Etched in Bone (2 page)

Chéri
, (m) dearest, darling, honey (f)
chérie
.

Chien
, (m) dog. (f)
Chienne
, dog, bitch.

Creawdwr
(KRAY-OW-dooer), creator; Maker/Unmaker; an extremely rare branch of the Elohim believed to be extinct. Last known
creawdwr
was Yahweh.

Creu tân
(kray tahn), Maker’s fire, a
creawdwr
’s power of creation.

Cydymaith
(kuh-DUH-mith), companion.

Da
, (Russian) yes.

D’accord
, okay.

Delizioso
, (Italian) delicious.

Elohim
, (s and pl) the Fallen; the beings mythologized as fallen angels.

È una possibilità
, (Italian) It’s a possibility.

Exactement
, exactly.

Fais-moi
, make me.

Fallen
, see
Elohim
.

Fi’ de garce
, son-of-a-bitch.

Filidh
, master bard/warriors of the llygaid.

Fils, son
.
Mon fils
, my son.

Fille de sang
, (f) blood-daughter; “turned” female offspring of a vampire.

Fils de sang
, (m) blood-son; “turned” male offspring of a vampire.

Fout moi la paix
, leave me alone. Harsher than
quitte moi tranquille
.

Grazie
, (Italian) thank you.

Je connais
, I know.

Je t’aime
, I love you.

Je t’entends
, I hear you.
Je t’entends, catin
, I hear you, doll.

Joli
, (m) pretty, cute; (f)
jolie
.
Mon joli
, my pretty boy.

J’su ici
, I’m here.

J’su sûr
, I’m sure

Le Conseil du Sang
, the Council of Blood, nightkind lawgivers.

Llygad
, (THLOO-gad) (s) eye; a watcher; keeper of immortal history; story-shaper;
Llygaid
, (THLOO-guide) pl.

Ma belle femme
, my beautiful woman, lady. Can mean wife.

Ma mère
, my mother.

Marmot
, (m) brat.

Más claro que el agua
, (Spanish) as clear as daylight.

Menteuse
, (f) liar; (m)
menteur
.

Merci
, thank you.
Merci beaucoup
, thanks a lot.
Merci bien
, thanks very much.

Merde
, shit.

Mère de sang
, (f) blood-mother; female vampire who has turned another and become their “parent.”

Minou
, (m) endearing name for a cat.

Mio amico
, (Italian) my friend.

Mo bhean
, (Irish) my lady.

Mo pháiste
, (Irish) my child.

M’selle
, (f) abbreviated spoken form of
mademoiselle
, Miss, young lady.

M’sieu
, (m) abbreviated spoken form of
monsieur
, Mr., sir, gentleman.

Naturellement
, naturally, of course.

Nephilim
, the offspring resulting from Fallen and mortal unions.

Nightbringer
, a name/title given to Lucien De Noir.

Nightkind
, (s and pl) vampire; Dante’s term for vampires.

Nomad
, name for the pagan, gypsy-style clans who ride across the land.

Oui
, yes.

Oui sûr
, Yeah, sure; yeah, right.

Père
, (m) father,
Mon père
, my father.

Père de sang
, (m) blood-father; male vampire who has turned another and become their “parent.”

Peut-être
, maybe, perhaps.

Potete andare diritto ad inferno
, (Italian) You can go straight to hell.

P’tit, mon
, (m) my little one, (f)
p’tite, ma
. (Generally affectionate.)

Quitte moi tranquille
, leave me alone.

Sì
, (Italian) yes.

Tais toi
, shut up.

Tayeau
, (s) hound.
Tayeoux
, (pl) hounds

T’es sûr de sa?
are you sure about that?
T’es sûr?
you sure?

Toujours
, always.

Tout de suite
, right away.

Très
, very.

Très joli
, (m) very pretty.

True Blood
, born vampire, rare and powerful.

Une main lave l’autre
, one good turn deserves another.

Va t’cacher
, go to hell.

Wybrcathl
(OOEEBR-cathl), sky-song. Fallen/Elohim word.

Caterina’s lullaby
:
Fi la nana, e mi bel fiol/ Fi la nana, e mi bel fiol/ Fa si la nana/ Fa si la nana/ Dormi ben, e mi bel fiol/ Dormi ben, e mi bel fiol . . .

Hush-a-bye, my lovely child/ Hush-a-bye, my lovely child/ Hush, hush and go to sleep/ Hush, hush and go to sleep/ Sleep well, my lovely child/ Sleep well, my lovely child . . . —Traditional Italian lullaby in an old dialect.

1
DIRTY BUSINESS

N
EW
O
RLEANS
C
LUB
H
ELL
March 30

“H
EY
, P
UMPKIN
.”

Just two simple words spoken into air fragrant with the homey scents of toast and cantaloupe, yet they fractured the club’s late-morning peace and iced Heather Wallace’s spine.

Never expected to see him in New Orleans, let alone Club Hell. Did he come on his own or did the Bureau send him?

Heather finished rinsing her plate in the sink behind the bar, turned off the water, then, pulse pounding, swiveled around to face her father. The weight of the Colt snugged into the back of her jeans did little to comfort her.

Special Agent James William Wallace stood in the entrance beneath the neon
BURN
sign, red light winking from the lenses of his glasses and gliding along the shoulders of his tan trench coat. Shadows cast by the dim overheads hollowed his cheeks, making him look older than his fifty-seven years.

