CHAPTER TWELVE
OLD UNFAITHFUL?

As Lucy walked up the cobbled sidewalk to the House of Usher, she listened to the music that spilled out through the bars surrounding the old antebellum home. The structure had been renovated and turned into a club three years earlier, and it was now the hangout for the elite of the supernatural world—and it required a membership for all but special occasions like Friday the thirteenth or Halloween.

The music, rich and vibrant, was almost a living thing as it poured into the night from nearby bars. The air was fraught with sounds of zyedeco, jazz, and blues. Lucy loved that about New Orleans: the killer music and the mouthwatering food. Texas might be a state of mind, but New Orleans was a feast for the senses.

The inside of the club was cool and dark, and it smelled of incense and a hint of orange blossoms. A huge mahogany bar with brass rails stretched all along the ballroom floor. The floor was tiled in black and white marble, and couples were dancing and swaying upon it to a soft tune.

The club was packed to the rafters, and that made her search more difficult. Lucy sighed. “Everybody and their dog and cat is here,” she complained. But she hadn’t really expected anything else.

She spent the next half hour wandering through the house, studying the faces and looking for a creature with violet-colored eyes and a scar on one cheek. And perhaps she was also hoping for a detective with eyes the color of an arctic sea.

She also did as her boss had bade her do, mingling and mixing whenever she could with the elite of the paranormal world. After about twenty minutes, Lucy found herself chatting with one of the blues’ undisputed kings. His name was Holiday, and he had a way with the sax that should be declared illegal. He was also a werewolf, the head of the Pirate Alley Clan. Maybe, just maybe, if she played her cards right, she could get him to do her show.

Unfortunately, Holiday had had too much to drink and was being a little too frisky for her comfort. As his hands latched on to her buttocks for the fourth time, Lucy tried to brush them away…only to feel a strong wrist and hand touch hers. Glancing back, she found herself staring into Val’s face.

“Val!” she said, her heart pounding.

He gave her a look of angry disgust, then went about sending Holiday off with a flea in his ear about treating a lady with respect. Just seeing Lucy with the lecherous wolf made Val feel as if someone had poisoned his Bloody Mary.

Turning back to Lucy, he gave her a dark look. “What’s gotten into you, cherie? Why were you letting that fur ball feel you up in public?”

“Letting him? A lot you know! I was removing his hands from my butt, you ass.”

But he just gave her his inscrutable look—a look that had used to infuriate Lucy when they were going out. He’d made it whenever she tried to make an important point that he felt was silly.

“I could have handled him,” she growled.

Val nodded. “It sure looked that way. And he could handle you. Another few seconds and he’d have had your dress up to your waist.” Val’s blue eyes blazed. Seeing Holiday’s hands all over the behind of the woman he’d once loved was bringing things to the front of his mind—feelings that were better left buried.

Glaring, Lucy pointed a finger at him, retorting, “I’m a big girl, Val. I can handle myself.”

He saw the pulse beating rapidly in her throat. Once he had kissed that throat, bitten it. Her blood had been spicy rich, and he had never tasted anything so good. The thought made him angry. He was no fledgling vampire to be led by his emotions, by lust, but that was exactly what was happening.

“What were you doing with Holiday, anyway? Just because he can play a sax like an angel doesn’t mean he is one. That wolf’s a real dog when it comes to women. Strange, cherie, you used to have better taste.” And you used to taste so good.

Lucy snorted. “I suppose you mean you?”

Val said nothing, just gave her a knowing smile.

The smile clearly made Lucy angry. “I know what Holiday is, and I wasn’t flirting with him. I was just doing my job. My boss wants me to mingle tonight, to scare up some guests for the show.”

This time, Val snorted. “Scare up is right—or dig them kicking and screaming up out of the grave.”

“And just what does that mean?”

Val shook his head. “Well, you must admit your work’s not 60 Minutes.”

“It may not be now, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be if I got more serious-minded guests!” How dare he insult her show? Even if he was right—which he was— who did he think he was, judging her show like some Ebert and Roeper?

“No one of any importance in the supernatural community would be caught dead on your show—or undead,” Val remarked.

His words hurt, because Lucy knew they were the truth. She’d said the same thing herself. And he not only knew it was the truth, but knew that she knew it was the truth. She knew her show could be better, and having him say so really cut into her confidence. She glanced away, managing to hold her tears at bay. She didn’t want Val to see her cry again. He had seen enough of her pain.

Seeing Lucy’s reaction, Val knew that his careless words had cut her deeper than he’d intended. He’d been through some bad, some truly sad times because of this woman, the heartache of losing her never completely dissipating. Still, Lucy had once been the light of his life. So why was he hurting her?

Touching her arm, he apologized. “That wasn’t very nice,” he admitted. “I’ve got my mind on a lot of things going down tonight. Friday the thirteenth is not a fun, crazy time for us cops. We’re the ones who have to stop all the craziness.”

