Chapter Four

 

 

THE NEXT evening Cooke and his crew serenaded people in front of my store, and after a month, they still came on the nights they weren’t playing a club. With their CDs in the store and playing there at night, they picked up enough buzz to book some gigs.

Ode hired a girl named Leni to work in the store who, after a week, revealed to me she was a made vampyr. She gave off a hippie vibe and knew everything about the oils we sold and the different stones and all the Egyptian talismans, and like Ode, could seemingly read people and tell at a glance what they truly needed. I liked her and her long flowing blonde hair, big blue eyes, and freckles. Amazingly Ode—who normally didn’t like people right away (I was an exception)—and Leni became fast friends, the force of nature and the vampyr. When they walked around together, traffic came to a screeching halt.

Then once we realized the night shift was profitable, Ode hired two more people: a clean-cut college kid named Farraday Biel, and Benny Diallo’s little sister, Joy, whose name embodied her spirit. I wasn’t sure how she would do working with Leni and having Cooke in and out of the store all the time, but unlike many of the other purebloods, she did not, as Cooke informed me, have a stick up her ass.

Despite his newfound fame, Cooke still stopped by to visit and kept me company at night when I covered the store.

“It’s November,” he groused, turning the fan on the counter to face him as he flipped through a magazine. “Why is it still hot?”

“It’s New Orleans,” I reminded him, “not Boston.”

He grunted.

“You could move.”

“Oh hell no. This is the first place I’ve ever lived where the PBs and made get along. I’m never leaving.”

I pivoted to look at him, surprised by the words. I knew from talking to him, and now others, that the struggle between the classes was ongoing. What I hadn’t known was me being there was influencing the bigger population. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that because of you, we all get along. Everybody knows, PB or made, that if they have an issue, they can come here, and you’ll sit them down and iron out whatever the issue is. I mean, both Benny and Niko actually come and see you on a regular basis, and everybody walks the streets together without any bloodshed! It’s fuckin’ amazing.”

Benny would sit above me on the stairs that led up to my apartment while I sat below and sideways, looking up at him, and Niko leaned against the side of the building smoking a cigarette. We ironed out so many small things that might have snowballed. And while I was more at ease with Niko because Benny was a bit more standoffish, I respected them both.

It matched up with what Leni had offered by way of explanation one night after both men left.

“It’s funny,” she said, leaning against the side of the building, arms crossed, staring at me. “Everyone thinks that it’s the store that’s somehow imbued with magical properties, but how in the world could that be the case?”

I smiled. “Maybe it’s built over some mysterious vortex of power.”

She snorted a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

“Who knows.” I sighed, looking up at the cloudy night sky. “Whatever it is, it is peaceful, though, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she agreed, “because of you. It’s like in Charlotte’s Web.”

I couldn’t help squinting at her. “I’m sorry?”

“People in the book were all, Wow, that pig is amazing, but really, a spider that could spell? When I was little, I was, like, they should have still made Wilbur into bacon and figured out how to extend Charlotte’s life.”

“I do see your point,” I said, chuckling. “But it would have been a very different book.”

“My point is that vampyrs come into the store, and they’re always in awe over how at peace they feel, how unafraid, and they chalk that up to the building, to being inside the store, even though you’re walking around right in front of them.”

“I don’t—”

“The building has been here forever, but guess what. You haven’t.”

I shrugged.

“I mean, seriously, connect the dots, yeah?”

“Jase.” Cooke looked bored.

“Sorry. I was thinking about something Leni said the other day.”

“Something about how great you are for the community, and if you decide to move somewhere—anywhere—that we’re all coming too?”

“Sure,” I teased. “No. That wasn’t quite it. She was just putting a theory out there about how it’s me and not the store.”

“Which is exactly my point,” he said, grinning. “You’re the anomaly, right? Not the store.”

“Well, apparently you and Leni are in agreement.”

“I would like for us to be in agreement about a whole lotta other things.”

“Hands off my staff,” I said flatly. “I’ve seen how you treat women.”

He rolled his eyes.

