Page 5

5

T he drive to the Garden District took only a few minutes, and before she knew it Evelyn was standing in front of the most tired house she’d seen in a while. Similar in architectural design to the other homes in the neighborhood, this one still stood out for its faded facade and pale trelliswork. It was as though the sun had bleached the life out of the paint, the wood, even the cast-iron designs framing the second-floor gallery. The street was quiet.

Evelyn stepped up onto the porch and rang the doorbell, listening as it echoed inside the home, followed by soft footfalls just out of sight. She peered through the small square window in the front door to see a tall, lean man with light brown skin and striking gold-green hazel eyes appear in the shadows on the other side of the glass.

“What you want, then?” he asked.

“Are you Dominique?”

He didn’t respond.

She hesitated, then said, “Aurélie sent me. She said you might be able to help me.”

His strange eyes flicked to the street behind her, then back to her face. “Door’s unlocked.”

Evelyn opened the front door and stepped across the threshold into the darkened house. The man she assumed was Dominique had stepped deeper in the shadows as she opened the door and stayed there until she closed it behind her. He wore house slippers and what her great-grandmother would have called a smoking jacket and not much else that she could see, making it really just an uncomfortably short robe in this situation. Uncomfortable for her, that is. The house smelled like stale incense and cigarette ashes. His eyes caught the light, looking almost as though they were lit from within, and she suddenly remembered what Aurélie had said—he’d be hungry this early in the day. Shit. Evelyn’s pulse throbbed in her neck, and she moved to leave, but his eyes were suddenly very close to her face.

In a blink, she found herself back outside facing the street to the sound of the front door closing behind her with a click. Her blood rushed in her ears. She stumbled forward to brace herself with one hand against the porch pillar, her knees weak and untrustworthy. A vague ache in her wrist revealed two small puncture wounds near the vein. She was holding the trade book, its cover now brilliant with shine. Panic tightened her chest as she opened her bag still slung against her hip, but the dark book remained in place with no indication of tampering. What had just happened? Evelyn stepped down off the porch and turned around to search the front of the house for any signs of the owner, but there were no gold-green eyes peering through the window or peeking behind the curtains. Nothing.

She checked her wrist again just in time to see the puncture wounds fade to pink dots before disappearing completely. A painful pressure like a tension headache throbbed at the back of her skull. Shit. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Denmark again. Double shit. She had to go before she lost any more of Denmark’s good graces. She needed him to believe her without too much hassle. Whatever had just happened would have to wait. She had acquired what she needed inside that house, but everything comes at a price. She only wished she could remember exactly how high a price she’d paid.

She took the ride to Denmark’s estate slowly, the pain in her head making her cautious. Valen met her at the edge of the property.

“Hey,” she greeted him as she dismounted, then set her helmet on the seat of her bike. “How bad is it?”

“Bad.” Valen’s eyes searched her face, his own expression even more inscrutable than usual. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Things got a little hairy last night, but the streets were calmer today. No sniffers.”

“Good.” He paused. “I’ll walk you up.”

Evelyn followed behind him, trying desperately to think of something witty to say, anything to give the appearance of normalcy, but she came up empty. All she could think about was the hand-off and convincing Denmark that everything was fine. She just needed to stick to her story: she’d been chased by sniffers and barely made it home, slept for a few hours and came straight here. Keep it simple.

Denmark stood by the far window when they entered. Valen ushered her in, closing the door behind them. She was glad he stayed.

“Evelyn.” Denmark spoke without turning, his back rigid. “Do you have it?”

Show time.

“I do. Though it would have been nice to know about the freaky lady living in the house you sent me to. I barely made it out.”

Beside her, Valen made a low sound in his throat, almost like a growl.

“Surely you knew it would be a challenge when I offered you triple your normal rate. That should have come as no surprise.” His tone was icy.

“Difficult, sure? Actually equipped with magical booby-traps and also presently occupied ? I should charge you ten times that fee and make you beg next time you want to hire me for a job.”

Denmark turned at that statement and laughed. Evelyn relaxed slightly. He seemed to be buying it.

“There she is. I was worried you’d be changed by the experience, but it would seem not.”

“No, but this one has a powerful magic, strongest I’ve ever felt, with what feels like some darkness lurking underneath. Do you have a box?”

