Текст книги "One Immortal"

Автор книги: Tia Louise

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No. He couldn’t be…

“Slow down!” She’s off the bed, catching my hands again. “He’s not going to kill you! Patrick isn’t like that. He doesn’t hunt vampires for sport.”

My eyes go huge. “But he does hunt them.”

“Let me finish telling you what happened!”

We ease down onto the bed, but I can’t stop shaking. He’s nowhere near us, but I’m overcome with the sensation I might lose my breakfast for real this time. Only I haven’t had breakfast.

“Last night when we found him at Razoo’s, I’d finally figured out what he was. I’d been sorting through the emotions coming at me from him, and it finally clicked.” Her tone is academic. “To answer your question, no, I can’t read his mind. It’s completely different with shifters. I don’t get words, only feelings. I read about it in an online discussion group once. It’s how I knew—”

“Feelings like… anger?”

“Anger, happiness, irritation, hunger, desire.” She falls back on the bed again and a dreamy quality enters her voice. “Oh, Mel, he’s so sexy and so fun. He’s perfect for me. I can’t believe I’m so lucky!”

“You sound like you’re going to marry him.” Her body stills at my words, and she leans up on her elbows to look at me.

“Are you insane?” I cry. “You just met him yesterday!”

“Shifters imprint, Mel.”

My jaw drops, and for a second I can only blink at her. “You think he imprinted on you?”

“I know he did, and it’s the strongest, the most intense thing I’ve ever felt in my life!” She does a little shiver.

“But… You’re just accepting it? Without question? What if he’s abusive? What if he’s a murderer? What if he’s in the underworld?”

“Well, technically we’re all in the underworld. You in particular—”

“You know what I mean! What if he’s hiding something horrible?”

“He’s not. We spent all last night talking and catching up and making love.” She smiles, and her face glows. “We had to encounter each other at some point. It’s how it goes for them. He had to find me. It was unavoidable.”

“You are not a shifter. You are not bound by their—whatever it is. Their rules. You can walk away.”

Her platinum head shakes, and she glances down. “You’re right. I’m not bound by their rules, but I don’t want to walk away.” She smiles so big as she reaches forward and takes my hands again. “Have you seen him? Can you believe my luck?”

“I think you’re being impulsive about something really serious.”

Her eyes narrow, and she pushes my hands away. “I would think after all this time you would trust me. I can read minds, after all.”

“I’m sorry.” I reach for her hands again, and she lets me take them. “You’re right. He’s gorgeous, and he does seem very fun—from twenty feet away. I’m just… I’m not very good at optimism these days.”

“Come here.” A sad little smile pulls her lips as we hug each other. “You’re going to be just as lucky, I promise. We’re going to fix this.”

My eyes heat, and I’m afraid I might cry. Instead, I clear my throat, remembering the other part of her story that concerned me the most. “You said something about Derek. What was that?”

“Oh!” She’s back to excited. “He’s a vampire hunter as well. One of the top guys in his field, in paranormal investigations.”

“Oh my god.” My head goes light. “Oh my god, Elaine.” I lean forward, pushing my hands into the sides of my dark hair.

“I thought you’d be happy!” She’s watching me with a frown. “If anyone would know of a cure, it would be someone who specializes in vampires, don’t you think?”

I bit him. Oh my god, I bit a vampire hunter. His blood is swimming in my veins. Oh my god. Was I cursed as a child? Born under a bad sign?

Elaine hops up and catches me, stopping my rocking. “You know it drives me crazy that I can’t hear you anymore. Why are you so freaked out by this?”

For the first time in my life I’m thankful she can’t read my thoughts. “I’m a vampire,” I deflect. “He hunts me.”

“First, you are not a vampire. Not until you make your first kill. Second, I can’t think of anyone more qualified to help you! I told you he has powerful feelings for you.”

With a shudder, I can’t imagine his feelings are as powerful as mine, and if he ever found out what I did…

A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s two-thirty. “We’ve got to get moving or we’re going to be late to meet Mariska.”

