Julia returned home. Her camera was all right, and if anything was missing, she couldn't tell. She didn't take any pictures that day, instead surfing the Internet and looking up everything she could on Count Saint-Germaine and Marie Laveau. The next day, she went to the library; everything she found only verified most of what she'd read on the Internet. Marie had had fifteen children with one man; her first husband had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Count St Germaine was over five thousand years old, never aging, an alchemist who was incredibly wealthy and on equal footing with monarchies throughout Europe. His origins were mysterious, though he was believed to be the son of a Transylvanian prince, and though he had supposedly died in 1784, he had been seen throughout the 1800s.
She went to bed after midnight, taking care to lock all the doors and windows securely. She wondered if she ought to buy some garlic or crosses. No, not crosses. That was silly; vampires were supposed to have existed since before crucification, and when you got right down to it, a cross was just whatever it was made of. Christians might think it would keep vampires away, but the vampires probably wouldn't care.
But one event didn't seem to fit in with the others; there had been a case in New Orleans of Germaine attacking a woman, only to let her get away when he went to answer the door. Germaine hadn't seemed so vicious with what Julia had known of him, and the incident had been clumsy. Too clumsy.
That night she put her pictures on her computer to see how they'd turned out. There weren't many, thanks to Germaine and the Morgans, but there were some photos at the end that she hadn't taken. Julia's blood boiled as she enlarged them. They had touched her camera? They had TOUCHED her camera? And to take pictures of their business cards? The bastards! Why hadn't they just left their cards on her desk?
Afraid Germaine might find them, perhaps? They knew that she never let anyone touch her camera. Which meant they knew they should have left their fucking hands off. Bastards.
"Heard anything?" Germaine asked through the small window in the door, leaning against the wall of the entrance.
The door opened. "Germaimmy, baby! I heard you were in town! About time you came to visit!"
Germaine sighed. "May I come in or not, Pete?"
"You can come in any time you like, honey bunny," Peter said, throwing the door wide open. He walked through the house, leaving it to Germaine to close the door behind them, all the while chatting. "I haven't seen you in so long! Last time was in Russia, wasn't it? Around 1770, wasn't it? I heard your mission was successful. Wasn't it cold? And then you were in France for a while, weren't you? And England. I tried catching up, but you move so quickly! Finally, I settled here. You have no idea how easy it was to meet people just dying to- well, die!" Peter giggled, and Germaine shook his head.
Peter led him into a kitchen, bronze pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. He waved to the kitchen island. "That's my new pet Christopher," he said. "Christopher, say hello to Germaine." He glanced at Germaine. "Is it still Count St Germaine?"
Germaine waved it off. "Just Germaine." He looked at the emaciated young man barely sitting on the stool. "You still keep pets," he remarked.
Peter nodded. "It helps; I can go only killing one or two people a year. Cuts down on the chances of being discovered. And since I live here." He shrugged and then grinned. "Besides, it's fun trying to teach them new tricks. Come into my study; we'll talk."
"You have a study?" Germaine asked. Peter had never really seemed the sort. But when he saw the study, he understood why. It wasn't so much a study as a room with a big screen television on one end of the room, a lounge chair in front of it, and a folding table and chair shoved into a corner in the back of the room. Germaine noticed that the tabletop was empty.
"Now, what did you want to talk about?" Peter said, spinning gracefully before sitting on the window ledge.
"How did the Morgans find out I was in New Orleans?" Germaine said promptly.
Peter immediately burst into tears. "You don't talk to me for centuries, you don't write, you don't call, and then when we finally meet again, you want to talk about the Morgans? The Morgans, with their ugly, bug-eyed children and their yellow teeth that are furry from all the plaque? Don't you even care about me?" he wailed.
Germaine shifted his weight uncomfortably. Peter had always been... forward, but Germaine had never gotten used to how he would pretend to cry. "I'm sorry?"
The effect was immediate. Peter dropped his hands, his face dry. "It's okay. You know how much I'd put up with for you."
"You're just a horndog," Germaine muttered.
Peter beamed. "But a honest one, with very cute dimples." He poked himself in his cheeks. "Don't see them here? That's because these aren't the dimpled cheeks I'm talking about." He winked, then turned serious. "That's actually a scary thought. I'm not fat or anything, if that's what you're thinking. Please don't think it, Germaimmy, baby! My butt's smooth as a babe's. A little babe's. Feel free to-"
"What have you heard?" Germaine cut in, loudly.
Peter smiled. "Only that Josephine Laveau's reincarnation returned to New Orleans three months ago. Maurient saw her first. Said it had to be a reincarnation because she doesn't have Josephine's nose. I've never seen Josephine myself. Don't see what the big deal is. Except that you keep hanging out with her." He pouted for a second. "You know she isn't going to be anything like Marie Laveau."
"I know," Germaine said, rather uncomfortable with the conversation. "How did they know I was here, though?"
"One of Morgan's guys, Simian, was hunting down Paul Rubard; I don't think you've met him. He's pretty young, as far as vampires go. Hasn't learned to control his appetite. Rubard must have led Simian across your path. The rest, as they say, is history."