He closed the gap between them, his excitement erasing at least twenty years from his tired knees. “Of course. Here.” He lifted a wood and glass box, about one foot wide and two feet tall, onto his desk. The glass was thick and yellowed, spotted here and there by a bubble. The wood looked old but strong, no signs of the damp sponginess that would allow the magic to seep around the edges and escape the case.

“Blessed or cursed?” Evelyn asked, as she began undoing the iron buckles on her satchel.

“Both,” he said, almost gleefully, “and lined with both iron and lead, as you’ve suggested before.”

Evelyn nodded. That should do it, depending on how strong the blesser and the curser were. Stronger still if they were the same person, but dual wielders had always been rare and had grown rarer still over time.

“Verified?” She was stalling, and she knew it. She had one chance at this. If Denmark realized she was presenting him with a dummy book, it was all over.

“Thrice, including by one of the vestments of the Lybbestre.”

She almost dropped it at the mention of the Lybbestre for the second time that morning. “You should be careful.” The gleam in his eye suggested he wouldn’t follow her advice. “That’s not a name to invoke lightly.”

“Ah, but I am amongst friends, am I not?”

She just nodded, not trusting her tongue with that word still hanging in the air, floating on his spent breath. She slipped on a pair of thin gloves, then gingerly pulled the trade book from its hiding place. She felt the fresh magic pulse at her touch, even through the gloves. The shine appeared strong. If not for the lack of deception, she might’ve thought she’d grabbed the wrong book.

Valen made that sound again.

She set the book gently on the small stand within the case, then closed the door while making a show of uttering words under her breath, as though adding her own insurance to what was already built in. It might not help. It might.

“Excellent. I knew you could do it. I never doubted you. Ask anyone.” Denmark’s face showed a mix of glee and something maniacal just beneath the surface. People didn’t come with magical deceptions the way objects did. Good thing, too. If she’d had any lingering doubts about whether the risk she was taking was worth it, Denmark’s expression put them completely to rest. He wasn’t a man to be trusted, she’d known that from the beginning of their arrangement, but watching him when he thought he’d acquired an object of devastating evil was chilling, nonetheless.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Evelyn managed, fighting for civility. The worst of it was over. She just needed to extricate herself. “Once I have my fee, I’ll be on my way.” Valen stepped closer to her until she could feel his warmth just inches from her back.

Something she couldn’t quite read flashed across Denmark’s face. Greed, maybe. “Of course, my fault entirely.” He went back over to his desk and used a small key to unlock one of the large side drawers. He pulled out an envelope, thick with cash. “Here you go. Worth every penny, as always.”

Evelyn took the envelope and left, closing the door to the study behind her. She stood still in the hallway. She’d done it. She’d really done it. It was likely he’d discover her trick at some point, but for now she was in the clear. Now all she had to do was figure out what to do with the real book. She fought the urge to jog down the stairs, reminding herself that Denmark likely had cameras everywhere, and even if Valen was the only one who watched the footage, she didn’t want to invite speculation by behaving too far out of character.

The warm night air felt like a caress after the tense coldness inside the estate, but her relief was short-lived as a low howl sounded somewhere nearby, followed by another and another. Sniffers. They’d surrounded the estate by the sound of it. They would stay outside the property line—Valen had seen to that—but the moment she stepped outside that boundary, she was fair game. Fortunately, she’d parked Marge on Denmark’s front lawn. Sniffers were primarily young wolves or jackals with questionable control when shifted. It meant they were fairly dumb but fast and stupid strong. She wouldn’t be able to outrun them. She was going to have to piss a whole lot of people off instead.

Evelyn walked Marge over to the western property line where Denmark’s yard connected with his closest neighbor’s. Not everyone in New Orleans had wards or blessings in place to protect their homes, but a lot of people had sacred objects or juju totems that did the same thing—whether they realized it or not. Evelyn knew of at least two kitschy shops in the area that specialized in selling land blessings in the shape of the ever-popular fleur-de-lis. She was banking on enough houses between Denmark’s estate and her apartment having protections of some kind to help her outpace the sniffers. Land blessings wouldn’t block your friendly neighborhood wolf from stopping by with a casserole when your husband left you, but they’d burn the hide off an adolescent wolf high on shine lust.

Evelyn put on her helmet, made sure her bag was safely tucked against her body, then hit Marge’s start button. The engine roared to life, and she took off straight across the neighbor’s yard.

Evelyn braced for impact as she rode up and over a short set of steps to squeeze between two houses. They were situated so close together that she had to keep her knees pinched close to Marge to avoid knocking them against the walls on either side. Yips and howls sounded behind her. These houses weren’t blessed.

