Star is dressed in black jeans and a white tank. A black leather jacket covers the ink on her arms, and instead of the usual beehive, this evening she wears a black leather cowboy hat.

  My partner only distracts her a moment before her attention returns to me, and a smile curves her red lips. “You want me to hypnotize you.”

  I’m impatient with games, and I don’t have time for repeating myself. “We need information.”

  Taking off her hat, she shakes her straight, dyed-black hair, before removing her jacket as well. “I’m not used to men like you willingly putting themselves in my power.”

  “Men like me?”

  “Perhaps I should say I’m not used to seeing men like you afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  A thin black eyebrow arches. Sitting here, thinking over what she’s saying and what I’m asking her to do, I revise that.

  “Fear isn’t the right word—at least not in the traditional sense. I’m concerned for the safety of another person. I need to find the… Thing that poses a threat to her.”

  “The thing?” The witch begins moving around the empty space, first drawing a large, chalk circle on the dark wood floor around us both.

  “He’s facing one of our kind.” Stuart’s deep voice cuts through the quiet.

  She glances up at him. “Surely you can track another shifter without my help.”

  I answer for my partner. “We’re not after a shifter. We’re after a vampire. I’ve got its blood in my veins. I want to try and track him through me.”

  Silence fills the room, and Star’s lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t speak as she continues making a large pentagram inside the circle on the floor, and I step away to avoid blocking her progress. Without a word, she goes to an armoire hidden in the back corner.

  She returns with two white pillar candles, each about a foot in height. “So you’re hunting a vampire, and you’ve somehow taken its blood.”

  I watch as she places the candles at two points and returns to the armoire for three more.

  “You realize what could happen, I’m sure.” She finishes arranging the candles, and the explosion of a match illuminates her face with yellow light.

  “He knows what could happen.” Stuart is impatient. I’m a bit impatient as well, because while I know Melissa is hidden, I don’t know when the vampire might find her.

  Her black eyes flash at him. “I want to hear him say what he knows.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” I growl. “I know what can happen if I’m killed with vampire blood in my veins.”

  “Fastest route to immortality I know of.” Her voice is wry.

  Candles lit, she places a chair in the center of the pentagram. Her slim, ink-covered arms are bare. One hand on her hip, she gestures to the chair. “Let’s get started.”

  Putting myself in the power of a witch is not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. If I hadn’t encountered that thing in the street, the idea would never have entered my mind, but the truth is, Star is right. I’m afraid. Melissa’s maker is powerful. He wants her back, and the existence of me is infuriating to him. I’ve got to find him before he finds her.

  “I need you to focus now.” Star’s voice has become monotone, slow and rhythmic. “May I call you Derek?”

  “Yes.” My insides are tense, but I know to relax, let it happen. I have to let go of my control.

  “How well do you know the city, Derek?”

  “I grew up here. I can walk it in my sleep.”

  “Speaking of sleep, let’s name the streets starting at the river and working toward midtown. I’ll start. Decatur… Chartres… Royal…”

  My mind relaxes as we mentally walk the blocks, and I begin speaking with her. “Bourbon… Dauphine…”

  “That’s right,” her voice soothes. “When we reach Rampart, you’ll be asleep. “Burgundy… Rampart…”

  Darkness.

  I don’t need light to see in the dark. I don’t need heat. I do need shelter.

  My room is classic New Orleans. Washed brick walls with wood and beam ceilings. A curved, leather headboard adorns a large bed that won’t be used. To my right is a green velvet settee. A mahogany desk is situated in a corner. Thick, silk curtains hang over square windows overlooking a brick courtyard. Dozens of staircases and balconies with white bannisters.

  None of it matters. The only thing that matters is finding her, finishing her transformation. Pacing, I focus my thoughts straight out toward the river like a radar gun. I slowly turn toward the west, toward the French Market… Toulouse, Wilkinson, Jackson Square… Something flickers, but it’s too far off to be her.

