House of the Rising Sun (18 page)

Lally’s brows went up. “You going somewhere, Miss Harlow?”

“Down to the French Quarter. I just need to get out for a while.” As much as she hated crowds, it seemed like the perfect place to get lost.

Augustine looked at her through the rearview mirror. “I can drive you.”

Like hell. She was trying to get away from him, not get closer. “I have a car. I can drive myself there.”

Lally smiled softly. “I understand not wanting to be in the house, child. With the florists coming this evening and all…” She nodded approvingly. “You go on down to the Quarter and have some fun. Forget all this mess for a while.”

“It’s not safe,” Augustine mumbled.

“Neither is going on that raid,” Harlow shot back. She should at least be allowed to observe.

“It’s fine.” Lally put her hand on Augustine’s shoulder. “There’s lots of crowds and she’s a grown woman. She knows not to go off with a stranger.”

“You sure about that?” Augustine met Harlow’s eyes in the rearview mirror and gave her a knowing look. She turned away, feeling heat rise in her face. Too bad he wasn’t still a stranger.

Lally tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “She can look after herself.”

“Thank you.” Harlow pointed the comment in Lally’s direction. Augustine could crash and burn for all she cared. Which she didn’t.

Dulcinea greeted them at the door with the announcement that Olivia’s ashes had been delivered. The news hit Harlow with a sense of finality that almost doubled her over. She held on to the kitchen counter to keep from crumbling to her knees.

That’s how it had been these last few days. The pain came in waves, hitting her when she least expected it. Drinking a cup of coffee. Brushing her hair. Hearing that what was left of her mother now fit into a small, ceramic vase. What Harlow craved was a way to quell the storm. To escape.

Which is exactly what she did. Within half an hour, she’d left her car in a parking garage and hit Bourbon Street, happy to be anywhere but her mother’s home, even if it was the dirty, smelly chaos of this constant street party. The crowd was different
than the night of
Nokturnos
. No masks, of course, but also the people around her were almost exclusively human. Her people, she thought. Still frightening, but a drink or two would fix that and it was still better than being surrounded by the crazy fae who wanted to pull her into their world and make her into a bigger freak than she already was.

A sign advertised frozen hurricanes. She’d yet to try one of those, so she aimed toward the blinking neon with the goal of lifting her mental state and forgetting, at least for a couple hours, what these last few days had dumped on her.

Hurricane in hand, which tasted more like a fruit punch slushy than anything alcoholic, she ducked off Bourbon to wander the rest of the Quarter she’d yet to see. She studied the tourists as they went by, most so happy they bordered on oblivion. How did you get to that place in your life? How did you find that kind of happiness? Head filled with unanswerable questions, she window-shopped, staring at pretty things she’d never be able to afford and had no reason to buy. What good was a black studded messenger bag in prison?

The food aromas wafting from a small café reminded her that she hadn’t had much to eat, but the drink, which was almost gone, had taken the edge off her hunger. Inhaling the drink had been her plan from the beginning. Get buzzed, enjoy the blur, then waste more time walking off the buzz until she was clearheaded enough to drive home.

As she turned a corner, music greeted her. A raucous mix of a man’s gravelly voice accompanied by horns and other instruments. The earthy, joyous sounds pulled her along. She sucked down the last of the slush, dropped the cup in a bin and followed the bluesy rasp. Her path took her past a big white church and out into an open square.

The music came from a group in the corner closest to her, the men dressed in suits and ties and playing like they couldn’t
imagine anything better to do with their time. She smiled as she listened, nodding her head along. At the start of the next song, she dug a single from her pocket and dropped it into the open instrument case in front of the group. Judging from the pile of plastic already in there, they were doing okay.

A flash of envy hit her. What a simple life. Play some music, make some money, have no cares. But that was the alcohol, wasn’t it? No one’s life was carefree.

She wandered farther down the square. All along the fenced, landscaped center were rows of vendors. Colorful paintings, jewelry, T-shirts. Nothing she could imagine buying, but interesting to look at.

“Tell your fortune?”

