House of Comarré Omnibus, page 94
part #0.50 of House of Comarré Series
Chapter Twenty-nine
Fi hung close behind Big John, as she’d started mentally referring to the wolf varcolai, and together they went to answer the front door. He swore it was just his brother and the mayor of Paradise City, so Velimai had given the okay to the guard shack and opened the house gate, but Fi kept a tight grip on her appropriated chef’s knife anyway. Better safe than sorry. Plus, she was kind of in a stabby mood with Doc being under Aliza’s spell and all. Of course, if things really went south, she was going ghost and heading downstairs until she hit the wine cellar. Possessed Doc was still safer than most of the crazies running around this town lately.
John opened the door. “Luke, everything all right?”
“No.” A varcolai who looked like John’s twin ushered the mayor into the house, pulling the door out of John’s hand to shut it. “It’s already started.”
The mayor looked like, well, like she’d seen a ghost. Except there was no way she knew Fi was one, did she? Fi slid the chef’s knife into a drawer of some fancy table in the foyer. “You’re the mayor, huh?”
“Yes,” the mayor said with a little half smile, like she was happy to be occupied with something besides being a stranger in someone’s home. A home Fi was starting to feel pretty possessive about considering it wasn’t hers. Chrysabelle would probably freak if she knew all these people were here, traipsing in and out of her secured estate like it was Grand Central Station. The mayor held out her hand. “And you are?”
“Fiona.” She shook the mayor’s hand. “Sorry about your daughter.”
“Thank you, very kind of you.”
“My parents lost a child.” Fi knew she shouldn’t do what she was about to do, but she was angry about Doc, angry about Mal not being here, angry about Mortalis ditching them the minute John had arrived.
The mayor tipped her head. “I’m sorry for them, and you. A brother?”
“No, not a brother.” Fi paused, a true student of dramatic effect. “It was me. Courtesy of Mal.” She sliced her finger across her throat and made a cutting sound. “You met him, right?” She flickered once on purpose, just to see the mayor’s eyes round, then turned without waiting for an answer and walked into the living room where she took her usual seat. Doc wouldn’t have liked what she’d just done. Just knowing that made her feel guilty, but not enough to apologize.
She grabbed a magazine and used it as a cover to watch as John, Luke, and the mayor came in and took seats.
“Where’re Creek and the others?” Luke asked. He sat in the chair next to Fi. He smelled like fall, smoky and outdoorsy.
“Creek and Damian went after a witch who lives in the Glades. She’s got Doc—” She looked at Luke. “He’s a leopard varcolai—under some kind of possession spell. Until they get her to break the spell, he’s locked up in the wine cellar to keep him safe.” The mayor listened intently, a sort of blankness filling her eyes. Fi continued. “Mal and Chrysabelle are in New Orleans taking care of some business. They’ll be back when they’re through. Which won’t be tonight.”
Velimai glided in just then, giving the mayor a new reason to tense up. Fi had to admit, the mayor looked a lot better in person than she did in 3-D. Not that holo-vision made her look bad; she just seemed prettier and younger in person. But also sad. Which was to be expected considering her daughter’s murder.
The mayor watched Velimai settle onto the sofa opposite where she and John sat. She cleared her throat and inched forward, her knees aimed at the fae woman. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be forward, but I know what vampires and comarrés and varcolai are now, but I am not familiar with your kind. May I be so bold as to ask what you are?”
Velimai signed a response. John began to translate, causing her to sign more as he spoke. “Her name is Velimai. She’s a wysper fae and, she wants you to know, a very dangerous woman.”
At that Velimai laughed, the sound coming out as soft puffs of breath.
“Is she deaf?” the mayor asked.
“No,” Fi answered. “Just mute. But not entirely. Wyspers have a scream that can kill vampires.”
That perked up the mayor’s ears. “Really? How useful.” She smiled and settled back into the sofa a little more. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Velimai. You can call me Lola.”
Luke leaned his elbows on his knees. “Now that we’re all assembled, you need to know the change in the city has already begun. A goblin tried to attack the mayor. I’m sure it started out as a costumed trick-or-treater.”
John narrowed his eyes. “I thought you canceled all Halloween events.”
“I did,” the mayor said, her fingers knotting together. “But these children were already out. The stores downtown give free candy to any child in a costume.” She turned to John. “I think it’s best we stay here, at least until Creek gets back. The city is going to be locked down, and with the patrols going on, it might be best to stay out of their way. Hunker down, settle in, and ride out the storm.” She quickly glanced at Fi and Velimai. “That is, if it’s all right with you? I don’t know who’s in charge with Chrysabelle not being here.”
Fi looked at Velimai. She signed that it was okay with her. Fi signed back that Chrysabelle probably wouldn’t like it. With a smile, Velimai nodded but slowly spelled out it would do the mayor well to owe Chrysabelle a favor. Crafty wysper. “Sure,” Fi said. “You and the wolfies can stay.” She hopped off her chair. “I’m going to check on Doc. Rest of you might as well make yourselves at home. Vel, maybe you could see what’s available for dinner? Mayor—”
“Lola, please,” the mayor corrected her.
