[Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine (24 page)

Marguerite woke in broad daylight but lay still on her back, eyes closed. The house was quiet except for the click of Lawless’s claws on the wood floor. Her eyelids felt glued together. She rolled over to go back to sleep.

She heard Lawless slump to the floor with a doggie sigh.

Which meant her door was open. She’d fallen asleep with it closed and Lawless on the other side.

She opened her eyes. Lawless lay in the doorway, head on paws, in not-really-patient dog mode. Maybe he wanted breakfast, but no way could he have opened that door.

Where was Constantine? If there were an intruder in the house, Lawless wouldn’t just lie there. But why would Constantine open her door? To see if she was awake? To just watch her? But she didn’t see him anywhere…

She blinked, wiped the sleep from her eyes, and surveyed the room. Everything was as it should be… dresser, laundry basket, bookshelf, and her towel and robe hanging on the closet door, clothes in the closet… back to the towel and robe.

They’d never had an aura before. She sat up. If she really, really looked, the towel wasn’t quite the right shape, and…

“Gotcha!” Suddenly, not just the aura but the rest of Constantine was visible. Why hadn’t she seen him before? “You found me right away. What do you see that other people don’t?”

“How dare you trick me like that?” She got out of bed, grabbed the robe and towel, and stomped to the shower. She didn’t know what pissed her off more, being watched (not really), being tricked (clever of him), or being outed and therefore obliged to explain (yeah, that was it).

Served him right if he didn’t like what he was about to hear. Too bad the prospect of unveiling herself made her feel ill. In the shower, she considered how to vanilla-coat her invasive ability. To make it as uninteresting as possible.

It was her own fault, of course. She should never have let on that she’d seen his fear, but she’d been exhausted and scared and disappointed and furious, none of which were conducive to self-control. She’d humiliated him, so why should he hesitate to do the same to her?

She emerged and dressed to the aroma of coffee and the hiss of steaming milk. She went into the kitchen armed with a pot of deep-pink nail polish.

Constantine had raided the fridge for mushrooms, peppers, and tomatoes, which he was chopping into neat little piles. “Cappuccino?” he asked.

“Uh, sure,” she said. “Where did that espresso machine come from?”

“Lep brought it over. He wanted to meet you, but you were still asleep. Gideon confirmed that Eaton Wilson’s van
was stolen from the mechanic’s parking lot, but so far it hasn’t been found.” He set shot glasses under the machine. Espresso dripped through while he steamed the milk. She’d expected an angry vibe, but although his aura was more guarded than yesterday, it was tinged with excited little fizzles, like a kid expecting a present. He set before her an absolutely gorgeous cappuccino with a swirl in the froth and sprinkles of cinnamon. “Fair’s fair. I let you in on one of my secrets. Now you tell me how you read me so well.”

Fine, but it wasn’t going to be a present, not for either of them. He was so beautiful and completely impossible, and she would absolutely die if he shunned her. How could he do anything else? It must be bad enough to be under constant scrutiny. He wouldn’t want a lover—or even a friend—who saw right through him all the time, who humiliated him by her very existence. She sat on a kitchen chair and tried to paint the little toe on her left foot, but her hand shook. “Damn.”

He left the room and came back a few seconds later with the nail polish remover. He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her. “Spit it out, babe. It can’t be that bad.” He cleaned up the mess on her toe and set to work.

“It is.” She took a breath and blurted, “I see auras.”

“I figured it was something like that. Excellently cool.”

Oh, crap, he was one of those. She hadn’t told all that many people, but those she had fell into two categories: enthusiastic, curious, and often jealous, or frankly appalled. Usually the first group merged with the second in the end, once they realized what the auras told her.

“So what’s the big deal?”

That was a different response, but since he had so many weird abilities, hers probably didn’t come as a surprise. “I can tell a lot about people by their auras,” she said.

“Yeah, obviously,” he said. “So what’s the problem? It seems like a useful tool.”

