by Jaye Wells
A second later, Adam’s sandy head poked around the doorframe. “What’s up?”
I froze. Normally I would have used the opportunity to embarrass both males about the aborted sleep sex. But now all I could do was stare at Adam, feeling completely self-conscious.
“Sabina?” he said, coming farther into the room. Next to me, Giguhl cleared his throat, a not-so-subtle reminder. “Everything okay?” Adam continued.
My eyes darted wildly about the room as I searched for something to say. When my gaze landed on the clothes I left on the bedside table, I jumped up. “I need a shower.”
I grabbed the clothes and brushed past a very confused mage before seeking refuge in the bathroom. Through the door, I heard Adam call, “Make it quick.” Then, in a lower tone to Giguhl: “What’s her deal?”
“You know, Red. She’s never quite herself”—he raised his volume to make sure I got the message—“when she first wakes up.”
Thirty minutes—and a strident lecture with myself—later, I descended the steps to find everyone gathered at the store’s counter again. It stuck me as odd that Zen’s store always seemed empty, but then I remembered my nocturnal nature meant I missed out on her key business hours.
Adam and Zen’s heads were bent over a book when I walked up. The mage glanced up. “Hey. Your blood’s over there.” He tilted his head to indicate the far corner of the desk.
“Thanks.” I tamped down the hangover of self-consciousness from earlier. Like Giguhl said, until an opportunity presented itself, I needed to keep my head in the game. Allowing this Adam thing to distract me like I was some angsty teenager with a crush would be a colossal mistake.
While I broke open the container of blood, I tried to look over Adam’s shoulder at the book. “What’s that?”
Adam looked up and wrinkled his nose at the pot of blood that was about four inches from his face. I pulled it away immediately with a mumbled apology.
As I took my first sip he said, “We were just going over the ritual for tonight to make sure we didn’t forget anything.”
I nodded and looked around for Giguhl but didn’t find him. “Where’s Mr. Giggles?”
Adam jerked a thumb toward the stairs. “He’s helping Brooks with his costume for tonight.”
Zen closed the book and made a final note on the list she’d been making. “Adam said you guys had some trouble with Mac last night.”
I quickly swallowed the mouthful of blood. “She was pretty pissed.”
She clucked her tongue. “I wouldn’t bet on her forgiving you anytime soon, either. Werewolves love to hold grudges.”
I looked at Adam. “It’s unfortunate, but we have bigger issues to deal with. Like the fact we’re still no closer to finding Maisie, or who Lavinia’s informant is, or what she’s planning.” Frustration made my chest feel full and heavy. I set the blood on the counter. “It seems like we’ve been feeling our way through this, reacting to everything Lavinia’s thrown at us instead of being proactive.”
“The ritual should help,” Zen said. “The spirits will tell us where to find your twin.”
I wished I shared her optimism. But honestly? I didn’t put much stock in voodoo as a problem solver. Sure, mage magic was powerful and effective for a variety of problems. Mages were created by the goddess Hekate—their very birthright was the ability to harness magic. But humans? I knew a lot of mortals dabbled in arcane arts, but to me that seemed more superstition and elaborate ceremony than real magic. And of course there were also those like the palm readers in Jackson Square who preyed on the superstitions of naive mortals to make money. The fact that Zen was part mage didn’t mean much to me, either. Generations of genetic dilution had to have stunted her ability to tap into the same sources of power as a full mage.
However, Adam had read the ritual and seemed to believe it would help, so I was willing to go along with it. What other options did I have at that point, anyway? “What could it hurt?” I said with a shrug.
Zen gathered her book and notes. “With that resounding endorsement, I’m off to ready the last few supplies. Be ready to head out in an hour.”
Zen disappeared into the back office. Adam continued going over the spell while I polished off the blood. A knock at the front door had me setting down my mug and reaching for my gun.
Adam and I exchanged alert, cautious glances. He got my back while I made my way toward the front. I stayed to the side of the door just in case someone decided to take a cheap shot through the shaded window. But when I pulled back the shade, Georgia smiled and waved back.
