Chapter Thirty-one
“What de hell?” Adam demanded, and grabbed John’s arm himself. “You didn’t have that when you went to Montana.”
John pulled out of Adam’s grasp and moved to the window without answering.
“Did someone tie you with silver wire?” I asked.
“No.” John still faced in the other direction.
“You tried to kill yourself with a silver knife,” I blurted.
“Are you insane?” Adam pulled at his hair. “Stupid question.” He took a deep breath, let it out, seemed to be working on calming down and failing. “What if you’d succeeded? You would pass your curse to me?
To Luc? Don’t tell me you’ve changed, old man, you’re de exact same selfish prick you were a hundred and fifty years ago.”
Hearing Adam call John “old man” would have been funny, except nothing seemed funny anymore.
“I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time,” John said. “It was right after—” He rubbed a thumb along the thin white line. “When the voices were the loudest. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“You could have plunged de thing into your heart if you wanted to do de j ob right.”
I winced at the thought of what would have happened then—an explosion of fire, the resulting conflagration that would have left John Rodolfo nothing but ashes.
“They stopped me before I got that far,” John said.
Adam went silent; he appeared uncertain. “You won’t try anything like that again?”
“No.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him; from Adam’s expression, he didn’t either, but he chose to let the matter drop. For now.
“I’m still not clear on how the curse would pass from John to you.”
“If Grandpère dies,” Adam said, “I am cursed.”
“Out of the blue one night, bam—suddenly you’re a werewolf?”
“That’s what happened to me,” John said softly.
“Except it wasn’t out of de blue.” Adam’s lip curled. “You deserved it.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“Seems a little far-fetched,” I murmured.
“It’s magic,” Adam snapped. “Not logic.”
“You can’t be certain the curse will pass to you.”
“I don’t plan on killing him just to see.” He glared at John. “Although I have been tempted on more than one occasion. You never told me why you came back to New Orleans, Grandpère.”
“I told him to.”
The voice from the hall made me jump a foot, but I recognized the large, wide form of King, even before he stepped into the light.
“Who are you?” Adam demanded.
“This is King,” John said. “He’s my friend.”
“But he’s… black,” Adam pointed out.
“I am?” King murmured dryly.
“He was—is—” Adam didn’t seem able to continue, which was probably for the best. How did you explain that the man in front of you had once been a slave owner a century and a half after slavery had ended?
“You want to tell me of his slave-owning past?” King asked. “That he was one of the more brutal owners my ancestors ever knew?”
“Who is this guy?” Adam murmured.
“I’m the great-great-several-times-great-grandson of Mawu.”
Adam’s eyes widened. “The voodoo queen who cursed Grandpère?”
“The very same,” King agreed. “That’s how I got my name. My mother wanted to keep the family connection alive.”
I remembered Maggie explaining that New Orleans voodoo priests and priestesses were more often referred to as kings and queens. Hell.
“You said you were named after Elvis,” I muttered.
“I lied.”
My gaze went to the sharp silver implement on the floor at my feet. I wondered if it would work on him.
“Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?” Adam asked. “Not that I want you to, but—” He spread his hands. “I would have.”
“He isn’t the same man.”
“He isn’t a man,” Adam murmured.
“We got that,” I said, sick of hearing it myself.
John cast me a curious, almost hopeful glance, and I looked away. I couldn’t bear to gaze into those eyes. Just seeing them reminded me of each and every lie. Had anyone told the truth about anything around here? Including me?
“I didn’t want to live with the knowledge of all I’d done,” John explained. “I was haunted by the faces, driven mad by the voices. But after the first time I tried to die and failed, I realized I couldn’t do that to you.” He shifted his gaze to Adam, who made a derisive sound.
“None of the cures worked,” John continued. “Not magic, not potions, not science, not medicine.”
“There’s still Mawu’s method,” Adam said.
“Mawu the voodoo queen who cursed him over a century ago is still walking around?” If so, I didn’t want to meet her.
“No,” Adam answered. “Cassandra raised her from de dead.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Wow. She is good.”
John’s lips curved. “Mawu said I could only be cured by committing the ultimate sacrifice. However, I can’t give my life, or others suffer.”
I frowned. “What if in giving your life, the curse is broken?”
“We wouldn’t know if it worked until too late. And to be honest, chica, my life isn’t that big of a sacrifice.
I no longer relish it.”
I felt a twinge in the region of my heart. Hadn’t his life been a little better with me in it?
Idiot. He was a formerly psychotic werewolf, with the “formerly” still out for votes. He’d probably been using me all along, trying to make me love him just so he could break my heart and laugh maniacally. Isn’t that what sadists did?
“We’re going to have to figure something out,” Adam said.
“I did.” John indicated King. “He’s a lougaro.”
Adam tensed. “A what?”
“Voodoo werewolf,” I supplied.
“No.” King held up a hand. “I’m a shapeshifting sorcerer. There’s a difference.”
“So you don’t wander the night, drinking the blood of children?” I felt rather than saw Adam inch closer.