House of the Rising Sun

by Kristen Painter

  The sound of singing came from deep within the building, children’s voices by the lightness and purity of the notes. The convent had returned to its original use after the Great War, reopening as a convent and an orphanage and helping to bring peace and comfort after so much turmoil.

  Behind him were the nun’s apartments, but at this time in the afternoon, he imagined most of them would be in the main building with the children, finishing up lessons on math and history and spelling.

  The woman he was looking for would probably be in one of the smaller outbuildings. He headed for the nearest, adjacent apartments, hugging the wall and the shadows to hide himself. Curls of steam and the perfumey scent of laundry soap drifted from a partially open transom window. The main door was open, too; the second, screened one left closed. He eased through it, expecting it to creak, but it didn’t. A woman bent over to lift a laundry basket of sheets, her graying hair pulled back in a low bun, her unadorned face lined with age but unable to hide that she’d once been beautiful. Even with the covenant gone, he imagined she had no trouble passing as human.

  He cleared his throat to announce himself.

  She hefted the tub onto a table and turned, fingers still gripping the handles. Her gaze shifted over him, pausing where his horns would be, then settling on his face. Her mouth was thinner than he remembered, but her eyes carried the same disappointment tinged with disgust.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  She turned back to the sheets, dumping them onto the table. “I don’t have any money, if that’s what you’re—”

  “Have I ever asked you for money before? No and that’s not why I’m here now.” He sighed and leaned against one of the dryers. Nothing changed. She still expected the worst from him. His news would go over big, then.

  She separated one of the sheets out. “Saw on the news this morning that woman you were shacked up with was murdered.”

  He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he’d chosen to come here. “I was not shacked up with Olivia, Mama. We were friends. There was nothing untoward about our relationship.”

  “You didn’t do it, did you? The murder? Are you seeking asylum?” She found the corners of the fabric, pulling them together. “At best, the archbishop could give you absolution.”

  His mouth fell open. “Are you serious? You think I did it?”

  She shrugged, her back to him as she folded, her work more important than her son. “I know what you’re capable of.”

  They both did, but that didn’t give her the right to accuse him. “Holy hell. You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He stared at the condensation beading on the ceiling, imagining that water could cool the irritation building in his bones.

  She turned to glare at him. “Watch your language. This is sacred ground.”

  He pushed off the dryer and shoved the screen door open. “I should have known not to come here. No matter how many years go by, you never change.”

  “What did you come here for? What do you want from me?”

  He squared himself toward her and stood his ground. “I don’t want anything from you. I came to let you know I’m accepting the Guardianship of the city.”

  “Hmph. Like it matters to me. I don’t know why you haven’t done it sooner, you love showing off your fae blood so much.”

  “I never accepted it because of you.” Finally she faced him for more than a few seconds. “Because I was trying to respect your wishes that I not flaunt my fae side. But you’re right. None of my efforts have ever mattered to you.”

  “I suppose that means you’ll be growing your horns back?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Yes, it does. I know that disappoints you, but it’s not like they’re the only thing that designates me as fae. Horns or not, my skin will always give me away. I’m fae, Mama. And unlike you, I’m too fae to pass for human. No matter what you’d rather I was, I will never be anything else.”

  If his words made any difference, it didn’t show. The sour expression on her face remained the same. “And now you’re going to be the big fae in charge, huh? Am I supposed to be proud? Because I’m not.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t do this. You’re my mother and I know that means something, but I’m not sure why I care.” He pushed through the door.

  “That’s right, leave. Just like your father.”

  The screen door slammed shut behind him.

  “At least you know he’ll be proud of you!” she shouted after him.

  But he kept walking.

  Lally was in the kitchen when he came through the back door. The table was covered with casserole dishes and cake plates, all full. Her brown eyes held questions, making him sorry he had no answers. “Did you find her?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. It might take time for her to fully transition.” The lie slipped so easily from his mouth it almost tasted real.

  “Well, that’s something.” She wiped her hands on her apron, tipping her head at the table. “Neighbors been coming by, bringing food. Dining room table’s full of flowers, too. News carried the story this morning.”

  “I heard. What did they say?”

  “Mugging gone bad.”

  “I figured it would be something like that. The Elektos has as much to lose as the tourism board if word gets out that vampires killed one of the city’s best-known residents.” He tapped the lid of a crystal cake plate. “Mrs. Chalmers’s coconut cake?”

  “You want some? I’ll cut you a slice.”

  “No, not right now. Has Welch been here?”

  “Not yet, but I’m sure—”

  The doorbell rang. Augustine held a hand up for her to stay. “I’ll get it. I’m sure that’s him.”

  “Augustine?”

  He hesitated. “Yes?”

  “You going to take that job?”

  He took a deep breath. “I have to, don’t I? It’s the only way to make this city safe again. And to properly avenge Livie. You know what I was like in the old days. I do that again without some kind of sanction and I’ll be the one they’re after.”

