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  Back on the streets, I strolled, but I wasn’t rambling for the ambiance, I was hunting the rogue, tracing the path Beast had taken on her first tracking expedition. My nose is better than most humans for reasons I’m not entirely certain about, but I put it down to the number of years I spent in cat form. I had thought the memories of that time and my early life were gone, never to be recovered, but since Aggie and Leo had brought some back, in startling, three-dimensional, five-sense clarity, perhaps there were others, deeply buried. Really deeply buried.

  Three blocks from the river, I spotted Antoine down the block from the hole-in-the-wall eatery Rick had taken me to. The Cajun was wearing a T-shirt, baggy shorts, rope sandals, and dreadlocks in a thick ponytail knotted at his nape with rope. The hair threw me off for a moment, as it had been hidden under his big white chef’s hat before. He didn’t see me, so I stepped into a recessed door and watched. He was in a hurry, heading away from the river.

  Antoine took a direct route, striding hard and fast. A man with purpose. So I followed. Hands in pockets, I ambled up the street, around corners, keeping back, lazy and innocent but moving Beast fast when no one was looking, shadowing him in the tourist crowd. He ducked into a side door of the Royal Mojo Blues Company. “Well, well, well,” I murmured to myself. Did I follow? Not sure, and content to just watch, I sat at the tiny table of an outdoor café, ordered beignets—French donuts—and a hot chai despite the heat, studying the RMBC, lazing and calling it work. Nothing much was happening, but I liked the mélange of scents on the wind.

  I wasn’t far from the kill zone where the rogue had taken down the cops. That could be coincidence—the Quarter was small, after all—and Beast had noted a lot of vamp activity, but I didn’t know what to make of Antoine’s destination. While I people watched, I sweated and rested in the slow, heated breeze, eating three beignets, which left a dusting of powdered sugar on my shirt. Three more people entered the RMBC, two men and a woman in a long skirt and lots of dangling jewelry. Unlike Antoine, all went in through the front door, though the restaurant wasn’t open, a CLOSED sign in the front window. I was getting interested. I caught the eye of the waiter and held up a ten, which I left on the table for the bill and a comfortable tip.

  Antoine had entered at the side, near the outdoor seating, so I hopped the gate and followed through that door, which swung on silent hinges. Not breaking and entering exactly, but trespassing for sure. Inside, the heat, which I had somehow forgotten as I sat and sipped tea, was shut out, the air colder than the inside of a refrigerator. Chill bumps rose on my arms as I stood in the blackness and let my eyes adjust.

  The restaurant and dance hall smelled of old smoke, old beer, cleansers, a mixture of human and vamp scents, urine and sweat, fried grease, fish, beef, spices and peppers, and minty toothpaste, the scent dissipating as I waited. I followed the faint prickle of power on the air, Antoine’s power, familiar from the way it made my fingers tingle, as if the pads itched.

  I followed the power signature through the club as easily as a scent, leading me to the back. I could still smell Bliss’ blood, and an aromatic whiff of vamp blood, from the aborted staking, and another witch scent, a spicy and tantalizing perfume buried beneath the power signature. The scent perfectly fit the woman in the long skirt and jewelry.

  A door opened. The muted sound of a car engine passed, placing it at the front of the building. “Marceline? Anna? Y’all here yet?” It was the Joe. Rick. Which was just one coincidence too many. Or was it? Beast woke and rumbled quietly in my mind. I breathed in, sorting scents as well as I could in this form. Several vamps, including Leo, scores of humans, cigarette smoke. But no particular scent jumped up and screamed logic to me. Rick was getting closer. I had a feeling that if I just stayed put and asked what was going on, I’d be hustled off, so I looked for a hiding place. Nothing. No closets, no cupboards. I peered into the dark overhead. The ceiling was about fifteen feet above me, painted black, along with the exposed ductwork, wires, and fixtures. Beast liked the big duct, and I got an image of a huge tree limb on which to lie in wait for unwary prey. I could probably make the top of the duct if I jumped from the bar.

