House of the Rising Sun

by Kristen Painter

  Times like this she cursed the “gift” she’d been born with. Well, the first one, the ability to feel people’s emotions through touch, that one she always cursed. And really it was more than emotion. She saw images, heard sounds, even picked up scents from people. Which all added up to an intense overload—sometimes pleasurable but too often painful—that she preferred not to deal with. The second gift was the way she seemed to be able to read computers. She didn’t know how else to describe it, but they responded to her like she could speak binary code without even trying. Finding her way into a motherboard took no more effort than opening a door. That gift had given her a career. A slightly questionable one at times. But a job was a job. Except when it brought her clients like this last one.

  A client who was now in the wind, the twenty large she’d charged him not even a down payment on her fine. She should have known something was up when he’d paid in cash, his courier a shifty-eyed sort who was probably as much fae as he was something else. She shuddered. That cash, tucked away in a backpack under the bed, was the only thing the court hadn’t been able to seize. Everything else was frozen solid until she paid the fine or did her time.

  She flopped back on the bed and folded her arms over her eyes. She was about as screwed as a person could get.

  Her eyes closed but it didn’t stop her brain from filling her head with the one name she was doing her best not to think about.

  The one person capable of helping her. The one person who’d been the greatest source of conflict in her life.

  Olivia Goodwin.

  Her mother.

  Harlow hadn’t really spoken to her mother in years. Not since their last big fight and Olivia’s umpteenth refusal to share any information about her biological father. For Harlow, it was difficult to say what hurt worse—not knowing who her father was or her mother not understanding the gaping hole inside Harlow where her father was missing and yet her mother somehow thinking she could still make things okay between them.

  The cycle usually started with Olivia barraging Harlow with pleas to move to New Orleans. Harlow ignored them until she finally believed things might be different this time and countered with a request of her own. Her father’s name. Because that’s all she needed. A name. With her computer skills, there was no question she’d be able to find him after that. But without a name… every clue she’d followed had led to a dead end. But that small request was all it took to shut Olivia down and destroy Harlow’s hope. The next few months would pass without them talking at all.

  Then Olivia would contact her again.

  Harlow had made one attempt at reconciliation, but that had dissolved just like the rest of them. After that, their communication became very one-sided. Emails and calls and letters from her mother went unanswered except for an occasional response to let Olivia know she was still alive and still not interested in living in New Orleans.

  She loved her mother. But the hurt Olivia had caused her was deep.

  If her mother was going to help now, the money would come with strings attached. Namely Harlow agreeing to drop the topic of her father.

  The thought widened the hole in her heart a little more. If she agreed to never ask about him again, she’d have to live with the same unbearable sense of not knowing she’d carried all her life. And if she didn’t agree, her mother probably wouldn’t give her the money, which meant Harlow was going to jail. A life lesson, her mother would call it.

  A deep sigh fluttered the hair trapped between her cheeks and her forearms. Was she really going to do this? The drive from Boston to New Orleans would take a minimum of twenty-four hours, but flying meant being trapped in a closed space with strangers. It also meant putting herself on the CCU’s radar, and until her fine was paid, she wasn’t supposed to leave the state. At least she had a car. Her little hybrid might be a beater, but it would get her to Louisiana and there’d be no one in the car but her.

  Another sigh and she pulled her arms away from her face to stare at the ceiling. If her mother refused her the money, which was a very real possibility, Harlow would be in jail in a month’s time. Her security gone, her freedom gone, forced to live in a cell with another person.

  She sat up abruptly. Would they let her keep her gloves in prison? What if her cell mate… touched her? That kind of looming threat made her want to do something rebellious. The kind of thing she’d only done once before at a Comic Con where her costume had given her a sense of anonymity and some protection from skin-to-skin contact.

  She wanted one night of basic, bone-deep pleasure of her choosing. One night of the kind of fun that didn’t include sitting in front of her monitors, leveling up one of her Realm of Zauron characters to major proportions. Not that that kind of fun wasn’t epic. It was basically her life. But she needed something more, the kind of memory that would carry her through her incarceration.

  One night of careful physical contact with another living, breathing male being.

  The thought alone was enough to raise goose bumps on her skin. She’d do it the same way she had at Comic Con. A couple of good, stiff drinks and the alcohol would dull her senses and make being around so many people bearable. With a good buzz, she could stand being touched. Maybe even find it enjoyable, if things went well. Which was the point.

  She was going to New Orleans. The city was practically built on senseless fun and cheap booze, right? If there was ever a place to have one last night of debauchery before heading to the big house, New Orleans seemed custom made for it.

  On her Life Management Device, the one she could no longer afford and that would soon be turned off, she checked the weather. Unseasonably warm in New Orleans. Leaving behind the snowpocalypse of Boston wouldn’t be such a hardship, but she wasn’t about to ditch her long sleeves just for a little sunshine. On the rare occasions she had to leave her apartment, she liked as much skin covered as possible.

  She jumped off the bed, grabbed her rolling bag and packed. Just the necessities—travel laptop with holoscreen and gaming headset, some clothes, toiletries and the cash. Not like she’d be gone long. She changed into her favorite Star Alliance T-shirt, set her security cameras, locked down her main computer and servers and grabbed her purse. She took a deep breath and one last look at her apartment. It was only for a few days. She could do this.

