Chapter 5 Sebastian #2
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“I think you’ll find I’m always reasonable.
” I kept my voice soft, my words almost silky.
“And you do have a choice. You can remain here as a guest, enjoying all of those things that the title confers. Or you can essentially be held against your will, as a prisoner.”
I stopped talking, watching her, hoping she didn’t call my bluff and choose the latter. Explaining to Nic why I’d just imprisoned the witch I wanted to help us wouldn’t be the easiest task in the world.
“There are cells at the club.” I spoke thoughtfully, like the idea was only just occurring to me. “I think Francois might have had them installed. Are you familiar with them?”
Kayla blanched. My inquiry had hit home.
She stood and walked stiffly to the door then paused and spoke over her shoulder, not meeting my eyes. “I’m not staying here long.”
I listened to Kayla and Kyle walk away, able to make out Kayla’s human footsteps far more easily than Kyle’s much quieter ones. That man moved more like a ghost than a vampire, and our kind were pretty stealthy as it was.
Glancing at Francois’s books again, most of them leather-bound journals, I sighed. I’d been putting off going through them since I glanced at the first one and found only ranting that seemed to grow more insane and less legible by the day. Hopefully, the earlier volumes could be useful.
After all, he hadn’t always been hooked on dead man’s blood, so it stood to reason that the later stuff was more likely to be nonsense while the earlier tomes would be written in a sounder voice.
Really, I could have gotten Jason or Kyle to go through these and distill the information for me. However, part of me was still standing on the point of pride that I wanted Nic to know I’d done it, that I’d created his success in New Orleans, just like he’d tasked me with.
Part of that involved knowing what had gone before, what we’d actually inherited from émile and Francois.
Standing, I downed the last of my rum then picked up Kayla’s untouched glass and downed that, too. There was no sense in wasting it, and it wasn’t like it would prevent me from doing the work I needed to do now. If only I could find such a fucking daze from time to time.
I sat on the strange little chair in front of the desk, barely even daring to move in case shifting my weight broke something.
We needed some more substantial furniture in here.
The first few journals I opened were all the same: random streams of consciousness that looked like Francois had spent all his later days committing every half-thought that crossed his mind to paper.
And they really were only half thoughts.
Sometimes only half-words, as if his attention had wandered while he was writing.
After piling those books to one side, I pulled some older ones toward me, and this was more like it.
The handwriting was neater, each of the sentences with more structure, and I could read most of the stylized antique French handwriting.
I studied it for a moment. Francois had once been very precise. His mind had been sharp.
I only knew him as chaotic, flamboyant and eccentric, but I didn’t know how much of that was due to the blood he’d become addicted to.
I’d never seen a dead man’s blood addiction — only ever heard stories from the dim and distant past. And I’d never been sure how much I believed in what I heard about the madness and the delusions, but now I was pretty sure I believed everything.
It was almost as if Francois had been completely hijacked, and I didn’t envy Nic’s task if he thought he could bring the man back from the monster he’d truly become.
I didn’t envy Leia, either. If she could forgive Francois for all that he’d done, she was a better person than I could ever hope to be.
I would have killed Francois for her in a heartbeat, though, and I couldn’t figure out who that reflected worse on—Nic for not doing it or me for thinking I could overstep like that.
Nic was certainly the more merciful of the two of us, though, and the fact Francois had gotten a second chance added to my hope that I would be welcome in the family again soon.
In the next book I opened, Francois had carefully completed a table of all of the supernaturals present in New Orleans. My lips parted as I read over the different categories—at some point, Francois had counted vampires, shifters, witches, demons, pixies, and even fae as part of his city.
Each categorization was listed alongside the name of an individual, a brief physical description of that person, a definition of any abilities, and—often—random acerbic notes that actually made me chuckle at Francois’s sense of humor.
Then there was a final column where he detailed whether each of the people he’d included in this roll call was for or against the Ricard crown.
