Bad Blood

by Kristen Painter

“You okay?”

  She shrugged and stirred. “My daughter is dead. As are two more girls. My city is being overrun by God only knows what, not to mention finding out vampires, varcolai, and fae have been living among us for who knows how long…” She sighed. “No, I’m not okay. But I’m dealing.” She set the spoon down and faced him again. “What are you exactly?”

  “Just a man.”

  She crossed her arms. “Lie to me again and I swear to the Virgin Mary, I will punch you.”

  Not that that presented such a threat, but it probably was time to tell her. “I’m Kubai Mata.”

  “And that is?”

  “The KM is an ancient organization designed to be activated at times like this. Our main goal is to protect and preserve human civilization against othernatural intrusion.”

  “So you’re not human?”

  “No, I’m human. I’m just… enhanced. And totally here to help you. And by you, I mean the city.” And that was all he was going to say about that. “Any news from any other parts of the state or country?”

  “I put out word on the mayor’s loop and sent an e-mail to the governor. Heard back from a few who think I’m crazy and a few who thanked me for putting the pieces together. Those are the ones who’ve canceled events in their cities. The rest… who knows. I can’t do more than warn them.” She stared at the floor. “Should probably check in with Chief Vernadetto, see what’s going on.”

  “After dinner.” He looked at the clock on the oven. “It’s only seven, there’s time.”

  She shook her head. “Then why do I feel like this might be my last meal?”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Mal took a chair outside the more intimate circle of Chrysabelle, Augustine, and Mortalis. When Olivia returned with a bottle of bourbon, he got up and took the bottle from her. “Let me help.”

  “Merci.” She looked him over with what could only be described as a sinful gaze. “Take that bourbon to the bar.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He stifled a grin. He hadn’t been inspected that thoroughly since the time on the freighter when Chrysabelle had been blood drunk and high as a cloud.

  Olivia followed him, hoisting herself into one of the high chairs in front of the mahogany bar top. “I like mine neat.”

  He set the bottle down, then surveyed the bottles already on the shelves. “You want me to pour this bourbon that’s already open?”

  “Cher,” she said, her bright amber eyes as sharp as jewels. “If I wanted that bourbon, I wouldn’t have brought out the reserve. That rotgut is for visitors I don’t like.”

  Smiling now, he opened the new bottle and poured a few fingers’ worth into one of the crystal glasses stacked near the sink. “Here you are.”

  She let the glass sit on the bar. “I don’t like to drink alone. Actually, I don’t mind it, but it’s more fun to drink with someone. Pour yourself a glass, vampire. I’m waiting.”

  “How do you know I can even drink bourbon? Maybe I only drink blood.”

  “Oh, shut your mouth. You vampires drink like fish.” She hurried him along with a wave of her hand. “Allons, I’m thirsty.”

  He poured a glass for himself. “And you know this how?” He clinked his tumbler against hers, then lifted it. “Cheers.”

  She raised hers, then took a taste. “Had a vampire lover right after I moved back here.”

  Mal choked on the liquid, swallowing the smoky-sweet alcohol just in time to keep from spewing it all over her.

  “Don’t look so surprised.” She sipped her bourbon. “If you weren’t so enamored of that one over there”—she nodded toward Chrysabelle—“I might take a go at you.”

  “How do you know I’m enamored of her?” The old woman was a live one, that much was certain. No wonder Augustine lived here. Maybe he was paying his rent horizontally. Didn’t seem like Olivia would be against such a thing.

  “I know a lot of things. Like you live under a darkness.”

  Darkness didn’t begin to describe it, although the voices were just a low hum at the moment. “How…”

  She tapped a frosted nail near one eye. “You think this color comes from human bloodlines? My mother was a quarter fae. Haerbinger, if my grandmere was to be believed. We Goodwin women have always had a touch of the sight.” She twisted in her seat to look at Augustine. “Just like I know he’s going to say no to whatever your friend is offering.”

  “Guardianship,” Mal offered.

