‘What are you talking about?’
‘There’s a lot of history in this city, Vi. Ghost stories always start somewhere. There’s the story of Delphine LaLaurie, who tortured and murdered a great number of slaves. She and her husband disfigured them and left them half dead and chained to her stove, and they were only found after the house caught fire.’
He watched my expression change.
‘I know … She escaped before anyone could stop her.’
‘That’s …’
He nodded. ‘Then there was the great Sultan’s massacre in the late eighteen-hundreds. He kept a mansion in the French Quarter like the LaLauries’, but his was famous for parties, opium and a harem of women and young boys. Until one day the house suddenly fell silent. When the authorities went in they found the floors covered thickly with blood and dismembered body parts strewn throughout the house. The Sultan was the only one left in one piece, in a shallow grave in the garden, his hand reaching out as if he’d been buried alive. No one ever found out who was responsible.’
‘Sammael?’ I asked softly, my fear of and anger towards this exile growing in equal proportions.
‘I think so. It makes sense if he saw this land as his. He would pride himself on controlling people, leading them to unspeakable acts, but if any of them became too powerful he would have been quick to erase them. There are many more stories like—’
I grabbed Lincoln’s arm. He tensed instantly, knowing what I was telling him.
‘How many?’ he asked under his breath.
‘Six that I can tell, very close,’ I responded. I gestured towards a nearby side street. ‘Let’s lead them down there.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to make a run for the safe house?’
I shook my head. We couldn’t lead them back to the other Grigori, and to Phoenix. ‘But can you …’ I struggled to find the words. I wished it would make a difference if I asked him to fight as my partner and not just jump in the way of every danger I faced. But there was no point. I knew he would. I just had to hope we made it out. We could manage six.
‘We can’t leave loose ends,’ I said instead.
Lincoln looked at me strangely but let it go, giving me a tight nod. ‘You don’t want word to spread that you’re here.’
I shrugged. For whatever reason, Sammael had an interest in me and I wasn’t going to make it any easier for him.
‘It’s clever, Vi. You’re a smart fighter,’ he said.
I gulped, wishing the praise didn’t affect me. But Lincoln had been my first trainer, he was my partner – despite what I told myself – and no matter what had happened between us, when it came to the fight his praise carried more weight than anyone else’s.
A crowd in front of us began to clear, and we saw them. As the street hummed with the activity of partygoers the exiles were obvious, remaining statuesque, their eyes intent and fixed on us.
We ran down the side street, trying to get as far into the shadows as possible. In such a populated area it really would have helped if we’d had some glamour Grigori around to mask the inevitable fight, but we were on our own.
When we stopped and turned, the six exiles – all typically handsome, and dressed in varying combinations of fitted denim and leather to blend with the city’s more trendy socialites – were stalking towards us. Their desire for death and blood showed in everything from their hurried, rigid movements to the snarls on their lips and the hunger in their eyes.
We withdrew our Grigori daggers and I pushed out my power, not bothering to delay with so much on the line. My amethyst mist suddenly surrounded me and I heard Lincoln’s intake of breath beside me. I ignored it and pushed my power out, willing it to do my bidding.
The mist moved like an extension of myself, growing until all six exiles were within my range and then I used it to shock them immobile. Lincoln didn’t hesitate.
He stood in front of the first one, who, draped in leather and wearing heavy eyeliner, looked like he should be the lead singer of a band instead of an exiled angel. Lincoln levelled the point of his Grigori blade against the exile’s heart.
‘Release him,’ he said.
I did, keeping the others easily within my hold. I could feel my power urging me on, as if it wanted me to push more and move into my incorporeal state. But I was all too aware of the warnings I’d received. None more so than from Evelyn. She was adamant that I needed to avoid spending too much time within my Sight – and in particular, giving in to the lure of it. I knew she worried that my corporeal body could separate from me permanently. I feared at times she was right.
So, I held myself in place.
‘Choose,’ Lincoln ordered the exile. He stood before Lincoln, a dagger at his chest, and only smiled.