  She said she’s here on a girls’ weekend. She came here with Elaine. Elaine would want to shop, dine out, and possibly have drinks. I continue my arc, focusing my attention toward the north, Chartres to Bourbon Street…. Nothing.

  Where are you? My voice is a furious hiss. You can’t run from me.

  The rage in my chest bubbles like a cauldron. You’ve been naughty. You’ve taken a lover. You’ve drunk his blood without killing him.

  Jealousy consumes my thoughts. All my vampire emotions focus on reclaiming what belongs to me then punishing her for running away.

  Another turn and I’ve made the sweep to Canal, searching all the expensive stores and boutiques on that wide thoroughfare where sprawling palm trees fill the medians.

  An infuriated growl roars from my chest. My fingertips graze a leather-bound book, and I throw it with all my strength against the opposite wall.

  WHAM! A black dent is left, and the book disintegrates into sheets. It’s only a fleeting satisfaction.

  She will suffer for this. She will cry. She will thirst, and I won’t let her drink. Human hunger is a pitiful sight, but a starving vampire is abhorrent. I will relish her screams.

  In my mind’s eye, I see a narrow box with heavy black locks all around the edges. It’s long enough to fit a human, but so narrow the one trapped inside is unable to move.

  Yes, our predecessors had uniquely clever ways for handling insubordination among our kind. Their devices of torture are like art. My studies have put them all at my fingertips.

  I see her locked in the box, flat on her back, unable to move right or left. I see the tomb where I’ll keep her. I hear her screams, hear the slap of her palms against the wood as she begs to be let out. I see her clawing faster and faster, until her nails pop off, until she’s consumed with panic, until she’s broken.

  Anticipation of that day hastens my search, moving my sight toward the river, toward Magazine, Tchoupitoulas, South Peters, to…

  The skin on my neck crawls. WHAT THE FUCK?

  Fury explodes through me—an inferno of wrath, and in that moment my mind splits. I’m in the small hotel room searching, yet I see myself sitting in a chair in a dark warehouse, posture straight like a good little soldier.

  How the FUCK did you get in my mind, little soldier?

  Cold voice to match cold eyes. A pale face twists into a hideous grin. Still, the precise features are blurred.

  Why can’t I see your face? I ask, low and quiet.

  Because I won’t let you, little soldier. HOW did you get in MY MIND?!

  Rage unfurls in my human chest, but Star’s power holds me in check. Still, I’m able to respond, and it’s almost more threatening because of my control.

  It’s Marine, motherfucker. You’d better prepare, because I’m coming for you.

  Laughter like the clanging of a metal crate echoes in my head. Where will you go, little soldier? Tell me where I am.

  Focusing harder, I try to see through his eyes again. I try to see the room, the notepad on the nightstand, but he’s stronger than me. I don’t have enough of his blood. All I see is myself in the hypnotized state. Now that he’s found me, he won’t let me see anything else.

  I have to come out. I have to detach from his mind. Moving my hands, I signal Stuart. The demon’s cackle is in my head as the vision slowly recedes.

  “… coming back to me here,” Star’s voice is softly saying. “When I touch your hand, you’ll wake up and no longer be in a hypnotic state, no longer under my power.”

  The touch of her cool fingers, and my eyes snap open. Jumping out of the chair, I pace the now-dark warehouse room. My pulse races, and I’m trying to catch my breath. I’m trying to lose the feeling of his reptilian claws on my thoughts, holding my eyes focused on myself sitting in the chair.

  Neither Stuart nor Star approaches me. They only watch as I breathe deeply, close my eyes, bring myself down. I need to think. I need to analyze what I’ve learned. I have to find him.

  His plans for punishing Melissa enrage me. He will not do that to her. She will not be locked away in a box, left in a dark tomb to starve until she breaks.

  He’s going to complete her change then torture her until she’s completely subservient to him. The young vampire mind is so intense. It’s like a child’s. They’re easily consumed by emotions, and the idea that suffering will end is easy to forget.

  He will not do that to her. I’ll kill him first.