  She turned back around. “Of the city? Never happen. Mortalis tried once before. Augie isn’t made for that kind of work.” She smiled, sipped her bourbon. “Plus he’s watching over me.”

  “Is that why he lives here?”

  “I like the company. Plus I’m a poor, defenseless old woman.” Her smile turned wistful. “I need him.”

  Mal swirled the liquid in his glass. “I better see how it’s going.” He’d been half listening to the conversation and could tell it wasn’t going in Chrysabelle’s direction. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Olivia nodded, now engrossed in the other conversation herself, if the faraway look on her face was an indication.

  He sat beside Chrysabelle, who didn’t pause to acknowledge him.

  “I understand this job is a big responsibility, but I’m offering you enough money that you could have a house like this of your very own.”

  Augustine leaned forward. “I don’t want a house like this of my very own. The space I have here is plenty.”

  “You live in the attic,” Mortalis said. “Like a squirrel.”

  Augustine scowled. “This conversation has come to an end.”

  “Please.” Chrysabelle shifted to the edge of the sofa cushion. “You could just take the job for a week, then resign. I don’t care.”

  Sitting back, Augustine raised one brow, then looked at his brother. “You should really educate your friends better.”

  Chrysabelle shot Mortalis a glance. “What does he mean?”

  “I tried to tell you this earlier but you stopped me. The guardian is a lifetime position.”

  “Until someone resigns.” She glanced at Mal. “Just like Sklar will have done by now.”

  “Then he’s already dead.” Mortalis shook his head. “A guardian either dies in the job or chooses fin’denablo.”

  “The final honor,” Augustine translated. “Any fae who resigns from the position of guardian is basically asking to be killed. Mortalis is right—as much as it pains me to speak those words. If Sklar resigned, he’s already been dispatched. The elektos take those kinds of pronouncements very seriously.”

  “Loudreux said he was the Prime’s son. Surely that carries some weight….” The color drained from Chrysabelle’s face and she went very still, very silent.

  Augustine shook his head. “The Prime may have killed Sklar himself to save face.”

  She inhaled a ragged breath and dropped her head, closing her eyes for a moment. “Holy mother,” she whispered. “I hate this.”

  Mal covered her hand with his. Her skin was like ice. “I’ll kill Loudreux if you want.”

  “Blu might have something to say about that.” Augustine gave a little smirk. His gaze went to Mortalis. “Is she even talking to you? Considering the company you’re keeping.”

  “No,” Chrysabelle answered Mal, pulling her hand out from under his. “No killing. There’s already been enough of that.” A little spark came back to her eyes, and she finally made eye contact with him. “But Loudreux has just made my enemies list. I will not be used as a pawn.” She turned away to speak to Mortalis. “I apologize for not listening to you. My stubbornness gets in my way sometimes.”

  For the first time since they’d arrived in New Orleans, Mal saw a hint of softness in Mortalis’s eyes. “You didn’t know,” the fae said. “I’m sorry Loudreux took advantage of you. It’s what he does. But that’s no excuse. I should have tried harder to explain things to you.”

  Augustine nodded. “Yes, you should have.” He turned to Chrysabelle. “So you s
ee why I have no desire to take the job.”

  She nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, his face suddenly lighting up. “Listen, you ever need anything in New Orleans? Call me. Any enemy of Loudreux is a friend of mine. Be happy just to take you out and show you what a great city this really is.”

  Mal eyed the fae with a look that unfortunately couldn’t kill.

  “Hear, hear,” Olivia said, raising her glass to Chrysabelle but winking at Mal. “Of course, that goes for your boyfriend, too.”

  “My wha—Oh, you mean Mal,” Chrysabelle said.

  At least she hadn’t corrected Olivia. Mal smiled at the old woman for her indelicate way of letting Augustine know that Chrysabelle was spoken for. Sort of. Chrysabelle stood. “Thank you.” Her thumb worried the hidden blade ring on her right hand. “Mortalis, we’re through unless—”

  He was out of his chair as well. “No, we’re through.”