Germaine nodded. "I thought someone's been following me for a roughly a week. Why didn't they move earlier?"
Peter looked at him curiously. "Lovey bear, what's the one thing she has that I don't have?"
The key to his wealth again, that's what. But he didn't want everyone to know that. "An eye for photographs."
Peter looked at him as if he were an idiot. "Voodoo blood, my sparkly-eyed pooh-bear. No one has much of a doubt that she's the granddaughter of Queen Laveau, but since she's a reincarnation, she probably doesn't know how to use her magic yet. So she's got plenty of latent power in her veins, right?"
"But that doesn't matter," Germaine said. "Magic can't be sucked out of a person."
"That's arguable. And it doesn't matter that it doesn't matter. Vampire myth has been skewed over the centuries. A lot of the younger vampires don't know what's what anymore. They haven't learned. They believe that Anne Rice crap, sucking the blood of the vampire queen will make you the strongest vampire ever and all that. But then you staked her out. Er. Picked her out. Pardon. So she had your protection."
And now she was without it. But he couldn't go back to her, because that would put her in just as much danger, if the Morgans tried using her against him again. "They'd be stupid to try anything. She knows she's Josephine's reincarnation now."
"Oh, that'll solve everything," Peter said loftily. "I'll be sure to let everyone know she's knows she's a reincarnation. I'm sure they'll stay away for fear of catching the plague."
Germaine shook his head. He needed Charles or Louis. "I need to ask a favor then, Peter."
"Depends what it'll get me," Peter said with a winsome smile.
Germaine returned the expression. "You liked Casanova, didn't you? But I'll bet you never met him."
Peter coughed delicately. Germaine knew it wasn't what Peter had been hoping to be offered, and that he hadn't met Casanova, but knew Peter was intrigued.
"I'll tell you some things he told me about romancing people." He could see he was losing his friend. "Over dinner, of course. I'll pay. Galatoire's?"
Peter beamed. "And what do I have to do for this treat?"
"Stay with Julia," Germaine said, his tone serious. "I can't right now." Seeing Peter's look, he shook his head. "It's nothing- It might be. The Morgans have caught up with me, and I have to draw them away from Julia, but it's a damned if I do, damned if I don't situation. So while I'm not around, could you make sure she's okay for me? It's important." Damn it. It wasn't working. "I'll make it worth your while," he said softly. "Twenty-four hours, whatever you like."
He brightened. "Twenty-four consecutive hours?"
Germaine was glad he'd had such a long time to master his reactions; Peter had no idea how sickened he was. "Consecutive."
By the time he left, he regretted that Julia would never learn the full extent of the sacrifices he was making for her and yet hoping more than ever that she never found out.
Julia set off before dawn. She hadn't had a very restful night. Besides, what did New Orleans look like at dawn? Was anyone ever awake at times like this? The sun hadn't yet risen, but it was light enough to take pictures, mostly of homeless people at first, then at sleepy-eyed tourists pushed forward by steely-eyed wives and mothers. She particularly liked a picture of the horses in front of St Louis Cathedral, heads hanging drowsily as they waited for tourists.
When she returned to her house on Dumaine, she found a blond man waiting for her. He was thin, wearing black baggy shirts and a white tank top with a black Nike symbol splashed across the front, contrasting his pink Reeboks.
"You're Julia Heywood!" he greeted her as she dug her keys out.
"Yes," she said cautiously.
"I'm Peter Rimley. Before you get scared off, would it help if I told you I've been sent by Count St Germaine?"
She paused. "What for?"
He shrugged. "He wants me to protect you for a while. Don't know why. I mean, I know you're pretty, but does he really think you're prettier than me?"
It took her a moment to realize he actually wanted an answer. She looked at him more closely; his hair was a yellow that looked almost unnatural, his nose had been broken and had never set correctly, his jaw was square. But he had pleasant cheekbones and eyebrows. "Yes," she said at last. "I can see how he would think that."
And Peter burst into tears.
Julia had been accustomed over the years to making people cry, but none of them had ever worn pink Reeboks, and she didn't know what to do. She sought to change the subject, but how could she do that in such a way that she didn't make him cry again? She could ask if he was a vampire, but that seemed too abrupt, and chatting about the weather was just too droll to be considered.
Three minutes of awkwardness passed. Dumaine wasn't the most popular street with tourists, so most of the people giving Julia and Peter odd looks were her neighbors heading out to work. She grinned nervously and tried to shrug it off. She still hadn't introduced herself to many of her neighbors, and then this was their first impression they had of her? Shit. Not knowing them was bad enough, but now that they saw her making a grown man cry... A grown gay man cry... Many of her neighbors were gay. This couldn't go over well.
Peter, as a matter of fact, was not gay. He never had been. But he liked making people think he was, just because it was fun. When you found yourself to be immortal, you sometimes had to make your own entertainment, and one of his favorite games was pretending to cry to get what he wanted. He especially liked it when he could make children cry and then see who could cry longer and louder.