“Right, like camouflaging yourself against a towel and watching someone. Useful and completely nosy and obnoxious.”

“Come on now,” he said. “You don’t really mind me watching you.”

She felt herself blushing. Cripes, she wasn’t sixteen anymore.

“I assumed tricking you a little would get the confession over with faster,” he said.

“How did you do it? Is that why Lavonia didn’t see you in the tree?”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. He had a great mouth and astonishing kisses. “It’s just illusion,” he said. “I can telepath images as well as thoughts, to make people see what I want them to. In that instance, the image blended my shape with the tree’s, so they didn’t notice me.” He paused, carefully painting her little toe. “A friend of mine is a true chameleon. He genuinely blends into the background. It would be interesting to know if you can see his aura when he’s in total camouflage.”

Marguerite sipped her cappuccino and said nothing. Maybe if she let him talk, he wouldn’t ask any more questions.

He finished one foot and started on the other. For a guy, he did a mighty good job of painting toenails. “So what do
auras look like? It’s got to be more than colors, like I’ve read about in books.”

“It’s complicated,” she said with a sigh. “Yes, it’s partly colors, but nothing simple like red being anger and green being envy. Auras manifest themselves in varying combinations of colors, shapes, and sizes, and they move constantly, sort of like electronic waves with irregular cycles. Some people have very, uh, talkative auras, while others are calmer and more restrained. Some people—maybe your friend is one of them—can hide their auras almost completely. It’s a lot like reading body language, only there’s another dimension, which makes it easier to recognize the nuances of feelings people are trying to hide, like anger, jealousy, fear.” She paused; this was his chance to explain what had happened last night—what had made him so afraid.

He didn’t. Evidently, he didn’t want to discuss it. She didn’t blame him; a vigilante wouldn’t willingly admit to being scared. He was putting a good face on it, pretending last night’s humiliation didn’t matter, and she should respect what little privacy he still possessed.

But not about what he’d shown her of his own volition. “These illusions you produce. Is that why people say they see visions at your concerts? Like snakes and eagles and spiders? Like the bear that prowled through my head at Eaton’s?”

“Yeah, except that rather than trying to blend, I expand my aura—at least I assume that’s what it is—and send telepathic images. It’s fun to do, and fans like it.” He capped the bottle of nail polish and set it aside.

He hadn’t freaked out about her aura-reading ability. He’d seemed merely… interested. That practically qualified as a miracle.

Maybe he was so used to people prying into his private life that he just didn’t care. Marguerite’s mother had certainly found it unbearable. Dad had been harder to read, except when the scandal broke and he’d been hurt, but everyone knew that, and he’d welcomed her childish sympathy. Marguerite had been dropped by a couple of boyfriends and had dropped a few as well because of her stupid ability. As for her uncle… oh, how that jerk had hated her for seeing in his aura that he had lustful feelings for her. She’d only been a kid, but she’d threatened to scream bloody murder if he so much as touched her, and he’d backed off.

A useful tool, Constantine put it. Well, it
had
saved her from the sexual molestation her uncle had envisioned. And she’d been insane with worry when, after her father’s death, her mother had decided to move to Baton Rouge with Marguerite’s timid little sister, because he might try it with her, and he might succeed. Mom had refused to believe a word against him. Marguerite would have had to make a huge stink. Another media freak-out, a slander suit from her uncle—it had all spread out before her in a ghastly array. She’d had no proof, and she’d never been able to find any. She just
knew.

And then Uncle Dan had beaten up Leopard, Constantine had publicly sworn vengeance, and soon afterward, her uncle had shot himself.

She didn’t agree with physical or psychic violence. It didn’t feel right to thank him for causing her uncle’s death—to approve of causing anyone’s death—but in this case she sure wanted to. She wanted—

CHAPTER TWELVE

T
he doorbell rang. Thankful for the reprieve, Constantine sprang up to answer it. He might not be able to read auras, but she’d clearly been thinking about asking him something, probably something personal. He’d told her how he produced illusions to
avoid
any personal questions. There were so many rumors about his psychic abilities that it didn’t matter whether she blabbed about it or not. He listened for the chicken in his head, but there was only silence.