“Hmm?” Harlow looked to see where the voice was coming from. The woman smiling back at her appeared too sophisticated to be reading palms. Her silky black hair was swept into a high ponytail and her elegant ivory sweater and pants seemed out of place for the square—the whole city, actually—but somehow perfect for her. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

The woman nodded at Harlow’s gloves as if she understood the desire not to be touched. “I don’t read palms.” She overturned a tall silver cup about the size of a toothbrush holder, spilling a rainbow of crystals and cut gems onto her creamy velvet tablecloth. “I read stones. Much more accurate.”

“Wow.” Harlow moved closer, drawn to the rich colors and sharp facets. The stones sparkled with inner fire.

“Sit,” the woman offered. “It’s just for fun.”

Harlow suddenly wanted to sit even though she knew it was the alcohol making the decision. She didn’t care. She was tired of caring. “How much does this fun cost?”

“Less than a fancy dinner.” The woman smiled and tapped a small ivory placard with the prices neatly printed in simple black font.

Compelled for no real reason except maybe the alcohol, Harlow pulled a few shiny plastic bills from her wad of ill-gotten cash and handed them over as she took a seat. “Why not, right? I came down here to do touristy things and have some fun. This is both of those.”

The bills were already off the table, although Harlow hadn’t seen the woman touch them. She scooped the crystals back into their silver cup. “I am Giselle, mistress of the crystals and keeper of the light. And you are?”

“Harlow, mistress of the interwebs and keeper of the servers.” She laughed. The hurricane had made her more clever than usual. “Harlow’s kind of a weird name, I know. My mother was in love with all the old movie actresses.”

Giselle’s expression stayed true. “It’s a beautiful name. Now, please, don’t tell me anything more about yourself. I prefer to let the crystals speak to me unaided.” She put the silver container in front of Harlow. “Cover this with your hand and think to yourself one question you’d like to have answered. Don’t tell me what it is.”

“Is this going to work with the glove on?”

“You may take it off if you like, but psychic energy is not constrained by fabric.”

“Cool.” Harlow left her glove on and placed her hand over the container’s opening. Her head was a little fuzzy, so she closed her eyes to help her think. Questions, questions, questions. What did she want to know? So many things. Too many things to put into one question. Would she ever find out who her father was? Could she find a way to stay out of jail? Would she ever get the other half of the house from Augustine? Would she ever kiss him again?
Whoa.
Scratch that. Not something she cared about
at all
. What she needed to know was if there was any chance of her paying that fine. Or would her hacking get her into trouble
again? Finally, a question that encompassed several thoughts.
What’s coming next?

She opened her eyes as she took her hand off the cup. “Okay, I thought of something.”

Giselle picked up the cup. “Very good.” She whispered a few words over it, then tipped the container out, spilling the stones across the velvet. They twinkled like an alien sky. She stared at them intently, not saying anything for almost a minute.

“What is it? Bad news?” Harlow laughed. “Go ahead, I can take—”

“Quiet,” Giselle snipped. She raised her eyes to Harlow, her voice a little softer. “I must have quiet.”

Harlow made her best
whatever
face, but Giselle was back to studying the stones. They
were
pretty. And probably expensive.

Giselle pointed to the first cluster, where one long purple crystal touched another long clear shard. “You don’t like the situation you’re in.”

Well, that was generic. Harlow popped her head to one side. “Who does?”

Giselle breathed out, slowly and controlled. Her fingers moved to the next cluster. Three tiny faceted green gems lay in a row almost parallel to a polished stick of something black. “You feel like someone else is responsible for your trouble.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” What a waste of plastic. Even through the soft boozy fog, she realized the woman in front of her was a con artist. A convincing one, but a scammer nonetheless. “I could tell fortunes like this.”

Frustration marred Giselle’s model good looks and darkened her brown eyes. “A recent disappointment has caused you to reconsider your future.”

Harlow paused. That was pretty dead-on. Then she forced herself to laugh. No way was she getting sucked in by this
nonsense. “Okay, I guess I should have realized sooner that this was just another tourist trap—”

“A parent is about to put you in danger,” Giselle snapped.

