On Midnight Wings

33 NIGHTKIND AND CATS

THE TANGY AROMA OF honey-and-whiskey-barbecued pork ribs permeated the air inside Aunt Sally’s Tavern & Heavenly BBQ, thick enough to taste, alongside the buttery smells of skillet-fried corn bread and dark, foamy beer.

Annie and Merri had grabbed a booth near the rear of the tavern, probably the only one available, given the surprising late night crowd. Sliding in beside Annie, Silver made introductions as Giovanni sat beside Merri with a murmured, “Bella.”

Merri gave him a cool, professional once-over, her dark eyes drinking in details Silver suspected he would’ve—and probably had—missed. “Look like you could use a drink,” she said, handing him her half empty bottle of Dixie Crimson Voodoo Ale. “Rough night?”

Giovanni slanted a wry glance at Silver before returning his attention to Merri. “Sì. But it’s starting to improve,” he said, raising the moisture-beaded bottle to his lips and taking a long, grateful swallow.

“Go on and finish it,” Merri said. She pulled a pack of Djarum Black from her jacket pocket. “I’m going outside for a smoke.”

Giovanni scooted out of the booth, denim squeaking against vinyl, and stood so Merri could slide out and leave. Once she had, he sat back down again.

“Okay. So spill—” Silver began, only to be interrupted by a cheery female voice.

“Here’s your pork special, sugar,” the waitress said, resting a heaping platter of sauce-slathered ribs, collard greens, and corn bread in front of Annie. The aroma—spicy and sweet and savory—filled the booth. “Anyone else need anything? More beer? You fellas need menus?”

“No menus, thanks,” Silver said, “Just a round of Abita Amber.”

“You got it, sugar.” With a wink, the caramel-skinned waitress sashayed away. Once their beer had been delivered in frosted mugs, Silver looked at Giovanni. “One more time,” he said. “Your inside source—the one working for Dante. Spill.”

“She’s an SB agent,” Giovanni replied, voice low. “And my sister. Caterina Cortini.”

“Shit, you’re that assassin chick’s brother?” Annie said, eyes wide with surprise. “She mentioned that her mother was nightkind, but I didn’t realize that her entire family was too. She never said a fucking word about that.”

Giovanni shrugged. “Why would she? She was adopted into a vampire household as a toddler. For her, it is the norm and not worth mentioning.”

Silver glanced at Annie. “The chick you told me about, right? The one in Oregon, at the motel?”

“That’s the one,” Annie confirmed. She tucked her napkin into the front of her tee, grabbed a sauced-up rib and tore into it with her teeth, making happy little humming sounds as she chewed.

“So who sent you to offer Dante help?” Silver lifted his mug to his mouth and took a long swallow of the smooth, malty brew. Hunger nudged him like an elbow to the gut, reminding him that he needed to feed.

“The high priestess of the Cercle de Druide,” Giovanni replied. “Renata Alessa Cortini—my mère de sang. I’m to offer Dante support and guidance and protection from those who would use him.”

Silver snorted. “Yeah, and that’d be everyone—from those ass kissers gathering across the street, to the Fallen, to the average mortal Joe—once they find out what you already know, that Dante’s a Maker.”

Giovanni flashed a pointed glance at Silver from beneath his dark lashes, before his gaze flickered over to Annie. His tone was light, despite the warning seeded within his words. “I don’t believe this is information a mortal should be privy to.”

“Too late, asshole, this little mortal’s been all privvied up,” Annie said, her voice even despite the irritation scorching the sweetness from her scent of vanilla, lavender soap, and nicotine. “My sister’s Dante’s girlfriend, so, yeah, I know what he is. And he scares the holy living shit out of me. You should be scared too. I’ve seen him knock fallen angels from the fucking sky and turn them to fucking stone.”

“Where is your sister, bella? And Dante?” Giovanni said, leaning across the table, his pale face lit with a predatory curiosity. “We thought perhaps that Dante and his household had gone underground following the rumored shootout and the very real club fire. But why would your sister leave you behind?” He flicked a look at Silver. “Or Dante, you?”

