by Summa, S. E.
Marceau swigged the last of his tepid drink. He preferred to enjoy coffee in solitude. Cold coffee was uncivilized.
“And the weakness you found?” inquired Maximilian.
“A crafty little loophole, as one could remove the hourglass without perishing if the intent was to not use the power of the hourglass, only to replace it quickly.” Marceau pretended something across the café had caught his attention. Max leaned in closer, and Marceau hid a smile while withholding further explanation. As a boy, toying with Marceau’s emotions had been Max’s regular routine, a hobby even. More often than not, Max had left him stinging with the frustration of unanswered questions and unsatisfying exchanges. Theirs had been far from a nurturing relationship, but a slight shift had occurred as the years went by; Max taught him much, perhaps more than he’d intended. Marceau reveled when he had dominion over his benefactor, however temporary it might be.
“I thought we were foregoing our usual banter,” quipped Maximilian. He pushed his hips back in the chair as if realizing his body language had betrayed his anticipation.
With a deep breath, Marceau’s hand raised from the table in a gesture of peace. “We are, Max. My apologies.”
Proper, uptight Maximilian hated nicknames.
Marceau finally explained, “The hex utilized a delay. An option only because the object being protected was a timepiece. This allowed the curse to stay dormant long enough for a maid or unaware admirer to not drop dead, provided it was their intent to put the hexed object back in the curio expeditiously.” Leaning in, he smiled at Max. “One would hate to replace the cleaning staff each time the room needed dusting, after all.”
“Indubitably, and your solution?” Max appeared as attentive as Marceau had ever seen him.
A blue glimmer of power danced in Marceau’s eyes as he recalled the strength of the priestess’ curse. The way she wove the hex with time itself was ingenious, a technique he’d have to practice. Deriving the means to break curses was not only his specialty, but he also relished the challenge.
“The solution was a simple matter really. I obtained a clock from a spare bedroom. As I removed the hourglass, I focused on my intent to promptly return the cursed object to the cabinet. I pulled the hex from the hourglass and released it down my other arm into the cheap, wind-up alarm clock I held.”
Max’s face split into a devilish smile. “Then, you only had to place the newly hexed clock into the cabinet and close the door?” He let out a bark of unrestrained laughter. “Well done, Marceau, quite well done indeed. Can you imagine Thibodeaux’s face when he discovers a common alarm clock in place of his precious, cursed treasure?”
Max slapped his hand on Marceau’s back. He tensed, unaccustomed to being touched by his benefactor. Maximilian simply did not give quick praise. Pleased, despite himself, Marceau said, “You will find the hourglass within your vault, sir.”
Pulling a silver pocket watch from his gray tailored vest, opening it, and sighing, Max said, “Speaking of time, I must take my leave. The Nashville auction is Friday. Is your itinerary set?”
“Yes, I fly out Thursday morning. I’m booked at The Hermitage Hotel as you suggested.”
“Excellent.”
Maximilian’s eyes darkened as he clenched his gloved fist. The figure on the cane’s handle licked its lips in hunger. Longing? Max said, “Oh, and the adjacent Oak Bar prepares an exceptional martini, should you desire to imbibe in a celebratory cocktail.”
Nodding, Marceau swallowed on reflex at the unspoken threat. Win the auction at all costs. He tensed while imagining the punishment Max would serve if he had even an inkling of how important winning the book was to Marceau, or why.
The silver figure on the cane turned to Marceau and inhaled. Control the emotion. Marceau was too close to losing this chance now. Pull it together. He adjusted his collar as a diversion and forced his shoulders to relax.
Max said, “I expect you at the manor this evening. A couple of new recruits are in need of your special skill set, and I caught Lynette eying my cane again at dinner last night. I believe an attitude adjustment may be in order.”
A chill ran down Marceau’s spine. More recruits? He’d just recovered from dealing with seven new corpses last week. “If I am to be at full strength for the trip, wouldn’t it be better to lay the new cadavers to rest, Maximilian? I don’t want to risk another backlash like the one I had after your experiment with the young actress.”
“Yes, shame her spirit would not take direction. Ironic too, given her chosen field.” Max smiled and shook his head.
