by L. A. Banks
“Know that we’re watching you,” she said, leaning down to place both hands on either side of the table.
“Fair exchange is no robbery, she-wolf,” the baron murmured. “Know that we have never stopped monitoring you.”
The hair on the back of Hunter’s neck was standing up by the time they got back into their jeep. As he pulled off, she watched him maneuver the vehicle in the wrong direction from the bed-and-breakfast.
“Where to?” she said, trying to break through his wall of fury.
“The teahouse. If Penelope worked there tonight, we should be able to pick up her fresh scent, and if a Were followed her from there home, there should still be a scent lingering there.”
Sasha leaned back against the seat and simply closed her eyes to endure the ride. The last place she wanted to be was back at Chaya. Hunter didn’t say two words while driving over to the now infamous tea salon, and he dismounted from the jeep with his gaze straight ahead. She couldn’t blame him; what had transpired here between her and Shogun was scandalous—albeit Faerie spell induced.
“Ethan said it closed at ten, so nobody will be there to question . . . But we could go through the gardens, and if our murderer is a Were, maybe it was lurking for her out there, stalking her,” Sasha said, keeping the conversation directed toward the investigation.
Hunter just nodded.
New Orleans heat, even at night, was kicking her ass. The humidity made her jeans and tank top cling to her like a second skin. It also didn’t help the irritability factor, which was now on full blast for some odd reason. She’d felt that way ever since she’d left Ethan McGregor’s cellar. Dealing with the baron definitely didn’t help.
“You know . . . thinking back on it, was it my imagination, or did Sir Rodney seem overly tense?” She stared at Hunter, waiting, watching his gaze rove past the bamboo blind.
“The man just lost a lover. His cause for tension was justified.”
Sasha let out a quiet sigh. Okay, so this was going to be a long night.
Ignoring the subtle dig, she easily propelled her body over the wrought-iron gate, needing the physical exertion. Hunter simply slipped into a shadow and came out on the other side of the barrier. Now inside with closer access to the main building, it was clear that the establishment was locked up tight. Breaking in was possible, but there’d be no way to do it without leaving evidence of intrusion; wolf scent would linger and could confuse the issues for Fae investigation.
“Pixies and Faeries to ask as possible witnesses won’t be out this late—not with angry Vampires in the area,” Sasha remarked casually, walking through the gardens. “We’ll have to come back at dawn when they normally begin collecting the dew.”
She glanced around at the level of disrepair that confronted her. Once immaculately sheared dwarf azaleas and bonsais were ragged. The giant yew trees in huge Japanese ceramic pots on the porch seemed wilted, some owning yellowed leaves. Crabgrass and dandelions were prolic, littering the layered look of the small stone walls on the lawn and taking up residence between carefully placed Himalayan boulders. It even threatened the once clean spaces near the granite Yukimi lanterns, and algae drifted lazily on the surface of the oval pond above the slow-moving giant carp, blanketing the green paddle stones.
The only flora that appeared to be holding its own were the weeping cherry trees, Japanese wisteria, and graceful roseas. Anything that needed careful cultivation was a mess. This was not the pristine garden she’d known, but she kept that sad observation to herself. Unfortunately, the economic downturn had even reached the Fae community, it seemed.
Sasha turned away and placed her hands on her hips to stare at Hunter. “I’m not getting anything.”
“Then why are we still here?” Hunter muttered without looking at her.
“Okay . . . we have got to get this out and dealt with once and for all,” Sasha said, now folding her arms over her chest.
“Now is not the time.” Hunter began to walk, seeking a shadow.
“Maybe not, but it’s going to be real hard working as a team to investigate a situation with you having an attitude.”
Hunter spun and stared at her. “I do not have an attitude.”
“Really? Could have fooled me.”
He didn’t respond, but simply inclined his head toward the jeep. “Let us focus on the task at hand.”
Now he was really pissing her off.
But as she began to head back to the jeep, choosing the path near the small gazebo, the fleeting scent stung her nose. Hunter stopped walking and turned. He’d obviously picked it up, too. Running toward the scent that had been downwind from them, they both stopped at the gazebo prepared to instantly shift into their wolf forms.
