SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (108 page)

After Philippe had his fill of shuffling, he laid out ten cards. “I’ll start with the Celtic Cross,” he said. “It’ll answer our questions.”

“Such as ‘Who is Etienne?’ or ‘How can we definitely get rid of Etienne?’”

“I like that second one. I don’t care who he is as much as how we can wipe him from the face of the earth.”

Was it warped that we smiled at each other in total understanding?

He paused over the cards, a stray hank of hair from his ponytail dipping over his eye. “It’s getting late,
cher
. Or should I say early?”

I understood that, as well. “My awake time is running out.”

“I’m wondering if we should double up on tasks here. As I read the cards, it might be smart for you to get on that computer I booted up in the office.”

“I should ring Amari, too. Perhaps she can work up another spell on her end to do…whatever she does.”

“We could sure use some white magic.”

When he smiled at me, I nearly sighed, my belly fisting with longing. My, my, what a kick-arse toughie
I
was—and also quite a forgetful one, because hadn’t it been Philippe who had just told me in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t let me in? Hadn’t he made it clear that he needed to get me out of his system and there would be nothing emotional between us?

Besides, Matt and Michelle deserved better than a lust-struck fool who could hardly control her hormones.

I went into the back office, where a computer was indeed waiting for me. But before I searched for…what—“big bad supernatural meanies”?…I fetched my mobile from my bag and dialed Amari’s number.

Voice mail.

“Hi,” I said. “I thought I should tell you that Philippe and I are having some difficulty identifying what this killer is, and we would appreciate your performing a spell or working some magic on your end to give us a boost. Oh, also—the protection spell you put on us seems to be holding up, so…”

That was all I could think to say besides a “thank you.”

I cut the call and sat at the computer, finding an engine page, chewing my lip for a moment while wondering what to type. Finally, my fingers flew over the keyboard.

Supernatural killer disappear
.

I would start off vaguely, although I was tempted to add
duel
and
Etienne
. Those might be too specific at this point, though.

A list of links appeared, and all I could see were references to the Bermuda Triangle and a TV show about monsters.

Then I smelled something familiar.

The stench was not apparent at first, only a thought really.
Hell, this room is musty like most others in this city
, I concluded. But as the smell strengthened, I looked away from the computer, my heart rattling.

I knew that smell, and it was powerful enough to overcome everything else in the shop.

Subtly, I reached toward my bag. Would Philippe mind if I used the flamethrower in here?

Hold back on that negative energy
, I thought. Not that doing it was easy. But if this thing was a demon and negative energy was what fed him…

“You break my heart,” said a silky, low voice that filled the room.

Could Philippe hear Etienne from where he sat? And was it possible that this creature was focusing on me
because
of my negative energy? Was that the reason it always came to me first?

Or did he actually like me enough to court me longer than he had done with Michelle?

I didn’t shout for help, because that might scare off the very thing we had been hoping to encounter again. I merely swiveled my head to glance round the room, but there was nothing—only white walls and exotic, sheer material draped down from the ceiling.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, playing idiot.

“You hurt me,” the voice said. “You besmirched my honor.”

Where
was
he?

I kept my voice calm, my energy neutral. “I don’t mean to be rude, but we were defending ourselves, Etienne.”

“Ah. Did I scare you, my love?”

“Quite.”

That seemed to placate him while I tried to locate the creep. The moment I did, I was planning on making him really bleed.

Too late, I attempted to pull back on that negative energy.

His voice sounded again, on the other side of the room. “I waited for you to return to the park. I feared I might have approached you in a way that did not reflect my true intentions.”

Secretly, I was relieved that Etienne hadn’t been following Philippe and me all night. He had only been sulking at the oak.

I wrestled back a sarcastic thought like,
Poor Psycho Babycakes
, instead wheeling my chair over slightly so I could see out the door, where Philippe was still reading the cards. Maybe there was another reason Etienne hadn’t attacked him outright—the creature really did believe in dueling for that honor of his. Maybe he had some kind of code, even if he had needed to knock out a fellow like Matt to get him to the park to duel.

