by M. D. Massey
“More than a hundred years ago, Jacques Saint Germain was the coven leader here in New Orleans—my predecessor, in fact. But Saint Germain was much too bloodthirsty, and he flagrantly broke the laws of vampire society.”
“Such as?”
Remy propped an ankle over his knee and draped his arms across the back of the couch. “Such as the dictate that we must keep our way of life, and our existence, a secret. Instead of preying on those who would not be missed, he took familiars from the highest levels of society as his cattle. He threw lavish parties and flaunted his talents and appetites among the social elite and city leaders. But perhaps his most egregious crime was getting caught in the act—and with a common prostitute, no less.”
“The act, meaning feeding on a human.”
“Indeed. He drank so much blood and wine one night that he forgot to mesmerize the whore he’d been feeding on. She leapt from a second-story window of his home in broad daylight, drawing the attention of local citizens and the police. This would ultimately result in his downfall.”
“How so?” I asked.
Remy gave a lazy wave at my question. “A tribunal was called, and the coven determined him to be unfit for leadership. We chased him from the city and left just enough evidence at his mansion to make him look like a madman instead of the supernatural threat he was.”
“And now, he’s back.”
“Just so, and he wants the city—and the coven—back.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Why should I care? I mean, besides the fact that I owe you a favor, and I don’t want it hanging over my head any longer.”
“Because, cher, he’s a monster. What you saw tonight, I know it offended you. But, although we are predators, we have rules. We only take volunteers for familiars, and we only hunt violent criminals, those who would be incarcerated or on death row—if only the human authorities were more competent at solving crimes.”
The truth was, I was starting to get very, very interested in this Saint Germain. The way DeCoudreaux described him, he might well be the vamp I was looking for, the one who would help trigger the damned apocalypse. However, I couldn’t allow myself to appear too eager and tip my hand to this putz. For all I knew, he was the one I wanted, and not this Saint Germain.
“Remy, you almost make your outfit sound like the Salvation Army.”
He scoffed at my remark. “Oh, hardly. We are perhaps the most aggressive and feral vampire coven of any in the United States. But compared to Saint Germain, we are—”
“Tame as newborn kittens?”
“Hah, yes. As I said, we live by rules that were designed to ensure our survival as a species.”
“How heart-warming.” I rubbed my temples, because Remy’s stench was giving me a headache. “Of course, I have to ask—why not handle this yourself?”
The vampire tsked. “I will tell you why, druid. The last time, it took the combined might of the coven to chase Saint Germain off. Believe me when I say he is not a vampire to be trifled with, mon cher. Unfortunately, he’s managed to draw many of the city’s bloodkin to his side—those who desire a return to the more savage days of old.” He waved off nothing. “I simply lack the power to chase him off.”
I chose to keep what I was thinking to myself. The truth is, you need a monster to kill a monster.
Remy examined the back of his hand, perhaps to admire his rings or assess the state of his most recent manicure. It was a gesture meant to convey nonchalance, but I could tell by the tension in his voice that this was no small matter for him.
“So, druid, will you do it?”
I nodded ever so slightly. “Yes, I’ll track him down. And if he’s as bad as you say, I’ll kill him. But I’ll make that determination for myself. If I decide otherwise, I’ll chase him out of your territory, and you’ll have to make do with that. Deal?”
The old vamp nodded. “Deal. But if you kill him, I want proof.”
“Fair enough. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll handle the rest.”
Remy raised his chin at me. “That should be easy. He’s taken up residence in his old chateau, at the corner of Ursulines and Royal. It’s as if he thinks it’s some grand joke, to return to the home that he soaked in blood. You will find him there tomorrow evening. He’s having a party, so you shouldn’t find it very hard to gain entry. Oh, and just so you know, any vampires who attend are to be considered traitors, and therefore fair game.”
“Understood. Is there anything else I should know?”
The coven leader’s voice went cold. “He’s old, dangerous, and he uses hospitality to draw in his prey. In the old days, he housed his abattoir upstairs. Chances are good you’ll find the proof you need there.”
