House of the Rising Sun (29 page)

The bands wrapping the bills were all the same, no bumps or grooves that might be a hidden wire or receiver. He thumbed through the plastic bills, crisp and new and redolent of the chemicals used to recycle the plastic they were made from. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but that didn’t make him feel any better. He wasn’t exactly an expert on stacks of money.

Next, he felt inside the box, shook out the tissue and inspected the card. All of that seemed normal.

But the idea that Branzino had done
something
couldn’t be shaken. There was no way Augustine was leaving this box in the house, panic room or otherwise, as long as that man was a threat. He wouldn’t put Harlow under that stress.

Which meant he had to find a different place to store the money. He thought about asking Fenton, but Mortalis had once trusted the Elektos with a valuable ring and Loudreux had required a heavy favor to return it. Not that Augustine thought Fenton had the same motives, but leaving the Elektos out of this for now seemed a better option.

No, this was something he would take care of himself. He packed the money back up, folded the box flaps under each other to secure them, then left the box by the hall table and
went to his room to collect a mirror. After that, he fetched a shovel from the garage. When he came back in, he gathered up the box and stood before the hall mirror.

A flicker of thought, the brief tug of magic and he was through, standing on the fae plane, facing the Claustrum. He walked toward the gates, close enough that the noise of those locked inside began to reach him. Their muted howls and moans were torn ragged by the wind, shredded into unearthly sounds that punctuated what a desperate, awful place the Claustrum was.

Choosing a point he would remember, he started digging. No one would find the box. No one would even know to look for it here. And if Branzino did have some kind of tracker on it and he followed it here, he couldn’t claim Harlow had kept the money. Not to mention he’d get a nice reminder of where he belonged.

The wind licked at the sweat on Augustine’s neck, curling around him and whining like a stray dog. He rammed the shovel into the hard, rocky ground again and again until he’d made a hole big enough, all the while listening over the Claustrum’s noise for the soft almost-voice he’d heard the last time. The sound that had seemed very much like his name trilling over the gray plane. It never came.

He dropped the box into the hole and started shoveling in the dirt, the crunch of gravelly earth against the cardboard satisfying in a way he couldn’t quite explain. At last, he stamped the dirt down and threw a few rocks over the spot to disguise it until the wind could do the rest. He wiped his hands on his jeans and stood back, looking through the Claustrum’s gates into the dark maw beyond.

As Guardian, the day would come when he’d be responsible for another fae being sent here. They’d have done something to deserve it, but the idea of being in such a position gave him pause.

Power was a heady thing, but nothing he’d ever actively sought out. Sure, when he’d been running the streets, he’d felt like the king of his world, but that position had come with a very high price. Now real power had been thrust upon him. A useful tool in this new job, he knew that, but at what cost? He’d saved his own skin from the Claustrum so that… he could send others here? The irony wasn’t lost on him.

He worried what the job would turn him into. How it would change him. Without Livie to temper his moods, how long before he turned back into the sharp-edged, hair-triggered rebel he’d once been? Harlow might be able to fill that role, but that would require her desire to do so, something he doubted she’d ever feel.

Would she be able to get over his part in her mother’s death? Already he knew he would kill whoever was responsible for letting the vampires in, once he found them. Without compunction, without hesitation, he would take a life, and his position as Guardian meant he’d suffer no consequences for it.

If necessary, he’d kill Branzino, too, if and when the time came, although when felt much more likely than if. The man was hiding something and if Augustine had to guess, he’d say Branzino’s money had come from less reputable sources than importing and exporting.

Maybe he should stop denying his own dark side and give it rein again. There was so much anger in him, suppressed for years as a kindness to Olivia, but he could easily release it. Be the Guardian everyone feared. He didn’t need to be loved. His mother had taught him years ago how to live without that.

That thought brought the prickle of dark heat to his bones. Made him want to rage against all the injustices that had occurred to him.

“Livie,” he whispered. “I wish you were still here.” She was, in a way. Her ashes anyway, which for him made this a sacred
place. “I wish you could tell me what I need to do to get through to Harlow. To get her on my side,” he added, then slung the shovel over his shoulder and turned to put the Claustrum out of sight.

As he dug in his pocket for his mirror, the wind whipped up, scouring him with dirt. He scrubbed at his eyes, blinking them open only to slits.

The whirlwind of dust he’d last seen after spreading Olivia’s ashes had returned. He shook his head. It was just dirt, not ashes. Not her in
any
way.

But as it began to take on her familiar shape, that became harder to believe.

“Livie?” Hope sprang up in him, only to die a few seconds later when the wind vanished and the dust fell back to the ground.

His anger clawed to be released, to hunt and destroy. He nodded, giving it some space. He’d get Dulcinea to guard the house, then he’d go into the Quarter and look for vampires.

He really, really hoped he found one.

G
iselle walked the streets of Treme, returning every side glance with her own version of the evil eye. No doubt, the residents could smell the witch on her, their distrust stemming from that more than her being a stranger. Over the years, the neighborhood had become predominately ruled by the voodoo religion as the most powerful practitioners in the craft made their home here.

