“Who says I want to be safe?”
Dante stiffened, his eyes rolling up, and Heather lunged for him as the seizure locked up his muscles. She slid the needle into his taut-muscled neck and thumbed the plunger. His head whipped back.
She wrapped her arms around his fevered, trembling body, holding him as the morphine aborted the convulsion. With a sigh, Dante folded against her. She sat down on the wet grass with him in her arms, her heart pounding hard and fast.
“I was falling,” Dante slurred. “But Lucien…” The words caught in his throat. He looked at Heather through his thick lashes. He reached up and touched a finger to her lips. “Her name was Chloe. She was my princess. And I killed her.” His eyes closed. A tear slipped out from beneath his lashes, sliding to his ear.
Her name was Chloe.
A hot burr of pain pricked Heather’s heart. She stared at him, eyes burning. He’d remembered a part of his past, and not with the help of someone who cared for him and in his own time, but with drugs and torture-induced seizures. Was Chloe all he remembered?
Heather stroked his wet hair away from his face. Lowering her head, her lips just touching his, she murmured, “I love you, Dante Baptiste.”
But her words went unheard; Dante slept a false Sleep, lost to morphine.
“Dawn’s coming, doll. We need to move,”
“I have a motel room in Portland,” Cortini said.
Heather nodded. “We can hole up for the day.”
“And when it’s night again?” Annie asked.
Heather looked down at Dante’s peaceful, blood-streaked face. Tried to believe in its illusion. “Then we start a new life and we create a future.”
EPILOGUE THE NEVER-ENDING ROAD
Outside Portland, OR
March 25
THE TRANS AM’S ENGINE thrummed with power as Von slammed it into sixth gear. They burned up the road, burned up the night, a flaming arrow. Cortini sat in the passenger seat, her attention fixed on the dying night ahead.
Heather sat in the back seat, Annie beside her, Dante stretched across them both, doped and unconscious. His rain-damp hoodie was torn, ruined with spear gashes and bullet holes. His physical injuries would heal. What scared her was the damage done to his mind. His heart. She was afraid he’d been hurt beyond what she could help him heal.
Her name was Chloe. She was my princess. And I killed her.
Heather stroked his wet, black hair. She curled one lock behind his ear. Saw the dried blood. He’d given himself without hesitation for her and Annie. Had never asked the cost. Had risked his sanity, his life, his freedom.
I won’t lose you, she promised him.
She was exhausted, all out of energy, drained of adrenaline. She was so tired her body vibrated like a downed power line. But her mind plotted and planned and refused to shut up.
She’d arrange to have a moving service pick up the boxes in her house, including the Portland PD and Bureau files on her mother’s murder and on the Claw-Hammer Killer. One day, she hoped to be a voice for her mother. For Annie.
For Dante.
Especially for him. So he could be free, his life his own.
His future shaped within his own heart—not by Bad Seed, or the Shadow Branch or the Fallen. Her future had already taken shape and she raced toward it, eyes open.
A red neon sign flashed to the left: MOTEL VACANCY, and a neon beaver with a twig in its nibbling mouth winked. Von aimed the bulleting Trans Am for the motel.
Relief curled through Heather, and for a moment, her mind shut up. Sleep, for all of them. And when twilight shimmered across the horizon once more, they’d tear up the highway once again.
She looked at Dante and traced the edge of his beautiful face. Smelled autumn leaves and blood. Von’s words glimmered like gold in her mind: He is the never-ending Road.
She would follow the road home to New Orleans. Her and Annie and Eerie.
“I’m right here beside you, Baptiste,” Heather whispered.
Ahead, the road unwound.
GLOSSARY
TO MAKE THINGS AS simple as possible, I’ve listed not only words, but phrases used in the story. Please keep in mind that Cajun is different from Parisian French and the French generally spoken in Europe. Different grammatically and even, sometimes, in pronunciation and spelling.
For the Irish and Welsh words—including the ones I’ve created—pronunciation is provided.
One final thing: Prejean is pronounced PRAY-zhawn.
Aingeal (AIN-gyahl), angel. Fallen/Elohim word.
Ami, (m) friend, (f) amie. Mon ami, my friend.
Ami intime, close friend, beloved friend.
Anhrefncathl (ann-HREVN-cathl), chaos song; the song of a Maker. Fallen/Elohim word.
Bien, well, very.
