Last Blood (17 page)

“Fi, it’s just that—”

“I’ll stay ghost the whole time if that makes you feel better. Plus, who else is going to watch your back?” With a huff, she crossed her arms and put her feet on the seat in front of her. “I am so going,” she mumbled.

“It’s just not a good idea—”

“Neither is your going alone. Stop arguing. We’re doing this together.”

Chrysabelle let out a long, frustrated breath. “Fine, but
you’re in ghost mode the entire time.” She shook her head. “You really don’t let up, do you?”

“To know me is to love me.” Fi grinned. “By the way, you look nice in your new clothes. A lot more normal. Except for all the gold bits on your hands and face, but I’m guessing no one will look twice at you in New Orleans. They’ll probably just think you’re a street performer on the way to your job.”

Within an hour of them deplaning, Jerem had them settled into the rental car he’d arranged, then drove them to the hotel, stopping only for the checkpoint, which they sailed through.

The last time she’d done this, Mal had met her in the city. And she hadn’t been pregnant. How fast things could change in so little time.

At the hotel, Jerem turned the keys over to the valet but wouldn’t let the bellboy touch the bags. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that the long duffel held two swords and a leather roll of smaller blades. At least flying private made transporting weapons a lot easier.

Once in the penthouse, they separated into their bedrooms, each setting their alarms for the same time. The only place she knew to look for Khell was La Belle et la Bête, the oldest othernatural bar in the French Quarter. It’s where she’d found him last time and she’d gotten the sense that he was a regular there, thanks to info Augustine had given her.

She didn’t know if Khell would be there now, but chances were good she’d be able to persuade someone there into divulging his address. How much persuading that would take she didn’t know, but she wanted to be rested for it.

Besides, there was little point in arriving at Khell’s too
early and waking him or whatever his girlfriend’s name was up. Chrysabelle needed him to be as amenable as possible, not cranky because she’d pulled him from his beauty sleep.

But when the alarm went off a few hours later, the sleep she’d managed had been fitful at best, disturbed by anxiety over what the outcome of this trip could mean if things didn’t go well. Trying to push the worries out of her head only gave place to new ones.

Reluctantly, she tapped the alarm off, got up, and showered. She dressed in something that gave her a little more edge: black jeans, a long-sleeved gray T-shirt, and a darker gray leather jacket.

Then she unpacked her arsenal and strapped the daggers to her waist, where they’d be mostly hidden by her jacket. The sacres might upset a few patrons at the bar, so they’d stay here until she returned and knew she had passage to the Claustrum. They were definitely going with her then.

Fi walked into the bedroom sipping a large cup of coffee and wearing one of the hotel robes. Her hair was still a little damp. “Where to first?”

Chrysabelle sat at the dressing table and began to braid her hair out of the way. “La Belle et la Bête. Means beauty and the beast. It’s an old othernaturals-only joint in the French Quarter.”

“Sounds awesomely not awesome.” Fi rolled her eyes. “Only fae would name a bar after a fairy tale. What is it, one giant tea party?”

Chrysabelle laughed, catching Fi’s gaze in the mirror. “Not exactly. Last time I was there, the bartender was varcolai.” She raised her brows for effect. “
Gator
shifter.”

“For real?” Fi sat cross-legged on the bed. “So is this one of those deals where I have to stay in ghost form?”

She tied off the end of the braid and flipped it over her shoulder. “You might not even be able to see the building in your human form. It’s got all kinds of fae magic protecting it.”

“Hmm,” Fi said. “This place might not be so bad after all.”

Mal tucked the portrait of Sophia into his pocket. “You can’t stay here.”

Tatiana seemed perplexed by that news. “Why not? The sun will be up soon. Where else am I going to go?”

“Back to Corvinestri. I have something to take care of before I help you.” Some
one
, actually. A gilded, blond someone he wanted out of his life for good. “When that’s done, I’ll come to you.”

She laughed. “How exactly are you going to get to Corvinestri? You keep a private jet somewhere I don’t know about?”