“Heather and Gorgeous-but-Deadly are out and about,” Annie returned, not even blinking. “No one’s been left behind. And as for street rumors or rumors of any kind, dude, never listen.”

Silver had to admit she was good, damned good. She had him convinced and he knew she was lying. Yet all Giovanni had to do was slip inside her mind and ferret out the truth for himself—just like Lucien had done.

Just like that shape-shifting fallen angel did to you, kissing you with lips like Dante’s, peeling back your defenses.

“She’s right,” Silver said, the hard edge in his voice shifting Giovanni’s penetrating gaze away from Annie and to himself. “You ain’t gonna score points by accusing us of lying. And if you ever hope to meet Dante, you need to be talking to me, not grilling Annie.”

Giovanni blinked, raked a hand through his hair. “Ma naturalmente. Ti prego di perdonarmi. I meant no disrespect”—his expression soured—“I’m afraid my dealings with Guy Mauvais have left a bad taste in my mouth. My apologies.”

Silver shrugged. “There’s your problem right there—dealing with Mauvais.”

“I was supposed to bring Dante Baptiste a gift,” Giovanni said with a sigh. “But Loki’s presence aboard the riverboat made that rather impossible.”

“What gift was that?”

“The head of Guy Mauvais.”

“Forget it, man. Find something different. That bastard belongs to us.”

“Seriously?” Annie asked, staring at Giovanni. “A motherfucking head as a motherfucking gift? Nightkind are just plain weird. Or maybe they’re cats. How is that different from a tabby magnanimously dropping a mouse butt at your feet? Well, okay, yeah, a person’s head is way different from a mouse butt, but still . . .”

“No, not so different, bella,” Giovanni murmured. “Perhaps we are cats.”

Silver sipped at his beer, wondering what he should or shouldn’t tell Giovanni, wondering if he could risk trusting him, when he saw two men in jeans and light jackets walk into the tavern, paper to-go coffee cups from Cafè du Monde in hand. Authoritative strides and posture. Clean-cut. Com sets disguised as Blue Tooth units curving around an ear on both men.

Undercover agents.

Those Shadow Branch eyes and ears that Giovanni had mentioned earlier.

And they’ve been right across the goddamned street this entire time. Watching. Listening. Recording. Maybe even eating chips and drinking and taking notes while Heather’s father did his thing.

Maybe they even knew who’d grabbed Dante. It couldn’t have been an SB snatch, otherwise Giovanni’s sister—SB assassin and Dante’s spy—would’ve passed the word along to her brother. Or to Von or Lucien or someone.

Unless she’d been dropped from the info loop. Or been made.

Silver stared, blood pounding through his veins, as one of the men, tall and dark-haired, pulled open a door marked TENANTS ONLY near the restrooms. Both men stepped inside. Before the door swung shut, Silver caught a glimpse of a shadowy staircase leading to the apartments above. Footsteps thudded against wood risers, the sound a faint and temporary zydeco back beat.

The tavern’s front door opened, then Silver smelled nicotine and cloves as Merri walked inside. She stopped beside the booth, her gaze also on the door marked TENANTS ONLY.

“You see them?” she asked, voice tight.

“Sure did.”

“What is it?” Giovanni asked, his words followed by a knowing, “Ah.”

Gaze still fixed on the door, Silver said in a low, flat voice, “You knew, right? Because your sister told you the fuckers had rented a room upstairs.”

“Sì. It was information I’d hoped to hand over to Dante. But,” Giovanni added after a thoughtful pause, “perhaps ending this particular little problem will make an even better gift than Mauvais’s head.”

Feeling a gentle nudge against his shields, Silver thinned them enough to admit the Italian’s sending.

<Shall we hunt, fratello? Spill blood together?>

Hunger, sharp as a straight razor, gleamed in Giovanni’s hooded hazel eyes. Silver’s own hunger awakened and, judging by the knowing smirk on his lips, the Italian saw the same straight-razor gleam in Silver’s eyes.

“Bad idea,” Merri said, scooting into the booth beside Giovanni, effectively blocking him in. “You take these guys out, the SB will know that their surveillance op has been blown. I can guarantee you they won’t shut it down. They’ll simply move it to a different location. And amp up their security. You won’t solve anything. Right now, you know exactly where your enemies are. Better to keep it that way.”

