Patrick’s expression is smug when we return to the restaurant. While I appreciate his overprotectiveness, I’m irritated by how much it upset Melissa. At this point, only Elaine and I know how much this change is torturing her.

Mariska cuts the tension, returning us to our previous discussion. She’s a pretty girl, and while she might not possess her grandmother’s power, she’s eager to learn.

“So the side-effect of Melissa ingesting shifter blood via your blood is our cure becomes more tolerable.” She smiles brightly.

I can’t hide my surprise. “You know of a cure?”

“I’m sure you know the easiest solution is to kill her maker.”

That earns a grimace from Patrick. “It’s hardly easy.”

“Compared to the alternative,” she frowns right back at him.

“Which is?”

“Shifter blood mingled with verbena root in a draught. She drinks it, and it burns the maker’s blood right out of her system.”

Melissa’s face goes pale, and I take her hand. “You’re right,” I say. “We have to kill her maker.”

“But Derek,” she whispers. “Mariska said you could be killed.”

Warmth stirs in my chest for her. I give her a smile, smoothing her hair off her cheek. “What do you think I did last night?”

Mariska nods, “You’re very skilled. But what if we found another way to free her that doesn’t require any pain or hand to hand combat.”

“Go on,” I say.

“If we can go through you—get the shifter blood into her through you—it cuts the pain factor.” The girl bounces a little in her seat. “And we can track how much she needs to flush him out.”

Memories of the pain I experience taking shifter blood only briefly passes through my head. I’d gladly take Melissa’s pain. However… “How would we do it?”

“I have an idea,” she says. “You’re the only vampire hunter who takes regular shifter transfusions. You’re also the only vampire hunter who’s asked to be bitten by a hybrid.”

I see Melissa’s discomfort and try to move things along. “Never mind what I do. What’s the procedure?”

“From what I’ve read, traditionally, the mixture of the verbena root and shifter blood is drunk as a potion.” She pauses, thinking. “If we do it this way, I suppose we would need to hook up a constant transfusion of shifter blood into your veins while Melissa drinks from you.”

Melissa and I exchange a glance. Having Stuart and Patrick in the room while we’re in the orgasmic throes of her bite is not an option.

“We need another way,” I say quickly.

“What the fuck?” Patrick is suddenly with us. “Why the hell not? At least that way I can keep an eye on her.”

Melissa’s face reddens, and I glare at him. “The experience is… private. We don’t want an audience.”

Mariska blinks fast as she formulates another plan. “Okay…” Her full pink lip slips beneath her front teeth. “What’s the most shifter blood you’ve ever taken?”

“Last night was the most,” I answer.

“And it almost knocked you out.” Patrick adds.

“That’s enough.” I snap.

Melissa throws up her hands. “It’s all enough. It isn’t going to work.”

“Hang on!” Elaine catches her arm, pulling it down. “Let’s think about this. Mariska suggested one possibility. Here’s another: if Derek’s blood is a buffer from the pain. Is there a way to make the potion using his blood as a sort of… sedative?”

We’re all quiet a moment. “It’s worth a try, I guess,” Mariska says. “Let me go back and collect the notes I have. Can we meet again tomorrow?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. “I’ve got to meet with Stuart. See what he was able to find out.”

“Stuart?” The girl’s strange golden eyes catch mine.

“Patrick’s older brother.”

“The man from last night!” Melissa says. “He’s very strong.”

“He’s the alpha of the Knight clan.” I glance at Patrick.

Mariska’s eyes seem to glow. “Stuart,” she says softly.

“Find another way,” I say, leveling my gaze at her before turning to Melissa. “Not sure how long I’ll be. I’ll call or text and we can have dinner if it’s not too late?”

She nods and gives me a little smile. I hate leaving her in such a vulnerable state, but I have to find out what Stuart learned. I am relieved her issues with Patrick seem to be resolved for now, as I’ve charged him with keeping an eye on her while I’m away. What I fail to recall is her friend’s psychic abilities, and it’s just then I realize her green eyes have been focused on me for the last several minutes.

“We’ll spend the afternoon at the French Market, won’t we, Mel?” Elaine pulls on her arm and Melissa nods half-heartedly.

Patrick exhales in feigned tolerance. “At least it won’t be as hot outside.”

Elaine elbows him playfully then turns back to me with a little wink. Hmm. At least if she’s picking through my thoughts, she’s working with me.

