Chapter 1
New Orleans, 1995
For all living things—animal, human, or immortal—beginnings and endings involve pain, suffering, and blood. Serena intended to make Nicholai King experience all three. The man had spent his last night partying on Bourbon Street.
Serena molded her frown into a smile and turned to the five-year-old child trailing behind her. “It’s all right, Nick. We’re going to find your dad.”
Unlike other females, she had no interest in motherhood, but as with most things, Nicholai had made the decision for her when he’d brought the boy home.
Nick stared with big green eyes that reminded her of Nicholai’s and a lost expression she fought to resist. “Okay, Mommy.”
Serena cringed and tightened her grip on his hand. Mommy hadn’t been part of the deal when Nicholai had compelled the kid to forget his birth parents.
Immortal assassins did not answer to “Mommy” outside of the bedroom, and that was saved for special occasions.
The beeper on her hip buzzed. Over the previous hour, Lochlain, her commander, had paged her repeatedly. This time, 911 followed the number. “Damn it.”
Serena hurried to the closest payphone, just inside the door of the Irish pub at the corner of Toulouse and Burgundy Streets. Keeping a hold on Nick, she lifted the receiver with two fingers. The stench of stale beer and sweat from previous callers turned her stomach. “Lochlain, it’s Serena.”
“Where the hell are you and Nicholai? I’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour.”
“The house phone’s still giving us problems. I’m on my way to Nicholai now. What’s going on?” She released the boy’s hand.
“The councilmember from Rome will arrive tomorrow to interview Heather. I’ve called a meeting to discuss protocol.”
Not much could rattle Lochlain, but a high-ranking member of the Order in the city would put him on alert. Although several members of the Sinistra Dei, including Lochlain, predated Christianity, the secret organization—also known as the Left Hand of God—was a part of the Catholic Church. Long ago, members had been closely monitored and controlled by the High Council, but in modern times, the councilmen tended to stay inside the Vatican City.
A ball of ice formed in her gut and thinned her voice. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Which is why I called a meeting. Shall I expect your company soon?”
In the rare instances when members broke their laws, the High Council had a nasty habit of punishing first and asking questions later. Whatever the reason for the visit, Lochlain would want everything to be perfect. “We’ll be there as soon as possible.”
“Good. About your phone. Was it cut off again?”
“No.” She laughed, higher pitched than she’d intended. “It’s an old house. You know how temperamental they can be.”
“I see.” A scraping sound came over the line, followed by muffled conversation. “I’ll start without you, but I expect to see you and Nicholai here within the hour.”
“Yes, sir.” Serena hung up and stared at the sky. The High Council normally interviewed initiates in Rome. A visit to New Orleans had to mean someone had stepped out of line or the Order wanted something. Either way, this wasn’t the time to have a human child in tow. Her decision to leave Nicholai became easier by the minute.
Determined to do what she had to do, Serena turned and found Nick squatting on the curb, inspecting a dead rat. Tears sprang to the child’s eyes as he picked it up and cradled the bloated corpse.
“Drop it!” The bubonic plague happened long before her mortal birth, but she recalled the entire ordeal had something to do with rats.
“Is he dead?” The child’s voice shook.
“Yes, and it’s full of germs.” She grabbed his arm and shook until he dropped it.
Nick’s lower lip quivered, and his slow tears gave way to hiccupped-gasps.
“None of that. We have to hurry.” Serena held the child’s wrist the same way she’d held the phone, with as little contact as possible.
“Why’s it dead?” Nick turned back to the rat. “What happened to it?”
“I don’t know.”
The boy wiped his snot with the same hand he’d used to touch the carcass. “He needs a funeral. When my friend’s dog died, he had a funeral. It’s how stuff goes to Heaven.”
Nick stopped and tried to go back, but Serena tugged him forward. “I’ll have Nicholai come and get him later, with gloves.”
Appeased, Nick walked alongside her. She’d chosen to take Royal Street to their destination to avoid the lewd storefronts and strip clubs on Bourbon, yet the humans cast disapproving stares at her and the boy as if they were covered in filth.
A young child shouldn’t be out at this hour, but there was nothing she could do about it. Despite the rodent incident, he looked clean. She’d overlooked something, but what? Serena noted the adults wore jackets while Nick wore a T-shirt and shorts.
