SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (107 page)

“So Etienne found someone besides us for his next duel,” I whispered to Philippe. I was squeezing his hand, and when I glanced up at him, his jaw was tight. I relaxed my grip. “If we had been able to kill him…”

“Don’t, Lilly,” he said. “I’ve already run through all the
if only
s.”

Of course he had. And as we waited to see the extent of the damage below us, I didn’t know what words to use with Philippe, how to comfort him, how to end his sorrows.

Or end my own fears of what we were about to witness.

As the crowd whispered amongst themselves, I listened to a couple of policemen a few feet away, their hands on their belted hips.

“Do you think it’s gonna turn out to be the same asshole?” asked the portly one, his uniform shirt strained by his gut. “What kind of nut does this shit anyway?”

“A one-hundred-percent, primetime, anonymous psycho,” said the taller one.

So even the law had no clue who or what they were after?

As the police wandered closer to the bank, Philippe kept his voice low, bending to me. “Tomorrow, I’m going to the cops, telling them what I saw at the Dueling Oak. Maybe they can use something from my visions.”

“And maybe they’ll pin this on you. Doesn’t law enforcement look into any person who volunteers information about a crime? You would be presenting yourself as a suspect. That’s going to cut into our time and slow us down.”

He glanced at me thoughtfully, as if he hadn’t expected me to know this tidbit. Who knew why I did?

He was still so close that I could smell the cedar on him, could remember how, only a short time ago, I had been melting for him, urging him on, wanting more than we ever had time for.

The boots seemed to sigh against me, and I had to agree with them. But as the sigh poured into the rest of me, deep sadness came with it. This was about more than lost chances with Philippe—the sigh was also for the fact that a monster was out there causing such anguish for the dead as well as the living who were robbed of them. Every victim had someone who loved them, and a part of those who were left behind would surely be murdered, as well, when they learned about the loss of their son or daughter, brother or sister...

Philippe broke into my thoughts. “What you say is right, Lilly. I—we—might end up on the law’s radar, but I should’ve volunteered information to the cops before. That way,
this
could’ve been avoided.”

“You can’t be certain of that.”

He wasn’t listening to reason. “Besides, if there were any cameras trained on the Dueling Oak—either closed-circuit ones from the city or temporary ones from the police—we would’ve already been put on a suspect list. The authorities might be trying to identify who we are even now. It could also be that cops were supposed to be watching over the site when we got there, but they weren’t doing their jobs until the end, when we heard voices coming from the museum. They could’ve caught a look at us, too. In any case, if we were seen, the cops will want to know why we were trespassing.”

Listen to him, suddenly concerned about breaking a little ol’ law. “Are you, perhaps, being a touch paranoid?”

“I’m only considering all angles,
cher
.”

One of the cops slowly made his way up the bank, huddling with the two I had overheard earlier. This left a space in the circle of police who had been hovering over the victims and, now, I could clearly see them.

Two bodies sprawled on the rocks, one with a sword through its middle, the other tied up. But why did they look like…

“Dummies,” Philippe said. “Those are damned dummies.”

My mind spun, but there was no arguing—those lifeless, bleach-white forms below us were limp and faceless, nothing but a sick joke. The sword even looked plastic.

“Who would—?” I started to ask.

“Fraternity boys from a nearby campus,” Philippe said as he tensed.

Round us, the crowd broke into relieved laughter and disgusted commentary. Some began wandering away, their entertainment put to an end.

Philippe shot them a dark glare. “Or maybe it was some drunks who thought it’d be funny to recreate the scene at City Park. How creative.”

“Who would possibly think this is funny or creative?”

“Don’t you ever watch the news and see all the assholes who’re out there?”

I pressed my lips together. Chances were that I wouldn’t recall yesterday’s headlines if I tried.

He seemed to realize his error, blowing out a breath. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t mean anything by it.”

More cops arrived, filtering down the rocks, shaking their heads. At the same time, a swarm of new observers came to crane their necks and see the demented sight on the bank, then leave in disappointment.