  Beast fast, I raced from the shadows and leaped to the bar top. Crouched on the balls of both feet and the knuckles of one hand. Scanned the room. And spotted a small ledge behind the bar. I gauged the distance, jumped, and caught the ledge with one hand. Swung toward the mirror. Why do all bars go for mirrors? So unhappy drunks can watch themselves cry? So drinkers on the prowl can look for likely sex partners? My fingers slipped and Beast swatted me mentally. My toe touched the mirror and I pushed off, using the swing to get my other hand on the ledge and lever my body up, the new ring cutting into my palm and finger.

  The ledge was eighteen inches wide, painted white to reflect tiny lights, which were off. Dust bunnies swirled around me, some big enough to be dust hippos. Beast sent an image of a rabbit the size of a small car. Good eating. I grinned and swiveled into a comfortable seat shadowed by, instead of on top of, the duct. From my vantage, I could see almost everything: tables, a curtained area behind the band’s stage, a long rack of individual keys behind a sign over the cash register. And Rick, walking into the room. The remembered stink of old cigar clung to him, and I wrinkled my nose. Fresh cigar smell is one thing. Old cigar is another thing entirely.

  “In here,” Antoine said, emerging from the back. Not from the hallway to the restrooms, but from the far corner, an opening I had missed in the dark of night and not visible from the shadows of the side door or over the bar. “Ricky-bo,” he said as the men shook hands.

  The front door opened again; Rick turned. A woman entered, a shawl around her head and shoulders despite the heat. The two exchanged a look as she folded the shawl. Her scent reached me and I tensed. It was the woman who slept with the rogue vamp. Surprisingly, she looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Had I passed her on the street? Not at Sunday church service, surely, not with her understated elegance. This woman would have stood out—blond, elegant, blue eyes and peaches-and-cream skin, silk and linen and delicate shoes, probably Italian. Big diamonds and gold at her ears and on her ring finger, along with a wedding band. Married. To Rick? Surprising jealously zinged through me. On its heels came the certainty that she was married to someone else, not Rick. The jealousy faded, but not my discomfort that it had emerged in the first place. Rick was too devious for my tastes. Too sly. Too . . . something. Which was why Beast liked him. All these thoughts in the time it took me to take a breath.

  “Anna,” Antoine said, his Cajun accent thickening as the power he wore like a second skin gathered and tightened about him. “Good, you come. To back.” Antoine locked the front door and skirted through the shadows to lock the side door. The three disappeared into the gloom down a short hallway. A door opened. Voices filtered out. The door closed. The place was well built—hurricane proof—and soundproofed. I couldn’t make out anything.

  I considered jumping down and eavesdropping, but from the way the sounds had echoed when they entered the room, there might be no exit from the back. I didn’t want to be caught trespassing, listening at the door. I dropped down, landing lightly on the bar along with a scattering of dust bunnies, which I swept to the floor on my way to the keys. Silently I thanked the nice person who had carefully labeled each, and I made off with one of three for the side door. I hoped no one would notice it was gone.

  It was only after I was out on the street, the stolen key in my pocket, that I considered the possible presence of cameras in the restaurant. Cameras that could have seen me leap to the ledge. Not a totally human move. I dismissed the worry that followed. The meeting in the Royal Mojo Blues Company was secret. Unlikely that cameras would be active to catch the attendees arriving or leaving. I was pretty sure I was safe.

  I was halfway home when I remembered where I had seen Anna. In the Times-Picayune. Anna was the mayor’s wife. Now, that was an interesting situation. Rick and the mayor and the rogue all with the same
woman. How in heck did she stand the rogue’s stink?

  CHAPTER 14

  Beast was born

  By dusk, I made it back to my freebie house, stripped off jewelry and sweaty, dusty clothes, and took four steaks and the necklace of panther claws into the yard. Though it was only marginally night, I shifted.

  Hungry. Ate dead cow. Stretched. High on sun-warmed stone, plopped on side, face on rock, whiskers tickling. Purring, as sunset painted sky many purples. Rain sprinkled on warm stone, damping pelt. Scents strong in shower. Mold, river, fish, cow blood, dogs, cats. Prey.

  Mouse came out to play, leaving tracks in mud. I softened breath. Watched it dart among stones. Eyes slit, lazy, content. Had eaten or would play with mouse. But hunting soon. Foolish to waste strength on mouse. No matter how fun.