“Fuck.” Glimpsing shine two houses down on the left, Evelyn took a sharp turn and sped through the protected property and into the next neighborhood. She focused on moving from blessed plot to blessed plot, ignored the deep tracks her tires were cutting into front lawns and back gardens. If the sniffers caught her, she was done for. Not only would they tear her apart to get to the book, but the last thing she needed was someone like Eduardo getting their paws on the book. That might be worse than turning it over to Denmark.

She’d managed to keep some distance between her and her pursuers, but it was only a matter of time before they caught up or managed to cut her off. It wasn’t much further now—maybe three blocks before she’d hit the edge of Madame Leveaux’s property. A low howl off to the left sent her careening to the right, cutting through an abandoned parking lot that split one neighborhood from the other.

Almost there.

She was less than a block from home when a large wolf lunged out of the bushes just as she crossed out of a protected lawn and knocked her off her bike. Marge skidded away several feet before stopping. Evelyn landed hard on her side. Her black denim jacket took the worst of the road rash, but the rough asphalt ripped a hole in the knee of her jeans, shredding fabric and flesh at once. Initially stunned, she scrambled to her feet and grabbed for her bag that had landed nearby. The wolf howled and lunged for her again. Evelyn raised her arm to defend herself against the attack, but it never came. Another creature, this one much larger and with darker fur, hurled itself into the wolf, knocking it away from her.

She didn’t wait to see what happened next. She slung her bag back across her body and yanked Marge upright, starting the engine and swinging her leg over the seat at once. She sped off down the street to sounds of a snarling, yowling fight behind her and didn’t stop until she reached the safety of Madame Leveaux’s secured property line.

The book was safely encased in the iron box once again.

Evelyn sat beside it on the floor, one arm draped over the top of it, her back against the wall. She took several slow breaths in an attempt to calm herself down. Her headache, briefly forgotten, returned with a vengeance. She needed food. And sleep. She leaned her head against the wall behind her and closed her eyes. She’d made it home. Denmark had believed her. The sniffers hadn’t caught her. She was safe. Her eyes were heavy with lack of rest and fading adrenaline. She counted three deep breaths.

A knock at the door woke her from a dead sleep. She squinted in the bright light streaming through the window. Stifling a groan as she stood up, her body stiff and sore from her fall combined with sleeping propped against the wall. After shoving the iron box back in the closet to hide it, she pulled the ritual knife out of her bag and stepped quietly toward the door. The sisters mewed sleepily at her from their snuggle pile on the living room couch. She didn’t have guests—she was opposed to it on principle. There was no good reason for anyone to be at her door. Ever.

The peephole revealed Valen standing carefully on the landing outside her door as though he thought the whole thing might collapse under his weight. It was a reasonable fear. Why was he here? Had Denmark sent him?

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Good morning to you, too. Can I come in?”

She unlocked the deadbolts, taking her sweet time to delay the fact that she was bringing a stranger—potentially an enemy—into her home. Her safe place. Her sanctuary. Her library . But if she refused him, it would look suspicious.

Evelyn opened the door, keeping the ritual knife hidden behind her back.

“Do you need an invitation?” she asked when he stopped just shy of the threshold.

“Not a vamp, but my mama did raise me with some manners.”

She nodded. “Come in. Consider yourself invited but under duress given the fact that you woke me up. Does that still count for the whole manners thing?”

“It’ll have to do.” His grin was lopsided, and she hated that she liked that. She needed to keep her guard up. Valen closed the door behind him and relocked the deadbolts before stepping aside so she should replace the wards.

“Nice place you have here.” A common compliment, but he spoke with such sincerity that she believed him.

“Thanks, it’s… mine.” Duh, Evelyn. It’s your apartment.

But he nodded as though he understood. The place was hers, only hers, and in a life that had seen very few things be hers, just hers, that really mattered. And it was a big part of why she’d never invited anyone back here. Not dates, not friends, and definitely absolutely not family. And now he was here.

“What are you doing here, Valen? Did Denmark send you?”

“No one sent me.” She wanted to believe him. “I came to make sure you were okay. I heard sniffers right after you left.”

Evelyn rubbed the back of her neck, the headache from last night yet another unwelcome guest. “It got pretty intense on the way home, but I made it back okay.” She held her arms out as though to demonstrate. “Safe and sound, see?”