  “What did you see?” Stuart’s voice breaks me from my racing thoughts.

  “He’s searching for her, scanning every shop, restaurant, street.” I’m still moving, trying to remember all he said.

  “Could you get an idea of where he’s staying?”

  Stopping at the exposed-brick wall, I put my hand against it and breathe deeply. “He’s in a small room overlooking a courtyard. Every floor has a balcony with white railings. Stairs going up and down.”

  Star is still sitting in the pentagram watching me intently. “That could be any number of places,” she says.

  “He looked toward the French Market, starting at Toulouse.”

  Stuart crosses the room to me. “And when he circled up?”

  Straining, I try to remember what he said. “I think the first street was Chartres.”

  “Corner of Toulouse and Chartres.” He orders the witch, who jumps to her feet and dashes to a MacBook sitting on a metal desk. She’s hastily clicking as I’m remembering all his threats.

  “French Market Inn,” she says. “Can’t be anywhere else. Look at this.”

  She turns the slim device in our direction, and I see an image of a redbrick courtyard and dozens of white-railed balconies.

  Stuart’s hazel eyes light on me. “What now, brother?”

  Passing my hand over my mouth, I consider what we’re facing. “I’d feel better if we had Patrick with us.”

  “This one is strong. I can tell by the way he has you so worked up.” He walks over to the desk and looks at the screen for several seconds. “Did you get any sense he might be setting a trap, luring you away so she’s unprotected?”

  “Not at first,” I say, remembering his plans. “He’s very focused on finding her. But now that he knows I’m tracking him, it’s possible.”

  Stuart nods gravely. “Then Patrick remains on guard duty. We’ll have to go it alone.”

  “I can help.” Star’s eyes light. “I could be a lookout. Or I can distract him.”

  “Not happening.” Stuart shakes his head.

  His dismissal angers her. “I’m strong enough to find the information you need, but not strong enough to help? Your brother wouldn’t be so dismissive of me.”

  “I’m not my brother.”

  I step in. “How would you help us?”

  Stuart glares at me briefly, but I’m not about to turn down the assistance of a powerful witch in this situation. We need all the help we can get.

  “Vampires are attracted to pretty things…” She’s speaking slowly, thinking as she goes. “He has to feed… You say you have his blood in you?”

  Nodding quietly, I watch her lift a heavy book onto the metal table and quickly turn the pages. “I have a recipe for blood bread. I’ll need some of your blood—his blood—to mix in the dough for me to eat.”

  “We don’t have time to bake bread,” Stuart is texting Patrick.

  Star narrows her eyes at him, and I step between them. “What else can we do?”

  “Black tourmaline will protect me.” Her gaze flickers to me. “I have verbena root serum I can drink. If he bites me, it will weaken him.”

  “That’s what we need.” Nodding I signal to Stuart and go to the door. “Meet us at the bar in Chartres House. One hour.”

  “Chartres House?” Her brow furrows. “It’s only a block from the inn. Is that wise?”

  “We don’t have time to waste.” Signaling my partner, we head for the door. “We’re not going to get another chance like this one.”

  15

  Confrontation

  Melissa

  Dinner at Demeter’s small home in Algiers rivals anything you’d find on the menu at an expensive New Orleans restaurant. When we enter through the back door she’s holding a colander of silvery, raw shrimp over a pot of boiling water.

  The spicy bite of cayenne pepper mixes in the air with the scent of celery, onions, and garlic, and instantly my mouth starts to water. If I’d lost my appetite in the last several days, I just found it again.

  I watch as she slides all the shrimp into the large boiling pot then turns to a smaller pot containing what looks like a creamy batch of yellow grits. She circles salt through her fingers over the dish, letting the grains fall slowly as she stirs.

  “It smells like heaving in here,” I say to Mariska, who only smiles as she steps over to the cabinets.

  “Five place settings, Yaya?”

  The old woman nods and continues stirring the pot.

  “Can I help?” I’m waiting just inside the door, unsure how to proceed.