“Lola, if you’re handy in the kitchen, feel free to jump in.” Maybe putting the mayor to work peeling potatoes wasn’t the most appropriate thing, but the woman looked like she might implode with nothing to do, and Fi was still feeling guilty about showing off her murdered side.
Lola nodded and stood, taking off her jacket. “We’re in this for the long haul and I’d be happy to help. Is there a computer I could use first? I’d like to check some e-mails I sent out earlier.”
“Sure, there’s an e-tablet in the kitchen. Velimai can show you.” Fi shot her a quick smile, then headed for Doc. The freakin’ mayor. Too bad she couldn’t tell him without Aliza finding out. Well, she’d tell him if Creek got him free. When. Fi couldn’t accept any other outcome.
Just because he didn’t eat didn’t mean Mal didn’t derive great pleasure from watching Chrysabelle chow down on the food Amery had brought back. She’d changed out of the robe and back into her clothes, which was a good thing, because Amery’s curiosity about her signum had meant wandering eyes over the vee of skin exposed at her chest. Those wandering eyes had raised serious amounts of jealousy in Mal. Jealousy he almost felt okay with. Even now, sitting beside her at the table, the oddest sensation of happiness filled him. Happiness. In him. With her. Sap. Fool. Idiot. He shook his head and sighed.
She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and swallowed. “Something wrong?”
“Not a thing.” Except you still want to drain her. And you’re not worthy of her.
“Good,” Mortalis said as he walked in from the other room. “Because we need to get moving.”
Mal didn’t have to check a watch to know the fae had been gone longer than an hour. “What’s wrong at home?”
Mortalis shook his head like he didn’t want to discuss it. So not the answer Mal was looking for. He motioned for Chrysabelle to keep eating. She scooped more dirty rice onto her plate and grabbed another piece of fried catfish.
Mal leaned back in his chair. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell us what you found out at home.”
Mortalis cracked his neck, rolling his head from side to side. “Aliza’s taken over Doc with some kind of possession spell, but Creek and Damian have gone out to the Glades to deal with her. They have Doc secured in the wine cellar at Chrysabelle’s so no harm will come to him. I’m sure it will be fine.”
“It better be, if you didn’t stay to help.”
“Mal.” Chrysabelle put her hand on his, her touch drawing every bit of his attention. “Mortalis’s priorities lie here with us. Creek can take care of things, especially with Damian. He’s had the same training I have. He knows how to handle himself.” She grabbed her glass of sweet tea, downed the rest of it, and stood. “Let’s go. I’m ready as soon as I grab my coat and sacres. Mortalis, you’re driving. Amery stays here. No argument. This is my neck on the line. We’re playing it my way.”
Mal wanted to smile but didn’t. When Chrysabelle got forceful with someone else besides him, it was rather entertaining to watch. Mortalis hesitated, maybe thinking about arguing. Whatever he decided, it wasn’t that. “Fine.”
Twenty minutes later, they were parked half a block away from the home of the current guardian, again in the Garden District, but this house wasn’t quite so grand. Very nice, but not the in-your-face grandness of Loudreux’s. A light rain had begun to fall, graying out the last of the sun’s afternoon rays.
“Mortalis, Mal and I are doing this alone,” Chrysabelle said, her hand on the door handle. “I think you going in might only complicate things more.”
Surprisingly, Mortalis nodded from the driver’s seat. “I don’t like it, but I agree. Especially if you kill him.”
She sighed loudly. “No one’s killing anyone. Not me, not Mal, so stop saying that.”
“Chrysabelle, you don’t—”
“Enough, Mortalis. I don’t want to hear it. Mal, let’s go.” She jumped out of the car.
“Right behind you.” Mal joined her on the sidewalk.
Together they went through the gate and walked up to the front door. “As planned,” she whispered.
“As planned,” he answered.
She rang the bell. Seconds ticked by, then they heard footsteps. The door opened and a smokesinger fae, this one with horns as black as soot, greeted them. He gave Chrysabelle a quick once-over, but his gaze lingered on Mal, his eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you doing on my porch?”
Chrysabelle stepped into his line of sight. “You’re Sklar? The city’s guardian?”
“Yes. Who are you?”
She smiled in the same charming, blinding way Mal had only seen once before. “We need your help.”
The smile had zero effect. “You need to get off my porch.” He still stared at Mal. “If you think I don’t know what you are, you’re wrong. Coming to my house was not a smart move—”
“The way I see it,” Mal began, “is that I paid to be here, so here I am.” He pulled a small amount of power into his voice, holding the eye contact. “Since you agree with me, you’re going to invite me in.”
Sklar blinked and shook his head. “What are you—”
Mal pulled more power. “Invite us in.”
Only a brief hesitation this time. Sklar backed away from the door, opening it wider as he did. “Please, come in.”
Chrysabelle squeezed Mal’s hand, then went inside. Mal followed quickly. “Shut the door, Sklar.”
The fae did as he was told.