“Good. The wards on this property are solid. Could be improved, but some of the best I’ve seen outside my own work.” Typical Valen, so humble. “You had the book here for almost a full day. That could easily have drawn attention without you being aware of it. You mind if I take a look around, make sure your place is still secure?”

“Go ahead. I’m going to make coffee.” She busied herself in the kitchen, keenly aware of every move he made in the small space, now even smaller for having someone so large taking up room.

Starting at the front door, he moved methodically along each wall, checking for she didn’t know what. He tugged on the windows, the sills long painted and swollen shut by careless handymen and the wet Louisiana air. He knocked on the glass, once and twice but never three times.

Curious but not concerned, the three furry sisters stretched lazily and untangled themselves to inspect the stranger. Decima, the more forward of the three, approached him confidently, her tail curled up in a question mark of friendliness.

There was nothing lopsided about his grin this time. “You have cats!” He dropped to his knees and held out one thick knuckle for Decima to sniff. She did so, daintily, then immediately bumped her head against his hand, inviting pets. Encouraged by their sister’s success, the other two approached more cautiously and from an angle, watching for any signs of danger. Once they got close enough to sniff him themselves, they both followed Decima’s example and bumped their heads under his outstretched palms before wrapping their soft little bodies around his legs and forearms—whatever they could reach.

She could hear their purrs all the way from the kitchen, the traitors.

“They’re beautiful,” he said, and she swore their purring went up a notch.

“Thanks. They’re adopted.”

He chuckled as he got back to his feet and continued his path around her apartment, this time with three feline helpers trailing along behind him. Once he’d cleared the kitchen, he moved down the hallway to her bedroom and bathroom. When he came to the library door, he stopped, looking back over his shoulder to where she was standing in the kitchen doorway watching him.

“Go on,” she said. “It’s just my reading room. Nothing exciting in there either.”

He eased the door open slowly, letting out a whistle of appreciation at the sight of all the books. “This is an impressive collection.”

She followed him in, uncomfortable being so close to him but more uncomfortable leaving him near the shine without supervision. His comment made her scoff. “You work for Denmark. We both know this is nothing compared to collections like his.”

“Eh, maybe not in number. But he just buys stuff because he can. You’ve kept all these because they hold significance for you. It’s different.”

It was, but she wasn’t about to agree with him out loud. She held her breath when he approached the window seat, but he followed the same routine he’d done with the other windows, tugging to see if it would open, checking the locks, knocking twice but never thrice. He braced himself with a hand against the shelves to the side of the window, but a book gave way, throwing him off-balance, and he caught himself with his other hand on the seat itself and froze.

She still wasn’t breathing. He stayed like that, frozen in place for several seconds. Or hours. She couldn’t be sure. Then he straightened, turning to face her as though nothing had happened.

“Everything seems secure. I can tell you keep this place carefully protected. That’s good. You never know what might follow you home from one of your jobs.”

“You’re telling me.” She moved out of the way to let him leave the room, not wanting him in the library alone even for a second. She was breathing again, thankfully, but the way her heart was pounding in her chest in tempo with her headache was very distracting. Why had he hesitated at the bench? He hadn’t seemed to notice anything unusual until he put his hand on the wood of the seat—could he sense the magic? Surely not. Denmark loved to brag about how Valen—a mundane human with no magical abilities—could keep the estate safe from both sniffers and magic wielders. She was just being paranoid.

She found him sitting on the rug in the living room, all three cats vying for space on his lap. They’d really taken a liking to him, the bastards. She poured herself a cup of coffee. She needed the reinforcement for her nerves before she could interrogate him properly.

She stood in the kitchen and watched him pet and cuddle and coo at her cats while she sipped the hot brew. He seemed so relaxed in her space, yet she was one giant ball of tension at the forced proximity of the situation.

“Tell me why,” she said, without thought.

He didn’t look up. “Why, what?”

“Why you’re really here. I’ve done plenty of jobs for Denmark before this one. All of them dangerous. You’ve never so much as texted me the next day to make sure I was okay. Now you’ve escalated to a house call. Why?”

“I was worried.” His voice was soft, softer than she’d ever heard it. He was usually more of a grunt and growl kind of guy.

“Why?”

“I was afraid you were going to do something stupid.” He still wasn’t looking at her, but his hands had grown still, much to the consternation of her love-hungry cats.

“Like what?”

“Like keep the real book for yourself.”