Taking the werewolf’s word for it that the dead woman’s body would be returned wasn’t easy, but I’d done my part. Sometimes it’s better not to push it. And that goes for both Rougarou and Shar.

It was past time for me to be done playing the good Samaritan and get on with my mission. People were going missing in Crescent City—Senator Cartwright among them—and all signs pointed to this Tourmaline.

We took a carriage back to the city. Nothing fancy, but not a hunk of junk either. Roo was smart. Always knew that the best way to blend in was to not stand out. Sounds pretty common sense, except the truth is, most folks wouldn’t know how to stay hidden if they’d been given a burlap sack in a wheat barn. Roo lurked inside the buggy, still in his wolfish form.

I sat up front with a haggard boy who white-knuckled the reins of a horse. Like his own litter back at the house, Roo always had a tendency to employ the homeless and needy kids of Crescent City. Get his claws in them early. Gave him eyes everywhere.

Swampland whizzed by. The air was filled with the sounds of the marsh—gators hissing, no doubt hungry for some tasty morsel or another to satisfy their insatiable hunger. Mosquitos buzzed, owls hooted, and in the distance, you guessed it, wolves, howling at a moon that sat so low, I would’ve sworn I could reach out and grab it. And, in the east came that faint, purple-bluish glow on sunrise. I welcomed it. Used to be I loved the colder temperatures night brought, but now that I was numb to such things, I welcomed the light. Harder for unwelcome things to hide.

“Say, I’ve always wondered,” I said, glancing back. “Your breed turning day in and day out. When do you find time to sleep?”

All Roo offered in response was a grunt. He yanked the drape shut with a loud whoosh that made the crickets quit their song. After a moment, I heard him rummaging around and a few more low grunts. The sun’s light bloomed brighter, and it didn’t take Nik Tesla’s brains to know what was happening.

“What do you think?” I asked the boy beside me. “Dogs like to turn circles, you know, get more comfortable. I think that’s what he’s doing.”

No answer. Just gave the reins a snap, and we turned onto a somewhat paved road.

“Y’all are a friendly bunch, you know that?” I quipped. If he wasn’t gonna talk, I was fine talking to myself. “Really, since being here, no one’s even asked me if I was hungry or thirsty or tired. Nothing. Just took my dead corpse and tried to make it deader. Guess southern hospitality hasn’t made it this far east, huh?”

The boy shifted his frame so—even directly beside me on the bench—his back was turned.

“Fine. Fine. I can take a hint.”

Crescent City grew visible through the twisted, drooping boughs of southern oaks. Bram was right when he said the trees around here were strange. Though I didn’t see them as praying. Sad-looking things to me. As if they used to stand tall but melted, half their branches scraping through the muck at their proverbial feet.

The carriage drape whipped back open, revealing Rougarou hunched in the space. But no longer was he the menacing wolf. Now in his human form, he actually did wear a bowler hat. I could’ve laughed under different circumstances. And although his suit was nearly identical, it was smaller, built for a man, not a beast. Behind him, the old one was neatly hung from a clothes rack along the back wall.

Somehow, the ensemble looked stranger with his shaggy beard than when he was shifted. Human Roo had dark skin and Cajun features. Half his middle-aged face was scarred by what looked like too much itching of scabies. Or fleas, maybe. Huh, that’s a fun thought. Wonder if he licks himself too?

A monocle sat over his undamaged eye. Always said back in the day that it was tough getting used to human sight after what he had at night. My guess was he could see just as well as I could in the darkest hours, but during the day, I had him at a disadvantage. Something I was sure he was well aware of. I didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust me. And that was just fine.

He lit a cigarette, pulled in a long chuff, and closed his eyes in ecstasy. He held that breath a moment, letting the feeling linger. I could’ve killed him right then and there. What I wouldn’t give for that feeling once more. The heart race, the slow numbing of my thoughts, all the weight of the world temporarily lifted off my shoulders. I watched—one part disdain, one part envy—as he slowly exhaled the smoke my way. The boy at the reins coughed.

“Best part of bein’ human,” Roo remarked.

“What’s that feel like?” I asked.

“You telling me you never had a quirly at your age?”

I groaned. “I mean shifting. What’s it like?”

“Ah.” He took another lengthy drag. “For a long time, like being skinned and pulled inside out like a dead rabbit. And then, one day, the pain just numbs, and it’s like meeting an old friend again. After a few moments, you forget it’s you. Then, you fall back into the old vices, and it’s all one and the same.”