The phone rang twice before she answered.
“If it isn’t Colin McCool. Tell me, stranger, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Fallyn, how would you like to enjoy a free weekend in New Orleans?”
Her raspy Southern party girl voice dripped with sarcasm as she replied. “Is this a trick, golden boy? Or did you finally get tired of that little Spanish tramp you were shacking up with?”
“It’s not a trick, and we weren’t shacking up.” She scoffed at my denial. As much as I stayed over at Belladonna’s, and her at my place, we may as well have been living together. “Anyway, I’m headed to a party with a bunch of vamps, and I need a plus one.”
“You need back up is what you mean. So, you and the hunter are on the outs? Because when she hears I spent the weekend with you in N’awlins, she’ll be out for blood.”
“Normally I’d ask her, but she broke up with me.”
The female ’thrope laughed, short and quick. “Ah, so I’m your back-up plan.” For several seconds all I heard on the other end of the line was silence, followed by a sharp intake of breath. “Wait a minute, druid—what the hell are you into this time? And does Samson know?”
Samson was the alpha of the Austin Pack, of which I was an official but somewhat estranged member. I’d gained honorary pack member status based on certain duties I’d performed, in addition to passing their induction trials. I’d qualified for membership by way of the fact that I was a shifter, albeit of the “caused by fae magic” variety.
Samson had recently had a fit when I’d stirred up a bunch of trouble with the fae without realizing my actions would create some blow back for the Pack. Since Samson was Fallyn’s dad, she certainly didn’t want to be caught up in anything that would raise her dad’s hackles. Besides, she’d been way more pissed about the trouble I’d caused the Pack than her dad had been. So, I had to convince her that what I was about to do would not reflect poorly on the Pack.
“I promise, this’ll have nothing to do with the Pack, because it’s all going down in another demesne. I’m doing a job for the leader of the New Orleans coven, to pay back a debt I owe him.” And I’m trying to prevent the apocalypse.
“Hmm—Remy DeCoudreaux is quite a shady character. How’d you end up owing a debt to that creep?”
“Long story, but it happened when I was chasing down Claw. Remy agreed that he wouldn’t interfere in exchange for some future favor.” Claw was one of a secret cabal of fae who’d infiltrated the Pack to attempt a coup against Samson. I’d uncovered their plan, and Fallyn and I had prevented them from pulling it off by killing their leader. But Claw had escaped.
“Huh. Since it was a debt you incurred while taking care of Pack business, I suppose I could lend you a hand. What’s the gig?”
“I need to infiltrate a vampire masquerade ball to get intel on an elder vamp who is vying for Remy’s spot as coven leader.”
Fallyn whistled softly. “So, basically, we’re going to be in enemy territory, hunting an old and dangerous vamp, surrounded by potentially hostile bloodsuckers, and I’m going to be the only shifter there? Wow, druid, you don’t ask for much.”
“The only other shifter. I’ll be by your side the whole time.”
“When you put it that way, sugar, I�
��m all in,” she said in hungry voice. “But fair warning, if this is going to involve wearing a dress, you’re going to owe me after. Big time.”
“It’s a high-society event, Fallyn. You know how vampires are. They love dressing up and showing off. But since it’s a masquerade party, we can use that to our advantage. I’ll get us some suitable masks, and I’ll cast a spell to cover your scent so no one knows you’re a ’thrope.”
“Sounds like a plan. And if you find what you’re looking for at this party? What then?”
I took a moment, wondering just how much info I should share with the female werewolf. “If he’s as bad as they say, I’ll do what it takes to end him.”
Fallyn snickered. “You just don’t do things halfway, do you, Colin? I haven’t had a good scrap since we took out Sonny and his cronies, so count me in. How soon?”
“Tomorrow night. Your flight leaves in a few hours. You’ll get the ticket in your inbox shortly, and I’ll pick you up at the airport tomorrow afternoon.”
“Ooh,” she cooed softly, laying the Texas accent on thick. “A weekend away in the Big Easy, with the world’s sexiest druid all to myself. My, my—whatever shall I wear?”
