by L. A. Banks
“Desidera, Penelope, and maybe a coworker?” Sasha studied the photo harder. “This is in the gardens at Chaya.”
“Then I guess the teahouse is definitely on the agenda to visit.”
Sasha and Hunter shared a look, and then she averted her gaze, trying to focus on getting the small picture out of the frame and into her pocket. It was obvious that neither of them wanted to discuss the teahouse, much less go there.
But the sound of a vehicle and quick footsteps put them on guard, evaporating any issues between them. By the time Ethan came through the front door, Hunter was in the living room and had taken a stance, and Sasha’s arms were outstretched, one palm under the gun butt, the other ready to pull the trigger.
“Sheesh, Ethan! You know better than to roll up on a couple of wolves in hunt mode! Damn! You could have gotten yourself hurt.”
Sasha uncocked her weapon and Hunter rolled his neck from side to side, clearly fighting adrenaline. When Ethan’s wife came to the screen door, Sasha blew a damp curl up from her forehead.
“Let’s go outside,” Hunter said in a low rumble when Margaret gasped.
“Good idea.” Sasha crossed the room and held open the door for Ethan, and Hunter closed it behind everyone.
The Elfin couple stood on the front steps of the double-wide trailer wringing their hands. Margaret’s face was puffy and red, the result of unrelenting tears, as she twisted a tissue into confetti.
“This is so horrible,” she whispered. “I knew both of them for years . . . each girl was just a doll. This isn’t any kind of contagion I’ve ever seen in that community.”
Sasha and Hunter just stared at each other for a moment.
“That’s why I insisted Margaret come with me,” Ethan said. “Two girls? Two girls? We had to be sure it wasn’t a plague, and my wife is the only supernatural medical person I knew of who would keep this discreet, as Sir Rodney instructed.”
“It’s not a plague,” Sasha said flatly.
Hunter nodded and wiped a thick layer of perspiration off his brow with the back of his forearm. “Both were in the same condition—undisturbed, no signs of a struggle. But two deaths in the same night rules out coincidence. This was definitely foul play.”
“Foul play . . . as in murder?” Margaret said with a quiet gasp.
“You have to get word to Sir Rodney,” Sasha said, glancing around at the group. “I can’t reach him by cell phone, so you’ll have to do your Fae missive thing.”
“His guards thought it best that he retire to the castle, given the circumstances. As our monarch, with a possible killer on the loose . . . or a possible disease afoot, his advisors felt it prudent that he remain in the fortress until further notice,” Ethan said. “I will get him word of this immediately.” Glancing around nervously, Ethan held the group enthralled. “Behind the castle walls, human technology doesn’t work . . . The glamour affects the transmission of cell phones and radios—but with the heightened security, he wouldn’t want a message of this nature being broadcast over the airwaves where it could be intercepted. So, yes, yes, it will have to be sent by way of a Fae missive.”
“Makes sense,” Hunter muttered, walking around the side of the building. “But let’s get one thing straight—you can drop the ruse about it being some sort of contagion. Your monarch said it was sorcery of the worst kind.”
Ethan opened his mouth and then closed it as his wife covered her mouth with her hand.
“Your glamour is also gone,” Sasha said gently, looking at Ethan. “Something is so not right about any of this.”
“Well, given the circumstances,” Ethan said, swallowing hard and lifting his chin, mustering indignation. “That is the least of my concerns.”
Ethan and Margaret shared a look.
“Listen, you both have a lot of seriously old Vampires really pissed off at you. That’s point number one. They can’t afford to openly come at you—but who knows what twisted way they did, though. Sorcery isn’t out of the question, nor is it out of their league. They have all kinds of alliances with dark covens, so hey.” Sasha shrugged and lifted her damp hair off the nape of her neck, holstering her weapon. “When I was driving over here with Hunter, I was thinking about Dugan. Anybody who stood to inherit his once substantial estate wouldn’t be too thrilled about the way things went down, either. You got everything that Dugan once owned as a result of your testimony.” Sasha paused, allowing the potential consequences of what might be happening to sink into Ethan’s brain.