“I need to pack and prepare for the trip. The risk…”
“I decide what to risk, Marceau, or do you need a reminder?”
Max’s cane growled. Marceau could not help but glance. The tiger’s lip curled in a vicious snarl, a forked serpent’s tongue flicked between the fangs.
Danger.
Marceau willed his gaze back to his empty cup and traced his finger around its brim.
“You can adjust your plans. I’m sure she’ll understand, whoever she is.” Max glanced at the spilled cream on the table and smiled before tossing a napkin to Marceau. “No use crying over spilled milk is the saying, is it not?”
“Yes, of course, I’ll come to the manor.” Marceau stiffened at a faint tickle on the back of his hand. He fought the urge to look. Was that foul thing licking him? He pulled his hands into his lap with as much composure as possible, but Max’s satisfied smile made him wish he’d stayed still.
“You’ll have plenty of time to recover by Friday. My needs are manageable, a couple additions to my fold and a pinch of fear-induced cooperation from my dear Lynette.”
Marceau’s shoulders relaxed as the edges of Max’s form wavered and then drifted away into a haze of smoke. Within seconds, Marceau sat alone, surrounded by a lingering odor of sulfur.
The boy clutching his babysitter’s hand slowly landed on his feet as if the air was thick. People in the café began talking and moving as normal, unaware of their previous state, or of the dangerous being who sat among them only moments before. Their sudden noise grated on Marceau’s nerves.
“Always with the grand exits, Max.”
Marceau laid a generous tip on the table. He exited and turned toward his apartment. With no way out of visiting the manor tonight, he would need all day to prepare since it was a safe bet he’d be incapacitated later.
If everything on this trip went as planned, Marceau realized today might be his last day in his beloved New Orleans. The thrill of freedom would surely cure the ache that thought caused.
What did one pack for a trip to the self-proclaimed Music City? Nashville was home to the Grand Ole Opry, legendary Honky Tonks, and countless broken dreams. And here he was without a proper cowboy hat or boots. Yeah right.
Chapter Two
Bang, bang.
Seraphina jumped and whipped her head around to face the shop’s back door.
Trouble.
Bone deep, her instincts warned her to exercise caution. The dimly lit apothecary had closed more than an hour ago, but the persistent knocking rattled the glass jars packed tight along the back wall.
Ugh, fine. Drunk tourist, superstitious human, or desperate supernatural?
She keyed up the apothecary’s security footage. It had taken a moment before the shadowed figure backed far enough from the camera to reveal a scowling, old woman.
Seraphina pushed the intercom button and said, “Sorry, ma’am. We’re closed. Our hours are…”
“I need help. I don’t give a damn about your hours. This is an emergency. Why else would I come here… of all places?”
Ah, crazy and superstitious.
Seraphina rolled her eyes. Unseasonably hot, fall weather had Nashvillians testy as of late. She pressed the button again. “Ma’am, as I said, we are closed. You will just have to…”
“He promised he’d help when the time came. He gave his word. You must let me in.”
Great. If she me
ant Finn, letting her scream in hysterics about his trade where anyone could hear wasn’t good.
Seraphina leaned in to the mic. “All right, I’m coming.” The unwanted visitor hit the door the last time. “I said I’m coming, lady.”
Maybe drunk too?
After unlatching numerous man-made locks on the door, Seraphina whispered enchantments to unlock the invisible and more deadly ones.
The woman half barged and half fell inside the moment the back door opened. On instinct, Seraphina reached out to stabilize her. She received a dirty look for her trouble as the stranger jerked her arm away.
Well, she sure acted human.
Seraphina took in the woman’s appearance and imagined the French twist in her hair stayed perfectly coiffed under normal circumstances. At present, it was in complete disarray with large swaths flapping around unbound. What remained of her makeup was traveling in slow trails down her cheeks, and she wore a misbuttoned, tailored jacket. Her hot mess appearance did not suit the way the woman carried herself.
“How may I help you, ma’am?” Seraphina asked.
Sensing the stare accompanying the question, the woman raised her hand and smoothed an elegant streak of white back into her dark hair. She lifted her chin and sneered. “Where is he?”
