[Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine

by Barbara Monajem

  “Good riddance. She was causing issues within the coven, so we’re better off without her.” Lavonia lapsed into silence again. Marguerite made herbal tea and tried a couple of times to get her friend talking, or at least back to bed, but Lavonia just said, “You should go. I need to deal with this alone.”

  “Sure, but… are you all right?”

  “Of course not,” Lavonia snapped. “I’ve been sleeping with a serial killer! And now I’m—” Her aura flared hysterically, and she broke off, flapping a hand out from under the lavender throw. Determination smoothed her aura, but a chaos of other emotions seethed beneath it. She took a deep breath. “I’m wallowing in my anger. I want to be alone so I don’t have to hold it in.” She stood, speaking through clenched teeth. “I mean it. Go.” But at the door, she softened. “Poor Zeb. How is he?”

  “Relieved, I think.” Taking concern for Zeb as a sign that Lavonia was already working her way up and out, Marguerite left. To her surprise, Reuben in his red Cadillac was parked behind her car.

  “Escort duty,” he said. “Powwow at the Cat.”

  But by the time they got to the Impractical Cat, Gideon and the police chief were on their way out. The lab in Al Bonnard’s spare bedroom had yielded enough evidence, including spiked candies, to back up the sworn statements of Zeb, Marguerite, Jabez, and Constantine. The knife, which Zeb found below the bottom tray of a toolbox, proved to have plenty of blood on it but no prints at all. The police chief was inclined to arrest Zeb anyway, but a short, private talk with Lep—coupled, Marguerite thought, with a fierce little smile from Zelda—persuaded him to permanently change his mind.

  Zeb and Constantine went to breakfast together the next day to discuss Zeb’s immediate future. He departed with a girlfriend on each arm. Which left Marguerite alone with Constantine. He picked up a guitar and sat at one end of the couch, tuning the strings.

  She tried to read him. Something was bothering him, but for once she couldn’t figure him out—or maybe, after not pegging Al for a murderous lunatic, she’d lost her confidence. Up on the mound, she thought he’d telepathed that he loved her, but in all the chaos she might have been mistaken. Perhaps the uneasiness meant he still didn’t believe or trust her. Most likely he never would. “I guess I should go,” she said, rising from the couch.

  “Zeb tells me you saved my life,” Constantine said, his voice as awkward as his aura.

  “Um, yeah, with his help,” she said. “And you saved mine, so I guess we’re even.”

  “No, we’re not.” Constantine picked a few melancholy notes. “Look, Marguerite, I’m sorry if you couldn’t read me up there on the mound, but I had to corral my emotions. I didn’t know whether I could handle Bonnard if I let anything affect me, and that included you.”

  “I understand,” she said, twisting her hands together. “It’s all right. I really should go.” She eyed Lawless, who was curled up on a chair, looking very settled for the night.

  “If that’s what you want, I’ll have Reuben take you home and keep the hounds off you.” Sadness washed through his aura and echoed through the guitar strings. “But I was hoping we might start over. Start afresh.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible,” she said, struggling nevertheless with a surge of hope.

  He rubbed his face. “I know. I was terrified when I first realized Bon-Bon was alive. All I could think of was that he would destroy anyone or anything I cared about. Short of kidnapping you, the only way to keep you safe was to drive you away. I guess I can’t apologize enough to make it better, huh?”

  That explained his discomfort. “I don’t need an apology,” she said. “I need to be trusted. I need to be believed.”

  “I do believe you,” he said. So, at last, did his aura—shining through clear as clear. Her heart leapt with the joy of it.

  “I know I have to become more trusting,” he said. “As Ophelia puts it, love doesn’t include emotional insurance.”

  “No,” Marguerite said ruefully, “it sure doesn’t.”

  “Now that Bonnard’s dead and I know I’m not losing control of my mind, I’m ready to give it a try,” Constantine said. “Actually, I’d say I’m desperate to give it a try.” His lips twisted. “With you, if you’ll let me.”

  She bit her lip, gazing up at him. “If I know I’m going to be believed, I won’t have so much to hide.” She wanted to throw herself into his arms and start anew right then and there, but the specter of Uncle Dan hung between them. “About my uncle—”

  “You don’t have to explain. He was a racist cop, but for all I know, he was a beloved uncle, too. It’s none of my business. I know you mean well.”

  And she saw he meant every word of it. “You say that, but unless I tell you what happened, you’ll always wonder.” She crossed to the window.

  He came up beside her, large and male and beautiful, his arm close but not quite brushing hers. She’d been right, that first day, to feel safe with him. “Then tell me,” he said.

