Chapter Thirty-one

“What de hell?” Adam demanded, and grabbed John’s arm himself. “You didn’t have that when you went to Montana.”

John pulled out of Adam’s grasp and moved to the window without answering.

“Did someone tie you with silver wire?” I asked.

“No.” John still faced in the other direction.

“You tried to kill yourself with a silver knife,” I blurted.

“Are you insane?” Adam pulled at his hair. “Stupid question.” He took a deep breath, let it out, seemed to be working on calming down and failing. “What if you’d succeeded? You would pass your curse to me?

To Luc? Don’t tell me you’ve changed, old man, you’re de exact same selfish prick you were a hundred and fifty years ago.”

Hearing Adam call John “old man” would have been funny, except nothing seemed funny anymore.

“I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time,” John said. “It was right after—” He rubbed a thumb along the thin white line. “When the voices were the loudest. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“You could have plunged de thing into your heart if you wanted to do de j ob right.”

I winced at the thought of what would have happened then—an explosion of fire, the resulting conflagration that would have left John Rodolfo nothing but ashes.

“They stopped me before I got that far,” John said.

Adam went silent; he appeared uncertain. “You won’t try anything like that again?”

“No.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him; from Adam’s expression, he didn’t either, but he chose to let the matter drop. For now.

“I’m still not clear on how the curse would pass from John to you.”

“If Grandpère dies,” Adam said, “I am cursed.”

“Out of the blue one night, bam—suddenly you’re a werewolf?”

“That’s what happened to me,” John said softly.

“Except it wasn’t out of de blue.” Adam’s lip curled. “You deserved it.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“Seems a little far-fetched,” I murmured.

“It’s magic,” Adam snapped. “Not logic.”

“You can’t be certain the curse will pass to you.”

“I don’t plan on killing him just to see.” He glared at John. “Although I have been tempted on more than one occasion. You never told me why you came back to New Orleans, Grandpère.”

“I told him to.”

The voice from the hall made me jump a foot, but I recognized the large, wide form of King, even before he stepped into the light.

“Who are you?” Adam demanded.

“This is King,” John said. “He’s my friend.”

“But he’s… black,” Adam pointed out.

“I am?” King murmured dryly.

“He was—is—” Adam didn’t seem able to continue, which was probably for the best. How did you explain that the man in front of you had once been a slave owner a century and a half after slavery had ended?

“You want to tell me of his slave-owning past?” King asked. “That he was one of the more brutal owners my ancestors ever knew?”

“Who is this guy?” Adam murmured.

“I’m the great-great-several-times-great-grandson of Mawu.”

Adam’s eyes widened. “The voodoo queen who cursed Grandpère?”

“The very same,” King agreed. “That’s how I got my name. My mother wanted to keep the family connection alive.”

I remembered Maggie explaining that New Orleans voodoo priests and priestesses were more often referred to as kings and queens. Hell.

“You said you were named after Elvis,” I muttered.

“I lied.”

My gaze went to the sharp silver implement on the floor at my feet. I wondered if it would work on him.

“Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?” Adam asked. “Not that I want you to, but—” He spread his hands. “I would have.”

“He isn’t the same man.”

“He isn’t a man,” Adam murmured.

“We got that,” I said, sick of hearing it myself.

John cast me a curious, almost hopeful glance, and I looked away. I couldn’t bear to gaze into those eyes. Just seeing them reminded me of each and every lie. Had anyone told the truth about anything around here? Including me?

“I didn’t want to live with the knowledge of all I’d done,” John explained. “I was haunted by the faces, driven mad by the voices. But after the first time I tried to die and failed, I realized I couldn’t do that to you.” He shifted his gaze to Adam, who made a derisive sound.

“None of the cures worked,” John continued. “Not magic, not potions, not science, not medicine.”

“There’s still Mawu’s method,” Adam said.

“Mawu the voodoo queen who cursed him over a century ago is still walking around?” If so, I didn’t want to meet her.

“No,” Adam answered. “Cassandra raised her from de dead.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Wow. She is good.”

John’s lips curved. “Mawu said I could only be cured by committing the ultimate sacrifice. However, I can’t give my life, or others suffer.”

I frowned. “What if in giving your life, the curse is broken?”

“We wouldn’t know if it worked until too late. And to be honest, chica, my life isn’t that big of a sacrifice.

I no longer relish it.”

I felt a twinge in the region of my heart. Hadn’t his life been a little better with me in it?

Idiot. He was a formerly psychotic werewolf, with the “formerly” still out for votes. He’d probably been using me all along, trying to make me love him just so he could break my heart and laugh maniacally. Isn’t that what sadists did?

