Of Haitian descent, his mahogany skin was smooth and flawless despite his having to be at least middle-aged to have risen to his current level of power within the Order. His oiled bald head shone under the overhead lights of the entryway his presence seemed to dwarf. He had to be smoldering hot in the pale gray three-piece designer suit he’d donned for this meeting, especially as there didn’t seem to be any air conditioning in the house. And while it may be late fall, the temperatures outside were still pretty warm, at least in Morgan’s opinion, but if the heat affected him at all, he didn’t show it. His features were shrewd, hawk-like, and if he hadn’t been smiling widely, showing off gleaming white teeth, Morgan would have found Destin Jourdain quite intimidating.
“I believe you said it was my integrity, but I have to say, that that particular trait is shared by all of the Hunters, so there has to be something more to it.”
Another booming chuckle. “Clever.” Raising his hand, he motioned for her to follow. “Come.”
The room he led her into may have once been the living room but was currently devoid of furniture. Instead, the expanse of the bare plank floor held a large circle painted in white with symbols around the interior in red. Fat, white pillar candles crusted in dried wax sat just outside the circle while a massive metal bowl flanked by human skulls in the center of the circle was filled with a red liquid that might have been mistaken for blood had her acute sense of smell not told her it was nothing more than dyed corn syrup.
Seeing her interest, Jourdain stopped to inform her, “For the tourists,” before he once again motioned for her to follow.
Where the living room had been sparse and rather macabre in its décor, the office to which Jourdain showed her was the opposite. Shelves stuffed to overflowing with books lined every wall with even more books stacked on the floor as well as on every table and on the corner of Jourdain’s mammoth desk. Lit tiffany lamps threw an assortment of rainbow-colored shapes on their surroundings, lending an almost whimsical feel to a room rich with the scent of old paper and leather.
Motioning for her to have a seat in the rather comfy looking brown leather club chair, Jourdain rounded his desk and settled himself behind it with a sigh and then shook his head. “You’re right of course about your fellow Hunters. Plenty of good, honorable, vampires to choose from. Lots of men with integrity.”
The last had her raising an eyebrow. “You wanted a woman.”
A barely perceptible nod before Jourdain picked up a pen from his desk and began twirling it through his fingers. “I’ve made it my business to know Rodolfo – his habits, his predilections – even if he does choose to rarely emerge from behind the walls of his little kingdom.”
The statement came as little surprise. Any leader worth his or her salt would make knowing the other power players in the area their highest priority and Jourdain didn’t strike her as a fool.
“For someone like you, he’d welcome with open arms, eager to show off and ready to impress.”
Morgan couldn’t dispute the logic, nor could she fault Jourdain for his tactics, even if it was mildly insulting that her gender had played a major role in why the leader of the Order had chosen her. Her impression of Rodolfo, above and beyond the man’s arrogance, had been that he considered himself quite the lady’s man, and thus, would be more likely to open up to a woman rather than a man. Still, she felt it necessary to point out, “I’m not the only female Hunter. Far from it.”
Jourdain lifted a brow. “Now,” he said, tossing the pen back on the desk. “There are other female Huntersnowand only thanks to you.”
Shaking his head with a smile of admiration, the man let out a little hum of approval and sat back deeper in his chair. “Morgan Rhys.Not afraid to thumb your nose at your own kind's expectations, kicking down doors, and staring them right in the eye as you told them where to stick their traditions. You were a trailblazer for your women. Now, perhaps you'll take the lead once again by aligning with the witches in spite of your kind's derision toward us and help us find a killer.”
“About that,” Morgan began with a grimace, hating having to be the one to tell him, but having little choice. “I cut through Lafayette cemetery on my way here. There was a body. A woman.”
Jourdain’s expression went absolutely thunderous, the air around him practically crackling with energy, and Morgan had to steel herself to remain seated when every instinct in her body erupted with the urge to find cover before the man blew apart in his rage.
One large fist slammed the surface of the desk, making the thing jump under the blow despite its obviously heavy weight. “Tell me,” he snarled. “Tell me what you saw.”
“A police officer was already on scene when I came upon her so I didn’t have much opportunity to examine the scene. She was a white woman, dark hair, probably in her late twenties. If I had to guess, she’d been killed sometime late last night. By the way she was dressed, I have to assume she worked as maybe a fortune teller or perhaps in one of the occult shops.”
Jourdain nodded grimly and running a hand over his face, he blew out a long breath. “Any number of my people work in the tourism industry and may have been dressed as you described.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she murmured, the words feeling trite and wholly inadequate. “But I think you should know that I did smell traces of vampire blood on the scene and I have every intention of digging into Rodolfo and his people to find out who did this. As you had already informed me, this wasn’t a feeding gone bad. Whoever did this, killed her for sport.”
Another nod from Jourdain, this one distracted as he murmured, “Your assistance is most welcome, Hunter.”
“Police involvement makes things a bit tricky, but I met one of the officers and have his card. I can meet with him, see if I can pry any more details they’ve discovered from him,” Morgan said, feeling slightly guilty for the anticipatory leap in her veins at the thought of seeing Travis St. John again. Clearing her throat, she leashed the sensation and got back on track. “How many cases are they working on now? On the phone, you told me a string of murders, you weren’t specific.”
Jourdain grimaced and shook his head. “Two bodies were retrieved by law enforcement before we could get to them. Three others were discovered by members of the Order and given proper ceremony as was their due.”
Morgan nodded, not surprised that the Order of Witches hadn’t wanted to involve the police if they could help it. The supernatural world, be they vampire, witch, or shifter, preferred to handle things themselves and keep humans as far out of the loop as possible. “Can I ask how you knew a vampire was involved? Did someone see one of the murders?”
“A woman named Simone was one of the first bodies found. She fought her attacker, had his blood under her nails. We attempted a locator spell with the intention of delivering justice. DNA is typically absolute, but not when it comes to vampires.”
Raising a brow in surprise at this news, Morgan thought about it for a moment before she blurted, “The blood exchange.”
Jourdain eyed her shrewdly for a moment before he nodded. “Every vampire made by the Born that created him or her will show up as well as anyone they’ve recently fed from.”
“A needle in a haystack.”
“Thus, why we called you Miss Rhys. We need someone on the inside. Someone to watch and listen, dig into things without raising suspicion.”
Recalling the body left in the weeds like so much discarded trash and her sense that whoever had killed the woman had toyed with her first, tormented her, probably even treated the woman’s death as a game with no regard for life or those people that would be left behind to mourn the loss, Morgan felt a fire of rage and disdain building in her belly. She hated people like that. Her father had been one, and she’d long ago sworn that while she may never be able to make a difference with him, she’d damn well make a difference elsewhere. Did it really matter whether the job came from her kind or the witches? A rogue vampire needed to be brought down. End of story. Standing, Morgan held out her hand. “I’ll find whoever this rogue is, Mister Jourdain. My team and I will take care of it.”
