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When I returnedto New Orleans, I was worn out, weary, and ready to ask for a time-out on my life—as much as I was ready for the next week to pass so I could test my plan on my faery bargain.
I’m pretty used to drama, and the holidays are full of it for most folks. Between the three types of beings in my life—human,draugr, and fae—I was ready to propose a time share for future holidays. One species per year. Of course,myhumans included my witchy mother and friends, so given my wish, I’d stick with just them.
Still the money, wisdom, and favor from Beatrice were useful.
And maybe the swords from the faery king were nice.
But I was ready for a nap after dealing with everyone’s agendas—which was why I was anything but charming when Beatriceflowedto my table at Bill’s Tavern.
“Really? Don’t you have a daytime nap or something to attend? Beauty sleep? Minions to frighten?”
“Invite me to be seated.”
“You need an invitation?” I perked up.Draugrrules were as hard to find as rooster’s teeth.
“No, Geneviève.” Beatrice’s pale lips curved in a mimicry of a smile. “I simply have manners.”
I sighed and gestured to a chair across from me. Beatrice, ever the cooperative dead lady, sat next to me.
“There are those who would wish you dead no matter what,” she started.
“You must be a riot at parties.”
“The last party included beheading vermin.” She met my gaze. “Did you receive my gifts?”
I nodded. What exactly was the protocol for a box with the head of man? Or the antique jewels from a man who undoubtedly became dust and ash? I figured I’d go for subtle and said, “It was a very you”—I made air quotes—“gift.”
Beatrice smiled. “I have another gift, Geneviève.”
She slid a book to me. It felt heavy with magic, and I knew that it was a grimoire of some sort.
“I understand from your friend’s shop that the buyer for this would be you,” she said. “I’ve supplied others you or Lauren sought, but this is not one you could afford even with Harold’s jewelry.”
I couldn’t even joke that I had nothing to give her. There were gifts, and then there weregifts.
“Why?” I managed to ask.
For a moment, Beatrice appeared centuries old; not that she suddenly amassed wrinkles, but that she looked weary in a way that reminded me that bitch though she could be, she was a woman in a man’s world—and had been for centuries.
“I have removed threats, but there are those vile men ordraugrevery generation that seek my descendants out. You, Geneviève, are more of a target than most. You are witch and mine, but you carry other traits.”
I swallowed.
“Threats will come. They are a storm, waves pounding as if they will wear us down in time.” Her eyes were glimmering with a light that was eerie to behold. “I do not lose. I will not. And you, daughter of my daughters’ daughter, are the last of my line. They will come, and you will be able to win.” She tapped the book with a finger. “Learn.”
Then thedraugrqueen stood to go.
Before I could think too long on it, I asked, “Would you want to have dinner with Mama Lauren and me? I mean sometime . . . maybe not dinner, but—”
“I will”—she smiled wickedly—“BYOB, as they say. Bring my own blood.”
I laughed, more at her delivery than her bad sense of humor. “And we could talk. I think my mother would like that. I would, too.”
I was still sitting therewith my book in silence several hours later when Eli joined me. “Frosting?”
I looked up.
“Are you well?”
