You’re breaking the rules.”
I watch as she lifts a thin, tattoo-covered arm to light a long black cigarette.
“I’m here on a personal matter,” I say, not backing down.
“The information you want from me isn’t personal.” A stream of blue smoke curls from her lips.
What the fuck is she afraid of? We’d never rat out a witch for helping us.
“Maverick won’t know you helped us if that’s what’s worrying you.” Stuart strides across the large, open studio, stopping directly in front of her.
His enormous frame dwarfs Star’s petite one. She’s a tiny witch, but power ripples off her in waves. We both know not to underestimate her.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” she smiles, narrowing those cat eyes. “I follow the rules.”
“Fuck that.” Stuart throws his hands up and crosses away again.
“Listen,” I say, turning toward her. “As much as anyone, I know the importance of procedure, especially in our line of work.”
“A vampire is nothing to fuck with. They know everything that happens, and their revenge is swift and painful.”
“If you help us find him, we’ll finish him.” My voice is deadly serious, and she studies my face several moments.
“Why do you want him dead so much?”
“He threatens the woman I love.”
Stuart’s eyes snap to mine. It’s a pretty bold statement, considering I’ve only known Melissa a few days. Maybe I mean it, maybe I’m still deciding. It’s what we need to get what we want, and shit. I’m at least committed to finding out if it’s true.
Star pushes out of her chair at this, walking slowly around the open space. “I know about you, Mr. Alexander. I’ve watched your career from afar.” I’d ask her what the fuck, but she doesn’t allow it. “Your wife’s death sent you on a mission. Now, all of a sudden you’re shifting focus?”
It’s my turn to study her for a moment. Her eyes are lit with what seems to be anger. “My career has always been about justice,” I answer carefully. “Nothing has changed, least of all my focus.”
She’s not satisfied, but she is respectful of my position. Witches are crafty, but they appreciate the importance of dedication.
“The new one entered the city from the north.” She walks toward the wall of windows near where Stuart stands. “He arrived shortly after another old one left… or was killed.”
A long pause, and I’m sure I hear the high-pitched shrill of insects while she allows us time to confess. We don’t.
“He arrived last night or this morning,” Stuart says. He doesn’t like playing games, and he’s never been long on patience.
“Last night,” she says, flicking him a glance. It’s clear she prefers the company of his little brother. “The storm preceded his arrival.”
“We wouldn’t ask you to accompany us, but if you could give us an approximate location in the city—”
“He’s where they all go.”
“We’ll track him down.”
They all go to the cemetery, but in New Orleans that could mean one of five disparate places filled with row upon row of aboveground crypts. Still, I’m not in the mood to haggle with this witch anymore, especially if she’s been watching me.
“Good luck, hunter,” she says with a purr. “I’ll be waiting to see your next move.”
Back out on the street, Stuart wastes no time giving me hassle. “What the fuck got you on her radar?”
“Hell if I know,” I grumble, thinking about what we know now.
Melissa’s maker is in the city, no doubt looking for her. I can’t leave her unguarded. Hell, I might be in love with her for all I know, which makes matters worse. It makes me more vulnerable.
“Did you mean what you said back there?” My partner’s voice is the kindest I think I’ve ever heard it. He’s thinking about my declaration of love.
“Maybe.” It’s the best I can do. My feelings for Melissa are strong, but as anyone can tell you, three days isn’t enough to know shit. “She’s special. I want to know her better.”
“What about Sloan?” My mind travels back to my life’s work for the past six years. Finding Alison’s killer, finding justice—it’s what I’ve been working toward so long. Yet, in view of the situation…
“He’s not going anywhere,” I say. He doesn’t even know we’re after him.
Walking along the flagstone pavements of Riverside, we’re west of Canal Street, several blocks from our hotel. Even further from the rest of our group.
“No matter what, helping Melissa is the right thing to do,” I say with sudden conviction. “We’re about justice. She was forced. We have to set her