In his hand was a small silver compact, a simple but elegant fleur-de-lis embossed on the front. Harlow took it. “It’s beautiful.”
“And functional. Keep it with you always.”
“I will.” She opened it, just to look at the mirror, then snapped it shut again.
“I’m not quite done yet.” Still smiling, he opened a second drawer and removed a slim, sheathed blade. He pulled it from its nylon covering and showed it to her. The metal was worked in an elaborate design.
“That’s beautiful.”
“And sharp enough to cut bone in the right hands. Such as our Cylo’s. When it comes to blade work, he is our most skilled lieutenant. I’m sure he’d be happy to give you a few lessons.”
She glanced at Cy, who nodded and gave her a big smile.
“Anytime,” he said.
Harlow took the blade and tucked it into the back of her waistband, beneath her tunic. “Thank you.” Then she held up the silver compact. Traveling by mirror alone was one thing. Traveling by mirror in front of an audience was something else entirely. “If you don’t mind, I’ll do this out in the hall.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
She gave them a wave, then walked out into the long hall for a little privacy. She considered traveling to the kitchen, but if Lally was in there, she didn’t want to scare her by just suddenly appearing. The foyer was a safer bet. She’d be quiet regardless, in case Lally really was sleeping, but she had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the situation. It was hard to rest when someone you loved was in danger.
Flipping open the compact, she looked into the mirror and focused on the entrance to the house, imagined herself standing before the ornate gold mirror. A half second later, the magical pull she’d come to expect tugged at her. She blinked at the slight dizziness and opened her eyes to find herself standing in front of the mirror she’d just been thinking about. She smiled. It was good to master a new skill. Even better, it was good to be fae.
Lally’s voice sounded from the kitchen, the smell of vanilla cake and rum permeating the whole house. Whatever Lally was baking smelled good enough to eat. Mouth watering, and eager to explain they’d found the warehouse where Augustine was probably being held, Harlow headed in. “Hey, guess what—”
“Well, isn’t this convenient. Just the fae we were looking for.” Giselle stood over Lally, who sat in a kitchen chair. Anger shone in Lally’s eyes, despite the butcher knife Giselle held to her throat. “And you said she wasn’t home.”
Mixing bowls sat on the counter while two buttered cake pans awaited filling on the kitchen table. “She wasn’t,” Lally snapped.
“Get away from her, witch.” Rage replaced every thought in Harlow’s mind. Her fingers tingled with the urge to grab the blade hidden at her back, but what were the chances she could get to it before Giselle harmed Lally?
“Now, Sister dear, is that any way to talk to us?” Giselle’s lids fluttered and her eyes once again held the solid black of Ava Mae’s possession. Harlow’s fingers twitched as Giselle kept talking. “We have every right to be angry with you after you left us in that pit.”
“I didn’t leave you there. You were too weak to make it out.” Not that Harlow would have had things go differently. “What do you want with Lally?”
The knife moved dangerously close to Lally’s skin. Giselle smiled, revealing a mouthful of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. “We’re so glad you asked. We don’t want anything of Lally. What we want is for you to come to the tree with us.”
“The tree?” That couldn’t lead to anything good. Harlow turned slightly so that her right hand was hidden. The blade was tempting, but not something she felt secure using. Instead, she eased the compact open. She wasn’t going to get a second chance at this.
Giselle screeched at her. “Don’t play dumb with us. You know what tree we mean.”
Harlow nodded. “The lightning tree, right, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She inched closer. “Put the knife down and I’m happy to go with you. I’ve wanted to get a better look at that tree for a long time but this old woman won’t let me.”
Giselle narrowed her eyes. “Why should I believe you?”
Harlow frowned and stuck her bottom lip out, pretending to be hurt. “Have I ever lied to you before? Give me a chance. I want to know about that tree just as much as you do. Besides, Mother would want us to do this together, don’t you think?”