  She took a deep breath. “My uncle was a sexual predator. From a very young age, I knew there was something wrong with him—I could see it in his aura. When I was eight years old, his attitude toward me changed. I knew he meant to do something scary, but I did my best to ignore it until one day he tried to get me alone. I refused. I told him I knew exactly what he was thinking, and that I would scream my head off and tell the whole world if he so much as touched me. That shocked the hell out of him. He played all innocent but backed off in a hurry.

  “My little sister was born not long after that, and several years later, after my father died, my mom decided to move to Baton Rouge to be close to my aunt. I freaked out, because my sister can’t read auras, and she’s a shy little thing, and she would have been too scared to stop him. I warned my mom, but she always hated my aura-reading. She got offended, my sister got upset because she liked Uncle Dan, and my aunt wouldn’t speak to me. I didn’t know what to do. He’d never actually done anything to me. If I’d accused him, a suit for slander would have been the least of my problems. He might have had me harassed, even beaten. I was gearing up to go to a lawyer for advice when you threatened him. It was like a miracle. He went insane right before our eyes, and within a short time he killed himself.

  “Al was right when he said I came here because of you, but it wasn’t for revenge. It was to figure out if you really had sent those nightmares and, if I could find a way to say it, to thank you for saving my sister, and probably me as well.”

  Constantine blew out a long breath.

  “I’ve loved you ever since, and I don’t believe you’re a skinwalker,” Marguerite said. His aura shivered. Evidently, this had eaten at him for years, and maybe it always would. “But if you are one, you’re the good kind.”

  The corners of his lips quirked up. “That’s a new twist on the skinwalker legend. I’ll try to be.” He held out his hands and offered her his heart. “I love you, Marguerite. Can we start over?”

  “Yes, please,” she said, and stepped straight into his arms.

  They held one another for a long while, talking about Constantine’s childhood and how best to provide for Zeb. Later, in bed, their lovemaking was slow and sweet.

  Afterward, the night’s events played themselves through Marguerite’s mind once again. “What about the owl? We should give it an honorable burial.”

  “Tomorrow,” Constantine said, “on the mound where it died.”

  “That sounds perfect.” She paused, suddenly sad. “Is your spirit guide dead, too? I mean, it’s a spirit, so it can’t really be dead, but is it gone?”

  Constantine’s mouth curled. “Are you kidding? It sacrificed one of its kind to save my life. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Oh, good.” With a long, happy sigh, Marguerite snuggled down beside her lover and closed her eyes. A pair of powerful, protective wings settled over them as she drifted into sleep.

  Constantine Dufray tightened his arm around Marguerite. Thank you, he told his spiri
t guide. She truly is a treasure from the heavens.

  An unidentifiable tropical bird with brilliant feathers strutted through Constantine’s mind and then was gone. The bird hadn’t been able to resist that dig, but it wasn’t in an I-told-you-so mood. It settled its feathers more comfortably over them. Always and forever, it said.

  As usual, its cryptic utterance might have more than one meaning. Constantine had no control over the guide, but he intended to do his damnedest to keep Marguerite. Three days ago, he wouldn’t have believed the woman existed who would sleep so easily and naturally in his arms, who would so readily accept the shelter of those wings. And, wonder of wonders, she read his every emotion. God, what freedom that gave him. No games, no pretense—he could just be himself.

  He did have control of his emotions—he knew that now. He was still a vigilante—he had a mission to keep Bayou Gavotte safe—but he wouldn’t harm his innocent fans. He laughed to himself. Most likely his new songs would have less violence and more peace and love, which didn’t seem like such a crock anymore.

  It’s not easy to commit murder by lightning, he told the bird, but we were almost in sync.

  We were perfectly in sync, the bird said. That back-and-forth was part of getting it right. It always has been.

  Unbelievable.

  We’ve come a long way, the bird said.

  We? Purely out of habit, Constantine sent it a snarl. They’d so rarely gotten along smoothly, and now the damned guide wanted him to believe it was all part of the plan…

  Oh, what the hell.

  A very long way, he agreed.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Barbara Monajem spent most of her childhood on the west coast of Canada, a place she continues to feel deeply connected to, even as she’s wandered and lived all over the world. After a year living in Oxford, England, which gave her an early taste for historical fiction, she spent many years in Montreal. She now lives in Georgia. She has a deep affection for New Orleans, which provided the inspiration for Bayou Gavotte, where her paranormal romances take place. In addition to her three paranormal romances, she is the author of seven Regency romance novellas and has won numerous awards for her work including the Maggie Award (Georgia Romance Writers), the Daphne du Maurier Award (Kiss of Death Chapter), and an EPIC e-Book Award.