I doubted if any of the information in this book was even accurate anymore, particularly as people must have lost faith in Francois and his abilities to act in his father’s stead as he’d continued his descent into madness.
And surely émile’s prolonged bouts of stasis hadn’t endeared the two of them to anyone they were trying to rule.
A sleeping king and a crazy prince didn’t present the most stable power.
So, this was no real indication of how many of the people had supported émile at the end, but he’d never been a man to waste time waiting around for people’s support. He would have commanded it or ended their life, most likely.
Certainly, the decrepit king I’d met wouldn’t have allowed anyone who hadn’t pledged their loyalty to him to remain in his territory. He’d been regathering his strength and would have ruled by force far more than mutual respect.
In fact, some of Francois’s comments later in the book detailed the violent methods the Ricards had used to bring traitors and suspected traitors back in line. Always violent, always bloody. Sometimes death would have been a blessing for these people.
I could see why Kayla wasn’t in a hurry to sign a new contract.
If this was even a taste of the fear she’d lived with under the old regime, why would she even consider working under a new one?
Hopefully, spending some time with me would fix that, and she’d be happy to be associated with a Dupont rule.
Unexpected excitement lodged in my chest at the idea of being so close to Kayla and the prospect of being able to change her mind about vampires.
But I was trying to make other plans to move us forward too.
I grabbed a pen and jotted some notes down for how to move forward.
At the very least, I’d need to meet with the local shifters and witch covens to determine the accuracy of what I was reading in Francois’ accounts.
Which brought my thoughts back to Kayla—she could probably help me with that last line item.
I turned the page of the journal, where Francois’s lists continued, his reach now extending out into the swamps and bayous, the categorizations of the supernaturals becoming increasingly strange and rare. Some of these, I’d only ever heard of. Never encountered in all my years.
And really, searching all of these beings out probably wasn’t something I was ready to take on just yet. But at least Francois had done the groundwork for me. His records would be a great help in establishing support for Nic’s rule at some point in the future.
Before then, though, I already had enough trouble tackling those who lived and worked closest. I’d started working up a basic list based on those who were coming forward to either make their support known or create a little mayhem. It seemed Francois and émile had certainly divided the city.
I didn’t need to go looking for any more problems.
Kyle reentered the parlor, and I looked up. Had I really been studying the books for that long?
“Hello,” I greeted him, but he didn’t say a word as he crossed the room and dropped onto the couch so hard the wood groaned in protest.
He didn’t stay seated long, though, getting up and helping himself to a drink before resuming his original position and watching me, his eyes hard.
I sighed at his silence, not entirely sure what he was being so surly about this time. “I know this isn’t ideal.” I offered the platitude to try to smooth his obviously ruffled feelings.
He looked as blank and grim as ever, but he was projecting his displeasure loud and clear, nonetheless. He sat in silence for a moment longer, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “I’m not the witch’s errand boy,” he finally ground out.
Oh, so that was it. “I know,” I said. “I just needed some help keeping her here. She’s a flight risk, and she’s more useful to us in New Orleans than she is lost somewhere else in the country.”
Kyle nodded curtly, making it very clear he understood but he didn’t have to like it. I didn’t want to spend time soothing Kyle’s hurt pride, but to allow for smoothing of relations and because I actually liked him, I’d do it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to relegate your role here to that of an errand boy for me. Nic has got big plans involving all of us—you and me, but also Jason, and possibly even Temple. Maybe it extends to more than that, but I’m not quite in a place where he tells me everything, yet.”
The smile capturing my lips felt rueful. I still had a way to go before my brother would trust me with all of his thoughts.
Kyle nodded like that was logical and took a surprisingly delicate sip of his drink.
I cleared my throat. “That said, I do need to ask you another favor.”
He glared, and I narrowed my eyes back. Regardless of how important we all were, I was still the one Nic had entrusted with running New Orleans, and I had to ensure that my dominance was respected.