“I can borrow one.” Dominic owed him. Or he’d steal it.

“You won’t be able to get through the wards.”

“So fix that. You already said you were going to return me to my noble status. Make that the first step. Otherwise, I’ll have a hard time believing you.”

“Fine.” She lifted her chin. “Not that I’m not happy to get out of this hellhole you call home.” She grimaced. “How do you live here?”

He picked one of his favorite daggers off the wall,
hefting it in his hand. “You didn’t leave me with many options.”

Her eyes went to the blade. “Yes, well, let’s try to put that behind us, shall we? I’ve promised to rectify the situation. Let it go.”

Let it go? She’d chained him in the ruins of an old fortress and left him to rot. He should just kill her now and be done with it, but the lure of access to all that wealth was great. And having power meant getting away with murder. Literally. He reluctantly tucked the dagger into his belt. “I’m ready for you to leave.”

She sniffed. “What if someone tries to drug you again?”

“They won’t. I’ll only drink straight from the vein until I see you again.” Which meant killing a few humans, but it wasn’t like he’d never done that before.

“That’s still not a guarantee.”

“You’re wasting dark. The sun will be up soon and you’re
not
daysleeping here.”

“What are you going to do? Throw me overboard?”

He raised one brow.

“Bloody hell.” She grabbed the jacket she’d discarded and headed for the door. “You’re supposed to be helping me.”

She kept muttering to herself as she left the ship, her voice fading as he selected another blade for his last and final trip to see Chrysabelle. If he didn’t take care of her now, she’d only end up following him to Corvinestri and with his new life as a noble before him, he couldn’t take the chance that his unfortunate past would come back to haunt him.

Again the word “ghost” flitted through his brain. He shook it away. Too much to do to think about consequences.

First he’d need to find a meal. Going after the comarré hungry meant there was too much chance he’d lose control. He needed to be focused. To strike cleanly and swiftly.

But most of all, he needed the comarré dead.

C
reek lay flat on the roof of the warehouse, a few of the ashes of the Nothos he’d killed still clinging to his clothes and souring the air. He kept his eyes trained on Mal’s freighter. If Tatiana spent the day there, he’d sneak in and—no, she was leaving. How about that. Had she killed Mal?

He kept watching, waiting to see what she’d do. She seemed to be talking to herself. He caught a few choice curses and almost laughed. She was complaining about Mal, so maybe she hadn’t killed him. A sharp whistle cracked the night air and he realized she was calling for the Nothos.

That wasn’t going to go well.

When the creature didn’t come, Tatiana cursed again, then scattered into a swarm of wasps and flew off. Apparently, she wasn’t in a mood to wait.

Not long after, a second dark figure emerged on the ship’s deck.

Mal.

Creek quietly crawled back from the edge and rappelled down the back of the building, where he crouched behind a stack of pallets. Mal was just stepping off the
gangplank. He took off in a jog. Creek followed far enough behind that Mal didn’t seem to notice.

They headed into Little Havana. Once there, Mal slowed to a walk. There were a few people out at this hour, some just coming home, some on their way to early-morning shifts, and some who never left the streets. Mal picked a woman in a hotel maid’s uniform and started trailing her.

Creek kept up, his hood pulled low to hide his face. Once Mal looked back, but Creek ducked into a doorway and out of sight, and with the wind in his face, the tang of his KM-tainted blood stayed undetected.

Mal caught up with the woman when she cut through an alley. Creek caught up with both of them a second later, crossbow brandished. He wondered if Chrysabelle’s words would make any more sense after this.

“Let her go, Mal.”

The woman’s eyes were wide in terror, her struggles pointless with Mal’s hand over her mouth and his arm wrapped around her body. His eyes were dead black shot with silver. The beast was trying to get out.

He snarled, fangs gleaming. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Let. Her. Go.”

The woman whimpered. Mal opened his mouth wider and tugged her closer. Creek pulled the trigger and sank a bolt into Mal’s thigh. Cursing, he dropped the woman. She scurried away, praying in Spanish.