But Julia wasn't a child, and he grew bored within three minutes. "Okay," he said at last, dropping his hands to reveal his dry cheeks. "Do you have brownies? I like brownies. And do they have marijuana in them? I really like brownies with marijuana in them."
Julia stared at him. What sort of- She shook her head and opened the door.
"So I'm allowed to come in, right?" he asked from the stoop, sounding anxious.
"Do vampires need an invitation?" she asked as she turned, only realizing afterwards that she'd confronted him about the vampire thing right off anyway. He'd fake-cried on her, though, and embarrassed her, so it was only to be expected that she plot out ways to make his life absolute hell.
"No, but vampires are remarkably polite creatures," he said with a pout. "We really appreciate permission."
"So all your victims let you kill them?"
"Hey, if the person is in public, then they are public property and up for grabs."
Julia didn't glare at him, but it could have been mistaken for a glare by someone who didn't know otherwise. "So if I let you enter my home, will you consider me up for grabs?"
He smiled and held up a long finger. "Germaine has promised that I may do whatever I want to him for a full twenty-four hours if I protect you. It isn't in my best interests to consider you up for grabs, and I always protect my best interests."
She studied him for a few moments more.
"Or I could break in through a window. Do photographers make enough money to cover that sort of thing?"
Damn. She should have put aside a fund for that. She probably had enough money, but she didn't want to find out. "If I let you in, will you tell me about Germaine?"
"Anything you want, sugar plum!"
Though she didn't completely like the thought, she held the door open for him. He went through as if he owned the place, chatting about her decor. "Oh, dear God. This color? And the moulding is all wrong! Has Germaine seen this?"
"Speaking of Germaine," she cut in, not irritated in the least since it was her aunt's decorating and not her own, "what's going on with him?"
"Germaine is in a damned if he does, damned if he doesn't situation at the moment," Peter said, going through her cabinets. "You eat all this fat? Hm. Anyway, he's being hunted, and you're being hunted, and it would be nice to be hunted myself, but apparently these shorts don't help my ass very much." He did a little jiggle with his butt. "See? I have one. And it looks really nice, only that no one gets a chance to see it." He looked over his shoulder at her. "I can show you, if you like."
Julia made a face. "No thanks. I'm good. I'm not being hunted, though. The Morgans left me their business card and then left."
"Honey honey honey. Neither you or Sweety Face seems to get it. You're Josephine Laveau, the Voodoo Queen's granddaughter. You've got magic in you that people are willing to kill for."
"I'm not Josephine Laveau," Julia said firmly. "I'm really getting sick of hearing about her. And Marie Laveau was only that great because she knew all the gossip. She worked as a hairdresser during the day. She heard all sorts of supposed secrets, and it just looked like she knew things she couldn't have known. Read a book."
Peter smiled. "I've read many books. I'll read more, just for you, but there are plenty of books that don't mention Marie. I might read one of those. Maybe a nice Calvin & Hobbes comic. But Marie wasn't only known for her fortune-telling. You need to remember that. And be grateful that Marie and her daughter got so much attention; rumor was that Josephine was just as powerful as either of them, or more. People want your blood, you little magic caramel, you."
Julia had no idea what he was using the nicknames for, but they weren't annoying her as much as she might have thought. "You're a vampire," she said, changing the subject. "But you came here in daylight. With the sun out."
He sighed. "Vampires can exist in sunlight. I hate that myth. What the hell did they expect? Vampires kill their prey at night, when they're less likely to be caught. If they're out hunting all night, it makes sense that they'd sleep all day, right? It doesn't mean we'll burn or something idiotic like that. Fucking Christ in gold tap-dance shoes. Jesus."
"Oh. Right." Gold tap-dance- Jesus fucking Christ! What a nut job! "Okay. So people want me for my blood. How can I change that?"
Peter grinned. "You could give your blood to me for safe-keeping."
For some odd reason, Julia didn't really feel inclined to agree. "Or..."
"Learn the voodoo that you do hopefully so well," he offered.
She cringed. "Can I do that without Josephine?"
He smiled. "It's unlikely. Tempting, though, isn't it? I don't much care for Josephine either."
Julia studied him. She couldn't tell if he was actually willing to protect her or whether he'd just end up killing her anyway. Not that it mattered. She didn't plan on trusting him. So she'd do this on her own. "Fine. Come on."
Peter was not inclined to enjoy summers or winters in New Orleans. One was too hot, the other was too cold. And he liked pretending he was a sensitive baby so he could get attention. So when Julia pulled up her dark hair, grabbed her purse, camera, and, of all things, a jacket, he was more than a little apprehensive. At least the jacket was a sign they would be inside, but before they got inside to air conditioning, they had to be outside without air conditioning, and he made a show of how hot he was on the way.
He was more than a little surprised to find that Julia was not only taking pictures, but talking to the street mystics and mystics in shops about past lives. At times, he listened so attentively that he forgot to fidget and pant like a cute little dog. They went round to a cafe and a art gallery, both of which Peter had never been in before, for Julia to drop off some pictures in exchange for some money. He thought about mugging her, but wasn't sure if he'd have to protect her from him mugging her. It might be interesting to play a schizophrenic, but he wasn't sure if he could properly beat himself up. So sad. Nearly seven hundred years old, and he had never once tried beating himself to a bloody pulp. Not even when he was drunk.