  “I suppose so. Miss Olivia would like that. You taking the job, I mean. It would make her proud.” Lally smiled, but the small movement of her mouth didn’t reach her eyes.

  “My mother definitely doesn’t feel that way.”

  Lally’s eyebrows rose a tiny bit, her mouth pursing. “You saw her?”

  He nodded. “That’s where I came from.”

  Lally reached over to give his arm a squeeze. “I know it’s hard for you having a mother like that, but the way she is toward you? That’s her burden to bear, not yours. Miss Olivia loved you like a son and somewhere, right now, she’s smiling down on you for what you’re about to do.”

  “I hope so, because there’s no turning back.” He slipped into the hall and headed for the front door. The shape on the other side of the leaded glass was definitely not Fenton’s. Shorter. More feminine. Why had they sent someone else? That didn’t seem like a good sign.

  He opened the door. The woman on the other side was younger than he’d expected for an Elektos, a good head shorter than him, and looked more like a junior accountant than an Elektos enforcer. She seemed vaguely familiar, but then so did a lot of women. Her hair, a deep purply red that was almost black, was twisted up in a clip that turned the ends into a spiky plumage and she wore a slouchy hoodie with black leggings and scuffed-up ankle boots. Her eyes were covered with oversized sunglasses too dark to see through. Forget junior accountant, she looked like an off-duty Goth librarian. Which would have been kind of hot if he hadn’t been in mourning.

  A rolling duffel bag sat beside her on the porch, a laptop visible in one unzipped pocket. He realized a second later that she was wearing thin, flesh-colored gloves. Not that unusual, depending on what kind of fae she was. Maybe cypher, like Fenton. “I suppose you’re here to find out my decision.” At least they hadn’t sent that proper old fart again. Augustine definitely preferred this mysterious female. “I
appreciate you giving me the extra day. That was unexpected and very kind.”

  She scrunched up her face. “Decision? What? No. Who are you?”

  “Augustine. I live here.” He frowned. Not Elektos then. “Who are you?”

  “You live here?” She let go of the rolling bag to push her sunglasses onto her head, revealing a sprinkling of freckles across her heart-shaped face and amber eyes as bright as Livie’s despite the dark circles beneath them. “Harlow Goodwin. Olivia’s daughter. I’m here for the reading of the will.”

  Chapter Ten

  Harlow looked at the… man in front of her. Six fingers, pale gray skin, obviously muscled in that unattractive way of his kind… obviously fae, too, but at least he didn’t have horns. That would have been too much of a freakish coincidence with Charlie. The memory of him almost lightened her overwhelming sadness, but she stopped it in time. All she deserved to feel right now was grief and guilt. “The lawyer didn’t say anything about anyone living in the house. Other than the housekeeper, who I already knew about.”

  He stared at her, hard, his eyes rounding suddenly. “You.”

  “Me what?”

  “Sturka,” he muttered. “This is not good. You’re Olivia’s daughter?”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

  “Should I?” But already a vague, sickly familiar sense was welling up inside her. She tried to ignore that this man in front of her might be—

  “Charlie, but I had horns then.” His finger went from pointing at himself to pointing at her. “And you’re Angel.”

  Her stomach flipped and the pleasure she’d tried to suppress hit her hard. She swallowed it down. If this was the universe’s way of punishing her for being a horrible daughter, there was nothing she could do but take it. “Why are you… how is this… oh, this is not good.” The man—no, the fae—she’d kissed and run from was standing in front of her. In her mother’s house. “What are you doing here? Where are your horns? You said they were real.”

  “They are real. I sawed them off.” His frown grew. “I find it hard to believe your mother never mentioned me.”

  “She was good at keeping secrets.” She frowned back. If Olivia hadn’t mentioned him, maybe it was because she knew Harlow wouldn’t approve of the relationship. “Please, in the name of all that’s holy, don’t tell me you’re her… boy toy, because I will vomit.”

  “No. Hell’s bells, is that what you think? Olivia and I were very good friends. Like mother and son. Nothing more. Damn.”

  “That’s a relief.” But only a small one. Knowing her mother had a substitute child only added to her sense of shame. “Maybe you could go back to your own place now. Let me deal with all of… this.”

  “My own place?” He smirked like he had all the answers. Cocky piece of work, this one, but then he’d been that way the night of Nokturnos. “I’ve lived here for almost twenty years. I’m sure your mother must have said something about me.”

  “My mother and I haven’t been on the best of terms for a long time. I’m sure she must have said something about that.” Not that it was any of his business. Just like it wasn’t any of hers as to why her mother had invited this annoyingly charming man to live with her. Maybe he was like a butler. Granted, Olivia had been up in years, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hire a handsome guy to wait on her, right? As odd as the thought was, Harlow clung to it. And as the butler, he could certainly provide her with a few answers. “Are you going to let me in?”

  He stepped out of the way, opening the door wide and sweeping his hand toward the interior in an overly dramatic gesture that almost got her to smile. “By all means, come on in, Miss Goodwin.”

