House of the Rising Sun (33 page)

D
amn it.” Augustine stared at the body dangling from the railing of the second story of the Garden District house and shook his head. Dreich, his lieutenant and Khell’s cousin, had hung himself. “What happened?”

Fenton sighed. “Guilt, I guess.”

“Over what?”

“He left a note confessing to letting the vampires in.”

“Dreich?” Augustine shook his head. “I’m not buying it. He might have been involved, but I have good reason to believe Branzino is in on this. Where’s the note?”

“On his tablet. It was left open and unlocked.”

“That’s convenient.”

Fenton nodded. “Agreed. You really think Branzino is part of this?”

“Yes. I found out a hell of lot more about him from Livie. He’s raptor fae, but basically lives as human mafia.”

Fenton’s brows shot up. “That’s doubly bad. Why would he get involved in all this then?”

Augustine mapped out the conclusions he and Harlow had come up with.

Fenton sighed. “It’s convoluted, but I’ve heard worse.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “We have a lot of work to do getting to the bottom of this. Do you think Branzino suspects you’re aware of his involvement?”

“No. And we should keep it that way.”

“Agreed. Why don’t we spin this then, let Dreich shoulder the whole burden of guilt until we know otherwise.”

Augustine nodded. “I don’t like letting a potentially innocent man be the fall guy, but it’s a solid plan.”

“I wouldn’t say potentially innocent. A cursory check of his bank account showed several large deposits recently.” Fenton swiped at his mouth. “He looks good for at least being involved. Maybe he was jealous of his cousin’s position, who knows. It’ll come out as we investigate further.”

“I never figured him for this.” Augustine stepped aside to let a police officer pass. “What’s the human take going to be?”

Fenton’s gaze followed the officer until he was out the door. “Same as our story. Just as it looks, a suicide.”

Augustine raised a brow. “Let’s say he is involved. This suicide is awfully neat. So either Branzino is still in town or he’s got people here.”

Fenton blew out a sigh.

Augustine waited for a second cop to go by. “It’s just too convenient we now have a confession that leads to an instant dead end—excuse the expression. Other than these deposits, we don’t have any other evidence that points to Dreich. All I know is that Giselle is the witch behind the spell on the cross and she claims to have done it for a fae named Dell, so am I supposed to think that Dell is Dreich and consider this case closed? Because I don’t. Not until I do more digging.”

Fenton shook his head. “It stinks.”

“Damn straight it does. Can we trust the police to work with us on this?”

“Yes. They don’t want vampires in this city any more than we do.” Fenton held up a finger. “But for now, we move forward like we believe this is exactly what it appears to be. That we have our vampire connection sewn up.”

Augustine nodded. “Hopefully whoever he was working with
will think they’re off the hook. All they need to do is feel comfortable enough to slip up.” He glanced around the police officers. “Who’s in charge of the human side of this investigation?”

“Come with me.” Fenton led him into the office. Dreich’s tablet was on the desk, black dust covering all the surfaces. If the cops were looking for prints, they didn’t think this was a suicide, either. Or they were at least going through the motions. A familiar-looking man stood in one corner, his rumpled sport coat making him look like he’d yet to get to bed, as did the cup of takeout coffee he was nursing. The officer he was talking with left as they approached. “This is Detective Grantham. Detective, this is Augustine Robelais. He’s our newly appointed Guardian.”

Grantham stuck his hand out. His skin was a shade or two darker than Lally’s, and his knuckles showed a matrix of scars. “Good to meet you.”

Augustine shook the man’s hand. “Are you… J.J. ‘One Punch’ Grantham?”

The detective laughed. “I haven’t heard that name since I forgot to take out the trash and my wife yelled at me. Yeah, that was me. Lotta years ago.”

“Your last fight was at Harrah’s, right? You were a legend.”

“Around here, maybe, but…” He shrugged. “Time came to move on and do something that wouldn’t turn me into a crippled mess in my old age.” He sipped his coffee. “You knew the deceased?”

“I did. Not well, though. His cousin was the last Guardian, the one killed by vampires a week ago.”

Grantham nodded. “That is one problem I’d like to eradicate. Immediately. I’m tired of seeing tourists in my morgue.”

“It’s not good for any of us, fae or human.”

Fenton interrupted. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Augustine, call me if you need me.” He nodded at the detective. “Grantham.”

Grantham nodded back. “Fenton.” Then he returned his attention to Augustine. “You buy the confession Dreich left?”

Augustine shook his head. “Yes and no.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning maybe he was involved, but I questioned him a day ago before we raided the Hotel St. Helene on a lead that the vampires were holed up there. They were, but someone must have tipped them off…” Augustine glanced back toward the foyer, where the coroner was in the process of cutting the body down. “Damn it. I really don’t want him to have been behind this.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know.” He wasn’t ready to share his theory on Branzino with the cops. Anything they did could tip him off. “It feels bigger than one person, though.”

Grantham nodded. “I’d buy that.”

“The witches are involved. I don’t know how deeply, but I know Giselle Vincent had her hands in this.” Augustine explained how the vampire they’d taken into custody had gotten killed, about the cross he’d found and how he’d had it read, but left Harlow’s name out of it. “If you and your guys find anything that links back to any of the witches, I want to know immediately.”

“I’ll make sure of it, but you really think Giselle Vincent is involved in this? Her father’s a pretty big deal. Why would she do anything to muck that up?”

“Because she hates the rule the fae have imposed on the witches.”

One of the forensic agents came in. “Detective, we found some kind of powder on the kitchen counter.” She held up what looked like an empty glassine bag.

“Any idea what it is?” Grantham asked as he took the bag.

She shook her head. “No, and there was barely enough on the
counter to get a sample but we’ll rush it to lab as soon as we get back.”

