House of the Rising Sun (4 page)

Olivia stared at the bowl before her, her mind on Augustine.

“What’s wrong?” Lally asked. “Not in the mood for leftovers after all? You know they say gumbo really don’t get good until
it’s a few days old. I can make you something else, if you want, though.”

“The gumbo’s fine.” She forced a smile and nodded toward the chair on her right. “Stop fussing over me and have your dinner.” She glanced toward the front of the house. “I’m not sure Augustine should have come back so soon.”

“Tell him not to go out then. He’ll stay home if you ask.” Lally took the seat, her face full of compassion.

“No, no, it’s
Nokturnos
. I can’t do that to him. Besides, he deserves a night of fun after being away so long, not sitting nursemaid with an old woman.”

“Miss Olivia.” Lally’s scolding tone was a familiar one these days. Maybe Augie’s absence had affected Olivia more than she’d realized. “Don’t talk like that. He came back because he was worried about you. Because he missed you and missed being home.”

Olivia looked away, not wanting to see pity on her friend’s face. “I know. But those are the wrong reasons. If the Elektos wants to try him for his crime, he’ll have to run again. Maybe for good.”

“Maybe you…” Lally hesitated, her hands coming up to smooth the cloth napkin at the place setting.

“Maybe I could what?”

Lally cleared her throat. “If it was me and I had your means, I’d offer the Elektos a little…
incentive
to leave that child alone.”

Olivia laughed. “That is the New Orleans way, isn’t it?” Her laughter died off. “Truth is, I already tried that, but they refused. And it was a very generous incentive. I fear they want to make an example of him.”

“Because he’s refused them so many times?”

Olivia nodded. “Can you blame him for not wanting to be Guardian? It’s a tremendous amount of responsibility.”

Judgment lifted Lally’s brows and she pursed her lips. “Miss
Olivia, he’d shy from it even if there was no responsibility at all. You coddle that boy, turned him from a thug to a slug.”

“Now, Lally…”

She sat back in her chair. “You know I’m right.”

Olivia sighed. “I can’t help it. He’s been through so much. And changed so much—for me! You remember what he was like when I found him? Rougher ’an broken glass around the edges and full of bluster. He’d fight over a sideways glance.” He’d been practically feral, but he’d responded so quickly to kind words and affection she knew there was more to him. That there was hope for him. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes twice.”

“Miss Harlow.” Olivia’s daughter’s name spilled tentatively from Lally’s lips like she knew she might be overstepping.

“Yes. Harlow.” Olivia pushed her spoon through the gumbo, the recipe for which had been in Lally’s family for generations and was a closely guarded secret. “She’s my great failure. And Augustine has been my second chance. I love my daughter, but sadly, my refusal to part with certain information means she doesn’t feel the same way about me.”

Lally tipped her head a tiny bit. “Miss Olivia, why don’t you just tell the child her daddy’s name? She’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions about—”

“
No.
” The word shot out of Olivia’s mouth like the crack of a gunshot. “You know how I feel about him. That man is poison. I won’t have him infecting my daughter.”

Lally sat back, her fingers fiddling with the chain around her neck. “Maybe you could explain that to her. Have you talked to her lately?”

“I called her last night. She didn’t answer. I talk to her blessed voicemail more than I talk to her.” At the sharp edge in her own voice, Olivia put on one of her best actress smiles and raised her gaze to meet Lally’s. “What say we forget about dinner and have
us a couple of mint juleps out on the porch? Take in the evening air?”

But Lally’s soft smile didn’t quite erase the sadness in her eyes. “You know, you can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family. Be thankful for Mr. Augustine. Don’t feel guilty about him. Look at the life you took him from. The life you gave him. Take pride in that.”

“I don’t feel guilty. And you’re right. Again.” She’d be a mess without Lally. The woman was a gem. “He would have died on the streets running with that gang, acting like the world was out to get him.”