To hell with the neighborhood watch. She had need of their most revered resident, Father Ogun. She’d end up owing the man something for his services, but it was a necessary evil. She could not be connected to what she planned to do and these loose ends
had
to be tied up.

She knocked at his door. His house was one of the larger two-stories, painted bright yellow with white trim and square white columns on both front-facing porches. The wood around his royal blue front door was carved with runes and here and there bits of dried flowers and colorful ribbon were nailed into place.

The door opened and he nodded. “I knew you’d come.”

She controlled the urge to roll her eyes. “Father Ogun, how nice to see you.”

“What can I do for you, Giselle?” His brown eyes twinkled.

“Can I come in? I’m sorry for not calling ahead, but I have a matter of some urgency.”

“Sure enough.” He moved out of the way and let her pass.

The reek of incense hung in the air, along with something
musty. Trails of smoke curled up from his altar, revealing the source of the incense. Things covered every surface of the place. Feathers wrapped in bright thread, candles, bottles of herbs and liquids, sequined banners, carved wooden figures, a branch with a birds’ nest attached. Everywhere she looked, something filled the space.

Her skin itched at the amount of clutter and for a spare moment, her lungs seemed incapable of getting enough air. She chanted a calming spell and slowly felt the claustrophobia leave her.

He sat in a big overstuffed chair draped in kente cloth, gesturing for her to take a spot on the love seat nearby. She sat on the edge, wondering immediately if the spell keeping her dress clean would be enough. Everything looked so grungy.

“What is it that has brought you into the wilds of Treme to seek me out?” His baritone seemed deeper in the confines of the space. “You are a capable sorceress in your own right, so it must not be my work.”

“Actually, it is. I have an enemy who seeks to destroy me. I must get to them first, but I can’t be connected with it.” There was no way of knowing exactly what the fae were capable of. The more distance she put between herself and what needed to be done, the better.

He nodded slowly, then reached over the table beside his chair, took out a cigarillo from a pack and lit it up. He took three puffs before he spoke. “I see.”

Inwardly, she cringed. The smoke would cling to her hair and clothes, making her smell just as bad. She reminded herself that she didn’t have anyone else to turn to. Which only made her hate being here that much more. “Can you help me?”

“It’s not
can
,” he said. “But
will
.” Another puff. “I must think on this.”

“I understand that, but unfortunately, I don’t have time for
you to think.” She tried to relax. “I’m sorry for the rush, but I’m in a bind. I need help now.”

“You understand the kind of discretion you require means greater risk on my part.”

She smiled sweetly. “We both know you capable of the kind of work that leaves no trace.” Yes, he’d be taking a risk, but it would be a very small one. His people had no treaty with the fae, no rules to break.

He smiled back, clearly flattered, but the sharp glint in his gaze said more than flattery would be required. “The payment for such work is steep.”

She nodded. “What’s your price?”

“Besides my usual fee… a flesh debt. To be paid when I require it, where I require it. Without complaint or hesitation.” His smile widened. “I may someday have need of the kind of work you do.”

She had no doubt. A sick feeling filled her belly. A flesh debt was serious. Breaking one meant grave consequences. “Agreed.”

He took a pin from a small box and handed it to her. “Any finger will do.”

She pricked her thumb until blood flowed, then handed the pin back to him.

He wrapped it in tissue and returned it to the box. Should she break her bond to him, he now had her blood to use against her. A very sobering thought. He studied her, his robes flowing out around him on his chair. He plainly relished this moment of power. “Do you have blood from the person you wish to destroy?”

“No.”

“Hair?”

“No.” She bit back her frustration. “I don’t have anything from him.”

“Nothing he’s touched?”

“I have the money he paid me with.”

Father Ogun nodded. “That will have to work, I suppose. The rest I’ll sell you.”

“Thank you.” She couldn’t muster the politeness to force a smile. This had ended up costing her far more than she’d expected. But hiring the devil rarely came cheap.

The crowd at
Belle’s
was the same group of regulars, plus the usual group of othernatural tourists. Augustine pushed through the crush to the bar and found the person he was looking for. Renny Doucette,
Belle’s
most infamous bartender and one of the few gator varcolai to make a life for himself outside the swamp.

Renny smiled, showing off an impressive set of canines, and tossed a bar towel over his shoulder. He clasped Augustine’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. “Augustine! So good to see you, bro.” His smiled faded and he touched his heart. “I am so sorry at your loss,
mon ami
.”

“Thank you.”

“Is it true what I hear? That you’re the new Guardian?”

Augustine nodded. A few in the crowd cut their eyes in his direction. He lowered his voice. “I was wondering if we could have a little chat?”

“Need some information, eh?” Renny’s drawl had the soft, rounded edges of the bayou. He nodded to the female bartender at the other end. “Bebe, take over, yah?” He ducked under the service bar and popped out on Augustine’s side. “We can go out back.”

Augustine followed him through the small kitchen and out the service doors into an alley. Renny shut the door behind them, then took a seat on a stack of crates that looked like it served as the employee break room. “What can I do you for?”

The dumpster reeked. Augustine pulled out a
nequam
cigarette and lit it up. “Had any vampires in lately?”