“Maybe this has nothing to do with the Phoenixes and more to do with who employed them—you?” Hunter glanced at Sasha and then turned his steady, intense gaze on Ethan.
“Perish the thought,” Margaret whispered, drawing closer to her husband.
Sasha ruffled her hair up off the nape of her neck again in frustration. They’d hit a brick wall and she was temporarily out of answers until she could get to anyone who might talk at the Blood Oasis, or maybe somebody over at Chaya—the teahouse where Penelope had also worked.
Coming closer to Ethan, Sasha looked at him hard. “Okay . . . you mentioned that, quote, ‘even the Vampires liked her,’ when speaking of Desidera. What was that about?”
Margaret hugged Ethan and hid her face in the cleft of his shoulder. “I knew we should have stayed out of all of this. We have children!”
“No, no, don’t fret,” Ethan said, petting his wife’s back. “We will take this new information to Sir Rodney and he will hear our petition for protective custody.”
“That’s practically living like we’re banished. Our children will have to be pulled out of their schools here and we’ll have to live at Seelie Court!” A panic-stricken sob cut off Margaret’s argument.
“Maybe just for a little while,” Sasha said quietly, going over to also hug the small, distraught Elf. This broke her heart; Margaret was a gem, as was Ethan. “We’ll do everything we can to protect your family and see that you can return to your normal lives as soon as possible . . . but one thing I know for sure, Sir Rodney will have your backs.”
“You never answered the question about Desidera’s relationship to the Vampires,” Hunter said, waiting.
Ethan lowered his gaze. “Phoenixes are rare . . . and are an exotic temptation—before the dispute, Desidera and Penelope were regularly welcomed at their blood clubs.”
“And after?” Hunter folded his arms over his chest.
“They may have gone there a few times, on their own, to earn money or personal favors . . . I cannot know for sure,” Ethan admitted quietly.
Digging into her pocket, Sasha showed the couple the photo that had been in the small, oval, silver frame on Penelope’s nightstand. “Do you know this Pixie? Is she an employee of yours?”
“No,” Ethan said, his tone confused and earnest. “Maybe she’s an employee at Chaya?”
Sasha put the photo back in her pocket and gave Hunter a look as she pulled away from the distraught couple. She then found the small pad in her back pocket and held it out for Ethan to see.
“Ethan, Margaret, I need to ask you something . . . When a Phoenix takes his or her last flame, does this show up on the belly?”
Margaret gasped and turned away as Ethan hugged her.
“Destroy it, cover it up!” Ethan shouted, making Sasha hurriedly comply. She thrust the pad into the back pocket of her jeans and looked at Ethan and Margaret as though they’d lost their minds.
“Okay, that got a reaction,” Hunter said, walking closer to the couple. “What was it?”
Sasha joined the huddle as Ethan waved his hands about as though to signal for them to say nothing.
“Tell me this wasn’t in my cellar?” Ethan gasped.
“It was on Desidera’s body, hard to see because the ash had started to fall in on itself by the time we got there, I suppose . . . but the one we just saw on Penelope was fresher.” Sasha glanced at Hunter from the corner of her eye.
“That wasn’t there when Sir Rodney and I found her body—we
would have immediately noticed something so horrific.” Ethan gathered his wife tighter in his hold, pressing his face against her hair. “Or . . . maybe it could have been there—frankly, when I saw her dead I didn’t stoop over her to observe. It was just too terrible.”
“What was it?” Hunter said in a deep voice reminiscent of thunder.
“It was a sigil,” Ethan whispered, sweating profusely.
Sasha and Hunter gave each other another look.
“It is a sign of pure evil,” Ethan croaked. “That is as much as I know.”
Sasha looked at her watch and then at Hunter. “We’ve got a few hours before daylight. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Hunter nodded. “We ride.”
“The little guy was thoroughly shaken,” Hunter said as he maneuvered the jeep into the parking lot of the Blood Oasis.
