[Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine (41 page)

Marguerite managed to stammer out, “Why? What has she ever done to me?”

“Well, for one thing she gave Nathan Bone that story about Lutsky yesterday. For another, she set up an appointment last night where I met up with Nathan and gave him your sketch, not that she had any idea what I wanted it for.”

“Oh.” After Al’s ghastly disclosures, Janie’s malice seemed like child’s play. “She was bound to do something obnoxious because Constantine liked me better. It doesn’t matter.”

“Come on, Marguerite,” he said. “Surely you want a little revenge.”

Marguerite shook her head, and Al rolled his eyes. “If I decide to spare you, I’ll get you pregnant. You’ll have to get off your high horse, though, and stop pretending to be perfect. I thought Zeb’s mom would be ideal, since she was a vampire, but she turned out to be a do-gooder.”

She must have looked appalled, for he laughed. “Don’t you find me attractive?”

“Everybody thinks you’re attractive,” Marguerite said bitterly.

“How do you feel about sex?”

Disgust roiled up, but she couldn’t afford weakness right now. She ate a fry and analyzed his aura. He wasn’t particularly turned on, or at least not sexually. Why ask her that, then? Just to freak her out? Maybe Constantine had inherited his aura control from Al, although the way they dealt with it was opposite—Constantine preferred to play outward, to conjure visions and send them with his telepathic mind, while Al pulled his aura tight and smooth, concentrating on concealment. He’d done it unbelievably well. She’d never guessed. Never even suspected Al might not be who he seemed. He’d been hiding his true self all along, but not anymore, or at least not with her now. Maybe he found it relaxing to let go. Did he have any idea what he was doing and what she could see? Zeb hadn’t understood his own aura control until she’d explained it to him.

“Well?” Al leered in the darkness. “Do you like sex?”

“Not particularly,” Marguerite said. “All that hoopla about my dad’s porn films was a real turnoff.”

“Not even with Dufray?”

“Don’t talk to me about that jerk,” Marguerite said, chomping on another couple of fries.

“No one-touch orgasms?” Al’s expression was intent, in sync with the excitement in his aura. Evidently, his professed scorn of Constantine had all been an act.

“He really is telepathic, you know.” Al sounded like an eager little kid. “Most of that stuff in the trashy books is true. He can send thoughts and images to people’s minds. But I guess you know that.”

She shrugged. Constantine had telepathically suggested that they meet at the mounds, but if Al realized, he might change his mind. “Supposedly he sent me a sex dream, but so what?”

“Oh, come on, Marguerite. You’ve done a great job of putting on an act, but you want revenge as much as I do.”

Huh? “I’m pissed off at him, sure, but so what? I’ll get over it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just can’t give up on being a goody-goody, can you? I was surprised you didn’t take the opportunity I handed you on a platter up on the mound. You could have ruined him then and there.”

“I don’t want to ruin anybody,” she said.

Al huffed. “Maybe you wanted a more thorough revenge. Seduce him, make him fall for you, then dump him like the dirt he is. Big mistake, Marguerite. He dumped you instead, and nobody cares.”

She said nothing. Constantine might or might not care about her, but he wouldn’t just let this lunatic murder her.

“Do you think he’ll save you? You can always hope, but when I tell him your big secret, he might just kill you himself. Unless I kill him first and save you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He already believes the worst of me.”

“That’s what you think. I’m going to have the time of my life, taunting Constantine with how blind he’s been about both of us.”

She gave up on trying to figure him out. He opened a metal canister and held it out to her with a smarmy grin. “Have a bonbon?”

She almost took one, then snatched her hand back. “No!”

“These aren’t drugged,” he coaxed. In the gloom, his grin was even creepier. “They’re my private stash.”

“Thanks anyway.” She took a swig of her coffee; he hadn’t touched that. Realizations crowded her mind. All those candies he carried around and handed out… She recalled Lutsky’s blowup in the restaurant. Her own fit of rage with Constantine. Lavonia’s convenient illness last night and her belief Al had been there the entire time; she’d probably been out cold for hours and not realized it. Zeb’s inability to hold down a job… The people who’d gone ballistic at concerts… and,
oh my God
, Constantine’s wife.

Where had it all begun? “Why do
you
want revenge?”

“Because the little bastard wouldn’t show me how he does it. Telepathy’s not magic. It’s just technique. His grandfather could do some of it, too, but he wouldn’t help me out either.” Al tossed their trash out the window. “People who don’t help me end up dead.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Z
eb shadowed them through the woods on one flank, Jabez on the other. The big black bodyguard, who had come to take over surveillance of Dad and Marguerite, had told Zeb to go home.

“I can’t do that,” Zeb said. “Marguerite needs me here.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Jabez said. “I can get close enough to protect her without being seen. You can’t.”

“She still needs me,” Zeb said. Could she see auras at night? If he could just get her to see it, she would recognize his aura. She would know he was there.

“To do what?” Jabez said. “Go home.”

To give her hope, but Marguerite’s secret was not his to give away, so all he said was “Or else what?”

Jabez only laughed and vanished into the forest, but Zeb refused to let the man affect him. He might not be as efficient or ruthless as the bodyguard, but even if he didn’t get much chance to reveal his presence to Marguerite, he wouldn’t do anything so craven as to leave. This was
his
problem. He’d had enough of hiding, enough of running away.

He was nearing the edge of the woods not far from Papa Mound when Marguerite’s shrill “What?” floated back in the muggy air.

