She wished she’d brought one of her brother’s Catahoula Leopard dogs with her, but those brutes weren’t city dogs. They were safer surviving on their own in the swamps until her brother could get back to them. The animals she rescued were more than enough company, even if they didn’t make her feel any safer.
She’d learned that it was best to go out at night, except for the dark and scary part. She had told herself that tonight would be the last night she’d go looking. After all, she had six cats and four dogs under protective custody in the back bedroom. The food she’d brought with her was being supplemented with scraps from the bars and restaurants, because everybody was sharing what they had, and without power everything was going to rot soon, anyway. She had enough rescued critters to look after. She kept to the shadows and tried not to splash as she moved along the walls. She envied the rats that swam easily past her; rats never had any trouble getting around. She promised herself that she’d find Mrs. Marceau’s poodle tonight, and that would be that. Of course, that was what she’d told herself last night.
She jumped at every sound. She hadn’t been this nervous before, but something about the night just felt wrong. She told herself she was imagining that shadows took on odd shapes, that she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She was creeped out and ready to turn back.
I have promises to keep, she thought, and kept going even as every step became harder. What was the use of having more than ordinary senses if she wasn’t going to trust them? She sighed. Promises to keep.
The only comfort she drew out of the night was something she didn’t notice at first but which grew slowly inside her. It was a sound that wasn’t a sound, a thought that was in her head but wasn’t her own. Not a thought but music. It was lovely, and somebody was humming it inside her head.
Weird.
She grew so puzzled that she stood perfectly still for a long time and forgot everything else around her. The water and the stench and the whole world disappeared.
Until a hand landed on her shoulder, and behind her a man said, “What are you doing out here, tempting fate?”
Chapter 3
D esi came out of the daydream when the water heater ran out and a cold spray suddenly pummeled her. She quickly stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself.
As she rubbed the chill out of her skin, she glanced at the bathroom mirror. “Girl, what is the matter with you today?”
Despite what she did for a living, she was not prone to visions and fancies. She read cards and palms and scryed the future in a quartz crystal ball, and she was good at it. But she used her abilities strictly for paying customers. Whenever she tried to tell her own fortune, she was plagued with terrible headaches. She guessed this meant there were things she wasn’t meant to know, and she’d left the personal psychic stuff alone when she wasn’t on the clock since she was a teenager.
Desi dressed and took herself off to her job at the psychic tea room on Jackson Square. Before reaching it, an impulse made her walk to the edge of the Quarter and look across to where all the shiny, new high-rise luxury hotels loomed above the city. The buildings blocked the sight of the river and looked down over the French Quarter. The tourists got great views from both sides, but Desi resented the intrusiveness, even as she accepted that they needed tourism to survive. New Orleans wasn’t the great port city it used to be, but it was still a great place to party. This morning, one of the high glass towers seemed more familiar than it used to. She could almost imagine the view of the river from the top of the hotel. Odd, since she’d never been inside the building. And odd was definitely the word for how she felt this morning. She shook it off and turned her back on the outside world. “Welcome to my world,” she murmured as she walked deeper into the Quarter.
When she entered the tearoom Desi asked, “Guess where I was last night?”
“At the Coyote concert,” her friend Eliza and her boss, Helene Dupre, answered.
“You’ve only been talking about it for weeks,” Eliza added. She looked Desi over from head to toe. “Did you get laid after the show?”
Desi went hot all over. She gave a shaky laugh. “No,” she answered, surprising herself at the lack of conviction in the word.
“I don’t know,” Eliza drawled. “You look like a cat that got all the cream she wanted. She’s got that my-man-satisfied-me glow pouring off her aura, doesn’t she, Helene?”
The shop owner glanced up from working on her laptop to give Desi a stern once-over. “That’s what it looks like to me,” she concurred. “Who was he, girl?”
Why were there no customers in the shop to take the women’s attention off her? “That’s a watching-Jonathan-Coyote-swivel-his-hips-would-make-any-woman-happy glow, Eliza,” she answered.
Her friend laughed, and Desi went to pour herself a cup of tea.
Eliza beckoned her over when Desi came back around the counter, cradling the steaming cup. Eliza was shuffling tarot cards as Desi sat opposite her at one of the shop’s three tables. Eliza put the deck down on the center of the shiny black tabletop. “Cut.”
Desi shook her head. “I don’t want a reading.”
“I need the practice.”
Eliza was better at dream interpretation than she was with the cards. As Desi sipped her tea, she looked at Eliza, who was still watching her expectantly. “All right, I’ll give you some practice. I had this dream last night…”
Eliza leaned forward eagerly. “Talk to me, girl.”
Desi stared at the shining surface of the table, as though she could conjure images in it. When she spoke, the memories that poured out hit her with all the sensory embellishments of sound and scent, texture and sexual excitement that made it seem like it actually happened. She could feel a hot kiss from sugar-coated lips on her mouth and skilled hands stroking…
Only having to answer Eliza’s occasional question kept her from falling completely back into the odd reality of the dream. Which hadn’t been real, she reminded herself.
