Demons of Desire (23 page)

“We haven’t had any luck setting up that meeting you wanted,” Ourson said in between sips of coffee. “They’re refusing to meet with us. Do you want me to grab the head guy in a dark alley and force the issue?”

So much for happy Disney song. An image of the vampires dragging a middle–aged banker through the streets of New Orleans crossed my mind. Somehow I doubted that would engender the spirit of peace I hoped to establish.

“No. Let’s see if they change their minds tonight.” Maybe our work at the levees would force them to the negotiation table, especially if we caught them red–handed trying to reverse my spells.

“Sorry, sorry. Hope you all weren’t waiting too long.”

A flustered Jordan hurried toward me, a man and two women in tow. Good thing I brought extra coffee and pastries.

“Irix and I just got here.” I handed her a bag of beignets and pulled one from a second bag.

“This is Evie, Kristin, and Stu. They’ve offered to help.”

Kristin. The name bounced around in my head for a few moments before I placed it. “I’ve heard about you,” I told the woman, reaching out to shake her hand.

She blushed, turning her sunburned skin even brighter pink. What a contrast with the severe Bev. Kristin looked to be late twenties with generous curves beneath the faded Grateful Dead t–shirt and khaki cut–offs. Her round face was accented by strawberry–blond frizz that had escaped her braid. She might be a powerful witch, but the woman looked more likely to be relaxing at a clambake than leading the largest coven in New Orleans. I could see why Bev had retained control of Bon Nuit.

“Whatever you need. We can watch for the bad guys or help you set up the ritual. Anything.” Kristin enthusiastically pumped my hand, bypassing the bag of fried dough.

“Yeah,” Evie chimed in, pulling a pastry from the bag and handing it to Stu. “I’m very excited to be working with you again. Bev can stuff it.” She was a short, thin woman a few years older than me with a thick mass of brown hair and eyes the color of chestnuts.

I liked them immediately. Anyone who was willing to take my side over Bev was a good way toward becoming a friend. I turned to Stu, who had managed to hold three beignets in one hand while passing the bag to me with the other. He probably could have managed six with the length of his fingers. The man’s whole body was thin and elongated like a stork’s, but it was his long, narrow hands that drew my attention. I found myself glancing down at his feet and wondering if other parts of his anatomy were equally as long.

“Thanks for the breakfast,” he said, a shy smile on his face. “And yeah, Bev can stuff it. We don’t believe you had anything to do with the dead trees in the bayous.”

Bayous? As in plural? And Bev could do more than stuff it if she was spreading rumors around that I was killing trees. Them’s fighting words.

Jordan must have seen the look on my face because she seized my arm and pulled me off to the side.

“I didn’t want to upset you, but during the night another bayou suffered the loss of its cypress trees. We’re now hugely vulnerable in any good–sized storm.” She took a deep breath and winced. “Bev has accused you of foul plague magic. She said you used their energy to curse the whole area. And she blames me for bringing a demon into their fold.”

The fury I initially felt disappeared in a wave of guilt. “
Their
fold”. Jordan had been ousted from her coven, and even though I hadn’t been responsible for the death of the trees, her situation was completely my fault. I hugged her, crushing the bag of beignets between us.

“It’s okay.” Tears choked her voice. “Stu, Kristin, and Evie walked out with me. Bev
can
stuff it.”

“She’s a nasty bitch.” I stroked Jordan’s burgundy ringlets and hugged her tight before pulling away to look into her dark eyes. “And I’d be honored to assist you and your new coven with your Beltane ritual next year.”

Heaven knows how I’d raise the plane fair to fly down here, let alone get off school at end–term of my senior year, but I knew I’d somehow make it happen when I saw the excitement in Jordan’s eyes. A half–succubus at Beltane would be quite a draw. Bon Nuit could suck eggs; Jordan’s little group would draw pagans from all across the state if she chose to open the Sabbat to guests. It would be sweet revenge to have a bigger, better celebration than the largest coven in New Orleans. Take that, bitch.

“I feel bad that I’ve thrown you in the middle of all this,” she said, wiping her eyes with her forearm. “Here you are on vacation; I pressure you into doing this ritual, and it all blows up in your face.”