  A few minutes later she was in the car, a jumbo energy drink in the cup holder and the nav on her LMD directing her toward Louisiana.

  Augustine tucked away his traveling mirror and inhaled the comforting scent of home. The weeks of rarely staying in one spot for longer than a few nights had worn thin. He’d tried a stint in Austin, Texas, another fae Haven city, but a week there and he’d begun to feel eyes on him. Being back in New Orleans was pure happiness. This was the only ground he’d ever considered home, and this house, the estate of retired movie star Olivia Goodwin, was the only place that had ever felt like home.

  Protecting Olivia and this place was why he’d run to begin with, but she knew he hadn’t been the cause of the trouble. Not really. That landed squarely on the shoulders of his estranged half brother, Mortalis. They shared a father but that was about it. They’d never seen eye to eye on anything. Mortalis disapproved of Augustine’s life in more ways than he could count and took every opportunity, rare as they were, to make that known.

  Despite that, Augustine had helped one of Mortalis’s very pretty, very persuasive female friends gain access to the fae plane, specifically the Claustrum, the max-security prison where the fae kept the worst of their kind. Livie had agreed it had been the right thing to do, but she hadn’t really understood the consequences.

  The sounds of female voices reached his ears. Olivia and Lally, her companion and housekeeper, were out on the back porch enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. He set his bag down and moved softly from the hall and into the kitchen. Their voices were louder now, filtering in through the screen door along with the afternoon breeze. Ice clinked in glasses and the scent of mint and bourbon followe
d.

  He smiled. Livie loved herself a julep on the porch. He leaned in close to the screen, but left the door closed. “Miss me so much you have to drink away your sorrows, huh?”

  Both women jumped in their rockers, clutching at their hearts and slopping bourbon and soda over the rims of their glasses.

  Olivia shook her cane at him, her shock widening into an unstoppable grin. “Augustine Robelais, how dare you sneak up on two old women like that.” She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Augie, you’re home. Praise our lady Elizabeth Taylor. Get out here and let me hug your neck.”

  He pushed through the screen door and scooped Livie into his arms. She squeezed him hard, her form somehow frailer than he remembered. He whispered into her silver-white bob, “I missed you more than I have words for.”

  “And I, you, cher.” Her hand cupped the back of his head as she kissed his cheek. “I am so glad you’re home.” She released him, her amber eyes glittering with tears.

  He turned to Lally and caught her in a hug as she stood. “I’m sure you didn’t miss cleaning up after me, huh?”

  Lally clung to him, her voice catching when she finally spoke. “Silly child.” She patted his back as she let him go and sat down. “I had so much free time, I read half Miss Olivia’s library.” She laughed. “I’m still not used to seeing you with your horns grown out, but I’m happy to have you back, no matter what you look like.”

  He leaned against the porch railing. The warmth of their love was almost palpable, soothing the ache in his heart from being away. “I appreciate that. I’ll be grinding the horns off soon enough.”

  A wash of concern took away Livie’s smile. “Everything all right then? Didn’t have any trouble did you? No run-ins with any Elektos?”

  “Not a bit.” He couldn’t stop smiling. Even the air smelled better. “How about you?”

  She snorted softly. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  Which meant they’d been here. That knocked the smile off his face. Anger fueled a fire in his belly, but for her sake he just nodded. Obviously she didn’t want to talk about it right now. Or maybe just not around Lally, but there wasn’t much Olivia kept from her.

  “You home to stay, Mr. Augustine?” Lally looked hopeful.

  “Yes.” He sighed and tipped his head back, inhaling the earthy, heady scent of the Garden District. Tiny green tips were beginning to show on the trees. In a few weeks, spring would overtake the place. “I hope I never have to run again.” He would, though, if it meant keeping these two women safe.

  “Good.” Lally smiled. “We had enough of you bein’ gone.”

  “That we did.” Livie sipped her mint julep, then held it up to him. “You want a drink, darling?”

  “No, I’m good. All I really want is to sleep in my own bed.”

  She took another sip before setting the drink down. “Well, I’ll be. You mean you’re not heading into the Quarter to see what young thing you might woo into your arms for the night?”

  He laughed. Olivia didn’t need to know he’d already been there. “I thought I’d take one night off. Besides, tomorrow night is Nokturnos. I’ll do plenty of wooing then.”

  “Is that tomorrow? With you gone, I guess it slipped my mind.” She looked at Lally. “Did you realize it was the new moon?”

  “I knew that much, but I can’t be bothered with the rest.” Lally waved her hand. “All that mask wearing and kissing strangers and carrying on like fools. Humans do enough of that during Mardi Gras.”

  Augustine raised a brow. “We don’t carry on like—well, okay, a little bit like fools, but it’s the fae New Year. There’s got to be some celebration. Plus the fae need their own party before the tourists invade for carnival and the town isn’t ours anymore. This is a big one, too. Since the covenant’s been broken and humans know we exist, it’s the first Nokturnos we can celebrate publicly.” He shook his finger at Olivia. “You’ve got a good bit of haerbinger blood in your system, Ms. Goodwin. You should be celebrating, too.”