“Oh!” She jumps away. “I showered already with Patrick. I’ll head on down. Meet us there, okay?”

Shaking my head, I pick up a towel. “I’m right behind you.”

7

Special Forces Melissa

Mariska studies my palm, examining the lines, extreme concentration creasing her pretty brow. Finally, she releases a deep exhale. “I’m sorry. I can’t read your future. It’s a swirl of indecision. One option appears then another contradicts it.”

“Fuck,” Elaine snaps.

“Lainey.” I glance around the crowded restaurant. “Families come here. Anyway, she tried.” I give Mariska a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” my best friend says. “The uncertainty of all of this is making me crazy.”

I squeeze her hand and turn back to the young woman in front of us. “Did you find anything?”

Mariska pushes a lock of wavy chestnut hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to give you false hope, but…” Her golden eyes are so earnest, I can’t help liking her. “The problem with vampire cures is no one’s ever survived long enough to confirm if any of them actually work.”

“Oh.” I pull back. “What does that mean?”

“I spent all day yesterday pouring through Yaya’s journals and the journals of Philome. In most cases, the alpha vampire either kills the hybrid, or the hybrid kills the human trying to save him or her.” She gives me a cautious look. “From what I understand, the drive to feed is overwhelming. Most hybrids aren’t strong enough to stop before it’s too late.”

The memory of Derek’s blood floods me with heat. “It’s very hard,” I whisper.

“Well, that’s not very encouraging,” Elaine retorts.

Just then our oysters arrive. We lean back as the server puts a bowl of Oysters Rockefeller soup in front of Mariska, an ACME Special po-boy in front of Elaine, and a Peace-maker in front of me.

Mariska takes a spoonful of the dark brown soup and makes a happy sound before she continues. “Either way, I found two distinct possibilities!”

“What are they?” Elaine’s tone is sharp before she takes a bite of her debris-style roast beef sandwich.

I place a hand calmly on her forearm. “Tell us what you found.”

“Okay,” Mariska nods taking another bite of soup. “The first is pretty quick and easy. Kill the head vampire.”

“Seriously?” Elaine flops back against the booth, throwing up her hands. “Fucking Lost Boys?”

“I’m not sure Patrick is such a good influence on you,” I mutter, looking over my shoulder in her direction.

“I know!” Mariska nods unfazed. “They used it in that movie, but it actually has a basis in fact. Many devices novelists and screenwriters use have a basis in fact. It’s really cool.”

“I’m sure.” Elaine’s tone is the exact opposite.

“So our first option is to kill the one who made me straight out,” I say, trying to get us back on track. “I don’t think I’m strong enough for that.”

“Oh, you’re not,” our gypsy friend says with certainty. “Only specially trained vampire hunters should even attempt something like that. And they usually fail.”

I do my best to steady my breathing, and I realize I’m not going to eat any of my fried oyster and shrimp sandwich. All I can think about is Derek being specially trained. Derek failing.

“So assuming that’s not an option,” I say. “What’s our number two?”

“Okay,” she says again, wiggling a bit in her seat. “This one has real potential. It’s an old cure for chupacabra. It involves mingling lycan blood with verbena root—”

“Lycan?” I interrupt. “As in werewolf?”

“Or shifter. They’re also immune to vampire bites, so their blood would work.” Elaine and I exchange a look as Mariska continues. “I don’t know where we’d find a lycan or a shifter, but supposedly, if you mix their blood with the verbena root into a draught, it will burn the vampire taint out of you.”

“Burn?” My voice is quiet.

We’re all quiet, and Mariska looks straight at me. “Yes. That’s the downside of this cure. The lycan blood and the vampire blood oppose each other in your veins until one wins. It’s incredibly painful, and I’m not even sure how much shifter blood we’d need. If we even knew a shifter.”

Ice fills my stomach. “Oh, god. I was born under a curse.”

