Page 29 of The Curse of Blood and Silenc

DuPont’s mouth turned up in a cold smile and hunger flickered in his eyes. I could smell the evil. Whatever was rotting in DuPont had been part of that girl’s death and set me up to be the villain.

I kept my gaze on DuPont. “What’s your point, Flanagan?”

DuPont slipped in front of Flanagan. “Interesting timing, wouldn’t you say, Santi? Considering our sources place you and your two associates here at a meeting with Keir Rankin and Trystan Hunter at that very dock last night. What time was that meeting, Mr. Santi?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Nine o’clock. Why?”

Flanagan pulled out his phone, scrolled through it. “According to the harbormaster’s log, Rankin’s yacht didn’t dock until eight p.m. The meeting lasted until eleven. That leaves plenty of time for...” He glanced up, his eyes flinty. “Other activities.”

“We found this near the girl’s body.” DuPont reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold ring with a ruby. I recognized it immediately. It had been my father’s. “This yours, Mr. Santi?”

I didn’t answer. DuPont was trying to set me up. How did the foul thing get into him? I gathered my powers of compulsion, let them slide through my mind like ice water, and pushed them toward him. It should have felt like silk against his consciousness. Instead, it hit something rough and ancient, something that shouldn’t be there. And in that brief contact, I got a name—Petar Dragan.

Rage exploded behind my eyes. Of course the treacherous bastard would have a hand in this—first Serenity's kidnapping, now this thing wearing DuPont's skin. My fangs ached to descend, my power begging to rip through the room until I had answers. But with Flanagan watching, I could only stand there, centuries of practiced control keeping my mask in place while my mind raced. How deep did Petar's betrayal run? The DuPonts were old blood in New Orleans, their family tree spreading through the police force like roots. If Petar had given this demon access to one DuPont, he could have given it access to them all. Every officer with DuPont blood could be a potential vessel, waiting to be filled.

Flanagan stepped in front of me, square and solid. “Mind telling me how Ms. Lane fits into this? And you didn’t answer my partner’s question, Mr. Santi: is that your ring?”

I could feel the noose tightening around my neck, but I remained cool. Not-DuPont had orchestrated this perfectly—the dead girl, the ring, even using these particular detectives. It knew Flanagan already suspected me from the previous murders. More importantly, it knew exactly what I was. I couldn’t act against DuPont without revealing myself to his partner.

“It looks like my ring, but mine is locked up in my safe.” Each word came out measured, controlled. Behind Flanagan, I saw DuPont’s black eyes flash—not out of hunger for blood, but seeing the game we were now playing. The thing smiled, and something twisted beneath its skin. “Would you mind producing it?”

“As I told you, I have a meeting.” Let the creature think it had me cornered and its little scheme was working. “If you want to see what’s in my safe, you’ll have to produce a warrant.”

“All right, if you want to do it the hard way,” DuPont grinned, his flesh stretching unnaturally over whatever lurked inside him. “We’ll get a warrant.”

“Very good. Until then, I’ll have to ask you to leave my home.” I wasn’t looking at Flanagan. My gaze was still focused on DuPont, and I let my power surge forward like an arctic wind, invisible to human eyes but unmistakable to the thing wearing the detective’s skin.

DuPont’s eyes turned pure black and he hissed, too inhuman to pass as normal, but Flanagan was already turning toward the door. In that split second when his partner’s back was turned, DuPont’s face contorted, flesh rippling as something pressed against it from within. Our powers clashed like steel on steel, and the air between us crackled.

Flanagan stopped as if he had felt something and turned. Instantly, the creature in DuPont contained itself and gave Flanagan an innocent smile that turned my stomach upside down.

Flanagan cleared his throat. “We’ll be in touch, Santi.” He clearly wasn’t buying my story, and he looked at his partner uneasily, as if he realized something was different with him.

He’d better be careful or he’d end up like those girls—drained and dead.

I escorted Flanagan and the thing to the door. After I shut it, I turned to face Dimitri and Enzo. “Trystan is behind this. We’re going to end it. No more games. No more politics. It ends now.”

I glanced at to Enzo, my voice carrying a lethal edge. “Get Elena and Gianna.” He nodded and disappeared down the hall. I looked to Dimitri, who was already on his feet. “Tell me what you sensed.”

“Besides the fact that thing was wearing DuPont like a cheap polyester suit?” Dimitri’s attempt at humor couldn’t mask his tension. “It reeked of old magic. So old that it shouldn’t exist anymore. And...” He hesitated, which was unlike him. “It knew things. About us. About you. I could feel it reading everything in the room.”

I pressed my palm against the door where I could still feel traces of the creature’s power lingering like oil shimmering on water. “Trystan must have been planning this for longer than we thought. He’s not just working with Petar—he’s found something ancient that can break my compulsions and steal memories.” My fangs descended fully now that no humans were present. “Call Keir. I want to know if he knows about a demon playing dirty in the French Quarter and how Serenity fits into the game. And get me whatever you can about Trystan’s movements in the last month.”

Chapter

Sixteen

Serenity

Balthazar escortedme down to our training center. I glanced at the doors as we passed and wondered if Steven or Louis—or both—were imprisoned here. Each door held secrets—and probably horrors I couldn’t imagine. The air grew colder with each step we took deeper into the plantation’s belly.

“We’re going to continue working on this healing power of yours.” Balthazar opened the door with an elegant twist of his wrist. “But today the subject won’t be me.” There was something close to glee in his tone that made my skin crawl.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I gazed into the room. A young woman was sprawled on the floor, lying in a puddle of blood. Her dark hair was matted with it, her skin so pale it was nearly translucent. One arm was stretching toward the door, as if she’d been trying to crawl to freedom. She wasn’t more than twenty, wearing a torn sundress that might have once been yellow. Her chest barely moved with shallow breaths, each one a desperate fight to stay alive.

I looked at Balthazar in horror. “What did you do to her?”

“She’s not dead.” His voice was casual, like we were discussing the weather. “But she’s close. Most of her blood has been drained.” He stepped nearer, his breath cold against my ear. “It’s a test. Save her, and you prove your worth. Fail...” He let the threat hang over me like a knife suspended on a thread.

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