Lally clucked her tongue. “In some ways, it mighta been. He was a hard case, that one. But you changed that boy for the better. So what if he’s not big on responsibility. He’s not hustling or robbing or jacking people up. That’s something good you done.”

“Thank you, Lally. You’re a dear friend and I don’t know what I’d do without you to talk me out of my head sometimes.” She pushed to her feet with the help of her cane, something she didn’t need so much as she enjoyed the use of a good prop. “Now, what say you we go get reacquainted with that other friend of ours, Mr. Jim Beam.”

D
ude.” Dulcinea whistled appreciatively when Augustine showed her the mask Olivia had given him to wear. “That is gorgeous. And with your horns? Super badass. You’re going to have females all over you.”

“You think?” He took another look at the mask. He’d had his doubts when he’d dug it out of the box. The Serpent King might be better saved for Halloween. “It doesn’t strike you as a little intimidating?”

She waved her hand at it. “Chicks dig scary as long as the scary is also hot and willing to protect them. Don’t you ever read any romance novels? Alpha male and all that. Especially in that outfit.”

“That much I know.” His getup of leather pants, black T-shirt, long leather coat and motorcycle boots would have been too much for the unseasonably warm days they’d been having, but the night held just enough chill to make him comfortable. And in a city like NOLA on a night like
Nokturnos
, leathers of some sort were almost expected if you were fae. “But don’t tell me you aren’t going to have men trailing you like toms in heat. Let me see your mask.”

Over her outfit, which could only be described as a chain-mail catsuit, she wore a hip purse. She dug into that, pulled something out and unfurled it, holding in her hands a slip of filigreed silver leather so finely done it resembled liquid metal.

At second glance, he realized it was tooled in the shape of a
cat’s face. He grinned. “Beautiful. And very you. Prepare to beat them off with a stick.”

“Why do you think I brought you?” She laughed and jerked her thumb toward Mena’s. “Let’s grab something to eat.”

In no real rush, they took their time at dinner catching up and enjoying each other’s uncomplicated company. It was good their one-time fling hadn’t ruined anything, Augustine thought. Dulcinea was too good a friend to lose.

She pushed her plate away and glanced toward the window. “Sun’s down. Streets are filling up. You ready to go celebrate the New Year?”

He finished his beer and sat back in his chair. “Born ready, baby.”

They paid their bill and took to the streets, masks on. The crowds were thick as expected but not nearly what they’d be during Mardi Gras. Augustine took Dulcinea’s hand and pulled her through the throng toward Bourbon Street. Without saying it, both understood they’d only be together until one of them found a partner for the evening, but until then they’d stick to each other’s side, celebrating
Nokturnos
like they had since they’d run the streets with the rest of their crew.

Bourbon was just as it always was—loud and boisterous and full of people. The fae in attendance were mostly local but there were probably some who’d come to town for the event, plus a ton of human tourists, looking for a night of all-out fun. Some of the tourists were probably here to gawk, but any fae living in New Orleans either got used to that or stayed out of the Vieux Carré.

“Let’s get another drink,” Dulcinea shouted over the strains of “Sweet Home Alabama” pouring from one of the bars.

“I’ll buy you a drink, kitty cat.” A well-oiled tourist grinned at Dulcinea, his lids already heavy with alcohol. His friends hooted their approval of his idea, their LSU T-shirts giving them away for the college boys they were.

“And so it begins,” Augustine muttered.

Dulcinea raised herself to her full height and notched her head to look down at him. In her platform boots, she was easily over six feet. “How generous. And how broad-minded you are.”

“Broad-minded?” The guy looked baffled.

“Not to care that I’m a man.” She leaned in and batted her lashes at him. “Do you want your good-luck kiss now or—”

“What?” His eyes widened. “No!” Laughing, his friends hauled him away and in seconds, they were swept away with the next wave of people.

Augustine shook his head. “You’re awful.”

Her smirk said she disagreed. “Awful funny, you mean. He was just a kid. I’d break him in two. Better he think the rejection was his idea.”

