Mac glared at the vamp like she wanted to throttle her. Georgia received it with a placid expression. Finally, the were sighed deeply. “One of my employees was found dead last night.”
“Who and how?”
“A vamp queen who went by the name Elvira Bathory.” Mac’s voice cracked. “Last night was going to be her final show.”
Georgia walked up to put an arm around Mac’s shoulders. “Elvira was one of the locals who decided they didn’t want trouble with the Caste or your grandmother. But I guess trouble found her first.”
“Wait a second,” Adam said. “How do you know she was killed? Vamps burn to ash when they die.”
Georgia rubbed Mac’s back when the were shook her head like she couldn’t speak. “Elvira always wore a necklace.”
Mac dug into her pocket and removed a simple gold chain with a fleur-de-lis pendant— a symbol sacred to both New Orleans and vampires due to its association with the goddess Lilith— and a crumpled piece of paper. “We found them stabbed into Elvira’s door with a dagger.” She held out the paper to Adam but wouldn’t surrender the necklace. Adam cursed under his breath.
He held up the paper for me. “The first of many if the vampires of New Orleans do not cooperate.”
“Good gods,” Giguhl said, reading over my shoulder. “Lavinia sure knows how to drive a point home, doesn’t she?”
I jerked to glare at the demon. A blur of motion in my peripheral vision and a low growl were my only warning. Mac slammed into my back. “It’s all your fault!”
My face smashed into the cobblestones. Before she could pin me down, I flipped and bucked her weight off me. Adam moved as if to restrain her, but I called out, “No!” I rose quickly and assumed my fighting stance. I met Mac’s feral eyes. “Come on.”
Mac crouched low, snarling with anger. Adam backed away slowly. Judging from his expression, he’d intervene if things got too serious. But I was too busy suddenly fending off another attack to worry about Adam.
An upper hook caught me under the chin, forcing my teeth together with a painful snap. I returned the favor with a jab to the ribs, followed quickly by a left hook to Mac’s liver. That really pissed her off. Her fingers bent into claws— not literal claws, since it wasn’t a full moon— and swiped across my cheek. Skin split open with a cold sensation before warm blood oozed down my face.
That really pissed me off.
My spinning back-kick knocked Mac off balance. Her arms windmilled as her body teetered on the edge between equilibrium and flat-on-her-ass. I threw my upper body back and lifted my bent leg, but before I could deliver the blow that would teach Mac a lesson, the back door of the shop burst open.
“Stop!” Rhea’s voice cracked through the air like a gunshot.
I glanced toward her with my leg still raised. That split second of distraction was all Mac needed to tip the scales. She shot forward, ramming her shoulder into my midsection. My feet flew off the ground. Mac screamed with exertion, slamming my back down onto the top of the patio table. The wooden frame cracked and collapsed under the force of the collision.
Stunned, I lay with my eyes focused on the early morning sky. The sun still hadn’t cracked the horizon, but I could feel its fledgling rays pulling on my diaphragm. Rough hands grabbed the lapels of my jacket, but before Mac could haul me up, an ear-piercing shriek ripped through the courtyard. Mac and I stilled, our heads swiveling in unison toward the horrible sound.
Zen scowled at us from the bottom step, a white air horn clutched in her hand. Behind her, Rhea crossed her arms, her eyes crinkled with judgment.
“Hasn’t there been enough violence for one night?”
I pushed myself off the ground, my joints aching and my ass smarting from the impact with the table. Mac paced nearby, tensed for another round.
Zen’s hand went to her hips. “Look at ya. Both so full of piss and vinegar.” She shook her head at us. “Well, guess what? You’re both directing your anger at the wrong enemy.”
I didn’t bother even looking at Mac, but I pretty much assumed her expression matched my own. We might not be trying to maim each other anymore, but we sure as hell weren’t going to duck our heads like abashed children.
Seeing our hesitation, Zen turned to Rhea. “Youth,” she complained.
My hands shot to my hips. “I’m older than you.”
“Me, too,” Mac added.
The human’s eyes widened with irony. “Could have fooled me.”
My mouth snapped shut.
Zen rounded on Mac. “And you! Carrying on when one of your friends is dead and other nearly dead. It’s shameful and disrespectful. You should know better.”
Mac toed the cobblestones with her Doc Marten. “Sorry, Zen.”
“Don’t sorry me, go apologize to Brooks.”
Mac’s head snapped up from its formerly submissive posture. “He’s awake?”
