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Pause. He listened to them and mouthed to me, “Penthouse. Go.”
I shook my head. If Ally ever left me, I might try to con this man into being my assistant. Of course, I couldn’t imagine her leaving for anything short of a new husband, and she was far too deep in mourning for that.
“Let’s talk price before I send it,” he said as he motioned me toward the elevator. “Impress me, and I’ll send the picture in . . . twenty minutes.”
I nodded. I had twenty minutes until he sent the photo and the press started crawling all over here. That, incidentally, suited my plans. Press with cameras meant that I’d have my own private stake-out here, and Madame Hebert and her fae-hating friends would all stay put.
A few moments later, I was sitting in a waiting area in the Hebert matriarch’s penthouse. Compared to New Orleans old money homes it was modest. Compared to Ally’s house, it was downright boring.
“Do I know you?” Madame Hebert said as she joined me. She had the look of a steel-spined granny. Nothing soft here. She was grey-haired, but if she had extra weight, it was well-hidden. Sensible shoes, well-cut dress, and what Ally called “house jewelry”—single strand of pearls, earrings, rings, and watch. Nothing ostentatious but a subtle reminder that she was wealthy.
“You are the mother of Christophe Hebert?” I prompted.
“I am,” she said.
A tightening around her eyes belied her calm tone, and my thin layer of patience was already cracking.
“Look. I don’t have a lot of tolerance for SAFARI as it is—”
“So youlikethe dead? They’re ruining society.” Her calm was gone. “If not for them—"
“Lady, they were here for centuries.” I stood. “Your dead son’s body is missing. Your house was filled with . . .” I paused. Just because she was hateful didn’t mean I had to be. I took a couple moments to calm myself before adding, “Your house in the city was the scene of a crime.”
The way she smiled told me more than I wanted to know.
“Vermin were exterminated and left there,” she said. “The police notified me. I’ve hired cleaners.”
I blinked. Someday the callousness of people would stop shocking me, but this wasn’t that day. Admittedly my job was beheading the troublesome dead, but I’d been forced to confront my own bias of late. Not every dead person was a monster. Beatrice was . . . okay, Beatrice was a bit of a monster, but not without reason.
Maybe everyone’s monstrosity had reason. I wasn’t a therapist, though. I was a necromancer.
“Did you have anything to do with the events that left those people dead?” I asked. “Did Christophe—”
“Christophe is dead.”
“His body is missing,” I snapped.
“I had him brought to me. Once my grief was under control, I realized he ought to be with his mother.” Madame Hebert spoke of disinterring a corpse as calming as ordering take-out. “He is my only child.”
“Are you still affiliated with SAFARI? A number of members were injected, and Christophe—”
“I do not need to answer your questions, but I gave you the courtesy of explaining that you need not look for my son in your city. He was dying of cancer, if you must know. All the wealth in the world, and we cannot fix cancer.” For a flicker of a moment, Madame Hebert sounded like any grieving mother.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, politeness surging to the surface.
Madame Hebert pointed to the door. “Begone from my home, witch. You have no authority here, and I find myself threatened by how you’ve come here uninvited brandishing weapons.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I’m a frail old lady, Miss Crowe.” She hunched slightly, hand wobbling. “The Houston police are not in your pocket, as NOPD is.”
I gaped at her.
She withdrew her phone from a pocket and held it up like a weapon of her own. No longer hunched or trembling.
Stunned, I watched her dial. “Chief Jackson . . . This is Marie Hebert . . . yes . . . good . . .”
I saw myself out.