I watched the embers glow. Between jobs with Ace, when I was feeling uncertain, I used to just stare at it until the light gave way to ashes. That was one good thing about that bastard. He never let us go without a pack or ten of sissy sticks for the road. Said it kept us honest.

Honest…

We turned onto the main avenue leading into the city proper, pushing through the rabble who hadn’t quite made it home after last night’s festivities.

“You ever wish you weren’t this way?” I asked.

“What—and be like the sheep?” he scoffed. “Hell no. You?”

“Every goddamned day,” I said, almost so low he could’ve missed it.

He didn’t—doglike hearing and all.

He shook his head and clicked his tongue, flicking his cigarette off the road and into a thin stream near the city’s edge. “That’s your problem, Crowley. You gotta embrace what you are. Wolves don’t wish to be sheep, no matter what mama’s night tales say.”

“I embrace the choice. It’s either this or Hell, and ‘weeping and gnashing of teeth’ don’t sit so well with me.”

“That ain’t the same,” he spat.

“Says a cursed man who makes a dinner out of folks and just shrugs.”

“You see—that right there. That’s the difference.” He chuckled and looked around at some locals, fishermen heading down to start their day at the docks. A gaggle of lawmen stood by the main road, watching comings and goings. “You still think you’re the same thing as them.”

His words reminded me of an earlier conversation with Shar. She hadn’t said it out loud but made it plain enough, these people weren’t my peers.

Roo tipped his hat to law enforcement while I hid my face in the shadow of my own the best I could. Probably not a good look to be spotted near both him and Laveau so soon after arriving. But they did nothing. Just kept their eyes trained. Wasn’t even sure the marshals I’d run into would be talking much with the locals.

“We may look the same. Feel the same. Die the same even,” Roo said. “But there ain’t any of them who wouldn’t lynch us the second they found out exactly what we are. Bastards are more likely to throw us on a table and start poking and prodding to find out what makes us tick.”

He leaned out over my shoulder and pointed to an argument being had between a black man and a white shopkeep opening up for business. “They barely get along with their own.”

“Sure, sure,” I agreed. “But wouldn’t it be nice not to have to hide way out there in some dilapidated old pile of barely standing wood every night?”

“Who said I’m hiding? And I’ll have you know that home is palatial.”

“If you say so.”

He chuckled and sat back. “You ain’t a city man, are you, Crowley? You been here long enough, you start to appreciate the solace of a place like Mandeville Manor. I accomplished all I needed to, being down here with the sheep. Now, I got people for it. Giving back, as they say.”

A beggar inched out from an alley as we passed. A kid. Couldn’t have been more than seven. He gave Roo a nod, and Roo sent him back a wink. One of his boys, I gathered.

“You call that charity?” I asked.

“Kids like them’ll either rot on the streets or wind up out netting fish or working factory lines ’til their hands are calloused and they drink to forget the aches. So, yeah. With me, they stay safe, and they get their worth.”

“Or tossed in a cell.”

“This ain’t the frontier, cowboy. Too many people crammed in here to even know how to dispose of all the shit. Not enough for men to do worth doing. No marshals giving out land or farms. Y’all from out west don’t know what it really means to fight to survive. Gotta eat to live. Gotta live to eat.”

“Got that part right,” I said.

“There are worse things than wild beasts, natives, or outlaws.”

I had my own thoughts as to what he was referring to. Nephilim, demons, even people like him. But I figured I’d heard him out this far. “Like what?”

“Bureaucracy.” He laughed.

I wasn’t sure what to say. He was right. It was different in these parts. I’d heard stories of the Big Apple—like a zoo of all races, creeds, and colors, most of which hate each other just for being different.

I’d also joined up with Ace and the Scuttlers when I was young and impressionable. When he seemed more heroic than the evil shit-eater he turned out to be. Fighting the good fight for the good of his crew. Took me a few years to see the suffering we left in our wake. And Ace, like Roo, always liked to wax poetic, making grand claims about how magnanimous he was.

Maybe Roo was the real deal. Who knew? But I doubted it. Seemed most anyone claiming to be philanthropic—they hurt just as many as they help. I did appreciate the perspective and the insight. The kids—his eyes throughout the city—were clearly a weak spot I could exploit if need be. Only problem. I don’t hurt kids.

“James?” a familiar voice hollered. “James, there you are!”