Harlow froze as a new wave of grief hit her. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s not meant to amuse you. I tell only what the crystals reveal.” With a satisfied air, she moved on to the next grouping, two rough crystals, a pale yellow round and a muddy orange oval. “You will see a foe in a new light and be forced to make a choice.”

Harlow pushed up from the chair, wobbling slightly. “I don’t have enemies.” Unless you counted the CCU. And the client who had set her up in the first place. And maybe Augustine a tiny bit. “None of what you said makes sense.”

Giselle crossed her arms and sat back. “I do not conjecture. I only read.”

“Whatever, it’s all garbage you made up.” Harlow shook her head, almost loosening the clip holding up her hair. “None of it will come true.”

“Everything I read comes true.” Giselle lifted one shoulder. “You will see.”

“No, I won’t. There’s no way one of my parents can hurt me. You know how I know?” Harlow backed away, bumping into someone. She’d come here to forget. So much for that. “Both my parents are dead.”

G
iselle watched her customer rush off and disappear down Pirates Alley alongside St. Louis Cathedral. Something was odd about that girl Harlow. No fae ever sat at her table, tourist or otherwise. They just didn’t mix with witches, as a rule. Sure, there was the occasional tourist with such a slight percentage of fae blood they were unaware of it, but this girl had gloves on. That meant she knew what she carried in her veins and she either feared it or didn’t know how to control it enough to manage casual contact.

Both, most likely.

Odder still was the one thing the crystals had spelled out but Giselle hadn’t spoken of. A sense of coming power, like something important was about to happen and this girl was a part of it. Almost in the midst of it. And not just something in her life, but something bigger, something with roots that sank deep into the city’s foundations.

It unsettled her enough that she scooped up the crystals and funneled them back into the silver cup, then screwed the lid on and tucked them into her bag. What she’d read might be nothing, but it might also be something her father should know about. Pulling out her LMD, she scrolled through the incoming information, but there was no word from him yet.

Every othernatural in the city was waiting to see who the next Guardian would be, the witches included. If the Elektos hadn’t done so already, they would soon appoint a new Guardian and
when that fae came to meet with her father, she was sure he’d at least text her to let her know who it was.

She’d rather meet the new Guardian herself. That way she could charm him and get him on her side, determine how pliable he would be, how much she could bend him to give the witches more freedom. Help him see that the time had come for the constraints on her people to be loosened.

Her father was not a young man. His years crept over him a little more every day, but like most men he was stubborn, refusing to abdicate the leadership position to her. Eventually her father would have no choice and if this new Guardian was smart, he would understand that and realize how important getting Evander’s daughter on his side was. She smiled. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter after her father’s death.

With him gone, and the power of the younger witches behind her, she might find a way to rid the city of the fae and their Guardian once and for all.

And then, just as New Orleans had belonged to the witches at its founding, so would the city again. She was tired of being regulated by the fae, of having to license her spells and register each year as a practicing witch. Just because her great-great-grandmother of centuries past had put a curse on the city? Foolishness.

But all in good time. All in good time.

Augustine took a good look around the main hall of the Pelcrum. Seems he’d beaten Fenton here, but Fenton wasn’t driving a Thrun, either. At least not that Augustine knew. Maybe there were too many tourists hanging around and Fenton was waiting for them to clear out before he came down.

Either way, Augustine wasn’t wasting the opportunity to
investigate. He started with the holding cells, walking directly to the one the vampire had died in. The cell was still open. He crouched and sifted a handful of ash through his fingers, impatient to get to the Hotel Helene, but going in alone, without any real idea of what to expect, could turn ugly fast. He needed more backup and until Fenton brought in the other lieutenants he wouldn’t know who else he could trust.

Something gleamed on the floor farther back in the cell. He brushed the ash away and pulled out a tarnished silver cross. No markings or decoration on either side. He sniffed it, pulling back at the bitter tang of dark magic that shot through the acridness of the ash. Had this been what had killed the vampire?

“Augustine?” Fenton’s voice rang out.

