Chapter 7

Thirty minutes later, we were parked near Jax Brewery and walking the few blocks to Café du Monde. Café Maspero's had a line a mile long wrapped around the corner block of Toulouse. Those waiting for platters of fried seafood, overstuffed po'boys, and the best French onion soup in town sipped on dollar strawberry daiquiris as they waited. My mouth watered, thinking of cold, salty raw oysters with horseradish sauce, but Maspero's was two blocks away from Jackson Square. Too far away.

A cacophony of noise that was distinctly the French Quarter filled the night—sporadic laughter, plates and glasses tinkling, jazz music, car horns, random shouts, horses clip-clopping as they pulled tourist carriages along Decatur, and the distant horn of merchant ships on the Mississippi River. Café du Monde wasn't as crowded as usual. A bearded man played an upbeat rendition of "When the Saints Go Marchin' In" on his saxophone at the entrance.

"Hmph. Wish they'd hurry," I mumbled.

"What's that, Drake?"

"Oh, nothing."

I squeezed past the smiling tourists dropping dollars and coins in his open case and beelined for a table on the outer edge of the awning. Malcolm followed. I winced as my stomach bumped the back of a chair right over my wound, but hid my grimace, not wanting Malcolm to notice.

"Didn't know you were a fan of this scene," he said from behind.

"Sometimes." I smiled tightly, scooting my chair away from bumping the table behind me. They crammed as many teeny-tiny round tables in this place as possible, and usually, every one of them was full.

Malcolm gave me a nervous smile. We'd never been anywhere but class or study group together. I hated lying to him. Worse, I hated using him, but who was I kidding? I wanted to know who this Kat person was. I'd just get a glimpse, and then I'd be satisfied. That's what I told myself, anyway.

"Order?"

An Asian woman in a white uniform wiped the remains of powdered sugar off the table.

"Two orders of beignets and café au lait," said Malcolm.

Within six minutes, we were served and enjoying the famous delicacy. Funny thing was, I usually did enjoy the ambiance of the Quarter and its distractions. Tonight, my eyes were peeled for one and only one person.

My Vessel senses prickled along my skin. I smiled inwardly because I could actually feel the slow change. I was becoming aware, as Jude had said. I could feel my Vessel Sense on a primitive level, some secret awakening tickling along the outer edges of my mind and body.

There were Flamma out tonight, but I was either too far away or they were good at hiding. I couldn't find them in the crowds, but I knew they were there. Still, I felt no immediate threat zoning in on me.

"I swear, it was the coolest thing ever. Taika Waititi is a freakin' genius," Malcolm was saying. "So, you want to go see the new one coming out?"

"I'm sorry?" I asked, sipping my chicory coffee.

"You know, the new Marvel movie."

"Sure," I mumbled, scanning the Square across the street.

"Awesome."

Malcolm bit into his fourth beignet, having finished his order, and moved on to mine. After all of my faked enthusiasm for beignets, I could hardly eat a bite. I was draining the last of my café au lait when I saw him.

Striding across Decatur like a man on a mission, he wore black jeans, a black leather jacket, and black boots. No matter his dark allure, something about him made everyone step clearly out of his way. I knew what that something was—eau de Jude.

Despite his magnificence, he emanated an aura of back-the-fuck-off wherever he went. My heart skipped a beat, even though I'd firmly resolved to keep my heart out of this. I'd decided Jude was entirely off-limits in the dating category, but he knew a hell of a lot more about what I was than he was letting on. I needed answers, and if that meant I had to resort to becoming the stalker in this relationship, well, then, so be it.

Oh hell, who was I fooling? Honestly, I just really wanted to see who this Kat person was.

I didn't see a sword hilt sticking up anywhere and wondered if my ability to see through the illusion had faded. Not likely. He marched directly toward the stairs leading up to the riverfront. Malcolm was still talking away, but I totally couldn't focus on whatever he was saying.

"Hey, let's go take a walk along the river. It's nice tonight."

"Yeah, sure," agreed Malcolm. His eyes brightened, and I hated myself a little bit more.

The riverfront at night was dimly lit, perfect for couples and lovers who wanted privacy on a moonlit stroll. A cool autumn wind nipped the air. The crescent moon hung low, cutting a sideways smile in the starry sky.

