Bad Blood

She started to unfold the paper Loudreux had given her, although she’d read it a dozen times already.

“You’re here to see a fae named Augustine,” Mortalis said.

She nodded, reading the name even as he spoke it. “You know him? Any suggestions for approaching him?”

“Besides don’t?” Mortalis shook his head. “He won’t take the job.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“I tried to get him to do it years ago. He’s a stubborn, lazy bala’stro.”

Fae was one language she’d never studied, but the meaning was clear. “I still have to try.” She paused, watching Mortalis stare down the house she was about to go to. “How do you know this Augustine?”

Mortalis ripped the keys out of the ignition. “We share a father.”

Before Chrysabelle could ask any more questions, he got out and shut the door behind him. A half brother, then. How much more family did Mortalis have here? Had Loudreux known? He must have. And he must be using Mortalis to some end. Otherwise, why put him through this? Chrysabelle envied Mortalis having brothers and sisters, but Mortalis didn’t seem that interested in his siblings, not in any way that made sense to her. He walked around to the passenger’s side and leaned against the car, waiting.

She hated to wake Mal, but with Mortalis’s reaction to being here, having some backup might be a good thing. Besides, if things went badly and she didn’t wake him, she’d never hear the end of it. She nudged him, wondering if his few minutes of daysleep had done him any good. He came awake instantly, eyes silver, face all hard angles and sharp bones. He shook himself, blinking his human face into place.

“We stopped.” He twisted to look out his window. “This the next guardian’s house?”

“Yes. A fae named Augustine. Who is also Mortalis’s half brother. Mortalis says he won’t take the job, but I still want to talk to him. Can’t hurt.” Unless Augustine and Mortalis got into a fight.

“He related to everyone in this town?”

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“What else did he say about him?”

“That Augustine is lazy and stubborn. And he called him a bala’stro.”

Mal snorted and raised his eyebrows. “Such a dirty word out of such a pretty mouth.”

The hint of silver in his gaze made her warm. “What does it mean? No, don’t tell me. Let’s just get this over with.”

A few minutes later, she stood before an impressive set of double doors, their curved insets of leaded glass gleaming even in the gray light of the fading, rainy day. “Judging by the size of this house, my money isn’t going to be much of an incentive.”

Behind her, Mortalis huffed out a breath. “It’s not his house.”

“Good,” Mal said. “Maybe money will work.”

“Not likely,” Mortalis shot back.

“Enough,” she hissed as she knocked. “Let me do this, okay?”

They both went silent. A figure came down the entrance hall toward them, at last opening the door.

“Hello there, darling.” The old woman smiled, leaning on a crystal-topped cane. She wore a peacock-colored silk caftan covered in a blinding array of crystals that threw sparks of light onto her sleek silver-white bob. Something about her seemed familiar, but there was no way Chrysabelle had met her before. Those amber eyes would have been hard to forget. “How can I help you young people? Collecting for something?”

“No, ma’am.” Chrysabelle smiled at being called young. However old the woman in front of her, Chrysabelle was still older, no matter what she looked like. “I was hoping to have a word with Augustine?”

“May I tell him who’s calling?”

“Certainly. I’m Chrysabelle Lapointe. He doesn’t know me, but I have something I need to discuss with him.”

She leaned forward a bit and lowered her voice. “You’re not with child, are you, love?”

“Typical,” Mortalis muttered.

Chrysabelle reared back. “What? No.” What kind of character was Augustine?

The woman held out her hand, the gnarls of age slightly disguised by a gumdrop-sized amethyst surrounded by diamonds. “Nice to meet you, cheri. I’m Olivia Goodwin, but if you behave, y’all can call me Livie.”

“Olivia Goodwin? The movie actress?” No wonder she looked so familiar. Comarré were limited in what they were allowed to watch, but her late patron, Algernon, had glommed on to anything even remotely vampire related. Olivia had played a vampire queen in a series of movies that Algernon had watched repeatedly, enough so that Chrysabelle could quote a few of Olivia’s more famous lines.

Olivia smiled and gave her a little wink. “That’s right, but that’s the past, darling. I like to live in the present.”

“Liar.” The teasing voice came from farther down the hall behind Olivia. “You love being recognized and you know it.” The body that belonged to that voice strode into view, long and leanly muscled, and except for his skin being a lighter shade of gray, a close copy of Mortalis. The genes in that family must be ironclad.

“Augie.” Olivia tsked. “You’re a wicked boy.”

He bent and kissed her snowy-white head. “That must be why you keep me.” Then his gray-green eyes turned to Chrysabelle and the men with her. The mirth in his gaze vanished when he saw Mortalis. “I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”