  “You’re our guest.” The old woman nods to me. “Take a seat at the table, and Mariska will pour you some wine.”

  “I’ll just have tea if that’s okay?”

  “I’ve got you covered!” Mariska’s voice is bright, and I’m sure she’s thinking about our conversation in the garden.

  When we left Patrick and Elaine outside, Patrick had been texting with his brother. My friend’s face was lined with concern as she watched him, and I know she was reading whatever they have planned. I’m dying to ask her where Derek is, what he’s doing, if he’s safe, but I’ll have to wait until we’re alone.

  At last they enter the room holding hands. I still detect a hint of worry on her brow, but Patrick is in good spirits.

  “Wow!” he says with a smile. “I hope you made enough for seconds.”

  “With a shifter in the house?” Demeter shakes her head. “I know how to feed my guests.”

  Her voice is stern, but I can tell Patrick amuses her. He’s a charming guy, and I’m relieved Mariska has found a way to help me tolerate his presence. Sipping the lemon verbena tea she brewed, I’m feeling calmer than ever as they join me at the heavy, rustic table. Finished railroad ties serve as benches, and it’s all very homey and familiar.

  As we wait, my eyes travel the small kitchen. Nothing particularly special distinguishes it from any other home kitchen, except I notice a leaf split in five sections hanging over the back door. I’m going to ask what it means when Demeter snaps at her granddaughter.

  “Mariska, aider.”

  “Oui, Yaya.”

  I watch my young friend hurry over with a large, shallow bowl. Demeter quickly spoons a large portion of grits onto it followed quickly by another spoon of shrimp. Mariska tops the steaming orange concoction with a sprinkling of green scallions and carries it to Patrick.

  “Merci,” he says with a wink, and Mariska’s nose wrinkles with her grin.

  “You don’t have to speak French,” she laughs. “Yaya only does when she’s in a rush.”

  “Mariska!” The older woman barks.

  “I’m coming! Jeez!” She hurries back, grabbing two bowls this time.

  Both are filled with a noticeably smaller portion of the steaming deliciousness. I’m not complaining. Sprinklings of scallions, and they’re placed before Elaine and me. The last two are filled, and Demeter carries a basket of French bread wrapped in a red and white checked cloth to the table.

  I reach for my fork, but stop immediately when the old woman begins to pray.

  “Bless us, oh Lord, and these your gifts which we are about to receive from your bounty. Through Christ our Lord. And guard us against the evil one. Amen.”

  She adds the last line so fast, I have to wonder if she’s concerned about offending me. I am the one who brought the threat of the evil one into our midst, after all. A flood of shame warms my face, and I try to cover it by leaning closer to my steaming dish.

  “This smells so delicious,” I say quietly. “And you made it so quickly!”

  “Shrimp and grits is really easy to prepare,” Mariska says around a bite. “So long as your shrimp are processed right.”

  I take a bite of the meaty, white shellfish, and a burst of savory juices fills my mouth. It’s hot, but not like a pepper. It’s a subtle simmer on my tongue, and the spices blend perfectly.

  “I’d love to learn to make this,” Elaine says, covering her mouth with her hand.

  Patrick nods. “I second that!”

  “So,” Demeter’s sharp voice cuts through our banter, “were you born a shifter or made?”

  Her dark eyes level on Patrick, but he isn’t bothered by her tone or her question.

  “Born,” he answers with a grin. “My mother was also a born shifter, but my father was made. Probably why he didn’t imprint properly.”

  “Good,” the old woman says with a nod, taking another bite.

  Elaine’s voice is a bit more hesitant. “Does it make a difference?”

  I’m sure she’s considering her own non-shifter status.

  “It makes him stronger,” the woman says. “More magic. Harder to overcome.”

  My eyes widen on Patrick, who’s wolfing down his shrimp and grits as if his paranormal status is nothing new. I suppose it isn’t to him if he was born that way.

  “You’re not the alpha,” she continues, watching him.

  “No, ma’am,” he says, glancing up. “That dubious honor is my brother Stuart’s.”