SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (105 page)

“What went on with you and the phantom before I came out of Matt’s vision?”

“I’m afraid I might have fallen into the creature’s pattern, where a female catches his attention and he gets prickly round the male, then challenges him for her affections. Fortunately, things didn’t get that far.”

He didn’t respond, and once again, I feared he might be thinking about the burnt prize under all my deceptive wrapping, the true face of me. Who would want to win
that?

Inside, I withered a bit. “This creature seems to be easily hooked by women, and this is no doubt what led to last night’s murders. He said some flattering things to me and then introduced himself, acting as if he was trying to court me. It was all rather disturbing before I unleashed the dagger on him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Etienne, but I didn’t catch his surname.” I leaned my arms on the table. “But this is what frightens me—if he’s that easily hooked, he might be out there right now, latching onto his next lady love. What if he’s so desperate for affection in his warped mind that he’s going to continue the search tonight?”

“Good question. I even wonder if he’s done this before last night. It doesn’t seem likely, because a dramatic murder like Matt’s and Michelle’s would have gotten attention. Also, he was a little sloppy in his execution, nearly getting caught, so that might be a sign that he’s new at this. But what if?”

During the accordion-music-laden pause, he drank his iced tea then typed more into his mobile. The other couple left the café, giving my boots one last look. My footwear didn’t even preen. The boots had been very quiet lately.

Thankfully, the waiter brought our crepes, and I wolfed right into mine. Kicking and cutting mysterious creatures was exhausting, after all.

Philippe watched me. “So what did you think of him?”

He asked it as if he were wondering if I was swayed in any way by the charms of Etienne. But I couldn’t be right about that.

I approached the subject as a professional would. “He was an anachronism, dressed as if he belongs in a museum. Who knows how he plans on winning over women in that clothing?”

“Was there anything appealing about him?”

“What do you mean? Are you asking if he’s handsome? I couldn’t tell.”

Philippe shuffled the crepe on his plate, his jaw clenched. It was almost as if he were…

No. He couldn’t be jealous that Etienne had been on the pull with me, romantically interested.

“Eat up,” Philippe said abruptly, as if following my thoughts yet again. “We’ve got a lot to do before you fall dead asleep, and I promised Amari I’d find you a comfy bed at sunrise.”

Yes, sir
. “Where are we off to?”

“I texted a colleague—St. John Ortega.” He pronounced “St. John” in the British way—
Sinjin
. “He knows everything about this city, and he’s a psychic to boot. He’ll be expecting us at his favorite haunt nearby on Iberville, a wine bar.” Philippe wadded his linen napkin and tossed it on the table. “He likes to numb himself at the end of the day, after he sees all his clients.”

“Do you numb yourself with Sazeracs here?”

“I wish I could.”

My heart fell for him, and I thought part of what might be weighing it down was my own guilt.
Had
I made Philippe’s life worse when I had shown up that one, dark night, chased by a Meratoliage?

He stood, shuffling some money onto the table. “I’m almost surprised Etienne isn’t on our trail, unless he’s still following us invisibly. He seems like the type to hold a grudge.”

“He has a musty smell to him. That’s a good sign he’s round.” And I would be ready the instant I detected him, even in a restaurant with delicious aromas floating in the air.

As I quickly cleaned the rest of my scrumptious crepe, then chased it with the iced tea, I didn’t mention that Etienne had seen Philippe kiss me in the car park, so who knew if he was still spying?

Or had I cut the creature enough to dampen any desire he might have had for me?

Perhaps the silver bullets and bladed steel had served their purposes with Etienne, though, so we walked out of the café and onto the street, my hackles raised, ready for any threat. And when Philippe nestled his hand at the small of my back as he guided me round the street corner, making me into a walking collection of electric sparks, I swore I felt a gaze upon us from the top of the buildings.

Etienne? A Meratoliage? My own paranoia?

But when I looked up, there was nothing there.

Shadows Till Sunrise: Chapter Five

It didn’t take us long to find St. John Ortega at a table in the front courtyard of a wine bar, his back to the entrance. He was the only customer here, his tight, curly dark hair nearly hidden under a porkpie hat. He wore a bowling shirt, trousers, and two-toned shoes, and he seemed as if he were of another time and place, thanks to the faint eighties band music from Bourbon Street that invaded the peace.

