“You don’t know that.”

I leaned back and crossed my arms. “Actually, I can guarantee it. Because the vamp we’re after is—” I paused and glanced at Adam. To this point I’d avoided mentioning Lavinia’s name, but obviously the time had come to tell Mac so she could warn her friends. “Her name is Lavinia Kane.”

Mac blinked in confusion. “And?” So much for my bombshell. I guess it wasn’t surprising, since Mac was a werewolf and not a vamp.

I decided to put in terms a werewolf could understand. “She’s the Alpha of the entire vampire race.”

That got Mac’s attention. “Holy shit.”

“Exactly. Now you know why we hesitated telling you before.” When Mac nodded with her mouth hanging open, I continued. “But now that this happened? Your friends need to be really careful.”

Adam cut in. “In fact, you should tell your friends not to engage if they see her.”

Mac’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Lavinia’s one of the oldest vamps alive. Your average vamp won’t stand a chance.”

Her chin lifted. “But you’re planning on taking her on, right? What makes you so tough?”

I tried not to react to the challenge in the were’s eyes. “Because I have the best training for the job and the best reason to want her dead.”

Mac sucked in a deep breath through her nose and pursed her lips. “Okay. I can’t promise my friends will listen, but I’ll try.”

“In the meantime, we’ll check out this address. You tell your pals to let us know if they hear anything else, okay?”

“Maybe you should give me a description of this Domina. Just so they know to avoid her if she shows up.”

“She’s a little taller than me. Dark, dark red hair— burgundy, I guess. But don’t worry, they’ll know her when they see her.”

“How?”

I shrugged. “They’ll have a sudden urge to genuflect before her.”

“Ah. Okay, I’ll tell them.” She rose to leave, looking a little shell-shocked.

“I have one more question,” I said, placing a hand on Adam’s arm when he moved to stand, too. “Has anyone you’ve talked to mentioned seeing an out-of-town mage around?”

Mac frowned and shook her head. “I’m sorry. But since most of the mage residents left a few days ago, a new one would definitely be noticed.”

Mac saw my expression fall and rushed ahead. “But I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything. I mean, your sister’s bound to turn up soon, right?”

I sighed. “You’re probably right.”

Unless Lavinia had already killed her.

12

When Zen showed us to the garage behind the shop, I was surprised to see an ancient yellow car waiting for us. Not really sure what car I’d imagined a voodoo priestess might choose, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“A Gremlin?” I asked, trying to keep the judgment from my tone.

Zen patted the hood lovingly. “This here’s Saint Expedite.” She chuckled like she’d made a joke. I glanced at Adam, who merely shrugged in return. “Don’t get to do much driving in the city, but when I need to get around this baby gets the job done.”

After that, she apologized for the cluttered back seat and the heavy scent of dried herbs permeating the interior. “Won’t matter too much, since the front windows won’t roll up anymore.”

As we’d gotten ready to leave before Zen showed us the car, I insisted Giguhl put on a little something to ward off the chill. The ensuing argument was why we were leaving Zen’s an hour behind schedule. But after Zen’s explanation about the windows, I shot Giguhl an I-told-you-so look. His tail swished, and he turned his back to me. The position gave me a nice view of his hairless ass sticking out from under a black sweater. The view I could have done without, but being right went a long way toward soothing my aching pupils.

A few minutes later, Zen waved us off merrily and headed out to handle her own business. As we drove out of the French Quarter toward the Garden District, Giguhl perched his little naked paws on the dashboard and looked out the windshield. He ducked and weaved to avoid getting beamed by the chicken foot— used to “kick evil back,” according to Zenobia— hanging from the rearview mirror.

Our first stop was back at Alodius’s butcher shop. We decided to hit there first and get it out of the way before we checked out Mac’s lead. That way I’d also be able to grab some more blood before potentially rumbling with the vampires in the house on Prytania. Normally I didn’t need it every day, but I guess since the blood wasn’t from a human it wore off faster. I can’t say how much I enjoyed having to drink double the cow’s blood to stay strong.

The trip down to the Garden District was much faster this time, despite the Gremlin’s questionable transmission. Adam pulled in front of the shop and left the engine sputtering and wheezing.

I reached for the handle. “Aren’t you coming in? After all, you’re the one who volunteered to get chicken feet for the voodoo lady.”

“Careful, Red, or I’ll think you’re jealous.” Adam smiled knowingly.

