By the time he was halfway through bottle number three, Aliza’s spell was a distant ringing in his ears. He leaned onto the floor, bent his arm beneath his head for a pillow, and closed his eyes to wait out whatever fix Fi could come up with.
Door, Aliza whispered.
Doc just laughed, the sound like tiny bubbles bouncing off the walls.
Chrysabelle handed the bellman a tip as he left. The hotel room hadn’t just been for Mal and a place to ditch the fae. She was desperate for a few moments alone to center herself against the throbbing in her back. Time in the car hadn’t helped, but the stunt she’d pulled at Loudreux’s had really caused the ache to flare up.
“Nice.” Amery ogled the living room of the penthouse suite Chrysabelle had just booked them into at the Westin Hotel at the edge of the French Quarter.
“It should be for what it’s costing her,” Mal answered the fae.
“It’s all right,” Chrysabelle said. Mal was so defensive about her money. Maybe it bothered him that he didn’t have any to spend himself. He’d tried to return the bribe money she’d given him. She’d refused, telling him to hang on to it in case another situation arose. “The security of the top floor is worth the price.”
Mortalis went to the bank of windows, checking them for what she wasn’t sure.
“Crazy, though,” Amery continued. “That a four-thousand-square-foot hotel room has only one bedroom.”
Chrysabelle glanced at Mal, gave him a subtle roll of her eyes, then turned to the fae. “Amery, could you go out and get me something to eat? New Orleans is famous for its food, right?”
His eyes lit up. “Oh yeah, the food here is awesome. Jambalaya, crawfish étouffée, gumbo, grillades and grits, po’boys—”
“Whoa.” She held her hands up. “Whatever you think. It all sounds fine.” She reached into her inside pocket and fished out a few large bills. “Here. Get a lot of food. Comarré have large appetites.”
He took the money. “Do you want—”
“Yes. I want everything.” She smiled to soften her sharp tone, made worse by her back. “I’m not picky as long as it’s good, so don’t skimp.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He started toward the door, then paused, looking back at Mortalis. “Sir?”
“Do as she asked,” Mortalis answered without turning away from the window. His gaze seemed to be focused on something far below.
“Okay.” Amery nodded and left.
With another quick glance at Mal, Chrysabelle went to stand beside Mortalis. Not close enough to be within his personal space—that wasn’t something she was willing to challenge, considering his mood—but close enough to be noticed. “Something down there I should know about?”
He pulled his gaze up to stare out over the river. “No.”
She studied him for a moment. “You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Pretty much what she’d figured. “Can you use your mirror to return to Paradise City and let the others know we won’t make it back by tonight? I would appreciate it. I’m sure they’re wondering.”
He planted his arm against the glass, flattening the barbs against his skin, still not looking at her. “They’ll be fine. They know how to handle themselves.”
Her try at being gentle was over. Pain had sapped her patience. She let some of her frustration edge her voice. “How can they? They don’t know what’s coming any more than we do. But, hey, if you’re satisfied that they’re going to be all right, then what do I need to worry for?”
“I don’t have a mirror with me.”
Mal settled onto one of the sofas. His brows lifted as if to say what now?
She stepped into Mortalis’s space then, trying to jar him just enough so that he’d take her seriously. “I find it hard to believe you didn’t leave yourself a quick out.”
Finally, he turned. His eyes held a distant thunder that caused the scars on her back to itch. Angry didn’t begin to describe whatever was going on with him. “I’m responsible for you while you’re here. I don’t need more blood on my hands.”
She wanted to ask what blood was already there and where it had come from, but refrained. At the moment, she wasn’t sure she cared. “I won’t move until you get back.”
“I won’t let her,” Mal added.
Mortalis peered at both of them as if calculating the risk. “I don’t believe either of you.”
Chrysabelle held up her wrist, turning it so he could see the veins, fat and ready to be drained. “Mal needs to feed. I need to drain. We’re not going anywhere.” She dropped her hand and walked to the bar. “You can believe what you want, but that’s the truth.” She took down a large goblet from the bar and set it on the coffee table in front of Mal. “I’ll fill that after I take a shower.” She gave Mortalis one quick look. “Do what you want.”
Not a word was spoken as she left. Inside the massive marble bathroom, she shut the door and eased her side against it to listen. The suite was well soundproofed. Only the low rumble of male voices came through, nothing intelligible.
With a sigh, she cranked on the shower’s hot water, stripped out of her clothes, and then bent, wrapping her hair in a towel to keep it dry. She stepped under the pulsating stream, letting it beat against her scars. The heat helped the pain. Reaching back, she turned the temperature up a little more, then braced herself against the marble.
Steam coated the glass door and wall. She shut her eyes and tried to empty her head of the chaos to find a quiet, pain-free place. The deep, concentrated breathing taught to all comarré helped some, but didn’t remove the pain altogether. She tried not to think about what that meant for getting the new signum inlaid.
“Chrysabelle?”
She jolted upright, the movement sending a fresh burst of pain zipping along her spine. “Mal?” She rubbed a little spot in the steamed-up glass. The door was open a crack but he was still on the other side of it.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t.”
“Your heartbeat says otherwise.”