My hand is suddenly clasped in an iron grip. “Stop it!” Elaine’s green eyes bore into mine. “Whatever you’re facing, whatever sign you’re born under, I’m with you in it. We’re going to fix this.”

Turning to Mariska, her tone is all business. “Can you get this verbena root?”

“Of course!” Mariska smiles. “It grows wild all over the place.”

“Get as much as you need.”

“Wait.” Mariska’s eyes narrow. “Does that mean—do you know a shifter?”

“Actually, if you can believe it, we just met one.”

“Here in New Orleans?!” She jumps in her seat, immediately excited. Then, just as fast, she seems embarrassed by her enthusiasm.

“Yes,” I say, studying her strange reaction. “It’s a real coincidence.”

She starts, and her voice goes quiet. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Neither do I.” Elaine, unlike me, is calm about all of these things.

Golden eyes blink up to us. “Can I meet him?”

“I guess you have to if you’re going to do the spell. What’s wrong?”

Mariska’s entire body flushes, but she tries to hide it by switching the subject. “It’s the most painful cure. Are you sure you can do it?”

“It looks like I don’t have a choice.”

Elaine’s green eyes hold mine. “Too much has happened to get us here. Too many supposed coincidences. I’m more certain than ever we’re going to get you through this.”

I nod, wishing I had her confidence. Unfortunately, all I feel is dread.

Derek

Dim light fills my suite. The curtains are drawn and soft music, a capella male voices singing in a foreign language, drifts quietly from the sound system.

I’ve filled the Jacuzzi tub halfway. It’s too small for the three of us. We’ll have to do our best to keep everything in the water. Otherwise, I’m not sure how we’ll hide the mess.

Stuart is stripped to the waist. Light from the candles casts deep shadows across the lines of his arms and torso, and he holds an old, leather-bound book in his hands. Patrick walks around the room clenching and unclenching his fists as if warming up for a race. I’m trying to stay calm, focused. What we’re about to do is excruciatingly painful for me, but it will increase our chances of success.

I walk over and sit on the side of the tub, lowering my feet into the water. Five minutes, I say in my mind. I can bear the pain for five minutes. Then I’ll sleep. When I wake, I won’t feel any pain. I’ll actually feel like I’ve taken the strongest dose of steroids in the world.

Still my pulse ticks faster. I have to work to calm my breathing. Stuart’s focused solemnity doesn’t help.

“Hey,” Patrick laughs, breaking the mood. “What have we here?”

I glance up to see him holding a scrap of what appears to be black lace, but it’s too dark for me to know for sure. “What is it?” I ask.

Stuart walks over and takes it from him. “Nice,” he says, pulling it to his nose for a sniff. “Nope. She’s not mine.”

Suddenly I realize what he’s holding and hop out of the tub. “Give me that.” Snatching Melissa’s thong from his hands, I carry it over to the nightstand and put her panties in my drawer. “Fucking right she’s not yours. She’s mine.”

“Good taste,” Stuart says with a grin. “I’m glad to see you’re getting back out there.”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“Yes,” he says, returning to serious and following me to the tub.

We step into the warm, swirling water. Patrick carries a tall pillar candle with him as he steps in. We’re all stripped to the waist now, and Stuart reaches for the thing I’ve been dreading.

In the dim light, he raises a thick, steel knife with a twisted blade. Writing is on the sides and scrollwork is along the handle.

“The blood of the shifter is sacred.” Stuart speaks the words I’ve heard before as he hands the ritual knife to Patrick. Patrick holds the blade over the flame. “Sharing it is a gift. It makes you our brother as long as it flows in your veins.”

Using the razor-sharp tip, Patrick cuts a line down the center of his forearm. Dark red blood, almost black, immediately surges to the surface. Patrick only winces as he passes the knife to his alpha, who repeats the procedure before turning to me.

Quickly, Stuart makes an identical slice in my arm.

“Shit,” I growl as blood bubbles up on my forearms. It’s lighter in color than theirs and slightly thinner.