Yet the abandoned seating area left them disappointed.
“whatever it is was here,” Hunter muttered.
“I know . . . I just wish I knew what the hell it was.” Sasha turned around in a wide circle and then let out her breath in defeat.
CHAPTER 3
Sasha had never been so glad to see a place to lay her head in all her life. Just walking up the front steps of what used to be Dugan’s Bed & Breakfast nearly brought tears to her eyes. She was so exhausted that every step felt like she was lifting an anvil instead of a boot. By the time they got to their room, she had to lean against the wall to simply fill Ethan in by cell phone. As soon as the call disconnected, she was so tempted to just walk across the room and flop down on the bed, but she knew Sir Rodney would be calling back any moment.
Hunter stood quietly inside the door, his expression stoic as she waited. Her phone sounded. Then it was just a matter of allowing Sir Rodney to vent about the baron trying to lure beautiful Phoenixes away from Ethan’s establishment. She was beginning to feel too tired to care, but checked her responses when she replied to the Seelie king’s rapid-fire questions.
“I’ll keep you posted as we get more intel,” she promised him, staring at Hunter. She waited until Sir Rodney disconnected the call and then closed her eyes, ready to fall asleep standing up.
A pair of warm, muscular arms enfolded her. She hadn’t even heard Hunter cross the room. His presence, the feel of him, was like a drug and she laid her head against his shoulder, finally giving in to a yawn.
“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured.
She just nodded, already drowsy enough to practically sleepwalk. It wasn’t necessary to open her eyes as she pulled off her weapon harness and handed it to Hunter, then kicked out of her boots and stripped off her jeans. What she was feeling was an unnatural kind of exhaustion, the bone weariness that she rarely felt as a wolf. She could tell it was beating Hunter down, too. It seemed like he could barely raise his arm to place her gun on the dresser. The moment they climbed into bed, he just pulled her into a spoon and seconds later was snoring in her ear. She wasn’t far behind him as a deep dark sleep consumed her.
The pillow against her cheek might as well have been anesthesia. First there was darkness and then, slowly, red glowing symbols haunted her sleep. Strange images burned and charred beneath her fluttering lids. She could see her wolf running through the shadow lands, mist obstructing her view of the hooded figure holding a brand. Then, with a yelp, she was naked and cold, her spirit rising as the stench of burning flesh, hers, filled her nostrils. Pain gripped her abdomen and as she looked down, her belly was raw, newly branded by the eerie sigil she’d seen.
Then suddenly she was jerked awake by Hunter’s lips on hers and the sound of wild barking in her ears—or was it in her head? Sasha yanked up her tank top and stared at her stomach and then relaxed. Great—this case is already starting to show up in my dreams.
Releasing a soft groan of annoyance, she pushed her tousled damp hair away from her face, realizing that Hunter had never moved in his sleep. Then who kissed her? Had to be part of the dream, just like the barking. She looked at him for a moment and then caressed his cheek. He was sleeping peacefully and dreaming. The sight of his easy exhalations and inhalati
ons made her smile softly, kiss him, and then fall back to sleep.
Dawn came with a vengeance. Fatigue clawed at Sasha, but the couple of hours of shut-eye that she and Hunter had been able to catch at the old Dugan B&B was simply going to have to do. She could tell he was also feeling it by the way he dug his fingers into his mass of onyx hair and hung his head as though merely contemplating getting out of bed was more than his mind or body could deal with.
“I feel like I have a hangover,” Sasha muttered, slowly heading for the bathroom.
“You’re telling me,” Hunter said in a hoarse murmur. “This isn’t normal, Sasha. I feel like hell warmed over.”
“Probably a parting gift from the baron.”
“Remind me to kick his ass the next time I see him,” Hunter said, closing his eyes and breathing slowly through his nose.
Sasha’s cell phone went off, making them both cringe. “Jesus H. Christ,” she muttered and hurried to get to it just to stop the awful sound. “What’s up, ’Rissa?”
