“Keep the change.” The were’s magnanimous gesture was ruined by a loud belch. Then, without further comment, he stalked out of the store.
Alodius cleared his throat. “Well, if that wasn’t the damnedest thing.”
“I take it that doesn’t happen often,” I said.
His eyes stayed on the door, as if he expected the wolf in man’s clothing to return any minute. “We get plenty of weres in here, but usually they don’t get that ornery until closer to a full moon.”
“Maybe his bitch left him,” I said.
He shot me a quelling look. Obviously the butcher wasn’t too fond of puns. A muffled groan rose from the bundle in my arms. I constricted my arms to let the cat know I didn’t appreciate his opinion.
“Sooo, you’re back soon. And you brought a friend.” He reached to pet the cat. But Giguhl wasn’t having any of it. He hissed and swiped a paw at the man. Alodius jerked his hand out of harm’s way and shot an accusing glance at me.
“Sorry about that.” I lifted the cat higher, playing up his indignity for all it was worth. “Apologize to the nice man, Mr. Giggles.” The cat dug his claws into my arm in retaliation. I gritted my teeth and forced a smile at the frowning Cajun.
Alodius cleared his throat and said, “Anyhoo, y’all want two more pints?”
“Sure,” I said. Figured I might as well since I was there anyway. “Also, Zen needs some chicken feet.”
“Can do.” Alodius leaned forward over the counter. “How about I throw in some nice calf brains for Kitty-No-Manners there. Might soften his disposition.”
The cat groaned in my arms. For a demon who subsisted on Cheez Doodles and beer, the thought of raw brains obviously didn’t sit too well. “Err, that’s okay. He’s on a special diet. But I’m surprised you carry brains. Is that ….. normal?”
“Darlin’, us Cajuns eat everything from the rooter to the tooter.” He cackled, slapping the counter at his joke.
I swallowed the bile his word picture conjured. “Oh.”
Alodius laughed again. “All righty then. Let’s get that blood.”
He whistled tunelessly as he took the jug out of the cooler. Once he’d plopped it on the counter and pulled out a funnel he said, “So what happened to that mage friend of yours?”
I jerked a thumb toward the door. “He’s waiting in the car.”
Blood sloshed out of the container to land on the butcher block with a splat. Alodius smoothly wiped up the spill with a towel. “That’s nice. Have y’all had a chance to see much of the Big Easy yet?”
I shrugged. “A bit.”
“Y’all been to The Court of Two Sisters yet?”
I shook my head.
He paused, looking up from his task. “How ’bout Acme Oyster?”
“Nope.”
“Brennan’s?”
Another shake.
“Cher, please tell Alodius you been to Tipitinas?”
My eyes shifted left.
“What have y’all been doing with your time?”
“Well, I did ride a trolley and visit Jackson Square.”
He clicked his tongue and shook his head, which made his jowls swing hypnotically.
“I’ve been busy with some personal issues.” Why did I suddenly feel the need to defend myself to the man?
“Darlin’, if y’all don’t mind a little piece of advice?” He paused and waited for my nod.
“We all got personal—” he pronounced it “poisenal”— “issues, but that can’t stop y’all from enjoying life.”
I remained silent, allowing the odd man’s wisdom to sink in. Was he right? I had to admit my life always seemed to have more than its share of drama. Was I using that as an excuse to avoid enjoying myself? I always thought I’d have time to pursue things I wanted once things settled down. But there was always something new to worry about, some new crisis to manage. Despite getting his point, I wasn’t convinced.
After all, it felt wrong to play tourist when my sister was having the exact opposite of fun. But wasn’t it Maisie who just a couple short weeks ago had encouraged me to grab some happiness for myself? Then I’d argued that as an immortal I had nothing but time ahead of me. Her response had been to point out that with so many people wanting me dead, nothing was guaranteed, especially my immortality. Of course, back then she wasn’t being held against her will or on the receiving end of her psychotic grandmother’s fangs. So maybe the living-it-up could wait.
Alodius handed the packages over the counter. “That’ll be forty for the blood and twenty for the chicken feet.” He winked. “The advice I threw in gratis.”
“Okay, well, thanks for the blood and stuff.”
He waved away my appreciation. “My pleasure, darlin’. You go enjoy this beautiful night.”
I smiled. I’m not sure he’d consider casing a house for signs of vampire life romantic, but it was close enough, I guess. “Actually, we’re on our way to take a stroll through the Garden District.”
