Beneath the Skin (40 page)

Possibility number three: Keep the True Blood for himself.

A heartbeat, as strong and as fast as a dragonfly's transparent wings, caught Mauvais's attention. He looked up.

She stood in front of the voodoo museum, a plastic Hurricane cup in her hand. A smile lit April's face when she saw him. She waved.

Destiny.

Mauvais waved back, amused that he'd lost two hours or more to his restless thoughts. He crossed the street to join her. "Did you enjoy your tour,
m'selle
?"

"Very much," she said. "It was totally awesome. I love this city."

"As do I. Would you grace me with your beautiful presence,
m'selle,
and accompany me on a walk along the river?"

Deep rosy color blossomed on April's cheeks. "I'd like that, kind sir."

Arm in arm, they ambled to the banks of the Mississippi. There Mauvais wrapped his arms around April--such a fragile and fragrant spring bouquet--and embraced her.

She never struggled and her body went into the black water with hardly a ripple.

And the world decays around us.

Yes, perhaps it
was
time for a change. Perhaps it would be a change he could direct and control. Perhaps.

But not until after Justine had her revenge.

32
IN THIS TWILIGHT

THE HALL OF VOICES, GEHENNA
March 26

HEKATE SLIPPED OUT OF the golden and gleaming hall and into the starlit night. A complicated and trilling chorus of
wybrcathl
rang behind her; a melodious and heated debate regarding the future of the unnamed
creawdwr
still eluding the Elohim, free and unbound in the mortal world.

Hekate glanced over her shoulder, her pulse winging through her veins. Beyond the glittering hall's wide mouth, Gabriel walked before the gathering in a royal blue kilt, his golden wings fluttering in emphasis as his smooth and honeyed voice detailed his plans for the
creawdwr
and the Elohim.

Plans that didn't require the
creawdwr
's consent.

"We need both--tradition and a new age--and we need a sane
creawdwr
to achieve them," Gabriel said, his voice carrying above the tumult of song.

"The
creawdwr
has turned our emissaries to stone!"

A smile touched Gabriel's lips. "So the Morningstar claims. I find it intriguing that he, out of all of them, managed to remain flesh."

"It's a sign. The
creawdwr
is saying things need to change. Gehenna should die and so should all the old ways. It's time to begin fresh, to join the mortal and vampire worlds, and craft a new and golden age with a young Maker to lead us."

"A
creawdwr
who's already insane?"

"Soon this very young Maker will be bound and stabilized by strong and caring
calon-cyfaills,
and ready to take his place on the Chaos Seat," Gabriel said.

Wybrcathl
quieted. The burring buzz of
chalkydri
wings echoed through the hall as the little demons helped the
nephilim
servants fetch and pour iced pitchers of wine.

"But," Gabriel continued, "perhaps it
is
time Gehenna was allowed to fade away." His golden wings fluttered, capturing attention. "And a new Gehenna created."

Shocked and outraged songs pealed through the air at Gabriel's words. Hekate unfolded her gleaming white wings and launched herself into the fragrant spring evening.

She hoped her plan would work. She hoped that Gabriel and his high-blood old guard debated the
creawdwr
's and Gehenna's future late into the night.

Her wings cut like blades through the chilly air, each stroke bringing her closer to the Royal Aerie's east terrace where Lucien awaited her. Ghost-pale moonlight rippled along the mouths of the aeries she flew past.

As she kited down to the terrace, Lucien tipped his face up from the balcony he leaned against. A handsome face, but each passing day siphoned away more of its vitality, dimmed the heat in his black eyes to embers.

She saw the golden coil of her
geis
looped around his mind:
You would be forbidden to leave my side.

And felt his snaking warm around her thoughts in return:
You would be forbidden to lead anyone to my son or reveal his location.

Hekate's sandaled feet lit on the marble floor and she fluttered to a stop, folding her wings behind her. Lucien saluted her with his glass of plum purple wine.

"Very pretty," he said. "I enjoy watching you fly."

She joined him at the balustrade. "A debate is taking place at the Hall of Voices," she said. "We should leave as soon as I have you disguised."

Lucien nodded, then tossed back the last of his wine. "Do you need anything from me?" he asked, swiveling around to face her.

Weariness etched his face, pooled dark beneath his eyes. At times, his skin seemed almost translucent. Gabriel's punishment--binding Lucien's fate to the dying land--seemed cruel to her. But perhaps it was deserved. Lucien was a murderer, after all.
Calon-cyfaill
to the
creawdwr
he'd slaughtered. A chill shuddered along the length of Hekate's body; it was an unthinkable betrayal.

"No," Hekate said. "Just hold still and keep quiet until I complete the illusion."

Lucien set his empty glass on the balcony's edge, then straightened, head high. Hekate plucked energy out of the air, shaping it and weaving it around Lucien, chewing on her lower lip in concentration.

A quick bending of light rays finished her illusion. Lucien looked nothing like himself, his hair red, eyes green, his build slimmer and his face angled and sharp, his wings golden.

Hekate blew out her breath, then nodded. "Hold still," she said, stepping behind him. She sparked blue flame into the bands on his wings. Seals melted and they fell apart, clinking onto the marble floor. She scooped the pieces up and tossed them into the night.

"Ah," Lucien sighed, unfolding his wings. He flexed and fluttered them, tested their strength.

"Are you strong enough to fly?" Hekate asked.

"If I'm not, let me fall."

"Not very helpful," she said, turning away from him. She touched Menakel's waiting mind and the dark-haired
nephilim
servant padded past the guards and onto the terrace.

