Clack, clack, clack.
Mira tapped her beak on the mussel, digging out her breakfast from the broken shell. I shivered and looked away, not wanting to watch her swallow the slimy creature. Whereas I could usually eat a dozen raw oysters and relish the slippery delicacy, pregnancy had made me queasy about such things.
When the kettle whistled, I poured myself a steaming cup of water and dunked a bag of Earl Grey inside. After adding a touch of cream, I curled into a ball in the seat closest to the window and lifted Jude’s gray wool sweater hanging over the back. Hugging the sweater to my chest, I nuzzled my nose into the soft threads and inhaled deeply. I closed my eyes and sipped my tea in the morning silence.
Deepening my concentration, I reached out to him in my mind, in my heart. From almost the moment we’d met, he’d been able to tell when I was in trouble, able to sift to me at will. While I couldn’t sense danger now, I knew he was alive. The thread that bound us was unbroken. Stretched thin and frayed in the middle, but still strong. Still there.
“Good morning, Jude,” I whispered, starting my morning ritual. “Mira is eating her disgusting breakfast on your table again. But I don’t think you’d mind. You’ll love her when you finally get to meet.” I sipped my tea, the warm liquid sliding down my throat, heating me from the inside out. “There’s something else I need to tell you, but it’ll have to wait until we’re face-to-face.” I opened my eyes and stared out at the gray pall pressing down on the world. My underlight glowed as always when I sought Jude across our frail connection. “Hold on, my love. I’m coming soon.”
I set my tea on the table and brushed his wool sweater over my cheek, needing the touch and scent of him as I needed breath in my lungs. There was never any reply or any inkling given that Jude might sense me across our supernatural bond. Yet…I felt him all the same, never wanting to leave this state of fusion across dimensions. But I allowed myself only this time in the mornings with him. Otherwise, I’d curl into a fetal position on the floor and never return, like I almost had the moment he’d been taken. This wasn’t an option. Our child needed me to be strong. And so did Jude.
My cell phone dinged, signaling a text. I wiped away the tears from my cheeks and the grief settling hard on my heart. Finding my leather jacket on the sofa, I dug out my cell to find a text from Kat.
Kat: Where are you? Not at your apartment or Jude’s. I checked. At your little hideaway again, wherever that is?
Jude had kept this cottage on Arran hidden from everyone for centuries. I was the only one he’d brought here. I’d summoned George three days after Jude had disappeared with Lethe, but I’d made him promise to keep this place secret. Apparently, he had. It had nothing to do with trust. Jude just wanted a place of his own where no one could find him. After being alive for almost two millennia, I could imagine he had a few privacy issues. I figured he’d forgive me for the one transgression whenever I brought him back home.
Me: Yeah. You want to meet up?
Kat: Sure. But not here. Gorham and Razor are being profound assholes these days, and they’re up to something. I’ll meet you at Jude’s.
Gorham was duke of the underworld who served Bamal in New York. Razor was Gorham’s right-hand man. If those two were up to something, it wasn’t good. Last time they were misbehaving, Gorham had used his essence, a form of spawn, to enslave young girls in some sort of prostitution ring. Demons were permitted to use their influence on humans to do their bidding, but never with mind-controlling essence. That was when hunters could step in and punish the wayward offenders.
Me: Meet me in an hour?
Kat: No. I need to rendezvous with Dorian first. How about dinner tomorrow night?
I hadn’t considered the time difference. While it was early morning here, it would be middle of the night in the States. We agreed to meet in New Orleans at six o’clock.
I set my phone back in my pocket and curled back in my window seat. Mira perched on the edge of the table, her talons digging into the wood. She chirped for attention. I petted her with slow, even strokes. But she wouldn’t settle, angling her head at me with wide eyes.
“No. I won’t leave you here this time.”
She made a cooing sort of purr.
“I know. You’re tired of being left behind. Well, if there’s any place I can get away with having a white hawk for dinner company, it would be in New Orleans.”
El Gato Negro was rather empty tonight. Tucked away on the farthest end of Decatur, it attracted more locals than tourists. I was fine with having a small audience, having waltzed in here with a wild bird on my shoulder. Kat waved to me from a table tucked in the corner. She grinned like a fiend when she saw I’d brought company.