“This is going to be purely a working weekend, Fallyn. Believe me, I have girlfriend problems out the wazoo right now, and I don’t need to complicate that situation any further.”
“And that’s exactly what I’m counting on, my cute little ginger wizard.”
Fallyn hung up on me before I could respond.
“Ah, fucking great. What did I just get myself into?”
After I picked up the alpha’s daughter from the airport, we headed back to my hotel, along with the half-dozen or so items of luggage she’d brought with her. For a tough, no-nonsense werewolf who was raised in a biker gang, she sure didn’t know the meaning of “traveling light.” Once we arrived at the Monteleone, I paid the bellhop a rather large tip then showed her to her room.
“Nice room,” she observed. “Being the justiciar for the demesne ain’t too shabby, is it?”
“Financially? No. Otherwise? The jury is still out on that.”
“Yeah, I sign the checks for the Pack, so I know what you’re getting paid.” She quickly surveyed the room again, and her eyes lingered on the bedroom doors. “Again, my compliments on the digs, but did you really have to get a two-bedroom suite? I’m Pack, Colin. We aren’t exactly known for our modesty.”
“As I’m well aware. Like I said, my life is complicated enough as it is, and your dad isn’t exactly keen on us becoming an item. So, let’s keep it professional, alright?”
Fallyn frowned, but her almost yellow-hazel eyes danced with mischief. “Spoil sport. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for a ball.”
The pretty werewolf spun away with a toss of her chestnut ponytail. Then, she snatched three suitcase handles in each hand, lifting them with nary a sign of effort as she headed to her room. She stopped just inside, glancing over her shoulder to give me a wink. Without setting her luggage down, Fallyn raised her right leg to deliver slow, head-high hook kick that gently nudged the door closed.
Werewolf strength. Figures.
“You could’ve saved me a twenty if you’d carried your bags upstairs earlier!” I yelled.
Fallyn’s dusky laughter was her only reply. I turned the television on and watched survivalist shows for the next hour, checking the time every fifteen minutes while I waited. The sound of a shower running, and later, the high whir of a hair dryer were the only indications of life I heard from the next room.
Another hour later, I knocked on Fallyn’s door. “Hey, you alive in there? The party started at nine.”
“Nobody shows up on time for those things. Hold your horses and let a girl get ready,” was her muffled reply.
Suitably rebuffed, I took a shower in my room and changed into dark jeans, black dress boots, a white dress shirt, and a classic black blazer. Then, I paced the floor for several more minutes, noting the fact that the hair dryer had stopped at least a half-hour earlier. I checked my phone for the time, then I knocked on the girl’s door again.
“Seriously, Fallyn, you’ve been in there for over two hours. C’mon already—I’m going to be an old man by the time you’re ready.”
“Just a minute!” she called.
With a loud harrumph, I sat on the bed and scrolled the social media feeds of a few prominent New Orleans vamps, those Remy had indicated might support the usurper. As I suspected, one of them had already posted pics of their arrival at the ball.
“So, what do you think?” Fallyn asked. I hadn’t heard the door open, a testament to the she-wolf’s ability to silently stalk her prey. And my, what a dangerous predator she was.
The girl wore a strapless, shoulder-baring satin gown in fuchsia, with a ruffled high-low hem that showed plenty of leg in the front, from mid-thigh all the way down to her four-inch flesh-colored pumps. The top half of the gown was a folded, ribbon-style halter with a straight-across neckline and exposed back that accentuated her athletic build, showing off her round shoulders and lean, well-defined arms.
She had obviously applied her make-up in painstaking fashion, but somehow it looked natural and not at all overdone. The subtle war paint deftly accentuated her high cheekbones and full, lush lips, along with a dash of eyeliner that added a smokiness to her eyes I’d never noticed before. For the coup de grâce, the she-wolf had pulled her hair up in a sort of puffy high ponytail that draped just past her shoulders, with long wisps of hair trailing down to frame her face on either side.