“Dawn,” Etienne said in a whisper that made me shudder, even if he was merely using the false name I had given him earlier. “I
will
have satisfaction for the slight against me when your
amour
fired his pistol in my direction. He missed, but I am not the sort who takes dishonorable advantage of a sitting duck in order to exact my reckoning.”

He was referring to Philippe at that desk, completely unaware of Etienne’s presence.

My pulse picked up when I thought I saw a patch on the wall that was darker than the rest. A shadow? His?

“Etienne,” I said, risking another question, “were you also busy leaving fake bodies by the Riverwalk tonight?”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, sounding terribly affronted.

“Never mind.”

He sailed right past the subject. Focused, wasn’t he? At least it sounded as if he hadn’t any part of the fake bodies tonight.

“In one hour,” he said, “you and your beau will meet me at Lafayette Cemetery number one. Since he’s so fond of the pistol, that will serve as our weapon of choice.”

A pistol sounded lovely to me. “Why don’t you want to meet at the Dueling Oak? Or why not have a duel here?”

“The authorities are too close to both places, my love.”

Just like back in the old days when duelists would go out of town limits for their face-offs. “But isn’t the cemetery closed right now?”

No answer.

I thought I saw something stir to the right of me, and as I got a bead on it, I stopped wasting time and reached inside my bag. The first weapon I came to was the dagger. Even if it hadn’t given
me
satisfaction earlier at the park when I’d cut Etienne, I grabbed it, flicked it up until I held the blade, then launched it.

It quivered in the wall. But, dammit all, the shadows had disappeared, and I cursed. He had left even before I asked about the cemetery being closed, hadn’t he?

Shite
.

Noting the lack of that musty smell in the room—yes, Etienne was certainly gone—I unstuck the dagger from the wall. Philippe was going to have some explaining to do to his boss, no doubt, but that was a situation for tomorrow.

I marched out of the room and stood in front of Philippe’s table. “We have an issue.”

He was concentrating so deeply that, when he looked at me, his gaze was unfocused.

“Etienne,” I said. “He just paid me a visit.”

He got out of his chair so quickly that it crashed to the floor. He reached for the revolver, which he had set on the table, and stalked toward the office.

“Gone,” I said. “But he’s expecting you in an hour at the Lafayette Cemetery for a duel.”

“He
what?
”

“If this were any other creature, I would venture that this is a trap, but I think he means to have a proper face-off. He’s rather serious about getting satisfaction from you. By using pistols.”

Philippe stayed silent a moment, absorbing the news. “Pistols?”

I merely nodded. He was accepting this news rather well.

A smile pulled at his mouth. “It’s only too bad Etienne doesn’t want to duel me with swords, because fencing was a class I took in high school.”

Before I could decide if he was jesting, he began laughing. He laughed and laughed until he leaned against a wall, shaking his head.

Accepting this as a normal reaction to all the lunacy, I returned to the office, sitting in the seat in front of the computer again, continuing my search for
Supernatural killer disappear
.

Counting down until we could leave for what I hoped was this creature’s last duel ever.

Shadows Till Sunrise: Chapter Seven

If I had been expecting to find any valid links during that computer search at the voodoo shop, I was dreaming, because no matter what I typed in, all that came up were freakish movies and books. It was as if no one took the supernatural seriously in the real world.

Wouldn’t they be shaken to know that truth was stranger than fiction, and Philippe and I were living proof?

At least he uncovered a piece or two of semi-encouraging information from his Tarot cards. They had told him that Etienne wasn’t the monster we were expecting and, in the end, we would find success—although, as with everything, there would be a price for it.

Imagine that.

As the clock ticked nearer to the hour of our face-off with Etienne, we biked to the leafy streets of the Garden District, then parked a block from the cemetery. Philippe checked his silver-bullet-loaded revolver plus my homemade flamethrower. To further our protection, he had meditated over a spell candle at the shop, and I had burned some of Amari’s herbs that would ward off evil.