“Mira!” she said as soon as we sat. “She actually brought you out of hiding?”
“Hi, Kat. Good to see you, too.” I scooted my chair up to the table.
She laughed, her platinum-blonde ponytail sliding forward as she picked up a tortilla chip from the basket and held it out for Mira. She chirped in my ear and snapped at the chip, crumbling most of it on the table as opposed to eating any of it.
“I think she’s just being nice.” I tried to get a look at her, but it was too hard from this angle. “She doesn’t actually eat corn chips.”
“Looks to me like she does,” said Kat with a smirk cracking her pretty face.
“Drinks, ladies?” asked a petite brunette with fuchsia bangs and neon nail polish.
“We’ll have two margaritas on the rocks,” replied Kat.
“Um, actually, just a Sprite for me.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Kat.
Though I wasn’t a heavy drinker, I’d always shared at least one with Kat on our ventures out. I shrugged. “Just a little upset stomach.”
Kat nodded. In all honesty, I’d become closer to Kat than Mindy the past few months, since my eyes had been opened to the world of angels and demons living amongst us. But this was one secret I couldn’t tell her, for the same reason I loved her so much. She’d do anything to protect me and my baby. Sending us into hell with nothing but some angel elixir for protection wouldn’t satisfy her own sisterly instincts to protect me—us.
Besides, I’d been informed that no demon hunters could go where I was going. When demon hunters expelled one of the damned, a piece of the darkness was left behind, tainting them. Residue, we called it. This was the reason for the inky black swirling the irises of demon hunters. They carried the smudge of sin from demons they expelled, the darkness leaking into their blood, even their eyes. Every so often, they called the soul eater, Styx, who ate the residue, releasing the hunter from the weight of sin for a while. But it was never enough. The chance of hunters making it out of hell was much lower than it was for me. Expelling demons for me was more like a cleansing, as I wasn’t paying a penance as they were. And anyway, this was a mission of stealth, not guns blazing and swords swinging. I’d have Mira, and that would have to be enough.
“Okay, one margarita and one Sprite.” The waitress looked up from her pad, catching sight of Mira.
“Um, she’s part of a performance I have later,” I lied, knowing it would sound real enough in a city like this.
The waitress shrugged with a wink. “She’s pretty.” Then she sauntered off to the bar.
“Of course she is,” said Kat in baby talk, scratching under Mira’s beak. “So what performance do you have later?” she asked. “The Lady and the Hawk?”
“That has a nice ring to it. I think that was a movie. Ladyhawke, actually. Mira, hop down over here please.”
She did, perching on the vacant chair to my right, huddling into a ball, her orange-gold gaze narrowed but watchful.
“Really? That was a movie?”
“Yeah. Seriously old one. With the guy who played Ferris Bueller.”
“Who’s Ferris Bueller?”
“You have to know who Ferris Bueller is, Kat. What is it with you demon hunters? You’ve been around longer than I have, but you know next to nothi
ng about pop culture.”
“Soo-rry. It must’ve been a tragically important film.”
“Yeah. It was. To every teenager who ever lived. John Hughes understood the stolen joys and abject misery of adolescence better than anyone.”
“Who’s John Hughes?”
I froze with a chip dipped in salsa halfway to my mouth. “I can’t believe you just asked me that question.”
Fuchsia Bangs set down a jumbo margarita glass rimmed with salt, and a Sprite. “Here you are.” She handed me a straw.
“Thank you. Excuse me, do you know who John Hughes is?”
She scoffed, which sounded more like a snort. “Of course I do. Director of Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles. I mean, come on. Everyone knows who John Hughes is.”
“See!” I glared across the table.
Kat tossed the straw out of her glass and took a big gulp of her margarita. “Oh well. I think I’ll survive.”
Our punk-rock waitress stared blankly for a few seconds.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “She’s foreign. I’ll amend this tragedy as soon as possible.”
“Right. So what can I get you ladies for dinner?”
Kat ordered some quesadillas, and I ordered the largest burrito they had with extra everything on top.
