On Midnight Wings

18 CONSEQUENCES

HE’D FUCKED UP. NO two ways about it.

Von took another long pull from the bottle of Jack. The bourbon burned smooth all the way down, but did nothing to ease the fury and self-disgust knotting up his guts.

When he’d scanned Merri’s mind back at the house, he’d looked for SB conspiracy plots dancing like sugar plums inside her pretty head and when he hadn’t found any, he’d thought there hadn’t been a need to look deeper.

He’d thought wrong.

The second scan he’d just done verified everything he’d overheard between Merri and her mère de sang: the Conseil du Sang planned to out-maneuver, outwit, and outflank both the Fallen and the Cercle de Druide and lay claim to Dante first.

Motherfuckers. Like Dante was a winning lottery ticket.

And what exactly had Merri’s mère de sang meant when she’d told Merri that the Bloodline needed Dante? A dark suspicion snaked through Von’s mind, one he didn’t care to contemplate at the moment.

Ain’t got time for this shit. Need to be heading for the airport.

Merri still sat on the opposite side of the counter, a tumbler of brandy in one dark hand. Thibodaux sat beside her, hooded eyes watchful.

“Look,” Merri said, “I haven’t told anyone that Dante’s missing or incommunicado. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Von shook his head. “Nope. No brownie points for biding your time.”

“I wasn’t biding. . . . Jesus, I told you, I was sent on a fact-finding mission—”

“Spying. I’d call it spying,” Von interrupted, resting the rapidly emptying bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the bar. “And, yeah. I know. To find out how much Dante’s been messed up by Bad Seed so that the fucking Conseil can decide Dante’s future for him. Sound about right?”

“No, llygad, it doesn’t sound about right. Just because that’s why I was sent, doesn’t mean that’s why I’m here.”

Placing his hands on the counter, Von leaned in, bringing his face closer to Merri’s. “All right. I’m game, darlin’. Entertain me. Why you here, then?”

With a soft, frustrated sigh, Merri shook a cigarette from her pack of Djarum Black, then fired it up with a slim, silver lighter. The aroma of clove-spice tobacco crackled into the reeking air. “It sounds like you’ve already got your mind made up. So forget it.”

“Oh no. You don’t get off the hook that easy. Spill, woman. Why you here?”

Merri lifted her chin. “To get to know Dante Baptiste. To find out what he wants. And to give back to him what was stolen—his past.”

“Amen to that,” Thibodaux said. “But he shouldn’t watch that flash drive alone, y’hear?” He lifted his gaze to Von’s, expression grim. Shadows lurked beneath the surface of his blue eyes. “And not in one sitting. Hell, maybe he shouldn’t even watch it at all.”

“Maybe,” Von agreed. “But that’s for Dante to decide.” He slid the bottle of Jack across the counter to Thibodaux. The former SB agent flashed him a grateful smile. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he took a long, healthy swallow.

Von straightened and studied Merri for a long, silent moment. She returned his regard with calm, brown eyes. He’d found secrets in her mind, yeah, but no deliberate deception. Still, when it came down to the wire, would she follow her heart and what she knew to be right or obey her mère de sang?

“Why didn’t you just tell me all this to start with?” Von asked.

Shrugging, Merri blew a plume of clove-scented smoke into the air. “I meant to, but I was a little preoccupied. When were you planning on telling me that De Noir was Dante’s father?”

“I meant to, but I was a little preoccupied.”

A wry smile twitched at the corners of Merri’s mouth. “Touchè. But I gotta say—for a llygad, you’re one smart-ass mofo.” She tapped her cigarette against the ashtray, then added, “No offense.”

“None taken,” Von drawled. “I don’t get many compliments like that. Hard to believe, I know. Now, if y’all will excuse me, I need to get to the airport.”

“You want backup?” Merri asked, hopping down from her stool. “We—”

Von cut her off with a shake of his head. “Sorry, darlin’, can’t trust you.” He flicked a glance at Thibodaux. “Either one of you. I think your intentions might be good, but your loyalty ain’t to Dante. Until that changes . . .” He shrugged.

Frustration rippled across Merri’s face, then vanished. “All right,” she said. “I can understand that. Is there anything we can do here to help in the meantime? A way to start earning that trust?”

Von opened his mouth to say no, then reconsidered as he took in the club’s sorry state. “If you truly want to help, talk to Silver and Jack about how best to get this mess cleaned up and repairs started. They’ll know who to call to get the ball rolling.”

“Fair enough,” Merri said.

Outside, Von locked up the club as best he could, given the damaged doors, then saw Merri and Thibodaux off in the van with Silver behind the wheel. As he headed down the block for his Harley, keys in hand, he heard the slow, pendulum swing of nightkind hearts behind him. He stopped, suddenly remembering his appointment with Holly.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” Von said, turning around, “but something impor—” His words cut off when he saw who had joined Holly.

Two male nightkind in the formal black kilts, sweaters, and boots of the filidh guard, horizontal sword tattoos beneath their right eyes, flanked her. Von didn’t see any visible weapons, but then, they didn’t need any. Being llafnau, they were weapons.

“Looks like you’re skipping out on me again,” Holly said.

“I’m really sorry about that, Miková,” Von said, taking a slow step back toward his Harley. “But our meeting needs to wait one night. One night is all I’m asking and then I’ll head straight for Memphis—as ordered. You have my word.”

“The same word you gave me less than a week ago?” Holly asked, her threadbare Russian accent dropping into a deadly purr. “The same word you gave me not two hours ago? That word, Vonushka? You made me look like a fool.”

“I’m sorry about that too,” Von said, meaning it. “That was never my intention. But all kinds of shit has hit the fan, shit that involves Dante. You saw his announcement. You know what that means.” Von took another backward step. The bike was just behind him. “You’ve got to trust me, Holly. Just one night.”

“No. Not this time. You’ve worn my trust thin.”

Von whirled—

—and the street whirled with him. Spinning in a streak of night and orange gaslight, paving bricks and green shutters, stars and pavement. Darkness bled across Von’s vision. As the sidewalk rushed up to meet him, one thought pirouetted through his mind before darkness shut the show down.

Aw, crap. Motherfucking pills.