They had lunch back at her house, where he explained over his three BLTs that yes, vampires did eat things other than human blood, but Germaine was just weird. "I guess he's watching his figure. But I've got an excellent metabolism."
He particularly liked the evening they spent together. This time he took her out to dinner; her company wasn't really that bad once she got used to him a little better. But then he took her to his job, saying, "I promised to protect you. That means I have to keep you in sight. You can go to the bathroom without my supervision, I guess, but I'll be waiting nearby." He straightened and smiled broadly. "I believe in being gallant."
She stopped walking when she saw where he worked. "A strip club? You're taking me into a strip club?"
He laughed haughtily. "My dear mongoose. It isn't a strip club." He pointed at the neon-lit sign above their heads. "It's sex acts. Don't worry. I won't you perform or anything. Though if you want to..."
"I most certainly do not!"
He wagged his finger at her. "That's very defensive and uptight of you, and not becoming of a nymphomaniac at all."
"I'm not a-"
Peter calmly covered her mouth with his hand. "Allow a man to dream, won't you?" he said with exaggerated patience. "And really, relax. I'm only working the cover booth tonight. I'll get you in free, and you can sit and mope or something. You can tell any customers who pester you that you're dating me, and they'll leave you alone, with any luck. And if they don't, they might pay you afterwards, which will be something. You really need to replace that moulding."
He wondered in retrospect if she went out of her way to embarrass him that night. She didn't seem at all uptight or defensive in the club, taking pictures of the performers and asking if she could sell the photos. She even took photos of the customers, and whenever a customer complained, she said she was dating the cover guy and that she'd gotten in free because of it.
She ended up nearly getting Peter fired, which had never really happened before, since everyone knew he was absolutely adorable and oh-so-non-fireable. But by one that morning, he suspected he saw a little of what Germaine did. He was only seven hundred sixty-eight years old, but things had gotten a bit stale for him long ago; Julia definitely made things interesting.
Germaine had been a spy once, assuming names easily, charming those around him, rarely failing. But the world had changed. Germaine's myth and legend had grown without him, to the point that there were two Count St Germaines; the one who had been some sort of hero without even trying and the one who had only been a spy because the secrecy had helped stave off the many vampire hunters. He could still remember that time in Russia when he'd put off success for as long as possible. Sure, he'd helped the Revolution, but he could have won it for them four months sooner with significantly less bloodshed. No need for them to know that.
The thought made him smile. He had long since stopped being ashamed of his cowardice and now found it a source of amusement. It was dusk when he turned down Iberville, using his nose as much as his eyes. Yes, he recognized some of these scents. Many Morgans had been in the area lately.
No more cowardice, Germaine told himself. You have to get yourself out of this mess so you can finally live in peace. He turned on Royal when the scent got stronger. The Morgan scent was depressingly easy to pick out. They believed in the properties of garlic and only carried stakes of the highest quality oak. And they usually smelled faintly of ash, since they carried around the remains of the strongest vampires they'd defeated.
Germaine felt a chill. What would they do with his remains? He wasn't particularly strong, but he was older than most vampires. And they were stupid enough to think that age meant something. He swallowed but pressed on. Just think of a quiet home in the Quarter, with your merlot and Monets, he told himself weakly. Did he have any Monets? He couldn't remember exactly, but he'd had plenty of things more valuable. No, no Monets. Josephine had been around before Monet, and she was the one who had kept his treasures safe.
There he was. Simian. The vampire he'd punched while trying to save Julia. Scary, how the Morgans used vampires to kill other vampires. Rumor had it that they used some sort of mind control to enslave creatures of the night. One thing was for sure, Simian's eyes were more than half-dead. Germaine devoutly hoped he never ended up that way.
Bracing himself, shaking slightly, he set off after Simian, keeping far behind. It hadn't been so bad before, when the enemies weren't all vampire hunters.
They hadn't even made it half a block before someone tackled Simian, so quickly even Germaine didn't see it. Germaine ran forward before the voice in his head could start screaming to do otherwise. When he found Simian, he hissed.
It was no more than an alcove, the walls covered in blood, Simian's body drained and propped up in the corner. His eyes were as dull as they had been in life, but now they stared at nothing in particularly. Blood dripped from his blond hair, blossomed on his clothes. There was no trace of the assailant.
Or at least no trace of the true assailant, because there was a note scrawled in the blood: "Leave me alone. -Count St Germaine."
Peter moved quickly when the window broke, sliding behind the person and pressing a knife against the intruder's throat. "Hello," he said cheerfully. "Very rude to burst in, you know, with no invitation or anything."
"It's an emergency." Germaine moved past him a blur, avoiding the knife. "Where's Jose- Julia?"
Peter shrugged. "Sleeping. She's had a long day."
"It's only two in the morning," Germaine said, incredulous.
"Yeah, well, she worked at a sex acts club last night, and she's a little tired."