I shrugged. “Amari says that sometimes forgetting is a blessing.”

“I’m sure she’s right.”

Philippe kept watching those fake bodies, and I wagered that he would give any amount to forget most of what he saw in his visions. I wished I could steal them from him, relieve him of some of the burden so they wouldn’t press down on his shoulders as they were obviously doing now.

But those visions seemed to be our only advantage against this monster that was still out there, even if he hadn’t murdered yet again. And I feared he would. We had a reprieve with these fake deaths, but I was not about to stand here and allow any real murders to continue.

Just as Philippe and I turned to leave, my gaze snagged on a familiar face on the edge of the crowd: dark skin, pointed goatee, porkpie hat…

St. John?

I grasped Philippe’s shirt, pulling him toward his fellow psychic, and when St. John spotted us, his eyes widened. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said that he was about to turn round and head out of here himself.

But he stood in place as we approached, a wan smile fixed to his face. “You felt it, too?” he asked Philippe. “The negative energy coming from here?”

“An alert on my mobile told me there were two bodies, one with a sword, one tied up. Thank God the report had it wrong.”

Philippe rested a palm on my back, and it wasn’t a territorial gesture so much as protective. Because of all the danger about? Or because St. John had kissed my hand at the wine bar?

Or was there another reason—one that had to do with Philippe sensing something odd about St. John observing the scene?

Sin gestured toward the dummies. “Someone sure has a bent sense of humor.”

“Just so it ain’t the real thing,” Philippe said.

The other man shifted his weight on his vintage two-toned shoes, fidgety. He was raring to go. Finally, he said, “Enough of this detour.” He tipped his hat to me. “There’re better things to see in my dreams.”

We all said goodnight, but as Sin wandered down the walk, toward the aquarium, Philippe and I didn’t go anywhere.

I took a risk on speaking my mind. “I’m not a psychic, but that didn’t feel right.”

“Him being here? He lives nearby, so he might’ve seen the fuss and was just curious.” Philippe didn’t seem concerned as he watched Sin. “Or he really might’ve had a vision that told him to come on over. Do you have a different explanation?”

“No.” What else would have made sense? That St. John Ortega was interested in everything that had to do with Etienne because we had involved him in this case? Or what if…?

I nearly laughed at myself. My brain was so busy with theories that I had actually thought for a moment that a magic man like St. John might have the power to conjure a creature like Etienne, for whatever reason, and he had been here to see if his handiwork was being done.

A slight stretch, to say the least. Utter paranoia. A far better explanation would be that Etienne had planted this diversion, capturing the law’s attention while he found deadly mischief elsewhere in the city. Even now, he could be hunting his next couple.

I struck out toward the Quarter and, with one long stride, Philippe caught up to me.

“What’s on your mind,
cher
?”

“I’m wondering if we’re wasting our time altogether. I have the feeling I’ve been far more proactive before in life. We’re chasing our own tails here.”

“How so?”

We came to the busy street and waited to cross. “Wouldn’t it be a better idea to go where we know Etienne has been before? We could trap him, Philippe, put an end to this for good.”

He cupped my chin, making me look up at him. As we locked gazes, I saw the protest in his eyes.
I won’t put you out for bait
, he seemed to be telling me.

My pulse clamored. He did care, and I wasn’t used to the notion. I had no idea what to do with it.

Even without the boots sharing a memory, a feeling of abandonment and hurt wracked me. The Meratoliages, burning me, rejecting me as if I were nothing to
them
…

But was I something to someone?

When I heard a collective “ooo” from my left, I blinked, cutting off the moment. I glanced at a pack of women in boas, beads, and party dresses who had the stones to run their gazes over Philippe in great appreciation and giggle before he gently reclaimed my chin in his fingers and directed my gaze to his, ignoring them completely.

“We’re not going with your plan,” he said. “It’s too risky. Etienne could catch us off guard if we don’t have a firm idea on how to handle him.”

The crowd started off across the street, and one of the women called over her shoulder, “You can come with us, babe!”