For a moment, Giselle’s black gaze muddied with uncertainty. “I… guess…”
“Good.” She looked at Lally, prayed she could read between the lines, and made a very cross face. “Don’t you dare tell Fenton or Olivia where we’ve gone, you understand me?”
Lally’s eyes widened and she nodded.
Giselle pulled the knife back and raised her hand like she was about to knock Lally out with the blunt end.
That was the only signal Harlow needed. She opened the mirror as she lunged forward, latched one hand on to Giselle and with the strength of a single thought, took them both through to the fae plane.
Augustine’s last memory was everything going black and a sharp pain in the side of his neck. As consciousness returned, he understood that pain was from being injected with a sedative as soon as Sutter’s men had loaded him into the SUV. The blackness was from having a hood yanked over his head.
The hood was gone now and whatever had drugged him worn off, the remnants of it lingering like ashes on his tongue. But the biting pain of the iron cuffs remained, digging into his skin and making the back of his skull ache like he was in the throes of the world’s worst hangover.
Shadows moved across the wall. It was morning, but not super-early. Still, for him to have been out as long as he had they must have given him an extremely high dosage of something. An animal tranq, maybe.
He kept his head down, and only moved his partially opened eyes as he scoped out his surroundings. From the looks of the place he was in the bedroom of a hotel suite. A nice one if the elaborately dressed four-poster bed was an indication. Nearby sat a desk and chair. He leaned to the side to get a better look at the pad by the phone. The Ritz-Carlton. Hell’s bells. He was in the heart of the French Quarter. Not that he could do anything with that knowledge.
He tested his bonds, but succeeded only in causing himself more pain. The chair he was tied to was pitted metal with a cheap vinyl seat and looked more like it had come from the hotel’s employee lounge than been part of the suite’s furnishings. Judging from the plastic tarp under the chair and covering several square yards around him, there was probably a reason for the grungy chair.
They didn’t want to get blood on anything in the suite.
His coat was in a heap in the corner and from what he could tell, his weapons had been stripped from him. He flexed his ankle. Yep, the blade in his boot was gone, too. Damn it. He was about as vulnerable as he could be: unable to use his powers, weaponless and restrained. There weren’t enough curse words, fae or human, to express how he felt. Weak heat tingled along his spine, the best his body could manage with the iron suppressing his abilities.
He listened hard, but the iron kept his senses too dull to make a solid determination about who else was in the suite. The heartbeats in the other rooms were so muddled and indistinguishable, it was hard to say if there were two or four. Two things were certain: The place reeked of humans and he was not alone.
As if on cue, the door to the bedroom opened. He kept his head down, eyes closed, and feigned unconsciousness.
“Still out,” a male voice said. Not Sutter, but familiar. One of the men from the abduction.
“Wake him. She’s on her way up,” replied another, also familiar but not Sutter.
The door closed. Footsteps approached. Combat boots came into view. A rifle butt jabbed his shoulder. “Rise and shine, princess.”
Augustine made a show of coming to. He lifted his head slowly, blinking and acting like he was trying to focus. “Where am I?” he mumbled.
�
��Don’t worry about where you are.” The man in front of him wore black tactical gear. Augustine didn’t recognize him from earlier, but if he wasn’t one of Sutter’s guys, he had to be part of Pellimento’s personal security detail. But wouldn’t they wear suits? How big a crew did Sutter have? The man went to stand by the open door, then spoke to someone outside the room. “He’s awake.”
“Good.” That voice he recognized and the woman belonging to it walked in a moment later.
The senator had arrived.
Tablet in hand, she strode toward him, stopping at the edge of the tarp. “You killed my son.”
Augustine picked his head up a little more to give her the full benefit of his stare. “The witches killed your son. I tried to save him.”
“Your lies won’t help you.” The man pulled out the desk chair and moved it to the edge of the tarp. Pellimento shook her head. “No, not here. Further back.” He moved the chair as Pellimento indicated and the senator sat. “No, Mr. Robelais, the only thing that will save you now is your confession.”
Another man Augustine recognized came in carrying a camera and tripod setup. He was also dressed in the same black tactical gear.