Hekate nodded at the couch. Without a word, Menakel went to it and laid down. She crossed the terrace, the
nephilim
's eyes drinking in each stride, then knelt beside his couch. She bent, kissed his lips, and murmured, "Thank you."

"Just don't get caught," he whispered.

"I won't," she said with more confidence than she felt. Drawing in a deep breath, she gathered more night energy and wove another illusion. A few minutes later, Lucien, wings banded, regarded her from the couch with dark eyes.

Joining the true Lucien at the balustrade once more, she said, "Shall we?"

A smile curved his lips. "Try to stop me." Walking to the terrace's open edge, he threw himself into the star-pricked sky.

Hekate's heart skipped a beat when he dropped from sight, but he rose a moment later, his false golden wings stroking through the air.

With a final glance at Menakel on the couch, Hekate snapped out her wings and followed Lucien to Gehenna's gate.

GABRIEL WALKED AWAY FROM the symphony of debate in the hall, seeking fresh air out on the terrace, seeking a glimpse of Hekate's white wings slicing through the night.

He wondered if she was even now flying from Gehenna and into the mortal world with an illusion-draped Samael winging at her side.

He rested his forearms on the cool stone balcony. He'd glimpsed the
geis
she'd placed upon the murdering
aingeal
and had known what she intended to do.

Search for her mother and her
calon-cyfaill
.

Ah, but Samael would search for the Maker and would, no doubt, find him. As would the agent Gabriel had tasked with following the pair.

Another part of him insisted that he
not
allow Samael and Hekate to escape, to have them captured at the gate and both tossed into Sheol.

But doubt chained his mind. The Morningstar claimed to be following the
creawdwr.
Claimed him to be
Fola Fior
and Elohim. Claimed him to be injured. But honesty had never been the Morningstar's gift.

Samael had said the Morningstar played games. True. But they all were guilty of that charge--games within games within games.

Insanity hadn't caused the
creawdwr
to turn Gehenna's emissaries into stone. No, Gabriel was quite certain that it had been done at Samael's command. And it was just as certain that Samael had sent Lilith into a trap, knowing what awaited the Elohim who answered the Maker's
anhrefncathl.

Samael was guilty of the very thing he'd accused Gabriel of--chaining a
creawdwr
to his will. But what did he hope to accomplish? Could he be planning to reclaim Gehenna's Black-Starred throne?

Of course, if the
creawdwr
couldn't be located until after Gehenna and treacherous Samael had faded out of existence, he'd no longer need to worry about Samael's possible plans.

<
As you warned, the Lady Hekate has left with the prisoner Samael,
> the captain of the royal guard sent. <
Do you wish me to pursue?
>

Gabriel studied the star-flecked night. Good question. A
very
good question.

Despite their centuries together, despite the fact that he'd never denied her anything, Hekate had sought help from his enemy--an
aingeal
who would trick and use her, despite her
geis
, instead of simply asking for Gabriel's assistance in searching for her loved ones trapped in the mortal world.

A child's game. A foolish girl. But useful.

Gabriel's talons bit into his palms. He felt the hot trickle of blood.

<
Yes. Pursue and capture them. Shroud them both in chains and drop them into Sheol.
>

<
Both, my lord?>

<
Both.>

Perhaps the Morningstar would be more forthcoming once he learned his daughter hung chained in Sheol's embered guts.

Games within games within games.

33
THIS TIME IS ALL WE HAVE

OUTSIDE NEW ORLEANS, DANTE'S HOUSE
March 27

BROWNING IN HAND, HEATHER surveyed the night-drenched yard, searching for anything out of place, for a sign of anyone watching since she'd pulled the SUV into the house's circular drive at 4:30 that afternoon.

She'd studied the house and yard then too, before locking up the vehicle and tucking herself against Dante's fevered warmth for a nap until his nightkind household awakened.

Dante draws in a deep breath and opens his dark eyes. Heather says, "We're home."

A warm, almost happy, smile curves his lips.
"C'est bon,
yeah?
"

"Definitely."

Heather bends and kisses his lips. Everything she sees in his eyes, she also feels. Ever since her journey through the dark forest of his mind, she feels connected to him in a way that reminds her of the temporary blood-link she shares with him whenever he drinks a little of her blood.

Bonded, he explains to her. Connected mind-to-mind and heart-to-heart.

"I can feel you,
catin,
and you can feel me--no matter if we're together or not."

Dante returns her kiss passionately and heat ripples through her belly - hers and his. This is going to be interesting.

"All clear, doll," Von said, joining her on the cracked and root-tilted sidewalk. He slid his Browning back into its holster.

"Good." Heather tucked her gun into the back of her jeans, automatically tugging the hem of her shirt over the Browning.

Need to get my own gun.

"Cool house," Annie said, stopping beside her, gym bag in hand.

"No one watching, not from cars parked on the street, anyway," Dante said, slipping back into the driveway through the partially opened wrought-iron gate.

The front door flew open, smacking against the house, and Simone raced down the steps, her long blonde spirals bouncing against her back. She stopped in front of Dante and threw her arms around his neck.

The sweet smell of magnolias permeated the air.

"Mon ami,"
she cried, kissing first his lips, then his cheeks, over and over again.

A radiant smile lit Dante's pale face. He laced his arms around her waist. "Hey,
chere,
" he said, Simone's kisses muffling his words. "Missed you."

"Hey, sugar," Von said, tipping Simone's face toward him. "Plant some on me."

Grinning, Simone loosened her hold on Dante and kissed Von thoroughly.