Releasing the breath I’d been holding, I flipped the deadbolts and threw open the door. Georgia strolled right in wearing a pair of skinny black jeans, a green chiffon tank covered with a black cardigan, and ballet flats. For a woman who presumably spent the better part of the night embroiled in a lovers’ spat, her demeanor seemed downright cheery.
“Hey, y’all.”
I glanced behind her, fully expecting the sullen face of a certain werewolf to follow her in. Georgia saw the look and said, “Don’t worry. I’m alone.”
I closed and locked the door before turning back to her. Adam joined us, nodding a greeting to the vamp. “What’s up?”
“I’ve come to offer my help,” she said, raising her hands in a magnanimous gesture.
I squinted at her. “Help with what, exactly?”
“Defeating your grandmother, obviously.”
“But I thought Mac didn’t want you to—” Adam began.
Georgia slashed a hand through the air, cutting him off. “That’s between Mac and me. All I’ll say on that matter is it would mean a lot to me if you’d keep our relationship under your hats. What with mating between the races being forbidden and all. Especially when one of the lovers involved is the niece of the Alpha of New York.”
“I’d imagine Michael Romulus wouldn’t be so keen on the lesbian thing, either,” Adam said. “He’d want an advantageous male match for Mac to strengthen the pack.”
Georgia nodded solemnly. “That, too.”
I sighed and crossed my arms. “Look, Georgia, I’m the last person to be scandalized by your relationship. I’m a mixed-blood myself, remember?”
“That exactly what I told Mac,” Georgia sighed. “But she can be a tad… unreasonable when it comes to protecting our privacy.”
I shrugged. “Like I said, if Michael Romulus finds out about you two, it won’t be from Adam or me.”
Adam nodded his agreement. “Is that what really brought you here?”
Georgia shook her head. “No I came here to offer you the assistance of eight able-bodied vamps.”
“How exactly do you think you can help us?” Adam asked.
Georgia strolled over to a shelf containing a collection of candles. She lifted a black one with a skull painted on the glass. “You guys want to find Sabina’s grandmother, right?”
I crossed my arms and bobbed my head. “Technically, we’re trying to find my sister, but they’ll be in the same place.”
“Well who better to help you find someone in New Orleans than a group of local vampires? We know every nook and cranny and feeding ground in the city.”
Adam and I traded a look. Hmm.
Georgia rushed ahead. “We form search teams and canvass different areas for signs of your grandmother, sister, or any Caste members.” She set down the candle and pulled a piece of paper from her back pocket. Spreading it out on the counter, she motioned Adam and me to join her.
Curious, we approached to find the sheet was a map of New Orleans. “What I propose is we divide up into two teams, each responsible for canvassing a specific zone. Since all known confrontations have occurred in the Garden District and the French Quarter, we’ll start there.”
Adam had gone into tactical mode. “How many per team?”
“Each section will get five people. I figure that way, no one stands a chance of being caught alone if they stumble onto more of your grandmother’s goons or the bitch he
rself. Plus with that number we should be able to cover each zone tonight.”
“Wait,” I said. “You said you only had eight vamps total. Who are the other two?”
“That’s where you guys come in. We need the two of you to each go with a team, since you have more experience with Lavinia and her henchmen.”
Adam glanced up at me from where he bent over the map. I stood straighter with a sigh. “I guess we could postpone the ritual with Zen…” I said, thinking aloud.
“Not possible. Zen said it needs to happen tonight since tomorrow’s Halloween. We can’t afford to put it off any longer.”
“Shit,” I said.
“But there’s another option,” he said, standing straighter. “You can go with Zen. Giguhl and I can handle the patrol.”
I grabbed the mage’s sleeve. “Excuse us for a minute,” I said over my shoulder at Georgia. In the corner, I rounded on Adam. “No fucking way.”
He frowned at me like I was being unreasonable. “It makes sense, Red. In cat form, Giguhl can get places vampires and mages can’t.”
“No, not that. You’re not sticking me with voodoo duty to go have all the fun. Besides, you’re the mage, it makes more sense for you to help Zen with the spell.”