I swore under my breath. Rosa. Just the person I was trying to avoid after Irish let her tongue go. And to not involve her in any more unsavory business. I’ll stick with that excuse.

Why was it that no matter where I found myself, there, too, she would be? She jogged to try and catch up, but the boy kept the horses moving.

“James!”

Roo gave the order to stop.

“She can wait,” I said, low.

“A beauty like that?” Roo asked. “Where’re your manners?”

The carriage stopped, and Rosa came up alongside it, panting. I’d been used to her dour demeanor for a while now, but she looked damn near excited, inspired by something.

“Mahrnin, Rosa,” I said, feigning joy at seeing her here.

“Where’d you get off to last night and…” Her gaze moved to the grungy boy driving the carriage, then Rougarou. Her excitement waned. “Who are your friends?”

“Old acquaintances,” I said. “I told you I had folk to meet with here. This is, uh…” I realized I had no idea what the man went by when in human form. “Jean Luc. He’s a local farmer.”

“Was a local farmer,” Roo said, bringing a bit of fear in me that he was gonna tell her something she needn’t know. “Now, I am the town’s leading purveyor of fine spirits.” I gave him a look that he returned. “What can I say? I get more by the barrel than I do the bushel.”

He laughed, and I must admit it was a charming sound. Rosa joined in.

Roo opened the carriage door and stepped out. Even in his human form, he was tall without an ounce of fat. Could’ve passed as an aristocrat, but instead, he was dressed like a businessman with a hobo beard. A walking contradiction.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“How do you two know each other, Jean Luc?” Rosa asked.

“Why, James Crowley is just about one of the most honest men I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” He stuck a hand down toward her. “And my friends call me Rouge, and you are?”

“Rosa Mas—” she caught herself. “Just Rosa.”

“A beautiful name…” He took her hand and gave it a light peck, pulling just enough to reveal her snake tattoo. She winced, but nothing too noticeable. “…for a beautiful woman. Like a rose amidst a trash heap, you are. Now, I turn the question upon you. How is it you came to know this ghoul?”

“A story for another time,” I said. “Rosa, if you don’t mind, we have urgent business to attend to.”

“Mind if I tag along? Marie gave me a list of ingredients that could help with… you know. I figure since you know the city—”

“Wait. Marie Laveau?” Roo asked. “Well, how about that? Who’d have thought you were rubbing elbows with the Voodoo Queen herself?”

“Barely introduced,” I said before Rosa could reply.

“What do you say?” Rosa asked me.

“I don’t mind if she comes along.” Roo turned to me, his lips pulling nearly to his ears.

“No,” I snapped. Then, regaining my composure, I turned to Rosa. “I’m sorry, but we really gotta hurry.”

“It will only take a minute,” she insisted.

“Rosa, please. This don’t concern you. And besides, I thought we discussed letting this thing go. Marie’s a fine host, but she can’t be trusted with this. It ain’t right.”

“No, you discussed it,” Rosa hissed.

I sighed. “I’ll see you later, okay? We can talk through it all. Promise. Until then, just sit tight and keep a watch on Bram. This city ain’t safe for—”

“For what?”

“I…”

Dammit, Irish, and your meddling. Her earlier words had me all up in my head. I could spin a compliment, but that might make it seem like I thought Rosa was weak. I knew she could handle herself, and I couldn’t come out and say there were ravenous vampires on the loose. Digging myself deeper than a grave.

“She’s got me, ye dryshite,” Irish said, catching up seemingly out of nowhere. Speak of the devil. “Typical bloke. Always wantin’ fun ’til it’s wantin’ it too?”

Irish nudged Rosa in the side. She didn’t budge. I’d really gone and pissed her off now. Shar would be proud. There was nothing I’d rather do than hop off that cart and help Rosa—keep her safe from whatever madness she and Laveau were concocting. But, unlike last time, I refused to get her involved in White Throne affairs. My feelings would have to wait.

Look at that. Maturity.

Roo, thankfully, came to my rescue. “As much as I’d enjoy having the company of two such stunning women,” he said. “I know when to stay out of a lovers’ quarrel.”

“Oh, trust me, we aren’t that,” Rosa said, terse.

A dagger to my lifeless heart.

Irish was busy looking down at herself in her loose clothes with nary a curve to be found, mouthing the word ‘stunning’ in confusion.

“All the same, Mr. Crowley and I won’t be long,” Roo said. “And very soon, I do hope he’ll bring you by my humble home. You seem like you’d make a fine dinner…” I caught a glint as his gaze flitted toward me, “…guest.”

