House of the Rising Sun (17 page)

Nothing made sense at first. Then slowly she began to separate a few things. The scent of sweat and the image of gray skin on gray skin had to be from Dulcinea. Revolted, she pushed that aside and tried to pull something useful from the onslaught, but some of the images went by so quickly they were gone before she could interpret them.

They sped by, each one as fragmented as the next, none of them lasting long enough for her to latch on to.

Her frustration built until at last something clean enough to read came through. A woman’s name. She yanked her hands off Dulcinea’s arm and gasped for breath. Her heart thumped like it might explode. “Helen. Does that mean anything? I saw the name Helen.”

Dulcinea looked at Augustine. “Was that the female you killed?”

He shook his head, so grateful for what Harlow had done but telling her wouldn’t do any good. “I don’t know her name. Still, it seems familiar.” Instead, he leaned toward her. “Harlow, are you okay? Your heart sounds like it might explode.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “I forgot you could hear that.” She put a hand to her chest. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t so sure. She was breathing openmouthed, but obviously didn’t want to be fussed over. He tried to think why the name should mean something. “What else did you see?
Anything you remember could be useful, even if you think it’s not.”

She slouched in the chair and stared at the ceiling like she was trying to recall what had just happened. “All I remember is a jumble of bits and pieces, nothing really clear until that name came across.”

“How did it look?” he asked.

She scrolled a finger through the air. “Fancy. Like calligraphy. White on black. Maybe fabric.” She nodded. “Something that moved like… like it was blowing in the wind? It seemed familiar, but I don’t know why. It’s not like I know this town well enough to recognize anything. Except that… it smelled like the French Quarter. Maybe.”

The first nudge of an idea straightened him. “Are you sure it was Helen? Maybe it was Helene?”

Dulcinea’s eyes widened. She had to be thinking the same thing he was.

Harlow closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked at him. “Yes, that’s it. Helene.”

Anticipation zipped through him. “Hot damn. I know where the vampires are,” he answered. “Hotel St. Helene.”

T
he phone rang but Augustine ignored it. Lally would answer it and he was too amped up with this new information to talk about anything else. He caught Dulcinea’s gaze. “Beatrice will want in on this. Those vamps killed Khell and she wants blood just as much as we do.”

“I’m sure she does,” Dulcinea answered. “And Beatrice is a lot more lethal than she looks. You know how vampires feel about fire.”

“So long as she doesn’t ignite them before I find out who’s behind all this.”

Harlow pulled her feet onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her pulse was slowly winding down, putting Augustine’s mind at ease that the stress of the read had been too much for her. He needed her help, but not at the cost of her health. No matter what she thought of him, she was still Olivia’s daughter. That was reason enough to protect her. Not because he was having any kind of feelings for this amber-eyed hellion who just wanted him gone. No, it was all because of Olivia. For her sake, he’d do whatever it meant to keep Harlow from harm.

She looked at him. “You’re just going to go after them? Three against how many ever there are?”

He nodded. “Pretty much. You have a better idea?”

“I could… go with you.” She hugged her knees tighter, reminding Augustine of a scared little girl. Maybe that’s all Harlow really was. He felt sorry for her, not pity exactly, but the
kind of sorry that lay heavy on his heart for taking her mother away from her. Despite the distance between Harlow and Livie, Harlow had obviously loved her mother to some extent. Your mother was your mother, no matter what.

“Absolutely not.”

She stopped hugging her knees to drop her feet to the floor. “I could be a lookout or
something
.” The words were almost a whisper. “She was
my
mother.”

Before he could say anything, Lally came in. “That phone call was from Miss Olivia’s lawyer. He said if we wanted to come in early, we could since he had another appointment cancel.”

“Fine with me.” He looked at Harlow. “You okay with that?”

“I can be ready in a few minutes.” She seemed subdued since the reading. Had something else come through that she wasn’t sharing? At least the call had given her something else to focus on besides accompanying them on the raid.

He turned to Dulcinea. “Will you stay and keep an eye on the house? They’re supposed to deliver Livie’s urn this afternoon.” He couldn’t bring himself to say ashes. It just seemed so… final.

“Of course.” Dulcinea smiled at Lally. “Any chance I can raid the fridge?”

Lally’s joy at the opportunity to unload some food was obvious. “I’d be happy if you would. People’ve brought so much food I’m out of room.”

Dulcinea rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Oh, I’ll make you some room, don’t you worry.”

Harlow stood, her face still not registering much readable emotion. What else had she seen? “Ten minutes and I’ll be back down.” She left, moving like she was walking through mud.