“And I think all this newfound peace is a result of Benny and Niko being open to working together and nothing else.”

“Don’t kid yourself. Those guys feel it like the rest of us. We’re all compelled to do what you want, for whatever fuckin’ reason, and it just so happens that you’re using your power for good and not evil.”

I groaned. “I have no powers,” I grumbled. “Just because the Quarter is a magical place doesn’t mean I am.”

“Just keep using your power for good.”

“Absolutely,” I said sarcastically.

“Nobody likes a smartass,” he assured me, looking up from the magazine.

I scoffed. “I dunno, people seem to like you.”

He flipped me off before returning to the pictures of clothes he wanted. “I would still love to know how you’re gettin’ everyone to sit around and sing ‘Kumbaya’ together.”

It had been an… interesting month. With so many noreia landing on my doorstep, I had even more people to talk to and ask questions. Happily the sanctity of human life was universal, and most human and vampyr interaction was not scary in the slightest.

But one point kept bothering me.

There were humans who knew all about vampyrs and would allow them to tap a vein without the benefit of a bond. They were called fuillin, blood-givers, and it was done in a variety of ways. Some humans were part of a vampyr’s entourage. Some were “kept” humans; they belonged to that particular vampyr, involving collars or lockets. The problem was that keeping a fuillin in any capacity was, by decree of the king, illegal. Even when the human was more than willing, or even if said vampyr and human were madly in love, it was breaking the law.

Humans could not regenerate blood at the same speed a vampyr could, so the laws protected them from becoming human juice boxes, the kind sucked dry and crumpled up. If mated, in theory, the human trusted the vampyr not to kill them. The law came into play with unmated humans, protecting them from being preyed upon and protecting vampyrs from accidents that would lead to interaction with human law enforcement, the results of which could be catastrophic.

The law served everyone well, vampyr and human alike. But I saw problems concerning free will. How was it fair for the law to say who a human could love and in what way? Why did the law get a say in a vampyr’s bedroom about who they could take blood from and when? If both parties were consenting adults, what was the harm? And why was the onus all on the vampyr?

“Your brain is running,” Cooke said absently, yawning before closing the magazine. “What’s your question?”

“How did you know I had another question?”

He snorted loudly. “Whatever. Just ask me already.”

“That night when you said that you were going to feed off me, you would have fed off me only to be killed later?”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“But you said you would.”

“But I wouldn’t have,” Cooke explained.

“But again, you said you were going to,” I insisted, wanting to get to the crux of the matter without him arguing.

He growled. “I wouldn’t have, all right?”

“Then why say it?”

“Man, I was so fuckin’ out of it before you healed me. I’ve never been in pain like that. It messed with my head.”

“So you’re saying there’s no way you would ever drink from me, regardless of the situation?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re so lying right now.”

“Oh hell no,” he said implacably. “I refuse to ever be labeled as a fomori.”

“Because drinking blood from anyone else but another vampyr or your human mate is forbidden, right?”

“That’s right.”

“But what if nobody ever sees you? Can’t you just lie?”

“I guess you could, but supposedly the PBs can smell it. Niko says that Benny can, so I guess it’s true.”

“They could lie.”

“They could, but the prince can tell exactly what you are from drinking your blood.”

“Really?”

“I heard he does when those cases are brought to him, but otherwise no.”

“And so he, what, just pops in from Malta to be a vampyr blood test?”

“No, you gotta go to him.”

“Do people actually do that?”

He shook his head. “I dunno. Maybe. I guess you either care or you don’t, you either follow the commandments of the king or you don’t. Simple as that.”

“Then if you just follow the laws or don’t, what’s the upside of being a follower?”

“The prince can send the dreki.”

“I think your prince wields far too much power,” I said to him, just as I had to Tiago.

“But someone has to be the bad guy. There has to be a scourge.”

“Big word,” I said sarcastically. “Did you read it somewhere?”

“Fuck. You.”

I laughed as I punched him gently in the shoulder.

“Owww,” he complained.

“Tell me why.”

“Why what?” He was still irritated.

“Why does there have to be a bad guy?”