Adam cocked an eyebrow. “Since you’ve conveniently forgotten, you’re a mage, too. A Chthonic one, at that. Your powers are far better suited than mine for spirit work.”
I slammed my hands on my hips. “Need I remind you that my Chthonic training was cut short because I incinerated someone? I don’t know the first thing about using those powers and you know it.”
He crossed his arms. “Still, I have the ability to flash my team out of a jam if shit goes down. Besides, you’ll only be assisting Zen. You probably won’t even need to use magic.”
His expression had a mulish slant that I’d come to associate with me losing arguments. I sucked my teeth while I considered the situation. If I was being honest, while Georgia’s plan had merit, the chance of them finding and killing Lavinia was slim. Sure, they might find a lead on her, but Lavinia was far too wily to allow herself to be cornered. But they might find Maisie. And Adam had already said he wouldn’t make a move on that front without Orpheus’s leave. That meant I wouldn’t miss the rescue.
On the other hand, Zen and Adam both seemed convinced that these spirits could help us get info from Stryx that would lead us to Maisie. Combining the approaches increased our chances of finishing all this much sooner than if we did them separately.
Finally, I poked Adam’s chest. “Watch your ass out there.”
He grabbed my finger. Spread my hand open and placed a kiss on my palm. I felt it way down in my toes. “Ditto.”
Commotion on the stairs had all three of us looking up. Brooks—or rather Cleopatra Pussy Willow—was a vision in white chiffon and gold lamé floating down the steps. The gold beads at the bottom of each braid clicked in time with his steps. The light glinted off the head of a gilt cobra sitting proudly atop a golden crown perched on his head. A rubber snake wrapped around his wrist like a poisonous bracelet. Behind Cleopatra, Giguhl followed like a devoted manservant with the train of the gown held gently in the tips of his claws.
Adam whistled. Georgia and I clapped wildly. Even Zen came out of the office to cheer for the queen. When he reached the bottom step, the queen regally lowered his chin and executed a little curtsy. “Thank you, darlings.”
Giguhl joined the group, looking as eager and nervous as a stage mom. “What do you guys think?”
“Super hot,” Georgia said.
“Totally,” I agreed.
Adam nodded enthusiastically by my side. “Nice asp you’ve got there.” Cleopatra stroked the rubber snake suggestively and winked. “Likewise.”
“I wish we could be there for your big performance,” Zen said.
“Me, too. But Mac said she’d record the whole thing.”
At the mention of Mac’s name, Georgia’s face fell. It wasn’t Brooks’s fault for bringing up the werewolf’s name. As far as I knew he wasn’t privy to any of the previous night’s drama.
“What song are you singing tonight?” I said quickly.
Brooks twirled, flaring out the white panels of his dress. “Dancing Queen!”
I snorted. “Of course. It’s perfect.”
Zen cleared her throat. “Sabina.”
I looked up. The voodoo priestess tapped her wrist to indicate it was time to go. “Right.” I squeezed Brooks’s arm, careful not to muss his ensemble. “You’re gonna kill ’em dead.”
Behind me, Adam and Georgia were talking in low tones. The mage called Giguhl away to fill him in on the plan. Zen went to join them, and I trusted Adam to let her know about the changes in the agenda. Brooks noticed the sudden change in mood. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, nothing. They’re just discussing tonight’s plan. When do you head out?”
The fae glanced at the clock behind the counter. “Mac’s picking me up in half an hour. I’m not walking to the club in these heels, honey.”
I hesitated. “Do you want us to wait with you?” Obviously, we needed Georgia out of there before the werewolf arrived and put the kibosh on the plans, but Zen and I could probably wait.
But Pussy Willow wouldn’t hear of it. “That’s okay. I’ll just use the wait to run through my routine again.”
“Okay,” I said. “But be sure to keep the door locked. Don’t open it unless you know for sure it’s Mac.”
An elegant hand shooed away my concerns. “Sweetie, ain’t nobody gonna mess with the Queen of the Nile.”