Lally disappeared after her, leaving him and Dulcinea alone.

She leaned over, her voice low. “I think your little fae got more than she bargained for.”

Harlow wasn’t his, but correcting Dulcinea would do zero good. He frowned instead. That was exactly what he’d been afraid of. “Like what?”

“I couldn’t read anything that came through—it whipped by so fast my fingers are still tingling—but I could certainly feel it. There was a lot of energy flowing through me. A lot.” Dulcinea bit her lip. “I can’t be sure some of my own stuff didn’t leak through.”

“Like what?”

“Like I might have been thinking about something you and I did a long time ago—”

“Dulce, why would you do that?”

She threw her hands up. “I was worried she might get a whiff of it, so I was trying really hard not to think about it, which turned into me thinking about it.” She raised her brows a tiny bit. “Sorry.”

“Damn it. That’s not going to help.” Augustine sighed. There was nothing he could do about it now—except hope the fallout didn’t come back to bite him. “What’s done is done. We got what we need and she won’t have to do it again. That’s probably all she cares about anyway. Besides getting me out of this house.”

He stood and Dulcinea got up with him. She hitched her thumb toward the back of the house. “I’m off to the kitchen. When you get back, I can help you pack up your stuff if you want.”

“Thanks. For everything.”

“You got it.” She waved as she walked out, and his mind shifted to what Livie had left in her will for him and Lally. He really hoped it wasn’t much. Taking anything from her when he was responsible for her death seemed very, very wrong.

A half hour later, the three of them sat in Lionel Cuthridge’s office, Lally in the middle, Harlow and him in the side chairs.

Lionel adjusted his glasses, a sheaf of official papers before him. He glanced over his frames at Lally. “I’ll start with you, Miss Hughes.”

She nodded stiffly, her small purse clutched on her lap, her mouth a thin, tense line.

“Let me see now,” Mr. Cuthridge began. “Yes, here it is. To Eulalie Hughes, my dearest friend and most abiding companion, I bequeath the sum of two million dollars and the case of Macallan in the wine vault.”

Harlow glanced over, surprise plain on her face.

Lally’s expression froze as she leaned forward. “I don’t believe I heard you right.”

Mr. Cuthridge glanced up from the papers. “Miss Goodwin has left you two million dollars and if I may say so, a case of very fine Scotch whisky.”

Augustine barely heard the jump of her pulse over the thud of his own. He could only pray Livie hadn’t been remotely that generous with him. She wouldn’t be, would she? She’d already done so much for him and they weren’t blood relatives. Not that that had ever stopped him from thinking of Olivia as family. Lally had been with her longer, too. That had to come into play, didn’t it?

“Two million.” Lally breathed the words out like a prayer. “I can’t accept that. It’s too much.”

Mr. Cuthridge smiled. “You may do whatever you like with the money, but you do have to accept it. It’s what Miss Goodwin wanted you to have.”

She turned to Augustine. “What do I do?”

He reached out and squeezed her hand. “You take it. It’s what Livie wanted.”

Lally nodded, as if she was suddenly coming to her senses. “I can’t believe Miss Olivia did that. Except that I can.” Her eyes welled up. “That woman. God bless her soul.”

Mr. Cuthridge continued. “Now, on to Harlow Goodwin and Augustine Robelais.” More shuffling of papers. “Here we
are. I, Olivia Goodwin, do hereby bequeath to my daughter, Harlow Goodwin, half of my current estate to include—”

Harlow’s mouth dropped open.

Mr. Cuthridge continued. “All monetary assets such as stocks and bonds, accrued interest, film and television residuals, and to include all and any other sources as handled by my trust which shall be purposed for maintaining the Garden District property. In addition, I hereby bequeath the other half of my current estate to Augustine Robelais, also to include all listed monetary assets. These details are laid out in the trust.”

Augustine went cold.

“In addition, Harlow shall not be permitted to sell the Garden District property to anyone but Augustine and Augustine shall not be permitted to sell the Garden District property to anyone but Harlow. Nor shall they be permitted to sell the Garden District property jointly and divide the profit or loss.

“Furthermore, the funds generated by the estate, including royalties, investments and other incomes, are to be administered by the executor of the trust for the sole purpose of maintaining the Garden District property and satisfying the expenses generated by said property.”

Harlow paled. “There’s nothing else? No letter? No envelope of information? No paperwork? Nothing about who my father might be? Can you check again? Maybe you missed something.”