“I thought you had a stomachache,” said Kat with a suspicious expression.
Oops.
“Oh well, yeah. But I think maybe I’m just overly hungry.” After we handed over the menus, I crossed my arms on the table and leaned forward, eager to change the subject. “Tell me what’s up with Gorham and Razor. You said they were up to something.”
Kat plucked the lime wedge from her drink and sucked on it before folding it in a napkin. “For one, Gorham hasn’t been to his club in over a week.”
“I’m assuming that’s unusual for him?”
“Very. One thing about Gorham is he loves his little kingdom on the seedy side of the city. But he’s been disappearing for days and up to a week at a time with Razor.”
“No idea where they’re going?”
“Nope, but they report to Bamal’s tower on a regular basis. They’re scheming. And no sign of Bamal’s Vessel at all. Not since the incident in Paris.”
A few weeks ago, the civilized world was turned upside down when a terrorist bombed the Eiffel Tower in Paris, killing hundreds of tourists. What authorities didn’t know was that the woman shrouded in a black burka, concealing her identity, was in fact a Vessel of a demon prince intent on wreaking havoc upon the human world.
“They’re keeping her hidden and safe for the night of the Blood Moon, aren’t they?”
“Definitely.” Kat swirled her straw in her drink. “But while all is quiet on that end, there’s demon activity everywhere. Clubs, parties, weddings, even at damn fundraising events. You know, I had to expel four demons from a charity ball for children with cancer last week. They were stirring animosity among the two top patrons who happened to hate each other. It was an all-out brawl by the time I got there.”
“Damn. That’s bad. I’m surprised Dorian let you go for even a night,” I said.
As her partner hunter in New York, he was an excellent warrior, but they needed more than one watching Bamal’s territory.
She tossed her straw aside and took a gulp of her margarita, which made my mouth water. “Well, he’s worried about you too, believe it or not, and wants me to be sure you’re okay without…” She put her drink down with an uncomfortable clink.
“Without Jude,” I finished for her.
Kat leaned forward into the light and pulled something from a loose strand of my hair. She inspected the piece of kindling. I supposed I hadn’t cared to take care of myself much these days.
“Sticks, Genevieve? Are you ever going to tell me where you’ve been going? And why you smell like sheep and the sea?”
I shook my head. “Not until we get Jude back. It’s his secret.”
“I bet you told George.”
Her otherworldly eyes swirled more green than black, twinkling brighter at the mere mention of George. Gazing at her now, I could only think of her pinned to the wall while Prince Damas ravaged her…all to her delight. She caught me. I stirred the ice in my glass with the straw, cubes tinkling as they circled.
“What?” Kat sat back in her chair, expression wiped of all humor. “What’s that face mean? Tell me.”
I squirmed but sat up straighter, trying to find the courage. I wanted answers only she could give me. I could never breathe a word to George of the vision I’d seen. To know what I’d witnessed in his mind would devastate him even more than Kat.
“Tell me, Gen.”
I tucked my hands between my crossed legs to keep from fidgeting. “You know that I sometimes see visions or memories of George’s.”
“Yes.” I could practically feel her heartbeat speeding erratically.
“I saw one…of you…when he went to find you with Damas.”
She dropped her head forward. “What did you see?”
“You were in a bedroom in a castle, I think.”
The place had felt so familiar, like Danté’s fortress, where he’d abducted me.
“You were chained to a wall, but—” I couldn’t complete the thought aloud.
She sat up slowly with a sad laugh. Shaking her head, she grabbed the margarita and drained it in three gulps.
“Of all the visions of me to see, you picked that one.”
“I didn’t pick it. I have no control over what I see. My VS just lights up, and I can’t stop it.”
“It’s okay.” She spread her fingers, palm down, on the table, then rolled up her long sleeve. It had never registered that Kat always wore long-sleeve tops—usually black. I just figured it was some kind of personal demon-hunter uniform she instilled for herself. But when she rolled the other sleeve up her forearm and flattened both palms on the table, I realized why. I’d seen her in a dress before, when we went to dinner with George and Jude the first time, and at the Crescent City Masquerade Ball. Both times, she’d worn bangle bracelets or cuffs on both wrists. I’d only thought it her fashion sense, not pretty camouflage for what she hid beneath.