Seraphina didn’t answer. She was not about to volunteer information to a possible human.
“The Sin Eater, you ignorant girl. I need the Sin Eater right away.”
Ignorant girl? Seraphina bit back her retort. Technically, she was older than the condescending woman. But Seraphina was used to being treated as if she were in her early twenties.
The woman pushed past Seraphina and stomped farther into the shop. She searched the darkened apothecary taking in the long mahogany counter, the labeled drawers, and jar-lined shelves reaching the ceiling along every wall. She whirled, almost knocking into Seraphina again.
“I know he’s here. So don’t waste valuable time by lying or stalling. Just get him, now.”
Oh, Finn was definitely going to have to come and deal with this one. Seraphina took a deep breath and said, “Yes, ma’am, of course. I wouldn’t dream of wasting your ‘valuable time.’ Just let me lock up. I’ll fetch him.”
Proud that she’d managed to filter out most of her sarcasm, Seraphina gestured to an antique Victorian couch in the back of the shop. “If you care to sit, I will…”
The woman lunged and screeched, “Sit? I have no time to sit.” She latched onto Seraphina’s forearm and jerked her forward. Her putrid breath smelled of alcohol as spittle landed next to Seraphina’s nose. “I’m not here to sit. Get me the damned Sin Eater. It is urgent.”
“All right, that’s it.” Seraphina pried the woman’s fingers from her arm one by one. Looking deep into her eyes, she tried to release a small trickle of power, but she was pissed off and her control slipped. “I cannot go and get the Sin Eater if you do not let… me… go.”
The lady’s arm dropped at once and swung into her body. As soon as Seraphina was free, she took the woman’s bony shoulders and guided her backward until the sofa hit the back of her legs.
Maintaining eye contact, Seraphina whispered, “Sit and be quiet.”
The stranger unceremoniously flopped onto the sofa and the antique gave a troubling groan at her sudden weight.
Seraphina rubbed her aching arm. “Ugh, seriously? That’s gonna leave a bruise. Now, I’ll be back in a minute.”
As she started to turn, the first crimson drop fell from the woman’s nose.
“Oh shit… Shit. Too much, Sera.” She grabbed a box of tissues and waved one in the bewildered stranger’s face.
“Here. Apply pressure.” Seraphina took a calming breath. “You are bleeding, ma’am. Apply pressure to your nose, please, with this.”
She put the tissue into the woman’s limp, sweaty hand and pushed it to her nose. “I’ll be right back.”
Seraphina spun and ran behind the counter. She flung the door to the stairwell open and called, “Finn? Finn, hurry. Get down here.”
A deep mumble, a crash as something hit the floor, and a muffled cuss word made her wince. She bit her lip. It was quiet upstairs.
“Finn, I’m serious,” Seraphina yelled up the stairs. Raising her voice made it tremble.
A door creaked open above and hurried footsteps tromped her direction. As he started down the steep stairs, Finn ran his fingers through his stark white hair mussing it even further. Shirtless, he wore only a pair of low-slung pajama pants.
“What could possibly be worth all the commotion, love?”
Seraphina fidgeted. “A woman is here to see you. I think she’s human, but I’m not sure…”
He stopped midway and said, “A human? At this time of night? Tell her to come back during business hours. I am rather busy at the moment.”
Finn gave her the look. The stupid, condescending one Seraphina hated because it implied she didn’t understand exactly what ‘busy’ meant. Why the hell did he think she was down in the shop this late anyway? Like bookkeeping and inventory reports were better than being in her comfortable room upstairs tucked in with a good book. She’d avoided their loft tonight because she was trying to give him a little privacy.
Men.
“She probably just wants a love potion or something equally ridiculous.” Finn rotated on his right foot and made it back up one step.
“She’s demanding to see the Sin Eater, Finn.” He stopped his ascent. “I don’t know how she knows about you, but she was quite insistent. I was afraid of what she might yell into the intercom, so I let her in. Then she started screaming, and she grabbed me and I…” Seraphina hesitated.
Finn froze. “What did you do, Seraphina?”