Augustine snorted. “I’m not going to confess to something I haven’t done just so you can use it to further your anti-othernatural campaign.”
Her hair and makeup were done, her suit pristine. Was today the day she’d been scheduled to dedicate the statue in Audubon Park? Had she still done that knowing her son was dead? If so, the woman was colder than he’d imagined.
She crossed her legs and continued to stare him down. “You will do exactly that.” She looked at her watch. “You have until five p.m., which is when I’ll be announcing my son’s murder and airing your taped confession at my news conference. After that, it will come as no surprise when I use martial law to lock the city down until my new othernatural identification program goes into effect.”
“You’re never going to get that approved.”
For the first time, she broke into a thin smile. “You really have no idea what I’m capable of, do you? Now I’ll give you one more chance to say yes to my very generous offer.” She turned the tablet around so he could see the screen. “I’ve already written your confession for you.”
From his position, he could make out only a few phrases. My evil nature… uncontrollable desire to kill… hatred of humans. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “There’s no way in hell I’m reading that.”
“Interesting choice of words.” She sniffed. “Very well. But remember, this is the path you chose.” With a shrug, she placed the tablet facedown on her lap, then tipped her head to look down her nose at him. “I do think you’ll change your mind sooner than expected.” She snapped her fingers. “Mr. Sutter, we’re ready for you.”
Wearing the same black gear as his men, Sutter entered the room. Two more mercs followed him. He pointed at Augustine with the iron bar he held in one hand. “Haul him up.”
“You piece of garbage,” Augustine spat. “You killed a good man today.”
The men grabbed Augustine’s arms and lifted him to his feet. Sutter approached, twirling the iron rod like a baton. “Grantham was collateral damage.”
“You’ll pay for his death.” Augustine glared at him, wishing he could take the man on one-on-one, no restraints, no weapons, just some good old-fashioned hand-to-hand. They’d see who was collateral damage then.
Sutter stepped onto the tarp, but the senator lifted her hand. “Remember, not the face.”
Sutter smacked the bar against his open palm and cocked his head to one side as if assessing Augustine’s vulnerable areas. “That still leaves a lot to work with.” He pulled back and swung, smashing the bar into Augustine’s ribs.
Augustine bent with the blow in an attempt to lessen its force, but the pain that shot through him told him it hadn’t done much good. The iron only added to the impact, leaving behind a welt that seared like a third-degree burn. Despite the pain, he straightened. He’d endured worse on the streets in order to make enough scratch to buy dinner. The stakes here were much higher—the liberty of all New Orleans’s othernaturals. With as much nonchalance as he could muster, he smiled at Sutter. “Anyone ever tell you that you hit like a girl?”
Scowling, Sutter drew back again.
Augustine braced himself. All he had to do was hang on until his lieutenants figured out where he was.
How hard could that be?
The bar slammed into his ribs again. The crack of bone seemed to ring in his ears. Maybe a better question might be, how long could that take?
Chapter Twenty-four
Giselle landed on hard, rocky ground. With Harlow on top of her. Wind swirled around them, tugging at their clothes and hair and scouring them with grit. They tussled for a moment until she got enough leverage to shove both hands against Harlow’s shoulders. “Get off me or I’ll put a hex on you.”
“Hex this.” Harlow slugged her across the mouth. “Never touch Lally again. Do you hear me?”
Giselle put her hands in front of her face to block the next blow and cast a protection spell at the same time. Harlow’s fist connected with Giselle’s stomach, forcing the air from her diaphragm. So much for the protection spell. She coughed, twisting to her side and finally dislodging Harlow. She found her breath, taking in a mouthful of dust with it. She coughed some more. “What the hell? Where are we?” Nothing looked familiar. “Why isn’t my magic working?”
Harlow had already gotten to her feet and now stood over Giselle, glaring down at her. “Maybe because you’re on the fae plane.”
Giselle wasn’t even sure what that meant. Ava Mae, where are you? Why aren’t you helping me?