I felt sick deceiving Malcolm this way, especially when he slid a sweet smile in my direction, but my choices were limited. Out of nowhere, he took my hand as we climbed the stairs as if to guide me, but we both knew that wasn't why. His palm was a little damp, and I let him hold my hand, letting him believe what he wanted for the time being.

Ugh. I'm such a bitch.

Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of my hand in Malcolm's, I tuned in to the dawning sensation creeping along my skin. I was close to Flamma. An ethereal tendril wove out of that secret place within, wrapping a warm layer around my chest, spreading over the rest of my body like a blanket alight with electricity. It was the oddest sensation I'd ever felt, though it seemed to happen without me doing anything at all. I had no idea what this meant, yet at the same time felt protected.

As soon as we stepped onto the stone walkway along the riverfront, I saw them conversing closely near one of the many stone sculptures dotting the riverfront.

Though Jude was definitely a specimen to draw the eye, I couldn't help but gaze at the tall, slender woman standing next to him.

She must've been six-foot. Blonde hair braided tightly in a thick line halfway down her back and a pale face with wide, pretty eyes. She was dressed from head to foot in brown leather, including a duster jacket that hit her knees. Jealousy burned in my chest. I suddenly felt small and insignificant in my faded jeans, white knit shirt, and red denim jacket cropped short at the waist.

Malcolm guided me straight for them, but I pulled him to a stop.

"You're shivering," he said. "Are you cold?"

Malcolm wrapped me into a hug, rubbing my back. I didn't protest. Now I had an excuse to watch the two over his shoulder without moving into their line of vision.

My senses heightened. The smell of the muddy river mixed with saltwater from the Gulf wafted over me. The cool, humid air clung to my skin. And sound amplified to a ridiculous degree. I homed in on the one sound I'd come for—the conversation between the model look-alikes not fifteen yards away.

"What kind of signs?"

"You know very well what the signs are, Jude."

The familiarity with which she said his name twisted something in my stomach. To my utter disgust and that of my caged green-eyed monster, whose hair stiffened straight in the air, the woman's voice was husky and silky at the same time. She had a bit of an English accent, too, though watered down.

"And have you spoken to George about this?" Jude asked her.

Her eyes narrowed at the question. "No," she said tightly. "I don't need his permission to theorize, do I?"

"I never said you did."

Though she was apparently beyond miffed at the mention of this George guy, Jude had a very amused expression on that gorgeous face of his. The woman continued in a much more businesslike manner, which was more to my liking. "My region has been overrun by servants to a high demon, one of the highest. He's crafty, stays well-hidden, and not always here on our plane. He's the reason I'm here in New Orleans."

"He's come here?"

I heard something I'd never heard before in Jude's voice—a combination of excitement and anxiety. The blonde shook her head.

"No. His henchmen are here, though. Something big is going on. I think he could be—"

Suddenly, she went rigid, pulling a dagger lightning-fast from somewhere near her thigh. I froze. She sensed Flamma.

I glanced to my right and left, then back at them. Both Jude and presumably Kat were staring straight at me. Shock, then fury passed across those dark eyes I'd come to know so well. Without a second's pause, he marched in long strides directly toward me, his eyes cutting to Malcolm before landing furiously back on mine.

To say I wasn't terrified, as well as mortified for spying, would be a complete and total lie. Still, I held my ground, moving out of Malcolm's arms and pushing my chin up a notch. I was getting good at acting. I fleetingly wondered if I should switch my major to Drama, or maybe Politics.

Then he was there. Whoa. Way inside my personal space. And Malcolm's. Jet eyes staked me to the spot.

"Do you have a death wish?" His voice grated against my skin like sandpaper.

Malcolm pushed himself into the conversation. "Dude, excuse me. What are you doing?"

Malcolm made a hands-off gesture. He went to push Jude away but caught the look of death in Jude's eyes and stopped himself.

Holy hell! What was I thinking? I'd brought Malcolm up here based on my own selfish desire to get some answers, and now I might be responsible for his untimely demise. I could see the headlines now in the Times Picayune: Twenty-year-old Student Spontaneously Combusts into Pile of Ash, Source of Death Unknown.

"Answer me, Genevieve. Why are you here?"

"You know this guy?" asked Malcolm, trying to cut in on the staring contest passing between us.

