This Side of the Grave (Night Huntress, #5)(27)
I bit back the laugh that rose in my throat, feeling a similar wave of amusement sweep over Bones even though nothing changed in his expression. Kira’s hackles rising in protectiveness for a vampire who could kill all of us without even getting up from his seat was just too funny. So was the quelling look Mencheres shot us before murmuring something soothing to her, obviously picking up on Bones’s humor through their shared power connection, if not mine as well.
“You’re right, Kira. Mencheres, I’m sorry,” I said, managing to make my voice contrite despite my ribs aching with suppressed laughter. “Um, anyway, we wanted to give you guys a heads-up about where we’re headed and why. You know, in case we’re never heard from again.”
I said the last part jokingly, but the grim reality was that it was true. Marie Laveau normally promised safe passage to and from any meetings with her, but with her being the ghoul queen of New Orleans, these circumstances with Apollyon made things a little different. She might decide it was in the best interest of her species to go back on her word just this once, and make our trip to the Big Easy a one-way journey.
“We will go with you,” Mencheres stated.
“No,” Bones replied softly. “You’ll stay here protecting our line in case anything does happen. That way, our people will remain safe.”
The faintest smile ghosted across Mencheres’s lips. Bones had just repeated the same argument the Egyptian vampire used on him two months ago, when it had been Mencheres refusing Bones’s help in a dangerous situation.
“Very well,” he said, with a graceful tilt of his head. “I shall stay. Perhaps Spade can accompany you in my stead.”
“There’s a problem with that,” I pointed out. “One, I know Bones’s best friend, and Spade won’t want Denise to go if it’s dangerous, which it will be. Two, I know my best friend, and hell no will Denise agree to stay behind. Plus, all we need is for Apollyon to find out that Denise is now a shapeshifter for him to really have something to go batshit over.”
I didn’t add that if anyone found out what was in Denise’s demonically altered blood, she would have even less of a chance at survival than I would if the vampire nation decided to offer me up to Apollyon. While Mencheres already knew and I didn’t think Kira was untrustworthy, I didn’t know how many other undead ears were in this house in addition to Gorgon.
“What about Vlad?” Kira asked. “He’s tough and scary.”
“Not the show hound,” Bones grumbled, while at the same time I said, “Good idea.”
His brows rose as he turned to me. I cleared my throat, squirming a little under that lasered brown gaze.
“Well, it is,” I replied, straightening. “Just because you don’t like him doesn’t mean he’s not our best bet, and while he might refuse to do it if it was just you going, odds are he’ll say yes because I’ll be there.”
Bones’s mouth twisted in a way that told me that wasn’t the best argument I could’ve used. “Because we’re friends,” I quickly added. “Vlad’s big on being there for his friends.”
“I don’t question Tepesh’s taste in regarding you as a friend. Just yours for feeling the same way about him,” Bones muttered.
I couldn’t resist a slight grin. “Maybe because he reminds me of someone I love.”
Bones snorted in disagreement, but out of the corner of my eye, I caught something he didn’t—Mencheres’s wink at me. It startled me so much that I whipped my head around to stare at him, but by the time I did, the vampire’s expression was as smooth and impenetrable as a pond at midnight.
“Tepesh doesn’t need to go with us,” Bones said at last. “His presence could be construed as a threat by Marie since she knows damn well he and I don’t fancy each other. If he’s in a nearby city, however, that would be close enough for him to provide assistance, should we require it.”
Considering Vlad could fly, if it wasn’t close enough, then we were screwed anyway. But I didn’t say that out loud. Everyone here already knew it.
Chapter Twelve
The Ritz-Carlton hotel was located on the very edge of the French Quarter, facing Canal Street. Its exterior was a beautiful combination of modern architecture and old-style Southern influence, with white plaster and carved lion gargoyles adorning the building. As we checked in, the staff was polite to the point of obsequiousness, making me want to tell them to relax; I wasn’t that hard to please. Only when I’d stayed at Vlad’s house had my ass been so thoroughly kissed, and the management here didn’t have a reputation for expressing displeasure with their people by impaling them on long wooden poles. At least, not that I knew of.
Once inside the elevator leading up to our floor, however, I understood the reason for the employees’ over-the-top graciousness. If the fur-clad woman next to me had her nose any higher in the air, she’d get altitude sickness—and really, who wore a full-length fur coat in the summertime, anyway? The man with her, her husband, I deduced from their matching rings, also looked like a stick took up permanent residence in his ass. She gave me a cool glance, her gaze traveling over my windblown hair and somewhat unkempt appearance with a disdain that took me right back to my days as a small-town outcast. Hey, for riding straight through from Chicago to New Orleans on a motorcycle, I looked pretty damn good. Nary a bug in my teeth or anything.