Which didn’t mean he wasn’t a coward. It meant he already knew he was.

Leopard walked in and figured him out right away. “Jeez, man. You didn’t get laid yet? Jabez says she’s a hottie.” He was carrying a mug of his usual execrable coffee.

When they arrived in the kitchen, Marguerite smiled at Lep and put out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Lep shook her hand. “Looking good. You holding out on him, girl?” Typical Lep, getting straight to the point.

“I don’t think so,” Marguerite said seriously, “but I haven’t had the opportunity to find out for sure.”

“If you’d just take him to bed and get it over with, we’d all appreciate it very much.”

Constantine’s guide had ignored him so far this morning, but now he felt it rolling its eyes.
Amen
, it said.

“I’ll be sure to take your wishes into consideration.” Marguerite smiled.

Yearning slammed Constantine. He wanted her in his bed, in his life, smiling at him every damn day, making love every night.

Making love
. Not the way he usually thought of it. Hadn’t thought about it like that for too many years, if ever. Love… just wasn’t an emotion he allowed himself to feel.

So
, he asked the guide,
if I have sex with her, the next step is love?

Afraid so
. The guide sounded amused. Constantine returned to chopping veggies for omelets.

“Jabez is doing such a good job of keeping Nathan away from you that he’s stalking me now.” Lep scrolled down the screen of his phone. “And I quote: ‘For your safety as well as C’s, talk to me.’ He’s such a drama queen. I’ll have to get a new email address.”

“This is a different spin,” Constantine said. “Yesterday he was worried about the safety of everyone else in town.”

“It sounds to me,” Marguerite grumped, “as if he’ll take any twisted idea and run with it.”

“Pretty much,” Constantine said. Compared to love, Nathan’s crap was easy to handle. “Might as well see what he has to say, Lep. After what happened last night, we have to follow every avenue.”

Constantine turned to Marguerite. “I’m giving an interview today at the Cat. You want to come, babe?”

Marguerite glared. “Of course not.”

So much for the prospect of love. His spirit guide might love him—it must, to stick to him through thick and thin—but he wasn’t a lovable guy, and Marguerite hated the media. “It’s
Rolling Stone
,” he cajoled. “I know the guy. As interviews go, it won’t be too bad.” She showed no sign of weakening, so he added, “Better than staying here. They’ve already started showing up, and it’ll just get worse.”

“Who, they?” she asked, but immediately realization crossed her face. “There are reporters out there?”

“Some,” he said. “Jabez comes by from time to time to disperse them, but they’re a persistent bunch.”

“They’re crazy. I have nothing to say to them. Won’t they just follow you?” She didn’t seem to need an answer. She swallowed and paced a bit. “No, because I’m easier prey. Even after we make it clear we’re not together, they’ll harass me for a while.” She threw up her hands. “I have to go to work. Yes, I know it’s Sunday, but I have to pick up some stuff to prepare for classes. I’m teaching a new course this term.”

“Then you’ll take Jabez with you,” Constantine said, and when she bristled, he added, “I insist.”

“I understand that I need a bodyguard,” she said irritably, “but Jabez needs his beauty sleep.”

“Give her Reuben,” Lep said, alight with mischief.

Let Lep have his fun, although Reuben had better not. “Sure,” he said, and, annoyingly, she agreed.

Lep left after breakfast, and ten minutes later, Reuben arrived. “Your bodyguard’s coming up the walk,” Constantine said, wondering if his aura was giving off jealousy vibes. Since he couldn’t do anything about it, he decided he didn’t care. “I’ve gotta go. Later, babe.”

Those hazel eyes that saw so much shone with sadness, acknowledging that what little they’d had together was done. “I’m going to miss kissing you,” she said.

Shaken, he opened the door and left.