  “Typical,” Augustine said.

  Mortalis didn’t respond to his brother, only screwed his face into an angry glower and headed for the door. “I’ll be in the car.”

  Shaking his head, Augustine got up and joined Olivia at the bar. He took a glass down and set it on the counter, then grabbed the bourbon. “Where to next?”

  “We have another name on the list.”

  “Who?” He poured himself a double shot, then topped Olivia’s glass.

  “Someone named Daw, I believe.” Chrysabelle looked at Mal, then slanted her eyes toward the door. She was ready to go, ready to get this over with.

  Mal nodded. “It was a great pleasure to meet you, Olivia. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “You’re welcome anytime, cher,” she said.

  “He won’t do it,” Augustine stated, hoisting his drink.

  “What?” Chrysabelle asked.

  “Daw. He won’t take the job.” Augustine swallowed a finger’s worth of bourbon and set the glass back down. “I can give you the name of someone who will, though.”

  “Why hasn’t he already stepped up, then?”

  “And go against the Prime’s son? No one’s that foolish. But with Sklar gone, it’s anyone’s game.” He smiled. “Anyone but mine.”

  “His name?” Chrysabelle didn’t smile back, a sure sign that she was reaching the end of her patience with this day. Or with you.

  Augustine rummaged around behind the bar and came up with a pen and paper. “His name is Khell.” He scribbled some lines down, then held the paper out. “And here’s where you can find him—La Belle et la Bête.”

  Chrysabelle took the paper. “Beauty and the Beast?”

  “Your French is tres bien.” Olivia smiled at her. Augustine raised an appreciative brow.

  “Mal’s is better.” Chrysabelle tucked the note into her pocket. “What kind of place are you sending us to?”

  Augustine acted like he hadn’t heard her comment about Mal. “It’s the oldest othernatural bar in the Vieux Carré. Goes without saying vampires aren’t welcome.” He spared a half-second look in Mal’s direction. “Khell’s a mutt, but he’s got enough wysper in him to be effective.”

  “Thank you,” Chrysabelle said. “Olivia, nice to meet you.”

  “You too, darling.” Olivia grinned, but her gaze skipped to Mal. “Y’all come back now, ya hear?”

  Chrysabelle didn’t speak again until they were outside and halfway down the sidewalk. “Loudreux is going to get his for making me kill Sklar.”

  Mal nodded, unsure what to say since his offer to kill the cypher had gone flat. “You didn’t really kill him.”

  “But I’m responsible for his death.”

  “Technically, I’m the one who persuaded him.” Killed him.

  “And you did it because of me.” She stopped and wheeled to face him. “It is what it is, don’t try to sugarcoat it.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She stuck her finger into his chest. “But when this is done, when I’ve found my brother and my comarré life is truly behind me, Loudreux’s day of reckoning is going to come. So help me, holy mother.”

  Mal nodded again and got the car door for her, an inordinate sense of pride rising up in him. Loudreux was in deep. Without the restraints of the comarré mores, there was no telling what kind of vengeance Chrysabelle might wreak. The side of his mouth curved up as he rounded the car to his side.

  He’d never wanted to kiss her so badly in his life.

  Doc leaned on the bathroom counter and stared at himself in the mirror. Dinner had knocked the last of the alcohol out of his system, so there was no way to pass off what had happened as a hallucination.

  He pushed off the counter and stalked to the other side of the space. Ridiculous how big the bathroom was, but folks on Mephisto lived large. He reached the shower wall and turned again, faced with his own reflection.

  Maybe it had been a hallucination. Maybe it was one of those things that would wear off over time. Maybe it would kill him. Or Fi. At that gut punch of a thought, blue flame burst off his skin, shooting toward the ceiling.

  He tried to calm himself and forced his breathing to slow. The flame wrapped his body, cool as a breeze, then sputtered into nothing.

  Fire had never been a varcolai trait. Never. This had come from Aliza somehow. Maybe she hadn’t been lying about never getting rid of her. She must be laughing from the grave. All those years she’d kept him shackled with the curse of being unable to fully shift, and now he was prone to spontaneous combustion.

