Bad Blood

Fi nodded, stroking Doc’s silky fur. “Okay,” she said softly, lying down beside the big purring beast. “But I’m staying with him until then.”

Chapter Twenty

Chrysabelle couldn’t help but stare at Mal the way the tourists stared at her. He walked toward her, in all his dark and beautiful glory, lit by the blazing Louisiana morning sky. It was like something she’d dreamed, not that she was prepared to admit that to him. She could barely admit it to herself. A few of the women set up to tell fortunes paused from laying out their cards to gawk as he strolled past their tables. Chrysabelle wanted to tell them to mind their own business.

Instead, she bent her head and sipped the tall cup of chicory coffee Mortalis had picked up at a nearby café. She had no place to feel that way about Mal. No place. She glanced at the fae, who, because of the amount of iron fencing surrounding Jackson Square’s abundantly green park, stood a little farther away nursing his own cup of java.

“Started to wonder if you were going to show,” Mortalis said as Mal approached.

“I had a little incident,” Mal answered, closing the gap between them. He looked to his left at the soaring façade of the St. Louis Cathedral. “We had to meet on this side of the square?”

“Can you feel it?” Chrysabelle asked, tipping her face in the direction of the magnificent church.

He nodded. “Like ants on my skin.”

“I know the feeling.” Mortalis nodded toward the wrought-iron fence. “That thing makes me feel like I’m chewing tinfoil.” He lifted a finger from his cup to point toward the street that bordered the river. “Tell me about this incident while we walk.”

As the three of them started around the square, Mal spoke. “Couple of fae on patrol. Smokesingers, maybe. They took the bribe like you said they would.”

“Describe them.” Mortalis lifted a hand to greet a street performer, a man dressed head to foot in silver clothing and matching face paint and moving like an old-time robot.

“Short gray horns, silvery skin”—Mal pointed back at the man Mortalis had just waved to—“not that silvery, but close. And lavender eyes.”

Mortalis nodded. “Those were definitely smokesingers. Cousin to the shadeux, but they don’t really get dangerous until they go through their first burning. If the ones you saw still had gray horns and not black, they hadn’t. They might not have even been a real patrol. Just juvies shaking you down in the name of the law.” He frowned. “You shouldn’t have anything else to worry about so long as we’re together.”

“I don’t plan on going off on my own again.” Mal turned to Chrysabelle. “You okay?”

She tossed her empty cup into a trashcan. “A little tired, but good. Thanks.” She gave him a quick smile, trying to hide the pain arcing along her spine. The smile was real. He hadn’t had to come on this trip and probably shouldn’t have, considering the city’s policy on vampires, but she was glad to have him. She wasn’t a hundred percent, but having him at her side meant that didn’t matter. Mal could push her buttons like nobody’s business, but he always put her safety first. Even if that meant solutions she didn’t agree with.

Mal growled at a man who pointed his camera in her direction, causing the human to stumble into a display of T-shirts. Fortunately, the SUV was just ahead of them now. Amery got out as they approached and opened the doors. “I see you made it,” he said to Mal.

Mal said nothing, just climbed in after Chrysabelle and resumed his original seat. When they were all in, Amery steered into traffic and started across town.

“Where are we going?” Chrysabelle asked.

“Garden District,” Mortalis answered. “That’s where most of the fae live now. The Vieux Carré is home to a few of us, but there’s still a lot of iron there.”

“Vieux Carré,” Chrysabelle repeated, practicing her French. “That means ‘old square,’ right? Do the fae speak French, or is that a holdover from the original settlers?”

“Fae were among the original settlers.” Mortalis caught her eye in the visor mirror, pulled down against the sun. “Those of us born here speak a kind of pidgin. A mix of French, English, and fae. Our own version of Creole.”

So Mortalis had been born here. Interesting. “Why did the fae come to New Orleans?”

“It wasn’t just to New Orleans, but to much of the southern United States. Mostly they came to escape the vampire nobility in Europe who were intent on wiping them out.”

The scenery around them changed from office buildings and hotels to small shops, which then gave way to massive live oaks standing guard alongside block after block of palatial homes. Strands of plastic beads dangled from the higher branches and streetlamps, an odd contrast to the leaded glass, white columns, and stately front porches facing the street. “Why are there beads on the trees?”

“Leftovers from years of Mardi Gras. St. Charles is one of the main parade routes.”

She went back to studying the houses. “These homes are breathtaking.”

Mal snorted softly. “You don’t exactly live in a tent.”

“No, but these homes have character. Charm. There’s more to them than just their size.”

“Charisma spells,” Amery interjected.

“That’s a little strange, wanting someone to like your house that much,” Mal said.