This Wicked Game (6 page)

“Almost as gorgeous as you.” His voice was low, his eyes hooded with a desire Claire recognized from the times they got a little too carried away.

She smiled, but it only lasted a second. “Wait . . . What am I going to tell my parents?”

The light seemed to drop from his eyes, his jaw tensing. “I’ve taken care of it. Sophie helped me pick it out. She’ll say it’s a gift from her. No one will question it. She’s always adored you.”

Claire stepped toward him, regret clogging her throat, making it difficult to speak.

She touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

“It’s fine.”

“You know I love you.”

His laugh was bitter. “In secret?”

She swallowed hard. “I know how it sounds, but I’m protecting you as much as myself.”

He ran a hand through his hair, turning away. “Right.”

Claire searched for something to say. Something that would make him understand. That would bring back the magic of the moment before she’d reminded him that their differences were still there, just as glaring as they always were.

Then, the murmur of voices caught the air through the distant sounds of the band playing on the terrace. It was different from the conversation and laughter of the guests sitting at the outdoor tables. This was the sound of two people arguing but trying to keep their voices down.

And it was coming from behind the carriage house, just beyond the arbor.

Xander’s gaze met hers, a silent question in his eyes. She slipped off her shoes in answer and moved past him, out of the arbor.

They stepped carefully across the gravel pathway, the tiny rocks digging into the tender bottoms of Claire’s bare feet. The voices grew louder as they approached the big doors of the carriage house.

Continuing past the front of the old building, they stepped onto the grass that ran along one side, stopping when they came to the end of the structure.

The voices were louder now. Claire could hear some of what was being said, first by a man, his voice a low rumble, and then by a feminine one Claire recognized.

She swiveled her head to look at Xander, wondering if he recognized it, too. She could see in his eyes that he did.

And he should. Because it was the voice of his mother.

“T
he Guild wasn’t there when I needed it,” the man said. “And neither were you. Did you . . . accountable?”

Estelle Toussaint’s voice whispered. “I’m sorry . . . the rules, Max.”

Claire tried to piece together the snippets of conversation, drifting like smoke through the night. She leaned forward, peering around the side of the building. She felt Xander’s body against her back, his breath near her ear, and knew that he was looking, too.

It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. At first, she continued to hear pieces of conversation, but couldn’t find their source. Then, she made out a faint gray smudge near the trees behind the carriage house. She blinked a couple of times, willing her eyesight to sharpen.

It was Estelle all right, her silver gown a shimmery column in the darkness, just as Claire had thought. But as surprising as it was to see Xander’s mother having a secretive conversation behind the carriage house while her guests attended the ball, the identity of her companion was even more shocking.

Claire would have sworn it was the older man from Dauphine Street, the one who had arrived in the company of Eugenia Comaneci. True, it was dark. But there was something familiar about the tip of his head, the harsh set of his mouth. His chiseled jaw visible even in profile.

And that wasn’t all. Even as she tried to make out his features through the shadows, cold sweat sprang to her forehead. A wave of nausea hit her as the same dark energy she’d felt on Dauphine reached out from where the man stood.

When she dropped her eyes to his wrist, she was sure. The rope bracelet was there, the glint of a silver bead visible in the moonlight.

She looked back, her eyes meeting Xander’s shocked stare, still locked on his mother and the mysterious man.

“You are . . . treading on dangerous . . .” Estelle said, her voice a low hiss. “The Guild . . .”

“The Guild is a worthless group of entitled hacks so far removed from the origins of the craft that they can do little more than light candles and mix herbs. You’re more concerned with . . . and parties than . . . the craft for that which it was intended.” Even broken up as they were, his words were a condemnation, not only of their parents, but of all of them. Claire felt it like a punch to the stomach. “I’m not afraid of . . . I’m no longer under your control. You saw to that a . . . time ago.”

“Everything . . . this matter is under our control. If you don’t know that yet, you have a lot to learn, even after all this time.”

The man grabbed her arm as she turned to go. Xander’s body tensed. Claire had no doubt that if the man made one more move toward Estelle, Xander would be all over him.

“You mete out . . . as if there will never be consequences. It’s time for you to be on the other side of the equation,” the man said, his face mere inches from Estelle’s. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking our previous . . . buys you any consideration now.”