"We were just taking a walk," I said, trying to keep my voice from quivering. "This is—"

"Lie."

"Jude, seriously, I was just—"

"Do you have any idea how dangerous this place is for you?" He made a sound in the back of his throat that could've been a laugh if it weren't for the expression of rage warring across his face. He glanced at my jacket with a shake of his head. "Little Red comes wandering in the woods infested with wolves."

He was so close now our toes were touching. I inched back a step.

"Hey, dude! I don't know who you are," began Malcolm, putting an arm between us, "but you better back off."

Jude fixed a glacier-melting gaze on Malcolm, standing at least a head taller. I swallowed, but there was no moisture in my throat. How had I gotten Malcolm into this?

"Kid," Jude annunciated softly and slowly, a sure sign all hell was about to break loose, no pun intended. "You need to remove yourself and run along home now. Alone."

He sounded as if he'd just dismissed Malcolm back to his playpen, an errant child being put in timeout.

"What?" Malcolm lowered his arm and turned to me. "You know this asshole?"

"Yes. Malcolm, um, this is a friend of, um, my dad's. A work associate. From the dojo."

I was stammering like an idiot. To say he was a friend of mine would've been laughable. Though he only appeared to be in his late twenties, he exuded maturity on so many levels. He in no way looked like a friend I might know from school, and for being a good liar, my brain was misfiring at the moment and not helping me come up with anything better.

Jude did not extend his hand in greeting. He did not welcome the introduction. He did not move an inch. As a matter of fact, I felt his presence swelling beyond the minuscule area where we stood, like a colossus breathing down on the pitiful people beneath his feet. He in no way appeared cordial or polite or even remotely human, for that matter.

I had to get rid of Malcolm before this became seriously ugly. I put myself between them, pushing Malcolm gently back.

"Thank you for the beignets and the company, but Jude can give me a ride home."

"I'm not letting you go anywhere with this guy," he protested.

Wrong answer. I heard another scoff behind me that was supposed to be a sort of laugh but wasn't.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm. This is my fault. My dad is kind of strict. There's been trouble with the family business and stuff. I'll let Jude take me back home."

When did I become such a huge liar? Trouble with the family business? Was I embroiled in the mafia now? Malcolm didn't know my dad, except from a distance. For all he knew, he could've been in the mafia. And Jude more than looked the part of the enforcer. I insinuated in my tone there were things I couldn't say, because, of course, there were.

"I'll explain to you later, I promise. I'll call you tomorrow?" I added lower, squeezing his hand.

Malcolm put his hands on my shoulders. I swear I felt two points of heat boring into the back of my skull. I wondered then about my "sixth sense."

"Are you sure, Drake?"

I nodded. He pulled me into a brisk hug, then let go, giving the man over my shoulder a hard stare. I watched as he marched back toward Jackson Square, descending the stairs with one last scowling glance over his shoulder.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I turned to face the executioner. I didn't speak. Just waited. He was doing that thing where he appeared to be dissecting my thoughts, observing every line on my face, trying to solve a riddle that perplexed him. Flinty shards of gold sparked in his eyes. A shot of relief washed over me. Any fraction of light in those obsidian depths was a good sign. Or so I thought.

"Why are you here?"

His voice had lost its edge. Well, let me clarify, the razor-sharp edge that could slice an oak into splinters. There was still the blunt steel swinging in slow, even strokes, threatening to cut me if I made a wrong move. I glanced toward the sculpture. She was gone.

"Who's Goth Barbie?"

His head tilted slightly to the left. His eyes narrowed, still glinting with golden stars.

"She's a friend," he finally responded. "Who's Schoolboy Ken?"

He evaded; a special talent he possessed by the butt load. Two can play that little game.

"He's a friend."

Jude smiled. A genuine smile with teeth and everything. My heart stuttered with the sudden shift in mood. His gaze traced the contours of my face, hair, shoulders, lower.

"At least you had the presence of mind to cast illusion. When did you discover you could use your ability?"

"Huh?"

Oh. I was pretty sure that was what the "warm blanket" was, but now I knew for certain. I felt it skimming along my skin, draping me from the inside out.

"Just now. It happened automatically, actually."

"Not automatically. Subconsciously. Your Vessel instincts are kicking in to protect you since your brain has apparently taken a leave of absence."