And peaceful this courtyard certainly was, with ivy stretching over brick walls, candles burning on tables, a fountain splashing merrily while featuring a cherubic little statue boy who was aiming a stream of water at the small pool with his willy.

“Say hey to Monsieur Le Pisspot,” St. John uttered in a graveled voice, although he still hadn’t turned round. He seemed to feel in his bones that we had arrived. “He’s the mascot for all the fun-lovin’ souls who enter here.”

Philippe pulled out a chair for me at the table, and I sat next to St. John, who inspected me as much as I did him. He had bright brown eyes that made him appear as if he never stopped smiling and a goatee that came down to a point. His dark skin was smooth and freckled with spots that almost seemed strategically drawn on him. They looked like constellations, but that didn’t detract from his great appeal.

After sitting, Philippe shook his friend’s hand, gesturing to all the small emptied plates in front of St. John, plus a large glass of red wine. “You and Monsieur Le Pisspot have been here a while tonight, yes?”

“Not any longer than any other time.” His gaze went to my boots, but he didn’t comment. It was as if he had seen a million pairs like them. “So is this your partner in crime?”

Philippe nodded. “Lilly, this is St. John. St. John, Lilly.”

I reached out to shake the psychic’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ortega.”

He had been holding an iPad, and he put it down, clasping my fingers in his, then bending to brush a kiss over my knuckles. “How formal. Most people call me ‘Sin.’”

As Sin lingered over my hand, I raised my eyebrows at Philippe, who rolled his eyes.

But then I noticed that the man was grasping me a bit tighter. Just as I began to wonder if he was reading something on my skin, he smiled and let me go. Had he received a vision that he couldn’t stop, unlike Philippe, who had control over his readings?

“Philippe,” he said, “now tell me—where did you meet this girlfriend of yours?”

“Not my girlfriend,” Philippe muttered.

Yeah?
I thought.
Tell that to the kiss you planted on me earlier
.

But that was ridiculous. Kisses weren’t commitments.

He continued, and I had the feeling he hadn’t told Sin about our previous adventure two months ago. “We met in the voodoo shop. Lilly also has an interest in the supernatural, so she’s trying to find out more about this City Park murderer with me because of the vision I had.”

“If you see a crime, you put in the time. It’s a psychic’s duty to help out.” Sin gestured to the wine, as if to ask whether we wanted to order, but we shook our heads. Then he said, “Other than being a good citizen, you enjoyin’ some R’n’R, Philippe? I hear you’re not in the shop givin’ readings as much as usual these days.”

I sent Philippe an interested glance, but he merely shrugged.

Sin laughed. “Playin’ this off, then? Haven’t you told her that you got a comfy order from a real live movie star for that furniture you build?” He turned to me, his smiling eyes widened. “That’s right—you know how Jasmine De Leon and Cade Lott bought a house in the Quarter after that movie they did together? Well, she was shoppin’ in one of the galleries on Royal that takes Philippe’s handiwork on consignment and paid a hefty price for a livin’-room set. The cost was probably nothin’ but pocket lint for her.” He pointed at Philippe. “I told you that you had a payday comin’. And you just know her friends are gonna see that furniture, then it’ll start a trend and they’ll tell their friends and they’ll tell theirs…”

Philippe leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs and resting his hands at the back of his head, acting bored. “Movin’ along, Sin.”

The man chuckled and took up his wine, toasting Philippe. “Here’s to you, I say.”

“Cheers.” I used my own invisible glass to toast Philippe. Hell, I was impressed. But it seemed that even good fortune couldn’t pull him out of his darkness, because his gaze didn’t brighten. Perhaps after we wrangled Etienne that would change.

Yet would taking care of just one tragic vision chase off Philippe’s troubles? It wouldn’t stop his mind and soul from being haunted by all the tragedy he foresaw or had knowledge of.

After Sin drank a good bit of his wine, he put down the glass, letting out a healthy
ahh
. “So we should get down to business now, is that the plan? You sure you don’t want wine to go with the news I’ve got for you?”

“Is it that bad?” Philippe asked.

