Chapter 17
Edwina
The last time I was in the Garden District, Woodrow Wilson was president, the first Pulitzer prizes were awarded, rioting happened in East St. Louis and Houston, and women could finally vote in New York state. Later that year, Kragen and the BlackGuard ran me out of N’awlins. I hitched up my big-girl panties and got the hell out of dodge—never to return.
Granddaddy’s fortune got me out of the states and onto a steamer bound for Europe. There I mingled with the likes of DuPont and Carnegie—industrious men who eventually introduced me to Rockefeller. They taught me how to increase my riches. It was witchcraft, however, that secured my money when the Great Depression destroyed so many fortunes.
In those days my only interest was taking lives. The complexities of being a hybrid eluded me. I learned on the fly—forgive the pun. My vampire education began in obscurity on the Isle of Man. The creatures of the night I met there led me to Morgan Le Fay, a great sorceress who helped me explore my powers. Under her tutelage, I grew stronger.
I survived without Kragen and the BlackGuard. After all this time, I’m not about to beg for their help. They’ll kiss my magical, black ass before that happens. Kragen summoned me, but I don’t answer to him anymore. Hank was right. I’m strong and no one is tearing me down again. I pity the fool who tries.
The glass and wrought-iron door swings open, and one of Kragen’s associates, Baldovino, is on the other side. The lofty, chocolate-colored vampire looks down at me. His voice booms off the walls. “Miss Devereaux, what a pleasure to see ya ‘gain.”
“It’s good to see ya as well. Vin, is the master around?”
“Isn’t he always?” Baldovino shuts the door behind me and leads the short way down the hall. He stops before a set of closed double doors, opens them, and steps to the side.
Permeating the air is a lingering mustiness. The smell has existed nearly as long as the room’s furnishings. The large, crystal chandelier, hanging over the antique Davenport, was a gift from an old girlfriend of Kragen’s—some Austrian countess whose name I’ve forgotten. The gold damask-covered French-style chairs come straight from the court of Louis XIV. But the oldest object in the room isn’t visible from the door.
Entering the room, I find him sitting on the other side of an archway. The emperor, dressed in black jeans and a black button-down shirt, sits on his throne near a marble fireplace. He stretches his long limbs and runs a hand over his trim black mustache.
“Edwina, come sit with me.”
I glide across the floor and take a seat, much smaller than the oversized wing-back chair he occupies, across from him. “It’s been a long time, Kragen.”
“It has, but ya look happy.”
“I am. Ya look well.” It’s not a lie or exaggeration. The coven leader always prided himself on his appearance. His perfect gold skin color and silky black hair is a testament to his cultivated belief—feed well and often. According to Kragen, it’s the only way to feign a believable semblance of humanity. It has worked for hundreds of years. The humans in New Orleans think Kragen’s just another eccentric man with more money than he could spend in one lifetime.
“But ya didn’t call me here to exchange pleasantries,” I say as I sit back.
“No. I won’t quibble with the particulars. Ya only need to know that the BlackGuard needs ya assistance. All these damned rogues comin’ through N’awlins are pushing our resources to the brink. Morgan and Ace can’t handle all the work.”
Long before Kragen summoned me, I knew about the problem with the rogues. It’s why I was reluctant to contact the BlackGuard for help with Cash and Qadira’s problem months ago. It put me in a position of needing to return a favor. Personally, I didn’t want to owe the BlackGuard shit. After all, they wanted me gone. Yes, I have to return the favor, but I’m not rushing in like the fucking cavalry. As far as I’m concerned, Morgan and Ace could ask me personally for help. Using Kragen, the supernatural who owns this fucking town, like a messenger is a role beneath him.
“I’m retired, Kragen.” Unlike the BlackGuard, I owe Kragen nothing. Years ago, when given the opportunity, he didn’t fight for me. “They didn’t want me here. Let them figure it out themselves.”
Kragen’s black eyes narrow. “Neva knew ya ta be so selfish. What’s changed, cher?”
“This isn’t about me. I’m here to support my…” The sentence hangs in mid-air. Just what is Hank to me? My lover? My boyfriend? My companion? All those labels feel wrong somehow. I don’t think I can wrap my feelings for him into a single word.
“Ya supporting what?” Kragen urges.
“My partner.” The label is safe, not supplying too much information for those who don’t need to know.
“And how are ya supporting this pardner?”
“We’re here to find his missing brother. Hank and I suspect Damien Duchamp is involved.”
Kragen purses his lips and steeples his fingertips. “That’s why ya asked ‘bout him. Well, ya in luck. I’m hosting a little gathering here this ev’ning. Duchamp is expected ta attend.”
It doesn’t take a vampire to pick up on Kragen’s thought. “That’s a bad idea. I shouldn’t be here.”
“Cher, ya know nothing stays quiet in my town. I guarantee ya Duchamp already knows ya here. Make an appearance.” He scrutinizes my leather pants and jacket with a turned-up nose. “Do ya own a respectable dress?”
“Is it that kind of party?” The last time I attended one of Kragen’s soirees was back in the twenties. Let’s just say it was a different era for women and so-called respectable clothing choices.