“Don’t need these jackeens. Let’s you and I scrounge up some trouble of our own, aye?” Irish said, coaxing Rosa along.

“Let’s.” Rosa set off down the road. She accidentally bumped into a man unloading crates from his wagon. Her glare would’ve struck him dead if he dared say a thing about it.

“Rosa!” I called after her. Pure reflex.

She stopped and glanced back. But I had nothing to say. We were on separate paths here in Crescent City, no doubt about it. I was here to end the existence of something that didn’t belong, while she was here clinging to the desire to do the exact opposite.

She huffed and continued on her way.

“C’mon, cowboy,” Roo said, climbing back into the carriage. “Let’s ride.”

I just stared at her as she left, wishing there was anything to be done about it. In the end, I resolved to shake my head and return to my bench beside the boy.

No sooner had my butt touched wood than the carriage started up again. The boy whipped the reins like he had some vendetta. After a while, Rougarou leaned out the window.

“So, who’s she?” he asked.

“She’s nobody,” I grumbled.

“Liar. There’s something about her. Got an aura.”

“Nobody. Just human.”

“Ah, I didn’t know a man in such a state as you needs… carnal delights. Good for you, then. She’s a looker. Could make a fortune where we’re headed.”

I stretched back and grabbed him by the collar. “She ain’t a whore!” Probably not wise to give him such insight into my feelings, but I couldn’t help it. The anger just came burbling up in me like a hot spring.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa now. Never said she was. I just meant—”

“She’s a friend. Just a friend, alright?” I released my hold on his lapel.

He straightened his jacket. “Lies again.”

“Drop it, or you’ll be chewing on silver next, Roo. We got our own business.”

He grinned wide, teeth yellow like an old hound. “Fine, fine. Now you’re gettin’ it. Leave the humans to their own devices until we need them.”

As we continued on into the heart of the city, we were mostly ghosts, but we caught glances here and there. He offered nods of acknowledgment to both shady-looking folk and legitimate businessmen all the same. Back when we’d met, protection was his organization’s most profitable trade. Some things never change.

“We ain’t far now. Sure you don’t want to go home first?” Roo asked. He got my attention and nodded down a boulevard toward the St. Louis Cathedral. She was a beaut. Plenty of churches and chapels dotted the West, but rarely did I get to see a true monument to the Almighty. Three spires and white stone soaring higher than anything else around it.

Truly, I didn’t know how man was capable of constructing such things without the help of giants. And why?

Never understood it, and Shar certainly never felt the need to answer in detail. What’d it matter where people showed their faith, where they bowed their heads? Why waste so much time and money building such extravagant edifices. Was that what God wanted?

My opinion: it was a great way to distract countless lemmings from how shitty the world could be.

“Very funny,” I said.

“Can they see me at least?” He reached out the window and waved. “I’d kill to get a glimpse of a real-life angel.”

“Bet you’ve killed for less.”

“I’m serious, cowboy. I’m dying to know what they look like.”

“Keep dreaming,” I told him.

No reason to tell him I was dying for the same. Too mortal to handle Shar’s true visage or whatever cock-and-bull she claimed. All the while, she was probably just pissed she wasn’t as pretty as the cathedral built in the glory of her and her kin.

The carriage turned down a street alongside trolley tracks.

“Welcome to Storyville,” Roo said.

Taverns and inns were joined by less upstanding establishments. Opium dens. Brothels. You name it. A Cajun magician had a crowd building as he performed a magic trick. The boy pulled the reins to keep our horses from maiming anyone, and we were stuck. The street was packed, and we had little choice but to watch until things cleared.

The magician lit a cigarette, took a small puff. Then, with two fingers, he pulled it away. Nothing too special so far, until he let go of the stick, and it kept floating in midair. Everyone cheered. Hell, I wanted to also. He smiled and waved his hands all around the cig, just to show everyone there were no wires or strings. How he did it beats me.

He retrieved it from its place suspended in the air, and returned it to his mouth. At first, I thought he was done. But everyone started clapping again. Upon closer inspection, I saw smoke coming from his nostrils and ears. The cigarette was backward, burning end between his lips. He just stood there as if it didn’t bother him at all.

Then, he stuck his tongue out, and the quirly bobbed with it, the fiery tip resting on his tongue like it was nothing more than a peppermint candy. With a curl of his tongue, the whole thing disappeared behind his teeth, and he swallowed, reopening his mouth to show it gone.

