The vampire’s laugh grated against her ears. “Why should I? I have the upper hand here.”
“I’ll ask you once more,” Augustine said. “Tell me who helped you gain entrance to the city. Tell me, and I’ll personally guarantee your safety to the parish line.”
“Like I’d believe you.” The vampire’s arm came up, causing the blade against her neck to bite deeper. The metal’s sick history coiled through her, filling the widening nothingness inside her with its dark poison.
“Last chance, vampire.”
“Last chance, fae.” Pain radiated from her neck and the metallic tang of blood filled her nose.
Augustine’s face contorted, manifesting every bit of rage she’d imagined inside him. He flickered. His image changed and he became a phantom, so transparent that even the thin moonlight filtered through him.
He charged forward, moving at a speed only othernatural eyes could see. The smoky apparition he’d become lunged over the railing, passed through her and sank like a dagger into the vampire.
The force yanked the leech off her and threw him to the porch floor. Wood cracked and splintered beneath him. Lally’s bedroom light came on.
The vampire clawed at himself, digging his nails into his own flesh and shrieking. Augustine had disappeared. The vampire’s eyes bulged, his body convulsing, back arching like he was possessed. “Get out,” he moaned.
“Who hired you?” The words came out of the vampire’s mouth but the voice was Augustine’s.
Was Augustine in the vampire? There was no other explanation.
“Fae,” the vampire growled. Then he got up, grunting and gnashing his teeth, then jerked down the porch steps and into the yard. Unnatural bulges rippled beneath his skin. He scratched at himself, shredding strips of flesh that went to ash as he tore them away.
“Fae hired you?”
The vampire muttered something Harlow couldn’t make out. Then, with the soft whoosh of a flame being extinguished, the vampire turned to ash. In his place stood Augustine, as solid as when she’d first seen him. Ash drifted down over him like a hellish snowfall. He brushed the sooty bits from his hair and clothes before walking back onto the porch.
Harlow bumped into the wall of the house. She wasn’t aware she’d backed up. “What… what just happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He wiped more ash off his face. “Are you okay?” He rubbed at her throat with his thumb. “You have a little blood on your neck, but the cut has already healed.”
She lifted a hand to feel her throat.
“You’re shaking.” He came nearer but didn’t touch her again. “I’m really sorry you had to go through that. If anything had happened to you…” He swallowed. “I never want any harm to come to you. Never.”
She nodded, a little numb. “Thank you.” The void created by the vampire still lingered, making her wonder if it was something she was stuck with. She wrapped her arms around her torso, trying to will it away and stop herself from shivering. “He said fae hired him. Do you think…”
Augustine took a step closer. “That it was Branzino? Yes.” He looked toward the pile of ash. “He said something right before he died that could have been Branzino’s name, but it wasn’t clear. Still, it’s enough for me to pursue that angle further.”
“Did you really kill the rest of his gang?”
“With help, yes.” He was half a foot away, maybe less.
“Good.” She flicked her gaze sideways. Lally’s light was still on. “We should probably go in and let Lally know everything’s okay.”
“She knows. She’s watching from the kitchen window.” He turned toward the house, the shimmer of power surrounding him like a visible aura. “Go to bed, Lally, it’s all taken care of. We’ll talk in the morning.”
A few seconds later, the bedroom light went off.
Harlow tilted her head slightly. “Are you going to explain what you did to that vampire?”
“Yes, but not right now.” His eyes took on the gleam of relief and something… else. “Remember when I said if you wanted me to kiss you again, you were going to have to ask?”
She nodded. Heat rolled off him in waves.
His hands broke the lock of her arms to slide around her waist. “I lied.”
Chapter Thirty-four
Augustine met Fenton at the Pelcrum early, right after he’d made a trip to the bank to meet Cuthridge and access Livie’s safety-deposit box. Before he’d left the house, though, he’d stuck his head into Harlow’s room. He needed to know she really was okay. That she hadn’t been so spooked by the vampire’s attack that she’d run, but she was still there, deep in sleep and the kind of beautiful that made him understand how the world had become infatuated with Olivia. Like it or not, Harlow was her mother’s child. She was, however, also very much her own woman. A woman he’d come to enjoy kissing too damn much for his own good.
He smiled, thinking of last night. The thunk of Fenton putting a mug of coffee in front of him pulled him from his memory.
Fenton sat next to him at the war room table. “I take it the mission was a success?”
“To the best of my knowledge, New Orleans is vampire-free. Unless our traitor lets another wave in.” He sipped the coffee.
“Do you think that will happen?”
“I think it’s a possibility until we know for sure who did it and deal with them.” He planted his fingers on the table. “Both Harlow and I fully believe that Branzino is behind all this. Not maybe, but definitely. Which means Dreich was working for him. Whether Dreich knew exactly who he was working for, I have no idea but we need to move forward with Branzino as our main target.”
Fenton nodded. “Do you have something new to share?”