Once again, Philippe ignored everyone else as we both kept standing there, his gaze intensely searching mine until he realized that I wasn’t giving up on the bait idea so easily.

“Dammit, Lilly,” he said. “This isn’t why I pulled you out of Amari’s.”

“Listen to me. All we have to do is walk round City Park, seeing if he’s there looking for the perfect couple. We could take him.”

As if to emphasize my point, I broke away from Philippe, beginning to cross the street, but he held me back. With a saucy look, I stared at his fingers wrapped round my wrist, and he let go, combing that hand over his hair. A dark strand had escaped from his low ponytail, and I yearned to reach up, tuck it back where it belonged, providing even a little order to this crazy world round us.

His gaze went tender as he watched me, and my own heart softened. Why? I didn’t know, because there would be nothing with this man—no more kisses I would remember come sunrise, no place in his haunted past, present, or future.

He sighed, as if realizing I wasn’t budging from my opinion. “Wouldn’t it be better to know what Etienne is before we put ourselves in his way again? If we end up dead, then we haven’t done anyone any good.”

I heard St. John’s warning again.
Before this is over, that creature’s gonna get to you
. What did that even mean, though? No matter what I did, wasn’t the outcome inevitable?

So why fight it?

Philippe angled his head toward the Quarter, where cars cruised by and clots of partygoers drunkenly bumped against each other as they walked the streets.

“How about a compromise?” he said. “We stop by the voodoo shop, where I’ve got a deck of Tarot cards at hand. They could help us sort out a thing or two, and so could the computer in the office. We could do a search on creatures we suspect Etienne might be and maybe come up with a match. Knowledge is our best weapon right now. If we find a good lead, then we go to the park.”

“But I still think—”

“Damn, you’re reckless,” he said. “How is it you haven’t died by now?”

“I hear I’ve come close.” My boots embraced me, as if they were always going to be there, even if everything else in my life was temporary. “Remember the burns?”

Philippe gazed at the ground, his hands on his hips, shutting me out.

“You can look at me,” I told him. “You can let me stare into your eyes and see how appalled you were when I took off the boots the night we met. You don’t have to hide that from me.”

Was I hoping he would tell me that I was wrong, that he had seen beauty under the burns, that I hadn’t been a hag with only wisps of hair and shriveled skin?

Finally, he did look up, but his gaze was blocked by what seemed to be a shield of gray. He was never going to let me in. Was that because the truth would hurt me too much?

Or was there another reason that St. John had hinted at with that talk of Philippe’s troubled past…?

“Lilly,” he said. “Why’re you even asking these questions? They haven’t got any place in what we need to get done.”

I had no argument for that, but a tiny seed of hope that was planted deep in my chest seemed to crack and go dry. My boots gripped me, the only things keeping me together.

Or so it felt.

* * *

Philippe’s voodoo shop was a couple blocks over, closed up for the night. He had a key on his chain, although he didn’t have many keys at all, and he disabled the alarm system as we entered.

Shades had been drawn over the windows, and my boots flickered against me, sending me a faint memory of being in here before, amongst the shelves of gris-gris, fragrant essential oils, and voodoo dolls.

I wished the damned boots could shoot all my memories back to me, relinquishing them at once, but I knew what the price would be for that.

My resurrected burns.

Philippe made his way toward a curtained-off area in back. He tied back the material, revealing a table with two simple chairs on either side. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

As he went to unlock the office, I took in the scent of herbs, closing my eyes. It felt strange to relax. But even as I allowed myself to sit and slouch down in the wooden seat, I opened my eyes and scanned the shop—every corner, every shelf.

I had the feeling I had encountered evil in here before, and just as the thought flew through me, my boots dug in, showing me a pair of red eyes behind a shelf.

I shivered, and the image disappeared straightaway. Then I glanced down at my boots. Were they more withered than they had been when I had awoken at dusk?

As I wondered why that would be, Philippe returned, unwrapping a silken cloth from round a deck of large cards. He sat and began shuffling them. The backs were dark blue with what looked to be constellations, and the pattern reminded me of the marks on St. John Ortega’s face.