Page 23 of Hextreme Measures

Ofelia didn’t want to hear it. Pascal was pragmatic to the nth degree, however. He wouldn’t just let it go until she acknowledged it. “We’re not there yet,” she said finally.

“No, but we might get there.”

Ofelia blinked, then looked away. “Pascal, I don’t want to talk about that possibility right now.”

His eyes were a heavy blanket on the side of her face. Ultimately, he made a grunting sound and shifted. “Fine, we won’t talk about that right now. Just know that if it does become necessary, I will take care of it for you.”

That offer, which was meant to make her feel better, only made Ofelia feel worse. “I don’t want that to be her end. I … we have to save her.”

“We will do our best,” Pascal promised. “I’ll start asking around. I only know of one person who can help you at present, but I’ll find somebody else if I have to.”

“Who can help me?” Ofelia asked, sitting straighter. “Who do you know that has been cured?”

“Her name is Ellen Purcell,” Pascal replied. “She’s about 65 now, I believe. She was infected when she was in her mid-30s.”

Ofelia did the math. “So, she’s been well for 30 years.” She brightened. “She’s okay.”

“That depends on how you look at it.” The vampire shrugged. “I find her a bit melancholy. She tends to be a, what is it they call it? A Debbie Downer. Her glass is never half full.”

Ofelia pursed her lips. “Angelique’s glass is often half full,” she said finally. “Maybe she won’t be infected. She’s not an angry person.”

“She’s a siren,” Pascal replied. “They’re angry by nature. All throughout history, sailors referred to them as angry mermaids.”

“Only because they had it in their heads that mermaids were sexy and just hanging around to have sex with them when they were embarking on a long trip,” Ofelia argued.

“It doesn’t matter why they were deemed to be angry,” Pascal argued. “It turned into something of a self-fulfilled prophecy. Angelique is hardly the angriest siren I’ve ever met — not by a long shot — but she does have bouts of anger.”

“So does the Hulk.”

Pascal maintained his calm demeanor and just waited her out.

On a sigh, Ofelia closed her eyes. “I’m saving her no matter what,” she said finally. “I need you to help me do it. Please. I’m begging you.”

“I will help you,” Pascal promised. “I’m going to give you Ellen’s address and call her to tell her to expect you. I’ve heard her story multiple times, and it’s better that you hear it coming from her so you can ask as many questions as you need.”

“But you believe we’ll be able to save Angelique, right?” Ofelia pressed. “Tell me you believe it.”

Pascal’s hesitation didn’t make Ofelia feel better. Ultimately, he managed a smile, although it was wan. “I believe if anybody can save her, it’s you.”

It wasn’t what Ofelia wanted to hear — not nearly enough — but she nodded. “Give me the information. Then start chasing other sources. I am going to save her. I won’t stop until I do.”

“And that’s why I believe you will save her,” Pascal agreed. “You don’t fail your friends. You simply don’t have it in you.”

“I don’t,” Ofelia said. “I’m going to save her, and she’s going to be my maid of honor. I won’t settle for anything less.”

“Then let’s get started. I fear Angelique doesn’t have a lot of time.”

That was Ofelia’s greatest fear, too. “Give me the address. We’ll go from there.”

6

SIX

Ellen had a huge house in the Garden District. It wasn’t one of the biggest mansions, but it was far bigger than anything that could be found in the French Quarter. Well, anything that hadn’t been stitched together from multiple parcels at least. It was even bigger than the LaLaurie Mansion, which was saying something.

A woman in a modified maid’s uniform — it didn’t look like a Halloween costume, but it was still over-the-top with ruffled sleeves — opened the door once Ofelia had been cleared through the gate after introducing herself via intercom.

“Ms. Purcell is waiting for you in the parlor,” the maid said in a voice tinged with Bayou Creole.