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Grandmere wasn’t psychic, nor did she have a predisposition to premonitions like I did, so I wasn’t sure what to make of her statement. If she was about to climb on Desmond’s get some help bandwagon, I so wasn’t ready to listen to it. I’d need a lot of coffee before I’d let someone else question my mental stability.
Since I rarely saw Grandmere, and didn’t talk to her on the phone as often as I should, she didn’t have the same perspective on my functionality Desmond or Holden did. She might have some hints, but she didn’t see it all. So it was unlikely she would be calling with an intervention while I was in Paris.
“Something is bothering you,” I egged her on, sitting up in bed and checking the safety on the gun. I hadn’t reached for the weapon during my sleep, so there was nothing to adjust. That was a step in the right direction. I set the gun on the nightstand and rubbed sleep from my eyes.
“Did you send me a postcard?”
A pang of guilt speared me, because I hadn’t thought to send her anything at all, even though this was my first trip abroad. I tried to tell myself such a slip was acceptable. After all, I wasn’t here as a tourist, I had come to kill someone. “No. I haven’t had a chance to do much sightseeing yet. Sorry.”
“Non, I wasn’t asking to guilt trip you. I have received a postcard and it simply says, See you soon. But I was confused because it was not from Europe. The photo on the front is from St. Francisville.”
My stomach lurched. St. Francisville, Louisiana, was where I’d been born. It was also where my uncle Callum ruled as King of the Southern packs, and where my sister, Eugenia, and brother, Ben, continued to live.
But I couldn’t imagine Callum sending such a vague postcard, nor would it suit Genie’s style. I didn’t know Ben well enough to form an opinion on his mail habits, but it didn’t strike me as something he would send either. Yet, by discounting all three of them, I was left with no one in St. Francisville who might want to send Grandmere a cryptic postcard.
“Do you recognize the writing at all?”
“It looked the slightest bit like yours, which is why I wondered if you had sent it. Feminine, but not too frilly. It is hard to be sure with so few words.”
“Can you, I dunno, do a spell on it or something?”
She scoffed. “Oui, bebe, let me perform my who sent the letter incantation. Why didn’t I think of something so obvious?”
“Geez, it was just a question. You can do plenty of other stuff. It didn’t seem completely far-fetched.”
“My apologies, my dear. I am a little on edge over this. Something does not seem quite right about it.”
I wanted to set her mind at ease, but if I was being honest, I didn’t feel a hundred percent comfortable with the postcard myself. If it hadn’t been sent by someone I was on friendly terms with—and that was a limited list—there was a chance it was from someone who meant to harm Grandmere. My catalogue of enemies vastly outweighed my friends, and plenty of people might see my aging human grandmother as an easy target, in spite of her being an accomplished witch.
If the goal was to hit ’em where it hurts, then striking at me through Grandmere would be a perfect approach. I was actually surprised it had taken this long for anyone to seek her out.
I scanned the dark room, as if hoping to find a way to protect her. “Are all your wards intact?”
“I checked them last month.”
“Check again, just to be safe.”
“My wards are fine.”
“Check them again, please.”
She was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “You think I should be worried about this.”
“It might be nothing. But you didn’t move all the way to Manitoba without reason. And I’m not the most popular princess in the world.” In my case, princess wasn’t a mere turn of phrase. I was, biologically, a princess to the Southern pack. Unfortunately, I was also a technical Queen to the Eastern pack. Being werewolf royalty was more trouble than it had ever been worth.
Losing a supernatural title wasn’t as simple as moving away or breaking up. It seemed once you were part of a pack, you were pack for life. Whether I liked it or not.
“But you agree it is strange.”
“Yeah, I can’t dispute that. You don’t have any friends from Louisiana who might send you something?”
“I severed ties with the South a long time ago. I have no friends there now.”
Even though it wasn’t an attack on me, I couldn’t help but feel bad. She’d fled the Southern pack after my grandfather died because she didn’t think my safety was assured under my uncle’s reign. She thought my life would be in danger if Callum learned I wasn’t entirely wolf. That pesky vampire blood had a habit of getting me into trouble.
I activated the phone’s speaker option and placed it next to the gun on the nightstand. After shucking off Desmond’s old Yankees T-shirt, I rummaged through the drawers and settled on a pair of leather pants and a yellow T-shirt. The pants, once tucked into my knee-high boots, would resist water better than my usual jeans, making them a smarter choice for wandering around in a sewer. I’d learned over the years that leather was a bit more wash-and-wear than denim.
After tugging on the pants and top, I reclaimed the phone.