Ava Mae’s response was feeble and distant. We’re too far away from the tree.
Harlow leaned down, fists raised and eyes angry. “Are you Giselle or Ava Mae?”
Giselle pushed to her feet. Her mouth tasted of blood and dirt and her jaw ached. She spat as much of the mess out as she could. “Both.”
“You don’t seem like Ava Mae. Your eyes aren’t black and your teeth look normal.”
Giselle glanced down. Her clothes were filthy. She brushed at them while she glared at Harlow. “What is this place?”
Ava Mae moaned. I don’t like it here.
Shut up. This is your fault.
“I told you,” Harlow repeated. “This is the fae plane.”
Giselle backed away, almost stumbling over the hardscrabble ground. There was a nothingness about the place she’d never felt before. Everything was gray as far as she could see. Gray skies, gray earth, gray rocks, gray mountains on the horizon. It even smelled gray. Like an old dusty attic. “Is this fae hell?”
“No, but it might be your hell. I’m guessing your magic doesn’t work here because you’re human and not supposed to be here anyway.” Harlow still had her fists raised. “I want to talk to Ava Mae.”
I can’t. Too weak.
“You can speak to her through me.” Giselle was barely holding it together. If this was the fae plane, how was she going to get back to New Orleans? She didn’t even know where that was from here.
Harlow scooped a silver disk out of the dirt and tucked it into her pocket. “Tell Ava Mae that it’s over. One way or the other, she’s not leaving here. Even if I have to kill you.”
Giselle stiffened. “Lay a hand on me and I’ll…” She really had no recourse.
“You’ll what? Fall down again?”
Harlow’s mocking tone was interrupted by Ava Mae’s whine. I’ll die if I stay here. Tell her I’ll die, witch.
Giselle put on her best I-couldn’t-care-less face when she replied. “She says staying here will cause her to die.”
“I’m okay with that.”
But we’re family.
“She says what about your family connection?”
“She’s not my sister any more than she’s yours. She’s an abomination created by the lightning tree.”
Giselle pursed h
er mouth. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Harlow barked out a rough laugh. She dropped her hands to pull a small blade from behind her back. “One, you just told me in the kitchen that you wanted me to go to the tree with you. Now you’re telling me you don’t remember that? Two, I watched you come out of that pond and pull leaves from the tree out of your robe. And three, I know they were lightning tree leaves because I also know you were in my house. My mother saw you.”
How was that possible? Giselle scoffed. “Your mother? Your mother’s dead.”
A woman materialized at Harlow’s side. “Not quite, witch.”
Giselle jumped, immediately angry at herself for reacting, but damn, this place was getting weirder by the minute. “Who in the name of the goddess are you?”
“Not a movie fan, hmm? Philistine.” The woman crossed her arms and looked at Harlow, nodding. “That’s the one I saw skulking through the foyer.” She pointed at Giselle. “I’d recognize that dyed black hair anywhere.”
“My hair is not dyed.” It was henna and indigo, but those were natural and totally didn’t count. “Are you… Harlow’s mother?”
The woman spread her arms. “Olivia Goodwin, Oscar winner, philanthropist and mother of the world’s greatest hacker, at your service.”
“Mom.” Harlow shook her head, a tiny smile turning up the corners of her mouth.
“Well, you are, cher,” Olivia started.
Giselle rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you spare me the motherly pride and instead tell me how you’re not dead? I didn’t see you in the foyer. And besides, there was only one other heartbeat in the house and it was Augustine. I checked.”
“I am dead, but I’m here because I’m fae.” Olivia walked toward her. “And of course, I don’t have a heartbeat, you silly twit. That’s what being dead means.” Before Giselle could move, Olivia sailed right through her. A chill zipped from the top of her head down to her toes.
Mama! Ava Mae cried.
Olivia gasped as she exited behind Giselle, putting her hands to her chest. “Oh my dear sainted Elizabeth Taylor. Ava Mae’s inside her.”
Garden of Dreams and Desires Page 24