Beau’s feedback about my “performance,” and he’d mailed me a pretty massive check that I still didn’t know what to do with. The two of them were talking several times a week now about the parliament, and with Beau on board, three other vampires had agreed to parliament leadership.
Most important to me personally, Beau had kept his word. I’d followed the newspapers online, and Odessa had taken a plea deal and was serving twenty-five years to life for Becca’s murder. Considering her other crimes, I would have been happier with life in prison, but I viewed it as an acceptable arrangement. Beau and his people had found all the other spirit bottles Odessa had made, and Beau was delighted to discover that if they were simply opened at night, rather than broken, the Unsettled returned to their usual locations. They hadn’t come back to his home or the History Center—those must have been the bottles Odessa had used to kill Warton and Hempstead—but they were back everywhere else, with the exception of the Marietta Confederate Cemetery, where I’d sent them through the doorway to the other side.
And now, with all that mess finally cleaned up, I was on my way back to Atlanta—not for business, but to deliver a gift. The logistics had required a lot of work, especially for Scarlett and her partners, but Maven felt it was worth it, and I had to agree.
Milburn was waiting for me at the airport—no sunglasses for him—and as I walked up, he actually smiled and reached out his hand for me to shake. “Good evening, Miss Lex,” he said. “May I take your bag?”
“Sure.” I tossed him the duffel. “Have you heard from the driver?”
“I have. We’re to meet her at the mouth of Beau’s driveway.”
I waved. “Lead on.”
Vick, the other surviving Horseman, was waiting at the curb with Beau’s Lincoln. When the three of us were settled inside and pleasantries had been exchanged, I turned my eyes away from the remnants outside and asked how Beau was doing.
The horsemen exchanged a glance. “As well as can be expected,” Milburn said finally. “The local community lost a lot of confidence in him after what happened with Odessa, but Beau has promised them to restart Promenade next month at a different location. We may be able to return to Oakland in a year or two. I wouldn’t say that’s completely pacified them, but things are settling down. They were actually impressed that he used the human police to punish Odessa,” he added, tipping an imaginary hat at me.
“Cool. But how is Beau doing?”
Vick was the one to answer. “He’s sad. He misses her. He even sold off all the horses—I think it was just too hard to look at them. He writes her letters, but she hasn’t responded yet. He’s been in—” He glanced at Milburn, as if looking for a word. “Doldrums?”
“A funk,” Milburn supplied.
I nodded. “I hope this will help.”
Milburn hesitated for a moment, then asked quietly, “How was the funeral?”
“Sad,” I said honestly. I had flown to Chattanooga only a week after I’d gotten home, just a quick trip for Becca’s funeral. “Her mom told me a mysterious benefactor had paid for all the arrangements. Beau?”
Milburn nodded. “He insisted.”
“It was a nice gesture.”
We were quiet for the rest of the ride.
As promised, the driver, a witch of fiftyish with short dark hair, was waiting in her truck, parked on the road just before the turnoff. We waved as Vick made the turn, and she started the truck and followed us in.
Beau must have heard the wheels on his driveway, because he was coming out the front door before Vick had the car in park. He looked . . . well, vampires don’t drop weight or get bags under their eyes like humans do under stress, but as he strode toward us, something about the city’s cardinal vampire seemed . . . diminished. Faded.
The truck bumped to a stop behind us, and the driver jumped out and began doing something at the back of her trailer. She was wearing jeans and cowboy boots, sweating in the Atlanta humidity. I had thought March was warm in Atlanta, but May was so much worse.
Beau’s eyes went wide when he saw me. “Miss Lex? It’s lovely to see you, my dear, but whatever brings you back to Atlanta?”
Next to me, Vick and Milburn weren’t doing a very good job of hiding their grins. “A gift,” I told Beau, “from Maven. In honor of your new relationship.”
Hands in his pockets, Beau climbed down the stairs and came over to us, looking puzzled. I saw his nostrils flare, and he tilted his head. “A horse? You know I can’t—”
“This isn’t just a horse,” I interrupted. I stepped back—way back—as the small woman helped a massive black stallion out of the trailer.
When I say “black,” I mean every single inch of him looked as though it’d been dipped in ink. He was at least the size of a Clydesdale, easily three thousand pounds, and covered in hide that looked more like pebbled armor than fur.
Beau muttered something that sounded like, “Consarn and thunderation,” but his eyes were shining.
“What is he?” asked Vick, whose eyes were as big as dinner plates.
“He’s a hellhest,” I said simply. “Apparently, a bunch of them were . . . um . . . confiscated last year in LA from some really bad people.”
The driver, who introduced herself as Paloma, had clipped a lead on his halter, and she now led him toward Beau, who instinctively took a step backward so the horse wouldn’t freak out.
“Don’t worry about that, Mr. Calhoun,” Paloma said with a smile. The horse snorted and stamped a foot as though stretching from the long ride but didn’t seem the least bit concerned about being surrounded by vampires. Beau’s jaw dropped as Paloma led the horse right up so they were face to face.
“This is Shoemaker,” Paloma said, holding out the reins so Beau would reflexively take them. “He’s a grouchy bastard and he picks fights with other horses, but he has no problem with vampires.”
Beau’s fingers closed around the reins, but he simply stood there, awestruck. Shoemaker gave a little snort and nosed at Beau’s shirt, looking for treats. Beau’s hand rose, almost unconsciously, to stroke the pebbled muscles of the hellhest’s neck. “How . . . how is this possible?” he stammered. His gaze turned to me, eyes full of the bubbling wonder of someone who’d thought he’d seen all the world had to offer and been proven wrong.
“Eh, I happen to know someone,” I replied, grinning. “I guess I just figured it was time you met the right horse.”