On Midnight Wings

30 CARNIVAL NEW ORLEANS THE FRENCH QUARTER

SILVER THANKED THE COUNTERMAN, then walked out of the pepperoni-and-garlic-fragrant DaVinci’s Pizza, fisting his hand shut around the key ring he’d fished earlier from a puddle in the gutter out front. He’d recognized it as Von’s the instant he’d seen the winged Harley logo stamped into its water-soaked leather fob.

The keys bit into his palm and the undersides of his fingers with dull metal teeth, speaking a truth Silver didn’t like. Not one damned bit.

Von wasn’t just Sleeping, he was missing. Like Dante. Like Heather. And, thanks to his pill-induced Sleep-coma, just as unreachable. As was Lucien, gone to Gehenna on some mysterious mission and beyond the range of Silver’s sendings.

Silver wove through the ever-growing crowd of nightkind and mortals gathering in front of the closed club. The air prickled with a carnival atmosphere of mystery, spine-tingling anticipation, and dark possibilities. Voices buzzed into the night like sugar-drunk flies.

“It’s almost two. I don’t think the club is going to open. That’s late, even for us. I heard rumors that someone tried to burn it to the ground and, frankly, it smells like they almost succeeded.”

“I was there that night, y’know. Saints of Ruin played—so fucking awesome, then Dante got into the Cage and oh my God . . .”

“Fathered by one of the Fallen. A True Blood. Right under our noses. I hear the clock ticking away on Mauvais’s rule and influence . . .”

“DanteDanteDanteDante . . .”

His name, a prayer murmured by nightkind and in-the-know mortals alike, a chant of lust and greed and want. Silver shook his head.

They don’t even know him, not really. They only know what he is, not who. And they could care less, the shitheads.

Soon every power-hungry nightkind yearning for a new BFF with Fallen ties and a yummy, endless supply of super-charged blood would be arriving in fanged hordes and camping on the club’s scorched doorstep. Hell, some already were.

Dante had known that would happen, of course. Had been expecting it. And, according to Von, planning to kick ass.

But that had been before. Before James Wallace. Before Heather had been kidnapped. Before Dante had vanished like a sheet-draped volunteer in a magic act.

Now you see him. Now you don’t.

Hoping no one recognized or spotted him—and thus tried to stop him—Silver made his way over to where Annie was busy pacing out a short, tight figure eight along the curb in front of Von’s Harley, puffing away on another Camel.

A quick glance up the busy sidewalk confirmed no Merri. Looked like the former SB tagalong was still busy with her own Von-whereabouts reconnaissance.

If the stay-awakes knocked the man down, then I want to be there to help him back up again. And I definitely want to say, ‘told ya,’ when I do.

Stubborn-ass nomad.

Silver had the feeling that Merri Goodnight planned to give Von more than just an earful—a lot more. But, given what he’d just learned, Silver seriously doubted she’d have the opportunity any time soon.

Dammit, Von. What the hell have you done?

Annie looked like a Bourbon Street regular in jeans that Jack claimed one of his sisters had left behind, a too-big Cajun Anarchy T-shirt, and fuzzy purple slippers. All she was missing were the Mardi Gras beads, the big-ass plastic cup full of booze, and the drunken WHOO-HOOs.

But Annie’s body language dispelled the drunken partier illusion as she smoked cigarette after cigarette, her free hand flexing at her side—fisted, open, fisted, open. Restless. Driven. Prickling with fury and grief and guilt. Thin white scars ran vertically along the inside of each wrist, mute testimony to the depths she had plumbed in the past.

Depths Silver understood well.

Annie slanted him a sidelong look as he drew up alongside her and handed her a fresh pack of smokes. Even though shadows smudged the skin beneath her eyes, the blue depths of her irises glittered with feverish light. A light Silver recognized—she was manic as hell. Swept up in a bipolar tsunami, rising and rising and rising.

The fall, when it came, was going to be a motherfucker. And she wouldn’t fall alone. She’d take everyone who cared about her along for the ride.

Something else he understood well.