"SHE WHAT? Where is she?" Germaine stalked off, finding the stairs but turning the wrong way in the hall at the top.
"In her bedroom, of course. I think that's where she usually sleeps." Peter watched him with amusement, deciding not to correct Germaine's misinterpretation. This was too much fun.
Germaine turned directions and found the right room. With a growl, he entered and closed the door behind him.
Peter leaned against the stair's banister. "I wonder if I'm supposed to protect her from him, too," he mused. "Oh well. Holy Alcoholy time." Smiling and doing little jigs along the way, he went to the kitchen, where he'd earlier discovered Julia's stash.
Julia's breathing was even, and even in this heat, blankets and her hair covered her entire body but for a pajama-clad leg. Germaine patted this, possibly harder than he meant to. She made a noise but made no move to get up. He hit her leg harder. "Hey. Wake up."
She rolled over looked at him blearily for a few minutes before yawning and lying back down.
"Hey! I said get up, you nymphomaniacal witch!" He grabbed her and pulled her out of bed. Did her pajamas really have wide-eyed clocks on them?
"Empomanim nodda witch." She yawned so hugely he wondered if her jaw would come unhinged.
He tried to sit her up; her head fell on his shoulder. He tried to ignore it. "Julia, you need to wake up. I've got to go, and you're coming with me."
"Mm? Why?"
"Because I'm being framed for murder."
Well, now she felt more awake. He should have said that to begin with. "What? Who'd you kill?" She leaned back to look at him.
He looked exasperated. "I didn't kill anyone. I'm being framed for it."
"And who did you supposedly kill?"
"Whom," he said, offhanded, looking around her room. "This decor really doesn't suit you, you know. The moulding isn't French enough."
"My aunt's place. Now who the fuck did you supposedly kill?"
Germaine had the sense to look at least a little abashed. "A vampire working for the Morgans. So they're probably going to be a little upset. Except the guy who actually killed Simian is the same guy who attacked you, I think. The method of attack was similar, and when I went back to find the other guy's body, I found the bodies of two tourists instead. Which means the person is after you too, and I'm not going to let him hurt you again."
She might have been touched if she hadn't known this was Germaine she was dealing with. "I'm sure Peter will do a fine job of protecting me. And he can get me into interesting clubs for free, which you never even tried to do."
His features clouded. "Maybe you wouldn't have gotten in free if you hadn't been working there at the time."
"Oh, really? I'm always working, Germaine. You should know that."
He growled. "Get packed. We're leaving in less than half an hour."
"But what about my consecutive twenty-four hours?" Peter whined as Germaine watched Julia come down the stairs. He grabbed the suitcase from her and was impressed with how light it was.
"Put my laptop in there, would you? And the camera cord. The white one. That's important." She headed off to the kitchen.
He scowled. Even with the laptop and cord, it was still rather light, but it was the thought that mattered. That she was always working with her little camera, and now was apparently working all the time with someone else's little camera. At least, he hoped the other cameras were little. How long had that been going on, anyway?
"Twenty-four hours. Haven't forgotten," Germaine said as he carried the suitcase out to the back door. "I keep my promises." He'd already rented a car; it was waiting out front. Of course, he was banking on the Morgans not tracing him back to Julia's in such a short time.
On cue, there was a knock at the front door.
Julia came through the kitchen door, pulling her hair up. She spoke around the pop-tart clenched gently between her teeth. "I'll get-"
Germaine jumped at her, knocking the pop-tart away and covering her mouth with a hand. "Don't get it, you fool," he whispered. "It's the Morgans. Who else would come by at two-fifteen in the morning? We'll go out the back way. Come on."
As it was, it was actually Julia's aunt and her mother. Though swearing never to speak to Julia again, her mother had been in town for a business convention, and not wanting to stay in some common hotel, had called her sister to see if she could stay at the house on Dumaine.
It was now that Julia's aunt admitted to renting the house out to Julia at an extremely discounted price. Julia's mother, thinking that Julia had been wallowing in suffering because of Julia's failures in life and that her daughter would come back to her senses if only no one from the family spoke to her. This did not help to heal the breach.
Of course, this was before Julia left them standing on the stoop at two-fifteen in the morning. Though they found out later that Julia had been kidnapped, her mother still took it personally.
Germaine looked over at Julia as he pulled onto I-10. She was leaning back in her seat, her eyes closed, breathing even, her neck exposed. He stared at her neck for a moment. He wished she wouldn't do that.
He wished he'd kissed Josephine when she'd been alive.
Josephine wasn't going to live long enough to return any of Germaine's possessions to him. She had only just started doing all the readings she'd been too afraid to do while Germaine was with her. Before he dies again, what will happen to him? she asked, knowing it was vague. Her powers were dwindling; it was as if she didn't care anymore. But she was determined to see her plan through.
He will be hunted, came the answer.
There was a knock at the door. Josephine inwardly cursed, hoping it was one of her regulars so she could make up the fortune. If it was a fortune. Maybe she'd get lucky and it was a call for a spell.
