Page 13 of Cheater Slicks

“Knock it off, Rollo.” Jean-Claude pinched Josie’s cheek as if she weren’t just as guilty of slinging insults. “The Talbots are Vi’s guests, and we don’t insult guests.” He cut Rollo with a glare. “And you know damn well it took me months to fill out that girl. She was skin and bones when she got here. Now look at her.”

About to crack wise again, Rollo thought better of it when Josie raised her eyebrows in a silent dare as one of the thorn-wrapped vines growing on the house tapped on the window over her shoulder.

“I could kill him for you.” Kierce stroked his hand down my arm. “I don’t mind.”

The offer, made with such sincerity, caused my breakfast to shoot down the wrong pipe.

“The hell?” Rollo whipped his head back. “You threatening me in my own home?”

A flat stare from Kierce convinced Rollo to ease back, though he tried to play off the retreat as his intention from the start.

“No.” I coughed into my fist, swallowing past the doughy lump in my throat. “That’s not necessary.”

“Hmm.”

Over the rim of my to-go cup, I studied his profile, and any hope he was joking evaporated on the spot. I had noticed Kierce slowly shedding the brittle façade of humanity concealing his rough edges when we first met. I would have to be blind not to see he was changing. Rapidly. But this possessive streak kept widening. And as it grew, so did that sharp edge of certainty that promised he would follow through with any threats he made.

The dorky taphophile I met at Bonaventure was morphing into the embodiment of his title.

The Viduus.

I would be lying if part of me didn’t enjoy it. A big part. I would also be lying if I said it didn’t worry me.

At the rate we were going, I wasn’t sure how much Kierce would be left when all was said and done.

“You can’t go around killing everyone who insults Frankie,” Josie protested. “You can’t hog all the fun.”

A huff of laughter broke the tension in Kierce, allowing me to relax against him again.

Metal squeaked behind us as the elevator doors rolled open, and Pascal swaggered in wearing Matty.

I wasn’t sure, but I thought maybe I remembered overhearing them decide to share a room when they walked in after their patrol. Space was at a premium with so many overnight guests in residence, so it made sense, but he had come from the garage.

“Francita.” He tapped the side of his mouth. “You’ve got a little drool crust right there.”

“With that sugar on her face,” Jean-Claude teased, “it’s going to stick like cement without a wet rag.”

“You couldn’t have told me sooner?” I aimed the question at Josie while wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, but she was too busy enjoying her stare off with Rollo to respond. “Where’s Pedro?”

“Waiting for us in the crypt.” Pascal clapped his hands. “Everybody ready?”

The reminder of what brought us here was enough to sober us again.

And byus, I mean everyone except for Pascal, who was primed to cash in on my promise of the deceased Fontenots showing him a good time on the town while Pedro was on Matty duty.

Before we went our separate ways, we each took turns sharing updates from the night before, but none of us had discovered anything promising.

The plan was to split into teams and canvass the Quarter, questioning spirits and those who saw them, to determine how widespread the affliction was across the city. And, if we were lucky, locate someone who had noticed any odd concentrations of spiritual activity. So, pretty much the same plan we had last night. But the earlier we began, the wider we could cast our nets before dawn.

“Rollo, can you show Pascal to the Fontenot mausoleum on your way to Jackson Square?”

“Might as well.” Lips thinning, he checked his smartwatch. “I’m heading that direction anyhow.”

Once we hit the garage level, Rollo peeled away from the group and aimed for the exit.

“Wait up, Rollo.” Josie made it plain she didn’t trust him not to ditch Pascal. “I’ll wait outside with you.”

“Hey.” I snapped my fingers to get her attention. “Any luck on the plant front?”

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