They stood like that, their eyes locked, for a few seconds before Estelle wrenched free, rubbing the place where his hand had gripped her arm.

She turned around, marching straight toward Claire and Xander. They flattened themselves against the building. trying not to breathe as she made her way past them. When she was gone, Claire leaned forward, peering at the place where Estelle had stood with the man, wondering if he had left, too.

But he was still there, staring in her direction.

Xander tugged on her hand, pulling her back toward the arbor.

Claire stumbled. “Xander . . . wait!”

He looked down at her as he propelled them over the pathway. “We can talk in a minute. I don’t want you anywhere near that guy.”

They exited the pathway onto a stretch of grass. The torches lit around the yard combined with the music to create a festive air. It was hard to believe just a couple of minutes before they’d been witness to what had seemed very much like a threat.

And maybe even a reference to some kind of affair.

“Champagne?”

Xander looked at the man standing at his shoulder, then took one, tipping his head and downing the liquid in one gulp before setting the empty glass back on the tray.

Claire touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

She had never seen him lose his cool. Not once in all the time she’d known him. The only time she’d even seen him upset was the few times they argued about whether or not to come clean with their relationship.

He shook his head. “Who was that? And why was he talking to my mother that way?”

Claire pulled him to the side. Several people at Allegra’s table glanced their way. “You know who it was. It was the man from Dauphine Street.”

He shook his head, his jaw set in a hard line of denial. “We can’t be sure of that. It was dark. It could have been anybody.”

“It was him,” she insisted. “He was wearing the same bracelet. He had the same face.”

“There’s probably more than one bracelet like that in the city, Claire. And we only got a quick look at the side of his face when we were spying on that house yesterday.”

She wanted to argue. To prove her point. But looking at Xander’s face, at the combination of anger and confusion in his eyes, she didn’t have the heart.

She took Xander’s hand. “You’re probably right.”

The rest of the night was tame compared to the beginning. They met up with Sasha and took advantage of the party by heaping their plates full of traditional New Orleans food, including delicious doughy beignets, almost invisible under heaps of powdered sugar. Later, she and Xander shared a few dances, and they ended up with a bigger group that included Allegra, Laura, and Charlie and William Valcour. Claire was surprised to find that she was actually having fun.

Xander went through the motions, but she could see the strain on his face. Every now and then, she caught him looking at his mother. Claire wondered if it was her imagination that Estelle looked flustered and distracted.

The crowd started disbursing around midnight. Claire managed a semiprivate good-bye with Xander in the shadow of the big magnolia tree at the side of the Toussaint house before she met up with her parents to leave. Then she was removing the headpiece from her hair and leaning back against the leather seat of the Lexus as her dad drove them home and her mother talked nonstop about everything that had happened at the ball and everyone who was there.

“That was so lovely of Sophie to get you the headpiece, wasn’t it, Claire?” her mother said, twisting in the front seat to look at her.

“Hmm-mmm.” Claire tried to smile, but the flush of contentment she’d felt only moments before was dimmed by the reminder that she’d hurt Xander.

Again.

That she was hurting him even now as she denied the gift was from him.

The next morning, she dragged herself out of bed and took a quick shower, dressing in shorts and a tank top before heading downstairs for her shift in the store.

They’d received a new shipment of supplies from the Caribbean, and Claire spent the morning cross-referencing the items in the boxes against the Kincaids’ purchase order forms and the packing slips from the wholesaler. Documentation from their suppliers was always sketchy, usually handwritten instead of printed on a computer, and it took Claire most of the morning to decipher the almost-illegible script.

Once all the paperwork was in order, Claire began unpacking everything, transferring it into the glass jars, canisters, and tins the Kincaids used to store ingredients on their shelves. The time passed quickly, her thoughts flitting from Xander’s disappointment in her to the conversation they’d overheard between Estelle and the stranger behind the carriage house.

If the man was involved in the requisition for panther blood, why was Estelle talking to him? And if the Guild had already identified him as the man behind the order, why had Estelle spoken to him in private instead of bringing him before the rest of the Guild leadership?

She’d just unpacked the last item and was breaking down the shipping boxes for recycling when the private door opened. Xander stepped into the store, closing the door behind him. He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looked at her.

“So,” he finally said. “Want to check out that house on Dauphine again?”