It turned out to be neither. She moved aside to allow Madame LeSayes in. The woman was still dressed in those atrocious colorful robes and the headdress. "You look paler than usual, my dear," LeSayes said.
Don't 'my dear' me, Josephine thought. "I have not been going out much during the day. It has been too hot."
"I hope you are not feeling well." LeSayes tapped a fan against her lips. Her face was studious, almost hopeful. LeSayes was struggling to be a great voodoo queen, but everyone in New Orleans knew Josephine was better.
"I assure you, I feel quite well."
LeSayes smiled, but none of her joy was genuine. She stayed some time more, chatting first of far away events, then of people she knew, then of mutual acquaintances. She watched Josephine more and more closely, and Josephine knew she was going to mention Germaine. But instead she said, "I feel compelled to ask an impertinent question, my dear, and you may stop me if you wish."
Josephine knew better than to stop someone from asking a question. And with her, questions gave more information than her answers. "Please, go on. Nothing a good friend such as yourself could say could ever be considered impertinent."
The witch smiled and dived in. "Your wealth is famous. You are taking care of it, are you not? It will be protected, should anything happen to you?"
"So long as my spirit lives, my wealth will be safe. I have seen to it."
"Good." LeSayes turned the conversation away, and Josephine played along. She had learned the most important parts.
When Madame LeSayes left, Josephine closed her home to the public for the night. She didn't need any business, but she did have to think. So LeSayes was after her wealth, and she hadn't mentioned Germaine yet. Was it because she didn't know about Germaine? No. Everyone knew she and Germaine had had some sort of deal together. The only reason LeSayes hadn't mentioned Germaine yet was that it didn't fit into her plans. She had to figure out what those plans were.
In the meantime, Josephine was putting her own plans in motion, not the least of which was making a protective charm. She had to finish her own plans before LeSayes finished hers.
Germaine had left. Josephine woke up in a panic. She found herself in a bed with white sheets, a window open to catch the breeze. As she caught her breath, she remembered that she wasn't Josephine at all. She was Julia and had only been dreaming of Josephine and that woman she'd met. It was only natural, given how weird things had been lately. And Germaine hadn't left. He'd kidnapped her. The bastard.
"I told them we were married," the bastard said from a nearby chair, looking at her. "I hope you don't mind."
"Of course I mind! I don't want to be married to you!"
"We aren't," he said, sighing as he sat on the bed beside her. "But I had to tell them something, and we don't look like family, do I?"
She scowled and tore off the sheet, storming over to the window to get away from him. "Where are we?"
"St. Augustine, Florida."
"Were you friends with Augustine too, like you were with Jesus?"
Germaine chuckled. "I wasn't friends with Jesus. We traveled in very different circles." He sobered. "Let me take you to lunch. I'm sure you're hungry."
Germaine wished she wouldn't take her camera everywhere, but he didn't have the heart to tell her not to. He was already in enough trouble. Instead he tried to keep her minds off of any of his crimes. "I thought we might go for a walk later," he said.
"I have to go back to New Orleans," she said firmly, taking a picture through the window. He wondered if it would even come out.
He put down the fork he'd been playing with. "I thought I already explained-"
"I thought," she interrupted, looking at him, "that you wanted your treasure trove back. You aren't going to get it until I wake Josephine or whatever it is, and I can't very well do that until I'm back in New Orleans, can I? Or did Josephine come to St Augustine?"
"She might have been." He really didn't know. He and Josephine had never really talked about that. "It is the oldest city in the world." Even though it would have taken a terribly long time to get from New Orleans to St Augustine back then. Josephine probably wouldn't have stood for it. "We could be killed if we went back, you know."
She shrugged. "I'm not afraid."
I bloody well am! he shouted at her silently. His mouth said, "Josephine was brave as well. Would it help if I told you about her?"
Her eyes were anxious, excited. "Yes."
He smiled. "Then why don't I tell you about her on the way back?" No no no, you fool! You don't want to go back! You can't go back! Damn your Casanova tendencies! Stall! Stall stall stall! He smiled again. "After we take watch the sunset. And there's a haunted history tour here as well." He paused. "It's supposed to be the most haunted city in America, you know." Now his smile was genuine. He'd gotten her. And as an added blessing, if she was alone with him, he could make sure she wasn't performing sex acts on someone else.
Sadly, as much as he tried to show her all the interesting houses, the historical places, and make up tales of the supernatural, he couldn't convince her to stay till morning.
Julia had seen Germaine angry and charming, but his being simply grumpy was a new experience for her. She tried to wheedle information about Josephine out of him until they reached I-10 and then crossed her arms, fed up. He hadn't told her much of anything, and come to think of it, he'd never actually said he'd answer.
"So where are we going to stay when we get back? Do you think my place is safe?"
"Hell no, I don't think your place is safe. You already got attacked there once, didn't you?"
"But that was because of you."
He looked across at her, even though he was driving and it made her a littler nervous that he wasn't watching the road. "And that hasn't really changed, has it? You're still in danger."
"So are you."
He sighed, irritated. "Which is precisely why I don't want to go back. I can turn around at any time."
