I was about to dive deeper into the research when my phone buzzed with a text from Cyran. The message was brief. "Guest list update. Call when you get this." I hoped his relatives weren’t among the missing. We hadn’t gotten names.
"Cyran wants to chat," I announced, already dialing his number. "Given his timing, I'm betting it's not about menu changes."
He answered on the first ring, which never boded well. "Dani, thank you for calling back so quickly. We have a problem with the reunion guest list."
"What’s going on?" I put it on speaker phone so my sisters could listen in.
"Several of the old family branches have reported recent deaths or disappearances," Cyran said. "The Bellaire branch lost their eldest son last week in what the mundane authorities are calling a car accident. My cousin Evangeline Beauregard passed away in her sleep three days ago, despite being in perfect health. Not to mention the Fae live for centuries, as you know. And the Ashford twins—my great-nephew and great-niece, both powerful practitioners in their own right—have been missing for forty-eight hours."
He paused and sucked in a breath, his usual composure cracking around the edges. "These aren't coincidences. These are the old families of the city, the founding bloodlines that have been here since New Orleans was nothing more than a trading post. Someone is systematically targeting my family, and they're getting bolder."
I cross-referenced the names with my research, and my stomach dropped. "Cyran, every single family you just mentioned has direct bloodline connections to Les Gardiens du Voile."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. When Cyran spoke again, his voice was carefully controlled. "Les Gardiens du Voile... yes, I'm aware of the old society. But why would that matter? Their practices fell out of use decades ago. Most families don't even remember what their ancestors were involved in."
Phi grabbed a notepad and started scribbling frantically. "How many other Guardian families are on the guest list?"
"If we're talking about bloodlines with historical connections to the society," Cyran's voice grew more troubled, "approximately fifteen families. All of them have prominent New Orleans bloodlines with long histories in the supernatural community."
"And all of them are now potential targets," I said as my gut twisted. "Cyran, we need contact information for every remaining family. If someone's systematically eliminating Guardian descendants?—"
"I'm sending everything now," he interrupted. The rapid clicking of keys could be heard through the phone. "Before you suggest it, know that if we cancel the reunion and warn them, these families will scatter across the country. We'll lose any chance of protecting them as a group."
"And if we did cancel it," Kota pointed out with her usual cheerful pessimism, "we might be setting up a supernatural buffet for whatever killed the others."
We were damned if we do and damned if we didn’t. And the stakes were as high as you could get with people's lives hanging in the balance. "We proceed with the party," Lia declared before anyone else did. "It’s nothing new for us. We’ve had to make special security preparations and protective measures before. We will make Willowberry Plantation the most supernaturally secure location in Louisiana."
“Thank you,” Cyran said. “I sent the list. Let me know what I can do. I’m happy to call them and put them on alert.”
"It’s best if we make the calls to the families," I said as I pulled up the message with Cyran's contact list. "We need to gather information about their enemy. We also need to know exactly who's still alive and who might need immediate protection."
The next hour was a masterclass in supernatural crisis management. We divided the family contact list among us. I started dialing numbers with the kind of dread usually reserved for calling your ex after an argument about the kids. None of the individuals I spoke with had any helpful information.
However, a pattern became clear after the first three calls. The Destrehan family’s grandmother died suddenly last week of unknown causes. The Drake family’s son went missing and was last seen near St. Louis Cemetery. The Marigny family’s patriarch found dead in his study. He was surrounded by protective charms that had somehow failed.
"This is systematic execution," I told my sisters after hanging up from what felt like the hundredth conversation about recent mysterious deaths. "They're targeting the people most likely to have more knowledge of their history first."
"The ones who might know how to reinforce the binding," Dea muttered as she ran a hand down her pale face.
Before I could respond, my phone rang again. It was an unknown local number, which usually meant a potential client. Given our day, I was betting it was supernatural trouble instead.
I answered, putting it on speaker. "Six Twisted Sisters, how may I help you?"
"Is this Danielle Smith?" The voice was young, female, and shaking with terror. I went on immediate alert. Whatever this girl was dealing with, it was bad.
"This is Dani. Who's calling?"
"My name is Zoe Tran. I... I think I did something really bad. Something that let in something horrible." Her voice cracked, and I could hear her trying not to cry.
“How did you get my number? What did you do?” I asked.
"I called the supernatural hotline first, but my friend who works there—she told me to call you directly when I told herwhat happened. She said if anyone could help with this kind of thing, it would be you and your sisters."
Well, that was both flattering and terrifying. The supernatural 911 system we'd set up with the Council was supposed to handle most emergencies. If they were passing this directly to us, it meant we were dealing with something seriously fucked up.
Dre leaned closer to me and asked, "Zoe, where are you right now? Are you safe?"
We could hear sniffling through the tiny speaker before she replied. "I’m at the Lafayette Cemetery. I was trying to talk to my grandmother's spirit, but something else answered instead. It's still here, and I can't make it go away."
