“The joys of being mated to a demontre. Let’s go inside. Barion needs to be introduced.” At those words, the driveway was suddenly empty. The ancestors had all gone into the house to look at the food and criticize it. One of the joys of being an ancestor was that they got to tell their offspring how bad they were at cooking.
Jon and Barion followed Grann into the generous hall with the dark blue tiles on the floor and the crème wallpaper with the French lilies in gold on it. She led them through to the great dining room where the living family was cramped with the ancestors. Some of them were half in and half out of the walls and the huge, honey-brown table and others were hovering around the living members, passing right through them in their jittery flowing. Good-natured curses were thrown around—having a ghost pass through you wasn’t bad, just strange enough to make you wish you could scratch yourself on the inside—and all eyes were on them. Grann stepped between them, taking their hands.
“Fanmi, this is our new brother, Jon’s mate, Barion.” She held up Barion’s hand like the referee in a boxing match, and the family cheered. Like a musician perfectly in tune with their instrument, Grann let the shouts go on for some time before she urged Jon and Barion toward two chairs in the middle of the long side of the table. With the sun streaming in from behind them, Jon knew they looked as if they were having a halo. It also put them in the middle of the family, many of whom started to sit down around the table while others hurried in the direction of the kitchen, no doubt getting all the food that the delicious scents permeating the house had promised. Grann sat down at the head of the table, overlooking the interrogation. Jon saw Amede and Gaspar hovering around her chair, their expressions too worried for the occasion. He decided to wait until after they had all eaten to find out what was going on.
“Hi, I’m Calixte, Amede’s granddaughter. It’s so nice to finally meet you, Barion. Can you tell me how many people you have killed?”
“Calixte!” Jon hissed, but she just smiled as if it were the most natural thing to inquire about a person’s kill count right after meeting them for the first time. Next to him, Barion chuckled.
“Hi, Calixte. Nice to meet you too. Do you want the official version, the one I’m telling my father to keep him off my back, or the one I stick to when I’m with my brothers to look good?”
Calixte’s eyes went wide for a moment. Barion had clearly managed to get her off balance. Then she tapped the long, bright yellow nail of her index finger against her lower lip. “I think I want the truth.” She grinned, obviously thinking she had gotten Barion, but his perfect mate just laughed.
“There never is just one truth with demons, my dear. It’s what makes us so unique.”
“Nice escape, demontre. I’m Refoel, Gaspar’s nephew, and my uncle wishes to know how you plan to make Jon happy?”
Jon shot a warning glare in Refoel’s direction, which the man ignored completely. Gaspar came floating over, probably decoyed by the mention of his name. Barion leaned back in his chair, one hand casually on Jon’s neck in a not-so-subtle show of ownership—Jon didn’t mind, not at all, he loved it—the other stretched out in front of him. The demon stared at his nails while he pretended to think about the question.
“Well, I have the financial means to take care of Jon for the rest of our eternity together, if that’s what you mean. As for the rest”—Barion looked at Jon so full of love that it almost hurt—“Jon is my mate. I’d do anything to make him happy. He wants to go to Hawaii for a day on the beach? Done. He wants me to cook for him? I know the best chefs in the world and my love for him runs so deep that I would never subject him to my cooking.” That got Barion a round of happy laughter, indicating he was winning the tough crowd over. “He wants me to cuddle him because he had a bad day? I’m a demon. I can not only cuddle him, but I’ve also got a built-in heating blanket as well. He wants the moron who made him upset pay? I know dimensions where bodies disintegrate faster than you can say wi.”
More laughter and an older woman named Edwige, a great-great-great-niece of Grann’s, leaned over. “We may have need of that particular skill of yours, Barion.”
“Ase, Edwige.” Grann’s voice was sharp like a whip, startling the three people coming through the doors with the first trays of food. The heavenly scent of Gumbo, fried pork chops and crawfish filled the room. Grann’s fierce reaction, though, took Jon’s focus from the food. He stared at her, then around the table, where he saw expressions carefully schooled to neutrality. A look at the hovering ancestors showed him concern bordering on fear. Something was very wrong, and there was no way Jon would be able to enjoy the family gathering—maybe ‘enjoy’ was too grand a word, more like not hate it—with something so sinister hovering over their heads.
“Grann, what are you not telling us?” Jon fixed her with what he hoped was a scalding look. From the corner of his eye, he saw Amede crossing his arms, huffing it out a bit for show, which totally ruined what little strictness Jon had managed to build up.
“Wi, Grann, why don’t you tell Jon and his mate what is going on?” The other ancestors as well as the living family members had gone completely quiet. It was obviously unnerving, telling Jon how very serious the situation was. He felt his anxiety levels rise. Barion took his hand and squeezed it.
Grann shot Amede a scalding look and the spirit instantly vanished with a little shriek. Jon realized he still had a long way to go when it came to intimidation. Then again, he now had a demon as a mate. He guessed showing people their place was now Barion’s job. Focusing back on his Grann, he saw a wary look on her face. She sighed and gestured for Jon to sit down again.
“Fine, I’m going to tell you. I didn’t want to ruin your honeymoon, now that you’re finally getting some.”
“Grann!” Jon knew he would have been beet red if zombies could blush. Next to him, Barion was doing his best not to laugh. Needless to say, he wouldn’t win any prizes for self-restraint any time soon.
“Oh, come on. I’m not blind, and your demontre is a hunky piece of sex candy.”
“Eye candy, Grann. You mean eye candy. And stop trying to distract me.”
Grann shrugged. “It was worth a try. Anyway, you see, there’s this voodoo priest who has recently moved to New Orleans. He’s from Haiti and an absolute asshole, dabbles in the blackest of magic. He’s also like a rabid bear in front of a honey comb when it comes to power.”
She didn’t have to say more. Jon had seen enough challenges in his time with the Honoré family to know how this would end.
“He has challenged you.”
Grann nodded.
“But you can beat him, can’t you?” Barion sounded worried, picking up on Jon’s anxiety through their mate bond. The family was still suspiciously quiet. The worried looks didn’t help.
Grann gave a deep sigh. “I’m positive I can beat him. He may have given himself completely to the darkest sides of our majik, thus amassing more power than usual, but I’ve been around a lot longer than him. I know all the tricks in the book—and quite a few outside.”
Jon furrowed his brows. “Then why are the ancestors so restless?”
“They sense he’s going to do something really bad. They can’t see more, and neither can I. It’s all hazy.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Jon didn’t really dare ask, but he had to know. He loved his Grann so much, and he couldn’t even think about losing her.
“I go in with all I have, see what he’s got and hope Papa Legba is still on my side.”