"Excuse me? Did you just call me stupid?"

"Stupid would imply you have no intelligence whatsoever. I am well aware that you are quite clever, so I would define this as either rebellious or apathetic behavior. Which is it?"

I made a disgusted sound while smiling inside at his backhanded compliment.

"What is it exactly I've done to warrant the label of rebellious or apathetic?"

"You're standing in the middle of demon hunting ground. This den of debauchery lures demons for hundreds and hundreds of miles. You are a Vessel, a prize above all prizes for a high demon. The illusion you cast would certainly fool a lower creature, but not one in the upper hierarchy. So either you are being rebellious in disobeying me, or you are simply indifferent to keeping your soul intact. Which is it?"

I felt the blood drain from my face. Maybe I was stupid. No. But I wasn't being rebellious or apathetic about my well-being. My green-eyed monster lifted her head with wide eyes to remind me why I came, but I glared at her to keep her hissy mouth shut.

"Okay, you said not to go out alone. I wasn't alone. Malcolm was with me."

Did he really just roll his eyes at me?

"You might as well have been stripped naked, hanging from a balcony on Bourbon Street and screaming ‘Come and get it.' That boy could have done nothing if you were spotted by any form of Flamma."

Now that was an image I didn't want in my head. I was slightly disturbed it was in Jude's. Switching gears quickly, thank you very much.

"Well, you didn't explain any of this to me. Perhaps if you were more forthcoming in explaining all of these rules, I'd make better decisions," I said, feeling the color coming back into my cheeks.

"You are right about that. I will certainly be outlining the rules more clearly so you'll not misbehave in the future."

"Misbehave? Who do you think you are? My overprotective brother? Never had one. And I don't need one now."

He moved even closer. I started to step back. A strong arm shot out, gripping the top of my shoulder. His thumb pressed gently along the side of my neck over the cuff of my denim jacket. Surely he felt the quickening speed of my pulse. Was that his intention?

"No. I am not your brother." His hand shifted underneath my hair, his fingers curling around my nape. His possessive grip sent a shiver down my spine. "Nor do I want to be," he emphasized with a deep rumble. "However, I am your protector, whether you would choose me or not. If you value your life, or at the very least, your eternal soul, then you must trust me and do as I say."

Speechless, I nodded, unable to think clearly for the moment. His fingers tightened around the back of my throat, his thumb stroking my pulse in a strangely soothing manner. I can't begin to describe how distracting that was.

"Good." His gaze slid to my lips. I wished he wouldn't do that. Or maybe I wished he would. Often. My thoughts spiraled in a million directions, unable to move in any coherent way. I tried to cut the tension crackling between us.

"Demons have a hierarchy? Like a class system?" I was aware I was nearly whispering, my questions sounding feeble and irrelevant.

"Yes. There is a hierarchy in heaven. There is a hierarchy on earth. There is a hierarchy in hell. That is the way of the world—every world."

"I don't know the difference between a lower and a high demon. You've told me little about them, except for the fusing thing."

He nodded in agreement. Small victory, but victory nonetheless. He still hadn't pulled away. His thumb trailed down over my collarbone. Since the moment he touched me, a pervasive warmth had slipped in over my own protective blanket, draping down over my chest and limbs.

"So, Little Red wants to play in the deep, dark woods," he mumbled almost to himself. His dark gaze feral, his grin flashing white teeth. "Let us go straight to the wolf's den, then."

His hand dropped to mine, swallowing it whole. The mantle of electric warmth continued to spread, sealing to my body like a glove. It didn't feel suffocating. On the contrary, the sensation comforted me like a cozy fire in the dead of winter.

Jude pulled me toward the stairs. I took two steps to his one. "Wait, where are we going?"

"I had an appointment tonight. You might as well come with me. Actually, this turn of events will be quite enlightening." He gave me a wicked grin. "For you."

The sudden image of a mischievous child dangling a minnow over a shark tank popped into my head.

"What kind of an appointment?" I didn't like the sound of this.

"As you said, I have not been as forthcoming as I should've been," he said in an evident tone of mockery, leading me across Decatur along the left side of the Square.

"You didn't answer my question."

Evasive bastard.

"Smile. You are about to get many answers to many questions. I am going to introduce you to a high demon."