He opened it and sniffed. “Hmm.” Then he held it out to Augustine.

Augustine took a whiff, but shook his head. “Nothing I recognize, but it smells… earthy. And old. Like dirt, but not dirt.”

“Good assessment.” Grantham sealed the bag and handed it back to the forensic officer. “Smells like
bokura
to me.”

“What’s that?”

Grantham’s face took on the kind of serious air Augustine recognized as that of a man about to go to war. “In layman’s terms, zombie powder.”

Augustine almost snorted. “Are you serious?”

“The practice of voodoo is just as prevalent in the dark corners of this city as the witches’ magic is. Used in the right doses,
bokura
could make a man very pliable. A person could drug someone with
bokura
and get them to do all sorts of things they’d never consider sober.”

Augustine swore under his breath. “Vampires, witches and voodoo. I picked a great time to become Guardian.” He shook his head. “Voodoo is one thing I’ve always steered clear of. All the fae do, it’s considered as off-limits as witchcraft to us, but not because we have any dark history with it. Because of that, I have no real sources to go to on this.”

“I do,” Grantham answered. “My grandmother is a mambo, a voodoo priestess.”

Augustine nodded, happy he hadn’t said anything about voodoo being crazy.

“I’ll talk to her,” Grantham said. “See what she can tell me about who might have made this powder, but more than that, who might have sold some recently. Fenton gave me your contact info before you got here, so I’ll fill you in once I know something.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Although he had a feeling if the circles in the voodoo world were as closed as the witches’, he wouldn’t be getting much information. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some vampires to kill.”

Harlow knew something was up by the slam of the door. She dropped her laptop and raced downstairs, running into Augustine half a flight down. “What’s going on?”

A hardness she hadn’t seen before had taken over his face. “I’ve had enough. Too many deaths, too many damn vampires.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small black amulet. “You said you’d read this for me. Are you okay with doing that now? If so I’ll get Dulcinea over here as soon as—”

“No.” The word came out before Harlow could stop herself. “I don’t need her help. I can read it on my own.”

The hardness softened a little into surprise. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’ve been practicing a little.” Very little. Could once even be considering practice?

More surprise. “I’m game if you are. Library?”

“Sure.”

She followed him down, nervousness making her jittery. Reading her mother’s pendant once wasn’t practicing.

Instead of settling into their usual places, Augustine sat next to her. With no Dulcinea to act as buffer, there was no reason for him not to sit that close. She peeled her gloves off and held her palms up.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded, knowing he must be able to hear her heart knocking against her rib cage. “Just be close to grab it out of my hands if… you need to.”

He laid his hand over her forearm, his warmth easily
penetrating the sleeve of her shirt. “Hey, if you think you can do this, then I fully believe you can, too. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a little half smile that revealed nothing about how calming his presence actually was. Even the subtle, smoky traces of him that lingered in the house when he was gone had become small pockets of comfort to her. She’d lived alone so long, she’d come to think that’s what she preferred. The way she felt being in this house made her question that. And a lot more. She wiggled her fingers. “Let me have it.”

He lowered the amulet into her bare palms.

The second it connected, she closed her eyes and tightened down on her control, but not before a sharp metallic zing snapped along her bones. She gasped in pain.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. Sweat beaded along her spine. “There’s… there’s metal in this.”

“We think silver.”

“I don’t know enough to tell yet.” She opened herself a fraction and let the images hit her. A shudder ripped through her. “Vampires,” she whispered, an angry sob following close behind. More anger built as the visuals came through, snippets of the creatures who’d killed her mother, of them laughing and drinking and hunting down humans like prey. The rage edged her senses in a red-hot haze but also served to clarify the information as she received it.

The scents and sounds that came through reminded her of Bourbon Street. She forced herself to concentrate harder, to find something that would give Augustine what he needed.

His hand was on her arm again. “Harlow, maybe that’s enough—”

“No.” She loosened her control even more, opening a floodgate of new sensations and sights. Teeth sinking into flesh so
real pain shot through her neck. She opened her mouth so she could get enough air.

“Harlow, enough.”

His fingers brushed hers but she clamped her hands over the amulet to shut him out. “Not yet,” she insisted. Then she got what she’d been searching for. A building. She grabbed hold of the image, letting it burn into her mind. The stream of information fought her, pushing at her to let go, to let the rest through, but she clung to it.

“
Enough.
” Augustine tore the amulet from her grasp. “Harlow, your nose is bleeding. What the hell did you just do?”

“I found them.” She slumped back against the couch, gulping air and doing her best to ignore the throbbing ache in her head. She wiped at her nose, her hand coming away streaked red.

Augustine ripped tissues from a nearby holder and gave them to her. Concern masked his face. “At the moment, I don’t care. Are you okay?”

She dabbed at the blood. “I’m fine.” Actually, she had no idea. “I saw a building—”

“I don’t care if you saw a pink giraffe.” He turned toward the door and yelled for Lally. “Just sit still for a minute.”

Lally came rushing in. “What’s the matter?”

“Harlow needs an ice pack.”

“I’m fine.” She took the tissues off her nose.

Lally slapped a hand over her heart. “Oh my. Be right back.”

“You.” Augustine pointed at her. “Pinch the bridge of your nose and sit still or I will never ask you for help again.”

She tried not to smile and failed.

He frowned. “I’m not being funny.”

No, but he was being protective and sweet and although it wasn’t something she was used to, she kind of liked it. “You’re being bossy.”

When Lally returned with the ice, he made her sit for a few more minutes with it over the bridge of her nose. At last, when he was satisfied the bleeding had stopped, he let her talk. Stress still creased his forehead. “Tell me what else you saw.”