Augustine stood, slipping the cross into his pocket. Until he knew who he could trust, this evidence stayed with him. “In here.” He went to meet Fenton in the hall. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. We need to talk about the lieutenants.”

“I assumed that’s what you’d called me here for.” Fenton pointed ahead. “Let’s go to the war room then.”

When they were seated at the big round table, Augustine laid out part of what he knew. “I have a lead on where the vamps are holed up, but I don’t want to go in alone.” He raised a hand. “I’ve chosen two new lieutenants, but obviously, that’s not going to be enough.”

“Who are they?”

“Dulcinea and Beatrice.”

Fenton’s brows rose. “The changeling and Khell’s widow? They’re both powerful enough.”

“And loyal. I trust Dulcinea with my life and Beatrice has very good reasons to want these leeches cleaned out of our city. Right now, I don’t know who else to trust.” Especially since Yanna had told him not to trust anyone—and she was Elektos.

“Your choices are fine with me, but they will need to take
the brand before they can be officially recognized.” He looked down at the table, a slight shadow of disappointment darkening his face. “You can trust me.”

Augustine let a few seconds slip by. “I believe that, but put yourself in my position. Look how much has been thrown at me in such a short time. The facts are that someone on the inside is letting vamps into this city and those vampires have already killed Khell, Olivia and a handful of tourists.” He sighed. “I have no reason not to trust you, Fenton. But I can’t be the same person I used to be. I have to think about every decision I make now because it affects so many more people than just me.”

Fenton nodded. “I understand and I applaud that thinking.” He rested his forearm on the table between them, unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve. Two faint puncture marks.

Augustine frowned. It took a lot to scar a fae, but caustic vampire saliva could do it if the fae was young. “You were bitten?”

“I was attacked when I was a kid. A pack of vampires very much like the ones running loose in our city now. They were vicious, hunting us out of sport and for the misguided belief that they might gain some of our powers.”

There was no other reason for vampires to hunt fae since the leeches hated the taste of fae blood.

Fenton’s chin dropped, his gaze fixed on the scars. “They killed my little sister in front of me and would have killed me, too, if not for some other fae that heard her screams and came running.”

Augustine swallowed. Cypher fae were some of the most vulnerable of their kind. “I’m really sorry.”

Fenton shoved his glasses back on his nose, then rolled his sleeve down and buttoned his cuff, a hardness in his eyes Augustine had never seen before. “You have to know you can trust me.”

“You’re right. I have to start somewhere.” Augustine tapped
the table. It was good to have another ally, even if it was an unlikely source. Did he trust Fenton a hundred percent? No, but after Fenton’s story, Augustine thought the cypher was a safe bet. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver cross, then pushed it across the table to Fenton. “I found this in the vampire’s ashes.”

Fenton picked it up and examined it, then just as Augustine had done, he sniffed it. His lip curled. “Dark magic. Black magic.”

“Exactly.” He pointed at the cross. “Someone used that to kill the vampire in that cell before I could talk to him. Someone with access to this place, so that leads me to my next question. Who else can we trust? Which of the lieutenants?”

Fenton set the cross down, then pulled out his LMD and tapped the screen, scrolling through some icons until he came to the one he wanted. He tapped it and a list appeared on his screen. “There are seven lieutenants. There are only three I’m willing to vouch for.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Khell’s cousin, Dreich. Like Khell, he’s got enough wysper in him to channel the scream that kills vampires, but not enough that he’s mute. He and Khell were raised like brothers. He’s chomping at the bit to find these vampires and exact his revenge.”

“Finding the person responsible for letting these vampires into the city is more important. We need to cut them off entirely. Think Dreich would share his ideas on who might be behind this?”

“I’m sure he would.” Fenton continued. “Then there’s Sydra, who is half dryad, half saboteur. Because of her dryad side, she can only decay natural things, but that dryad side is what also makes her completely trustworthy.” Fenton canted his head as if to say there was no question about her loyalty.

“Agreed.” Dryads were a type of fae who were anchored to their place of birth. If they were removed from it, or something
happened to their home, they would die. “She’s not going to do anything to hurt the city. Another good one to talk to.”

