Lagniappe belonged to our werewolf friend Mackenzie Romulus. Last time I’d seen Mac, she was being forced to mate to a werewolf male who’d been chosen for her by her uncle, the Alpha of New York. The entire situation was sad and not a little bit infuriating, but when I’d last spoken to her, she was resigned to carry out her uncle’s will.
“I assumed Mac would have left someone in charge when she left for New York,” Adam said. He had his hands cupped against the glass, peering inside for some sign of life.
“She probably thought she and Georgia would be back in a few days.”
Georgia was Mac’s vampire ex-girlfriend. The one who got royally screwed when Mac proved too weak to stand up to her pack. The last time I’d seen Georgia, she’d been pretty pissed at me. I knew she didn’t really blame me for what happened between her and Mac, but I certainly hadn’t helped matters when I’d publicly challenged Mac’s Alpha for being such a stubborn ass. The confrontation had resulted in Michael Romulus stepping up the date of Mac’s mating ceremony. After she’d told me off, Georgia had returned to New Orleans to lick her wounds.
Adam sighed and pulled away from the window. “You want to go back to Zen’s and see if she knows where we can find Georgia?”
I nodded. “I suppose I was being overly optimistic thinking she’d would be here.”
Adam and I headed toward the street. But just before I stepped off the curb, I glanced back at the building. A light from one of the upper stories caught my eye.
“Hold on,” I said, pointing. “Isn’t that Mac’s apartment?”
Adam counted up and over, his lips pursed. “I think so.”
I shot him a speculative glance. “Surely Georgia’s not that masochistic.”
Adam shrugged. “She’s been back in New Orleans for only a few days. Maybe she hasn’t had time to find a new place.”
I blew out a breath. “Okay, you’d better stay out here.”
Adam frowned. “Why?”
“I have a feeling that whatever state of mind she’s in will only get worse when she sees this letter.” I held up the envelope Mac had given me. She had made me promise to deliver it to Georgia personally. “Probably she’d appreciate not having an audience.”
“Gotcha.” He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Just try to be sensitive, okay?”
I shot him an offended glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“No offense, Red, but you’re not exactly comfortable around vulnerability. You tend to get a tad… snappish.”
I pursed my lips and considered arguing. However, he had a decent point. “Maybe we should have brought Giguhl along after all. He’s much better at this kind of stuff.”
Adam squeezed my shoulder. “You’ll do fine.” I wasn’t sure which of us he was trying to reassure. Regardless, I took a deep breath and braced myself to face the brokenhearted vampire.
“If she tries to cry on my shoulder, I’m out of there.”
His lips quirked. “Don’t worry. After the fight you guys had, she’s more likely to punch you.”
Now that I could definitely handle. Fists were always preferable to tears, in my book.
I left Adam at the sidewalk and beelined for the steel door on the side of the building. In addition to the apartment she’d shared with Georgia, Mac also rented rooms to a few drag queens employed by the club. If I was wrong and Georgia wasn’t up there, I’d at least have the chance to ask some of the other tenants if they’d seen her.
As I climbed the stairs to the correct floor, I tried to figure out what I’d say to the vampire. But how exactly does one offer condolences in that kind of situation? “Sorry your werewolf lover was forced to marry a dude against her will” didn’t sound quite right.
I shook my head. Honestly, there were no words that could erase Georgia’s heartache. The envelope crinkled inside my pocket. I hoped that whatever she’d written there would help Georgia move on.
When I reached the top of the stairs, the mournful strains of Joni Mitchell spilled out into the hallway from beneath the red door of Mac’s apartment. Guess I’d found the right place after all.
I blew out a breath, hoping to dispel the nerves jumping around in my gut. “Here goes nothing.” I rapped a knuckle on the door.
“Go away!” The voice rose over Joni’s melancholy singing.
I knocked again, hoping persistence would piss Georgia off enough to open the door. I didn’t want to tell her it was me in case she was still holding a grudge.
“I said”—the door flew open—“fuck off!” Georgia’s fangs flashed with threat but her eyes were bloodshot from recent tears. Her red hair hung limply around her pale face, hinting that she hadn’t bathed in days.
“Hi,” I said lamely.
Georgia’s posture relaxed a fraction but her fangs didn’t recede. “You.” Funny how one little word, three little letters, can sound so hateful.
