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I’m reminded of the altar breaking into two pieces tonight. The angel’s rage. Is this a product of that rage too? No. It feels different in here. It always has. The malevolence in the churchyard is absent here.
My cell phone buzzes with a message. I reach into my pocket and retrieve it.
Emmanuel: Meet me at Bloody Mary.
I check the time.
Azrael: Now?
Emmanuel: Unless you need your beauty sleep.
I send him the middle finger emoji then type out my reply.
Azrael: Give me twenty minutes.
Willow makes a sound, and I shift my gaze back to her. She opens her eyes momentarily, smiles, then closes them again. She’s still asleep. I hope she’s having the sweetest of dreams.
I bend to kiss her forehead as I switch out the light. From my closet, I retrieve my coat and head out into the hallway. Salomé’s light is still on. I wonder how much sleep that woman gets. I pass her room as quietly as possible and go down the stairs. The keys to the Jaguar are in the pocket of my coat and I head out of the front door, locking it behind me even though the property is gated. Feeling somehow like I need to do it.
I park a few blocks from Bloody Mary, wanting to walk. I haven’t been to town in a long time. Emmanuel and I used to come often. We’ve always liked the French Quarter and especially Bloody Mary, the little bar with its secret entrance off Bourbon Street. Tourists don’t find this place. It’s not on any app and has no virtual presence. It’s refreshing.
As the night winds down, people on the streets are thinning out. I wonder why Emmanuel wanted to meet in town rather than coming home.
I take the turn into the alley that houses the bar’s entrance and push open the nondescript door. The familiar smell of the place washes over me. I’ve stayed away too long. I stop to take it in, then look around the good-sized, dimly lit room with its old furnishings and ancient oak bar. The bottles of liquor spanning the wall aren’t fancy, and I’m not sure the last time Mary, the owner, dusted the place. But when I see her watching me from behind the bar, I give her a genuine smile.
“You’re late,” Emmanuel says from our usual table.
I pull out my chair, noticing the folder he has in front of him as Mary brings over a tumbler. The bottle of whiskey, ours and probably the most expensive thing she has in this place, is already on the table.
“Well, well, stranger. It’s good to see you.”
“Good to be here, Mary. How’s business?”
“Can’t complain. You boys need anything, just holler.”
“Will do,” Emmanuel says, pouring me a whiskey and topping off his glass.
“How was movie night, by the way?” I ask, remembering he and Bec were going to binge watch The Vampire Diaries before he headed out to check on the Wildbloods.
“It’s a series, not a movie. And the storm cut it short. What?” he asks, probably seeing my mood darken as my mind wanders to what happened at the churchyard.
“A lightning bolt from the storm split Shemhazai’s altar in two.”
His eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “What?”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end and I find myself turning to look over my shoulder. It’s almost as if I expect the angel to be standing at my back.
“It split the altar?” he asks, disbelieving.
I nod. I don’t tell him it happened just as I swore to Willow I wouldn’t let any harm come to her. Because what I do or don’t do when it comes to this Sacrifice impacts him and Bec as much as it does me.
“Gran will lose what’s left of her mind. Cheers to that.” He lifts his glass, touches it to mine which is still sitting on the table between us and drinks.
“What did you find out? Why did you have me come here rather than coming home?”
Earlier tonight, he met with Larissa Heart, the detective working the murders. Larissa’s grandmother used to work for our family when we were very young. She was a kind woman. I still have fond memories of her being a warm presence in our lives after our parents passed away and Grandmother moved in.
Larissa is a single mom with a two-year-old daughter, and Emmanuel has always had a special relationship with her. It’s the only relationship he has with a woman outside of the family that is not sexual as far as I can tell. He told me once as casually as he could that he’d promised Mrs. Heart a few days before she passed away that he’d look after Larissa and he’s kept that promise, even interacting with her young daughter on regular intervals. I know he doesn’t like to appear remotely kind-hearted. Grandmother’s upbringing led us to believe it was a weakness, but I’m glad to see Mom and Dad’s influence persisting in my brother. I hope I will be as strong as he is when push comes to shove with Salomé.
