The Fangover (9 page)

Chapter Eight

NOT-SO-FREE BIRD

“O
KAY,
the only chapel I know that will do quickie weddings is down this way,” Cort said, pointing down Burgundy.

Katie looked in that direction, suddenly filled with reluctance again. He started down the street, not seeming to notice that she was lagging behind, at least not until he got to the corner of Burgundy and Dumaine.

“It’s just right up here,” he said as soon as he realized she’d slowed down. Then he frowned, studying her nervous expression.

“Katie?”

She stopped a few feet away from him, glancing down Burgundy and the place just ahead, which could reveal a part of their night that was darned overwhelming. Would she be relieved if she found out they weren’t really married? Or disappointed? She honestly didn’t know.

You are just confused in general,
she assured herself.
Because of your new state of being.

After all, a drunken elopement wasn’t a big deal when compared with vampirism. Once she sorted out what to expect from her new . . . existence, the possible marriage would seem a whole lot less troubling.

“Could we try for that drink again?” she asked. “We’re near Lafitte’s, aren’t we?”

Cort looked down the street as if he was debating whether to press her to continue on, but then he nodded. “We are.”

He was reluctant to find out, too. Even though he was feeling exactly like she was, his obvious reluctance to go to the chapel as well bothered her.

Babe, you have bigger problems than possibly being married to a man who doesn’t want you,
she told herself. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Flat, no sharp points. But she knew that wouldn’t last.

“Lafitte’s?” Cort said, jerking his head in the direction of the bar.

“Yes.”

*   *   *

LAFITTE’S BLACKSMITH SHOP
was the oldest bar in the United States, and it smelled like it. Katie supposed she’d always been aware that the place was stinky, but this was crazy. She could smell decades of wood smoke and cigarettes and booze. But she could also smell the people. Sweat and soaps and perfumes and, under that, something that wasn’t foul in the least. Something she suspected should be foul, but instead made her run her tongue over her teeth expectantly.

Still flat. Thank God, she told herself. If she went spontaneously fangy, she wasn’t sure she could handle it. Not at the moment.

“How do you deal with this smell thing?” she asked, trying to distract herself.

She wrinkled her nose as they walked farther into a dark, crowded room. Cort managed to find a small table toward the back of the bar and pulled out the chair for her to sit. It was rickety and uncomfortable, but she didn’t care as long as she finally got a drink.

Cort sat to the left of her and the parrot scrambled down his arm to waddle around the perimeter of the table like a beaked sentry.

“Jack and Coke. Jack and Coke.”

Cort rolled his eyes, then turned to her.

“I don’t even notice smells now, unless I choose to, or I’m—” He paused, clearly changing his mind about sharing that detail. “The longer you are . . . this way, the easier it is to control things like that,” he told her, his tone gentle.

She could tell he knew this was very hard, but of course, he would know. He’d been through it, too.

“Did you have a hard time with the . . . transition?”

Cort didn’t answer right away. “Well, I wasn’t crossed over like you were.”

“Not that it’s like we know how I was crossed over,” she pointed out.

“True, but I had the—the choice. Given that you can’t remember, I don’t feel like you really did.”

She nodded, although she wasn’t sure she agreed. As totally strange as this was, something told her this hadn’t happened as an attack or totally against her will. How she could somehow know that, and not know how it happened didn’t make any sense, but that was how she felt. Deep in her soul.

Wait, did she have a soul anymore? So many questions.

“I know that makes the transition more difficult,” he said with a small, sympathetic smile, “but you will be fine.”

Would she? How would she ever go back to her normal life? Panic returned.

“What will I tell my parents?” she said suddenly, more thinking out loud than expecting answers. After all, Cort didn’t know Janine and George, or the fact that they had a hard enough time with their only daughter being a washboard player on Bourbon Street. They sure as heck weren’t going to understand her being undead.

“And how am I going to play with my band?”

They were called “the day band” for a reason. And days were out now, weren’t they?

Cort reached across the table and took her hand. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but you will be okay. It isn’t bad to be this way. In fact, it’s pretty great most of the time.”