And that was the main reason he’d brought her along with him while he searched for Von’s Snoozing nomad ass instead of leaving her at the house with Jack and Emmett. They wouldn’t know how to deal with her. He did.

Silver understood what Annie was going through better than most. Life on the streets as a mortal teen had taught him that much. A life, in the long run, that he hadn’t survived. Or wouldn’t have, if not for the vampire who’d slapped the knife from his hand and yanked him off that Portland bridge before he could toss himself into the river’s cold, dark embrace ten years ago.

And who had become Silver’s père de sang.

Silver’s gaze rested on Von’s Harley. Street light gleamed on the Fat Boy’s handlebars and glinted darkly from the matte black gas tank. He could use Cian’s advice right about now. But he had a feeling reaching out to his père de sang at the moment would be heavily frowned upon by Lucien.

Secrets. So many goddamned secrets.

“So,” Annie said, ending her latest figure eight and fuzzy-slippering to a halt beside him. “Didja learn anything?”

“You mean, aside from the fact that I’ll never get the stink of garlic out of these clothes?” Silver plucked at his T-shirt, nose wrinkling. “Yeah, I did. But I don’t want to repeat myself, so let’s wait until Merri gets back.”

Annie nodded, cigarette smoke streaming from both nostrils. “Good thing the clothes belong to Jack, huh? Looks like garlic is just another fucking myth as far as keeping nightkind away goes.”

“Pretty much—aside from the smell.”

“Hah. I knew there had to be a drawback to those supersenses.”

She eyed the twenty-four-hour tavern on the other side of St. Peter—Aunt Sally’s Tavern & Heavenly BBQ—her expression that of a bear who’d just stumbled across a salmon-stuffed ice chest. Exuberant zydeco music bounced from the tavern’s outside speakers in a nonstop, move-your-ass-and-come-on-in, blazing accordion rhythm.

“If you’re still hungry, we could grab a bite when Merri gets back,” Silver said.

“I ate less than an hour ago. I don’t know why I’m so freaking hungry.”

“Yeah, you do. Annie, you don’t hafta pretend with me. I know you’re pregnant.”

Annie stared at him. “Fuck.”

“Lucien found out when he peeked inside your head to see what had happened.”

“Fuck,” Annie groaned. “Mind-raping bastard.”

“More of a mental B and E.”

“Whatever. I know why he did it. I get that. But it doesn’t mean I have to fucking like it.”

“No,” Silver agreed softly. “It doesn’t.”

Annie puffed away on her cigarette in silence, expression guarded. Pale blue smoke jetted from her nostrils. Silver had no idea how far along Annie was, but he figured she couldn’t be too far gone. During the times they’d been together over the last couple of weeks, her belly had remained flat and firm beneath his skimming fingers.

When did chicks start to show, anyway? Three months? Five?

“Do you know who the baby-daddy is?”

“No clue. I hooked up with a couple of guys after I skipped out of the treatment center and got wasted—as usual. Who knows? Maybe I got knocked up at the treatment center.” At Silver’s arched eyebrow, she added, “Hey, I was bored. And I wasn’t the only one. Fucking seemed like a good way to pass the time.”

“Hey, no argument here. So what do you think you’re gonna do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it right now.”

“Does Heather know?”

Annie sighed, nodded. “I told her that morning, the same morning that my asshole father stormed the place.” She spat into the gutter. “Prick.”

“My old man was a prick too. A boozed-up bullying loser who used his family for punching bags.”

“I hope you made the bastard pay.”

Silver shrugged. “I had more important things on my mind—like surviving. The Portland streets made my old man look like Mary Poppins.”

“How about after you were turned? Did you make him pay then?”

“Nah. I forgave him then.”

Annie stared at him. “The fuck? Forgave him? Why the hell would you do that?”

“I dunno. Maybe so I could live again. Maybe so I could leave the past and my old, unhappy life behind. Maybe because I had a new father—one who actually wanted me.”

“Huh,” Annie said, nonplussed. “Sounds like you missed one hell of an opportunity to me. I don’t think my dad deserves forgiveness for what he’s done. And he’s sure as hell not going to get it.”