  Full dark fell. Rain was constant and sluggish. A distant bell tolled. Time passed. Stirred, stretched again, pulling joints, muscles, shaking off rain. Studied garden. Prowled it. Marked it. My den. Leaped to wall, slipped into shadow. Padded along alleys and side streets, full of smells. Jumped over tall gates keeping humans out, pets in. Kept to shadows, following her scent back. Food/alcohol/mating place open. Club. Different music makers filled night with sound. Crowd smaller. Humans smelled lonely again.

  Slow, steady rain returned, keeping humans indoors. Prowled walls of building, finding dark place on side street. Cars parked. Sniffed out big one, owned by vamp. Leo.

  She commanded me, Hunt. Now. Huffed but rounded building at swift trot. When street empty, crept near front door. Made self small in shadow, tail tight, feet together, close. Pulled in scents, mouth open, lips pulled back. Found Anna’s and Rick’s trail, covered by many others, washed by rain. But I am good hunter. Could tell they had left within short time of each other, taking same route. Rick’s trail overlay Anna’s. Perused her. Prey. Followed down Royal Street, away from club. Trail scents overlapping. Rick stalking Anna. Hunched low, creeping, keeping to shadows. Cars passed, moving slow. Hid from each. Following. Hunting.

  Found their scent hanging on air. Mixed with smell of sex, sweat, chocolate, wine. Above. On ledge. A private balcony with an open door—her thoughts. A hotel, an expensive one. Room beside theirs contained only faint people scents. Empty. Dark. Doors closed.

  Single leap over balcony railing, tail spinning for balance. Table, two chairs took up floor. Dropped between them, bumping table. Pot rattled, rolled for edge. Rose fast. Caught in front paws, held still. Released pot, which settled. Crouching in dark, I/we listened.

  “You have to go soon?” Rick asked, his voice lazy.

  “Why? You miss me already?”

  “Always.” Lies in tone of words. Human lips made smacking sounds. Kissing.

  Silly thing, kissing. Licking better. But the sound made Jane sad. Angry. I hacked softly. Take him. Hunt him. She fell silent.

  Bed creaked. Scents of sex spilled into night: sweat, semen, hot breath, scent of flowers. Chemicals of Anna-human perfume, stink of detergent, fabric softeners. Also, faint, was part of mad one’s scent and blood. Anna-human had been blood meal to it recently, after it fed enough to hide rot scent from human nose. Though Anna-human water-washed, I still smelled it, hidden under chemicals.

  Ahhh, Jane thought, excited. It only smells of decay when it’s hungry. That’s one reason the scent signature is so complex. Why didn’t I figure that out?

  Jane not Beast. Not good hunter. I made quiet sound—sheeeeghhh—inhaling, pulling air over tongue, over scent sacs in roof of mouth. Anna-woman not fertile. Yet mated. Confusing humans. Strange. Scent of mad one was also strange. Had new, different parts. Still mad one but not. Confusing as humans mating out of season. Sound and smell of sex ended.

  She thought, Soooo. It eats flesh to hide whatever is happening to it that makes it stink like rot? But why is it rotting? You said it was sick. . . .

  “I still don’t understand why you want to talk to him,” Anna-human said.

  “Business, baby. A deal big enough to take you away from him.” Smell of lies on words. “You heard what my friends said today. We need to know about those land purchases.”

  She sighed, pouting. “I’ll try to get you in to see him.”

  Another lie. More kissing sounds. Stinks on wind. Sex without mating is always lies. Humans cannot smell lies. Sad.

  “I’d better go. It’s a long drive into the country,” she said. “Unless you have energy for . . .” More kissing. Low laughter. Smell of sex rising.

  Deep within, Jane went silent. Retreating. Beast thought of mouse in garden. Should have stayed. Played with it. Small snack, fresh and frightened. Better than this.

  Low moaning, laughter, whispers on air.

  She was angry. I growled, soft. I/we should hunt, kill man. Kill mate who was not. Some, in past, crossed into my territory, giving signal to mate. Appearing again, again, yet only teasing. Memory of claws raking rump of one. Blood welling in hide as he flipped. Dashed from my hunting land. I huffed in remembered satisfaction. She smiled, amused, less sad.