She looked up from their joined hands, feeling her eyes fill with tears as she met his beautiful gaze and saw kindness. And something else. He almost seemed to be pleading with her, willing her to be okay.

Did he really think he’d done this? What other reason would he have for that look . . . one of almost beseeching guilt?

She swiped at her eyes, feeling silly. She wasn’t usually a crier. “I’m fine.”

“It really will be okay. I’ll be here for you,” he told her.

Her eyes welled even more. Damn it, but she managed a watery smile. “My husband.”

She forced a smile so he would realize she was making a joke about it. But she couldn’t miss that his smile faded a little.

“And the other guys will, too,” he added.

He definitely didn’t want to be married to her—to the point she couldn’t even make light of the situation. That said a lot.

And really, why should that bother her? He’d never shown any interest in her, so of course he didn’t want them to be married. She didn’t want them to be either, did she?

Of course not.

Let it go,
she told herself.

“So how old are you, anyway?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Seventeen,” he said automatically. “And I have been for a very long time.”

She laughed, even though she knew it still sounded a little snuffly.

“And I suppose you sparkle, too, right?”

He smiled.

“Jack and Coke. Jack and Coke.”

Cort looked at the bird. “How did we get saddled with the alcoholic?”

Katie shook her head, staring at the bird. “I don’t know, but someone better take our order soon before it gets the d.t.’s.”

Cort chuckled. “Yeah, I do not want to see what he does if that happens.”

Just then, a woman in her twenties wearing a bar apron and harried expression approached their table, although her expression warmed slightly when she saw Cort.

Did they know each other? Cort smiled at the girl, but Katie didn’t see any recognition in his sleepy eyes.

“We have some drink specials,” the girl added, clearly talking only to him, her gaze moving appreciatively over his lean, muscular body and handsome face.

Katie supposed that reaction was better than at the last place, she told herself, even as a wave of jealousy washed over her.

But honestly, didn’t the hussy even notice their rings? Katie caught herself. Okay, she needed to get a grip. They weren’t married. Even if they were, they weren’t really.

Katie looked back at the girl, who still acted as if no one but Cort existed. But this chick didn’t know their rings weren’t legit. And Katie didn’t care if it was irrational, she was still irritated.

“I think we know what we want,” Cort said, his expression pleasant, but he didn’t seem to even notice the waitress’s obvious interest. And he didn’t seem to know her.

Wait, what if he knew her from last night? Katie studied the girl closer to see if that could be possible.

“What can I get you?” the girl asked, still not looking at Katie, but not any more familiar with Cort.

“Jack and Coke. Jack and Coke.”

The waitress looked a little startled by the bird’s request, but then said, “For real?”

“Yes, for the bird,” Cort said, his tone exaggeratedly pained. “And we’ll both take Grey Goose and tonic. Make them doubles. With extra lime.”

Warmth spread through Katie even as she scolded herself for the feeling. So he remembered her drink of choice. And he ordered for her. He’d just heard her order it at the other bar so it was hardly a sign of familiarity and closeness. But Katie still liked it. Especially since the waitress finally seemed to notice her, her moony expression fading slightly.

“I’ll be right back with those.” The girl left, her harried expression returning.

“I’m pretty old, actually,” he said as soon as they were alone again.

“What’s pretty old? Over a hundred?”

He nodded.

Weird. “Over two hundred?”

He nodded.

“Over three?”

He made a face. “Really, do I look a day over two hundred and fifty?”

He didn’t look a day over thirty. Wow, what a weird concept. Suddenly she realized she was going to look exactly like she did now for all eternity.

“I really wish I was down about five more pounds,” she said, looking down at her jeans and her
Abbey Road
T-shirt. Who the heck wanted to go through eternity with muffin top? Not her.

“You look beautiful.”

Katie looked up from inspecting herself. Did he mean that? Or was he just trying to be comforting again? She studied him, trying to decide, but all too quickly she could feel herself getting lost in those dark eyes of his. Yet again.