“You think?” Sasha said, not waiting for him to come to a complete stop before hopping out of the vehicle.
Hunter turned off the ignition and quickly caught up to her, grabbing her arm to stop her. “What’s with the sudden attitude?”
She shrugged out of his hold. “I don’t have an attitude. What’s your problem?”
“My problem is we’re about to go into a blood club, asking questions, putting ourselves in mortal danger, and we aren’t a team.”
For a moment Sasha just stared at him, trying to get the adrenaline rush that gripped her to slowly ebb. Eventually she nodded. He was right. It didn’t make sense to go barging into a Vampire entertainment den filled with very hungry Vamps and their loyal human donors unless they were a united front.
Sasha eased the tension out of her neck. “We’ve been off since we were in Ethan’s cellar.”
“We didn’t arrive in New Orleans battling,” he said quietly, staring at her.
“No, we didn’t.” Sasha glanced around the parking lot, aware that the lack of bodyguards didn’t mean they weren’t being watched. Vampires always had lookouts. There were always bodyguards for the elite who might be passing through and to keep lower-level vamps that might be semi–blood crazed in line. With the high tensions between the wolves and the recent war, there should have been more obvious security. Then again, Vampires didn’t do obvious.
“Do you wanna go through the bouncers, or simply show up at the bar?” Hunter reached out and pushed a stray wisp of her hair behind her ear.
“Let’s just do the in-and-out thing,” she murmured.
Hunter nodded and pulled her into a nearby shadow.
“Johnny Walker Black, straight up,” Sasha told the startled bartender as she stepped out of a shadow in the corner. She slid onto an open seat and Hunter took the one beside her.
Pulsing techno-fusion music thrummed, the steady rhythm reminiscent of a rapid heartbeat. The sound vibrated through the floor, through the black marble bar, and through the chair she sat on. Sasha gazed around the black and red light–washed area, watching exotic Serpentine dancers cling to the poles, baring fangs, while a mobbed dance floor pulsed with eager Goth-clad bodies.
“We don’t serve your kind in here anymore,” the bartender said, presenting full fangs.
“Oh, my bad,” Sasha said with a hard smile. “Then I guess I’ll have to take my complaint up with the owner.”
Hunter spun and swung as a burly bouncer materialized out of thin air, dropping him to the floor. Sasha whipped out her semiautomatic from her shoulder holster, leveling the weapon point-blank at the bartender’s forehead.
“Don’t be foolish,” she said in a near snarl. “You can smell the silver. We just want a civil conversation with Geoff.”
The slightly dazed bouncer spit out blood on the floor and picked up his chipped fang, hissing at Hunter while patrons gawked and other bouncers moved in slowly.
“A civil conversation is always welcomed,” Baron Montague said in an even tone, parting the crowd. “What brings you to my establishment under such foolishly hostile circumstances?”
He held Sasha’s gaze for a moment, a pair of hardened blue eyes slowly turning black as he studied her. Geoff tossed a long spill of dark brown hair over his shoulder with a nod as Sasha’s gaze narrowed on his aristocratic features. He wore a midnight blue velvet jacket and his white ruffled shirt was slightly askew at the neck and stained by the slightest hint of blood. It was clear that he’d been enjoying some feeding companions when he’d been interrupted. Screw him. A hard smile found its way to Sasha’s lips.
“A word . . . in private?” Sasha said, lowering her weapon.
“As the lady wishes,” the baron said, inclining his head toward an empty VIP table behind the casino area.
Sasha kept an eye out for any twitchy Vampires as they followed the baron. She knew that they wouldn’t attack on their own with Geoff right there. But that didn’t mean Geoff wouldn’t tell them to attack. She knew Hunter, who was bringing up the rear, was on alert as well.
When they reached the table, Sasha declined to sit when he swept his hand before them in a gallant gesture.
“This won’t take long,” Sasha said. “I’m sure by now you’ve guessed this isn’t a social call.”
“I’m shocked,” the baron said in a sarcastic tone, placing a graceful hand over his heart. But then his tone took a sinister dip as he stared at Sasha, then Hunter. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of your intrusion here at my place of business?”
