Chapter 47 Archer
Chapter forty-seven
Archer
I could feel the moment the barrier fell; like a popped champagne bottle, the pressure that had kept me away released, leaving me panting in relief.
Mex felt it too, darting across street, her boots splashing heavily in the puddles Delilah’s rain had left behind.
“Well done, cher,” she praised, her voice like warm honey as she eyed the opened gates. “You’re more than I anticipated. Archer’s gonna have to keep a close eye on you, baby, because I see big things coming your way.”
Delilah, for her part, said nothing, offering a tired smile as she climbed unsteadily to her feet. Reaching down, I wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close when she leaned on me, that small act of trust sparking deep within me.
Lifting her hand, I inspected the cut she had made.
It was small, but deep, the blood still freely flowing, and without thinking, I leaned down, my tongue darting out to lick over the wound.
Delilah moaned, the sound going straight to my cock, and I swallowed, my body lighting up with the taste of her.
I could feel the change coming over me, unbidden, my response to her blood and desire so fierce, I couldn’t contain it.
Without warning, my body changed, my tongue forking as I dove back in for another taste, another chance to consume a small part of my mate.
To take her within me and make her a part of me in a way I had never known I could desire.
Growling, I licked again, feeling the moment my magic rose from within me and sealed the cut. Then I pressed a final kiss to her palm, taking in the small, pale scar that was left behind.
Another mark to remind the world who she belonged to.
To remind her she was mine.
“Thank you,” Delilah whispered, her face pale, but her eyes heated. “I had no idea magic was so taxing. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”
“Let’s just find this fucking relic, and then you can sleep for a month if you like,” I promised, already picturing her asleep in my bed, her face flushed from exertion and her pussy dripping with my come.
“Oh,” Delilah gasped, her eyes wide as she looked at me.
Fuck. She must have felt my lust through the bond again if the rush of color to her cheeks was any indication.
“Something I can help you with, witch?” I asked, my lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. Between us, the bond hummed with anticipation and desire.
Delilah shivered, her eyes closing before she whispered, “Maybe.”
“You comin’?” Mex shouted, and I snarled at her back, showing my fangs as she made her way down the narrow row of mausoleums and disappeared around a corner.
Overhead, Mal flew, his sleek raven form swooping low over the tops of the tombs, following Mex as she navigated the narrow warren of the cemetery with ease.
“She’s right,” Delilah said, her hand patting mine where it still clung to her waist. “We should get this over with.”
Still, I refused to release her, far too content to simply hold her, to know she was near me and safe.
“Later, lovebirds,” Vine chirped as he pushed past us, Corson following him at a slower pace. “As cute as this is, there’s work to be done.”
“Don’t kill him,” my witch teased, stepping away, her eyes following the others out of sight. When I looked at her in surprise, she simply smiled and said, “I know you want to.”
She was right. I did. And I likely would again.
“Come, witch,” I said, gesturing for her to step ahead of me so that she would always be in my line of sight.
She entered the cemetery slowly, her wide gaze drinking in the towering crypts that flanked us on all sides, ever watchful.
New Orleans never could stomach its dead. No, the swampy ground refused them, rejecting the offerings again and again until the living finally caught on. Now, they raised their dead skyward, entombing them in marble, tiny fortresses of denial, monuments to sorrow and decay.
A supernatural paradise where the dead are never forgotten.
Stepping carefully over the old, cracked concrete, Delilah followed the others, finding them gathered around a tall, narrow tomb of veined white marble. At the base of the tomb was a collection of coins, buttons, and, oddly enough, tubes of lipstick.
“Is this him?” Delilah asked as she approached.
“Nah,” Mex answered quietly, not taking her eyes off the tomb. “But you don’t come to the City of the Dead and not pay homage to the Queen. This here is Madame Marie Laveau, and before we go any further, we gonna leave her a little something for her trouble.”
Reaching into her pocket, Mex pulled out a handful of coins—silver dollars, by the look of them—and placed them carefully at the base of the tomb.
“Won’t someone just steal them?” Delilah asked.
“Marie won’t mind. She was a woman for the people, helping anyone who needed it, no matter where they came from.
” Lifting her chin, Mex smiled at the name carved into the marble plate at the front of the tomb.
“If someone comes by here and thinks they need those coins more than Marie does, well, she’d be happy for them to take ’em.
” Pressing a kiss to two of her fingers, Mex pushed them gently against the stone, a strange kind of smile on her face. “Generous, our Queen was.”