Damn it, Nicholai. You couldn’t have stolen clothing when you took the boy?
She knelt, positioning herself between him and the judgmental humans. “Are you cold?”
Nick shook his head, but his teeth chattered.
Serena turned and surveyed the passing tourists. A middle-aged couple approached hand in hand. The pashmina wrapped around the woman’s shoulders would do for now. “Stay here. I need to talk to these people.”
Nick hugged himself and nodded.
“I mean it. Don’t move.” Her voice came out harsher than intended.
He whispered, “Okay, Mommy.”
Serena cringed and strolled to the couple. Between her small frame and expensive clothes, she looked more like a tourist out for a fancy dinner than an immortal capable of stealing their life forces with a touch. “Hi. Do either of you happen to know where to find the Bourbon Orleans Hotel? I’m a little lost.”
The man pointed behind her. “It’s on Orleans Street.”
Serena lowered her voice and laced her words with compulsion. “Be still and don’t speak.”
The Sinistra Dei, no matter how weak, could compel humans. The strongest among them, members of the High Council and clutch leaders or judges, could compel other immortals.
The couple shared the same wide-eyed expression as they fought the command, but neither could speak nor move.
Serena motioned to the female. “I need your scarf.”
The woman removed the pashmina and placed it in Serena’s hand.
“Walk away and remember nothing of me or this encounter.”
The couple continued along their way without a backward glance.
She hurried to Nick and wrapped the material around him as if it were a sarong.
“I look like a girl.” He stomped his foot.
“Nonsense.” She tied the fabric in place and fixed his messy curls. Her gaze roamed over his face. Nicholai’s hair was a darker shade of brown, but Nick’s olive skin and features were the same. No one could deny the boy came from the same stock as Nicholai. He’d grow up to be as handsome as his predecessor.
“But it’s pink.”
“It’s warm.”
His shoulders sagged. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Let’s go. It’s not much farther.” Serena took Nick’s arm and led him down the sidewalk. The child’s stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t fed him since the afternoon. The restaurants had all closed. Even if she could find food, they didn’t have time to spare. She pressed her lips together, promising herself never to allow Nicholai King to put her in this kind of situation again.
The air around her sparked as if she’d walked into a cloud of static electricity. Serena held her breath and listened. Another immortal was nearby, but who? The clutch had gathered at Lochlain’s. Not enough time had passed for the meeting to have ended.
Footsteps echoed on the sidewalk and Serena glanced over her shoulder. A younger couple followed several yards behind. Petite blonde female. Male, approximately six feet.
Adrenaline flooded her system. Unlike the humans on the street, they had no aura, marking them as immortal. Had the representative’s entourage arrived early or were they Execrati?
The immortals stopped walking and stared at Serena and the child.
Shit. Who are they? Protocol dictated that she address visiting members of the Order, but it also stated Execrati, rogue immortals who’d chosen a life apart from the Church as anathema, were to be executed on sight. Serena had killed her fair share of Execrati, but never when caring for a child. How could she keep Nick safe while she fought?
The male took the female’s hand and turned down St. Peter Street. Whoever they were, they’d made the decision not to engage her. Still, Serena couldn’t shake the feeling that they posed a threat. She had to get the boy to safety.
“Let me carry you.” She scooped Nick into her arms. “Hang on tight. We’re going to run really fast.”
The child wrapped his arms around her neck.
Serena rounded the corner and broke into a run before leaping onto the roof of a one-story building. A shout from below told her that someone had witnessed the maneuver, but she didn’t have time to wipe memories. She crushed the boy against her chest and ran, jumping from rooftop to rooftop until she reached the building at the corner of Iberville and Bourbon Streets.
Nick wept against her shoulder.
“Are you hurt?” She rubbed his back to comfort him. The feelings his warm little body stirred up surprised her. He may have been nothing but elbows and knees, but the child had the power to wreck her life.
“My tummy feels weird.”
“You’ll feel better once you have a snack.” Needing to keep her distance, Serena peeled the child from her chest and set him down.
Nick bent and heaved what little he had in his stomach onto the roof and his shoes. She could handle blood and gore, but vomit crossed the line.
I can’t do this. I can’t raise a child.
Serena knelt to remove his shoes when immortal energy, or aetherum, crackled across her arms. Her heart slammed against her sternum.
They followed us.