“Yes, I am,” she says, surprising me.

“Thank you. I’ve never worked with a telepath.”

“You’re welcome. Keep in mind I’m listening.”

“Noted.”

We stand and make our way to the door. Melissa holds my arm, and I hold her slim, ivory hand. “Stay with your friend. I’ll be back soon.”

“I feel less anxious when you’re around,” she confesses, and protective warmth fills my chest.

“I’m happy you feel that way. I’ve got my phone.”

Touching her cheek one last time, I give Patrick a nod before stepping into the crowd headed east on Royal Street. I’ll only be a few hours, and I’ll be back with her. He knows what to do in the meantime, and how to find me if anything goes wrong.

* * *

Melissa

Last night’s deluge followed by today’s overcast skies has driven most people indoors it seems. Fewer tourists crowd the sidewalks in the French Quarter this afternoon. My full night’s sleep has me restless and edgy, and while I’m thankful Elaine wants us to spend the day strolling in the colorful outdoor market, I can’t relax.

The possibility of Derek facing the one who made me sickens my stomach, and I hope with everything in my power Mariska can find a way for the second cure to work without us having an audience.

As we walk, we pause occasionally to look in shop windows at elaborate feather-trimmed Halloween masks, displays of alligators in witch hats, and voodoo gris-gris. Demeter’s criticism of Philome floats through my mind.

In the past I would be amused by the novelty of these things. I didn’t believe any of it, despite having a psychic best friend. Now I know all too well how real the paranormal is, and I want nothing to do with it. I want my old life back. I want to move home to Wilmington with Elaine, find a cottage by the beach, and continue working with my clients on their marketing needs.

“Try on this bracelet, Mel.” Elaine holds out a thick leather strap with a large brass cross in the center.

Before taking it, I give her a quick glance, wondering if she’s testing old myths. If so, I can tell her crosses don’t bother me. I wrap the chunky piece around my slim wrist and fasten the knotted enclosure.

“It looks great on you!” she says. “Get it!”

“No thanks.” Shaking my head, I take it off. I’m not up for mementos of this trip. I only want to be free.

She shrugs and catches Patrick’s hand as they continue walking ahead of me. They haven’t stopped touching each other since lunch. He steals samples of pralines and feeds them to her, and she laughs. She finds black masks and holds them over his eyes. Hazel-green smolders at her, and her entire body flushes. They’re like blissed-out honeymooners, and I’m the ominous black cloud stalking their bubble of sunshine.

I hate not knowing what Derek is doing. The idea he might take matters into his own hands has me an anxious wreck. I want to run to the hotel and hide and chew my nails in worry. It’s an incredibly unhealthy approach to the situation, but I feel so overwhelmed.

As we stroll down Decatur Street in the direction of Café du Monde, my eyes travel across Jackson Square, the courtyard surrounding St. Louis cathedral. Paintings of oversized tribal masks hang on the black wrought iron fence enclosing the space. The artists sit in small chairs under umbrellas with their cash boxes.

Mellow horses wait patiently in front of brightly colored Cinderella carriages, and farther down, a four-piece street band consisting of an upright bass, a banjo, a sousaphone, and a trumpet starts playing “When the Saints Go Marching In,” the official fight-song of the New Orleans Saints football team.

Sugar seems to float in the air, and every door we pass is filled with laughter and music. I’m an alien in this city where everyone is cheerful and singing, and my head aches from the pressure.

When I look up, we’ve reached the beige façade entrance to the French Market. Passing under the enormous arch, produce stands holding hot sauce and creole spices in vibrant Mardi Gras packaging meet us first. Patrons sit at bars and sample local beer or sweet tea and eat blackened Cajun burgers or catfish po-boys. As we continue walking, we reach the rows of tables holding textiles.

Merchants from the Caribbean hawk Rastafarian garb and wooden masks. Silver merchants have necklaces, rings, bracelets, and earrings. The prices are astonishingly low, and while the foot traffic on the streets is thin, every table in the market has a crowd. It’s a bustling, noisy mass of shopping and shouting.

I don’t know how much time has passed. I can’t get my mind to settle on anything, and even with all the lively sights and sounds, the minutes seem to pass with leaden feet. All I can think about is Derek.