The whole crowd applauded, hooted, and hollered.

“Fun trick,” Roo said.

We were getting ready to leave when the man raised a single digit. The crowd stopped cheering as he strode forward to a woman whose cleavage threatened to choke her. He gave her a smile, then dug two fingers between her breasts and pulled the cigarette out.

Now that got people going. I shook my head. “Things people do for money.”

The street performer bowed, and the crowd cleared the streets as they rushed in to throw greenbacks into the man’s tin cup. Our adolescent driver snapped the reins, and the hooves started their rhythm again.

Beggars, cheats, whores, and drunks galore filled the place. As ungodly as Hell to my mind. Ace would’ve made a fortune if we’d found ourselves here back in the day. Though even he may have had trouble gaining power with weres and vamps around.

“Alright, we’re here,” Roo said.

We stopped across the street from a four-story frame mansion with a cupola on top shaped like an onion. A bronze sign over the entry read: ARLINGTON HOUSE. Might’ve been nice if not for its location and the corset-wearing ladies with their hair all done up hollering down from every balcony. Though, if there was one thing I’d learned in this life, you can call a fed a fed, a thief a thief, but always call a whore a lady.

Besides, compared to other brothels I’d seen, it was a gem. High-end. The kind of locale that attracts the rich and snollygosters both.

Roo hopped down and stuck out a hand, inviting me to join him. He flicked a coin to the boy at the reins. “Get some chow.” The boy caught it deftly and hopped down to scurry away.

We crossed the busy street, and my foot landed on a poster for the missing senator, amongst others deemed less noteworthy.

I was gonna pick it up, when I heard some black folk playing the strangest sort of music I’d ever heard from a bandstand adjacent to the brothel’s porch. If you could call it music. Instruments like long pipes with flared ends seemed to be missing notes on purpose, almost screeching. Nothing like I’d heard last time I was here.

“Saints and Elders, what is that racket?” I asked, stuffing my fingers in my ears.

“That sound’s the new craze, Crowley,” Roo said. “Welcome to the future.”

Their fingers moved expertly. Never been much of a player of anything myself. Couldn’t sing. But I hadn’t ever witnessed something that appeared so extraordinary yet sounded so dreadful.

“I guess my ears are too old,” I said.

“You ever think about that?” Roo asked. “What the world will be like when I’m rotting, and my grandchildren’s children are traipsin’ these streets, and you’re still here?”

What a question. To be honest, I hadn’t really. Not until that fateful day I ran into Rosa in Dead Acre, all grown up. That was the first time it hit home how long I’d been alive after dying—those twenty-some-odd years. Twenty more, she might’ve been gray, or remarried with kids, or dead.

I swallowed. “I try not to.” That was the truth. Safer that way.

Roo slapped my back. “Man, Crowley, you got no imagination. Though I guess I wouldn’t with a leash around my neck like you’ve got. God’s pet. More a dog than me.” He laughed, picking up his pace and skirting ahead of me to the doors.

Roo’s hand reached for the door when a slipshod-looking man came stumbling out, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, wearing a sweat-stained shirt and pants that’d both seen better days. His eyes were bloodshot-red, and his gaze was… empty. Only way I could describe it. Barely there. Loaded up on whatever drugs, booze, and hard-ons. City joints like this made the paltry nightlife of saloons out west seem like schoolhouse play yards.

Though I didn’t realize to what extent until we stepped inside.

Looked like a regular colonial chateau at first glance. Nothing out of the ordinary, but beyond the entry hall, there were more curtained-off rooms than usual. Beads. Doors. Lacey affairs. We had a view of a living room full of golden velvet couches and plush-cushioned seating, dimly lit by red-tinted lamps.

A bar served drinks to men who looked nothing like outlaws. They were upper crust. Their pedantry showed like a cold sore. Wearing suits and time-pieces worth more than I’d ever had, even in the glory days of the Scuttlers. And the women—angels be damned, these were breathtaking women. They didn’t have that glint of misery behind their eyes that I usually saw in ladies of the night. Well-paid for their efforts here, no doubt, as they hung all over men who acted like they deserved their affections.

Soft words whispered in ears, polite giggles at jokes told, and gentle caresses disclosed the stories. A gorgeous blonde swayed wide but alluring hips on her way to deliver drinks from the bar built into the corner. They didn’t perform—no playing music or singing. It was different here.