  It had happened right after a sharp jolt had woken him in the wine cellar. Even through the champagne haze, he’d immediately known Aliza was gone from his head. Or so he’d thought. He’d leaped to his feet and let out a whoop. A split second later, he’d been covered in cool, blue flames.

  If Aliza had planned this as a punishment so that he’d have to live the rest of his life with a reminder of how Evie had died, she’d done a great job. If she hadn’t planned it and it was just a freak side effect of her being killed while linked to him through a spell, then his life was destined to spiral downward until it stopped at the gates of Hell.

  Time to see just how bad this was. He grabbed a tissue, stuck his hand out, and thought angry, horrible thoughts until the flames burst out of him again. He dropped the tissue into the fire on his palm. It went up in a puff of smoke.

  His gut knotted. He’d been hoping the flames would be as cool and harmless to everything else as they were to him. Definitely not the case.

  How was he supposed to live like this? How was he supposed to make love to Fi if every time his emotions went nuts, he flared up like a Molotov cocktail? She’d be toast.

  Literally.

  He sank down against one of the tile walls, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. The cool ceramic felt good. Maybe the fire would go away on its own over time. Aliza had just been killed. Maybe there was some kind of expiration date on the spell. If he could hide it long enough, there might not be a reason to after a while.

  “Doc? You in there?” Fi’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, baby,” he answered. “Just getting an early start on my hangover.”

  “You want some aspirin or something?”

  He could picture her leaning against the door, her pretty brown hair tucked behind her ear, her eyes filled with worry. Over him. “It’s all good. Be out in a minute.”

  “Okay. The others just put the TV on to see the news, and Creek thinks we should set up a watch system for the rest of the night.”

  “Good idea. Happy to help.”

  She didn’t answer right away, but he could hear her breathing, the muted pulse of her heartbeat. Even without varcolai senses, he’d have known she was still there. It wasn’t her nature to give up so easily.

  “Something wrong, Fi?”

  “No,” she said, a little softer than before. Her voice sounded like that when she was smiling. “I’m jus
t glad you’re all better and this whole mess with the witches and the curses is behind us.”

  Frustration made him rap his head against the tile behind him. Flames shivered over his skin. He stilled himself, forced his anger to cool. The flames vanished. “Yeah, baby. Me too.”

  And just like that, the lie began.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chrysabelle wasn’t surprised that the outside of La Belle et la Bête didn’t live up to the fairy tale it had been named after. The building was gray. Or brown. It was hard to tell from the faded bits of paint not yet worn off by time and weather. Both its first and second floors sported three sets of louvered double doors, split across in the middle with a simple balcony.

  All the doors were shut and not a sound emanated from the space. Not a single tourist walking by took one look at the building, and stranger still, none spared a glance at the vampire, fae, and comarré standing on the sidewalk in front of it.

  “It’s like they don’t even see us,” she said. Not even her words turned heads.

  “They don’t. Not exactly,” Mortalis answered. “Diffusion spell. Keeps the mortals out and the patrons from being gawked at.”

  Mal crossed his arms. “Is that why it sounds empty?”

  Mortalis nodded. “I can assure you it’s not.” He took a deep breath.

  “Not looking forward to this, are you?” Mal asked.

  “No.” Mortalis turned toward Chrysabelle. “Keep your wits about you and you’ll be fine.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s Mal.” She probably should have insisted he go back to the hotel, but considering he’d honored his word about not causing drama, she couldn’t find enough reason to keep him away. Nor did she really want to.

  Mortalis shrugged. “It’s not like vampires don’t ever wander in here. The general consensus seems to be if they mind their own business, they’re left alone. However, if word has gotten out about Sklar and the city’s lack of guardianship, that could change the mood. Just be careful.”

  “Done. Let’s go.” She held her hand out. “Lead the way. This is your turf.”

  “Not in years,” Mortalis muttered, but he pushed through the right-hand set of doors anyway.