Giovanni sighed, the hunter’s fire in his eyes dimming. “She’s right, bello.”

“Those bastards upstairs might know where Dante is,” Silver said, holding Merri’s gaze. “Hell, maybe they watched the whole thing unfold. I can go up there and rip it right out of their minds.”

Giovanni went still. “Watched what unfold?” He looked from Silver to Merri to Annie, his expression darkening. “Has something happened to the creawdwr?”

Silver groaned in disbelief, slumping against the booth’s cushioned back. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can’t believe I just did that—spilled the beans. No torture involved. Lucien is gonna kill me.”

Annie, slab of corn bread poised near her lips, regarded Silver with smug blue eyes. “And you thought I’d be the one to blab, didn’tcha?”

Merri raised her hand. “I know I did. Glad I didn’t bet on it.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Silver repeated, raking both hands in frustration through his hair. Once Giovanni learned the truth and passed it on to his mère de sang, Silver had no doubt that the entire Cercle de Druide would know as well.

The secret was unraveling.

“Tell me what’s happened,” Giovanni urged, leaning against the table. “I give my word that I will do anything and everything possible to help. But if you keep silent, I can do nothing.”

Silver saw honest concern in Giovanni’s hazel eyes, heard it in his voice. Time to roll the dice. Trust him or stake him. But first, a little insurance. Silver tapped at Merri’s shields and the former SB agent thinned them immediately.

<If I don’t get the answer I want,> Silver sent, <snap his neck. By the time he heals and is back on his feet, we’ll be long gone.>

<Will do. What answer do you want?>

<You’ll know it when you hear it.>

Shifting his attention to Giovanni, Silver said, “Okay. But I need your word that it goes no farther than you until we get Dante back.”

Giovanni drew in a breath, considering. The fact that he didn’t immediately agree to the terms suggested sincerity to Silver, that Giovanni actually valued his word. Sitting beside the Italian, Merri sipped at her beer, her casual demeanor deceptive. She was a coiled cobra.

Giovanni slanted a sideways look at the petite former SB agent, before returning his gaze to Silver. A knowing smile brushed his lips. He nodded. “You have my word. I will keep to myself anything and everything you confide in me—until Dante is safe. Besides,” he added in a low voice, “I’d hate to be so rude as to force bella Merri to abandon her beer in order to stake me. Or would she shoot me?”

“Who says I can’t do both?” Merri murmured.

Giovanni held both hands up in mock surrender. “Not me.”

Tension uncoiled from Silver’s muscles. Picking up his mug, he drained it, then leaned forward against the table and started talking. He skipped over most details—like Dante’s slipping between the past and the present and his lack of control over his power—and sketched events in broad terms, finishing with, “Something went wrong with Lucien’s search for Heather, so now we’re just waiting for him to haul his winged ass from Gehenna with a new and improved plan B.”

Fire burning in his eyes, Giovanni opened his mouth, then snapped it shut when a sudden buzzing noise—like the world’s largest bumblebee—vibrated into the air. Annie twitched, startled. Reaching into her jeans pocket, she yanked out her cell phone. She frowned as she read the caller ID.

Leaning in for a look, Silver saw: C Cortini. Wait. As in Caterina Cortini? Why would she be calling? His heart skipped a beat. Holy shit. Maybe she has news about Dante. He nudged Annie’s knee with his own. Answer it.

“Want me to put it on speaker?” Annie asked, wiping her barbecue-sauced fingers on a napkin before picking up the cell again.

Silver shook his head. “Don’t want any eavesdroppers. Besides, we’ll”—he nodded at Giovanni and Merri—“be able to hear just fine.”

“Nightkind supersenses,” Annie grumbled. “Must be nice.” Thumbing the Talk button, she said, “I hope you have some good fucking news for us.”

“Annie, thank God. Listen to me, okay? I need to speak to De Noir or Von.”

“Holy shit. Heather,” Silver said, sitting bolt upright, pulse racing, as relief swept across Annie’s face, lit her blue eyes. He snatched the phone from her hand.

Some good news at fucking last.