“Because without rules, there’s chaos, idiot.”

It sounded suspiciously like dogma, which was why, initially, I’d thought that all of this was about a cult.

“I prefer to live by The Laws of Ascalon and not roll the dice with my life,” Cooke said.

It was too arbitrary. “I think that by your king putting limits on who vampyrs can drink from, that he’s also trying to put limits on who his people can love.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It shouldn’t be any of the king’s business who you want to love or sleep with or do anything else with. His laws should extend to not hurting anyone, and that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s not God,” I explained, remembering what my CO used to say to me whenever I went off and took chances. “He can’t save everyone, even from themselves.”

“I’m not following you.”

“The king shouldn’t be allowed to choose what’s right for everyone. He can’t save everyone from poor choices—which is what he’s trying to do. He has to let them live their lives for themselves.”

“And then, what, drinking blood becomes a choice that any vampyr can make?”

“With consent, why not?”

“I think you open yourself up to all kinds of problems if everyone can take blood from whoever they want, whenever they feel like it.”

“I think it makes sense,” I argued. “As long as the person is old enough to give proper consent, and as long as no one is getting hurt, I say go for it.”

“You have this idea in your head about drinking blood, fueled by bad movies and trashy novels, that somehow makes it out to be more than just taking sustenance.”

“I have no idea, but I do know that vampyrs should be able to enjoy it and make it part of the whole seduction process if they want.”

“Oh, for crissakes, Jase, it would be like you falling in love with a cheeseburger!”

“I have been very close to a few cheeseburgers in my day. The first one I had when I got back from Iraq, I could’ve married.”

He groaned, loud and dire: I was too annoying for words.

“What?”

“I don’t get people and food,” he muttered. “It’s weird.”

“You’d get it if you ever had great gumbo,” I said, grinning as I left the desk and checked the deadbolts on the back door.

We walked through the shop and I set the alarm, then we walked out, and I locked the door behind us. “Hey, I’m feeling like coffee, so I’m gonna run over to—”

The honk of a car horn turned us to the street, and there in the back seat of a silver Cadillac Escalade sat Garrett Spencer.

“Holy shit,” I greeted, walking to the curb and leaning on the door, smiling. “What’re you doin’ away from Blue Moon?” It was his newest club over on Bourbon Street, a big mixing place for vampyrs and humans. Blue Moon served blood in wineglasses—very over-the-top bad B movie—and handed out tiny glass vials of “vampyr blood”—actually a drop of X dissolved in corn syrup and red food coloring—for fifty bucks a pop. It was one of several drugs being dealt to humans there. “I didn’t know you could leave your new baby unattended to visit the lowly who aren’t good enough to get in.”

“If you want to come to the club—”

“Oh no, no, you had the little opening and then the big one—twice was enough, believe me.”

He growled.

I continued ribbing him. “And, by the way, real original name you picked there.”

“No one but you would even think to give me this much shit.”

“So everyone gives you less shit?”

“You know, I imagine my hands around your neck sometimes.”

I couldn’t control my snicker.

“I’ve made more money in a week than you’ll make in your lifetime,” he railed.

“You have a club full of posers,” I countered. “It does not incorporate the NOLA vibe at all. Both you and that club belong in Los Angeles.”

He flipped me off.

I stepped back from the car. “I’m getting coffee. I’ll catch you—”

“No.” He stopped me, reaching out, taking hold of my wrist. “I need you to come with me over to Benny’s house.”

I waited for the reason, staring at his hand.

“What?” he said, letting go of me.

I lifted my gaze and met his. “I have never been invited to Benny’s house, and he even told me once that he doesn’t have humans in his home.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I think he’s worried I’m not housetrained.” I cackled, took a step back, and turned to go.

“Wait.”

I did because blowing people off, even if they weren’t technically human, was still rude.

Garrett took a breath. “Things have changed. We have a visitor who has requested an audience with you to correspond with us welcoming him to our city.”

“And what visitor is that?”

Garrett’s deep brown eyes met mine. “The draugr, our prince, has arrived in New Orleans.”