“Is there anyone else home?” Chrysabelle asked.
“No,” Sklar answered. “Who are you again?”
“We’re friends,” Mal told him, keeping his power of persuasion smooth and even. With a fae like this, a slight hitch could mean losing him. From what Mortalis had said about smokesingers, an angry one was not something either of them wanted to contend with. “Let’s sit down and discuss this.”
“Yes, let’s.” Sklar led the way into a sitting room. He pointed to a massive sofa in front of an equally massive fireplace. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
Mal sat as Sklar did, making sure they were across from each other and he was able to make eye contact.
Chrysabelle stayed at the entrance to the room as they’d discussed. In case anything went wrong, she’d be able to get out in time. Hopefully.
“Where would you live if not in New Orleans, Sklar?” Knowing and using the fae’s name made the persuasion more personal and a little easier for Mal to control. Focusing like this also meant the voices took a backseat.
The fae’s lavender eyes went dreamy. “Brazil. The beaches, the music, Carnivale… Mardi Gras is close, but not the same.”
Mal wished he could look at Chrysabelle and see if she was as surprised as he was. But it made sense. Rio de Janeiro had been a fae haven since the Redeemer statue had been erected, making it virtually impossible for vampires to inhabit the city under its holy watch. “You want to move to Brazil. You want to retire from the very stressful life of guardian of New Orleans and spend the rest of your days on the white, sandy beaches of Brazil, soaking in the sun, listening to the samba beats, dancing in the Carnivale. This is your dream and you’ve decided to make it happen.”
Sklar nodded. “Yes, it is my dream.”
“New Orleans is dirty and crime-ridden and has no beach. You don’t like the music here and Mardi Gras is mobbed with tourists. Besides, Brazil has no vampires.”
“Not a single bloodsucking undead.” Sklar was a million miles away in Rio by now.
Mal ignored the comment, unwilling to lose his concentration for something so petty. “Ten minutes after we leave, you’re going to the elektos to resign. You have no memories of us being here. You’ve been alone all day, thinking about this decision. Nothing will dissuade you.”
“I will go and resign. I have no memory of you being here because I’ve been alone all day thinking about this decision. Nothing will dissuade me.” Sklar’s pupils were blown wide, his gaze dreamy and lost.
Without breaking eye contact, Mal lifted his hand and pointed toward the door.
“Going,” Chrysabelle said, getting out of Sklar’s sight line in case the persuasion wore off before they got out. Having a face to remember would be a very bad thing, especially if that face was Chrysabelle’s.
“Brazil.” With that as his final word, Mal got up, still keeping his gaze fixed on Sklar. The room spun like Mal had been drinking, but he knew it was the drain on his power. Even Chrysabelle’s blood couldn’t fully restore him unless he took it from the vein, something he couldn’t do without killing her. Something he hadn’t done to anyone since he’d killed Fi.
He kept hold of the couch, working his way toward the door. He stumbled out of the room, his body somewhere between drunk and exhausted. With so little control left, the whine of the voices drilled through his brain. Blood hunger welled up in him so quickly he almost retched. He sagged against the wall in the hallway.
Chrysabelle waited there. Heart beating seductively, her scent wrapping him, inviting him…Bite her. Blood. Now. She grabbed his arm, swung it over her shoulders, and started hauling him toward the door. Neither of them said a word, understanding that doing so might break the glamour holding Sklar still for the requisite ten minutes.
Mal leaned into her, her perfume like a drug, her glow like a beacon. He wanted her so bad his bones ached. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled. Blood blood blood. The swarming, crying, cajoling mess in his head got louder. The fight to maintain control got harder.
A few steps later, they hit the front door and got out. He staggered, almost falling. Chrysabelle hoisted him up, maneuvering him down the stairs and out the gate. He inhaled her scent again. “You smell like summer. And blood.” He groaned at the way his body tightened with need just at the speaking of the word.
She laughed softly. “You sound a little wasted. Pretty drained after using all that power, huh?”
“Mmm-hmm. Let’s go back to the hotel room and be alone.”
Beneath her signum, a faint pink colored her cheeks. “Save your energy and stop talking.”
“I need to feed,” he muttered into her hair. Then bite.
“I know. That’s why we tucked a bottle of blood in your inside pocket before we left, remember?”
He patted the outside of his coat, finding the hidden bottle. He reached for it, but she grabbed his hand.
“Not now. In the car. Drinking blood on the street is a great way to out yourself as a vampire. We’re almost there.”
A minute later, she shoved him through the passenger door. He slumped back into the seat, feeling the daysleep coma dragging him down. He wanted to give in to it, but they had so much left to do. Blood, the voices screamed. Reminded, he reached into his coat and pulled out the water bottle she’d filled for him. With enormous effort, he unscrewed the cap and drank it down. The blood was only slightly warm and already starting to clot, but it tasted like mother’s milk to him.
Chrysabelle got in and shut the door. “Mission accomplished. Now to find a replacement.”
“Is he dead?” Mortalis asked.
“No, I told you no killing. He’s going to resign.”