"No, you can't. You're too afraid of confrontation. You always evade answers or leave before someone can confront you about something."
He flinched; she smiled. She'd hit a nerve. That could prove useful.
"See? You aren't even saying something now. We'll stay at a hotel. Or Peter's."
"Not Peter's," he said firmly. "And not a hotel. I can't trust you to stay in a hotel an entire night, apparently."
"Why not Peter's?" she demanded. "He was sweet."
"He keeps p- He doesn't really believe in eating out. If you want to bring out Josephine, the best thing to do is to go to someone who can help. Madame LeSayes would be good. She's the one who told you you were a reincarnation, if you'll remember."
"I remember," she said coldly. She still wasn't pleased to be a reincarnation. And she still wasn't entirely sure she was. But if she could say she had recovered Josephine's mysterious voodoo powers but not her memories, she might be able to get everyone to leave her alone. She'd have to do some research, but after working on databases for the National Endowment of the Arts for three years, she was fairly confident she could handle a bit of research. Julia smiled. That could work. It would be a fine line, though. But Madame LeSayes was out of the question. She told Germaine as much.
He raised an eyebrow, looking at her again. "And why not?"
"It just is. I don't trust her."
"You don't have to trust her. LeSayes was a voodoo queen around the time Josephine was. Not as talented, of course, but she might stir something."
The batty old woman already had. Julia didn't tell him as much. If he found out about the dreams, he might take it as encouragement and make her seen that woman. "I don't care. I don't trust her."
He drove in silence for a few minutes, his lips pursed. Turning off at a Slidell exit, he waited for the car to stop and then covered her hand with one of his own. "It's important that we have Josephine back. Believe me. And I said I would protect you. I mean to do that."
Her breath caught in her throat. His hand wasn't as cold as she'd thought it would be. "Because you want Josephine's fortune."
"I want my fortune," he corrected her. "Josephine was holding onto it for me. It's almost dawn. Let's get breakfast."
Peter was bored. That was what he hated about immortality. He haunted Pirates Alley for a few moments, then moved on to Bourbon, picking up a new pet. A girl this time, but who really cared. Christopher was getting to be a drag to keep around. After making sure she wouldn't be going out for a while, Peter went back, wandering through the Quarter.
"Cute shirt," he remarked to himself, seeing a black shirt which read in white, "Bourbon Bunny," with a white rabbit above the "Bourbon." "Have to come back for that."
Smelling blood, he traced the scent to a home where several people had vomited as they passed. The house was painted pink, but the entrance, steps, and surrounding street had all been splattered with a rust color. Yellow tape was up, and the police were still looking for clues instead of cleaning up.
"What happened?" he asked one of the cops.
"Murder. Ugly one."
Peter noted how much blood had been spilled. So no vampire had done it. It would have been a waste of a perfectly good meal. "You catch the guy?" he asked, trying to look scared while still trying to look manly. He'd been turned when he was only twenty, so he didn't have much trouble with the scared part.
The cop made a derisive noise that sounded like a fart, except that it went out through his mouth. Peter had to stop himself from looking amused. "Guy calling himself Count St Germaine. You know, that vampire guy they said used to be here. Attacked some broad."
Peter didn't have to worry about looking amused anymore. "Just now? He attacked a broad?"
"No," the cop said, shaking his head giving Peter a superior glare. "Well, maybe. We haven't found a body yet. But Count St Germaine doesn't exist. Probably just some crazy who'll pass through. Don't worry about it."
"Yeah," Peter said. "Don't worry about it because Count St Germaine doesn't exist." He scoffed and turned away, walking quickly along Dauphine to Dumaine. He had to check on Julia. Surely Germaine wouldn't have- But then, there was no telling, was there? Everyone knew Germaine had gone nuts when he'd attacked the hussy.
He stopped when he got to Julia's house. There were cop cars everywhere. "Oh, shit," he said emphatically.
Julia's mother was named Cynthia Berkeley; she almost never used the last name Heywood, as she was from an old money family and Heywood was nouveau riche. She was in her forties, with a good dye job, and her nose looked as if it had once belonged to someone her daughter's age. To be honest, over half of her body looked as if it had belonged to someone her daughter's age.
Julia's aunt was named Janet Dubois. She had aged, but she was graceful enough not to hide it. She naturally had the nose of a young woman, and she worked out, so her body looked young for cheap, something she took pride in whenever Cynthia was around.
At the moment, Janet had mixed emotions. On one hand, it had been her house Julia had been kidnapped from. On the other, she was handling it much better than her sister, who was crying incessantly and wailing, "If only she had stayed in business school! Oh, God! What if people hear she's been kidnapped and they find her in some sort of horrible way. Oh, God, the photos!"
Janet shook her head. Cynthia would enjoy the press; the woman was pushing her husband to run for governor of California. And with Cynthia behind him, he would have no choice but to win.
"I last heard from her day before yesterday," she told the officer. "Everything seemed fine. She's been making a bit of money selling pictures. There was a boy, though. Somebody named Germaine."
"Do you think she might have run off with him."
"It's extremely unlikely," Janet said. "Even when she ran away from California, she waited until her rent was up."