Seraphina winced. Finn turned back to face her. He only called her by name when the situation was serious.
“Well, I juiced her… a little,” Seraphina confessed. “But she was hysterical.” Seraphina raised her arm and watched as his eyes widened at the red welts blossoming on her freckled skin. “I just wanted her to sit down and shut up for a second, okay?”
“You juiced her? A little? How much is a little, Seraphina? Wait, you used your power on a human?” he asked incredulously.
Seraphina bit her lip and nodded.
“You know your magic is unpredictable at best on the living, especially humans,” Finn called back toward his room upstairs, “Sparrow, we’ll have to call it a night, I’m afraid.”
A feminine whine of protest made Seraphina’s eyes roll. Finn’s guest, Kandy (with a K) as Seraphina always called her, must not have gotten everything she’d come for tonight.
Finn directed his attention back to Seraphina. “Fix our guest a cup of tea while I throw on proper clothes, would you? There’s a red tin on the left in the back of the medicinal tea cabinet. It is marked Restorative Formula Eight. I’ll be right down.” The last few words were spoken as his long legs took stairs two at a time.
Seraphina glanced to the back of the shop at the unchanged state of their guest. Blood droplets trickled down her chin. Seraphina muttered under her breath, “Your fancy herbal tea is not going to fix that.”
“Who said anything about the damned tea being fancy? Just make sure it’s the red one that says Restorative. And only Formula Eight. Seven is much too strong for her kind,” Finn called out from the top stair landing.
How does he do that?
Seraphina grabbed a teacup and saucer and began rooting through the stacks of multi-colored boxes and tins, finally locating an ornate red box with Formula Eight in Finn’s elegant script, right where he said it would be. She removed a rather pungent bag, sniffed it, and recoiled.
Ew, bloodroot? Well, that would do it, all right. She poured hot water from the ever-present electric tea kettle. By the time Seraphina returned with the steaming cup, Finn was standing behind her extending his long-fingered hand.
“Bloodroot is poisonous, Finn. You’re sure of this formula?”
“Of course, I am. Reall
y, do you not trust me at—” He looked past Seraphina and gauged the woman’s haggard appearance. Finn’s expression tightened, and he cleared his throat.
“Well, it should straighten Phyllis right up, though she will pay for it tomorrow, I’m afraid.” He set the teacup on the counter and raised Seraphina’s arm, turning it outward as he examined the red welts. “On second thought, Phyllis Woodard deserves the herbal hangover she has coming. I’m sorry she hurt you, love.”
He strode over to the confused woman rocking in a slow, uneven rhythm and humming a discordant melody under her breath. Finn dunked the tea bag angrily as he stared down at her.
Phyllis Woodard? As in the Woodards? Finn knew her by name, so this night had just gotten more interesting.
Finn knelt and pulled the bloodied tissues away from the old woman’s face. She’d been holding them more on her cheek than her nose anyway. He laid the saucer and tea bag on the sofa next to her and placed the steaming cup in her hands.
“Drink up, Phyllis, come on now.”
He guided her as she took a few sips, steadying her hands along the way. The old gal tried to turn away, but he told her to continue drinking. Another gulp and she retched, then took a deep breath, but still looked confused. At least she’d stopped humming.
A clicking sound echoed from the stairs and the stairwell door creaked as it opened again.
“You may want to wait in the loft until we leave, Sparrow.” Finn quickly scoped out the scantily clad woman who’d come downstairs. “Ms. Woodard won’t be here long.”
The young woman jumped and fidgeted with her hair. She removed a couple pins and shook her head back and forth. Perfect caramel and blonde highlighted curls fell forward covering half of her face.
That should only be possible in slow motion TV ads. Seraphina wound her straight red hair around one of her fingers.
Kandy said, “No. I’m okay. It-it’s okay. I’d rather leave. I’ll just go on back to the club for a while.”
Finn nodded. “I’ll come see you tomorrow, and we’ll spend the whole day together. I’ll fix you up right as rain, promise.”
She smoothed down her sequined skirt and walked to the back door. Her stiletto boots echoed with a clickety-clack against the hardwood floor.