tensed further. “You should have woken me up at least. You can’t just do whatever you want, Bree.”
And that right here was why it would never work between us, no matter how hot he was, no matter how much his magic sung through my blood when he kissed me. I couldn’t be with someone who refused to let me run my own damn life.
A ribbon of sorrow wound around my heart, but I ignored it. My love life had been pushed even farther on the backburner with this news about Charlotte.
I held up my hand, stopping him, and then pointed to the kitchen. “Come on, we’ve learned a few things that I need to share with you all.”
The group followed me into the kitchen, where the loaves of fresh bread were laid out on several cooling racks. Sarge had been busy. Normally I would have dug into the bread, slathered it in butter and enjoyed every bite.
But my worry about Charlotte and Gran had my guts all twisted and I had no appetite.
I cleared my throat. “I found out that my Gran, my parents, and Alan were killed by critters called tonton macoutes, a sort of undead zombie. All of them were killed at the Madame Lalaurie Mansion. Penny and I checked it out, but there is nothing there. That’s a dead end.”
“Shit,” Sarge breathed out. “I thought the tonton macoutes were . . .just a myth.”
“That’s rich coming from a werewolf,” I said. “There was no sign of them, or whoever was controlling them when we were there. So for now, just keep an eye out for anything . . .undead, I guess.”
They all nodded and I went on. “We’ve got another place to start now. Our little recon gave us that much. Does anyone know a Homer Underwood?”
I pointed the question mostly at Corb and Sarge as they worked with Eammon, but they both shook their heads. Feish shrugged and I looked at Crash.
“I doubt it’s the man’s real name, but the one that Eammon knows him by,” Crash said.
Kinkly flew in and settled in the center of the table. She must have packed for the trip, because she’d ditched the dirty black clothes and dressed in her usual autumnal colors. “Who?”
“Homer Underwood,” I said. “He lives here in New Orleans. Eammon thought he might be able to help us find what we’re looking for.”
She crinkled up her nose and tore off a piece of bread from the loaf next to her. “Bet he works in a cemetery with a name like Underwood.”
We all looked at her, but I was the one who spoke the obvious question. “What?”
“Well, it makes sense if it’s an assumed name. The dirt under a coffin is under wood, right?” She stuffed the bread into her mouth, and her eyes rolled back in her head. “So good.”
I looked at Penny, who nodded. “I think the fairy may be on to something. The shadow world is sometimes very literal, and they like their puns and bad jokes because they find it amusing.”
I nodded. It felt like as good a place to start as any. “Good job, Kink. Okay. One other thing. We have an added issue, another player.” I cleared my throat. “Eammon told me that our neighbor Charlotte was kidnapped, and I think it happened on the same day Gran went missing.”
Corb and Sarge could have been a pair of dogs the way they both tipped their heads to the side and frowned at me. Feish, on the other hand, gave a burbling gasp and put a hand to her chest. “Not Charlotte! Who would dare? She is too sweet!”
I gripped the edge of the table and leaned into it. “Yeah. I think . . . I hope . . . that maybe Sarge can look for her?”
He shook his head. “I never met her. I can’t track someone I don’t know unless I have a scent.”
“But you met Bridgette, and they lived together,” I said. “I’ll admit I’m grasping at straws here. You and Corb can see if you can find a scent trail anywhere. The hint of Bridgette would hopefully be strong enough to stand out to you.” I held up my hands as they started to splutter. “I know it’s a long shot. I know. But we need to split up our resources.”
A giant group of supernaturals would also draw a lot more attention than if we went in different directions in smaller groups.