Last Blood (18 page)

And if they were here, maybe Khell would be too. She reached into her pocket for the plastic bills she’d stashed, palming them for easy transfer to whoever might give her the info she needed. She strolled among the tables, avoiding direct eye contact but skimming the crowd for the fae she’d helped make Guardian.

A body moved in front of her, blocking her path. “Well, now,” the shifter drawled. “Long time no see, Goldilocks. What brings you back to our corner of the Vieux Carré?”

“I almost didn’t recognize you on this side of the bar.” Actually, she’d recognized him instantly. The scales
flanking the bartender’s neck and the bullet shape of his canines made him very hard to forget.

“Gotta keep my tables clean.” He tossed a towel over his shoulder. “Who y’all looking for this time?”

“Same person. Just wanted to see how things are going for him.” If the bartender remembered her, he must also remember what she’d done when she was here. How many othernaturals lived in this city and didn’t know who the Guardian was?

The flash of red-green fire in his slit-pupil eyes didn’t scare her the way it had the first time she’d seen it. He clutched at his heart, smiling. “I’m wounded. Here I thought you’d come back for me.” Laughing, he tipped his head toward the back corner. “Khell’s here. Why don’t you ask him yourself.”

“Thank you.” She reached out and tucked the bills in her hand into his shirt pocket. “I appreciate it.”

He glanced down at the money. “Much obliged.” Then looked toward Jerem and Fi where they were still standing by the front doors. “I’ll send a coupla sweet teas to your friends. Something to occupy themselves with while you do
business
.”

She just nodded and slipped past him toward the spiral stairs in the corner. That’s where she’d found Khell the last time. The fae were such creatures of habit. She traced a path through the crowd, which was thinner than she remembered, but maybe that had to do with the early hour.

And there he was. Same table, same black-rimmed glasses and brainy-professor look. Different girl, but still a redhead and still plenty curvy. Chrysabelle smiled and approached cautiously. If things weren’t going well for him, he may not be thrilled to see her.

“Khell?” She kept her thumbs hooked into the pockets of her pants, close to the hilts of her daggers.

He stopped moving his head to the music and looked up, his gray eyes carrying a little more edge than she remembered. He studied her for a moment. “Chrysabelle. I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Nor I you.” Still no idea how he felt about her.

Then he smiled. “Nice to see you. Join us.” He shoved the extra chair out with his foot. “What brings you to town? If you’re here to find a new Guardian, I should warn you I’ll have to kill you.” He laughed, but his eyes were serious.

She smiled in a way that said she understood. “It’s nice to know you’re still ambitious.” She took the chair.

“This is my lovely fiancée, Beatrice.” He clinked his beer bottle against hers, then pointed it at Chrysabelle. “And this is the woman I’ve told you about. She’s one of those comarré.”

Chrysabelle smiled at the woman. “Are you ignus fae?”

Beatrice grinned. “You mean like his last girlfriend? Yes. But unlike her I’m here to stay.” She winked at Khell as she stood. “I’m going to freshen up while y’all chat.” She tipped her head at Chrysabelle. “Thank you for what you did for him.”

“Sure.” Chrysabelle waited until Beatrice left. “She’s a little different than your last girlfriend.”

“Why do you think I’m marrying her?” Khell sipped his beer.

“I’m a little surprised you’re here. I thought being Guardian would keep you busy.”

He shrugged. “It does, but I have lieutenants who run patrols, that sort of thing. This place has become my
unofficial office.” He tapped his thumb against the side of his bottle. “But I’m sure that’s not what you came to talk about.”

A multitude of scars and water rings marked the old wood tabletop. She traced one with her finger. “I need a favor. A big one.”

He leaned in. “Name it. Anything I can do to help, I will.”

She took a breath. “I need entrance to the Claustrum.”

He sat back. A bead of condensation rolled down his beer. “Anything but that.”

