Return of the Hunters (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 4) (19 page)

“Yeah, that’s me. Lord Gideon.” I shook my head, remembering how ‘Lady’ Sadie and I had joked about that while we were at the Mirror Mender’s palace in Arcadia. Everyone there had been really big on titles and royalty. “I’m not a noble, Reun,” I said. “I’m just a half-human who somehow got stuck with this DeathSpeaker stuff.”

Reun’s green eyes flared. “You
are
Lord Gideon,” he said, in a deep tone that brooked no argument. “You’ve fought side by side with the prince of both realms. You have defeated a queen, and gained the favor of a king. And you are not ‘stuck’ with anything.
You are the DeathSpeaker.
Do you understand this?”

I started to say no. But then I remembered the first time I met Reun.

He’d been working for Milus Dei. That made us enemies. I could still see him standing there—the all-powerful Seelie noble Taeral had warned me not to fight, because I didn’t have a chance against him. The one who’d just tossed my brother’s prosthetic arm on the ground in a gesture of sheer contempt, after beating him into terrified submission.

I remembered every word he’d said.

So. You are the DeathSpeaker. How does it feel, holding a power with such potential—great good, or unspeakable evil? You must believe yourself a god.

I’d answered
I believe myself pissed off, you sick son of a bitch.

And then I’d fought him to a standstill. Even though I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he was a thousand times more powerful than me. I did it before…and I could do it again.

Now I knew what I needed to out-god Legba.

“I’m going to need some money. Cash,” I said. “And find me a tailor.”

Reun stared at me for a minute. Finally, he smiled. “Aye, that’s the way,” he said. “Never doubt who you are—and never allow anyone else to doubt you.”

That was exactly my plan.

C
HAPTER 33

R
othchild-DuPont Couturiers, situated in one of the busiest sections of the French Quarter, looked and sounded like the kind of place I actively avoided. All upscale sophistication and pretentiousness, where anyone who walked in with so much as a whiff of street would be shamed into leaving by the thunderously silent disapproval of the highly trained staff.

And I was about to grace their presence in my borrowed t-shirt, swamp-grimed jeans, and clunky work boots that still had blood on them.

We also had a few thousand dollars. I had no idea how Reun and Denei had gotten that much cash, or the briefcase they’d stored it in, and I wasn’t going to ask. Five or six blocks ago, Denei had Zoba park at a curb and wait while she and Reun went into an unlabeled door across the street, between a novelty tourist shop and a restaurant called Voo-Doin’s Wine & Dine. And they’d come out fifteen minutes later with a suitcase full of twenties.

So that wasn’t remotely suspicious or anything.

At the door of the tailor’s, a discreet sign gave the hours as 10 a.m. to 7 p.m., closed Sunday and Monday, after-hours services available by appointment only. It was 6:40 now. I didn’t know how long it would take to tailor a suit, but I suspected the answer was not twenty minutes. I’d just have to make myself an appointment.

I dropped my glamour before we went inside.

The main room of the place was all glass display cases and polished black and chrome tables, with an occasional step rack holding select suits. Three or four customers, two salespeople on the floor, and another behind a podium-style counter to the right.

The blond man behind the counter wore a slate gray three-piece with a ridged white shirt and a rich maroon cravat. He barely glanced up from the receipts he was sorting through when the door opened. “We’re closing soon,” he said in flat, dismissive tones with no trace of a regional accent. “If you’re looking for a jacket and tie so the overpriced restaurant will let you in, there’s a department store down the street.”

I walked to the podium and waited until he looked up. The cold annoyance drained from his face by degrees, leaving startled disbelief. His mouth opened, but no words came out of it.

Zoba had the briefcase. He handed it to me, and I dropped it flat on the counter, scattering the receipts. “Dress me.”

It was like flipping a switch. “Of course, sir,” the man said, the haughty tone completely replaced with deference. His posture straightened, and he gave one sleeve of his suit a discreet tug—even though there wasn’t a crease in sight. As he walked out from behind the counter, he tried not to look like he was staring at the others behind me. “Perhaps your…friends would prefer to wait outside?”

Zoba made a sound. It didn’t suggest that he wanted to wait outside.

“Very well, then,” the man said quickly. If he had a handkerchief, he probably would’ve been mopping his face with it. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

He headed for the back of the store. As I walked after him, I noticed the other customers had suddenly decided they had more pressing matters elsewhere and needed to leave in a hurry. Preferably without going anywhere near Zoba.

I couldn’t help a small smile. Even in the heart of New Orleans, these people had never seen anything like us before.

Twenty minutes wasn’t quite long enough, but I was surprised at how quickly they finished my suit. It probably helped that all three of the staff members worked on me like their lives—or their commissions—depended on it.

They only freaked out a little when I took my shirt off for the fitting. Not in horrified sympathy, but in mute respect with a hint of fear.

