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 Bete 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.
And if they were here, maybe Khell would be too. She reached into her pocket for the plastic bills she’d stashed, palming them for easy transfer to whoever might give her the info she needed. She strolled among the tables, avoiding direct eye contact but skimming the crowd for the fae she’d helped make Guardian.
A body moved in front of her, blocking her path. “Well, now,” the shifter drawled. “Long time no see, Goldilocks. What brings you back to our corner of the Vieux Carre?”
“I almost didn’t recognize you on this side of the bar.” Actually, she’d recognized him instantly. The scales flanking the bartender’s neck and the bullet shape of his canines made him very hard to forget.
“Gotta keep my tables clean.” He tossed a towel over his shoulder. “Who y’all looking for this time?”
“Same person. Just wanted to see how things are going for him.” If the bartender remembered her, he must also remember what she’d done when she was here. How many othernaturals lived in this city and didn’t know who the Guardian was?
The flash of red-green fire in his slit-pupil eyes didn’t scare her the way it had the first time she’d seen it. He clutched at his heart, smiling. “I’m wounded. Here I thought you’d come back for me.” Laughing, he tipped his head toward the back corner. “Khell’s here. Why don’t you ask him yourself.”
“Thank you.” She reached out and tucked the bills in her hand into his shirt pocket. “I appreciate it.”
He glanced down at the money. “Much obliged.” Then looked toward Jerem and Fi where they were still standing by the front doors. “I’ll send a coupla sweet teas to your friends. Something to occupy themselves with while you do
She just nodded and slipped past him toward the spiral stairs in the corner. That’s where she’d found Khell the last time. The fae were such creatures of habit. She traced a path through the crowd, which was thinner than she remembered, but maybe that had to do with the early hour.
And there he was. Same table, same black-rimmed glasses and brainy-professor look. Different girl, but still a redhead and still plenty curvy. Chrysabelle smiled and approached cautiously. If things weren’t going well for him, he may not be thrilled to see her.
“Khell?” She kept her thumbs hooked into the pockets of her pants, close to the hilts of her daggers.
He stopped moving his head to the music and looked up, his gray eyes carrying a little more edge than she remembered. He studied her for a moment. “Chrysabelle. I didn’t expect to see you again.”
“Nor I you.” Still no idea how he felt about her.
Then he smiled. “Nice to see you. Join us.” He shoved the extra chair out with his foot. “What brings you to town? If you’re here to find a new Guardian, I should warn you I’ll have to kill you.” He laughed, but his eyes were serious.
She smiled in a way that said she understood. “It’s nice to know you’re still ambitious.” She took the chair.
“This is my lovely fiancee, Beatrice.” He clinked his beer bottle against hers, then pointed it at Chrysabelle. “And this is the woman I’ve told you about. She’s one of those comarre.”