Barasa and Omur flanked a barely controlled Remo across from Doc’s desk. He knew this whole scene could turn bloody in a flash if he didn’t play it right. Just getting Remo from the holding cell in the basement to his office this morning had taken half of the on-staff security force. “I want you to know that I intend to put the full weight of the pride’s capabilities into this issue.”

Remo’s chest rose and fell with emotion. “This
issue
is a murder. I want the police involved.”

Barasa looked at him. “In a pride matter? That’s not how we handle things.”

Remo never took his eyes off Doc. “Perhaps I should call my father and tell him what’s been going on. Tell him that his daughter was actually murdered and that upon discovering this shocking news, his son was treated to a night in the pride’s jail.”

Doc growled softly. “You attacked my mate. You’re lucky a night in the basement is all you got.”

Remo stayed quiet a minute after that. When he spoke
again, the edge of anger was gone from his voice, leaving only the gruff sternness and fresh pain of finding out the truth about his sister. “I want the police involved because I want an impartial third party heading up this investigation.”

“So you don’t trust us?” Omur asked.

“Would you if the situation were reversed?”

“He’s got a point,” Doc said. “If I consent to that much and allow the police to investigate, will you give me your word to let them do their job and abide by their findings while not endangering anyone else in this pride? That means no fighting, no accusations, nothing that is outside the lines of acceptable behavior for a council member.”

Remo snorted softly. “Now you sound like my father.”

“Then I must be doing something right. Your father didn’t get where he is by making wrong decisions or bad deals.” Doc sighed. Why on earth had Fi kept that vial of sand? But then, she had no idea what it held. What damage it could do. “So, your word?”

Slowly, Remo shook his head. “On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“I will be a part of every discussion with the police or this council. I want to know everything that’s going on firsthand. I find out something’s gone on behind my back and I bring my father in.”

“Agreed.” Doc nodded at Omur. “Get Chief Vernadetto in here as soon as you can.”

Chrysabelle stood on the wide wraparound porch of Augustine’s home, the curved insets of leaded glass in the massive double doors sparkling in the late-morning sun.
Khell’s reaction to her request had sucked all the hope out of her and now, looking at this big beautiful place, she knew in her heart that Augustine wasn’t about to risk any of this for her, either. He hadn’t helped her the first time she’d been here, so why would this time be any different?

Fi nudged her side. “This place is huge. Like, crazy big. This fae must be loaded, huh?”

A new voice answered. “It’s not his house, darling.”

They both turned to see an older woman coming through the front yard, a basket of freshly cut flowers dangling off one arm. The other hand gripped a crystal-topped cane. More crystals decorated her velvet and fringe caftan.

“Holy crap,” Fi breathed. “You’re Olivia freaking Goodwin. The vampire queen.”

The woman laughed, her amber eyes sparkling in the light. “Only in the movies,
cher
. And those days are long past.” She climbed the steps to stand beside them, her gaze coming to rest on Chrysabelle. She leaned her cane against her side, then reached out and clasped Chrysabelle’s hand. “I remember you. You came here a while back with that handsome vampire. I like him.” She looked behind Chrysabelle. “Is he with you?”

“No, Ms. Goodwin, he’s—”

“Call me Livie. I told you that last time.” She brushed past and opened the door, leaving it open as she traipsed into the hall. She set her basket of flowers on a bench in the foyer before heading deeper into the house. “Augie, get your lazy bones up! We have visitors, so put clothes on before you come down.”

Fi’s eyes rounded and she looked at Chrysabelle like she might explode.

“Keep it together,” Chrysabelle whispered.

Fi nodded.

Livie turned around. “Are you two coming in or what? I’m not trying to share my business with the neighborhood.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Fi grabbed Chrysabelle’s hand and stepped inside, dragging her along.

Livie didn’t stop moving, so they followed. She swung a set of French doors open and went into the dining room. “I was just about to sit down to brunch. Have y’all eaten?”