Between stealing kisses, Elaine remembers I’m following behind them and drops back to join me, taking my hand. “What’s going on in your head?”

It’s a funny question coming from her. One I’ve never had the privilege of answering before. “Nothing and everything,” I say with a smile.

Her cheek touches my shoulder briefly. “I wish I could do more to help you. I’ve never felt so useless.”

“You’re incredibly helpful! You try to keep my spirits up, and you’re guarding me now—”

“Patrick’s the guard on this trip,” she sighs.

Wrapping my arm around her narrow waist, I give her a little squeeze. “You’re right. He’s very nice and very sexy. You’re a lucky girl.”

She practically bounces in place. “I told you! You couldn’t know because of your… situation, but he’s…” Her eyes get a dreamy look and she shakes her head.

“No words?” I tease gently.

“More like too many words.”

We walk around a wood merchant selling everything from boxes to canes to pipes, and my friend skips ahead to see what her boyfriend is investigating. I stop and look at a wooden puzzle box in the shape of a heart. It’s made of three large, interlocking pieces in a striped wood of deep rose and blonde.

I almost drop it when a male voice materializes in my head. There you are.

My eyes snap up, and with trembling hands, I put the box down. Frantically, I search the bustling crowd for his face. An Asian woman in a pink shirt replaces a drawer of rings, never looking up. A middle-aged female in a grey shirt walks past with her bored teenage daughter right behind her.

Scanning quickly across the space, I see a girl in a light green tank top and bun examining a panel of feather earrings. My heart beats wildly as I scan the place trying to find him.

I’m here now. I’m coming for you.

Walking backwards, I slam into a table of bags, sending them spilling to the ground like cards from a deck. My entire body is shaking and sweating, and my head jerks side-to-side frantically trying to find him.

“Mel?” Through my panic, I hear my friend’s voice calling me, but as she draws closer, the nausea rips through my stomach.

“Oh, god!” I gasp, staggering away. The market is open-air, and in ten steps I’m stumbling onto Decatur Street, holding my mouth.

Elaine is right behind me, her brow lined with concern. “Melissa! Are you okay?” She runs toward me, but Patrick is right behind her. With every step he takes, I’m pushed further up the lane toward Chartres Street. Royal is only another block up, and while we’re a good ten blocks east of our hotel, his presence is enough to send me running all the way.

“Stay back!” I hear Elaine shout, and I know she’s realized what’s happening. The shifter blood has left my system. It’s all crashing down. Not only is my immunity to Patrick gone, but I’m back on his radar.

He’s here in New Orleans, and the idea makes my entire body quake with fear. Elaine is with me, holding my arm, concern lining her pretty face.

“Oh, Lainey,” I gasp, trying not to cry. “He’s here. He’s coming for me.”

She grips my arm tight, her jaw setting. “We’re all here with you now. We won’t let him take you.”

Shaking my head, I look down. “If only it were that simple.”

I know what she doesn’t. Even if I had an army standing guard to fight against him, his blood is in my veins. I can’t resist him. We all want to save me, but he controls me. I can’t resist the pull of my maker.

* * *

Derek

The slim woman with a jet-black beehive and velvet-red lips watches me from behind a table. Her eyes are painted with thick, sweeping cat eyeliner, and her skin is white as ivory except for the long sleeves of tattoos down both arms.

“I don’t trust him,” she says, her voice deep, a notch above a purr.

“That makes two of us,” I say through an exhale.

“Where’s Patrick?” she demands.

Stuart paces the warehouse apartment off South Peters, looking up at the enormous windows allowing the grey light of the overcast sky to fill the room. This place used to store cotton.

“My little brother is guarding the target.” He’s frustrated, but Stuart has never been as easy with the subculture as Patrick. “I need you to tell us what you know.”

“What are you doing in New Orleans, Mr. Alexander?” She levels her black eyes on me. “Your region is the East Coast. You’re breaking the rules.”

I watch as she lifts a thin, tattoo-covered arm to light a long black cigarette.

“I’m here on a personal matter,” I say, not backing down.

“The information you want from me isn’t personal.” A stream of blue smoke curls from her lips.

What the fuck is she afraid of? We’d never rat out a witch for helping us.

“Maverick won’t know you helped us if that’s what’s worrying you.” Stuart strides across the large, open studio, stopping directly in front of her.