“We know Branzino is using some kind of magic to pass as human. Can you research that, maybe come up with a list of the fae who’d be willing to do that kind of work?”
“Absolutely. Anything else?”
“Yes, but for right now, this stays strictly between us.” He slid the data card across the table.
Fenton picked it up. “What’s on here? Can you tell me that much?”
“Evidence that will put Branzino in the Claustrum once we have him in custody. That’s not the only copy, but keep it safe.”
“I will.” He slipped the data card into his inside jacket pocket.
“Also, I need Olivia’s house warded immediately.”
Fenton frowned. “Did Branzino show there? Is that how you got this new info?”
“He’s part of why I want it done, but he hasn’t been back. Yet. However, the leader of the Young Bloods showed up there last night. He attacked Harlow and would have killed her, but I took care of things.” He tapped a finger on the table. “I want a weaver there as soon as possible.”
“Nekai is the best weaver for home protection, but he’s on loan to another Haven city. As soon as he returns, I’ll make it happen.” Fenton used his stylus to scrawl a note in his tablet.
“Thanks. Speaking of Branzino, how’s the investigation into Dreich’s death going?”
Fenton shook his head. “Slowly. I spoke with Detective Grantham yesterday and while the lab confirmed the powder found in the kitchen was bokura, he hasn’t been able to speak with his grandmother yet as she’s been ill.”
Augustine leaned forward. “I think it’s time to label Dreich’s death what it is. Murder. See if we can—”
“Hold on.” Fenton raised his hand. “We don’t have enough evidence to back that up. All we have is guesses. Even if Dreich was working for Branzino, he could have purchased that bokura to use on someone else.”
“Then who did he use it on? Because there wasn’t enough left to be useful. And who did he purchase it from? Bokura is a voodoo thing. That’s not something our kind typically messes with. I think by revealing some of our suspicions, we might be able to get some new intel. Maybe someone saw him talking to a known voodoo priest or priestess.”
“I think it’s too soon. Let’s give G
rantham a chance to find out what he can before we upend this can of worms.” Fenton tapped his tablet to turn it off. “As for you, take the day off. You’ve earned it. Your lieutenants, too. The city can go a few hours without you patrolling the streets.”
“What if—”
“Augustine, everything is under control. And if something does happen, we still have the NOPD. Take some downtime. Do something to relax. Or do errands, or do nothing, but take the day off.”
“There is something I should do.” Augustine stood. He’d never thought the day would come when he’d feel this sense of responsibility to a job he’d never wanted. “Call me if you need me.”
“I won’t.” Fenton made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go.”
Fifteen minutes later, Augustine parked the Thrun outside the Ursuline Convent and walked through the front gardens to the visitors’ desk. The austerity of the place never failed to make him feel like a schoolboy.
The sister on duty looked up at him. “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to see…” It took him a moment to remember what his mother had changed her name to when she’d come here. “Magdalena. She’s a… I think it’s called a postulate?”
“Just a moment.” The sister picked up the handset on an old corded phone and dialed. “Magdalena, there’s a visitor here to see you.” She paused. “I’ll ask.” The sister put the handset to her shoulder. “Who are you and what is your business with Magdalena?”
“I’m her son and I’d just like to talk.” The nun relayed that information. Some small part of him thought that if his mother understood the kind of work he was doing now, how he’d changed for the better and taken on some responsibility, she might soften toward him and they could have some kind of relationship. Olivia would approve. In fact, he hoped to be able to tell her about this next time he saw her, which would be soon. Olivia had to let Harlow know she wasn’t really gone. He was going to insist.
“All right.” The sister nodded into the phone, then looked up at him again. “I’m sorry, she doesn’t wish to see you.”
He stood there a moment, feeling like he’d been slapped. He’d been a fool to think this time would be any different. That she’d be any different. He closed his mouth and walked back to his car as it began to drizzle.
He pulled his collar up. Getting through to his mother was an impossible task. It might never happen. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stop trying, no matter how many times he failed.
She was his mother. They were blood. Shouldn’t that matter for something? Not to her, obviously. His LMD vibrated since he’d silenced it before entering the convent. “Answer.”
“Augustine, where are you?” Harlow’s voice was husky with sleep. She must have just woken up.
“I had an errand to run.”
“Well, hurry up. Lally’s making bacon pecan pancakes and says we can’t eat until you get home. Also, pick up some orange juice.” She snorted like something funny had just occurred to her. “Are bacon pecan pancakes a thing in New Orleans? You people eat some weird stuff.”
“I guess we do. You’re one of those people now, you know.”
A few seconds of silence passed between them. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
“I know the feeling.” He opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat, staring at the rain streaking his windshield. Family wasn’t about the blood that connected you to other people, it was about the people who chose to be connected to you. The people who stood at your side, who faced the demons, fought the battles and helped patch you up afterwards. The realization put a smile on his face. “I’ll get the juice and be right home.”
Without another look at the convent, he drove off. His family was waiting.