He snorted softly. “Yeah, but sooner or later, one of them’s going to get riled up about it.”

One shoulder lifted in casual defiance. “Like I said, that’s why I brought you.”

“Dulce, I can’t get into a fight tonight. If it weren’t for this mask, I wouldn’t even be here. I just want to have some fun, not give the Elektos another reason to come after me.”

“Understood.” She lifted a finger. “But I can’t help it if men are drawn to me like cats to cream.” She made flourishes with both hands up and down her body as if to illustrate her charms. “
This
is a lot to contain.”

He crossed his arms and tried not to smile. “If you’re trying to contain it, you might have worn something besides skintight chain mail.”

“Pfft. Spoilsport. You didn’t exactly wear a sack.” She planted her hands on her hips, causing a small traffic jam as the crowd flowed around her. “Besides, it was laundry day.”

“Well, if nothing else was clean you really had no choice.”
Laughing, he grabbed her arm. “C’mon, crazy woman, let’s get that drink.”

The line for beer moved quickly and a few minutes later, they had to-go cups and were heading for an empty span of wall between a T-shirt shop and the walk-up window of a pizza joint. They propped themselves there and settled in to observe.

Dulcinea tipped her cup toward the crowd. “That one, with the purple feather mask and the low-cut shirt. Talk about her cup runneth over.”

Augustine shook his head. “Also trying too hard. Look at all those beads. We’re the only two who haven’t seen her boobs.” His turn. He pointed to a tall guy wearing a white half mask and a black cape. “That one there.”

“The Phantom?” She snorted. “Spare me the dramatics. He’s got potential stalker written all over him.”

They went back and forth, eliminating the passersby until suddenly Dulce straightened, her gaze zeroing in on a man in the crowd. “Hell-o, beautiful.” She made a soft noise deep in her throat that sounded half purr, half meow. “Mama likes.” She motioned to Augustine without looking at him. “See you tomorrow.”

“Later.” And just like that, he was alone. He hung there a while longer, sipping his beer and assessing the crowd. Plenty of them assessed him right back, but he didn’t bite. He wasn’t sure who he was looking for, but he’d know her when he saw her. The right one to start his new year off perfectly. The right one to celebrate his return home. He grinned, thinking about the fun that awaited him.

A trio of masked human lovelies walked past, slanting their eyes at him and preening in their glitter masks and feather boas. They smiled back.

Now that was just too hard to ignore. He’d at least test the waters. “Ladies.”

They stopped a few feet away and waved by wiggling their fingers at him. “Hi,” they answered in unison.

And suddenly he realized his folly. He never should have limited himself to
one
.

“I don’t know about this.” Harlow adjusted the mask over her face. The T-shirt shops were filled with cheap masks, but her mind-set of doing it up big wouldn’t let her settle for a five-dollar bit of felt and glitter. Of course, now that she was standing in the small boutique the concierge had recommended wearing a much more expensive handmade mask, the cheap ones weren’t sounding quite as bad.

“Wait until you see it on,” the saleslady said. “It suits you beautifully.” She brought a mirror over and set it in front of Harlow.

She turned to look. And stopped still. “Wow. Shiny. That is much better than expected.” The raven mask was more of a headdress, its sleek black feathers cascading down over her hair and shoulders, but the small beak sat just over her nose, leaving her mouth and chin exposed. Add in her black bat-wing sweater, leggings and side-buckle boots and she almost looked like some kind of bird superhero person.

Not at all like herself. This might actually work.

“You have the right-color eyes for that piece,” the saleslady added.

“Thanks.” Her amber eyes, another gift from her mother she could have done without, seemed genuinely birdlike behind the mask. Her normal smoky makeup only played that up.

“You might like these, too.” The saleswoman set a pair of black feather-trimmed gloves on the counter.

Harlow picked them up. Even through the gloves she had
on she could tell these new ones were beautiful quality, not just some costume add-on. “Has anyone else tried these on?”

