Page 24 of Redeemed
I relay the message to David, who immediately panics.
“My hair!” He shuts down Connor’s computer and darts into the bathroom. I sort through the stuff in my suitcase, looking for something that won’t show the wrinkles. Given the volume of curses coming from the wolf, he’s having an equally challenging time.
Despite the cursing, he looks good when he’s done. I give him a long up and down look, taking in everything from his artfully messy hair to the fit of his distressed jeans. “I’d rather stay here and strip all that off you, puppy.”
He crosses the room, moving deliberately, and stops when he’s close enough to touch. “Tony, Tony, Tony. If we had more time, you’d be welcome to do just that.” He stretches up so I can kiss him. “But let’s get the drama handled first.”
Grabbing another quick kiss, I agree. “Let’s get it over with.”
I let David deal with the Uber while I figure out a strategy. Delia Packard is older than Jacques but not old enough to terrify me. We’d met before, but it’s not like we ever sat down for a heart-to-heart. Vampires don’t do that. From what I know, though, Madame Packard doesn’t talk a lot and she’s not needlessly cruel. Still, waltzing in with a “How do I break up with Jacques?” is likely to get me killed on principle. On the other hand, I’ve really got no other reason for reaching out to her.
It might have been smarter to send Connor and David.
In the end I decide that unless Madame Packard asks me point blank what I want, I’ll let her do the talking and see what I can learn.
Turns out our hotel isn’t that far from the Musso and Frank Grill, which is a good thing because Jacques never shuts up and by the time we reach the restaurant, I’m ready for a straitjacket.
The neon sign out front says the restaurant has been there since 1919, and I can believe it. The vibe inside is heavy on the old school glamour, with red leather booths, polished brass, and trim waiters in bow ties. I drop Madame Packard’s name, and the maître d’ leads us through the house to a small room off to one side.
The private room’s walls are lined with bottles of wine and there’s a table in the center covered with a white linen tablecloth. Two open bottles of red wine are on the table and Madame Packard sits across from the door with her back to the corner. She’s wearing a midnight velvet jacket over a silk blouse that shows off her pale skin and her deep red lips.
David and I stop just inside the door, waiting to see what kind of greeting we get. Packard’s presence must block Jacques and my ears ring with the sudden silence. A man and a woman sit at the table with her. Both vampires. Both staring at us like we’ve grown an extra head or two.
“Who’s your friend?” the man asks. He’s sitting on Madame’s right, so not a junior varsity player.
“This is David Collins.” I address Madame Packard, ignoring the rest. “Thank you for seeing us on short notice.”
Madame Packard nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t invite us to sit. “Mostly I was curious. Why would Jacques Betancourt’s right hand want to talk to me?”
Right hand?“You flatter me.”
Her dark eyes assess me to an uncomfortable degree. “I’ve known Betancourt for a long time, and he’s always made a point of saying how much he appreciates your loyalty, how he relies on you to do anything he asks.”
I don’t respond, although a human would have been blushing with shame. That description makes me sound like a puppet.
“Interesting. You don’t like that.” Madame Packard leans back in her chair and her associates alternate between watching her and watching me. David moves close enough that I can feel the vibration of his growl against my arm.
“I owe Jacques a great deal.”
“Do you?”
Her gaze strips me bare and I realize too late that she must have some level of psychic ability. Which gives me an idea. Maybe she can figure out what I want without me saying the words out loud. Plausible deniability and all.
“I owe him what any scion owes their maker.”Although surely I’ve paid off my debt by now.
“Hmm. Yes. I would think so.”
She could be agreeing with either my words or my thoughts, or both.
“Have you created any children of your own?” she asks with an appraising tilt of her chin. “You could, you know.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Maybe you should. A vampire who’s strong enough to create others enjoys a greater level of freedom.”
“Is that why you won’t let me make a child?” the vampire on the right asks. He’s a bulky presence with a thick shadow of a beard.
Madame Packard puts a hand on his forearm. “I won’t let you make a child because you have the most appalling taste in friends. You’ll thank me when you’re not stuck for centuries with an utter imbecile.”