Bon, good, nice, fine, kind.
Bonne chance ce soir, good luck tonight.
Bonne nuit, good night.
Buono, (Italian) good.
Ça fait pas rien, you’re welcome, it’s nothing.
Calon-cyfaill, (KAW-lawn-CUHV-aisle) bondmate, heartmate.
Cara mia, (Italian) my beloved.
Catin, (f) doll, dear, sweetheart.
Ça y est, that’s it.
Cercle de Druide, Circle of Druids, a conclave of vampire Elders.
C’est bon, that’s good.
Chalkydri (chal-KOO-dree), winged serpentine demons of Sheol, subservient to the Elohim.
Cher, dear, beloved. Mon cher, (m) my dear or my beloved.
Cher ami, mon, (m) my dearest friend, my best friend; intimate, implying a special relationship.
Chéri, (m) dearest, darling, honey (f) chérie.
Comme çi, comme ça, so-so.
Coup d’état, rebellion, revolution, uprising.
Creawdwr (KRAY-OW-dooer), creator; maker/unmaker; an extremely rare branch of the Elohim believed to be extinct. Last known creawdwr was Yahweh.
Cydymaith (kuh-DUH-mith), companion.
D’accord, okay.
De mal en pire, from bad to worse.
Elohim, (s and pl) the Fallen; the beings mythologized as fallen angels.
Et toi, and you.
Fallen, see Elohim.
Fi’ de garce, son of a bitch.
Filidh, Irish poet caste whose members were believed to be a combination of poet, magician, lawgiver, judge and counselor to the ruling chiefs and king.
Fille de sang, (f) blood-daughter; “turned” female offspring of a vampire.
Fils, son.
Fola Fior, True Blood, pure.
Gêné toi pas, don’t be bashful.
Gris-gris, (m) spell, charm.
J’ai faim, I’m hungry.
Je comprend, I understand.
Je m’en fichu, I could care less.
Je pense bien, I think so.
Je sais pas, I don’t know.
Je regrette, I’m sorry.
J’su ici, I’m here.
J’su ici, mon princesse, j’su ici, I’m here, my princess, I’m here.
J’su pas fou de ça, I’m not crazy about that.
Je t’aime, mon fils. Toujours, I love you, my son. Always.
Je te manque, I miss you.
La passée, the night hunt.
Llygad, (THLOO-gad) (s) eye; a watcher; keeper of immortal history; story-shaper. Llygaid (THLOO-guide) pl.
Loa, (Haitian) spirit; associated with voodoo.
Ma mère, my mother.
Merci, thank you. Merci beaucoup, thanks a lot. Merci bien, thanks very much.
Merde, shit.
Minou, (m) endearing name for a cat.
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; term
for vampires.
Nomad, name for the pagan, gypsy-style clans who ride across the land.
Oui, yes.
Père de sang, (m) blood-father; male vampire who has turned another and become their “parent.”
P’tit, mon, (m) my little one; p’tite, ma (f). (Generally affectionate.)
Peut-être que oui, peut-être que non, maybe yes, maybe no.
Pourquoi, why.
Sì, (Italian) yes.
S’il te plaît, please (informal).
Tais toi, shut up.
T’a menti, you lied, you lie.
T’es sûr de sa, are you sure about that? T’es sûr, you sure?
Toi t’a pas de la place pour parler, you have no room to talk.
Tracassé toi pas, don’t worry.
Très, very.
Très belle, (f) very beautiful.
Très bien, very good, very well.
Très joli, (m) very pretty.
True Blood, born vampire, rare and powerful.
Va jouer dans ta cour a toi, go play in your own yard.
Vévé, an intricate symbol of a loa, used in rituals.
Wybrcathl (OOEEBR-cathl), sky-song. Fallen/Elohim word.
The song Dante sings to Annie: Laissez-faire, laissez-faire, ma jolie, bons temps rouler, allons danser, toute la nuit… Let it be, let it be, my pretty one, good times roll, let’s dance all night…Si toi t’es presse et occupe, mon ami, courir ici, courir la-bas… If you’re rushed and busy, my friend, running here, running there…
From “Laissez Faire” by Bruce Daigrepont (Bayou PonPon, ASCAP) from Stir up the Roux on Rounder Records. Used with permission.
The song Caterina sings to Athena: 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
Adrian Phoenix, In the Blood
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