To me said, “There were a number of goldsmiths plying their trade in New Orleans in the eighteen hundreds and fortunately, the city kept excellent records of addresses and occupations of every person in the city, including goldsmiths and silversmiths of any repute.”
Placing the Jesus on the table, he tapped his cell and pulled up a directory. “Thank you, Alex. You are quite efficient at discovering such things.”
A list of names appeared on the cell screen, not in alphabetical order, but easily searchable. Bruiser’s fingers swiped up and down and back and forth. “MD.” He made a soft hmmming sound. “The Delarues were a famous silversmithing family from the very early 1800s. M. Delarue was a well-known silversmith on Bourbon Street, and his brother or cousin, also M. Delarue, was a...” He shot me a quick grin, one that speared straight into my heart like Cupid’s arrow.
I remembered the catnip sex and almost leaned in for a very quick kiss, but that was not something my cat lips could do easily. And also, it was... weird. To kiss with puma lips. “The other M. Delarue was what?”
“A goldsmith at the same address.”
He applied his loupe to the silver key, turned it, anglingit, searching for something too small to see with eyesight alone. A small, satisfied smile curved his face. “MD. A similar maker’s mark is on the key. The Delarue family made both of these.” Bruiser studied the two dissimilar pieces. “Interesting.”
“Would someone know who this was made for? And if they’re still alive? Undead? Whatever?”
“Perhaps. May I take them and ask around at the local auction houses and the records departments? I have contacts at them all.”
Of course he did. He had been the primo of NOLA’s MOC. Now he was the Consort of the DQ. He knew how to make friends in all the right places, whereas I knew how to kill people. My skills were not the best way to make good contacts.
“Sure.”
He kissed me on my furry temple and left the room.
I trailed close on his heels, into the hall, my stomach growling. I said to Quint, “Let Deon know I’m on the way in for some—”
The gym door burst open and Angie was justthere. EJ beside her.
Quint with weapons.
I leaped in front of my godkids.
Quint scowled at me. “I wasn’t going to shoot them.”
“Right. Good.” Her hands hadn’t twitched to her weapons. I was the one still in protective mode.
“Ant Jane, Mama says we can have a bedtime snack. Come with us!” Angie said, grabbing one hand.
“Come wi’ us,” EJ repeated, grabbing my other hand.
Together they pulled me down the hall. “Deon is making real No’leens French toast,” Angie said, trying to pronounce it like the locals. “He calls it pan purdy, but it’s really French toast. And it is so good. You never ate anything so good!”
My stomach growled again. Deon’s pain perdu, also known as Lost Bread, was delicious. And I was pretty sure I could get mine with a pound of bacon.
I didn’t think about Deon’s stripper wardrobe until we entered the kitchen. Fortunately, when he came throughthe kitchen doors, he was wearing a chef’s coat over the corset. I’d had several good-versus-evil talks with Angie over the years, and just as many talks about my half-forms and my armor, and I had always told her that what I wore always had a purpose. I did not want to have to the Deon-in-a-corset talk.
CHAPTER 18
Tea Is for Milksops and Sissies
My entourage—crap, I had an entourage—and I were all back at the Queen’s Personal Residence in New Orleans with the children fed—even Cassy with Molly’s breast milk, which she had stored in the kitchen—and in bed upstairs by the time the Everhart adults returned. They had upgraded, strengthened, and reset the wards at the null prison, using the newest version of thehedge of thorns, the protection ward developed by the family. With vamp guards (a new dedicated team of twenty donated by the city’s clans) on the outside, and a coven of witches from north Louisiana hired to police inside the null house, the prisoners were finally safe from another rescue/escape attempt.
The Everhart witches had also strengthened the wards around the Yellowrock Clan Home, my personal home, and had given Wrassler the trigger for thehedge of thornsaround HQ. The witches I called mine, Liz, Molly, and Big Evan, gave me triggers to the updated wards at the freebie house, the clan home, and HQ, before they dragged themselves inside and up to bed, all three so physically andmagically exhausted, they were almost incoherent. Eli followed Liz to his room and shut the door. The other two Everhart witches were either at the clan home or HQ. They had rooms in both places, wherever they needed to crash and felt safest.
Come morning, all I needed to do was to get the heartbox and its contents back to the witches and into protection, but that had to wait. For now, with all my people safe, sleep was more important, and I had time to sleep in my own bed. Maybe in the morning, I’d be human-shaped for a while. I hoped so. The pelt was itchy.
***
Bruiser and I sat at the kitchen table in our freebie house an hour before dawn, drinking caffeine with our vamp guards: Koun, his tattoos in whirled, geometric patterns over his visible flesh; Tex, his six-shooters slung low over his hips; Kojo; Thema; and Tex’s dogs. I liked this team, especially now that Kojo and Thema were no longer so stingy with their blood. Just us with the vamps, while Quint, Eli, and Liz still slept.
It was chilly in the house, and when Tex’s dogs curled up on my human-shaped feet, the warmth was deeply appreciated. I unbent enough to scratch a head I could reach and the dog licked my fingers.
