“I’m not.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“It’s not a one drink night.”
She grinned, red lipstick stretching across a pale face. “Oh, you sound like my kind of guy.”
Declan twisted around and motioned to the barman for a round of drinks. When they arrived within seconds, the youngster was quick to earn himself a hefty tip.
He rose, disentangling himself from the curvy blonde and holding out a glass. She grinned, accepting the offering. She was pretty, but far from his agenda tonight.
“You’re leaving?”
He dipped his head to hers. “Trust me, honey, it’s for your own good.”
He swiped his drink off the counter and walked away, unable to shrug off the unease that conflicted with the anticipation of facing Kate. Harper was involved and Declan wanted answers – but for now, the pleasure of confronting her overruled that.
The image of a deer in the headlights came to mind.
He couldn’t wait.
Kate loathed crowds. Especially rowdy ones plied with alcohol.
The club was packed, everyone disguised with colourful masks. Music blared from the band of musicians on the stage, loud but not unpleasant. After all, New Orleans was well known for the talented musicians who flocked to the city.
Kate made her way to the side door reserved for members only. A fierce, burly bouncer stood outside the door, his arms crossed. Although he was bald, his frowning face was covered with hair. His expression was even as she approached, except for the hitch in one eyebrow.
Taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm the stampede of horses inside, Kate flashed a tag that gained her a nod and an open door.
“You’re late, Jenna,” he grumbled, his words masked in a heavy accent that sent chills down her spine.
“Yeah, yeah,” she replied, grateful for the mask she wore. She hurried through the door, slipping the tag back into her bag.
Remembering Jenna, fast asleep in Hazel’s back room, sent Kate's anxiety soaring, but she was quick to reel it in. Jenna had access to the private function behind the bar and Kate needed an in.
She made her way down the corridor that opened onto a courtyard nestled at the foot of a four-storey building. A private party was in full swing, the crowd dancing to music that blared from box speakers against the walls. Those not on the dance floor had taken to the balconies overlooking the courtyard. Barrels of fire burned everywhere, masking the scene in a glorious glow of orange inferno.
Kate stepped back as a juggler strolled past and disappeared into the crowd, tossing fire balls with ease. Waitresses wearing simple masks and cocktail dresses moved between the guests, serving beverages and smiling at the passes of the more drunken men. There was a bar in the far corner, the barman rushing to keep up. Apparently, food didn’t feature at this party. Despite the cool air, most of the women wore skimpy dresses.
And then she saw him.
Harper Avery.
His hair was different, shaved, his face a spray of stubble. Despite his silly hat, mask and smirk, there was a harshness to him she recognised. Drink in hand, he scanned the crowd, oblivious to her scrutiny.
He puffed on a cigar and laughed at something his companion said, the sound swept away by the music. He seemed so casual for the violent man who had attacked them.
Everything inside Kate urged her to charge at him and demand answers. And punch him. Oh, yes, she was itching to wipe that grin off his face. After her mother’s death, she’d spent the last year running from him.
No more.
She wanted revenge. Justice.
A tingle ran down her spine at the thought.
Looking over, she recognised his key players with ease. Three men and a woman.
Rick was older and his boisterous Italian charm masked an underlying callousness. He was grizzled and stocky, his tattooed arms were draped around the woman, Megan. They were dancing to an erotic beat while his fingers toyed with her short black hair. He whispered something in her ear that made her smile, before a commotion at the door separated them.
The arrival of Harper’s other two warriors, Max and John, instantly parted the dancing crowd. Max’s shaggy brown hair contrasted with the younger, neater John’s. According to Hazel, John was skilled in martial arts. Clutched in their grip was a woman with spiky blonde hair, dark make-up and a fierceness in her eyes that touched Kate.
The music softened, the excited murmurs died down, and everyone stared at Harper. Their anticipation hung in the air like a thick spice as they waited for their leader to speak.
He remained seated as his men presented the woman. Tilting his head lazily, he scanned the length of her.
“This is Lara?” Harper asked, his tone casual but laced with an iciness that sent a chill down Kate’s back.
“She showed up in the Quarter,” Max replied, swiping at his messy hair with one hand. “She resisted, just like you said she might.”
A slow smile spread across Harper’s face. “I’m assuming she’s come to her senses?”
“I will never join you,” Lara said, her tone tight with disgust.
Harper stood up so abruptly that his chair fell over, crashing to the ground in an elaborate display of temper. He closed the gap between himself and Lara.
“You refuse?” A fake smile softened the glare in his eyes. “Sweetie. You have no choice.”
“What do you want from me?”
He waved a hand at the crowd. “Witches and warlocks. You’ll fit right in.”
Witches and warlocks? All of them? Keeping to the shadows against the wall, Kate scoped out the room, her entire body prickling.
“I don’t side with evil,” Lara replied, glowering at him.
“Pity.” Harper trailed a finger along her chin. “You’re just the type of witch I’m looking for.”
“I will never join your cause.”
Harper’s grin faded and his eyes narrowed, all traces of playfulness disappearing. “You sure you won’t join me, dear? There’s a bigger picture here.”
“Screw your bigger picture. I’m not interested in violence, control or exposure. What’s wrong with you all?” she snapped at the gawking crowd. “The last time our kind came out of the closet, we were hunted down and destroyed.”
A frown creased Harper's eyebrows.
Kate’s stomach twisted at the reminder of the witch massacre, a tragic bloodbath that had claimed dozens of harmless witches. The event had marred their existence ever since, reminding them how crucial it was to live in secrecy.
“You know the agreement we have with the ordinary people who know about us,” Lara said, waving a hand across the room. “If they see you all gathered here, you’ll start a war!”
“We deserve to live freely, out in the open. After all, we’re the superior species.”
“We’re the minority species. Have you forgotten what happened to the Brogan brothers?”
“The Bennetts and their witch are responsible and they will pay for what they’ve done.”
A murmur of agreement rippled