  Mating took long. Far longer than any beast’s. When it was over, Anna-human left bed. Showered off scent. Rick didn’t shower. Carried her scent on him. They left room. I listened, tracking them as they moved through hotel. A car pulled away from parking garage, her scent on it. Rick walked on street, passing beneath. Gone. I leaped to walkway below balcony. Followed, Jane’s interest rising. He walked two blocks, turned down side street.

  His bike rested in small lot. I crouched tight beside wall and small porch, watching, listening. Rick stood, half in shadow, half in light from tall pole. He held out piece of paper. Sleepy human hidden in dark reached out. Took it. Money. “Thanks, man,” Rick said.

  “Anytime, Ricky-bo. You get lucky?” Sex in question, leering. Hidden human stood, a lighter shadow on night.

  “Don’t I always?” Pride and amusement in question.

  “Details, man. I want details.”

  “Not this time, Paco.” Rick grinned, his teeth white. “Maybe next time.”

  “Come on, man. At least tell me if it was that high yaller gal. You say she put you down like a fighter pro. I didn’t figure you’d get lucky with her anytime soon.”

  “Not her.” Man-grin in tone. “But I’m working it. Part of the game, my man. Part of the chase. But the girl’s not high yellow. She’s Cherokee, I think.”

  “Yeah? I hear them Injun gals is hot after it.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Curled my lips, showing teeth. Jane not part of game.

  Rick bumped fists with Paco, dropped helmet over head, and straddled bike. Started it with turn of key. Over growl of machine, he said, “Later, my man.” Wheeled bike around, over uneven pavement into street. Bike’s roar grew louder. Turned north. Hunter instinct gave destination. He headed toward her house. Her den. Go home! she commanded. Fast!

  I leaped, whirled in midair. Threw self backward, into run. Raced through shadows and light. Streets empty. Dawn was close. I took unknown paths, following air currents moving through Quarter. Heart raced. Breath hot. Body hot.

  Big cats are fast. But in summer, only for short time. Better chases in winter, breath billowing, ice on whiskers. Here is always summer. Water splashed from puddles, rank with gasoline and urine. Tongue lolled, breath hard and hoarse, wet sounding.

  Smells flew by like wind: humans, dogs, cats, an opossum heavy with young. Food, spices, peppers, rotting garbage, stink from storm drains—warm, wet, full of dead things. Wanted to explore. Slink into dark. She refused. Heat built up inside. Breath like fire.

  Near Katie’s I sprinted. Bike puttered slowly closer. Slower as he entered my/our territory. Too close. Whipped down narrow passage. Leaped. Landed atop brick wall, running on narrow ledge, like limb but flat. Birds squawked, fluttered, panicked in night. Bike died.

  Not dead. She had explained. Not dead. But not alive. Stopped.

  Dropped over wall. Landed on big rock. Breath heaving. Hot. Too hot. Too hot. Rick rang bell. Knocked, s
ound loud through empty house. Must shift. Must shift. Now. Rick at gate. Opened lock. Light in his hand. Where did he get the key? Her worry.

  My territory. Mine. Pulled back lips to show killing teeth. Saw again paw swatting teasing male, drawing blood. Chasing teasing male from my den. Mine. Wanted to attack, but she held back. No. Wait. Watch. Panting, I dropped into shadow between rock and wall, curled tight, trying to stifle hot breath. Need water. Much water. Fountain tinkled softly. Teasing with need. As male cat had teased. Hated teasing.

  Light played over garden, back, forth, up, down. Boots crunched earth. He moved broken pot, spilling earth, soft sounds of pot, of soil sliding out like insides of dead meal. He paused. Squatted down. I raised head to see; nose and ears not enough.

  He was bent over, leg-sitting, torso high. Shining beam of light over place where I ate. Rain washed blood away? Should have . . . He touched ground. Put fingers in light. Watery blood on them. She tensed, watching. Rick wiped hand on dirt, stood, looking at garden. I dropped low. Light and footsteps moved away. He left, locking gate after.

  Raced to fountain and drank, drank, drank. Found her form in memory and shifted.

  Heat steamed off my naked body in the warm, wet night air. The muscles in my thighs and calves cramped where I crouched on the boulder. Sweat broke out on me in huge puddles, pooling, rivulets running down my spine and between my breasts. Through my hair, tangling the strands. Nausea and hunger warred in my belly, cramping there as well.