He smiled. “Well, now, that’s good to hear. Y’all have fun!”
13
Ten minutes later, we parked the Gremlin next to a cemetery wall a couple of streets away from the address Mac had given us. Giguhl perched on Adam’s shoulder as we walked toward Prytania Street. We approached slowly, keeping our eyes peeled for hostiles. It was after midnight, so most of the houses on the block were dark. But up ahead, a warm glow filtered through large trees shielding the houses from the street.
I checked the street number on the white Greek revival on the corner. “The next one’s our target,” I said, pointing. “G, think you can sneak up to one of the windows without being noticed?”
The cat looked at me with pity from atop the mage’s shoulder. “That was a joke, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Just don’t get caught, okay?”
“Yes, Mom.” With that, the cat hopped off Adam. His pale ass glowed in the night, making it easy to follow his trail until he disappeared behind the heavy branches shading the house.
“You picking up anything?” Adam asked.
I looked toward the mansion, using all my senses to try to search for some clue that Lavinia might be inside. Muffled rock music reached my ears from nearby. My nostrils perked up when they caught a whiff an unmistakably pungent scent. “Someone’s smoking some quality Mary Jane nearby, but that’s all I’m getting.”
“Hmm,” Adam said, keeping his eyes glued on the house. “Stay alert anyway. There’s no telling what G’s going to find in there.”
As if on cue, the cat’s moon-pale form raced out of the shadows. I bent down to catch him. Tremors shook his body. “What happened?”
He wouldn’t look up as he continued to shake. A muffled whimper escaped the ball of skin in my arms. “Giguhl?” I jostled him until he looked up.
I expected fear in his eyes. Instead, the damned cat smiled like a Cheshire and a braying giggle escaped his tiny mouth.
Adam and I exchanged frowns. Either what he’d seen had been so shocking it drove him insane, or Mr. Kitty had some explainin’ to do.
“Y-you guys aren’t gonna believe this shit,” he gasped.
Adam shifted impatiently. “Are you going to tell us, or do we have to guess?”
“Oh, you’d never guess this one.” More laughter.
“Giguhl,” I snapped. “Pull it together. Did you see any vamps?”
The cat made a valiant effort to get his amusement under control. Finally, he shook his head. “Nah. Mac’s source was totally wrong about that. This is even better than bloodsuckers.”
“Well?” Adam and I both shouted.
“C’mon, you’ve got to see it to believe it.”
The demon jumped down and ran off, looking back over his shoulder every now and then to make sure we were coming. Adam and I exchanged a leery glance.
“Come on,” the cat hissed from the darkness.
Left with no other option, Adam and I trudged after him. Even though Giguhl claimed there was nothing to worry about, I drew my gun. Adam, too, scanned every inch of the area for ambush. Finally, we pushed the creaking black gate open. When no silhouettes darkened the front windows, we crept inside. A flash of gray caught my eye as Giguhl rounded the corner of the house. I banked right and ducked under branches to reach the side of the house.
The music I’d heard earlier shook the house’s foundations. It was a shock to hear the harsh electronic notes of industrial music coming from a house that could have graced the cover of Southern Living magazine.
When we finally reached Giguhl, he crouched on the wide stone sill of a window. “G,” I whispered. “Be careful.”
“Don’t worry,” he said in a normal speaking voice. “These douchebags wouldn’t hear us if we arrived banging drums.”
Frowning, I inched toward the rectangle of light in front of the window. Adam fell in next to me, his body tense. I leaned forward to peek around the edge and almost fell. Adam caught my arm. He might have shot me a curious look, but I was too busy trying not to piss myself.
Just inside the window, the room opened into a large living and dining room combo with a wide staircase rising to the second floor. But the elegant Biedermeier backdrop paled in comparison to the foreground freakiness.
The walnut dining room table served as a makeshift stage for a midget stripper. She wore a pink spangled bikini and teeny tiny Lucite stilettos. Her two fans wore artfully ripped heroin-chic ensembles. Between bong hits, their indolent hands flipped dollar bills in the air. A third guy— this one oddly Rockabilly among a gaggle of industrial scarecrows— snorted white lines from a mirror at the end of the table.
Just beyond this charming tableau, three more members of the Lollipop Guild performed many and varied sex acts with a cluster of musician types on the antique furniture. On the periphery of the off-scale orgy, a man with spiky black hair surveyed the scene from a red Empire armchair. He wore dark aviators and took frequent, methodical pulls from a bottle of Jim Beam.