“You okay?” Clarissa asked. “Your voice came out as a growl.”
“Sorry. Late night,” Sasha muttered. She hadn’t meant to snap at her teammate, but it was an ungodly hour in the morning.
“No apology needed . . . I guess I really owe you one, looking at the clock,” Clarissa said gently. “But you know I wouldn’t have called unless it was important.”
“I know, I know,” Sasha croaked and swung her legs over the side of the bed, knowing full well that Clarissa was the sensible one on the team. She wasn’t given to sudden histrionics. As their resident psychic, Clarissa wouldn’t have called unless there was a good reason. Sasha fought the haze in her brain and tried to focus. “Talk to me.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling, Captain. Like, there’s this serious dark energy vibe all around you . . . and I was worried.”
“Have you told Doc or the fellas?”
“No,” Clarissa said quickly. “But I told them they need to hurry up and get down there, just to have your back, just in case. This is New Orleans, you know.”
“Okay,” Sasha said, realizing how complicated this was becoming. “Here’s the thing . . . I’m looking into something for Sir Rodney that has to stay off the radar for now. I can’t go into it, but Hunter and I are fine.”
“Do you need any help? What do you need us to do?”
“It’s cool. We’re good. Just come down as planned and be ready to hang out at the Fae ball—it should be a blast.”
A moment of silence was Clarissa’s initial response. Sasha flopped back against the pillows when Hunter gave her the eye. It made sense that Clarissa picked up dark energy. Hell . . . the baron was pissed off, something Were was lurking, there was a killer on the loose, and two Phoenix chicks had torched.
“Just be careful, Sasha,” Clarissa said, strain evident in her tone.
“We will,” Sasha replied, trying to make her voice sound upbeat. But when she clicked off the phone, she just closed her eyes. How did you fake it with a psychic?
One thing was for sure, when Desidera was killed, there was a feral scent and the smell of blood in the basement. If Vampires were involved in it somehow, then it was also possible that Weres were involved—specifically the Werewolves of the remaining Buchanan Broussard clan. Old Buchanan had tried to pull a coup and get his daughter, Dana, to marry Shogun—then send the Werewolves to war against the Shadow Wolves, all the while having a dirty backroom deal going with Shogun’s sister Lei. Not to mention their demon-infected mother. With old man Buchanan, his daughter Dana, plus Shogun’s sister and his traitorous mother all killed in the post-courtroom battle, the Buchanan clan was very likely suspect, to her way of thinking.
Plus, with sorcery and Vampires somehow involved, that would be an interesting alliance. Sasha opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment, clutching her cell phone in her hand. Yeah . . . What if they could have found a way to mask their scent? She wondered if a nasty coven spell might be able to make a Werewolf smell like something else . . . and if so, why not make the scent elusive, untraceable, exotic? “Hmmm . . .”
“You’re going to give yourself a headache this morning,” Hunter said, standing.
“Too late. Already got one,” Sasha said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and then pushing off it to grab her jeans.
She opened her pocket, found the spiral pad in it, and looked at the sigil again. If she hadn’t promised Sir Rodney she wouldn’t get her team involved unless absolutely necessary, she would have Bradley run a check on this. She’d have to loop back with Ethan about it, even though he and Margaret had completely freaked out about it last night. Regardless, there were questions she needed to ask . . . namely, what specifically did the symbol do?
Sasha glanced at the clock—the digital display said 6:12. Staff wouldn’t be at Ethan’s until ten. That was a lot of time to kill. Sasha looked up when she heard Hunter’s stomach growl all the way across the room.
“Let’s go get some grub . . . then try to find a Pixie.”
It was no wonder the Pixies and garden Faeries didn’t greet them when they entered the gardens at Chaya. Sasha took one look at Hunter’s five o’clock shadow and surly mood, and if she were one of the wee folk, she would have avoided him, too. But she wasn’t much better—two Shadow Wolves that looked like they’d seen the worst side of the moon.