“You are very beautiful,” he said, and he leaned in.

He was going to kiss her. He was going to kiss her!

“Jack and Coke. Jack and Coke.”

Cort straightened, giving the bird an eye roll.

The parrot’s interruption was probably a good thing, she told herself. Kissing Cort would only make an already complicated situation even trickier. She didn’t need that.

She glanced at Cort, taking in his mussed waves and painfully handsome face.

Of course, that didn’t stop her from wanting it.

*   *   *

SHIT, HAD HE
really been about to kiss Katie? Yes, yes, he had.

And he’d been cock-blocked by a damned bird. That had to be a first.

Damn, she looked so pretty and vulnerable and irresistible, and he just wanted to hold her close and protect her. But given the look on her face, which was less than pleased, it was probably a good thing that the stupid parrot was fixated on Tennessee whiskey.

“Here you go.” The waitress appeared, placing their drinks on the table, making sure not to get her hand too close to the parrot.

Smart choice, that little ass really hurt when he pecked.

The little ass toddled up to his drink, actually knowing which one was his.

“So freaky,” Katie commented, voicing Cort’s exact sentiment.

She reached for her drink, but before she could even lift the glass from the table, someone said angrily, “You guys have some serious balls.”

Reluctantly, both Cort and Katie turned from their drinks. The bird, of course, kept his little red face in his glass.

Slowly, they both turned to see a tall, muscular young guy in a University of New Orleans T-shirt, who looked like he just wandered out of a fraternity house.

Shit, here we go again, and this guy was slightly more intimidating than the stocky man from the other bar. Not that Cort couldn’t kick this guy’s ass if he chose to do so. Hell, Katie could kick his ass if she wanted. That particular myth was true—vampires were super strong, but Cort never liked to draw any attention that might be unwanted and raise questions. Plus he’d done enough fighting in his mortal life. The Seven Years’ War had really been the pits. Of course, that was how he became a vampire, and how he ended up in Louisiana.

He glanced at Katie. Although he had to admit it would be fun to see her go undead ninja on this brute.

“Why is that exactly?” Cort asked, hoping maybe this time they would at least find out something about what happened last night. Although it didn’t sound like it was anything too good. Still, even knowing that, Cort wasn’t prepared for what the hulk was going to say.

“Where is my watch?”

“Your watch?”

Why on earth would he have this kid’s watch? But then again, why would this guy accuse him if he didn’t? And God knows where said watch could be now. Maybe he hocked it to buy the lovely wedding bands both he and Katie wore.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember taking your watch. But I’ll be glad to—”

“You didn’t take it,” the frat boy said, frowning as if he was surprised Cort couldn’t remember. As if this kid hadn’t had a lost night or two on Bourbon. He’d probably had a few in his own dorm room.

But what did he mean, he didn’t take it? Why was he confronting them, if Cort didn’t take it? Did that mean . . .

Cort looked to Katie. Her eyes were wide and startled. He imagined he sported the same expression.

Katie had stolen a watch? It was hard to imagine Katie stealing anything, much less from this huge kid.

“No,” the frat boy said, watching their exchanged glances. “She didn’t steal it. That damned bird of yours did.”

They turned to the parrot, which, as it seemed to be its favorite pastime, pecked at the cube of ice that floated in its drink.

“I really don’t think this is my bird,” Cort said, silently praying that was true.

“It’s not mine,” Katie stated.

“Well, I don’t care whose damned bird it is,” the kid said. “It was with you last night and it stole my watch.”

“Was it just the two of us here last night?” Cort asked, glancing at the bird again. “Well, I guess three of us.”

The guy might be a giant, and might be pissed, but maybe he could give them some insights. If he didn’t decide to punch Cort first.

“Damn, you really don’t remember?” the man said, looking at them as if they were totally mad.

Cort didn’t know about Katie, but he couldn’t disagree with the mad assessment.

“Please,” Cort said, “last night was a bit of a blur and we could really use your help.”

“Bit of a blur” was an understatement, of course.