Lucy nodded stiffly. She was glad for his apology, glad for the words, but his comments still stung. If only they weren’t true. “You sound almost human,” she murmured, not meaning anything negative.

“Can’t have that, can we?” He grinned, much like his old self. She had a flash of memory, a flash of all the old reasons for loving him. “If I do anything human again, you be sure and let me know,” he added.

Lucy smiled. “I guess you’re working, then?” she asked.

“Unofficially,” Val replied. “Now look, cherie, it’s getting late. You should go home. It’s not a good night to be out and about. Too many feu follets.”

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head both in confusion and frustration, and Val couldn’t help but think that she would be perfect prey for an incubus. Their paranormal senses let them detect those wounded in spirit, whether it be loneliness, desperation, heartache, or disillusionment with life. Lucy needed to go home now and stay behind locked doors.

“Evil spirits. Monsters on the prowl,” he explained.

“Of course. New Orleans is a monster haven—or monster heaven, take your pick. But I’ve lived here two years and nothing bad has happened to me.”

Watching Val, Lucy wondered if she should say something about DeLeon. If she did, would he reveal anything about the youth-sponging monster? In a perfect world, she and Val would be partners. But then, in a perfect world they wouldn’t have broken up.

Feeling it was appropriate, she went for broke. “But, then, nothing like an incubus has been in town before, has it?” She waited for any sign of reaction.

It wasn’t long in coming. Val cursed a Cajun blue streak, then drew her back into a shadowed alcove. “Mon Dieu! Cést une erreur.”

Lucy gave him another irritated look. “English, please.”

“You’re mistaken.”

She snorted. “No, I’m not. I know, Val. I know about the Ka.”

He went even whiter than his usual vampire complexion. “How the hell did you find out? Who told you?” His suspicions had been right all along; this menacing mess of a miss had stuck her pretty little nose into something that wouldn’t necessarily get it bitten off, but more likely aged by four or five decades. Mais oui, that pretty little nose just might get her a pretty little headstone in the not-too-distant future—or at the very least end up permanently wrinkled like a Sharpei.

“I can’t reveal a source,” Lucy protested.

Val shook his head, glaring at her. “Serena Stevens! I should have known. My partner told me Serena acted funny when asked if she’d told anyone else about her attack.” He wished he had a switch to take to the broomstick witch for having talked to Lucy.

“This isn’t The X-Files, and you aren’t Fox Mulder,” he told her. “Stay the hell away from this, Lucy. It’s police business, and none of yours.”

“Why haven’t you told the public about it?” Lucy demanded, her mouth turning down at the corners. “Don’t you think everyone deserves to know that a new monster is in town? That a kiss can kill you. That, if you get lucky, you’ll only get a quick trip to Florida and retirement.”

“We don’t want John Q Public up in arms,” Val said. “We need to avoid mob mentality, humans with garlic and stakes attacking every vampire in sight. So…if a leak comes about the incubus, I’ll know just where to look,” he warned her.

Lucy started to argue, but Val was familiar with her tactics. He stalled her by adding, “We’re calling a press conference in two days to inform the public.” He didn’t like informing the public, because that meant the incubus would know his cover was blown, perhaps making him harder to track. In the worst case, the incubus would move to a different territory, making him impossible to catch. He’d have to work fast to catch the beast.

Lucy closed her mouth, appeased. The public was going to be warned. But that also meant a slew of bounty hunters would be on the prowl for the Ka, which decreased her chances of finding the youth-stealing critter first. She didn’t like that possibility.

“Just go home and stay out of this,” Val advised her sternly. He was hoping that for once Lucy would use what little common sense God had given her and back off. “No story is worth your life.”

“I know what I’m doing, Val,” she replied. “I’m not a beef-witted simpleton.”

The look he gave her said different. “Lucy, with your record you will either have the Big Easy in a big uproar, or end up with varicose veins and and a berth in a coffin. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I do so,” she snapped. “I’m a qualified professional.”

“You were a weather girl. Now you do a talk show that’s the joke of the paranormal world. Chet Huntley, Connie Chung, or Barbara Walters you are not. So stay the hell out of this!”

Every word stomped harder on her pride. “I might not be fricking Connie Chung, but I’m trying! And just why the hell do you care?” she hissed.

Val leaned against a column, staring hard at this hardheaded, distrustful, misguided mortal. She had a suspicious nature, which he abhorred, and she was so unruly that she created anarchy wherever she went. “You know what, cherie? I wish the hell I knew why I bother. I wish the hell I knew why I care.”

Lucy’s temper, which had been a roaring blaze, did a slow burn and then fizzled out as the import of his words struck. Val still cared! But just how much? Reaching out her hand, she gently touched his arm. “You do bother. You do care. Warning me? That tells me something.”

His deep blue eyes were smoldering, but he shook his head. “Trop retard.” Lucy opened her hands, palm up—she didn’t understand—so he went on: “It’s too late, Lucy. Too late. You didn’t trust me. You didn’t love me enough.”