The knife-metal burns like fucking fire, and Stuart quickly flattens his forearm against mine, clasping my elbow in his fist, lining our wounds on top of one another. Patrick does the same on my other side, and my teeth grind as their shifter blood floods my veins.

“Fuck,” I growl through my clenched jaw.

Their blood is heavier than mine, and it feels like slow, painful molasses ripping through my forearms, searing my veins.

Stuart begins to chant slowly.

May my hand never separate itself from the fraternal hand of my brothers.

May my feet walk by the side of my brothers because we walk in the steps of light.

May my eyes look to heaven with my brothers, for we seek justice and truth.

May brotherhood emerge among all the beings.

May peace be established in the inner essence.

Until the evil is driven out from among us.

We are the protectors of the light.

Amen.

By the final sentences, I’m able to look up and see his lips aren’t moving. I’m hearing his words in my mind as the shifter blood takes over, uniting us telepathically.

Patrick’s voice joins the Amen in my head. The pain lessens. Shifter strength quickly rises in my body, changing my basic cell structure. It’s only a temporary change, but while it lasts, I’ll be almost as powerful as them, and the three of us will be united in our thoughts. We’ll be able to track each other.

“Rest now,” Stuart’s voice is in my head as he releases my elbow. “That’s more than you’ve ever taken. You need a few hours to adjust.”

My head is dizzy, and I hold onto the side of the tub while Patrick binds my arms with cloths. “I’ll wake you when it’s time to go,” he says in my mind.

Nodding, I lift my feet out of the swirling pink water. Only a few drops were lost in the tub. Two steps and I crash on the soft cotton sheets. My senses are already heightened, and I smell her ocean-kissed roses on my pillow. Melissa is the last thing I remember until it’s time to face our shared enemy.

8

Betrayals Derek

The white faces of the tombs in Lafayette Cemetery are pale blue in the dying sunlight. We decided to follow the same setup as last time so the bloodsuckers will know it’s us returning.

I’m dressed as before in loose jeans, heavy boots, and a black T-shirt. Again, the small gun loaded with silver bullets is in my boot, and this time, I have a stake in my back pocket.

Two notable changes, however—Patrick insisted on resuming his preferred form of German shepherd, saying his movements are too slow as a larger breed. Stuart is an oversized Rottweiler at my side. Both are wearing the heavy silver chain collars. In addition to looking badass, the collars protect their necks from injury.

We don’t speak aloud. It’s one of the primary benefits of the transfusion. Our plan is to start at the tomb where the old one was hiding last time, and if he’s no longer there, we’ll work our way down the rows. The dogs can follow the scent of the vampires. Unfortunately, it’s the only power that never crosses through the blood to me.

We’re only a few tombs deep into the ancient burial ground when Stuart’s back bristles. He stops, and a low growl rumbles through his throat.

They’ve been this way recently, Patrick tells me, picking up the scent along with his brother.

All of my muscles peak. We’re on high alert. We round a tall crypt, and we’re in the shadows of five monuments. The further in we go, the darker it gets, until it happens. My skin tingles. A dark silhouette rises from the gloom ahead of me on the path.

It’s not the same vampire I fought, Patrick says. It’s a new one.

The three of us stop in our tracks. New ones are as dangerous as old ones, primarily because they’re unpredictable. They’re still learning their powers, and they take inexplicable risks.

He’s using it to alert him of our location, Stuart says. I’ll take care of this thing.

A low growl rumbles in his thick body, and I can feel his adrenaline kicking up a notch. My pulse rate quickens in response, and Patrick begins to pace.

The thing is drawing closer, making hissing noises and flashing hideous red eyes. It’s a male, dressed in skinny jeans and a threadbare shirt. He looks like what’s left of a homeless runaway, and it’s possible he had mental illness at the time of his transformation.

Watch yourself, I say to Stuart. He’s bound to do something unexpected.

As if the monster can read my mind, he takes a flying leap to the top of the crypt to our left. The three of us scatter back, wheeling to face him, assuming defensive posture lest he try to drop down on our backs and sink his fangs into our skulls.