She frowned. Lying to a vampire who could hear your pulse was like trying to beat a lie detector. “Just startled me is all.”
The door opened a little farther. “I wanted to let you know Mortalis will be back in an hour.”
So he had gone to deliver her message after all. Good. “Thanks. I’ll be right out.” Or Mal could get in. She had no doubts his big hands on her back could work miracles. Maybe she could blindfold him. Or just grow up and let him see her naked.
“Take your time.” The door shut, leaving her more alone than she’d wanted to be when they’d first gotten here.
Water beaded off the peephole she’d made, trickling down the glass and leaving lines behind. Why had he said take your time? Did he know she was in pain? Maybe she should just tell him. But then she ran the risk of him handling her like glass, something she despised. She turned the water off, got out, and slipped into one of the lush robes the hotel provided, then shook her hair free.
Water ran down the small of her back, the subtle sensation like fingers trailing over her skin. She stared at the door he’d just been on the other side of. His blood ran in her veins. For that reason alone, she should want nothing to do with him. Instead, being near him made her body ache and her heart beat faster, just like the scars marking her skin. Pain and pleasure. Two sides, one coin.
She reached for the doorknob, knowing that she balanced on the thin edge of recklessness. Knowing that Mal was everything necessary to push her over that edge. Not caring that this wasn’t the time or the place.
Holy mother. What was she about to do? She glanced at herself in the mirror, but the steam-covered glass reflected a hazy image.
“Not the time or place,” she whispered. That wasn’t too much to remember, was it? She hoped not, especially when it came time for him to kiss her after he fed. His mouth on hers. A shiver ran through her, a remnant of the memory of the last kiss they’d shared.
Reme
mbering that wasn’t going to help at all.
Chapter Twenty-five
Fi ran into the living room, glad the rest of them were still there. “Doc needs help.”
“I gathered that,” Creek answered. “What’s going on?”
“Aliza’s got ahold of him again.”
Velimai signed something.
Fi nodded. “Preacher said he killed her, but he must not have. Now she’s worked up that spell that lets her into Doc’s brain. She can see whatever he sees—that’s why he wouldn’t open his eyes. We’ve got to stop her. She’ll do everything she can to get Doc to her house so she can kill him. If she can’t do that, she’ll get him to tell her where he is, then she’ll come here and kill him and maybe us, too.”
Creek shook his head. “Not going to happen.”
“The only way to break a spell created with blood magic is for the witch who cast it to break it. Voluntarily or otherwise,” Damian said.
Fi looked at Damian. “I know comarré study all kinds of things, but how do you know so much about witches?”
“Not long after Tatiana became my patron, I realized she was pretty interested in the dark arts. Her library is filled with books on the subject.” He shrugged. “I had a lot of time to read.”
“So if the witch dies, that would be the otherwise part?”
He nodded. Fi turned to Creek. “You know how to get to her house.”
Creek got up from his seat near the window. “I know exactly where she lives, but I don’t like leaving you and Velimai here alone.”
A small noise from the foyer made Creek look past Fi. She turned to see what had pulled his attention. Mortalis stood on the landing. He tucked something round and shiny into one of the many pockets in his leather gear.
Fi’s mouth opened in surprise. “I thought you were in New Orleans with Mal and Chrysabelle.”
He nodded. “I am. Was. They still are and I’m going back as soon as I let you know we’re probably not going to make it back in time for whatever happens tonight. You need to stay in this house and be on constant alert.”
“No can do,” Creek said. “The witch Aliza has got her hooks in Doc’s head. She’s got some spell on him, trying to make him come to her house so she can kill him. That or she’ll find him and kill him here.”
“Where is he now?” Mortalis asked.
“Locked in the wine cellar,” Fi answered.
Creek walked up to join her and Mortalis at the front of the living room. He jerked his chin at the fae. “Now that you’re here, you can come with me to Aliza’s, that way Damian can stay at the house. We need to get in quick and strike fast.”
“No, I can’t stay. Chrysabelle’s waiting for me to get back so she can do what needs to be done and return home herself.”
Fi crossed her arms. “Mal’s with her, right?”
“Yes, but she’s not going to be happy waiting on me.”
“Where exactly are they waiting?” she asked.
“In a suite at the Westin.”
The edge of Fi’s mouth curled up. “Yeah, that must be killing the both of them. Look, Doc needs your help.”
Damian joined them. “I can go with Creek, and the fae can leave. So long as Fi stays inside, Velimai can protect everyone from Tatiana.”
Velimai signed something to Mortalis. He signed a reply and she shook her head, clearly upset. Fi only made out the words no and you and the spelling of Doc’s name, but understood Velimai was pushing for Mortalis to help.
His last signs were sharp and short. The barbs on his arms extended a little, then snapped against his skin like he was making an effort to stay calm. “I’ll stay for an hour. That’s as long as I told Mal I’d be gone. No more.”
“Thank you,” Fi said. Then she stepped into Damian’s personal space “You have to kill Aliza because there’s no way she’ll break that spell voluntarily. Can you do that? Kill a woman?”
He leaned down a little, wickedness sparking in his impossibly blue eyes. “How do you know I haven’t already?”