“But I did, Val. Surely you can’t believe I didn’t love you. Why, I loved you like nobody I’ve ever loved in my entire life. You were my moon and my stars.”

“Whether you did or didn’t, it’s a little late now. That’s all spilt blood, not to be cried over. It’s in the past.”

Lucy leaned into his chest, staring up into his eyes with earnest intent. She could sense something new, something she’d never seen. Something she’d never allowed herself to see?

“Forget the past,” she said. “I’m listening now. I really want to know what happened that night. I really need to know.”

Touching a finger to her chin, he bent his head toward hers. “I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t forget that you honored me so little. Trusted me so little.”

She circled his shoulders with her arms, and reaching up and drawing his head down for a kiss. The kiss was scorching hot, burning with need and fever. Lucy’s insides heated up, too. She had so missed Val’s lips on hers. His soft, hot mouth, and the way he made her feel inside—all melting and sugary. This was heaven: being in his arms again, his lips on hers after four long hot summers and frozen winters. There was nothing but this moment in time. She wished it would last.

Val wanted to lose himself in these sweet hot passions that were unique to Lucy alone. But he couldn’t. He didn’t trust her anymore, not with his heart or his desires.

Lucy was jerked back quite unwillingly into the present by the sound of Val’s name being called.

“Ah, Val, I’ve been looking for you everywhere, and here you are. You said you’d be bored at the Monster’s Ball, but you don’t look bored to me.”

Both Lucy and Val drew apart. Val looked a little uncomfortable, and Lucy was dumbstruck. It was her: the slutty, villainous vampiress who had vamped Val! Lucy hated her, despised her, wanted to kick her blood-sucking butt from there to Fort Worth.

The woman seemed amused. “Val—aren’t you going to introduce me to the lady you’ve been kissing?”

Val looked put out, but reluctantly complied. He said, “Christine Armstrong, this is Lucy Campbell.”

Lucy glanced from Val back to the vamp. She was dressed in a tight golden dress that revealed most of her chest and her upper arms. The female vampire was muscular, but in a feminine and curvy way. The name Armstrong seemed to fit. This viperous vampiress could probably bench-press Lucy at least twice over.

Still, Campbell women being Campbell women, Lucy wanted to deck her—or at least pull her hair out or something equally humanly fiendish. This was the home-wrecker! And she was still around Val, while Lucy was long gone?

Her gaze hot and furious, it raked over the vampiress and then back to Val. “Damn you to hell, Valmont Du-Ponte,” Lucy said. “I almost bought your act. I thought maybe, just maybe, I had been wrong about what I saw that night!”

Lucy clenched her fists, her breathing tight, trying desperately to control the tears that were in her eyes and in the back of her throat. Once again, Val had branded her heart without even showing up for the roundup. More of her mother’s sage advice suddenly rang in her ears: “If a rattlesnake bites you once, you’re damned unlucky. If you get bit twice, your mama raised a fool.”

“What a laugh!” she continued. “You made a fool of me then, and I’m a great big fool now. Foolish, the Queen of Fools. I hope you’re satisfied, Mr. Two-timing Tick! I was ready to throw myself at your feet and listen to your explanations. If I had been wrong, I would have begged your forgiveness for being too suspicious. For not trusting you more. But you’re still with this woman! How dare you? So I’m human, and evidently my poor mortal blood isn’t good enough for you. So you cheat on me with this fang-faced viper? Well, Val, here’s a big surprise: I’m proud of my human blood and my talk show. I wouldn’t invite you on if you were the last bloodsucker on earth. So take that, you big leech!” And with those words, Lucy turned and ran off into the crowd, her eyes full of tears of hurt and humiliation.

Val and Christine watched her go, bumping into every person on the dance floor as she passed.

“She still loves you, mon ami,” Christine remarked thoughtfully. With a girlfriend like Lucy, Val would be up to his neck in trouble trying to keep up with her. Which was perhaps just what her morose partner needed—a lover who would shake him up like a blenderful of margarita, and keep him laughing as the nights turned to years turned to decades.

Val snorted. “And that makes everything all right? She didn’t trust me enough to listen to what I had to say. No, it’s all blood under the bridge now.”

“She would have listened tonight. She still will if you go after her,” Chris advised, recalling the look of terrible pain in Lucy’s eyes.

Val shook his head. “You can’t have love without trust,” he said tersely.

“Val, your love life since Lucy has been dead as a doornail. For eighteen months you tore everybody’s head off like a rogue werewolf. Talk to the lady. Work it out.”

Val growled. “Go stick your nose someplace it’s wanted, and leave my love life alone,” he said, and then he stalked off.

“What love life?” Christine called after him, shaking her head. The male species really was quite stupid at times, and quite stubborn. It was a good thing that females knew just how to handle them. Laughing, Chris dubbed herself the matchmaker from hell.

And she was about to do a little business.