The office persisted. "She took her computer with her, we think some clothes. And her camera's missing, if she was a photographer."
That gave Janet a pause. "She would have taken her camera, no matter what. She was never without it. The computer..."
"Might this guy, Germaine, have taken it? Maybe to pawn it off? What kind of computer was it?"
"A Dell laptop. I'm not sure of much more than that. It wasn't really new, though." She covered her mouth with a hand. Could Julia have run away? She had seemed so happy in New Orleans... No, Julia wouldn't have left voluntarily. "But it was one of the more expensive things in the house. We rent it out so much that much of the appliances are kind of crappy."
The officer nodded and wrote it down.
"Oh, officer?"
Janet turned to look at the speaker, a cajun woman dressed in bright robes, wearing a matching headdress. She'd seen the woman before. Some sort of voodoo queen for the tourist.
"Officer," the woman called again, gaily. "Did I hear you say Germaine?" The cop pretended not to hear. The woman continued. "Because there's a bloodbath just down the street on Iberville. And somebody signed his name in the blood. Somebody named Germaine."
That got the cop's attention. It got Janet's and Cynthia's too. The woman cackled. "Down on Iberville," she said again. "Real bloodbath. Blood everywhere. And no body." She turned and left.
Peter couldn't believe it. Had Madame LeSayes just incriminated Germaine? What did the woman have against Peter's pooky-pie? He followed her a short distance, but lost her quickly. No voodoo queen could be followed for long, not even a bad one. Peter hurried home. He had to get in touch with Germaine. Something bad was going on, and for once, it felt like things were getting too interesting.
Julia had stopped protesting, but only out loud. She still had no intention of going anywhere near Madame LeSayes. She hated the woman with a passion. "So how are we going to handle parking?" she asked.
"The car can be towed, for all I care," Germaine replied.
Damn it. He wasn't giving an inch.
"I have to go to the bathroom."
He looked at her with amusement. "That's the oldest trick in the book, Julia. At least come up with something new."
"It's not a trick. I need to use the bathroom. Pull over someplace. Anyplace."
"We're almost to Madame's," he said patiently, braking to let some pedestrians pass. Pedestrians thought they owned the Quarter.
"Not at this rate," Julia said flatly. "And do you really think LeSayes has plumbing? I refuse to use a hole in the floor. I'm going to get out and use the bathroom. You can stand outside the door if you like." She opened the door and hopped out.
Sure enough, Germaine was instantly by her side. This was going to be tough. "I will," he said firmly. He only parted with her to let her enter the bathroom alone.
She checked, but there wasn't a window. But there was someone in a stall.
Julia frowned thoughtfully. So a direct escape wasn't possible; Germaine was too fast for her. She looked at the legs visible under the stall. But a distraction might work. When the woman came out of the bathroom, much too pale and fair-haired to be mistaken for her, so she couldn't try and pull a switch. She moved closer to the girl. "Sorry," she whispered as the girl shrank away. "I need a favor." Speaking softly, she explained about her boyfriend, whom she was trying to leave because he'd cheated on her, even though after he beat her, he always told Julia how much he loved her, etc. "I need to distract him," she concluded. Can you help me?"
Germaine looked at his watch. Good God. How long could women take in the bathroom? He'd heard they took-
He straightened as a young woman passed and then slumped. Not Julia. God, damn it. Hadn't he told her he hadn't even wanted to be in this city? Why was she making him wait in one area for so long then? The Morgans could hear he was here at any moment. Idiot girl.
And then he heard a scream coming from outside. He looked at the bathroom door, fighting the urge to run out. But if they were to survive, he had to know what was going on? What if it was another person being attacked by the person who'd killed Simian?
That decided him. Julia was taking too long anyway, and probably wouldn't be out for a few moments more. Besides, how far could she go that he couldn't find her?
Julia knew she didn't have much time. When the shadow moved from under the door, she waited a few seconds and peeked through the door. Coast clear. She hurried through the store. Avonlea had said she'd go to the right to scream, so Julia took a left and slid along the wall. Avonlea was still screaming. Poor girl; Julia hoped everything would turn out all right. She only went a few stores before ducking into a bar and asking to use the phone. She hadn't told anyone, but she'd recognized the wisdom of keeping the Morgans' phone number. At the very least, the man she'd met in Ravyn's had known about Josephine.
He picked up on the first ring.
"It's Julia Heywood," she said firmly. "I'm inviting myself over. Come pick me up." She gave him the address. "And get here fast. I don't want Germaine to find me first." She hung up.
Raul St Clair hung up his phone as well. Well, that had been interesting, to say the least. He smiled. The woman, perhaps, was more spirited than Josephine, whom he'd never met. The family had passed down stories, however. He shook his head and grabbed his keys. He was wasting time.
Germaine, after getting close enough to see it was only a woman screaming her bloody brains out, went back and stationed himself outside the bathroom again. He was so concerned with his own fate that it took him almost twenty minutes to connect the woman screaming outside to the woman he'd seen leave the bathroom to Julia.
He tore open the door and started cursing women in general.