His enormous frame dwarfs Star’s petite one. She’s a tiny witch, but power ripples off her in waves. We both know not to underestimate her.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she smiles, narrowing those cat eyes. “I follow the rules.”

“Fuck that.” Stuart throws his hands up and crosses away again.

“Listen,” I say, turning toward her. “As much as anyone, I know the importance of procedure, especially in our line of work.”

“A vampire is nothing to fuck with. They know everything that happens, and their revenge is swift and painful.”

“If you help us find him, we’ll finish him.” My voice is deadly serious, and she studies my face several moments.

“Why do you want him dead so much?”

“He threatens the woman I love.”

Stuart’s eyes snap to mine. It’s a pretty bold statement, considering I’ve only known Melissa a few days. Maybe I mean it, maybe I’m still deciding. It’s what we need to get what we want, and shit. I’m at least committed to finding out if it’s true.

Star pushes out of her chair at this, walking slowly around the open space. “I know about you, Mr. Alexander. I’ve watched your career from afar.” I’d ask her what the fuck, but she doesn’t allow it. “Your wife’s death sent you on a mission. Now, all of a sudden you’re shifting focus?”

It’s my turn to study her for a moment. Her eyes are lit with what seems to be anger. “My career has always been about justice,” I answer carefully. “Nothing has changed, least of all my focus.”

She’s not satisfied, but she is respectful of my position. Witches are crafty, but they appreciate the importance of dedication.

“The new one entered the city from the north.” She walks toward the wall of windows near where Stuart stands. “He arrived shortly after another old one left… or was killed.”

A long pause, and I’m sure I hear the high-pitched shrill of insects while she allows us time to confess. We don’t.

“He arrived last night or this morning,” Stuart says. He doesn’t like playing games, and he’s never been long on patience.

“Last night,” she says, flicking him a glance. It’s clear she prefers the company of his little brother. “The storm preceded his arrival.”

“We wouldn’t ask you to accompany us, but if you could give us an approximate location in the city—”

“He’s where they all go.”

“We’ll track him down.”

They all go to the cemetery, but in New Orleans that could mean one of five disparate places filled with row upon row of aboveground crypts. Still, I’m not in the mood to haggle with this witch anymore, especially if she’s been watching me.

“Good luck, hunter,” she says with a purr. “I’ll be waiting to see your next move.”

Back out on the street, Stuart wastes no time giving me hassle. “What the fuck got you on her radar?”

“Hell if I know,” I grumble, thinking about what we know now.

Melissa’s maker is in the city, no doubt looking for her. I can’t leave her unguarded. Hell, I might be in love with her for all I know, which makes matters worse. It makes me more vulnerable.

“Did you mean what you said back there?” My partner’s voice is the kindest I think I’ve ever heard it. He’s thinking about my declaration of love.

“Maybe.” It’s the best I can do. My feelings for Melissa are strong, but as anyone can tell you, three days isn’t enough to know shit. “She’s special. I want to know her better.”

“What about Sloan?” My mind travels back to my life’s work for the past six years. Finding Alison’s killer, finding justice—it’s what I’ve been working toward so long. Yet, in view of the situation…

“He’s not going anywhere,” I say. He doesn’t even know we’re after him.

Walking along the flagstone pavements of Riverside, we’re west of Canal Street, several blocks from our hotel. Even further from the rest of our group.

“No matter what, helping Melissa is the right thing to do,” I say with sudden conviction. “We’re about justice. She was forced. We have to set her free.”

My partner nods, and we continue walking in silence. Comfortable silence is something Stuart and I have always shared, since our days in the desert, watching the monotonous beige sand for signs of threat. Since the day he carried me out on his back.

“Any idea how you want to do this?” He knows as well as I do stealing a hybrid from its maker is like punching your fist straight into a hornet’s nest.

“One of the voodoo queens sent her granddaughter. She has the makings of a cure.”

“He won’t let us use it.”

Nodding, I study the tracks of the streetcar leading ahead of us. Shiny brass lines running through the asphalt streets. I hadn’t brought it up at lunch. I hadn’t wanted to frighten Melissa or curb the group’s optimism.

“We have to face him ourselves.” My voice is solemn, but we’ve been here before.

Stuart stretches with a laugh. “You’re giving me a workout this trip.”

“It’s what we do.”

His eyes level on mine, and we’re both serious. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

With a nod, I turn off toward Bourbon Street.