Before we left the bike, Philippe spoke, keeping his voice low. “With all the hoppin’ around Etienne does, I’ll have to make sure not to waste silver bullets on him.”

“Do you have extras, besides what’s in your revolver?”

“Yeah, in my medicine bag.” He patted the small pouch he had attached to his belt loop. It couldn’t have held many bullets. “I could only get my hands on a few more.”

But the Tarot had also told Philippe that silver bullets would be beneficial, so we needed every one we could dig up. I trusted the Tarot, though, because the cards had also guided Philippe to the back door of the shop, which he had found unlocked.

“Etienne,” Philippe had muttered.

What sort of monster needed to slip in and out of a door? Not a demon. And even if the Tarot hadn’t told us that this was no demon we were facing, this evidence certainly went far in persuading us.

Now, as we held our weapons in hand, I noticed that the wind had picked up, and I scented rain on the air. Hopefully the skies wouldn’t open while we were on the hunt, but even more hopefully, I was crossing my fingers that there would be no security cameras, guards, or even robbers that were rumored to stalk New Orleans cemeteries, waiting for unsuspecting victims between the aboveground tombs. It was also too late for tours, and thank the stars for that, because the last thing we needed was innocent bystanders in the way.

“You ready?” Philippe asked, handing me one of the torches—what Yanks called flashlights—he had taken from the shop.

“As ever.”

I sounded confident, but St. John Ortega’s psychic warning was scrolling through my head:
Before this is over, that creature’s gonna get to you
.

What
had
he meant by “getting to” me? There were a number of possibilities, and I wasn’t going to stand here parsing through them all.

I adjusted my bag, raring to go, only to be stopped by Philippe’s voice.

“Lilly?” He sounded torn, like a shroud ripped to pieces.

When I glanced at him, his jaw was hard, shadowed by the moonlight and streetlamps. It was as if he had a million things to say to me, yet he wouldn’t allow himself the release.

My heart gave itself a squeeze, shockingly tender and pained at the same time. I smiled, showing him that we would survive this, as we had survived everything before.

He stroked his knuckles over my cheek, his mouth in a hard line, as if keeping back even more words. My pulse mocked a ticking clock—time marching toward our face-off with a creature of so-called honor, minutes passing until I would fall into my magic sleep once more, waking up as a different Lilly.

I cupped my hand over Philippe’s and leaned into his palm. I kissed his wrist, and his fingers closed into a fist as he slowly pulled away.

“Time to go,” he said.

As he began to walk toward the cemetery, I swore that I had just seen behind Philippe’s mask. The man of no commitment had certainly seemed as if he had nearly told me he was thinking of one…

I tried to ignore my cracking heart as I shadowed him, glancing at the columned houses and boutique businesses that had gone dark for the night. Even Commander’s Palace, across from the cemetery walls, stood lonely and dim, closed for dining.

When we reached the entrance, the wrought-iron words
Lafayette Cemetery
arcing above the closed gates, I pushed out a breath. Fingers crossed for no guards or cameras…

It was simple enough to climb the gate and vault myself over it, dropping to the ground in a crouch. Philippe even had an easy time entering as I surveyed everything round us: lanes of pale tombs that looked like houses, magnolia trees, walls with temporary vaults embedded in them. A city of the dead, and as I rose to a stand, I saw a statue of an angel over the roofs of the tombs, as if the stone creature were guarding the night.

Silently, Philippe and I brandished our weapons while keeping our torches off. We didn’t wish to tip off Etienne that we were approaching just yet.

Philippe pointed to the main lane, and as we walked it, we passed family tombs with the plaster breaking off and exposing brick underneath like skin peeling away from a scarred face. There were flat tombs with retaining walls, raising the graves off the soil like beds surrounded by weeds. And then there were large society crypts fenced in by iron spires. People had left a variety of good wishes on the houses of the dead—Mardi Gras beads, decorated shoes, flowers in pots, all shaded in the wan moonlight.

The cemetery wasn’t as large as most, and soon we reached the other side, where a dilapidated shack—an abandoned gatehouse?—waited. No Etienne so far.