“Well, don’t just sit there with your jaw in your lap.” Fallyn did a little pirouette, just fast enough to fan the hem of her dress. “Do you like it or not?”
I closed my mouth and took a few moments to gather my senses. To date, I’d only seen the girl in tight jeans, t-shirts, and leather jackets. And also in the buff during my training with her father. Being a gentleman, I had done my best to avoid staring on those occasions.
But this? The visual impact she made could not be done justice by words alone.
“You look amazing, Fallyn. Honestly, you do.”
“Why, thank you, druid,” she said, giving me a small curtsy.
“It’s the truth. I mean, wow.”
“Just some old thing I pulled out of my closet,” she demurred.
Suddenly, the ’thrope glided across the room toward me. I stood in a display of manners so my eyes wouldn’t be at the level of her breasts. She fussed with my collar a bit, straightening it needlessly—I’d checked it twice. Then, she licked her thumb and smoothed down my eyebrows.
It was a little gross, but sexy too, and it made me recall something that Fallyn’s packmate Trina had told me. If you ever see a ’thrope grooming another ’thrope, you can bet they’re staking a claim.
Gulp.
Fallyn’s sultry voice drew me back to the present. “You don’t clean up half-bad yourself, golden boy. Most of the time I see you in ratty old jeans and Army surplus trench coats. This is a look I could grow to like.”
She smiled at me, and I almost forgot my earlier admonitions. Purely business, Colin—keep it purely business.
“Um, thanks,” I said as I backed away, nearly tripping over the corner of the bed.
Fallyn giggled at me. “You’re such a schoolboy, Colin.”
“Here’s your, uh, mask,” I said as I held it out to her, for all the world looking as if she might bite.
Hers was a colorful, feathered thing, with a bouquet of plumage that swept up to cover the right side of her face. Mine was a full-faced bauta done in faux silver filigree, which I hoped would keep anyone from recognizing me. As I handed hers over, I noticed that by chance alone, I’d managed to color-coordinate Fallyn’s disguise with her dress.
As my “plus one” took the mask, her strong, delicate fingers brushed over my own. Rather than meet her gaze, I glanced down, noticing that her manicured nails matched her dress almost exactly.
Some old thing
, my ass. Full court press, anyone?
She placed the mask on her face. Rather than obscuring her beauty, it only added to her allure.
I cleared my throat and held out the crook of my arm. “Shall we, then?”
“And the boy wonder recovers,” she chided. “Alright, druid, let’s get going. The night awaits!”
8
I had a cab drop us off a few blocks from the mansion, and we walked the rest of the way there. The idea was to blend in, acting like just another well-heeled member of New Orleans’ supernatural underbelly, here to appraise the man who would be king. Once inside, we’d sneak upstairs and look for evidence to justify Saint Germain’s demise. The masks would prevent us from being recognized, and hopefully the rest of my plan wouldn’t blow up in my face.
Just don’t kill any giant serpents, and you’ll be fine.
The last vampire party I’d attended, I’d ended up killing a god. Or, at least, its avatar. I kept wondering when that Mayan deity would come looking for me. Texas wasn’t all that far from the Yucatan, after all—you only needed to scroll any Austin soccer mom’s vacation pics for proof of that.
One more enemy to add to the collection.
I hoped there wouldn’t be a repeat of that last performance this evening, but my gut told me this was going to end in a brawl. Not wanting to catch Fallyn flat-footed—as if that were possible—I leaned over and whispered in her ear as we neared Saint Germain’s home.
“Stay on your toes and stick close to me. The spell will cover your scent, but everyone will think you’re human. Smelling like a mundane, you might get singled out for some vamp’s meal. I’d rather you didn’t reveal your true nature unless things get ugly.”
My “date” turned her head toward me, her lips brushing my ear as she replied. “And I take it things will get ugly at some point, being as this is your gig and all. But don’t worry about me—I didn’t wear this dress simply for the sake of showing some leg.” She playfully poked my chest with a manicured finger. “If we have to fight or make a tactical retreat, just make sure you keep up.”