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“I’ll be quick!” I grabbed a sword, a dagger, and headed toward the lobby of the sleek monstrosity before me. I could never understand wanting to be so far from the earth. Maybe the view was worth it, or maybe they thought they’d be safer. Either way it made me queasy as I thought about that glass box that shot up the sides of the building. Elevator, my ass! It was a glass coffin in flight.
“May I . . . Ohmy, you’reher!” The man at the desk, who practically screamed cultured young gay, stared at me. “Theprincess!”
He shoved a pad at me. “Would you sign this?”
“Sure.” I pasted the calmest expression I could on my face and did as he asked, but my other hand was on the hilt of my sword.
“Selfie?” He gave me those pleading eyes that made me think of Ally. There was a charm gene or school or something, but I couldn’t do it. I was more of a, well, sword-in-hand, etiquette-impaired mess most days.
“Sure.”
He leaned close, smiling like a model.
I, on the other hand, felt self-conscious as I smiled at his camera.
I was very anti-pictures because of my job. Being hired to behead people was illegal in New Orleans, as washiringpeople to do it. Murdering the dead wasn’t illegal, but those who pulled it off were usually lucky. In places like Houston, they stoppeddraugrat the city gate.
I could never live here. I wasn’t embarrassed by it, but it frightened me sometimes how much peace I found when I killed. I knew I wasn’t a sociopath—or maybe that was just the story I told myself in the daylight. There was a satisfying jolt inside my body when I fought and didn’t die.
And I worried that it was a result of mydraugrgenetics. I enjoyed violence. I enjoyed conquering. I enjoyed not-dying. But I had friends, felt love, so I wasn’t a sociopath, right?
“How canIhelpyou, your royal majesty? Or is it ‘highness’? Or—”
“Ms. Crowe works.” I smiled more genuinely this time. His confusion did more to ease my mood than his exuberance. “I need to see Madame Hebert.”
“That old bat knows a—” he stopped himself. “I mean, of course, it is not my place to—”
“Old bat?” I grinned. “I’m here on business.”
“Ooooh, do tell.” He leaned on the counter as if we were best buds.
I shrugged and admitted, “I’m not here on business she’ll like.”
My new bestie smiled like we were old co-conspirators. “You, princess, are why I miss New Orleans.”
“How’d you know I was . . .” I trailed off as he held up his phone. Some news channel had pictures of Eli and me already. We did, in fact, look smitten, so that was good.
“‘Mysterious woman, apparently human, declared fae royalty,’” the lobby clerk read. “No one has shared your name yet. Or that you’re an investigator. Just that the car arrived from the New Orleans highway.”
“Bet they’re paying for that information,” I said, feeling uncommonly clever for thinking of how it could benefit me. I usually only thought such things after Eli pointed them out.
“Four figures so far, that’s all I know. Wasn’t paying attention. What are the odds of needing to know?” He motioned at me. “Princesses with pretty blue hair don’t often stroll inhere. Bluebloods? Old ladies? Sure. Not . . .” He gestured at me. “Weaponized women.”
I snorted. Weaponized women? Blue-haired princesses? I wasn’t sure why this man was working a desk, but I thought he should be doing something where his wit was in play. If we were in New Orleans, I might have to hire him.
I had a thought, suddenly. Obviously,someonewould share my name. Why not benefit from it? I met the man’s eyes. “Call in. Get the reward. ‘Geneviève Crowe, special liaison to the New Orleans Police Department.’ That’s my name.”
“Catch?”
“You owe me. I have no eyes in Houston, and Hebert? Part of SAFARI.”
“Oh, honey, don’t I know that?” He rolled his eyes. “They all join their little hate-clubs up in here. She hosts hate soirees. Well dressed, deep pockets, and misquoting the Bible like it’s an art.”
I nodded. I knew the type. Unfortunately, not all of them had fled my home city. “Get your reward. Call it a finder’s fee for keeping tabs on the SAFARAI activity here. We’ll work out details.”
He was already dialing, and I hoped to hell I wasn’t making a mistake. Planning off the cuff had landed me in trouble enough times in my short life that I ought to know better, but sometimes seeing opportunities was a sort of magic. And the sheer truth was that I always trusted gay men more than I trusted most humans. Goddess knew they’d had enough bias to understand what it was like to be targeted by a hate group like SAFARI. Plus, I’d never had to worry about being shocking around any of the gay men I knew—and New Orleans still had a thriving gay community. I’d yet to earn a second glance when I admitted to being a bisexual witch with a job that included beheading the dead. They took me in stride without a blink.
“I can prove it,” he said into the phone. “Uh huh. I have a selfie with her.”