Sasha trudged forward, undaunted, keeping her voice low and calling out gently. If Penelope worked at the tea salon, then the Pixie staff or garden Faeries would know whoever else she worked with, so they could track that person down. They’d also know who the Pixie was in the photo. Somebody had to know something. But after a moment, Sasha stopped walking.
“I know Pixies and Faeries are unusually shy, but it’s just way too quiet out here.”
Hunter nodded and glanced around. “We have done them no harm and have helped them in the past—why would they hide from us?”
“Listen . . . nothing,” Sasha said, standing very, very still. “Not even crickets or morning birds.”
On guard, both Shadow Wolves moved slowly toward the small mansion that had been turned into a delicately ornamented teahouse. Sasha motioned with her chin toward a long shadow cast by a weeping cherry tree. At this point, they couldn’t worry about the Fae investigators. There was probable cause to enter Chaya via break-in. Within moments, she and Hunter had entered the shadow, coming out of it inside the shadows within the abandoned salon.
A thin film of dust covered the surfaces of once gleaming wood furniture and privacy screens. The gorgeous hardwood floors had lost their luster and dust sat in the crevices of intricately carved panels. Sasha and Hunter shared a look.
“This place looks like somebody got out of Dodge in a hurry. I don’t get it.”
A small pssst sound gave them a start, causing both wolves to spin in its direction only to spy a small, frightened Pixie. She stood in a tiny pool of light that was coming in around the shuttered windows, and she hugged her fragile arms to her body, her large brown eyes changing colors rapidly as she spoke.
“I heard the news,” she squeaked. “That is the only reason I am coming forward—you Shadows helped us before, but this is so tragic, just so very wrong!” The Pixie glanced around again. “I’m not even supposed to be here, but I heard you’d come to this place last night . . . I hoped you’d come here in the early morning.”
Sasha gave Hunter a glance that told him to stay back. The small Pixie was beginning to turn blue-green, her glamour totally faded, which could only mean that she was scared half to death. Large tears slid down her cheeks and Sasha immediately knew this was the Pixie in the photo.
“We’ll help you,” Sasha said in a gentle voice. “But we have to know what’s going on.” She squatted down to bring her gaze more level to that of the small person before her. “What’s your name?”
“Pixie Gretchen,” she said, as two more large, opalescent tears rolled down the bridge of her button nose. She tossed her str
awberry-blond curls away from her face and lifted her chin, obviously trying to be strong. “They killed her.”
“Who?” Sasha said carefully.
“Poor Desidera,” the Pixie whispered and then covered her face.
Sasha glanced at Hunter, who remained stoic. “I meant, who killed Desidera?”
“The spell-casters.” Gretchen lowered her palms away from her face.
This time Sasha didn’t just glance at Hunter, she held his gaze for a moment before returning her line of vision to the Pixie. “You mean the Vampires?”
The mention of Vampires made the Pixie dash back and forth within the pool of light for a few seconds.
“They must be the ones stealing our magick—but who knows how they’ve cast such a spell? Our magick has been waning for months. That’s why we’ve been in hiding. Desidera learned something by consorting with them . . . Penelope said she wasn’t herself since the night before last, and I’ve been waiting here for word . . . we all have. Then the night moths told the Faeries about Desidera’s flaming . . . oooohhhh . . . so horrible!”
Hunter cast a sidelong glance at Sasha.
“When was the last time you spoke to Penelope?” Sasha chose her words carefully, beginning to add up facts in her head as she spoke.
“Yesterday, when she got off from work in the afternoon . . . She works for Ethan McGregor, you know.” Gretchen looked between Sasha and Hunter. “What have you not told me?”
“When Penelope gets off work at Ethan’s, she comes directly here to work?” Hunter addressed the Pixie in a low, calm rumble, trying to keep his voice modulated.
“She used to . . . when we were open,” Gretchen said, now beginning to wring her hands. “But now she just comes by regularly to bring us honey and other supplies we need, as a friend. We, the Fae, are very private, and leaning on charity from those outside our community is very difficult indeed. That’s the only reason she started adding full shifts at that other place.”
“The Blood Oasis?” Hunter asked as gently as possible.