“Georgia, I know you’re still mad, but I—”
The door slammed in my face with a loud crash.
I sighed and pounded again. “I need to talk to you.”“Go away!”
Pound, pound. “Open the door. Please.”
“Haven’t you done enough already?” she ranted. “Now you have to come here and bother me? I just want to be left alone!”
Something broke inside me. I didn’t have time for this shit. I didn’t have time to play intermediary for the lovelorn when my own life was so fucked up. Didn’t deserve to be yelled at when I was nursing my own heartache. I’d promised Mac I’d deliver her message and that’s just what I’d do.
I removed the envelope from my coat pocket. Held it up under the light so Georgia could see it through the peephole. “I have a message for you.”
She laughed bitterly. “Oh, I’m sure.”
“It’s from Mac.”
Silence.
“You want to read it? Fine. You want to burn it? That’s fine, too. I’m just the messenger. Do what you want.” I wedged the envelope into the doorjamb. “I’m leaving for Italy tomorrow morning. If you want to talk about this, you’ll have to find me before then.”
She snorted. “Not likely.”
No doubt she thought my comment was a casual one. But it wasn’t. The truth was if Georgia didn’t come find me before I left, chances were good she’d never see me again.
I put my hand on the door. “Have a good life, Georgia.”
With that, I turned and walked away. The silence behind me weighed on my back. I could practically feel her arguing with herself through the door. I don’t know if those locks clicked open before I made it out of the building, but Georgia didn’t run after me. Which, I decided as I made my way back outside to Adam, was probably a good thing. I’d always sucked at good-byes.
Chapter 3
When Adam and I returned to Zen’s shop, everyone was gathered in the sitting room on the second floor. Zen and Brooks had closed the shop for the evening and convened over steaming mugs of chicory coffee doctored up with a little whisky.
“How’d it go?” Giguhl jumped up like a tightly wound spring. With his seven-foot-tall frame, black horns, and green-scaled skin, he should have been intimidating to most beings. But the too-short sweatpants and concerned expression on his face ruined the effect.
“Erron’s in,” I said.
The demon frowned. “Why do I sense there’s a but?”
I dropped into a chair and smiled at Zen when she brought me a mug. “Well, first, he’s super reluctant. Said we’d be better off hiding in a remote cave.”
Giguhl sniffed. “Please. We’re not cowards.”
I smiled at my best friend.
“Besides, between the no porn and dealing with your two whiny asses, I’d eat you both within a week,” he continued.
“But you’d regret it,” Brooks said. “Sabina alone would give you heartburn for a decade.”
“It’s true.” Giguhl nodded.
Brooks’s lips formed into a flirty pucker. “Now Adam, on the other hand, would be a delicious snack.”
“I’m not sure whether to feel flattered or afraid,” Adam responded.
Brooks winked at the mancy. “Both.”
The Changeling caught my eye and winked. I smiled back. “I have to say, it’s good to have you back, Brooks. You seem… like yourself again.”
By that I wasn’t just referring to the fact that he hadn’t dressed in a wig and sequined gown. Although it was nice to see him in jeans and black-framed hipster glasses and with a bald head again, I was referring to his flirty, fun personality, which had disappeared a few months earlier after a violent beating had robbed him of his confidence.
He smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, Sabina. Sorry if I was a little cranky in New York.”
When he’d moved to the Big Apple to launch his singing career, Brooks had adopted his female drag persona full-time, going so far as insisting we call “her” Pussy Willow. But he’d taken the diva routine a bit too far. It’d taken everything in me not to drop-kick the drama queen into the Hudson.
“A little?” Giguhl said. “Bitch, please. You turned into Joan Crawford with PMS there for a while.”
The Changeling shot the demon a mock-serious scowl. “Anyway”—he performed an impressive neck swivel—“Zen helped me realize that I was hiding my pain behind all the makeup and fabulous accessories. She encouraged me to let my Brooks flag fly.” He executed a Z-shaped snap through the air.
“And by that he means, I threatened to kick his ass to the curb if he didn’t stop throwing diva fits in my store.”
Brooks pursed him lips. “That too.”
“Either way,” Giguhl said, “Sabina’s right. We all missed you.”
“I missed you, too, Gigi,” Brooks said quietly.