“Just come dressed ta entertain. Ya know the best way ta throw off a being like Duchamp is ta appeal ta his inner beast.”
Tapping my fingers against the chair arm I ask, “And what kind of beast is Damien?”
“I checked in ta his background. He’s a hybrid, part sorcerer and part leopard. And ya know what they say ‘bout leopards?”
“Unfortunately.” I’m praying… Is that a legit endeavor for supernaturals? I’m praying Damien isn’t someone I’ve met.
“Be here at seven, cher.”
I step into the bright sunlight, pull out my phone, and tap out a quick text to Hank. He needs to join me for this little shindig of Kragen’s. Although he didn’t mention it, I should probably get the visit to Cash out of the way. I’ll pass by his place and then meet up with Hank.
Wicked Ink New Orleans is on Frenchman Street in the Vieux Carre. It’s a two-story building situated between Royal and Chartres Streets. The lower level is bright yellow. Upstairs, the exterior is pale yellow with terracotta shutters and a narrow balcony wrapping the front. Cash must be doing well for himself. His previous shop wasn’t nearly as nice or as large.
The shop bell rings as I open the door. Cash glances up from his station with a smile on his handsome face. It quickly falls when he sees me.
“Hello, cher,” I drawl.
“What are you doing here?” A note of contempt is in his voice. He continues cleaning up his work area.
“Is that any way to greet an ex?” Gliding across the floor, I stop beside him. Notes of patchouli, jasmine, and peach nectar waft off him and captivate me. The fragrance brings back memories of our time together. Lowering my voice, I tell him, “I’ve missed ya.”
“Feeling isn’t mutual.” He side-glances at me. “What do you want, Edwina?”
His cold tone makes me flinch. I won’t be deterred so easily though, not when I have a job to do. “Just came to let ya know I’m in town.”
Cash, dropping his towel on the counter, finally faces me. “Is this permanent?”
“Yes, dawlin’.” He doesn’t need to know how permanent my stay is. “I’ve been called home. Something’s going on with my former coven. Kragen, the leader, contacted me.”
“Sounds serious,” he says and takes a seat on a stool. “How does this concern me?”
My eyes dart around the space. He’s definitely had an upgrade with all the shiny new equipment. I’m about to speak when I notice Qadira’s photograph posted over his station. I look closer and see it’s actually a picture of Cash and Qadira. She’s leaning against him, and he has his arms wrapped around her middle. Their happiness is so evident. My recently healed heart cracks a little. Why the hell does it still bother me? After all, I broke things off with him so he could explore a relationship with the djinniyah.
I try hard not to shed a tear as I look at Cash. Then I notice the tattoo on his wrist—her name emblazoned on his skin. Damn. I point at the picture and toss his question back at him.
“Is this permanent?”
“Yeah, it is.” He glances up at the photo, and a huge smile breaks across his face. It’s obvious he’s in love with her. “You were right. I needed someone in my life on a regular basis. Qadira unlocked my heart and showed me love.”
My mouth turns down. Frankly, Cash deserved to find someone who would treat him the way he needed. He had no desire to become undead, and I didn’t want to curse him that way. Hell, it’s not even something I would want to do to Hank unless there was no other choice and he accepted it. “Just make sure she doesn’t break ya heart. Member of the djinn can’t be trusted.”
“Neither can vampires. I made an exception for you,” he quips. “You gonna answer my question?”
I clear my throat and bury my emotions. “I understand ya now work for Ashmedai. Ya need to meet some of the locals. There’s a young hybrid, part vampire and part sorceress, by the name of Morgan Vladislav. She runs a secret society here.”
“If it’s so secret, how do you know about it?”
“I had a run-in with her partner.” Not a complete lie. I ran into Ace at the Bloody Bastard one night, and he ended up telling me, after a little compelling, all I needed to know. “Things ended well, but I now know all about the BGS.”
Cash leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. “The BGS?”
“BlackGuard Society,” I explain.
The space between his eyebrows puckers. “Anyone else I need to meet?”
“Kragen, of course. Ya should also meet Morgan’s partner, Ace Broussard. He’s an alpha wolf. Ya don’t want to get on his bad side.” My gaze goes back to the picture. Qadira will make a beautiful bride and possibly a loving mother one day. “I can make the introductions for ya. Then I’ll disappear from ya life.”
Cash nods. “Thank you, Edie. If your number’s still the same, I’ll call you in a few days.”
“Sure.”
The front bell chimes, and the djinniyah walks into the shop. Her arms are full of bags. Cash wastes no time running over to her.
“Are you gonna leave anything in the shops, babe?” he asks Qadira, helping her with the load.
She kisses his cheek before noticing me. Stepping back, she asks, “Why is she here?”
I glide over to the couple. “Don’t get ya panties in a bunch. It’s only a courtesy visit. Cash needs to meet some locals, and I offered to make the intros. Nothing more.”
“I’ll be in touch, Edwina,” Cash says, holding the shop door open.
No one has to hit me with a brick. I get the message. My eyes sweep over Qadira before I walk out. The harsh click of the lock sounds behind me.
Time to go meet Hank.