The last time Heather had seen her father had been at the FBI field office in Seattle, where he’d tried to convince her to abandon the truth and sell her soul to the Bureau, and where Heather had also learned that the lying bastard had used Annie to spy on her, promising his long-ignored bipolar daughter that they’d be a family once more.

Of course, Annie hadn’t known he’d sell Heather’s secrets. Or that he’d lied.

But Alexander Lyons had known, and had shared the information with Heather before he’d held her at gunpoint, before he’d triggered Dante’s programming, before Dante had
remade
him into something . . . else.

Your dad contacted a member of the Shadow Branch and told this person that Dante Baptiste saved your life
without
using his blood. So the SB decided to bring you in for tests to determine what he did to you and how.

“Whose dirty business are you doing today?” Heather asked, wiping her hands dry against her jeans. “The Bureau’s or your own?”

“The traditional greeting is still ‘Hello, good to see you,’ I believe,” James Wallace replied. A sardonic smile slanted his lips. His gaze slid past Heather. “I admit, I’m disappointed in you, Annie,” he said.

The cold icing Heather’s spine deepened. She turned her head to look at her sister. Wearing a fuzzy purple bathrobe, her blue-black-purple-colored tresses bed-mussed and pointing in all directions, Annie sat perched on a stool at the polished counter, her blue eyes wide with shock. She lowered her cream cheese–slathered bagel from her mouth. “How the
fuck
did you get in?” she asked.

“Well, given that you didn’t leave the door unlocked like I asked, I had to find my own solution,” James Wallace chided, his tone a wagging
naughty-naughty
finger.

Heather stiffened. “You
called
him?”

Mingled guilt and defiance flashed across Annie’s face. “I didn’t think it’d be a big deal. Fuck.” She looked down at her bagel, then pushed the plate away. She seemed to find the bar’s surface suddenly fascinating.

“Jesus Christ! He asked you to
unlock the door
and you didn’t tell me?” Heather stared at her sister, her pulse pounding at her temples. “Didn’t tell
any
of us? What the
hell
were you thinking?” She slapped both palms down on the counter in front of Annie’s shoved-away plate. The abrupt, harsh sound echoed throughout the club. “Look at me, dammit!”

Annie lifted her gaze. Defiance had won the war over guilt in her blue eyes. “But I
didn’t
unlock the door,” she protested, “so I thought that ended it. I only called him to let him know we were okay. In case he was worried or something.”

“
Dammit
, Annie. Shit.” Anger Heather didn’t have time for—
not now, but later, oh, hell yes, we’re going to have it out
—burned a hole in her gut. She blew out a frustrated breath, then looked at their father. “Trust me, he wasn’t worried,” she said, voice grim.

James Wallace shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he replied. “I’ve been worried since the moment I learned you’d disappeared. And before that—from the moment I realized you’ve been protecting a vampire. Lying for him. Covering up for him.”

“That’s pretty damned funny coming from a pathological liar,” Heather said.

“That’s not
you
talking, Pumpkin.”

“I’m pretty damned sure it is.”

“No. It’s not. It’s that bloodsucker, not you. And I plan to free you from Dante Prejean and his influence. Help you redeem yourself.”

“His name isn’t Prejean, it’s Baptiste. And you’re wasting your time,” Heather said, her voice tight, knife-edged. “I don’t
need
or
want
your so-called freedom or your goddamned redemption.”

“You don’t get it—of course you don’t,” her father said, stepping down from the entrance’s mouth and into the club proper. “That bloodsucker has messed with your mind and your loyalties. You no longer know what you want. You’re no longer in control of your own life. You’ve even destroyed your career because of him.”

“You’re so far from the truth, I don’t even know where to begin,” Heather said. “But I’m not going to bother, because you’ll never understand that every action I’ve taken has been
my
choice. So . . .” She reached back for her Colt and locked her fingers around the grip. “You need to leave. I have things to do.”

It was nearly noon, and Heather kept expecting to hear the thump of the streetside doors as Jack or Eli or Emmett Thibodaux arrived to add more warm bodies to their daytime security detail.

C’mon, guys. Now would be good. Before things escalate.

She’d be even happier if Lucien De Noir were present, but he’d gone to the fire-bombed plantation house to meet with the insurance adjuster. But some things could never be compensated for—not even in blood. When Guy Mauvais had orchestrated the house’s destruction, his henchmen burning it to a smoldering pile of rubble and ashes, Dante hadn’t just lost the home he’d shared with Von, De Noir, and the others, he’d also lost Simone, his
chère amie
, in the gasoline-fueled blaze.

“You’re right,” James Wallace said, voice strained, “I
don’t
believe any action you’ve taken since meeting Prejean has been your own. You’re lying to yourself, Pumpkin. You’ve chosen nothing.” He walked across the wood floor, headed for the bar. The clean scent of his Brut aftershave preceded him. “That’s just what Prejean or Baptiste or whatever name the bloodsucking bastard goes by wants you to think. But I’m going to put an end to that.”

“No, you’re not.” Heather slipped the Colt free and swung it around in a two-handed hold, leveling the muzzle with her father’s chest. Her aim was steady despite the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Hold it right there. Not another step.”

“Heather,” Annie breathed.

James Wallace halted and lifted his hands into the air, palms out. One eyebrow quirked up. “Is this necessary?” he asked.

“Sadly, yeah,” Heather replied. He might be her father, but he was also the man who’d sold her out to the SB.

“We’re blood, Heather. Family,” her father said, his words calm and matter-of-fact. “
Human
. That should count more than a roll in the sack with an inhuman, bloodsucking scumbag.
He’s
not human, and never will be.”