The Priest (The Original Sinners #9) - Tiffany Reisz Page 0,57
asked him. “Five bucks says he calls me a cunt next,” Nora said. “Wait for it.”
She won the bet.
Cyrus oh-so graciously allowed Pasadena’s two drunk friends to pick him up and cart him off.
“Bye, boys,” Nora called after them.
Cyrus couldn’t help himself. He’d been wanting to try it since yesterday. As the boys carted their limping comrade off, he made the “shooing” hand gesture.
“It does work,” he said, nodding.
When they walked off, nobody got in their way.
Chapter Nineteen
The bartender told them the vampire in question was on a tour right now, but would be back in fifteen or twenty minutes. In the meantime, Cyrus bought them a second round. He had another beer, and Nora had another rum and Coke, hold the Coke.
Cyrus took a long deep draw on his beer.
“Can I say something?” He put his beer bottle on the bar.
“Say it,” she said.
“You are one crazy bitch.”
Nora laughed deep and low and hard. She took his statement in the spirit intended—as a compliment.
“Weren’t you scared back there?” he asked.
“In the moment, you’re more mad than scared. That’s all adrenaline.”
“You scared now?”
“I’m glad they’re gone, I’ll say that. I’ve been manhandled a lot in my life. You never get used to it. And it’s never fun.”
He picked up his beer again. “Fuck is wrong with kids these days.”
“You were really good there.” Nora rested her head on her fist, elbow on the bar. “They teach you that in cop school? How to scare the shit out of drunk frat boys?”
“We learn a few tricks. Not your tricks. That was a helluva trick.”
“It was either his foot or his balls. Which would you rather have busted?”
“What if he’s really hurt, though? Like for real. That bother you?”
“He could have hurt me for real. You think I should feel guilty?”
“Oh, fuck no.”
“And this,” she said, “is why we’re friends.”
They clinked glasses.
And that’s when the vampire arrived.
No missing the man. He stood nearly seven feet tall in his leather platform boots and top hat. He wore gobs of black eyeliner, and when he grinned hungrily at her, she saw he’d filed his canine teeth into points. Leather jacket, of course. Long black hair, of course. Black fingernails filed into points as sharp as he teeth, of course. He was about as scary as a vampire in a kids’ cartoon.
Nora liked him immediately.
Cyrus took a long deep drink of his beer, put the bottle down on the counter, and said, “Be right back.”
The vampire tour guide stood near the doorway of the darkened bar with his arms crossed over his chest.
Cyrus turned and pointed to Nora. The vampire grinned. Then he lightly slapped Cyrus on the shoulder and walked over to her.
“Hello, little girl,” the vampire said. He had mischief in his eyes and gravel in his voice. “Pleased to eat you.”
“Hey, big man,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Lord Chaz. To whom do I have the pleasure of eating? Meeting…I mean, of course.”
“Nora,” she said. “Mistress Nora.”
Lord Chaz raised one dark eyebrow.
“The Mistress Nora?” he asked.
“Have you heard of me?”
“I have now.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” Cyrus said. Nora made herself settle down.
“Can you help me find someone I’m looking for?” she asked.
“Depends,” he said. “Who are you and what are you gonna do to them when you find them?”
“Kill them and eat their hearts,” Nora said.
That got a laugh from the goth giant.
“Are you sure you weren’t my ex-wife in a past life?” he asked her.
“No, but I could be your ex-wife in this one.”
“Excuse me,” Cyrus said. “Dracula. Elvira. Can we focus?”
“Sorry.” She put her drink down. They were working. Sort of.
“I’ll help if you tell me what this is about,” the vampire said.
Cyrus gave him the quick rundown, mostly lies but believable ones. Cyrus was a private detective. A college girl had run off, and Nora’s business card had been found in her dorm room. Nora had only given her card to one person in New Orleans.
“A witch,” Nora said.
“Which witch?” the vampire asked.
“I don’t remember her name,” Nora said. “Except that she dressed like Marie Laveau and worked at a witch shop somewhere around here. Closed down now, I think. None of the ones I saw on Google maps rang a bell. I know the shop was in the Quarter, but it wasn’t on Bourbon Street. They did psychic readings there. The door was purple. That’s it.”
“Charm City,” the vampire said.
“Charm City.” Nora exhaled in relief. “That was the name of the place.”
“Little place on Iberville. Owner was a witch from