I gasped.
Ringed around her pale wrists were circular silver scars. Kat rolled her wrists on the table, palms up, showing me how they wrapped in a complete circle.
“I’m reminded every day of what happened there. These dungeon bracelets”—she rolled her fists in the air, the lamplight shining on the silvery rings—“they remind me of my own weakness.”
“Weakness?” I asked too loudly. The couple two tables over glanced in our direction. Mira’s eyes popped open. Kat shushed me with a finger to her lips. She pushed her sleeves back into place, then petted Mira’s snowy head till she closed her eyes again.
“How can you possibly say this shows weakness?” I asked.
“Because Damas had won,” she said casually, continuing her attentions to Mira, who dozed again. “Prince Bamal plays the big man in New York. But mark my words, when his brother finally resurfaces for this war, that is who we’ll truly have to battle for our very souls. He plays dirty, and he always wins.” Her voice cracked.
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“Here we are,” said our too-cheery waitress. “One pulled-pork burrito with everything, and the gulf shrimp quesadillas.”
Kat dropped her gaze to her lap. I gave Fuchsia Bangs a halfhearted smile. She got the message and disappeared.
Kat lifted her chin, swallowing hard. “I want to tell you. I’ve held it in too long. George doesn’t understand.” She fiddled with the napkin in her lap but took a deep breath and held my gaze. “Damas doesn’t torture. He doesn’t maim or hurt to get what he wants.”
“But he handcuffed you.”
“To keep me from running away. I tried…at first.”
Fuchsia Bangs popped up to the table and set a second margarita in front of Kat. “Looked like you needed another. It’s on me
.” She winked and jerked her chin at the good-looking guy behind the bar with a tattoo snaking up the side of his neck. “The bartender and I are friends…with benefits.”
Apparently, the benefits included free drinks. “Thanks,” I said.
Kat knocked back two gulps. Regaining her composure, she resettled in her chair, her face hard and cold.
“Damas is the king of them all when it comes to deception. He makes promises. He seduces. He’s extremely intelligent. And above all, he’s patient. I had no idea who or what I was up against until it was too late.” She bit her lip at another memory that seemed to flash through her mind. “I didn’t know I was the prize he’d wanted all along—a reward in this game he’d been playing against George. When I”—she flipped her sleek ponytail to fall down her back—“when I was handcuffed in his lair, he fed me, even bathed me right there in his bedchamber. He took care of my every need. He talked to me and told me stories.” She paused. A crooked smile lifted one side of her mouth. “Stories that made me pity him, then later feel more for him. I was kept in captivity a very long time. After a while, I thought I’d never leave.”
The last she whispered.
“He never forced himself on me. Ever. He wasn’t like his dickhead brother, Danté.”
Danté had kidnapped me and had certainly planned to take me by force. That was, until Jude showed up and chopped off his head, then fed him piece by piece to Cocytus, the banshee-like soul eater. I shivered at the memory of her gulping down his body. He got what he deserved, but it was a gruesome vision all the same.
“What was he like?” I prompted Kat gently, as she’d slipped away to her haunted past for a moment.
“He just slowly crept into my mind, then my heart. I’d get angry and scream at him that George would come for me. He’d give me this sad sigh and tell me George would never come. That George never loved me.”
This was the first time I’d ever heard her mention there was once love between them. Perhaps still was. I knew they’d shared a past, but love?
“After a while, I started to believe him and all his beautiful lies that followed. I was so alone, so desperate to feel anything but the aching emptiness. I longed for affection, for comfort. One day, he unchained me. I didn’t try to run. I never even left his bedroom. Then one night, he had a particular look in his eyes—an expression I’d seen often enough on men. Though up until that night, I’d only had two lovers, my then-deceased husband…and George.” She glanced up for my reaction. I kept my cool and let her spill her heart. “Damas told me I needed to be cuffed for my own good. He didn’t trust me. I cried and begged and told him I was completely devoted to him. He smiled when I said things like that. God, the thought makes me sick now.
Bound in Black Page 5