Placing my fork beside the elegant white china, I level my gaze on him. “Tell me what you’ve got.”

4

The Old One Derek

Lafayette Cemetery after hours is an eerie place. The tombs stand six feet above ground, coffins encased in either concrete or ancient red brick. The exteriors are decorated in scrollwork and statues, and they look like gothic cathedrals, their long shadows forming a striped, grey-and-black landscape for us to cross.

It’s no surprise vampire movies and television shows are often filmed here. The statues and headstones are a perfect setting for encounters with the supernatural. Even during daylight hours, the legion of crypts is a daunting site. So many dead are housed above ground in this city.

Growing up in the garden district, I’ve visited this location before, but never did I dream I’d be here on such an errand. Patrick has filled me in on what we’re after. The old one is a loner according to Sloan’s notes, and it lives here among the tombs when not traveling abroad.

We’re disguised as visitors, paying our respects to a fictitious dead relative. In addition to my jeans, black polo, and heavy boots concealing our sole weapon, I’m carrying a small bouquet of lilies.

At my side is a large bullmastiff with thick, muscular shoulders and an intimidating jaw. Patrick’s preferred form is a German shepherd, but we agreed size would help us more tonight.

His head is nearly at my chest as we walk. A heavy silver chain is around his neck, but it’s only for show. This oversized dog is not a pet.

It’s after eight, and the cemetery is officially closed. The sound of insects and running water fills the background. Otherwise, the air is tense, as if drawn and waiting. We walk the weedy path between the tombs, our eyes and ears alert for any change in our surroundings. We don’t have to wait long.

The swirl of a skirt catches my eye, and we both stop. A woman steps out from the side of a larger tomb. She’s smiling in a friendly way, but I can see the cruel lines around her mouth. Her lips are too red, and her skin is pale as bone. If we had more light, I would wager her brown eyes are in fact burgundy.

My partner’s fur bristles, and I’m on full alert. We came here not knowing if our target would be a male or a female, and while I’m pretty sure this isn’t an old one, we can never be too careful.

I’m amazed at the audacity of the immortal in this city. Sloan and I searched for nearly a year in New Jersey before we even found a hint of a vampire. I suppose we do live in the land of the Salem Witch Trials, while New Orleans is the land of voodoo and magic.

“You’re late to be visiting the cemetery.” Her voice is like the shattering of glass or several voices speaking at once. It’s unnerving. “Are you lost?”

The way her eyes roam my body, I can tell she’s hoping I’m lost. She’s hoping I’m an innocent. She’ll be sorely mistaken if she tries to attack me.

“I’m here on an errand.” My reply echoes among the crypts. Patrick’s body vibrates with a barely audible growl, and I place my hand on his head.

The thing’s eyes flicker down to him, and she takes another step forward. “Impressive dog.” Her hand stretches out as if to pet him, and his growl grows louder.

“Heel, Patrick.” I tug the chain at his neck sharply.

He responds with a stinging nip to the side of my hand, and I almost break character. I know how much he hates being treated like a pet.

“Sorry,” I take the opportunity to grin, hoping to throw her off-guard. “He’s usually very friendly. Especially with the ladies.”

Instead of coming straight toward us, she steps to the left, circling, watching. “What is your errand?”

I side step, copying her movements until my back is to a large, open vault. “My father asked me to tend the grave of his sister, my aunt. I just got off work, and I didn’t want to let him down.”

Patrick has moved to the side, still facing us but away from the path. The woman now walks straight to me, and without thinking, I step back. My boot hits the stone wall of a tall mausoleum, and internally I curse, realizing I’m cornered.

“You’re a very good boy,” she purrs, swaying slightly as she walks, not stopping until her body is directly in front of mine. Her seductive blend of vanilla and salt drifts lightly around us. They all have a unique odor.

“I’m not a boy,” I say. Patrick’s growl is low in the distance. “My dog is trained to attack, so I suggest you let me pass.”

She laughs like crystals being dropped one after another on ceramic tile. “Are you afraid of me?” Her eyes widen and she runs a narrow, ivory finger down my cheek, through my beard. “A big, strong man like you? With such thick muscles? Such a good red-blooded American male.”

Her voice sways with her movements as her eyes narrow. I can sense her glamour surrounding me, but it won’t work. It’s my sole defense against her dark arts. My immunity. Sloan and I discovered it working on our first case together. We have no clue how or why my mind is able to block it, and it’s a closely guarded secret.

“Such a beautiful man alone in the dark night.” Her voice is a heavy whisper, her lips full, and she presses her breasts against my chest. I pretend to be falling for her charms. “Would you like to fuck me?”

She says the words right at my lips, and I resist the urge to break her wrist as she slides a hand over the front of my jeans, over my cock. “Would you?”

A rustling noise scrapes against the stones overhead, and I look up fast—just in time to see another pale figure crawling like a lizard, headfirst toward me from the roof of the tomb. A hideous grin distorts his ghastly face, and his long fingernails clutch the cracks in the grey stones.

Shoving the woman back, I push away from the wall right as he reaches for my neck. Through my distraction, I catch the sound of snarling and growling mixed with hissing and champing of teeth, and I realize Patrick is fighting another one. We’ve inadvertently stumbled into a nest of them, and neither of us is prepared for this.

The thing crawling from the roof is now on its feet, and I can see by his ancient clothes and the tissue-quality of his skin he’s the one. He’s apparently made these young ones to protect him. Otherwise, vampires usually avoid living in groups.

“Call back your slaves,” I shout to the leader. “We’re only seeking information.”

“You don’t order me, boy.” His voice is a scratchy hiss. “You’re in my territory now.”

The hideous smile combined with his rows of sharp, pointed teeth and blood-red lips, makes him look like a sinister, white-haired clown. The woman beside him sways toward me, still smiling as if attempting to hypnotize me.

Patrick lets out a sharp yelp, and I glance fast to see a beefy male vampire has him by the throat. His mouth is open, and his enlarged canines have descended.

In one swift move, I drop to a knee, whipping out the small gun just as the woman lunges for me.

BLAST! BLAST! Her smile transforms into horror as the silver enters her body. Red eyes widen, and she falls back, screeching like a cat. The noise was enough distraction to put Patrick back on top, and he snaps his powerful jaws, throwing his attacker against a crypt opposite the path.

“Patrick, come!” I shout, and he immediately runs to my side. “Stay back!”

We’re slowly walking backwards out of the cemetery. I can only hope these two are his only guards.

The old one doesn’t move. His smile is gone, but he isn’t attacking. Instead, he goes still as a statue, watching us retreat. I have enough bullets if either of them tries to come after us, but he’s letting us go.

Before we round the final corner to safety, I see his eyes tracing, memorizing all my features, and I know this isn’t over.