Page 60 of Fallen Court

“And a rougarou is a bad omen.” Corinne’s voice sliced through the growing tumult, sharp as a razor and directed at me. “Even the wolves can agree on that. If our magic is overtaxed, we can’t protect ourselves.”

A cold surge of dread trickled through me. But it would be suicide to show even a hint of weakness. And it wouldn’t be the first time the familiar had exaggerated a situation. I sat instead, stretching my arms behind my head and frowning. “Overtaxed? Is that how it works for you? Fae magic must have better stamina.”

Roark cleared his throat. A warning.

“A bona fides spell of this complexity can be quite draining,” Baptiste said before Corinne could respond. “Perhaps you could do better, Lachlan.”

“The prince”—the way Roark said it sounded more like the dick next to me—“is just trying to understand what happened.”

Baptiste raised her brows, looking directly at me. “Is that so?”

I glanced at the others assembled in the room. “What do the rest of you think?”

If Corinne was right, if the spell couldn’t be maintained, Roark and my sister would find themselves in charge of this mess sooner rather than later, and things didn’t appear to be working out between the two of them. No wonder he was smoothing things over. The creatures of New Orleans were usually at one another’s throats, but things had gotten to another level.

Ambrose sneered at Corinne, his disdain for her etched in every line of his face. “You can’t expect a familiar to have faith in true magic. The goddess abandoned them when they whored themselves to vampires.”

But a witch I didn’t know from his side of the table spoke up. “A spell I was working on for a client failed. A simple outage wouldn’t have caused that.”

He glared down at the betrayal. “Maybe you screwed it up.”

“I didn’t.” The witch sounded weary. “I’ve performed that spell a dozen times.”

Whispers snaked through the room, and I gripped the table’s edge, prepared to send another wave of shadows to silence the inevitable argument.

“Every meeting is like this,” Roark whispered beside me, his lips barely moving. It was a gods-damned miracle they’d managed the spell at all.

My hand twitched toward my suit jacket and the holster concealed beneath. One gunshot might solve a lot of problems. If only I could decide whether it should be a warning shot or an object lesson.

Before I could make the call, Étienne stood, slamming his fist on the table. “Enough!” The vampire looked my age, but he had hundreds of years on me. He’d worked with my father, and I got the impression he felt the need to look out for me. “We all pledged our loyalty to the Gage family.”

“We were forced to,” Ambrose said bitterly. “There was no choice when we voted to put that spell into place.”

“No,” Étienne challenged him. “Long before the spell, all our bloodlines came to New Orleans because it promised access to magic when we lost ours. When other creatures suffered, we thrived. Perhaps it is easier for some of us to forget that. They did not command our allegiance. We owed it to them.”

The tense silence continued as he settled into his seat, and I seized the opportunity. “You are all welcome to leave New Orleans if you choose,” I said, letting the undercurrent of threat slip through. “But don’t come back.”

Roark glared next to me, backing up the threat. The bona fides spell hinged on everyone’s cooperation. But I also knew these were literally creatures of habit, too entrenched in their own lives to abandon their homes to prove a point.

Silence stretched for a moment before Baptiste tapped the table. “It’s not only the spell stirring our people’s anxieties,” she said, shooting me a pointed look. “It’s the sudden lack of clover. They feel trapped. Perhaps if there was a way to escape…”

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Leave it to Baptiste to stir the pot.

My decision to halt the supply of clover didn’t sit well with everyone, but the drug had become far less recreational after Oberon introduced a deadly taint to the supply. Now New Orleans was without its preferred vice for the first time in over a century.

I leaned forward, locking eyes with her. “Stick to the restaurant business, Baptiste,” I said, dismissing her ploy with a casual flick of my hand.

“Our opium dens could provide a sanctuary in this time of need. Rumor is that even your people need relief.” Her smile was sweet, but I knew from experience that it was a trap. “Or are the rumors true? That your human objects to such vices?”

Shadows curled around my fingertips. I hadn’t summoned them, but I didn’t dismiss them, either. Instead, I scanned the room slowly, marking each soul present.

“I will only say this once. Those of you who value your lives will refrain from even thinking about my girlfriend. And as for the other rumors”—I paused, fixing Baptiste with a look that bordered on a threat—“they’re just that. Rumors.”

Her smile widened. This was nothing but a game to her. “We’ll see.”

Ambrose stood, grabbing his tweed coat from the back of his seat. “We agreed to the spell, but Second Parish doesn’t need help, especially from vampires. Keep your poison out of the Garden District or—”

“Is that a threat?” Baptiste asked.