Zeb moved slowly forward, straining to hear. His dad murmured something, and Marguerite snapped, “Why?” Again, he couldn’t hear his dad, but a minute closer, it became obvious: Marguerite was taking off her clothes.

Zeb’s aura flared out all on its own. Crap. He wanted to reassure her, and she was faced his way, so she might have seen his reaction. He tried to pull in his aura, to tamp the arousal. She looked mighty good in her underwear, and now she was reaching around to unhook her bra.

“Why?” she said again, more softly.

“So you won’t chicken out at the last moment,” Dad said. “And if you do, you’ll be very, very visible with all that lovely white skin in these dark, spooky woods.”

“You’re such a freak, Al. What will you do if I run away? Shoot me?” She took off her bra, and Zeb’s aura flared again.

Whatever. He wondered if she could catch Jabez’s aura, too, and if it frightened her.

She wasn’t acting frightened. She shucked her panties. “Is that what you’ve got in that duffel bag, Al—a gun? Or is it another knife? Whose fingerprints are on it this time?”

So that’s what he was holding over her head. It might be bullshit—but it might just as easily be true. Zeb backed diagonally out of the woods onto the path. He got out his cell phone and made a call.

Bring the copper mask
, the spirit guide said.

Without questioning why, Constantine obeyed and left by the roof garden. He jumped down to the next roof,
climbed to another, traversed a few more, and eventually lowered himself quietly to the ground in an alley almost a block away. The dense night air clung to his skin, but clouds were building in the west. Distant thunder rumbled; soon they would have more rain.

If only he could just work up a violent rage, kill the Enemy, and be done with it. Instead, once he’d ensured Marguerite’s safety, he was going to have to confront him. Stave him off. Find out as much as he could and waste some time while Gideon did an illegal search of Bonnard’s house for something to justify a warrant. Then Constantine would have to find a way to kill the bastard without making it look like murder.

He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was afraid.

Oh, no, you don’t
, the bird said.
Kill
.

It wasn’t the killing that scared him. He didn’t like killing, but sometimes it had to be done. The bird agreed.
Expose his weakness, drive him out of cover, go in for the kill
.

He ran through the humid night toward the Indian mounds. He was definitely afraid for both Marguerite and Zeb, but that wasn’t it either. He was relying on Jabez to keep Marguerite alive and unharmed until he arrived. If Jabez didn’t succeed, no one could. He doubted Zeb would obey Jabez’s orders to go home. He sure wouldn’t, in Zeb’s place. Not that Constantine doubted Zeb’s ability to handle himself, but he was yet another unknown in a mess of unknowns.

He circled the same parking lot where he’d kissed Marguerite the other day. Ahead on noiseless wings, the great horned owl disappeared into the path through the woods. Constantine followed, shedding his own weaknesses one by
one, but fear of his lifelong Enemy hovered like a ghostly Cheshire cat, grinning and taunting him, disappearing and then reappearing someplace else. In spite of this, he didn’t think it was Bonnard’s malevolence that was eating at him either. His reaction yesterday had been one of shock; today he knew what he faced. He was a grown man now.

Not only that, Zeb had survived the man for seventeen years. He would have to ask Zeb how he’d done it when this was over. He longed to get to know his little brother…

You’re not allowed to have longings. Everyone’s counting on you
.

Yeah, and it sucked. He conjured a vision of a stag, the mask its antlers, and left the woods, crossing to Mama Mound. At the top of the mound, he imagined himself a pine tree and took a look around. Funny how he’d convinced everyone of his invincibility. What a crock.

The owl dove past his face, claws scraping his cheek, narrowly missing his eye.
If you don’t get this right,
the bird said viciously,
I’ll spend the rest of my days systematically pecking your kind
.

Constantine wiped the blood from his cheek, letting out a puff of laughter even so. At least someone meant business, even if it was only a bird. He cast a long slow glance over Papa Mound: no one.
Yet
, agreed the owl. His cell phone vibrated. Jabez.

“You’re not going to like this,” the bodyguard said.

“Just tell me.”

“First thing, the kid wouldn’t leave. Said Marguerite needed him there.”

“Figures.”

“He’s good, though. Not as good as me, but for an amateur, he’s very, very smooth.”

“Good to know. Keep any eye on him.”

“Second thing—Bonnard made her take her clothes off.”

Anger boiled up, but he forced it out in a long, slow breath. If she’d been in danger of rape, Jabez would have said so. “Does she seem frightened?”

“If she is, she’s hiding it well. Asked him if he had a gun in his duffel bag to shoot her with if she ran away or if he’d just frame someone again with fingerprints on a knife.”

“Shit,” Constantine said. “Maybe that’s what he’s holding over her head.”

“Could be,” Jabez said. “Maybe the kid thinks so, too, because he backed way off into the woods. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but he came back after a minute or two, so I bet he made a call.”

“Let Gideon know, and tell Lep to make sure those girls aren’t being roped into something dangerous.”

“Will do,” Jabez said. “There’s more.” His tone boded ill.

“Jesus, bro. If it’s that bad, get it over with.”

“She asked why she needed to get undressed, and he said he doesn’t want her chickening out at the last moment.”

Chickening out… about doing what?

“He said she wants revenge as much as he does, and she’ll thank him when it’s done.”

His unruly heart sank. That’s what was eating at him. He didn’t blame her if she’d loved her uncle and wanted payback, but it did away with any hope of a reconciliation. “Thanks, bro. Where are they now?”

“Exiting the woods from the south. Sorry, man. I thought she might be the one for you.”

“So did I.” He ended the call, conjured a vision of a stag again, and fled to the top of Papa Mound.