leaned close. I thought he was going to kiss me and drew back. I wasn’t ready for that yet. He abruptly changed his stance and said, “Take care of yourself, Juliette.”

  “I will,” I said and let myself into the house.

  MARC STOOD AS I entered the room. “Madame Grammont, I am so sorry that I was unable to meet with you earlier. I normally do not keep coven leaders waiting days for a meeting,” he said with a slight bow.

  “These are not normal times, Monsieur. The werewolf problem is of immediate concern. While my matter may be of importance, it could wait a day or two. It is not Aether business I come on in any case.”

  “Please, have a seat,” Marc said. “Would you care for something to drink? Wine or vitae, perhaps?”

  “A glass of wine would be lovely,” I said as I sat in one of the wingback chairs.

  Marc crossed to the sideboard bar and drew out a bottle from the rack underneath. Holding it up for my inspection, he asked, “Is a Malbec alright?”

  “Perfect.”

  “How have you been faring?” Marc asked as he opened the bottle and poured out two glasses.

  “Probably better than I should be,” I said, accepting the glass from him.

  “Not exactly in deep mourning for Andre?”

  I looked intently at my wine for a moment. “Not exactly,” I finally admitted.

  Taking the chair across from mine, Marc said, “I am glad to hear it. The world is a very different place than the one you knew. I’ve been worried that, without someone to guide you through a transition phase, you might feel overwhelmed, especially as Aether Regent.”

  “I hate to say it but being Aether Regent is the easiest of it. There is no coven business at the moment because there are no Aether in the city. I have been in touch with Victoria Mountbatten, Head of Order in London. She will be sending an envoy to New Orleans in time for the Gala. I will discuss possible recruitment strategies for new members with the legate then,” I said.

  Marc nodded. “I’ve had word of the impending visit. I do hope you will be prudent and add new members slowly.”

  “Of course. I do not want a large number of baby or foreign vampires running around New Orleans any more than you do. We will be a very small coven for the foreseeable future.”

  “So you have decided to declare for Coven Mistress?” Marc asked.

  I shrugged. “I do not want it, but I am unsure there is another option. Neither of us wishes a foreigner as a coven leader, although I am not much better.”

  “Madame Grammont, Juliette, you have been in the city longer than I have. While I have not known you for much of that, I do know that I can trust you. You understand the soul of the city, its magic. Only surface things have changed. What is most important hasn’t.”

  “Why do you trust me?”

  “You saved my nephew,” he said simply.

  “Didn’t you think it was the least bit suspicious that a healer skilled in werewolf lore happened to show up just as a rash of lupine attacks started?”

  Marc smiled kindly at me. “Oh, it was suspicious as hell to me, but I was quite certain that if you had been brought here for a purpose, you knew nothing about it. I had a brief chat with Frederique the night you returned and then a much longer one, later on. While your sire was not a friend, your Coven Mistress was. She had always spoken highly of you and worried for you once you came back.”

  “Why was she worried?”

  “Because she thought Andre was keeping you isolated. I had to confess that the fault was mine that you hadn’t been out more. I was being, and continue to be, mercenary in utilizing your particular talents. But I did promise her that I would look out for you when she couldn’t.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about being used as a tool by the Grandmaster, but at least he was being honest, and it did answer a lot of my questions. Then reality set in and I realized just how in over my head I was.

  Marc interrupted my worry by asking, “You said this meeting was not about Aether business. Is it Chris or the werewolves?”

  “Neither actually. Monsieur Chris is doing very well and I have heard of no new werewolf attacks. No, this has to do with the Gatekeeper,” I said.

  “Yes, Josh came to see me about your encounter. Who would have thought a member of our mythology would crop up?”

  “The Gatekeeper came back to me after Josh left. She wished to speak to me privately,” I said.

  “About what?” Marc leaned forward in his seat.

  “She came to tell me about a prophecy.” I closed my eyes and began to recite, “’One with magic in blood and bone will come forth on the Cold Blue Moon and, through willing sacrifice, open the Gates of Hell. Angels will weep and Lucifer will reign. Only another with magic in blood and bone can prevent this.’”

  “Yes, I am well aware of the apocalyptic prophecy, and I have been in touch with Grandmasters in other target cities. We are monitoring the situation closely. Does she think the werewolf activity has something to do with the coming Blue Moon?”

  “She thinks it is a harbinger of things to come, but that is not why she told me of the prophecy,” I said.

  “Why did she come to you then?”

  Looking at my hands, I said very softly, “Because I am a thaumaturge.”

  Sitting back in his seat, Marc said, “Finally some good news. At least we have someone who can close the Gate if some idiot actually does get it open.”

  Not the response I had expected. I relaxed slightly. “There is that,” I said dryly.

  “Did she give an indication of who the Gatekeepers think might attempt an opening?”

  “Apparently two hundred years ago, I was their prime suspect.”

  Marc’s eyes bore into me. “Why would they think you would open the Gate?”

  “My association with the Aether. They thought Andre might trick me into doing it,” I explained. I was still not sure what was more troubling, that they believed the Aether might be behind the attempt or the thought that I would actually open the Gate. “The idea that the Aether would trick me into opening the Gate is absurd. No one even knew I was a thaumaturge.”

  “Not even Andre?
”

  “No.”

  “He did not taste the magic in your blood when he made you?”

  I shook my head. “I made sure to be embraced on a voodoo holy day after Andre and I had conducted numerous rituals. It would have been unusual for magic not to have been in my blood.”

  “And he couldn’t taste the difference?”

  “Magic is magic whether it comes from within or without. Since mages are just humans who use magic, their blood does not normally have magic in it, but when mages use magic, it permeates into them and, for a short time at least, lingers in their blood.”

  Marc nodded. “Thank you for explaining. Even as old as I am, magic is still a mystery to me. Like many Gnomes, I was raised to mistrust it. My father has a maniacal fear of it.”

  “And you?” I asked, without thinking how inappropriate the question was.

  Marc did not seem to notice, or at least, was not offended by it. “Now I have a healthy respect for it. I have seen it do great good, as in Chris’s case, but I have also seen how disruptive and destructive magic can be in the hands of the careless or power-hungry,” Marc said. Pausing, he took a sip of wine. “Did Andre ever speak to you about his time in Versailles?”

  I thought for a moment. “Very little. He said that he had been there, and he certainly tried to recreate it in my house, but nothing more than that. The Gatekeeper said something though. One of the reasons they thought I might open the Gate was that Andre had been practicing Black Magic in Paris. But they must have been mistaken. Andre was never interested in the Dark Arts.”

  Steepling his fingers under his chin, Marc said, “Yes and no.”

  I looked sharply at the Grandmaster and he continued, “While Andre was at Court, there was an active Black Magic cult. For the most part it was idle, rich noblemen and women looking for a diversion. More or less a lark, but there were a few real practitioners–including the king’s own mistress.”

  “The king’s mistress?” The thought of someone that close to the throne even dabbling in Black Magic was terrifying.