“Do you know of the Phoenixes Desidera and Penelope?” Sasha folded her arms over her chest.
“Of course,” the Baron said coolly, taking a seat and snapping his fingers. A blood goblet appeared at his table and he took a sip from it. “We value diversity here at the Blood Oasis.”
“Did they work here?” Sasha said with a low growl beginning to form in her throat. She hated these game-playing bastards.
“Now why would you think they do anything at all here, other than enjoy the—”
Sasha whipped out the card and flung it down in front of the baron, cutting his denial short. “This was in Desidera’s purse. Penelope’s calendar had BO twelve to five written in it at least three days a week for months.”
“The card is a member’s card,” the baron said evenly with a deadly smile. “Penelope is one of my dancers. When she gets Desidera to dance regularly, there may be a bonus in it for her.”
Sasha glanced at Hunter and then returned her gaze to Geoff. “So, they danced for you, at least one did regularly, and the other came on occasion to see if she wanted in?”
“They are the best exotic dancers around . . . McGregor cannot nearly begin to pay what we are willing to pay. Therefore, the girls are torn—loyalty versus commerce. It is always the conundrum, oui?”
“Now was that so hard? Why did you keep it a secret?” Sasha demanded, losing patience by the second.
“We’re not exactly popular with the other paranormals right now, are we?” The baron glared at her and pursed his lips for a moment before he went on. “I don’t think they want anyone to know. I don’t hold it against them . . . we all have our secrets and we honor that in our realm, unlike others. They are magnificent performers. Extremely popular.”
“Did they let anyone feed off them?” Indignation crawled through her, just thinking about the possibility.
“No,” the baron said, his fangs beginning to crest. “They aren’t on the menu. I make sure that is very clear to anyone who set foot in here. I do look after my own employees. Now that I have answered a flurry of your questions, I have some of my own. For starters, why are you in here asking about these two lovely ladies and sounding like you’re accusing me of something?”
“They’re dead,” Sasha said, watching him closely as he calmly took a sip from his goblet. “Killed sometime in the last four hours, I believe.”
Hunter folded his arms over his chest, keeping his back toward the wall.
“And you think I had something to do with their deaths?”
“I think a lot of things, Baron, but I know we have two dead girls and that t
hey both worked for you. That’s enough for me to become a major pain in your ass while I find out who killed them.”
“And where did you find their bodies?” The baron leaned forward with his elbows on the table, making a tent in front of his mouth with his long, graceful fingers as he stared up at Sasha.
“Desidera was found in the basement of The Fair Lady and Penelope was found in her home.”
The baron sat back, one eyebrow raised, and he picked up his goblet again. “Your requirement for guilt is that they both worked for me and yet they also both worked for Ethan McGregor . . . and you actually found one of them in his basement. Seems to me that you should stop looking into coffins and pay attention to those in your little alliance.”
Hunter pushed off the wall with a warning growl so quickly that security instantly materialized around them. “How about if we look into coffins during the day?”
“I suggest you keep your guard dog on a short choker chain in here, Sasha,” the baron warned. “Unprovoked violence could be misconstrued as a reason to go to war.”
“Going to war is the way of the wolf, when a principle is involved,” Hunter said in a low rumble, sizing up the potential combatants.
The baron took a sip from his goblet. “When there is no evidence that we’ve been involved in any wrongdoing, going to war against us is both illegal and unjustified—wolf.” He then brought his goblet away from his mouth slowly and set it down on the table before him with precision. “That, like the loss of those two beautiful Phoenixes, would be a waste of resources—a terrible waste of resources.” Turning his attention away from Hunter in a cool snub, he stared at Sasha. “How did it happen?”
“We were hoping you could tell us,” Sasha said, her gaze narrowing.
“When you find out, you will advise us?” the baron asked evenly, picking up his goblet again.
Sasha pulled out her notebook and flipped to the page with the symbol on it. “This was on the bodies. What is it?”
The baron shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.”