  She waved him off. “Please, cher. I’ve had enough celebrating in my days.”

  “My lands,” Lally exclaimed with a smirk. “You sure came back from your sojourn with a lot of sass, didn’t you, Mr. Augustine? Hmph.”

  He laughed.

  “I missed this, I surely did.” Lally tipped her head up toward Augustine. “So you’ll be kissing a stranger tomorrow evening? Guess that’s not much different than most of your evenings.” She laughed, clearly tickled with herself.

  “And I’m the one full of sass?” But he grinned. “Hey, you want me to have good luck for the New Year, don’t you?” A yawn caught him off guard. Before he’d returned home, sleep had eluded him the last few nights, replaced by nightmares so real, they’d driven him to return home. Probably earlier than was prudent, but enough was enough.

  Livie immediately looked concerned. “You really are tired, aren’t you, cher?”

  He hadn’t slept much last night, either, but he wasn’t about to tell them that. He scratched the base of one horn. “You know how it is when you’re not in your own bed. It’s just not the same.”

  Lally nodded. “I hear that. You going to make it till supper, Mr. Augustine, or should I put up a plate for you?”

  “Depends on what you’re fixing.”

  “Nothing special. Just a little RB-and-R and some hot sausage.”

  “Nothing special.” He snorted. “You know I love red beans and rice. Especially yours. Yes to supper, but first I should probably run down to Jackson Square and see if Dulcinea is around. Let her know I’m back.” He’d stayed clear of the Quarter’s main areas last night, too, keeping as low a profile as he could without becoming completely invisible to the pretty tourist girls he so enjoyed.

  Lally stood. “I’ll just go take another sausage out of the freezer.”

  After she left, Livie gave him a sly smile. “I’m sure Dulcinea’s missed you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You know it’s not like that between us.”

  “Mm-hmm. I know what you two get up to.” She swirled the liquid in her glass. “I know you’re both adults and consenting and all that.”

  He knew what Olivia was hinting at, but the past was the past. “We’re just friends.”

  “Friends with benefits, that’s what they used to call it in my day.” She lifted her glass to her lips as Lally came back out.

  “Y’all still talking about Miss Dulcinea?”

  “Yes, why?” Augustine answered.

  Lally settled into her chair and pointed toward the back corner of the yard. “She was out here one night. Just sitting in the gazebo past the pool there. I gave her a little wave, but she didn’t wave back. Didn’t see her again after that, but the next night, a stray cat showed up. Sleek gray thing with darker stripes and these two different-colored eyes that just looked right through a person’s soul.”

  Augustine looked at Livie the same time she looked at him and in unison, they both said, “Dulcinea.”

  She was one of the oddest fae he knew, not just personality-wise, but because even she didn’t know her bloodlines other than that they included fae and varcolai, or shifter. The strange stew of her lineage had given her some rare powers, including the ability to take on random animal forms. In othernatural terms, she was a remnant, a label applied to anyone with mixed othernatural heritage. But in the neighborhood, most called her a changeling.

  Lally sat back, resting her arms across her plump stomach. “I figured that was her.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  She lifted one hand to shake a finger at him. “You definitely should go see that girl. She’s pining for you.”

  Augustine laughed. “Dulce pines for no one. Except maybe this city.” It was nice to know she’d kept an eye on Olivia and Lally while he’d been gone. He hadn’t asked her to do that and was a little surprised she had, but then maybe he wasn’t. Nothing Dulcinea did could really be considered shocking.

  Chapter Tw
o

  Augustine strolled toward Jackson Square with a little extra swagger in his step despite his sleeplessness. That was the power of being home again, of being back where he belonged with Livie. But the closer to the square he got, the deeper the invasive itch of the iron fencing dug into him. Iron was a fae’s worst nightmare, a death sentence in great enough quantities, which was why most of the ironwork in New Orleans had been replaced over the years with look-alike aluminum. He shook the itch off. He wouldn’t let it bother him. Not even the tourists plowing past could ruin his mood. It was too beautiful a day, too good to be home and too hard to be grumpy in a city that had so much going for it.

  Ahead of him, under her customary black umbrella, sat Dulcinea, her back to him. She kept to the square’s far side to put as much distance between herself and the iron fencing as possible, but he still didn’t know how she could take such prolonged exposure. For a fae, being so close to that much iron was like having your skin peeled off. Slowly. But that was Dulcinea. One of a kind.

  A fat strand of bloodred yarn tied back her silvery gray dreads so that the beads, feathers and bones woven into the matted strands clinked against one another when she moved. That slip of red was the only color she wore. The rest of her outfit from her long, flowy dress to her casually torn leggings to her combat boots was black or a shade of gray. Combined with her dusty gray skin and her nearly six foot height, she made a striking figure. One that looked very much the mystical fortune-teller. And the tourists loved every inch of her, even her bicolored eyes, one blue, one green.

  Since the breaking of the covenant that had enabled mortals to see all the othernatural creatures around them, New Orleans had enjoyed a boom in visitors interested in gawking at the fae that called the Haven city home.