“No, but—”

A hearty male laugh interrupted her. “Don’t you know better than to turn down Southern hospitality?” Augustine sauntered into the room with the same devilish charm and air of nonchalance as he’d had during their last visit. His open shirt trailed behind him as he finished buttoning his jeans. He helped Livie into a chair, then kissed her on the cheek. “Morning, my love.”

“It’s nearly lunch, you lazy thing.” Smiling, she reached up to pat the side of his head and ended up tousling his hair. That’s when Chrysabelle noticed the stump of a horn.

Augustine caught her staring. “I grind them down.”

“I wasn’t…” Heat burned her cheeks.

He smirked. “Not all of us feel the need to be so blatantly fae all the time.”

She nodded and paid closer attention to the way the silverware had been laid out. His horns, or what was left of them, seemed smaller than Mortalis’s, but besides that and Augustine’s skin being a paler shade of gray, the two fae were almost twins.

A maid, dressed in a black-and-white uniform, came
through a swinging side door. She set a vase of flowers on the center of the table. “Brunch will be right up. Beautiful flowers you got from the garden today, Ms. Livie.”

“Thank you, Lally.” Livie pointed the head of her cane at Chrysabelle and Fi. “As you can see, we’ve added a few to our party.”

“We’re really not here to eat,” Chrysabelle said.

“Speak for yourself,” Fi said. “When the one and only Olivia Goodwin invites me for brunch, I plan on eating.” She beamed at Olivia.

Olivia laughed. “I like this one. What’s your name,
cher
?”

“Fiona. But all my friends call me Fi. You can call me that too if you want.”

Olivia reached one spotted hand across the table. “Give me your hand, Fi. If you don’t mind. I like to read my guests.”

Augustine laughed from his chair beside her. “Watch out, she’s about to tell your life story.”

Fi hesitated, sucking in her bottom lip. “Then I should probably tell you I’m a ghost.”

Olivia drew her hand back slightly, her expression a little incredulous. “A ghost? Darling, you’re as solid as the day is long.”

Fi picked up her fork and held it flat on her open palm. A second later, the fork fell through Fi’s de-corporealized hand and clattered to the table. Sunlight from the transom windows filtered through Fi’s transparent figure. “I go both ways.”

Augustine whispered something in faeish.

“Well, now, that is the singular best parlor trick I’ve ever seen.” Olivia smiled and lifted her glass in toast.
“Here’s to the most interesting brunch I’ve had in a long time.”

Lally returned, setting several steaming dishes of food on the table, then went around filling coffee cups and juice glasses. While Augustine helped serve Olivia, she looked to Chrysabelle. “As wonderful as it is to see you, I’m sure you haven’t just come for a visit.” Her amber gaze took on an odd clarity and she dipped her head toward Chrysabelle. “Does your trip here have anything to do with that baby in your belly?”

C
reek hauled Mal through the corridors of the freighter, finally dumping him in a section of one that was completely free of sunlight. It would have to do. If he tried to find Mal’s actual room, chances were he’d get lost in the ship and end up stuck here until Mal came to and that had bad news written all over it. As it was, Mal was going to be highly irate at being shot and drugged. Common sense said the best thing to do was get scarce.

He worked his way out of the ship, but a few yards from the door he’d come in, he heard the sounds of someone else on deck. He inhaled, looking for a scent, but found nothing. He crept forward, wishing he knew the freighter better so he could find another way out.

The door was open a crack, so Creek peered through it. A vampire he didn’t recognize was leaving a container right outside the door. If not for the man’s noble facial structure, Creek wouldn’t have known he was looking at a vampire. It was like the man wasn’t there at all, like he created a dead spot in Creek’s senses.

Paole. There was no other explanation. Which meant this could be the vampire who’d turned the mayor. Creek
wished his crossbow wasn’t collapsed. Snapping it open would make too much noise. Instead, he reached for his halm and jumped through the door, pushing it open at the same time that he whipped his halm out to full length.