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Or maybe they knew he wasn’t. Maybe they thought their venom-cocktail was responsible for his coherence.
“Where were you before this?”
“Houston.” Tres frowned again. “Why was I in Houston, Geneviève?”
I couldn’t answer at first, but when we reached the car, I offered, “Come to the apartment when Ally comes to bring me . . . supplies, or barricade yourself in your estate for the next few days. If you aren’t with me, you stay there.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much, mistress. I won’t—”
“Geneviève. Not mistress.” I poked him in the chest. “Don’t cross me, Tres.”
He caught my hand. “Geneviève. Thank you.”
I pulled away after a moment. “And Tres?”
He glanced at me.
“If you harm Ally in any way”—I caught and held his gaze—“I will kill you. I don’t care if it’s because clarity is fading or what. She is to be kept safe at any cost.”
“On my honor.” He bowed.
Honestly, Tres was a little too happy affecting an old-world manner. I had to wonder why he wasn’t being bonded to some otherdraugr.I made a mental note to talk to Beatrice about it again.
“Tomorrow?”
“Come by. We’ll talk,” I agreed.
By the time he sauntered off, Tres was walking more confidently. Eli, however, was looking at me expectantly.
“What?”
“You’re still collecting strays,” he said, as he opened my door.
I rolled my eyes and got into his car. Sometimes I missed driving, but I was afraid to drive his car—and anything I owned wouldn’t be fae-friendly. His little blue sportscar was hyper-sensitive to slight turns, had whisper touch brakes, and was the result of the kind of magic and deep pockets that only a fae prince could afford.
By the time he was in the driver’s seat, I’d already texted Ally for research results and let her know I saw Tres. While I waited, Eli and I headed over to his bar for a bite to eat and a few hours with no interruptions from my collection of strays.
Chapter Sixteen
Eli’s barwasn’t closer than his place or my place, but I was grateful for the shared territory just then. I felt emotional after dealing with Tres—and with the police.
“Boss. Crowe.” The doorman of the day greeted as we approached Bill’s Tavern.“Everything good?”
“Indeed,” Eli said, doing one of those weird man-speak things that I couldn’t replicate even if I tried.
Today’s doorman, whose name was Luc or something, gave Eli a commiserating look in response to whatever silent gesture or minor tone men used to communicate in their terse way, and I suddenly wanted to smack someone. I was not responsible—as far as I knew—for the stress that Luc had noticed.
“All good here?” Eli asked.
“A few tourists needed poured into cabs last night after you left.” Luc shrugged. “No fights. No low liquor that needs your sign off as far as I heard.”
“Dead?”
“Not last night,” Luc glanced at me. “Seems like they heard the sheriff here was your lady.”
I rolled my eyes, but the reality was that it was Beatrice not me that kept all the little dead darlings from bothering Bill’s Tavern. Again-walkers were increasingly obedient to her, and I was starting to hope for a future where the face-gnawing dead were all contained.
Of course, Christophe Hebert was missing from his grave, Tres Chaddock had been one of several people injected with venom. They were made into again-walkers by human intervention—and I couldn’t fathom where the humans even got the venom. Was there a giant terrarium where the dead were milked like serpents for their venom? I had questions and no idea how to investigate.