Fi stepped back and nodded to Creek. “He’s as full of himself as Chrysabelle is. He’ll do.” She exhaled, feeling the tension of the last few hours like a knot being tied over her body. Time to go ghost and let her body rest. “Be quick, but be safe. Doc and I are counting on you.”
Lola’s office door burst open, causing her to lose the thread of the statement she’d been dictating to her secretary. Something had to be said about the possibility that Paradise City had a serial killer on the loose now that a third body had been found. “John, you’re back sooner than I expected.” He was alone. No Creek, no child. She nodded at her secretary. “That’s all for now, Valerie. We’ll finish up later.”
“No problem, ma’am.” The woman left, shutting the door behind her.
Lola dropped the smile. “What’s going on? Where’s the child?”
John frowned. “The child is gone. Taken by… they’re called the ancient ones. They’re like the fathers of all the vampires. Really bad news. Anyway, one of them got the baby. Look, you’re not going to like this, but you’ve got to cancel all the—”
She stood. “Go after this ancient one. Get the child back.”
His jaw popped to one side, then slid back into place. “You don’t understand, it doesn’t work that way with these beings. Nothing about them is human. They’re demons. Fallen angels. You can’t just go after them.”
She crossed herself as she walked around to the front of her desk, the horror of his words settling over her like a blanket of ice. “A demon has my grandchild.”
“Your grandchild is half demon.”
Her mouth opened in disbelief. “How dare you say that.” A hot-cold flash of anger sliced through her heart. She slapped him across the face, then gasped at what she’d done. She clutched her hand to her heart. “Ay Dios mio, I am so sorry.” She went back to her desk and leaned against it, trying not to cry or scream or break something. Her world wasn’t just crumbling, it was disintegrating into strange pieces she no longer recognized. She glanced back at John. He hadn’t moved. His dark sunglasses still sat on his face, the only change the red handprint rising on his cheek.
She dropped her gaze. “You think I’m a fool, don’t you? A sad, human fool who doesn’t have a clue as to what’s really going on in this world.”
“I don’t think that.” But the words came too fast and without conviction.
She laughed. “Am I just supposed to give in? Float along with the tide, accepting whatever comes my way?” She straightened, turning to look at him again. “Or should I fight? Is there even any way to fight this?” Her arms wrapped around her rib cage and she shook her head. “I’m lost.”
“You’re not lost. You have me. And Creek. And we both have networks of support in place. I have an entire pack of varcolai ready to respond, should I need them.”
She stared, seeing him like she’d never seen him before. “So what do I do, then?”
“About the child?”
“About any of it.”
He came toward her, tapping one of the chairs in front of her desk as he took the other one. She sat. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head. His eyes were an almost silvery blue they were so pale. How she’d never noticed the inhuman gleam in them before, she didn’t know. Or maybe that was part of what the covenant had done. Or undone. It was all so maddening. “First of all, you have to cancel every Halloween-themed celebration going on in the city tonight that you can. The parade, trick-or-treating, everything. Call it a terrorist threat, a homeland security issue, poisoned candy, whatever you have to do, make it happen.”
“Why?”
“Because Samhain, Halloween, is a night of power for othernaturals. No one really knows what will happen tonight with the covenant broken, but the thinking is, tonight will be the final melding of the two worlds. Magic is going to run wild. Keeping people inside—”
“You mean humans.”
“Humans, yes, but tonight will affect all races.
Keeping them inside is the safest thing.”
She cradled her forehead in her hand. “This is not going to make me popular.”
“This isn’t about being popular. It’s about saving lives and protecting the city you swore to serve.”
She slanted her eyes at him from behind her hand and let the sarcasm drip from her words. “Thank you for that reminder.” She dropped her hand to the arm of the chair. “I’ll go with terrorist threat. I’ll set a curfew and get the chief to run patrols. Maybe they’ll catch whoever’s killing these comarré girls, too. You know there’s been a third victim? Three in three days.” Her city was being destroyed from the inside out.
John shook his head. “That’s not good. But you’re right, maybe the patrols will turn something up.”
“What about the child?”
He shrugged. “I really don’t know. The Castus, the ancient ones, they’re nothing I’ve ever dealt with before. Creek and his crew have. Probably best to let them handle it.” He paused, looking into her eyes more deeply. “They don’t want the ancient ones having that baby any more than you do.”
She stood, her head in a thousand different places with all the work ahead of her. “Get someone in here to take your place, then get back with them. I want you to make sure that’s the case.”
Chapter Twenty-six
The second the bathroom door began to open, Mal flashed back to the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, eyes closed. Liar. He listened as Chrysabelle’s soft footfalls grew closer on the thick carpet. Her perfume, stronger now that she was freshly out of a hot shower, wafted over him in warm, silky waves. His already thin control narrowed further. Not joining her in that shower had been test enough, but her words about not the time or place, whether knowingly for him or not, had stirred what little sense he had left. Their relationship, such as it was, held together by his willingness not to cause her trouble. Or drain her. Weakling. Getting into the shower with her would definitely qualify as trouble and probably earn him a few bruises. Plus, he had his suspicions about her physical well-being.
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