Page 61 of Cry of Blood and Joy
My breath caught in my throat, and the familiar taste of copper flooded my mouth as my fangs extended involuntarily. “Me? Why me?” The question came out as a growl, barely controlled rage bleeding through every syllable. “I don’t burn people.”
“Flanagan was insistent about it,” Rocco continued. His fingers drummed nervously against his knee as more fragments of memory began to surface. “He kept saying they had evidence, that it was solid.”
Chapter Forty
Enzo
The soft click of heels on hardwood announced Elena’s arrival before she appeared in the doorway, carrying an ornate silver tray laden with refreshments. The elderly housekeeper moved with practiced grace despite her age, balancing a crystal pitcher filled with deep crimson Chosen Blood, an expensive bottle of bordeaux, and an array of crystal glasses that caught the chandelier’s light like liquid fire.
“Mon Dieu, I think we all need some refreshment,” Elena said in her warm French accent, her kind eyes taking in the assembled group with maternal concern. She set the tray down on the antique coffee table, the crystal singing softly as it touched the polished wood. “Maybe Chosen Blood will help the prince remember better. He looks so pale, poor thing.”
The rich, metallic scent of the blood immediately filled the air—clean and pure, nothing like the grisly stench of violence that usually surrounded my work.
Serenity smiled gratefully at the housekeeper, her eyes warm with appreciation. “Thank you, Elena. Rocco and Steve needsomething first.” Her healing had taken its toll on her, and she gestured with a shaking hand toward the two recovering men.
“Oui, of course.” Elena moved with efficient kindness, quickly filling two crystal goblets with the dark crimson liquid. The blood caught the light as she poured, creating swirling patterns that were almost hypnotic. She handed the first goblet to Rocco, whose fingers were still trembling slightly from the aftereffects of the spell, then moved to Steve, who looked pale and weary despite Serenity’s healing touch.
Rocco accepted the glass with both hands to steady it, his fingers wrapping around the crystal like a lifeline. He brought it to his lips and drained it in several deep swallows, his throat working as the rich nourishment flowed through his system. Almost immediately, color began to return to his ashen cheeks, and the glassy look faded from his dark eyes.
Maybe the Chosen Blood would clear his mind. I found myself holding my breath, watching for any sign that his memories were becoming sharper, clearer. I needed him to remember everything.
He took a deep, steadying breath, setting the empty goblet down with a soft clink that seemed unnaturally loud in the tense silence. “Now I remember,” he said, his voice clearer and more focused than it had been since awakening. His gaze found mine. “Boudreaux claimed you killed her. Said you spoke with her at Sweet Babes.” He paused, his brow furrowing as he accessed the recovered information. “Gloria Stenson, I think her name was.”
Gloria Stenson. I remembered her—young, blonde, working the club scene. The memory flooded back with crystal clarity—Gloria’s nervous energy, the way she’d chain-smoked while spilling information about the trafficking ring, how grateful she’d seemed when I’d promised to put an end to it. And now she was dead, burned to ash, and I was being framed for her murder.
Someone was setting me up, and they’d chosen their timing perfectly.
FuckFuckFuckFuck
I slammed my fist into my palm with explosive force, the loud crack sounding like a car backfiring. Rose and Alice both flinched. The familiar heat of rage built up in my chest like molten steel. “Damn it. She’s the one who told me where Maximo was holding Joy and the other girls.”
“That’s not all,” Rocco continued. He set down his empty goblet with trembling fingers, the crystal chiming softly against the silver tray. “Maximo’s body was completely burned just like Gloria’s. No flesh on his bones either. A witness claims you’re responsible for both murders.”
Burned? That didn’t make any sense at all. I drained people then left them a dried up corpse. There was no fire, no burning. Was there an arsonist running around the city? Someone who liked to play with fire and was pinning their kills onto me?
I narrowed my eyes, feeling my fangs extend as predatory instincts kicked in. “What witness?” The question came out as a low growl that made the crystal glasses on the tray vibrate slightly.
Rocco pressed his palms against his temples, his face contorting with frustration as he tried to access memories that remained stubbornly out of reach. “I don’t know. Everything went blank after that.”
“That’s when the spell was cast on you,” Keir observed with clinical detachment. “Do you think it was Detective Flanagan who cast it?”
“No.” Rocco shook his head definitively, his dark hair falling across his forehead. “Everything went fuzzy when Captain Boudreaux arrived. Before that, my mind was clear.” He rubbed his forehead again, as if trying to massage away the lingeringeffects of magical manipulation. “It was like fog rolling in the moment he walked through the door.”
Angelo met my gaze across the room, his dark eyes loaded with understanding and anger. Flanagan had crossed Angelo, accusing him of murdering the girls and leaving their bodies discarded throughout the French Quarter. Angelo was never that sloppy.
“When Flanagan was here with Louis DuPont a few months ago, I remember DuPont saying something about someone in the police department pulling their strings.” He went perfectly still, his hands loose at his sides. “I thought it was someone in Maximo’s organization at the time. Perhaps it was Boudreaux?”
If Boudreaux was dirty, if he was working with Ari or whoever was orchestrating this nightmare, then the entire NOPD could be compromised. They weren’t just framing me for murder—they were systematically cutting off every avenue of help I might have.
“It would make sense that the police will be here soon looking for Enzo.” Keir said as his pale fingers drummed silently against his thigh. “I don’t believe this fire starter is human. I believe Ari has someone powerful in his organization performing these murders.”
I could hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. Calm. That’s what I needed to project, even though rage was clawing at my chest like a caged animal desperate for release. “Marsha?” Her name came out as barely more than a growl.
“It would make sense,” Keir agreed with a slight nod, his eyes never leaving my face. “For whatever reason, they’re systematically setting you up, making it difficult for you to get to her. Ari must have her for some purpose, a purpose we don’t know why yet. My guess is that this fire starter will be waiting for you at St. Louis Cathedral in the bayou.” His expression grew more grave, winter-pale features sharpening with concern.“We don’t know how powerful this fire magic truly is. Obviously, it can incinerate humans completely—reduce them to ash and bone—but we don’t know what it could do to one of us.”
I slammed my fist against the nearest wall with enough force to crack the expensive plaster, dust raining down like snow as the impact reverberated through the room. Several crystal glasses on Elena’s tray chimed in sympathy with the vibration. “That’s not going to make me stay away from the bayou,” I snarled through gritted teeth. “Joy needs me.”
The scent of my own blood filled the air as my knuckles split from the impact, but I barely noticed the pain.