“You smell delicious, hunter.” Crouched like a giant bird, he smiles and licks his tongue at me. “I’m sorry I won’t get to eat you.”

Cold hands clamp around my neck as his final words are spoken, and before I’ve had a chance to regain my footing I’m in the clutches of a strong vampire.

“Fuck!” I growl, shooting out my palm and making contact with the forehead of the same killer clown who scampered down the wall at me last night.

I’m not strong enough to fight him off, but my quick movements keep his fangs from sinking into my neck. His teeth slice through my shoulder, ripping my shirt and leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

He rises up almost faster than I can see and starts another plunge for my neck.

“No,” I shout, reaching for the stake in my back pocket as I twirl in the dim light. It’s out, but I’m bit. His fangs pull a deep drink of shifter blood from my veins.

A heavy, black body dives across my opposite shoulder, hitting the demon in the chest, loosening his hold on my neck and sending him staggering back. At the same time, my attacker falls to his knees, screaming in agony from the burn of shifter blood.

My neck is on fire from the residual vampire saliva making contact with the shifter in my veins. It takes me a moment to find my balance, but in that time, I’m aware two more have joined their ranks. We’re outnumbered, and we’re surrounded.

Stuart seems to have grown larger as his shoulders bulge. He’s standing guard beside me, and I’ve only just caught sight of Patrick finishing the homeless-man-turned-vampire.

“Why have you returned, hunter?” The old one hisses. “We’re not troubling you.”

Bargaining with bloodsuckers turns my stomach, but in this case, we have to be sure we’ve found what we’re after. I want no false sense of security. I want to know for a fact I’ve killed the one who killed Alison.

“Six years ago you left this cemetery for New Jersey,” I say. “While you were there, you lured a young woman into the woods, where you bit her, drained her of blood, and left her dead in a shallow grave.”

The bloodsucker’s face doesn’t move. He’s like a marble statue watching me charge him with the crime.

“That woman was my wife.”

Patrick’s at my side now, and I stand with my two brothers facing three agents of darkness. It’s the chant. We’re here for justice.

“I don’t know time, hunter, and I stopped remembering kills long ago.” The vampire’s voice is scratchy with age. His skin is almost translucent in the growing moonlight. A quick glance tells me it’s a full moon tonight. They’ll be stronger than any other night of the month. Fuck.

Focus. Stuart is in my head. We can handle this.

Even though I was his commanding officer as a Marine, in shifter form, he’s the alpha, and his word calms my racing thoughts.

Say her name, Stuart says.

“Alison Spencer Alexander,” I say. “Princeton, New Jersey.”

A swirl in the air behind me, and it’s too late to wait for a confession. Patrick’s yelp pierces the night, and I feel the pain of the knife blade slicing through his shoulder. I have only a second to lunge forward when the second one is on top of me, scratching and clawing for my throat. It was enough time, however, and I’m able to plant my boot in the fiend’s chest and shove it hard against the opposite wall of crypts.

Patrick’s wounded, and the fucker on him is pulling back for another stab. Stuart dove at the old one just as the ambush happened, and I see him ahead snapping and biting at the ancient being. The fiend is moving fast, evading every attack and landing kicks on my partner’s muzzle and ribs.

I can only choose one of them to save as I whip the gun from my boot.

BAM! BAM! BAM! The bare concrete around us amplifies the gunshot noise, and the vampire on my younger partner falls dead at his feet.

Patrick’s lying on his side on the cobbled walk, and I go to him, looking back to see how Stuart has fared. He’s managed to get the advantage by jumping onto a platform. Now he’s face to face with the killer clown, snapping and lunging for his claw-tipped white hands.

In a flash of white, the vampire grabs Stuart’s muzzle—one hand on his upper and one on his lower jaw. He’s preparing to rip my partner’s head apart. Without a moment to lose, I snatch the wooden stake from my back pocket. A quick prayer my aim is true, and I throw the sharp wooden rod with all my strength.