Acknowledgments
Writing is the hardest job I’ve ever had. Granted, I’ve never been a neurosurgeon or a tightrope walker, so I know it’s all relative. Still, trying to get through the writing of a book without a support system is like trying to baptize a cat. Someone’s going to end up in tears. So for all those who’ve helped me along the way—thanks! My apologies to those I’ve forgotten, please forgive me.
Here are a few of those people: My amazing, supportive agent, Elaine. My editor, Susan, and the entire publishing team at Orbit. The fabulous Writer’s Camp chicks—Leigh, Laura, Rocki and by proxy, Louisa and Amanda. My House of Pain Street Team—namely Captain Melanie, Co-Captain Laura, super-member Amanda Masters and my betas, Dianna J. especially! And of course, my readers, who are the reason I do this.
Lastly, huge thanks to my family for their continuous support and to my husband, who is not only an amazing guy but one who can make me laugh like no one else. Y’all rock.
ALSO BY KRISTEN PAINTER
HOUSE OF COMARRÉ
Blood Rights
Flesh and Blood
Bad Blood
Out for Blood
Last Blood
Forbidden Blood (e-only novella)
CRESCENT CITY
House of the Rising Sun
City of Eternal Night
Praise for HOUSE OF COMARRÉ:
“Kristen Painter’s Blood Rights is dark and rich with layer after delicious layer. This spellbinding series will have you begging for more!”
—Gena Showalter, New York Times bestselling author
“Prophecy, curses, and devilish machination combine for a spellbinding debut of dark romance and pulse-pounding adventure.”
—Library Journal (Starred Review)
“Painter scores with this one. Passion and murder, vampires and courtesans—original and un-put-downable. Do yourself a favor and read this one.”
—Patricia Briggs, New York Times bestselling author
“Gripping, gritty, and imaginative. If you love dangerous males, kick-ass females, and unexpected twists, this is the series for you! Kristen Painter’s engaging voice, smart writing, and bold, explosive plot blew me away. Prepare to lose some sleep!”
—Larissa Ione, New York Times bestselling author
“A world full of rich potential. Excellent!”
—P. C. Cast, New York Times bestselling author
“Kristen Painter brings a sultry new voice to the vampire genre, one that beckons with quiet passion and intrigue.”
—L.A. Banks, New York Times bestselling author
“Exciting and interesting!”
—RT Book Reviews on Bad Blood
“The romance is tense and fresh… I highly recommend this if you enjoy fantasy and want an original take on vampires.”
—USA Today’s Happy Ever After on Blood Rights
extras
meet the author
Kevin Roberts, Intimate Images
KRISTEN PAINTER likes to balance her obsessions with shoes and cats by making the lives of her characters miserable and surprising her readers with interesting twists. She currently writes award-winning urban fantasy for Orbit Books. The former college English teacher can often be found on Twitter @Kristen_Painter and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/KristenPainterAuthor, where she loves to interact with her readers.
interview
When did you first start writing?
When I was a kid! One of my first stories was about my cat. I’m still rather cat obsessed as some of you may already know.
Augustine is a side character in your original House of Comarré series—what drew you to him to write his story?
He’s a really interesting character and not the sort I’d written before. He’s laid-back, loves life, hates responsibility but harbors some really deep wounds that he’s basically chosen not to deal with. There’s so much there to work with I knew I had to explore him further!
What was your inspiration behind Harlow?
Harlow’s a little like me in that she likes her books and her computer and is perfectly at ease with time alone. That part of her I really relate to. But I also wanted someone with some real challenges to overcome. Harlow was born out of that combination.
Why New Orleans?
New Orleans is a really magical place for me. I’ve visited more times than I can count, but never lived there (yet). I feel so at home in that city and so inspired by it. Getting to set a series there was like a gift.
Who was your favorite character to write?
I’m enjoying all of them for different reasons! Lally’s a lot of fun, though—she says what she thinks and doesn’t take sass off anyone. I love that about her. Plus she’s got layers yet to be discovered.
How did you come up with all the different types of fae? Did you have to do a lot of research for this book?
The different types of fae were all born in my head, so do what you will with that. I do a lot of research for everything I write—this book was no exception.
If you could pick one othernatural to be from your world, which would it be?
Augustine’s got some pretty cool skills. I could see spending a day or two as him.
What’s next for Augustine and Harlow?
Chaos! Mayhem! Banter! Kissing! You know, all the good stuff.
introducing
If you enjoyed
HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN,
look out for
CITY OF ETERNAL NIGHT
Crescent City: Book 2
by Kristen Painter
Chapter One
Life is an unwinnable game. Only the playing time may be prolonged.
—Elektos Codex 13.4.1
New Orleans, Louisiana, 2068
Harlow woke gasping, her heart thumping. Sweat glued her tank top to her body. She swallowed, trying to get air. A few deep breaths eased the nightmare’s grip on her, but its claws still dug deep into her subconscious. Slowly, the sharp edges wore away, leaving her with the kind of residual fear that clung like secondhand smoke.
House of the Rising Sun Page 37