“No. They just came in a few days ago.”

Harlow peeled her gloves off and tried them. They fit like they’d been made for her. “I’ll take them and the mask.” She peeled off a few bills and handed them over.

“Would you like me to box it all up?”

“No, I’m going to wear it. But I probably should get a box to take it home in.” She glanced behind her. The streets were already full of people. She didn’t relish the idea of having to go back to her hotel just to drop off a package. If she didn’t get some liquid courage into her system, she just might chicken out, like she almost had at Comic Con.

As if reading her mind, the saleswoman said, “We can send the box to your hotel for you, if you like. I can put your old gloves in there as well.”

“That would be great.” Harlow typed her info into the tablet the woman placed on the counter, then tucked her change into the inside pocket of her leggings before adjusting the waistband of her sweater over them again. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. And happy
Nokturnos
.”

“Uh, yeah. Same to you.” The second Harlow opened the door, the noise of the street hit her. Music from every direction, laughter, whooping and hollering, distant horns blowing and the occasional cheer. On the way over, the chaos of it all had almost turned her around, but now, wearing the mask gave her a sense of anonymity that raised her courage.
Just like Comic Con.
She repeated it like a mantra.

The shop door closed behind her but she stayed still, taking it all in for a moment, enjoying the strange new sense of boldness flowing through her. She laughed as a random thought occurred to her—this really was like Comic Con, except a lot of
these people weren’t pretending; they really were the creatures they appeared to be.

She stepped into the street and started walking with no real destination in mind. She dodged people as they came toward her and focused on the details. What would her superhero name be? Ravenwoman? The Claw? Hawktress? Nightwing? That was a good one. Of course, it already belonged to DC Comics, but so what, she liked it. Nightwing it was.

Now it was time for Nightwing to get a drink. Harlow made her way to the first walk-up window she came to and took a place in line with a comfortable distance away from the next person. She kept her eyes on the menu and the task of deciding what her poison would be. Something sweet, maybe, so it would go down fast and easy. That seemed to describe most of the drinks listed.

The people around her were all in groups, joking and having fun and clearly not on their first drink. They seemed to be lacking in the general understanding of personal space, too. Mask or not, she was questioning her decision to come out alone. Finally, her turn to order came. “Can I have a peach smash?”

The counter girl nodded. “You want a floater with that?”

“What’s a floater?”

“We add a shot of tequila, dark rum or 151 on top.”

“One Fifty-One.” If she had any hope of making it through the night successfully, she was going to need all the alcoholic help she could get. She paid for the drink, then stuck near the side of the counter while she waited for it to be ready. The guys next to her catcalled to the women walking by.

None of them seemed to mind. Some of the women actually yelled back.

Harlow leaned against the wall and shook her head. All likeness to Comic Con aside, this was still so not her scene. She hated being touched because of the flood of emotions that
meant enduring. Because of that, she’d developed a basic dislike of crowds, but sex… sex only meant one other person. She could handle that, and had, but the opportunity to engage in that sort of activity rarely came along when you worked from home and did your best to leave that home as little as possible. Maybe she should call it a night, take her drink back to the hotel and meet up with her guild for a raid.

But then a guy walked by in a black and white striped outfit, number stenciled over his chest and a black mask covering his eyes like a bandit and the reminder that jail loomed in her future stomped on her doubts. This might be her last chance for a long time to exercise her complete and utter personal freedom. Her last chance at some real fun.

“Peach smash!” the counter girl called out.

Harlow raised her hand. “That’s me.”

“Here you go.” The girl behind the counter slid the peach smash toward Harlow.

“Thanks.” She grabbed the tall plastic cup, used the straw to stir the 151 into the rest of the drink, then latched on to it and took a long sip. Fortified, she headed into the crowd with a slightly improved attitude. All she needed to do was make some friends, right? How hard could that be? The place was crawling with people looking to get friendly. What did you say to make friends? And you weren’t online?