“Depends on what you’re lookin’ for.” Sin woke up the iPad’s screen and showed it to us. It was lit with a glaring block of text. “Philippe messaged me about your bad boy, asking if I knew about the history of the Dueling Oaks. Now, I do know a lot of general stuff, bein’ a history buff and all, but I can’t pull the names of the old duelers out of a hat. So I searched the Net, tryin’ to see if there’s any record of an ‘Etienne’ who went out there to trade bullets or blades with another dumb fool boy. And what do you know? ‘Etienne’ isn’t exactly a rare Creole name, and more than a few of them were said to have dueled out there, as far as I can tell. If you’re tryin’ to find the identity of your duelist so you can locate his remains and burn his bones, that might take awhile.”

“We appreciate your research,” I said.

Sin grinned at me. “Your accent is so bewitching.”

Okay, then
. “Thank you.”

I flashed a smile at Philippe, who gave me a long, unreadable look in return. Let him kiss
that
.

I settled back in to business. “Unfortunately, Sin, we might be beyond bone burning.”

Philippe cut in. “We’re pretty sure this isn’t a phantom. I texted you about that.”

“I’m thinking demon, perhaps,” I said. “This creature might seem ghost-like, but he has a few other qualities that certainly weren’t spirit-like.”

Sin was nodding. “I remember your text, Philippe. And we’d better hope this ain’t a demon.”

Philippe lowered his hands from the back of his head, leaning forward. The candlelight sent nefarious shadows over the planes of his face, emphasizing that long nose, those full lips. “How does a person get rid of a demon? I haven’t been in the business long enough to meet up with that kind of energy.”

As Sin turned that over in his mind, I surveyed the courtyard, keeping wary of any unwanted visitors. But I didn’t smell that special musty aroma that had come along with Etienne, so I paid better attention to Sin’s answer.

“Everyone knows,” he said, “that demons don’t have a real corporeal form, although they have enough tricks up their sleeves to convince anyone that they do. So you can’t exactly lop its head off or drive a stake through its heart.”

“I cut the creature with an iron dagger,” I said. “It bled. And I have to wonder if there’s any rhyme or reason to Etienne choosing blades for one of last night’s murders. You would think he would avoid them if they could hurt him.”

“Maybe,” Philippe said, “honor really is a bigger deal to him than we’re givin’ him credit for. He chooses weapons that could hurt him because it’s a source of pride that he can cheat death with his superior dueling skills.”

Sin had stopped his online search. “Did you ever think that this creature might’ve just
appeared
to bleed? Demons are masters of deception.”

Oughtn’t I have known this information from my time as a Meratoliage keeper? Perhaps I hadn’t dealt with demons in direct form, only vampires, and there had been no need to deepen my studies about the former.

It seemed that Sin knew enough about this subject to forgo his iPad now. “Anyway, demons can’t exist on our plane without drawing enough spiritual energy to thrive,” he said. “Sure, they can pull energy out of batteries or electric appliances, but they didn’t have those kinds of things long ago, and there are stories of demons throughout history.
Humans
are their favorite suppliers, and when we fear them, we feed them with negativity—their meal of choice.”

“So,” I said, “if a demon were to assault two people and terrorize them before killing them, that would create the sort of negative energy the creature would require to survive? Depriving this thing of fear is our best bet to make him disappear?”

Before Sin answered, Philippe frowned and said, “I know demons aren’t like regular ghosts. They’re spirits that’ve always existed. But, again, they don’t have bodies, so I still don’t understand how one could wield a sword. I saw Etienne handling one just like he was human, and it wasn’t any illusion because that blade killed a man.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “what we have is something half-ghost, half-solid and not so much a demon.”

Sin put down the iPad and gripped the stem of his wine glass. For the first time, I saw sorrow in those laughing eyes—the affliction of someone who knew too much. The psychic’s curse.

He had no answer for us.

“Sin,” I said, “what are some other ways of expunging a demon, just in case?”

He tossed back the last of his wine and sighed. “I’d go with controlling your output of negative energy and forget the rest.”

All right. I had to admit that I had quite a bit of bad vibes round Etienne. Frothing at the mouth to cut him and kill him could certainly be considered negative energy.