She glanced up after she finished and found Helene looking at her strangely. “Maybe I better get to work.” She glanced toward the shop door in the hope that a customer was going to wander in from Jackson Square.
“Our first appointments aren’t until nine,” Helene said. She continued her intense study of Desi.
Eliza fanned a hand in front of her face. “And I’m going to need that ten minutes to cool down from those descriptions of last night, Des.”
“It was a dream,” Desi reminded Eliza. “You’re supposed to interpret it, not get excited about it. Not that I can’t figure it out for myself. I haven’t slept with anyone for a while, so all that pent-up sexual energy took itself out on a dream version of Jon Coyote. What’s the matter, Helene?” she asked nervously as the woman continued to stare.
Helene sighed and finally said, “You watch out for that Coyote boy, cher. I know his family, and they’re trouble for pretty little girls like you.”
A chill went up Desi’s spine at the warning. “But it was only a dream,”
“Let’s hope so,” Helene said.
Before Desi could ask one of the strongest psychics in New Orleans what she meant, a first group of tourists came in. Desi took her customer to one of the rooms to read cards for the woman. Then the day turned very busy, and she put the concert and the dream out of her mind.
Mostly.
She had the feeling she was going to be haunted by Jon Coyote for a long time to come. She also had the feeling that this was nothing new, just more intense.
Weird.
Chapter 4
“D amn, but last night was fun!”
Jon’s vision went red, and he whirled furiously around in his seat to snarl at the other Prime. “What the hell do you mean?”
Since Primes didn’t back down, Rico sat forward in his seat, his hands held up to show claws as he snarled back. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
Jon noticed the glint of the thick gold wedding band on Rico’s left
hand, and it reminded him that the other Prime was a bonded male. There was no threat there. He took a deep, calming breath. Why was he feeling threatened about possession of a female, anyway? He shook his head, but none of the confusion cleared out.
“What did you mean about last night?” he asked.
Rico looked at him as if he was crazy, but he was instantly calm as well. “I was talking about the fight at the warehouse. What set you off?” Then he threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, you thought I was talking about the pretty little girl you brought with you.”
“I didn’t exactly bring her with me.”
“You left with her.” Rico sat back in his seat, and the private jet began to taxi down the runway.
Jon closed his eyes as an unfamiliar sensation as sharp as physical pain rushed through him. Yeah, he’d left with her, and he’d left her. Not for the first time. It had been a stupid impulse to renew the acquaintance in the first place. But the moment he’d touched her hand, he’d known it was her, and…
“I was just going to catch up,” he muttered. “See how she was doing.”
He’d found out far more than he needed or wanted. She’d certainly grown up into a lush and lovely armful, though there’d already been the promise of beauty around her a decade ago, despite the dirt and the sweat and the heat. “My dung-hill flower,” he’d called her back then, and she’d made a horrible face. He didn’t blame her. He could write great hooks, but he was no poet. And she was still too young, even if a decade had passed. The differences in their ages hadn’t meant a thing to him last night, though.
“You’re staring into the distance with a glazed look in your eyes.” Rico interrupted his reverie. He glanced at his watch. “You’ve been somewhere besides here for the last five minutes.”
Jon didn’t remember the plane leaving the ground, but he saw that they were rushing away from New Orleans when he looked out the window. An ache grew in him with every swift mile. They were heading toward Memphis, where there was a show to do, and another job afterward. Once he was busy, this melancholy would pass. The energy from the audience and a little bloodshed should cheer him right up.
Bloodshed. Damn. She shouldn’t have seen what he’d done last night. She was young and sensitive and mort—
“Earth to Coyote,” Rico said.
Jon glanced at the watching guitarist. “I was remembering last night.”
Rico gave a toothy grin. “The raid on the warehouse? Or the girl you left behind?”
“Will you stop bringing up Desiree Gill? I don’t want to talk about her.”
Rico arched an eyebrow. “You remember her name the next day? That alone says a lot about last night.”
“We met before,” Jon said. “You remember when we were down for Katrina?”
Rico scratched his arms. “I’m not likely to forget. If you hadn’t come up with the cornstarch solution—”
“It wasn’t me,” Jon said. “It was—”
The last thing he had expected was the skin rash from the mixture of chemicals in the flood water. How ironic that it wasn’t the sunlight that made him want to run for cover. He scratched irritably at his left wrist as he set out on evening patrol.
The people left in this city needed looking after, and he and the rest of Coyote were among the unofficial volunteers giving the place a hand. New Orleans was a dangerous place under the best of circumstances, and these were the worst. The predators were out, which gave people like him a chance to prey on the predators. He smiled as he moved through the sludgy water and wondered if the moonlight caught the gleam of his extended fangs.