A loud yelp, and I’m afraid I’m too late. Everything goes still, and I don’t know if I hit or I missed. It’s not until Stuart shakes his jaws out of the vampire’s limp hands that I realize I hit him. The old one staggers and falls against the concrete platform with a grunt.

At the loss of their leader, the other monsters fall back and begin to disappear into the shadows. The ones who have never made a kill will be released from his spell and return to human life. The others, depending on their strength, will either retreat to the crypts and go dormant or emerge to start their own legacy of horror.

Either way, we don’t have to worry about further attack tonight. A quick check tells me Patrick will be okay. His shifter blood is already healing his stab wounds, just like the shifter blood in me is already healing my bites.

I pull the ancient knife used in our ritual from the holster at my waist and quickly slice off the head of the vampire I shot. Then I stride to the old one, dying on the stones.

He isn’t dead yet, and I can only pray we get our answers.

“Alison Spencer Alexander,” I demand. “You killed her six years ago in the woods of New Jersey. Confess, bloodsucker!”

A grinding sound like the scraping of a boulder over bricks fills the air. It shudders and stops then starts again. I realize the fucker is laughing at me, and it takes all my willpower not to pull my leg back and kick his head off his shoulders like a football.

Still, I have to be sure. “Answer me, demon. Did you kill my wife?”

Stuart is on his feet now, fully recovered. He walks slowly over to the dying fiend, opens his large muzzle, and clamps it on the vampire’s neck. The monster’s eyes widen in horror as my partner slowly applies more and more pressure with his teeth.

It’s a hideous sight in the black and white shadows, but Stuart isn’t breaking the undead skin. Yet.

Ask him about Sloan, Stuart says in my mind.

“Sloan Reynolds recorded your involvement in the murder,” I say, and at the mention of my former mentor’s name, the thing’s eyes flare with anger.

He coughs, a sick sound signaling his approaching death. The stake is deep in his heart. It’s a slow, painful way to die, and I’m not sorry.

“Get your dog off me.” His voice is a contemptuous snarl.

Stuart’s eyes meet mine and he pauses only a moment before releasing his hold on the monster and stepping back—not too far.

“Say that name again,” the thing says.

“Sloan Reynolds. He was a vampire hunter like me.”

It starts to laugh, but the eerie noise is broken by another sick cough of death. His glowing white eyes focus on mine, and his next words send ice through my veins.

“Sloan Reynolds is a one of us,” it croaks out. “Sloan Reynolds killed your wife.”

I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. My wind is gone, and I actually drop to one knee not wanting to believe it. At the same time…

Ask him how he knows, Stuart says.

We’re behind a concrete wall topped with urns. The entire scene is growing darker, more shadowy by the minute. Memories of what happened to Sloan, his involvement with the vampire, his withdrawal. I never saw him in the daylight again.

“Can you prove this?” I manage to stand, stepping closer to the dying thing.

“No,” it says. “I don’t care to prove it. Believe me or don’t.”

My mind is spinning, but the truth is unavoidable. “Why did he do it?”

The old one doesn’t answer me. He’s fading into the concrete, taking my answers with him. I race across the stones and grab his moldering coat, jerking him up with all my strength. A foul hiss of air floods my face, and I almost drop him at the stench.

“Answer me!” I shout in a ragged voice. “Why did he do it?”

The thing’s eyes only roll in his head, and his head lolls forward. I give him a harder, more violent shake that almost snaps his head off. “God dammit! TELL ME!”

It’s too late, brother. Patrick’s gentle voice is at my shoulder. He’s back with us, nuzzling my arm. Come on, partner. Let’s get out of here.

My hands are fisted in the dead thing’s coat, and my stomach is a tight ball of rage. Betrayal washes through me in burning waves. Sloan killed Alison. My friend, my mentor. Her murderer.

Derek, it’s time to go. Stuart stands on the crypt facing me, compassion in his eyes. A low rumble of thunder sounds in the distance. Clouds are rolling in, erasing any traces of light from the cemetery.