  “Harlow is fine.” Even without having previously spent time with him, she could tell his type. Probably spent his days polishing his pickup lines and spent his nights pillaging the local female talent, hoping to never run into the same one as he cut a swath through the bar scene. At least New Orleans had a steady influx of tourists. That high turnover must make things a little easier on a guy like him. She smirked, knowing she’d figured him out. “No wonder you love New Orleans.”

  “What’s that?”

  Had she said that out loud? Living alone and working from home had given her the bad habit of talking to herself. “Just that you must love the city. It’s so… fun.”

  He looked unconvinced of her opinion. “I was born here. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.” He closed the door, then held a hand out. “Can I take your bag? I assume you’re staying here for the funeral and everything.”

  Was he really that nice or was he playing her? “I’ll hold on to it.” She’d never been inside the house, but it was certainly big enough. Ridiculously so. Although the décor was oddly restrained, considering what she knew of her mother’s taste. The house carried the strange scent of smoke mixed with citrus. Incense maybe? “Tell me again why you live here?”

  “I live here because your mother wanted me here.” His words almost sounded like a challenge.

  She started to answer him when Eulalie came out from a room at the end of the hall. She glanced at Harlow, then smiled, her eyes full of sorrow. “Miss Harlow. I’m so glad you’re back, but I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

  “Hello, Eulalie.”

  “Call me Lally. Everyone does.” Her smile faded. “You have my deepest sympathies, child. I loved your mama dearly. I’m so glad you’re going to stay here with us.”

  “Thank you.” Harlow wasn’t sure how else to respond. Being called “child” only underlined the thinness of her relationship with her mother and freshen the pain of losing her. Then to be suddenly thrust into Olivia’s world, surrounded by her mother’s things and her friends… tears threatened, but Harlow fought them. She would not break down in front of Augustine.

  Staying here was probably not the best idea after all. Especially with him being here. She’d spent too much money on that damn suite, so she’d have to find a cheap place now. Or hack her way in. A couple of clicks and she could have a paid-for room almost anywhere. If she wasn’t being monitored, which she was sure she was. “I think I should probably stay at a hotel.”

  “Nonsense!” Lally held up her hands. “We’ll have none of that now. There’s plenty of space here. I’ll just go fix up that big guest room on the second floor that overlooks the pool.” She headed for the stairs that dominated the foyer. One foot on a tread, she stopped. “Unless you’d rather stay in your mama’s room?”

  “What? No.” Harlow blinked hard at the very idea. “A guest room is fine.” It was hard enough being in her mother’s home, but sleeping in her bed? Unthinkable.

  “I’ll bring her bag along later, Lally,” Augustine called up the steps.

  “Thank you, child,” Lally called back. Good to know that was a general term and not specifically meant for her.

  “A pool, huh? This is quite the place.” Harlow took another look around, trying to imagine her mother in this house and picturing her happy. At least Harlow hoped Olivia had been happy here.

  “It sure is.” Augustine turned to her. “You want to see the grounds? Or tour the house? See what you’re about to inherit?” At the last word, a cloud of melancholy came over him.

  Probably because he just realized he wouldn’t be living here anymore. Hopefully because he was also sad. Harlow ached with the pain of her mother’s death, but it was impossible not to be grateful about the possibility of finding out who her father had been. What if she had step-brothers and sisters? A tiny spark of joy lit inside her at the idea.

  And then there was the potential inheritance. Even if there was no cash, selling this place would allow her to pay her fine. If there was any left over, she’d finally be able to hire a private investigator to track her father down, something she could probably do herself if she had his name.

  Maybe she’d even have enough left to buy a house, a place with enough space for a dedi
cated server room. Then she could turn her small penetration-testing business into a real force to be reckoned with. Take on bigger companies, develop more complicated hacks. Go completely legit. She got lost in the dream, an easy way to brunt the grief.

  “Hello? Anyone home?” Augustine peered at her like she’d zoned out. Which she had.

  “Sorry, I’m just tired from… everything.” She shook her head. He must think she was a total flake. Not that she cared. “If it’s okay, I’d rather see the house later.”

  “Look, things don’t have to be weird between us just because of Nokturnos.”

  She snorted like she hadn’t even thought about it. “No, of course not.” Oh yeah, things were weird.

  The doorbell chimed.

  She looked toward the front of the house, thrilled that someone had chosen that moment to interrupt. “I imagine you’ve had a lot of visitors. I’m sure my mother was pretty popular.” Especially if she took in random strangers.

  “She was well loved in this city, but I don’t think that’s anyone here to pay their condolences. Not yet.” Augustine’s expression changed into something more solemn and serious. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Sure. I’ll just…” But he was already opening the door.

  She ducked into what looked like a library, staying just inside the doors, where she could see who it was and hear what they had to say about her mother. But Augustine was right. The visitor, a tall, thin man with glasses, didn’t seem to have come about Olivia.

  Augustine spoke first. “Fenton. Thank you for the extra time.”

  “Of course. Have you made your decision?”

  Augustine didn’t invite him in. “Yes. I accept.”