Renny pulled out a pack of his own smokes and fired one, taking a long draw before answering. “You’re looking for them bastards that killed your
tante
and Khell,
mais
yeah?”

Olivia wasn’t really his aunt, but he knew what Renny meant. “Yes.”

Renny shook his head. “I’ve seen a few in here, but they don’t hold a regular pattern. I think they know you’re looking for them.” He glanced down the open end of the alley. “You hang out in the Quarter long enough, though, you’ll see one. They gotta feed.”

“I know, they’ve killed some tourists, too, but I haven’t seen any recently.”

“Spend some time here, I promise they’ll show.” He exhaled a stream of smoke. “Just walking to my car last night I seen a girl stumbling down the street, drunk as the preacher at Sunday night supper.” He stuck two fingers against his neck where his human skin turned to scales. “Bleeding from a bite from a you-know-what, I swear it.”

Augustine’s ears pricked up. “Where was she coming from?”

Renny pointed his cigarette down the alley. “Lucky Frog’s, I think.”

“That tourist bar on Decatur?” He flicked the ash off his smoke. “That place is blocks from here. What makes you think she was there?”

“She was carrying one of them plastic hurricane glasses. Had the logo on it and enough drink left in it to make me think it was fresh.”

“Good eyes, Renny.” The gator shifter grinned. Augustine ground out his cigarette. “I owe you one. And listen, you get any leeches in here, you call me. Let’s go back in and I’ll give you my number.”

“
C’est bon.
” Renny flicked his cigarette into a puddle and opened the door. “I’m glad you took over for Khell, bro. We need someone with your skills. I ain’t disrespecting Khell, but sometimes wanting a job and being skilled for it are two different things, you get me?”

“I do.” A lot of people felt that way about Khell. His heart had been in it, but he hadn’t been the toughest sort of man. “Renny, I have to ask. Is it hard, keeping your half-form like that?”

Renny shook his head. “It’s no big thing.” For a second, his eyes glittered with the red-gold only a gator varcolai could pull off. “You’d be surprised how much the ladies like it.”

Augustine tapped one of his horns. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Renny chuckled softly as he ducked inside. “Speaking of the fairer sex, you see Dulcinea much?”

Augustine followed. “Almost every day.”

Renny stopped right outside the kitchen, his face abruptly serious. “I’ll call you the second a vampire steps foot in here. Hell, I’ll hold ’em down until you arrive, but you gotta do one thing for me.”

“What’s that?”

He fished into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small envelope. “Give her this. And tell her I’m sorry.” He exhaled. “I’m sorry and I want to make things up, if she just give me the chance.”

“I can do that.” Augustine took the note, trying hard to keep his expression neutral. Suddenly he had a pretty good idea of why Dulcinea had stopped coming to
Belle’s
. Kind of crazy to think of her and Renny as a couple, but then again, this was Dulcinea.

A few minutes later, he’d left Renny with his number and was back out on the street. He walked toward Lucky Frog’s, studying everyone that went past him, looking for some sign that they’d been bitten. Nothing.

When he got to Lucky Frog’s, he crossed the street and hung out in a doorway, watching the patrons come and go. No sign of vampires, but he stayed, vigilant for any sign that a leech was in the area. He would have loved a smoke, but there was too great a chance the vampires would pick up the scent of the
nequam
and bolt.

At least these were fringe vamps and not nobles. Could he handle a noble on his turf? Yes. A whole pack of them? Maybe. Maybe not.

A group of human beauties walked past, all of them giving him bedroom eyes. They were exactly the kind of women he would have peeled off and followed after in different circumstances. Like not being on a vampire stakeout.

And having never met Harlow.

Hell’s bells, she was a conundrum. Came off as straight as an arrow, until he discovered she had prison time hanging over her. Granted, she might have been set up, but she’d still been willing to do the crime. She had mad fae powers, but hated being fae. Seemed to do everything she could to hide how beautiful she was. Liked to kiss him drunk, didn’t like to kiss him sober, but didn’t like the idea of him sleeping with Dulcinea, either, no matter how many years ago that singular episode had taken place. And the wall around her… he shook his head. Just when he thought it was coming down, she slammed it back into place.

But the idea of trying to get through it… he smiled. There was something very worthwhile about giving that a go. When she allowed herself to be vulnerable with him, there was something so real about her. The kind of woman that wouldn’t put up with his nonsense, but understood he wasn’t perfect, either.

Now if she could just apply that to his role in getting Olivia killed…

A couple across the street caught his attention. He went into shadeux mode, the kind of wispy smoke form he’d perfected
as a child as a way of hiding from his mother. Against the gray stone of the buildings and with twilight bleeding across the evening sky, he was practically invisible.

The couple had just come out of Lucky Frog’s and were traipsing down the street, body movements exaggerated by alcohol. Except something about the man’s seemed… too perfectly drunk. Augustine slipped in behind them.

He listened and just as he’d suspected, heard only one heartbeat. The man in front of him was a vampire. Augustine opened himself to the anger and frustration that had been festering since Livie’s death as he followed the pair down a dark side street. He flexed his hands. He hadn’t been in a proper fight in a long time.

Better still that this one would result in one less vampire.