Fenton held up a third finger. “Last one is Cylo. He’s an ethos fae—”

“That’s a mimic, right? Aren’t they a little rare?”

“Yes. Good job.” Fenton’s smile carried an edge of sympathy.

“I’m not a complete novice.”

“No, you’re certainly not. Anyway, Cy is an ethos, but his real talent lies in his true form. He’s a brute. Enormous. About six eight, neck like a tree trunk with a body to match and a will to fight that doesn’t quit. Fortunately for us, he’s also exceptionally loyal.”

Augustine had a slow, sinking feeling. He whistled low. “This Cy, is he really good with knives? Like blindfolded circus freak good?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“Sort of.” Augustine glanced at the ceiling. “I accidentally slept with his girlfriend once.
Ex
-girlfriend now, so hopefully he won’t hold that against me anymore, but damn, that’s not going to be a fun meeting.”

“Accidentally?” Fenton held up a hand. “Don’t explain. If he decides to quit, we’ll make do.”

“That’s our team then. Let’s call them in and see where they stand. I want to hit that hotel as soon as possible.”

Fenton leaned back. “If the vampires are keeping the same kind of schedule here as most mortals do, that means they’re staying out late and sleeping through most of the day, much like they normally would.”

Augustine nodded. “Old habits die hard.”

Fenton traced the grain of the wood in the table. “The best time to hit them would be right before daybreak. It would give us time to get everyone on the same page and map out a plan.”

“I hate waiting, but I also don’t want to waste a trip and tip
them off.” Augustine wanted to make this a decisive strike. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Good. I’ll arrange things on this end, you take care of Dulcinea and Beatrice. The goal will be to meet at the hotel at dawn. I’ll make sure Dreich, Sydra and Cy know we want the leader captured alive for questioning.”

“Excellent. Will you be there?”

“No. Elektos rarely engage in these kinds of hands-on missions—”

“I figured. The Elektos are more the paper-pushing, number-crunching, rule-making politicos.”

Fenton shrugged. “We are. But I will make sure the other three lieutenants understand what needs to be done. They’ll be there, ready to go.” He looked at Augustine. “There’s still the matter of meeting with Evander. We can’t put it off much longer. He’ll know there’s a new Guardian soon, if he doesn’t already, and we risk an imagined slight if you don’t go see him soon.”

“I’ll go now.” It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but he understood his new position came with some unpleasant but necessary chores. “Unless you have a better idea.”

“Let me set it up.” Fenton punched in a number on his LMD. “Evander, please.” A few seconds ticked by. “Evander, how are you. Fenton Welch here.” He nodded. “I figured you’d heard. Yes, it was, very unfortunate.” A short pause. “We do as a matter of fact and he’d like to stop in and see you. Right now, actually. You are? Wonderful. He’ll be by shortly.” Then he tapped the screen to end the call, tapped it a few more times and set the LMD down. “It’s all set. I’ve sent the address to you.”

“Can I question him about the magic on the cross?”

Fenton nodded. “Absolutely, just don’t expect much of an answer. The coven is a very closed circle. They protect their own just like we do ours. But good luck.”

“I figured as much.” Augustine stayed seated. “One question. What happens to the lieutenants I no longer want? If they bear the brand, they have access to the Pelcrum. How secure can this place be if that’s true?”

“If you decide not to reinstate them, they will be moved to other positions or retired. It happens.” Fenton cringed slightly. “Some occasionally choose to have their brands removed.”

“That sounds unpleasant.”

“It is. As far as the Pelcrum goes, they’ve been sworn to secrecy. If any of them is found to have revealed this place or even spoken of it in a way that puts us at danger, they will have their tongue cut out before being imprisoned in the Claustrum.”

Augustine raised his brows. “That’s medieval.”

“Perhaps, but that’s how we’ve kept this place safe.”

“How many retired, still-branded lieutenants are out there?”

“In other words, how many other people have access to the Pelcrum outside of current staff?” Fenton nodded as if he understood. “Twelve, I believe. But we keep a very close eye on them. Only five of those still live in New Orleans; two of them are in ill health and one is currently away on an extended stay.”