Giguhl snickered. Ass.

I looked away. “Whatever.”

“Anyway, I had my fill of the butcher last night. Why don’t you take Gigi with you for protection?”

I snorted, which earned me a glare from the cat. “Mock if you will, but I like that nickname better than Mr. Giggles,” he said.

“I think you just like Brooks better,” I said.

He drew back. “Now you’re jealous of Brooks, too?”

I seriously didn’t have enough breath in my body to argue that point. Instead, I shook my head and grabbed his warm and disconcertingly smooth body from the console.

“You might want to talk to a professional about your emotional IQ,” he taunted as I jogged to the door. I shot him a glare.

“What the fuck is that?”

He wrinkled his pink nose. “If you watched Opry you’d know.” For some reason, Giguhl felt he knew the fabulously wealthy talk-show host well enough to give her a nickname.

I groaned. “Gods, if you’re going to start peer pressuring me to watch that crap, I might have to revoke permission to TV altogether.”

He hissed. “Bite your tongue! It’s bad enough Zen doesn’t get the Temptation Channel. Don’t take my Opry away, too!”

I breathed in through my nose as I prayed for patience. On the exhale I reminded myself that Giguhl seemed to take perverse joy in seeing steam come out of my ears. But he was a Mischief demon, after all. On the other hand, I was standing on a busy street arguing with a cat in a black turtleneck. “Perhaps I went too far with that threat. I see that now. But do you think you could refrain from lecturing me about my many and varied personality deficits for five minutes so I can go buy some godsdamned chicken feet?”

I hadn’t known cat lips could purse before. But Giguhl rocked the martyr mask like a pro. “I suppose.”

“Good. Now, please remember not to talk in there. Alodius might be okay serving vamps and mages, but I’m pretty sure he’s not prepared to deal with you.”

The cat muttered something under his breath but settled into my arms like a good kitty. I threw open the door and walked in. This time the Cajun Sausage Fest had a few customers waiting at the counter. I pulled a number from the machine and prepared to wait. From what I could tell, the line consisted of two mortals and a werewolf.

Alodius chatted with the mortals while he packaged up their order. Ahead of me, the were perked up and looked at me over his shoulder. His shaggy brown hair matched his eyes. As he gave me a once-over, his nostrils flared. Catching my scent, his eyes narrowed.

My mixed-blood scent— a combo of copper and sandalwood— generally confused other members of the dark races. Half-breeds were exceptionally rare, which made it hard for potential foes to decide whether I was an actual threat or merely a freak of nature.

I tilted my head in an amiable nod. He hesitated and tipped his chin in my direction. Just like that, the tension evaporated like vapor. He turned back around and tapped his cowboy boot on the linoleum.

At Alodius’s urging, the humans— Germans, judging from the accents— added a pound of head cheese to their order. Not that I’m in any position to judge others’ eating habits, but the idea of meat jelly made me gag. I mean, the name alone inspires images of things best not contemplated while eating.

Giguhl, however, licked his chops. As Alodius wrapped up the package, he soliloquized like a freakin’ Cajun Willy Shakespeare about making the damned stuff.

“First ya brine the head— eyeballs, snoot, and all— with the hocks. Throw a couple tongues in there for some flavor. Once that’s done, boil the shit out of it till the face meat’s falling off …..” He said more, but I was too busy trying not to vomit on the werewolf’s boots. I tuned back in time to hear Aldoius declare, “Hoo-eee, that there’s good eatin’.”

Finally, the Germans exited with the booty. “Y’all come back now.” Alodius waved the humans off and turned to the were. “Sorry for the wait.”

“Give me two porterhouses,” he all but growled.

Dollar signs appeared in Alodius’s eyes. “You doing some grilling? We got a great sauce—”

A low growl came from the were. “Just get the fucking steaks.”

Alodius nodded and scurried away to fill the request. I repressed a smile at seeing the chatty Cajun shot down. The butcher started wrapping the steaks in paper, only to receive another low rumble from the werewolf. “Don’t bother.”

He grabbed the meat right off the scale. He lifted the first steak directly to his mouth and chomped into it. Red juice dripped down his forearms, and he grunted like a pig at a trough as he swallowed large chunks whole.

My mouth fell open. I glanced at Alodius, whose expression was a combination of awe and disgust. Before either of us could figure out how to react, the were licked his fingers clean. That done, he dug into his back pocket for his wallet. He tossed a few bills on the counter.