I relax my grip on the dead monster, and his body falls with a dull thud to the stones. One quick swipe with the razor-sharp knife, and I remove his head from his body. Before we leave, I toss matches on the three dead vampires. They’ll burn quickly and cleanly, and the ash will wash away with tonight’s storm.

Melissa

I got a reprieve from dinner with the shifter. Patrick texted he had a sudden job and needed to reschedule. Without going into how relieved I’d felt, I happily ordered room service and Pitch Perfect for us to watch.

My appetite still hasn’t returned, but I take a few bites of the barbecue shrimp I ordered. Truthfully, I’m more interested in splitting a bottle of white wine. My emotions have been drawn tight as a bow since lunch.

The evening started that way, at least. Us relaxing, watching the characters sing-off in a drained swimming pool, when without warning, my friend hops off the couch and starts pacing the room wringing her hands.

“What’s the matter with you?” I frown, watching her.

“Something happened to Patrick,” she whispers. “He’s been hurt.”

Pushing myself up straighter on the couch, I watch her walk. Her hand flutters to her forehead, and her eyes close. A little frown, and I know she’s straining to get more information.

“If he’s a shifter, he’ll be okay,” I whisper, wanting to comfort her but not wanting to interfere with whatever she might be hearing or seeing. “Don’t they have super healing power?”

Suddenly she stops. She pauses a few moments, and she exhales loudly. “Oh my god.” Her fingers spread wide, and she starts shaking her hands. “He’s okay. Oh my god, he’s going to be okay.”

Jumping up, I go over to her and catch her hands, pulling her to the bed. She blinks and focuses on my eyes. “Are you going to be okay?” I ask.

A nervous little laugh shakes her shoulders, and her chin drops. “I don’t know.”

I survey our small, dark room and make a decision. “Let’s go out.”

She frowns, watching me as I go to the closet. “But I thought… You said you felt bad. You wanted a quiet evening.”

“Patrick knows what he’s doing, and we need to get out of this room.” I take out a silky red dress with spaghetti straps. “You’re about to go crazy cooped up in here, and if you go crazy, where does that leave me?”

My best friend shakes her head and steps to the closet. “If you’re sure about this.” She takes out a yellow dress similar to the one I’m holding.

“We’re supposed to be having a girls’ weekend in New Orleans.” I say, as the fabric slides over my head. “What kind of lame girls are we sitting in this room watching movies?”

“The kind that had some pretty heavy information dropped on us at lunch.” She slips her dress over her slim hips and pulls the zipper. “I’m fine staying in with you.”

“I think wallowing is the worst thing we can do. Besides, I know you want to find him.”

She doesn’t argue.

A quick look in the mirror, and I see my makeup from earlier is still in place. A dusting of powder, a little lipstick, and we’re heading down, into the night.

Twenty minutes later, the bottom falls out. Rain pours down, and we dash, shrieking into the closest bar for shelter.

“Lafitte’s!” Elaine is breathless as we look around the dark, brick-interior of the ancient blacksmith shop-turned bar.

The place isn’t wired for electricity, which still blows my mind. Candles in small glass bowls are the only lights in the very dark establishment. It doesn’t matter to my new eyes. I easily see a few patrons sitting at the bar, and we walk slowly past the large, brick fireplace to the center of the room.

“I’ll order us some cocktails,” Elaine says. “You find a table.”

Walking slowly through the semi-crowded place, I try not to make eye contact with anyone. Lafitte’s is supposedly haunted, and while communicating with the dead is old hat to Elaine, I’m still adjusting to being something other. I don’t want to mistake a ghost for a patron.

I easily locate an empty table in a back corner and go to it. Several minutes pass, and I hear the sound of rain growing stronger on the roof.

The patrons’ loud voices create a wall of noise in the background. Further back, someone is playing a piano, “House of the Rising Sun.” I trace my fingernail along the lines in the tabletop, doing my best not to think about Derek.