I stepped down into the courtyard and crossed my arms. “That’s Miss Trampire to you, werepuppy.”
“Sabina.” Adam’s voice held a clear rebuke, but I ignored it. Mac was a werewolf. Her instinctive need for hierarchy meant I needed to establish dominance early or things would get out of control.
“What’s going on, Mac?” I said, keeping my voice casual.
Her eyes narrowed. “This is your fault.”
I didn’t bother dragging it out or playing coy. She blamed me for what happened to Brooks, and sarcasm would only add fuel to this potential fire. “I know.”
She faltered. Tilted her head and flared her nostrils as if trying to smell a trick.
“However,” I continued, “I’m not the only guilty party here.”
She cocked her chin. “What does that mean?”
“Where were you last night?”
Mac’s eyes skittered to the left. “Something came up. Had to cancel the show. I called Brooks to tell him.”
“When?”
“Around eight-thirty.”
About ten minutes after we left. But that didn’t let her off the hook by a long shot. “Why did you cancel?”
She puffed up. “That’s none of your f**king business.”
“Mac,” Georgia said quietly. “Tell her.”
Mac glared at the vamp like she wanted to throttle her. Georgia received it with a placid expression. Finally, the were sighed deeply. “One of my employees was found dead last night.”
“Who and how?”
“A vamp queen who went by the name Elvira Bathory.” Mac’s voice cracked. “Last night was going to be her final show.”
Georgia walked up to put an arm around Mac’s shoulders. “Elvira was one of the locals who decided they didn’t want trouble with the Caste or your grandmother. But I guess trouble found her first.”
“Wait a second,” Adam said. “How do you know she was killed? Vamps burn to ash when they die.”
Georgia rubbed Mac’s back when the were shook her head like she couldn’t speak. “Elvira always wore a necklace.”
Mac dug into her pocket and removed a simple gold chain with a fleur-de-lis pendant— a symbol sacred to both New Orleans and vampires due to its association with the goddess Lilith— and a crumpled piece of paper. “We found them stabbed into Elvira’s door with a dagger.” She held out the paper to Adam but wouldn’t surrender the necklace. Adam cursed under his breath.
He held up the paper for me. “The first of many if the vampires of New Orleans do not cooperate.”
“Good gods,” Giguhl said, reading over my shoulder. “Lavinia sure knows how to drive a point home, doesn’t she?”
I jerked to glare at the demon. A blur of motion in my peripheral vision and a low growl were my only warning. Mac slammed into my back. “It’s all your fault!”
My face smashed into the cobblestones. Before she could pin me down, I flipped and bucked her weight off me. Adam moved as if to restrain her, but I called out, “No!” I rose quickly and assumed my fighting stance. I met Mac’s feral eyes. “Come on.”
Mac crouched low, snarling with anger. Adam backed away slowly. Judging from his expression, he’d intervene if things got too serious. But I was too busy suddenly fending off another attack to worry about Adam.
An upper hook caught me under the chin, forcing my teeth together with a painful snap. I returned the favor with a jab to the ribs, followed quickly by a left hook to Mac’s liver. That really pissed her off. Her fingers bent into claws— not literal claws, since it wasn’t a full moon— and swiped across my cheek. Skin split open with a cold sensation before warm blood oozed down my face.
That really pissed me off.
My spinning back-kick knocked Mac off balance. Her arms windmilled as her body teetered on the edge between equilibrium and flat-on-her-ass. I threw my upper body back and lifted my bent leg, but before I could deliver the blow that would teach Mac a lesson, the back door of the shop burst open.
“Stop!” Rhea’s voice cracked through the air like a gunshot.
I glanced toward her with my leg still raised. That split second of distraction was all Mac needed to tip the scales. She shot forward, ramming her shoulder into my midsection. My feet flew off the ground. Mac screamed with exertion, slamming my back down onto the top of the patio table. The wooden frame cracked and collapsed under the force of the collision.
Stunned, I lay with my eyes focused on the early morning sky. The sun still hadn’t cracked the horizon, but I could feel its fledgling rays pulling on my diaphragm. Rough hands grabbed the lapels of my jacket, but before Mac could haul me up, an ear-piercing shriek ripped through the courtyard. Mac and I stilled, our heads swiveling in unison toward the horrible sound.
Zen scowled at us from the bottom step, a white air horn clutched in her hand. Behind her, Rhea crossed her arms, her eyes crinkled with judgment.
“Hasn’t there been enough violence for one night?”
I pushed myself off the ground, my joints aching and my ass smarting from the impact with the table. Mac paced nearby, tensed for another round.
Zen’s hand went to her hips. “Look at ya. Both so full of piss and vinegar.” She shook her head at us. “Well, guess what? You’re both directing your anger at the wrong enemy.”
I didn’t bother even looking at Mac, but I pretty much assumed her expression matched my own. We might not be trying to maim each other anymore, but we sure as hell weren’t going to duck our heads like abashed children.
Seeing our hesitation, Zen turned to Rhea. “Youth,” she complained.
My hands shot to my hips. “I’m older than you.”
“Me, too,” Mac added.
The human’s eyes widened with irony. “Could have fooled me.”
My mouth snapped shut.
Zen rounded on Mac. “And you! Carrying on when one of your friends is dead and other nearly dead. It’s shameful and disrespectful. You should know better.”
Mac toed the cobblestones with her Doc Marten. “Sorry, Zen.”
“Don’t sorry me, go apologize to Brooks.”
Mac’s head snapped up from its formerly submissive posture. “He’s awake?”
“No,” Rhea said. “But only because I gave him a potion to make him sleep so his body could regain its strength.”
Mac frowned at Rhea. “Who the f**k are you?”