Cuthridge shook his head. “I’m sorry, there is only what I read.”

Her shoulders slumped forward. “That’s it then. Not a word about my father and half the house. And he gets the other half? And neither of us can sell it unless we own the whole thing? And on top of that, all the money in the trust is so the house can be taken care of?”

“That’s exactly what this means, Miss Goodwin.” Mr.
Cuthridge turned to Augustine. “Do you have any questions about the meaning of this decree?”

He sat back, his disappointment at being included in Livie’s will not great enough to keep him from smiling. Guilt overwhelmed him, but he had no questions. He knew exactly what Livie had done. How she must have laughed when she’d finalized this plan, knowing what trouble she would cause. “That was perfectly clear to me.” Beside him Lally covered her mouth with her hand.

Harlow stood, trembling slightly. “I need to sell that house.” She looked at Augustine. “You have to sell me your half so I can sell it outright. Please.” She pointed at Mr. Cuthridge. “I can do that, right? Sell the whole thing if he sells me his half?”

“Yes,” Mr. Cuthridge answered. “That would be perfectly allowable.”

Augustine raised a finger. “Now I do have a question. What’s the house worth?”

Mr. Cuthridge thought a moment. “I’m not a Realtor, you understand, but current market value seems to me to be around twelve and a half million dollars.”

“Thank you.” Augustine steepled his fingers and smiled at Harlow. Clearly, Livie had wanted her daughter here in New Orleans. He could at least hold up that end of her machinations. “I’ll give you a deal. You can buy my half for five million.”

“Five mil—are you out of your mind? I don’t have that kind of money.”

Neither did he, something Livie had no doubt planned on. Augustine stood and offered Lally his hand to help her up. “Then you don’t have my half of the house, either.”

Disappointment weighing her down, Harlow slumped in the backseat of her mother’s Bentley while Lally and Augustine
chattered on about how wonderful Olivia was. Harlow wanted to beg them to be quiet, but she wasn’t sure what else might come out of her mouth, so she tried to ignore them. How could Olivia not have at least provided the name of the man who’d fathered her? A name. Was that so much to ask? Apparently, it was. Now, not only did she still have a gaping hole in her heart, but she also couldn’t touch any of her mother’s money,
and
Olivia had only left her half the house. What was she going to do with half a house?

Not much, that’s what.

She would never know who her father was, never pay her fine off, never keep herself from going to prison. Her dreams were dying. Forget that, they were dead. As dead as her… she couldn’t stop the word
mother
from popping into her head and immediately felt awful about it. She was the worst daughter ever. In truth, undeserving of the half of the house she was getting. Not that she cared that much about the house. She’d give it up for her father’s name.

Her gaze went back to the driver’s seat. Augustine probably did deserve his half. He’d kept Olivia company, watched over her, been the dutiful child Harlow hadn’t been. Except for leading the vampires back to the house, something she was sure he hadn’t done intentionally, he’d been exactly what Olivia had needed. A substitute for Harlow.

Which made her despise him and appreciate him at the same time. She was happy he’d been there for her mother, but without him in the picture, Olivia would still be alive. Maybe that wasn’t fair. And maybe it was. While he’d never have knowingly led trouble to her mother’s door, the fact remained that he had.

He’d caused her mother’s death. Caused this rift in Harlow’s reality. And now he was being rewarded for it.

And she was going to prison.

She tucked her head against the side of the leather seat. All
she wanted to do was go home to her little apartment, disappear into her computers and forget any of this had happened until the date came for her to turn herself in. Her professional reputation would be ruined and she’d probably be in debt for the rest of her life, but what could she do about it? Hacking had gotten her into this mess in the first place. They were watching her now. Anything more than a minor account tweak and they’d probably haul her back to court and charge her with something new.

Maybe Augustine would get killed in the line of duty and she’d become sole heir.

Shocked at herself, she squeezed her eyes closed and wished the universe would ignore the horrible thought that had just passed through her brain. She didn’t mean it, not even a little bit.

She needed a change of scenery. Some space between her and Augustine until she could return home, because if he owned half the house there was no way he was going to leave it. Sitting in the library reading her mother’s dusty old books or playing her RPGs wasn’t going to cut it, because both of those things meant she was still in the house. With him. And that was the last place she wanted to be right now.

Lally looked back at Harlow. “You have any special requests for dinner? I’m sure Dulcinea’s done a good job on what’s in the fridge, but there’s no way she’ll have eaten the whole ham. I could—”

“I’m not going to be around for dinner.”