Mortalis turned his head, finally making eye contact with the driver. “Hugo know you make those kinds of suggestions?”

Amery paled beneath his smoky gray skin. “No, sir, I just thought—”

Mortalis held up a hand. “It’s a good one. What about once he’s inside?”

Amery shrugged. “He keeps his head down and his fangs in, he should be okay. The checkpoints are hella tougher than the patrols. The current guardian is pretty slack, and if a patrol does pick him up, a couple of bills will set him loose.”

Mortalis twisted to look at Mal. “How well do you know the city?”

“Well enough.”

“Good. You’ll stay with us until Amery says you can’t go any farther, then you hike in and meet us at Jackson Square. It’s always crawling with tourists and those damn vampire tours, so you should blend in fine.”

Mal frowned. Chrysabelle didn’t blame him. Getting dumped in some random spot would have ticked her off, too. She expected an argument any moment, but Mal just slanted his eyes at her and nodded. “I don’t like it. But I’ll do it.”

“So noted.” Mortalis jerked his chin forward. “Let’s go.”

She peeked at Mal. Maybe this was all part of Mal’s decision to stop arguing with her. But she was surprised how quickly he’d decided to do this. She leaned over toward him. “You okay with this?”

“Yes.”

Not like he had a choice. She shifted forward, grabbing the back of Mortalis’s seat. “Can’t we try to go through the checkpoint with Mal in the car?”

Mortalis turned the air conditioning down. “Amery?”

Amery met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “We could all get banned.”

“Vampires that big a problem here?”

He shook his head. “Used to be. Not since New Orleans became a fae haven. We gave up Manhattan in exchange.”

“We?” She laughed without much humor. “I didn’t realize the fae and the vampires had gotten together and divided the States up.”

“Not the States. Just certain cities. Keeps peace.” He looked out the window. “Or it did.”

“Why is New Orleans such a draw for vampires? The city seems synonymous with them. Or did.”

Mortalis made eye contact with her, one brow raised like he wished she hadn’t asked the question. Then he shifted to Mal. “You’ve been here before. Why did you come?”

Mal was silent a few long seconds. “New place to go, I guess.”

“But you’ve been here more than once. Why come back?”

A rare, puzzled look crossed Mal’s face as he thought. “I don’t know. But even now, I feel drawn to the city.” He narrowed his gaze. “Why is that?” His question held the implication that Mortalis best explain.

Mortalis took a deep breath. “Not long after New Orleans was founded, a French witch, Aurelia La Voisin, took a fae lover, who proceeded to break her heart. She cursed the city to get revenge on him. From that time forward, any vampire who set foot within the Orleans Parish was able to daywalk so long as they stayed within those limits. The fae counteracted with a spell that causes the effect to be erased from a vampire’s memory the moment he leaves the parish, but the urge to return always remains.” Mortalis paused for a moment. “You’ll be able to see me during daylight hours, too. Because of the fae’s distant shared bloodlines with nobility, shadeux are also visible.”

Chrysabelle’s jaw went south. “Are you telling me New Orleans is the Ville Éternelle Nuit? That’s not real. It’s a legend, a myth like—”

“The Kubai Mata,” Mal interjected.

She closed her mouth and rested back in her seat. Mal looked as shocked as she felt. No wonder every vampire she’d ever known had spoken about the Ville Éternelle Nuit as if it were Valhalla. Organized search parties had been sent out to find it. Starting in the late 1700s, the ancient books were filled with the mention of the mystical place.

Except it was real. And right in front of them. New Orleans was the City of Everlasting Night.

Doc had just left Fi to die and there was nothing he could do about it. Driven by the other mind inside his, all he could manage was to keep his human form and head toward the destination the compulsion demanded. If he ended up somewhere besides the Glades, he’d be shocked. He pushed hard for more speed. Jostled, the baby in his backpack began to cry.

He rolled his eyes. The vampire halfling was nothing but trouble. Preacher would be after him. As would any nearby fringe who enjoyed the taste of newborn blood and heard the wailing. It was like a siren. He had to get the halfling quiet. He shifted his movement to adopt the most even rhythm he could. Finally the crying faded.

And as long as the compulsion didn’t force him to shift into his leopard form, he could manage this small grasp on reality. In his animal state, fighting the compulsion was impossible. In his human state, at least part of his mind was his own, and with that thin sliver he was able to formulate a plan.

He would deliver the little beast to Aliza, or if she was really dead, then he’d find whoever was behind this spell and sever this control they had over him. By any means necessary. Then he could get back to Fi. Mother Bast, if Preacher had hurt her, Doc would hunt the daywalking bastard down and shred him to ash.

Miles disappeared under his feet and the landscape around him shifted to a very familiar one. An hour later, he came to a stop in front of Slim Jim’s cabin.