“Pfft.” I waved a hand and dug in the bag for a beignet. “This is a whole lot more exciting than getting drunk on Bourbon Street every night. “Come on. Let’s meet Ourson’s crew and get started.”

Her eyes widened when she laid eyes on the vampire. “So he’s really…?”

“Yeah.” I took a nibble from the pastry, spilling powered sugar onto my t–shirt in the process. “We’re all friends. Just don’t let him pick you up at a club. He bites.”

“I have no intention of letting him pick me up anywhere, and if he tries to bite me, I’ll hex him.”

Now
that
I wanted to see.

“Beignet?” I held the bag out to Ourson. He declined, but the sandy–haired vampire next to him looked at the white paper bag with interest. “Here. Before I eat them all myself,” I told him.

Jordan laughed. “She will too. You should see her with a plate of oysters. She’s like a piranha with legs.”

Half–breed, thy name is Gluttony. I took another bite from my pastry and extended my hand — the one not covered in powdered sugar. If Ourson wasn’t going to do the honors, I’d just introduce myself. “I’m Amber, and this is my friend Jordan. She and her friends are witches, and they’ll be assisting us today.”

The vampires had originally ignored Jordan, but when I mentioned the word “witch”, their heads pivoted to her, wary respect in their eyes.

“Raol, Frederick, and Guy,” Ourson said, pointing to each in turn. I was amused to hear the sandy–haired man’s name was Guy. That made him the Guy guy.

“No women?” Jordan, and the predominance of women in her group evened things out a bit, but it was strange that Ourson hadn’t brought any female vampires.

“There are a few taking the night shift on the stakeout.” The vampire and his crew exchanged grins. “We’re the low men on the totem pole, so we get the joy of the day shift.”

I briefly wondered about Eloise and Helen. How high up in their society were they?

“What kind of witchcraft do you practice?” Ourson asked Jordan.

She glared at him. “The kind that shrivels a man’s testicles to the size of raisins.”

The four men winced, and Guy actually took a step back.

“We’ve got a long day ahead of us. Let’s save any potential genital mutilation for later.” I hastily grabbed Jordan’s arm and pulled her aside.

That snapped Jordan out of her hostile mood. “What do you want us to do?” she asked.

I had no idea. I didn’t even know what the heck
I
was supposed to do. I looked around for Irix and found him holding court with Jordan’s friends, all of whom looked ready to get naughty behind the bushes with him without a moment’s notice. I squashed down an ugly jealous thought. This was what he was — an incubus. I couldn’t fault him for that. It’s not like I could ever expect fidelity from him.

At that moment Irix looked up at me and smiled. My whole world brightened. He jogged toward me, leaving the others mid–conversation.

“You ready to get started?” His voice was rough, like velvet rubbed against the nap. I couldn’t help but step closer to him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

He grinned again, and my heart thudded. “You’re going to get a feel for the atoms and molecular structure that make up the barrier, and then identify the magic surrounding the weakened area. I can blast the spell with raw energy and destroy it, but there might be an explosion. You’ll need to contain it, and re–create the levee molecules.”

What the fuck was he talking about?

“Explosion?” Forget all the molecule stuff, I was absolutely not comfortable with the idea of a magical spell detonating right in my face.

“Sure,” Irix sounded casual, like we were discussing the fact that water was wet. “Breaking magic always results in some kind of explosion. Not on an atomic level, mind you. I doubt whoever put this down has that sort of power. Angels, now, those bastards can really pack a wallop of power. You don’t want to go about breaking one of their spells.”

“I don’t intend to,” I hastily assured him. “How big of an explosion are we talking about?” It better be less than a street–legal firecracker, or I was calling the whole thing off.

Irix shrugged. “We won’t know until we get in there.”

This endeavor was beginning to sound like a bad idea. I looked around at my interested audience, worried that I’d wasted everyone’s time coming here on a demon’s assurances that I could do these impossible things.

“And you said I was supposed to contain this explosion? At risk of repeating myself
again
, I’m a half–elf. I heal plants, make things bloom. I’m like a ramped–up version of Miracle Grow, not Superman.”

“You got this, elf–girl. It’s energy absorption, just like you do with your sexual partners. Just like you did at the Wiccan ritual. Easy peasy.”