Men outnumbered ladies in the frontier, so women in saloons had a certain… service to provide more than sex. They were female companionship for hundreds of rough-riders who couldn’t find an old dutch to settle down with. They didn’t have to be good conversationalists, or sashay when they walked, or show off leg—they just had to be. Doesn’t say much for frontiersmen, really.

Here, they were professionals plying men to their whims without them even knowing. Controlling situations even though it was them being paid. Exquisite bodices and skirts showed just enough skin, and enough to drive dreams. Yet behind those curtains and doors, anything went. Easy enough to tell that by the older fellow in a top hat being escorted down the hall by three women.

Nah. Men weren’t here because they were lonely or needed companionship. This place was pure fantasy fulfillment.

“Rouge! So nice to see you,” a woman said, approaching from our side. Judging by her dress and how much it covered, I assumed her to be the establishment’s madam.

I braced myself. But as she got close, I realized this wasn’t the woman from my Divining. No fangs, no pale skin—not a vampire. In fact, looking around the room, I saw no signs of anything strange or otherworldly. Didn’t feel the tingle in my chest of a Nephilim nearby. I figured—if what I believed to be happening in those rooms was true—there’d at least be some vamps guarding the place, blending in.

“As always, Madame Arlington.” Roo took her hand, performing the same kiss atop her soft, yellow glove as he had Rosa.

“A friend of yours?” She surveyed me from head to toe and didn’t appear pleased. Judging by the patrons this place kept, I wasn’t surprised. I looked like trash’s trash, covered in soot and grime, with a fresh scar on my neck still healing and bloodstains who knows where. Probably looked like I’d been the recipient of a failed lynching.

“We go back a ways,” Roo said. “I do apologize for his state.”

“Yes…” Her lips pursed, eyes the color of wheat ready for harvest, giving me another once-over. Her nose crinkled like she’d smelled a donkey’s fart. “I’m afraid I can’t permit anyone looking like this, even for you.”

“Don’t worry. We’re here for downstairs,” Roo said with a facial gesture that concealed something.

Her eyes went wide. “Is he…?”

“He’s something.”

This time, she gazed upon me with curiosity rather than disgust. Made me want to pull my duster closed.

“Alright. Get going, then,” she said. “And next time, bring the riffraff through the back way, you hear?”

Rougarou retook her hand. “But then I wouldn’t get to see you, mon coeur.” She rolled her eyes, then headed off to speak with the bartender. Why use the back way when he could remind the city folk of his terrifying presence? Ace used similar tricks. There is power in fear.

“Never been to a brothel with a dress code,” I remarked.

“The Arlington is what they call a ‘five-dollar house,’” Roo said.

I smirked, sparing another glance at the blonde serving drinks. “You get what you pay for.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

With a nudge, he led me across the back of the living room, footsteps clacking on oak. All eyes were on me—and that was saying something with the other candy on offer. Roo fit in, but I most definitely did not. One man shared my particular stand-outtedness. He was in the corner without a woman within grasp, just watching the goings-on while he puffed on a cigar. Took me a second to recognize him. Then he lowered his hand, revealing that port wine birthmark on his chin. The marshal from outside Laveau’s cottage, out for a little leisure time, it seemed.

Figures. You find me a man; I’ll show you a sinner. It’s amazing any of us ever makes Heaven at all. I can just picture God lounging by the pearly gates tapping his toe, waiting for the first man in a millennium worthy enough to step inside. Bet the angels are just waiting with streamers and fireworks.

“Arlington runs a fine business,” Roo said as we passed into the kitchen. A few chefs were working hard preparing food that would’ve made my mouth water. Not a one bothered to look up. “But it’s a front. The real money’s downstairs. Tourmaline ensures none of it gets touched.”

“Can’t hurt to have a vamp in your pocket,” I said.

“Make no mistake, nothing happens in Storyville without her say-so. Arlington runs this house at Tourmaline’s discretion.”

“And what does happen downstairs?”

He stopped in the pantry, casting a sinister smile my way. “Hell on Earth.”

Pulling back a nondescript blanket of sorts, he stepped onto the platform of a dark, hidden lift. My gut told me not to follow. My brain too.

Yet, I’d already pissed off Rosa. And Irish, I suppose. Timp wasn’t here to talk to. What else would I do? What else was I but a Black Badge?

And as one, it was my duty to take this ride to the end. No damnation for me. Only if it came in another blaze of guns and glory.