Amusement at his own vanity disappeared as he detected not only movement but also a ripple of evil energy from the shadows up ahead. He soon focused on a mortal male who followed a young woman farther up the flooded street. The mortal’s intentions were ugly; his body burned with deviant anticipation. The girl was unaware of being stalked, and Jon intended to keep it that way. He moved up silently behind the stalker.
He didn’t make a habit of killing. He believed in the rule of law. Besides, the pleasure of bloodhunting could be addictive. There was no reason for a vampire to risk his soul in an age when other sources of nourishment were so plentiful. Tonight, however, Jon had no qualms about what he did. There was no mortal law in this broken city, and he was sworn to protect the helpless. He looked into the man’s mind, found the crimes the mortal held as precious memories, and killed the bastard before the man even knew he was there. He left the corpse—one more storm victim—floating in the street. Then he moved on to catch up with the girl.
A song was taking shape in his head, and he concentrated on the music as the girl came to a halt in the shadows in front of him. She tilted her head as if carefully listening, though he knew he’d made no sound. Finally, she began to move again. When she was sufficiently far away from the body that she wouldn’t see it if she turned around, he caught up with her.
Jon put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “What are you doing out here, tempting fate?”
She gasped and whirled around to face him. She was a little thing, a teenager. She felt not an instant of fear. She squinted at him in the darkness, studying his face. “Do I know you?” She had a dark, rich voice for someone so young. She made him think of coffee laced with cream.
He had a momentary sensation that they’d known each other all their lives, followed by wondering if she was about to ask for an autograph. “No,” he said. “Don’t you know it isn’t safe out here?”
“Of course, I know that.” She laughed.
The rich sound sent a shiver through him. Young as she was, he was very aware that she was a woman.
“But there’s a poodle that needs rescuing,” she went on. “And nobody else to do it since FEMA wouldn’t let us take pets with us when we left.”
“You’re risking your life for a poodle?”
“Someone has to,” she said over her shoulder, as she turned around and started on her way once more.
This girl was as much a protector of the innocent as he was, and he was instantly drawn to her bravery and determination. He decided to take care of her while she took care of her chosen innocents.
“Hey, wait for me!” he called after her.
Which was how he had met Desiree Gill. They’d found the stupid dog, which had bitten him when he picked it up. He’d still carried the animal all the way back to the French Quarter for her, since Desi already carried a cat they’d rescued along the way. Jon shook his head and smiled fondly. That little girl had him wrapped around her finger from the first moment.
“You know, I could be a serial killer or worse,” he warned her when she invited him up to her apartment at dawn.
“You still need a place to sleep.” She went up the courtyard stairs, and he followed. When they reached the top, she said, “I know you’re safe to be with. I’m psychic.” She gave him a look that told him she didn’t expect any argument or sarcasm.
He grinned. “Thanks for letting me crash.”
Inside, they were greeted by a herd of cats and dogs. They put the recently rescued animals down among the others. A small fight broke out between the newcomers and the current residents, some fur flew, but everything settled down before human or vampire intervention was necessary.
Once Desi saw that all was well with the critters, she looked him over critically, then pointed toward a doorway. “There’s a pile of towels on the kitchen table. Get yourself stripped off and rubbed down. You can’t afford to stay wet in this kind of situation.”
He went into the kitchen, and she disappeared into another room. She joined him in a few minutes, wearing dry shorts and a T-shirt. He’d stripped down to his underwear, but she didn’t take any notice of his seminakedness. When she looked him over carefully, it was the patches of rash covering his skin that she concentrated on.
She went to a cabinet and brought out a yellow box of cornstarch. “This’ll help,” she said, handing it to him. He took the box while he looked at her
curiously. “Last year at camp, I took a course in urban disaster survival.” She gave that wonderful laugh of hers. “It sounded interesting in the brochure—who knew it would come in handy?”
“Hey, Jon, quit daydreaming.” Rico got out of his seat and waved for Jon to join him in the lounge at the back of the plane. “We’ve got a group meeting.”
“Right,” Jon agreed. Besides the show in Memphis, they had a rescue op to plan. He had no time to think about Desiree Gill right now, not for a long time to come.
Chapter 5
December, ten years from now
“Y ou okay?” Eliza asked.
Desi sank to her knees on the cool tile floor of the bathroom in the back of the shop. She rested her forehead against the white porcelain sink basin and groaned. She’d just thrown up. Again. She was definitely not okay. She barely managed to shake her head, then threw up again.
“Oh, God,” she groaned. “Maybe I ought to go to a doctor.”
“So I’ve said for the last two weeks,” Eliza asked.
This awful nausea had been going on for nearly a month now. She was beginning to think it wasn’t a nasty flu bug, and suddenly the idea of going to a doctor sounded very smart. Maybe because she was scared it was something other than the flu—
“Here, take this.”
Desi turned her head just enough to see that Eliza was holding out a box toward her.
“Wha’sat?” she managed to mumble.
“Madame Helene brought it in this morning. She wants you to take it.”
Desi managed to turn around. After a few moments, the dizziness that came with the daily nausea cleared up enough for her to read the label.
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