Once it was done, Slate Three-Piece led me to a full-length mirror and practically held his breath while I looked. He didn’t have to worry. I’d wanted powerful and intimidating, and they delivered beyond my expectations.

My reflection almost scared me.

I hadn’t looked at myself without glamour since that single accidental glimpse, way back when I was practicing my Chief Foley impersonation the first time we went up against Milus Dei. I’d forgotten how different my true form was from the ordinary face I knew. My skin was the color of a newly dead corpse—ash-pale and on the verge of translucent, with a blush of necrotic blue beneath. My features were gaunt, my cheeks hollow. I had slightly longer limbs and a more slender profile. And my ears weren’t quite pointed like a full Fae, but they were close enough to be disconcerting.

Add to that a midnight black, formal funeral suit with tails, a double-button vest, crisp white shirt and shimmering black tie, and flawlessly polished black shoes, and I was a perfect living sculpture of a nightmare.

I was the DeathSpeaker.

“Excellent work,” I finally said. “Thank you.”

Under different circumstances, the collective sigh of relief from the staff would’ve been hilarious.

I left them to do whatever they wanted with the stuff I’d been wearing, which I wouldn’t be surprised if it involved burning, and headed back to the main room. Denei, Reun and Zoba had appropriated chairs from somewhere in the store and set them up right in the middle of the place. They stood up when I walked in.

No one said a word for an uncomfortably long time. I figured that was confirmation enough.

It was time to take on the god.

C
HAPTER 34

B
astien and Isalie were waiting for us on a bench beneath a sprawling oak tree when we walked into Congo Square.

Denei told me a little about it on the short drive from the French Quarter to Tremé. The square, located inside Armstrong Park, had been a place of power since the early 1800s, when it was designated as the only allowed gathering point for slaves to practice their religion. At the time it was considered the “back of town,” just behind the French Quarter and away from the sight of allegedly respectable people.

Here, voodoo practitioners and their congregations celebrated their temporary freedom on Sundays with drum circles, singing and dancing, and costumed rituals and ceremonies, a tradition that continued in the present time with more public demonstrations. In the earlier days, some people referred to the spot as Place des Nègres—or the more crudely informal Circus Square.

The brief history lesson turned my stomach. But she’d said it was also a place where slaves bought and sold goods, and earned money to buy their freedom.

Which made it an ironically appropriate location for what we were about to do.

Congo Square was a large, open space, paved with flagstones laid out in concentric circles and almost completely surrounded by greenery. Old-fashioned lamp posts just outside the borders of well-maintained trees, bushes, and reed plants provided some light, and the half-moon in a cloudless sky enhanced the glow.

We met the other two inside the center circle. Bastien was the first to react to my new look. “Damn,” he said, stretching the word out in a low, breathless drawl. “Color me wrong before.
Now
you is one scary mother.”

Isalie didn’t even try to correct him.

“All right, now.” Denei flashed a smile with a brittle edge. “You get everything?”

“Yeah, we set,” Isalie said, looking around the square nervously. “Denei…what’s gonna happen to us if this don’t work?” she half-whispered.

“Oh,
cher.
Don’t you worry about a thing.” Denei hugged her tightly for a minute. “We gonna be fine…jes’ fine.”

She didn’t let any of her siblings see her face, because it made a lie of her words.

My heart ached for them. I thought about Abe, and Taeral and Sadie, and maybe even Daoin. The others at the Castle. My foster parents, and the few friends I’d managed to make over the years. For most of my life, there was no one who cared whether or not I lived—and now I had all of them. The family I’d chosen instead of the one I was stuck with. They’d all be upset, and probably angry with me, if we died here.

But just like fighting Milus Dei to save the innocents they wanted to destroy, this was worth the risk. Because the people here with me were family, too.

“We gotta get ready.” Denei composed herself and stepped back from Isalie. “You two, wait here,” she said to me and Reun. “Won’t be but a minute.” The four of them walked over to the oak-shaded bench, gathered the bags and boxes that Isalie and Bastien had left there, and vanished into the bushes.

I let out a breath. Normally I would’ve shoved my hands in my pockets, but this suit wasn’t made for that kind of posture. I settled for folding my arms instead. “Any idea what they’re doing over there?” I said.

Reun shrugged. “She’d not tell me anything, save that we needed to come to this place.”

“Great. I love surprises.”

“I cannot say the same, in this case.” He smiled crookedly and looked like he’d shove his hands in his pockets too, if he had any. But he was wearing his usual Robin Hood-style outfit in forest green. At least he didn’t have any ridiculous hats to go with them. “Gideon…I do not think I’ll survive this,” he said quietly.

The pained conviction in his voice went straight to my gut. “You can’t think like that,” I said. “If you do, you won’t have a chance. You heard Denei, right? It’s all about belief.”