Mal yanked the bolt out. Tendrils of black danced above the collar of his T-shirt. He laughed and shook his head. “Is that the best you can do?” Then he lurched sideways, hitting the concrete block wall of the alley. He tried
to right himself and failed. The white came back into his eyes as he slipped to the ground. “What…”

Creek leaned down and took the bolt from Mal’s hand. “What happened?” He wiped the blood off the titanium and onto Mal’s jeans, then tucked the bolt back into his bandolier. “See, I’ve started coating a few of my bolts with a paste made of laudanum and hemlock. Works on both vampires and varcolai that way.” And helped him keep his word to Chrysabelle. He smiled. “You should thank Chrysabelle the next time you see her, because she’s the reason I’m going to be a nice guy and not leave you here to toast in the sun.”

Mal grunted, and then his eyes rolled back and his head lolled to one side. Out cold.

With a sigh, Creek bent, hoisted Mal up by his armpits, then hefted him over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. He bounced once to adjust the weight. “Damn, you’re heavy for someone who doesn’t eat. She couldn’t have fallen in love with someone a little lighter?”

He broke into a trot. The sun would be up soon, so he had no choice but to hustle if he was going to get Mal back on his ship and safe before morning.

Sweat trickled down his spine as he picked up speed. This definitely counted as his workout for the day.

The outside of La Belle et la Bête looked nothing like the fairy tale it had been named after. More like the building had been abandoned. Faded bits of gray-brown paint not yet worn off by time and weather still clung to the exterior. The three sets of louvered double doors on the first and second floors all had a few missing louvers and
more peeling white paint. The simple balcony on the second floor didn’t look sturdy enough to hold a houseplant, forget about a person.

Not a sound emanated from the closed doors, and not a single tourist strolling by even glanced at the place.

Fi, in transparent ghost mode, leaned in toward Chrysabelle and Jerem. “I hate to tell you this, but I think this joint is out of business.”

“It’s not, I promise,” Chrysabelle said.

Jerem nodded. “I was here once. A long time ago. But I remember it looking pretty much just like it does now.”

A tourist couple walked by. The man went right through Fi.

“Hey!” She shook her fist at him. “Ghost hovering here.”

The man looked around like he’d heard something, but the couple kept moving.

“It’s like they didn’t even see me.” Fi put her hands on her hips. “And you know, they didn’t even look at you. I know the covenant’s broken and humans are getting used to othernaturals, but how many people don’t at least take a second look at a dude the size of Jerem, a woman covered in gold tattoos, and her friendly neighborhood ghostly sidekick?”

“I don’t think they see us,” Chrysabelle answered. “Mortalis said the place was covered with a diffusion spell. It keeps the mortals from thinking it’s another French Quarter hot spot and protects the patrons from being stared at.”

“Sounds right,” Jerem said. “Why don’t you let me lead?”

Fi bobbed at his side. “Cool with me.”

“Yes, that’s fine.” Chrysabelle pointed to the right-hand set of doors. “That way, I think.” Hopefully this wouldn’t take long. Khell was the city’s Guardian. That alone should make him fairly accessible.

Jerem pushed through the right-hand set of doors, Fi and Chrysabelle behind him. She stepped over the threshold. The doors swung shut and the wave of sound hit her. Patrons talking, ice clinking against glass, rollicking music, laughter, and a few random shouts here and there.

“Okay,” Fi said looking around. “Definitely not out of business. That diffusion spell is pretty wicked. I’d never have known all this was going on in here.”

“That’s the idea,” Jerem said. He kept his gaze on the crowd while he talked to Chrysabelle. “You want to do a walk-through? See if this guy’s here?”

“I doubt he will be, but sure.” The bar’s insides only just exceeded its exterior. Apparently, people came here for the music, not the atmosphere. A jazz quartet with a gravely voiced singer played on a dais near the front. They looked like the same group that had been here the last time. House band, maybe.