“You knew her?” Delilah’s face was lit up with curiosity, and I found myself envying her. How long had it been since I’d felt that way?
Centuries—perhaps longer.
And when did that change? I wondered, but in truth, I knew.
My curiosity and zeal for life had reappeared the second I had laid eyes on my little witch.
“Yes, cher. I knew her. She was an incredible woman. And an incredible friend. I miss her, but she’s resting quietly now, and for that, I’m glad.”
For a moment, no one spoke, all of us taking a moment of silence for Mex’s fallen friend.
Wordlessly, Vine opened his Rip, reaching inside and drawing out a bottle of spiced, dark rum and setting it next to Mex’s pile of coins.
Corson grunted, opening his own Rip and withdrawing a jar of honey.
Where he’d acquired that, I had no idea, but it wasn’t my business what a man kept in his Rip.
Delilah watched the scene with quiet reverence, and I could feel the growing spark of respect she had for everyone, even Mex, as she watched them each lay their offerings before the tomb.
When Mal flew down, landing lightly, he carried a cluster of white flowers in his beak, Asters, if memory served.
Setting the blooms next to the tomb, he let out a single, mournful caw before resuming his position in the sky, keeping watch.
Stepping forward, Delilah reached into her satchel, once again hunting in its depths before coming out with several items.
“I don’t have much on me,” she said quietly. “And I don’t have a Rip, so I’m afraid this will have to do.” In her hands, she held a small wooden comb, a vial of what appeared to be oil, and a few candies wrapped in waxed paper.
“Toffee,” she said when she caught me staring at them in question. “Heidi made them.” The words were tinged with sadness, and my chest ached at the feeling of loss that leaked through our connection.
Kneeling down, she arranged her offerings in a small pile, whispering quietly, “Rest easy, sweet lady.”
She made to stand, then paused, her hand darting back into the satchel and coming out with a handful of the hedgehog’s feed she kept there.
“One from Pandora, too,” she added, her cheeks heating.
“That’s good, cher,” Mex said, her eyes shining. “That’s real good.” Turning her gaze to me, Mex inclined her head, lips pursed as she gave me a meaningful look.
Scowling back at her, I opened my own Rip, taking a moment to find what I was looking for. When I found it, I smiled, knowing it was the right thing to offer to the woman who had once ruled over a significant part of the city and its people.
“Here, witch,” I said, handing the item to Delilah where she still knelt before the tomb. “Offer this from me.”
“Oh, Archer!” she gasped, and behind her, Mex hissed in a sharp breath.
“You play a dangerous game, mon ami,” she growled at me, eyes on the amethyst I had just laid in Delilah’s palm.
It was easily the size of a hen’s egg, the deep, creamy purple color standing out sharply against the drab grays and browns of the surrounding cemetery.
“This close to Samhain? You want to mess with the veil when it’s already thinning, that’s your choice.
But you keep that shit away from me and my city, you hear me? ”
“She’s not wrong,” Delilah whispered, setting the amethyst down and rising to her feet. “With everything that’s going on, it seems risky to tempt fate like that.”
“It’s just a rock,” Vine said, shrugging. “What’s the big deal?”
“Amethyst is well known to be a conduit between realms,” Delilah said, sending a soft smile his way. I did my best to contain my growl.
Her smiles should be mine.
I growled, but said nothing.
“Samhain is already stretching the veil thin,” she continued, but her smile told me she felt my jealousy—and she liked it. “It might be pushing our luck to stretch it even thinner.”
“Nathaniel did mention Samhain,” Corson said, his words hollow. “There at the end, I mean.”
I remembered. The final words of my friend rang through my mind like a church bell.
Samhain. Veil. Final. Savior.
What did it mean?
“The Feast of the Souls approaches, and you decide to be flippant.” Mex was pissed, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed on me.
“I promise you, I am taking this very seriously,” I assured her, unable to prevent my own gaze from darting to Delilah. When I looked back at Mex, her expression had softened, but only slightly. “My offering was made in all earnestness. I meant no disrespect.”
She considered my words, her painted lips pursed in disgruntlement, then nodded.
“Yeah, you right. Amethyst is a fine offering,” she finally admitted. “But let’s not push our luck, yeah?” Reaching out to touch Marie’s tomb one last time, Mex turned and continued through the cemetery, calling over her shoulder as she went, “We’ve got a grave to rob, so let’s get to it.”