“No,” Rhea said. “But only because I gave him a potion to make him sleep so his body could regain its strength.”
Mac frowned at Rhea. “Who the fuck are you?”
Adam, who had been hanging back by Giguhl until now, puffed up. “Hey! Show some respect.”
Rhea held up a hand and shook her head at her nephew. “My name is Rhea Lazarus. In addition to being that one’s aunt”— she nodded toward Adam— “I’m the High Priestess of the Elder Moon and spiritual advisor to the Hekate Council. I’m also the one who helped Adam and Sabina save your friend’s life last night. Who the hell are you?”
Mac didn’t like that little dose of her own attitude. “I’m Mac Romulus.”
“She’s Michael’s niece,” Adam added. Rhea’s eyes widened in recognition of the name of an ally.
“Now that we’ve established we’re all on the same side,” Rhea said pointedly, “I’ll let you go check on your friend as long as you understand I will not hesitate to zap your ass if you cause that fae any unnecessary stress.”
Mac didn’t need to be told twice. She ran off, brushing between the elder mage and the voodoo priestess. Georgia followed at a more sedate pace, muttering apologies for Mac’s rudeness.
The werewolf’s departure dispelled some of the heavy vapor of tension hanging over our group. Adam and Giguhl reached the ladies before I did, but we all formed a loose circle. Rhea looked at me. “Shall I assume you don’t need any healing?”
I touched the back of my hand to the wounds on my cheek. When I pulled it away, only a few small drops of blood smeared my skin. Luckily, the blood I’d chugged on my way down made fast work of the minor injuries I’d sustained from the scuffle.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Good,” Zen said, picking up the conversation. “Because we have something to show you.”
I frowned at the females. To say I didn’t like Zen’s tone would be an understatement. More like it sent warning bells off in my head. “What is it?”
Adam stood next to me, and his palm slipped through mine in a sort of preemptive comforting maneuver.
“You’re going to want to sit down,” Rhea said.
My stomach sank like an anvil in a pool. “I’ll stand, thanks.”
Zen and Rhea exchanged a worried glance, then the voodooienne grimaced at me. She reached into the pocket of her work apron. It looked like a wrinkled piece of paper at first. “I found this on the shrine in my parlor.”
She placed what turned out to be a crumpled Polaroid in my hand. My heart stuttered and a gasp escaped my lips. On automatic pilot, I lifted the picture closer with a shaky hand. Adam leaned toward me to get a better look himself. He cursed under his breath and his hand fisted around mine.
Smears of blood— Maisie’s?— marred the image. Using my thumb, I rubbed at the stain but only managed to spread it like a red varnish across Maisie’s face. The blood turned her skin and the gag obscuring her mouth pink. Her eyes were narrowed like she was trying to shoot lasers at the photographer. In front of her, she white-knuckled a newspaper bearing Thursday’s date. Under the picture, Lavinia had written in thick black marker, “The clock is ticking.”
Adam took the picture from me and showed it to Giguhl, who for once didn’t have a witty comment or joke. Smart of him.
Two emotions battled for dominance inside me. The first was relief. We finally had confirmation Maisie was alive. But it was cold comfort, given the realization we were no closer to knowing her location than we’d been back in Los Angeles.
The second emotion was more toxic. A combination of anger and guilt that made my stomach cramp and my vision go blurry red. My hands shook with it. I squeezed my eyes shut to block the truth out.
“Sabina?” Adam said quietly.
My eyes stung when I opened them. “She’s fucking toying with me.”
He nodded. “She’s trying to throw you off your game. Don’t give her the satisfaction. Focus on the fact Maisie’s alive.”
“Call me crazy, but I’m having a hard time focusing on the bright side right now.” I ripped the picture from Giguhl’s claw and shoved it toward Adam’s face. “Look at her! She’s gagged and bound with brass chains, Adam.”
He took the picture from my fingers and held it up in my face. “No, you look. Does she look like she’s in pain or scared?” I pulled my glare from him and looked again.
“No,” I admitted. “She looks pissed.”
“Exactly. That anger will help her survive.” He grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him. “But if you let yours get the best of you, it won’t help anyone.”
Rhea placed a hand on my arm. “Adam’s right. This is upsetting for all of us. But we can’t allow Lavinia’s psychological warfare to distract us.”
I took a deep breath, both pushing down the anger and tightening my mental defenses at once. Rhea was right— I wasn’t the only one here who cared about Maisie. Rhea and Adam had known her longer than I had, yet here they were comforting me. Shame at my selfishness coated my insides.