Yeah, but if I fucked it up…. I crammed the remainder of the beignet in my mouth and motioned for everyone to stand back. They complied hastily, having overheard my entire conversation with Irix. With that amazing lack of confidence from my new friends, I turned to face the levee. My heart in my throat, I took a hesitant step forward.

“Wait.”

Didn’t have to ask me twice. I spun around and nearly collided with Irix. He loomed over me, the warm smell of chocolate and spiced rum twining around my flesh and filling my senses. His eyes danced as he raised a finger and traced it along the edge of my mouth.

“Powdered sugar.”

I froze, transfixed by his touch, by the heat in his golden eyes. Slowly he bent his head toward me. I closed my eyes and felt the tip of his tongue licking the sweetness from my lips. I caught my breath and opened my mouth to him — inviting, pleading silently for him to give me more. Muscled arms encircled me, pulling me tight against his chest as our lips merged into a kiss.

Energy filled me like a sparkling stream dancing across the rocks. We weren’t even having sex and there was a transfer. That had never happened when we’d kissed before. I wondered for a fraction of a second about the unusual exchange then lost myself in a slow wave of passion. My hands gripped his ass, drawing him even tighter to me. I felt the hardness of him through his jeans and rocked against him. There was a strange sensation of merging, as if our very souls entwined together in the fraction of space between our bodies.

He pulled away with a quick caress that clearly said “later”. I panted, dazed and rather uncertain what it was I was supposed to be doing. We had an audience, staring at us openmouthed. A soft “wow” came from Jordan.

“Do you trust me, my elven princess?”

“Yes.” I did. As much as I trusted my own brother. Probably even more.

He smiled, obviously pleased at my response, and led me up the bank of the levee to the paved path on top.

“Touch the grass. What does it tell you?”

I knelt down and placed my palms on the neatly manicured strip of green bordering the bicycle path. It was cynodon dactylon, better known as Bermuda grass. The rough, coarse blades were a thick mat under my hands.

“It’s healthy. Plenty of sunlight and lots of nutrients from the soil. Flooding doesn’t normally get this high, but they put down a nice layer of topsoil and apply compost regularly. It’s an ideal grass for this sort of thing — hardy, withstands lots of traffic and high heat. It doesn’t mind a saline environment. Best of all, it has a very dense, deep network of roots that prohibit soil erosion. That’s critical on a slope like this where soil can be lost due to rain.”

“And under? Where the roots are?”

I closed my eyes, feeling the wind on my face and reaching with an inner part of myself down through the plant into the dirt below.

“The grass has taken hold nicely. These roots have been known to reach two meters down into the soil, but the deepest I feel here is about ninety centimeters. Most of the root bed is half a meter deep.”

“Further.”

I hesitated. It was like jumping off a cliff at midnight into the unknown. Tentatively I felt the soil around the roots, noting the phosphorous and nitrogen levels. Sensing Irix’s eyes on me, I took a deep breath and reached further.

Dark and shifting. The sweet smell of decay. There was nothing to hold onto and I fell, my insides lurching like the downward plunge of a rollercoaster. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and everything within me snapped into place.

“Topsoil, then sand and a crushed rock mixture. Alternating stone and sediment layers. There’s a synthetic mesh. I think it’s to anchor the levee foundation in case of severe flooding. There’s some kind of baked clay, tiles maybe, at the riverside edges about two feet in. To divert water from the foundation? Under the levee … holy shit! Mud. And water. This whole fucking city is built on water!”

“Language,” Irix scolded. I could hear the amusement in his voice. It’s not like he hadn’t been flinging the curse words around lately. Pot and kettle, baby.

I pulled up from the water table and extended my awareness out along the stretch of earth and stone. It was cleverly constructed and stable enough to withstand a sizable storm. The only way this levee could be breached would be if the floods from the river topped it. Not impossible, but the river at that level would be a once–in–five–thousand–years event.

Nothing. Nothing. I kept reaching, grounded by Irix’s touch. What had Jordan seen yesterday? Maybe it wasn’t the levee, but something else that had been spelled. Just to make sure, I continued searching and smacked into something that felt like a thousand nettles against my skin. I gasped and pulled back, hesitating when Irix squeezed my shoulder reassuringly.

“Easy there, elf–girl. That’s the spell you’ve been looking for.”