“We’re going to have to figure something out,” Adam said.

“I did.” John indicated King. “He’s a lougaro.”

Adam tensed. “A what?”

“Voodoo werewolf,” I supplied.

“No.” King held up a hand. “I’m a shapeshifting sorcerer. There’s a difference.”

“So you don’t wander the night, drinking the blood of children?” I felt rather than saw Adam inch closer.

“Old wives’ tale.” King made a face. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“You told me you didn’t hold with voodoo.”

“Lied,” I interrupted. “That was your altar?”

“Yes. The spell allowed me to shift into other forms and roam the night.”

“You were the black cat.” He nodded. “The pig?” Another nod. “Were you a wolf?”

“At times.”

Adam suddenly had a gun in his hand and I hadn’t even seen him move. I hadn’t detected the telltale bulge of his carrying one either. Impressive.

“He isn’t evil,” John said. “He’s magic.”

Adam didn’t look convinced, and he didn’t lower the gun. “Magic didn’t work before, what makes you think it’ll work now?”

“In the form of a beast I commune with the loas,” King explained, “and from them I learned what John must do to be cured. He must kill them all.”

“Kill what?” Adam asked. “Who?”

“The werewolves.”

“He has to kill every werewolf before he’s healed?” Adam rubbed his forehead. “Grandpère, that’ll take another hundred and fifty years.”

I opened my mouth, shut it again. There were that many of them?

“Not all the werewolves, p etit-f ils, merely the ones I made.”

Adam hesitated. “That might also take a really long time.”

“Not as long as you think.” John glanced my way. “There is only one more.”

” One more? How can you be sure? You’ve been killing and maiming and having a grand old time for a century and a half.”

“The hunters have taken care of many.”

“Hunters?” I asked.

“Later,” they said as one.

“The ones left I called to this place, and they came.”

“Called?” Adam appeared confused.

“I am the alpha; their leader.”

“The master,” I murmured.

John’s eyes met mine. “Yes.”

The crazy guy who’d come to Rising Moon had been one of his proteges.

“What does p as argent mean?” I asked, remembering what he’d muttered after the knife had gone into the man’s chest.

“Not silver,” he said.

I should have taken French in high school. Two years of German wasn’t doing me a damn bit of good.

John hadn’t been able to kill the man without silver, or without becoming a wolf himself—and how could he with me standing right there—but I had no doubt he’d been the one to take care of the problem later, then dump it in the swamp.

“Your evil spawn was spread across de country,” Adam said. “How could you call them here from all over? How do you even know who they are?”

“I remember every single one,” John murmured. “It’s my cross to bear.”

“And nothing less than you deserve,” Adam said. “But how did you do it?”

“I had help.”

Before he could elaborate a cell phone rang. Adam reached into a voluminous pocket of his khaki pants.

” Oui?” he answered, then listened, his frown deepening. “Yes, it’s Grandpère. I will.”

He flipped the phone closed and glanced at John. “Our presence is requested at de mansion.”

“What if I don’t wish to go to the mansion?”

“Then I’m supposed to drug you and drag you anyway.”

John’s lips tightened. “Edward’s here.”

Adam dipped his head.

“Who the hell is Edward?” I demanded.

“My boss,” Adam said, at the same time John murmured, “My fate.”

“Well, that’s informative.”

Adam shrugged. “You’ll meet him soon enough.”

“No.” John stepped between us. “She isn’t going.”

“Edward says she is. Cassandra told him that Anne knows just about everything. Besides, they’re going to cure Sullivan, and if they do, he’s going to be confused. He’ll need someone there he trusts.”

Over my better judgment, I was intrigued. “I’ll go.”

“Me too,” King said.

“No,” John ordered. “Edward can smell a shapeshifter a mile away, and when he does, he kills them.”

“You’re still breathing.”

“I’m a guinea pig. When I cease to be useful, my days of breathing will end.”

“Fine,” King snapped. “I’ll stay.”

“Good choice.” Adam led the way out the door.

As I passed beneath the horseshoe I wondered aloud, “Why were you able to walk under iron?”

“Doesn’t work.” John glanced back. “Most of the old myths don’t.”

“Which is why calling your human name when you were in wolf form was a bust too.”

“John Rodolfo isn’t my name.”

“Crap.”

“I doubt it would have worked anyway.”

We reached the ground floor and slipped onto Frenchmen as dawn turned the sky a pale peach.

“Does anything work?” I asked.

An ancient, rusted Chevy was parked at the curb.

The thing must have been thirty years old; the paint had been sanded off, leaving a body with no true color to speak of.

Adam went around the front and opened the driver’s side door. “I stick with silver.” His eyes met John’s.

“Works every time.”