17
An hour later, I found out the hard way that digging graves was far preferable to exhuming them. When Zenobia led me into the cemetery, I’d been expecting another one of New Orleans’s famous cities of the dead with stately mausoleums and tombs. Instead, Holt Cemetery was a collection of graves dug into the soggy Louisiana earth. Dilapidated wooden and pitted marble headstones jutted from the ground at odd angles like rotten teeth. Our footsteps crunched on seashell-and-gravel walkways overgrown with weeds.
As I trudged along, I mentally cursed Adam. Talk about pulling the short straw. He and Giguhl got to have all the fun while I was stuck on grave-robbing duty.
I tripped on a grave marker. The movement jostled Stryx’s cage, which sent the owl into another tizzy of rage. I held the cage as far from my torso as possible to avoid the swiping talons and beak.
“What’s the deal with this place?” I called over the owl’s racket. His annoying ass combined with the buzzing in my head did nothing to improve my mood.
Just like at the cemetery Adam and I chased Stryx into the other night, a low-level vibration hummed here. I popped my jaw to release the pressure building up in my head. I considered asking Zen if she felt it, too, but she didn’t show any signs of being affected by the pressure. She just marched ahead like a woman on a mission.
“Not all of New Orleans’s residents can afford fancy mausoleums like those found in the St. Louis or Lafayette cemeteries,” she said, following some invisible path through the place. “So the poor get buried in potter’s fields like this.”
I listened and followed her toward a row of graves near the back. Drooping oaks weighed down by Spanish moss slumped over the pitiful mementos left by mourners. Everything from matted teddy bears to Mardi Gras beads and plastic flowers to whiskey bottles decorated the pitiful mounds.
“Families get one plot,” she continued. “They have to pile the coffins on top of each other. And when the water table rises, bones pop up from the soil.” She kicked at something on the ground. I blinked at the femur that rolled from the overgrown brush.
She finally stopped at an unmarked mound under a low-hanging oak branch. She pointed to a spot under the tree. As I set the cage down in the shadows, I surveyed the grave.
Unlike most of the other plots we’d passed, this one wasn’t covered in weeds or mementos. For some reason the sight of bare soil seemed even more depressing. May
be it was because the freshly turned earth indicated a recent death—or maybe it was the lack of anything signifying that someone cared enough about the grave’s resident to leave flowers or even a plank of wood indicating his or her identity.
Zen set down her leather satchel and withdrew a small shovel with a retractable handle.
“What the hell are you going to do with that?” I demanded.
She smiled. “I’m not doing anything.” I caught the spade easily and then almost immediately dropped it.
“Like hell. I’m not a grave robber.”
She sighed. “We’re not robbing anything. I told you, we just need to have access to the body to make a complete connection with the spirit.”
I frowned. “Can’t they just speak through you or something?”
She frowned. “I’m not a TV psychic, Sabina.”
I gritted my teeth and tried to remember she didn’t have to help me. At least Stryx had shut the hell up. The only sounds coming from the cage now were an occasional hoot or the scratch of claw against the newspaper we’d laid in the bottom.
“Well, what are you waiting for? The grave isn’t going to dig itself.” She withdrew a thin cigar from her coat pocket and clamped it between her dazzling white teeth. Once she’d lit the thing, she looked up and raised her eyebrows. Zenobia’s face glowed red from the tip of the cigarillo, and for a second I wondered if the voodoo priestess had some demon blood in her.
“If it makes you feel any better, the graves are only about four feet deep. Any more than that and the soil gets too soggy.”
Yeah, that made me feel tons better. Instead of arguing more, I speared the ground with the shovel, taking out my indignation on the soil.
As I worked, Zen was generous with the advice but stingy with the offers of help. It occurred to me that if she was as good at magic as everyone seemed to think, she’d have been able to remove the dirt without a shovel, but then I guess that would have deprived her of the pleasure of bossing me around.
Zen hadn’t been kidding about the families stacking bodies on top of each other. On my way down, I encountered two jawbones, a handful of phalanges, and a partial spinal column. The other problem was the lower I went, the wetter the dirt became. By the time my shovel hit something solid, I was smeared with mud and gods knew what else.