“Hey, again, no argument here. I’m with you on this one. Some things you can’t forgive.”

“Exactly.” Annie sparked up a fresh cigarette from the butt of the old.

Watching her, Silver shook his head. “Smokes and booze ain’t exactly good for baby, y’know.”

“Neither’s having a bipolar fuckup of a mom,” Annie retorted. Old pain flared in her eyes, vanished. “I should know. I had one. And who says I’m even keeping it?”

“No one,” Silver replied. “That’s your decision, and I’m not trying to influence you one way or another on that point. But until you decide, maybe you should keep the booze and nicotine to a minimum. Just saying.”

“What’s it to you, anyway? It’s not like it’s yours. Dante told me that turned-nightkind shoot blanks.”

Silver rolled his eyes. “I know it isn’t mine. That’s not what this is about.” He dropped his gaze to the weathered sidewalk underneath his sneakers as he gathered his thoughts. Whenever he looked at Annie, he saw himself again on the Portland streets, desperate and alone, stubbornly shoving away what few friends he had because being alone was all he thought he deserved.

“What is it about, then?”

“Being your friend.”

Annie snorted. “Oh, don’t worry. My getting knocked up hasn’t changed your ‘with benefits’ status.”

Silver raked an exasperated hand through his hair. “Fuck, Annie, stop being a dick. Just for five minutes, okay?” He closed the distance between them. “I’m just saying you can talk to me. I’m here. You’re not alone. That’s all. Christ.”

Annie studied him from beneath her lashes, her hands knotting into fists, then unknotting again, then she stretched up on her slippered toes and planted a warm kiss tasting of nicotine smoke and ashes on his lips; a kiss that he returned and deepened.

“So garlic doesn’t work, huh?” Annie said, ending the kiss.

Silver frowned at her abrupt change of topic, then realized it wasn’t a change but a self-protective gas-pedal stomp into reverse. He glanced at his—Jack’s—garlic-redolent T-shirt. “Oh. Right. Nope. It might make us gasp for air, but that’s about it.”

“So what does work against vampires? I mean, given that just a couple of weeks ago I didn’t even know you guys existed outside of paranormal romance novels and the CW Network, I wanna weed truth from fiction.”

Silver shook his head. “Can’t tell ya. Trade secret. When we’re turned, we each take a solemn vow not to spill the details of how best to ice our asses. Sorry.”

Annie nodded. “Smart. Especially during a breakup.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Y’know with your hair like that, you remind me of that Zero character in those manga books of yours—except your hair is purple, not silver-white, and your eyes are silver, where his are violet, and not to mention that you’re flesh and he’s not—but other than that . . .”

Silver blinked, surprised by the comment, then felt a pleased smile stretch across his lips. “Zero Kiryu, huh? Didn’t know you liked Vampire Knight.”

“Gorgeous nightkind, sex, and betrayal, what’s not to like?”

Another voice chimed in. “Mmm-mmm. I hear you, girl. And he does look like Zero.”

Catching a whiff of spice and smoky cloves, Silver turned to face Merri. She stood on the curb, her weight on one hip, arms crossed over her suede-jacketed chest. Frustration and a deepening concern glimmered in the dark depths of her eyes, despite the amused smile curving her lips. And that told Silver all he needed to know. Nothing new on Von.

Aside from what he’d learned.

“Merri’s here, so spill, dude. Anybody see our missing nomad?”

“Pizza dude said he saw Von,” Silver said, tucking Von’s keys into a front jeans pocket. “But he wasn’t alone. Three others were with him, a blond chick and two guys in kilts—all nightkind.”

Merri straightened, dropping her arms to her sides. “Kilts. That sounds like the llafnau,” she said, voice grim. “And no one else would dare lay hands on anyone marked with a crescent moon. No one with brains, anyway. You can bet your sweet ass that if llafnau were in the French Quarter, they weren’t here to drink Hurricanes and traipse about on vampire tours.”

Silver nodded, jaw tight. That was his thought too. Dammit. The only question was: “Why would they come after Von?”

“You know why,” Merri said softly. “Think about it. Von kept silent about Dante until that announcement. Kept silent. Lost his impartiality. He broke his oath to the order.”

“Shit.” Silver drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “If Von broke his oath, then it was to protect Dante. And I know there’s nothing Dante wouldn’t do to help Von—if he was here. Same goes for me. There’s gotta be something I can do.”

“Maybe there is,” Merri said. “I think I’ve heard from my mère de sang that the llygaid compound is in Memphis. If that’s true, we could be there in seven hours. I’ll contact Galiana for the address.”

“Aside from the fact that you’re hot for Von’s tattooed nomad ass, why would you do that? What’s it to you? Von ain’t your friend, ain’t your llygad. Hell, he doesn’t even trust you.”

Merri held his gaze, chin lifted. “I know. And I can’t think of a better way to start earning it than by taking a rescue run to Memphis. Unless you’d rather sit on your ass at Jack’s house and twiddle your thumbs?”

“Fuck, no.”

Silver raked a hand through his gel-spiked hair as he pondered Merri’s suggestion. Her words resonated deep within him, a pealing bell. She hoped to gain Von’s trust and he hoped to regain Dante’s. He remembered a nearly week-old conversation with the nomad about just that.

He doesn’t trust me.

Nope. Not anymore. But he does care about you, man. You still have a chance to earn his trust again.

Silver had no doubt Dante would be all for a rescue run to Memphis. And, until Lucien returned, sitting on his ass at Jack’s house, twiddling his thumbs would be exactly what he’d be doing.

No thanks.

“Yeah,” Silver said finally. “I like the idea. Jack and Emmett could take turns driving the van during the day while we Sleep in back. I don’t want to leave anyone behind.”

Merri nodded. “Smart. That works. The llygaid will be Sleeping too. Whatever they plan to do with Von won’t happen until after sunset. We’ll be there in plenty of time.”

“Look, I’ll drive, okay? But on one condition.” Annie’s gaze skipped over to the zydeco-bopping tavern. Lingered. “Can we eat now?”

Silver laughed. “Food it is. And a beer sounds good.”

“Maybe even two,” Merri agreed.

As Merri and Annie started across the narrow street for Aunt Sally’s, Silver paused to take another look at the buzzing crowd of nightkind and mortals milling restlessly in front of the club. Excitement pulsed through him when he saw a towering figure strolling through the crowd, moving with an orca’s powerful grace through a school of sardines, thinking Lucien had returned—until the figure stepped out of the shadows, revealing short red hair. And a pair of nightkind companions.

One was a stranger with short, stylishly cut burgundy hair, wearing jeans, a short-sleeved black shirt, and an expression of knitted-brow concern on his Esquire-handsome face. Mediterranean Esquire, Silver amended, given the guy’s hawk nose. But the other Silver knew all too well—Guy Mauvais. The aristocratic shithead was dressed in an ash-gray frock coat, slacks, and fancy white shirt with lace cuffs and neckpiece, his wheat-colored hair loose about his shoulders.

“Hey,” Annie called. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his gaze never wavering from Mauvais’s pale face. “Go grab a table and order me an Abita. I’ll be there in a minute. Just remembered something.”

“You sure?” Merri questioned, really asking, You need backup?

“Yeah. I’m sure. Just give me a minute.”

“Okay,” Merri said. “You got it, then.”

A knot of grief and cold fury and frustration tangled itself around Silver’s heart as a conversation with Von, this one about Simone’s death just five nights ago—a fiery death Silver himself had barely escaped—sounded through his mind.

We all need time.

People always say that, like time is fucking OxyContin. Like I could just down a handful of time and not worry about it hurting any more. Instant fix. But I can’t. And time takes fucking forever to heal. How’s that for ironic? Fuck time. And fuck Mauvais for taking her from us.

I hear you, bro. And trust me, Mauvais is fucked—he just don’t know it yet.

Renewed grief tightened Silver’s throat, burned behind his eyes.

He fucking will now.

Silver moved.