chapter Three
A PARROT, A PRIEST, AND THE SLIGHT PROBLEM OF AN EXTRA VAMPIRE
REALLY? Damned sirens again?
Cort groaned, determinedly hauling the covers over his head.
Couldn’t these damned humans make it through one day of partying without the medics coming to deal with some idiot who drank seventeen hand grenades and now had alcohol poisoning? Or was it a couple of macho superegos who’d gotten into a barroom brawl, probably over a woman they both just met that night.
The siren wailed again as if to answer. Hell, no. They couldn’t manage that. But this was Bourbon Street—what did Cort expect?
He tugged the blankets tighter around his ears, but that didn’t help. In fact, it was starting to sound like the incessant wailing was coming from inside his apartment rather than down on the street below.
Shit, sleep wasn’t going to happen with this racket going on. Letting out a low growl, he shot upright, only to clasp his head as a ripping pain threatened to split his skull.
“What the fuck.”
He remained totally still, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. Then after several seconds, he carefully parted one eyelid, then the other.
The colored lights from Bourbon Street glared brightly through the windows, and he winced as another wail ricocheted off the walls of his apartment.
Shit, he knew what was wrong with him, even though he wasn’t sure how it could be. He hadn’t experienced one of these in nearly two hundred years, but even after all that time, there was no forgetting the blinding pain in his head, the roil of his stomach, and the feeling he’d just eaten flour straight from the bag.
“Shiiit, I have a hangover.”
Cort lifted his head from his hands, pretty sure he hadn’t said this realization aloud. He squinted across his room only to discover he wasn’t sleeping in his room, but rather on the living room couch under . . . a woman’s coat?
He looked in the direction from where he thought the comment had come. A heap near the window moved. As the shadowy figure slowly sat up, Cort made out long, golden hair and almost angelic features.
Saxon. His band’s keyboard player.
“Oh, dude, my head.”
Cort wasn’t always sure about the newest bandmate, but in this instance he had to agree. Shit, his head hurt, too.
Of course, it made sense the keyboard player might have a headache. Saxon was a relative baby in vampire terms, and he still had some lingering human weaknesses. But Cort’s vampire constitution was far beyond mundane ailments like a hangover.
Another wail echoed through the room and agonizingly through Cort’s throbbing head.
Okay, obviously not. This was definitely a hangover. Damn, he needed some blood, but getting up off the couch, lumpy as it was, and heading to the fridge seemed like far too much work.
“What the hell happened last night?” came another groggy, miserable voice from the worn, oversized chair in the corner.
Cort saw Wyatt, The Impalers’ bass player, slumped forward in the chair, his hands sinking into the tangle of his long, dark hair. Cort didn’t answer, but he did try to search his aching brain. What the hell had happened?
“Dude, all I remember is dust in the wind,” Saxon said, collapsing back into a heap.
“What does that even mean?” Cort asked, not bothering to hide his irritation with Saxon’s cryptic comment. Leave it to Saxon to quote classic rock in some misled attempt to be deep. The mentally challenged should never, never try to be deep. Especially when he felt this damned shitty.
Saxon lifted his head and frowned, which gave him the appearance of a wounded angel. “It means all I remember was dumping Johnny’s ashes over the side of the riverboat.”
Johnny’s ashes. Johnny’s ashes. Shit, Johnny Malone was dead. That’s where they’d all been last night, on a riverboat, giving him his final send-off. Saxon was being literal. Damn.
How could Cort have forgotten Johnny’s wake? The loss of their bandmate had been rough on all of them, from the newest to the oldest member. Cort fell somewhere in the middle.
“That’s all I remember, too,” Wyatt said, then groaned as another wail filled the room. “What the hell is up with that noise?”
This time there was no denying that the sound was getting closer. Not to mention, this time the piercing screech was followed by the sound of footfalls and a frenzied commotion of someone tearing down Cort’s hallway.
Cort, Wyatt, and Saxon all sat upright as a woman dashed wildly into the room. She stopped just inside the doorway, her hair wild, her eyes huge, and her whole body heaving with panicked breaths. Her terrified gaze moved over each of them, but no one spoke. Only her uneven breathing reverberated through the room
Finally Saxon made a snorting sound and stated, “That was unexpected.”
Cort frowned, even though he didn’t totally disagree, but then he returned his attention to the woman, who he was starting to recognize behind her tangle of honey-colored hair.
“Katie?” he said tentatively.
She made a small noise, which he wasn’t sure was agreement or just more panic, but he didn’t need her to confirm. He knew it was Katie. He’d spent enough time watching her to recognize her even in this disheveled state.
Katie Lambert, the washboard player from the day band at the bar where The Impalers played at night. He couldn’t say they were friends exactly, but he certainly knew her. They’d spoken many times, and he was always aware when she’d stay after her set was done and watch them play. She was hard to miss with her pretty, pixielike face and infectious smile.
Hell, he could even admit that a couple of times he’d imagined what it would be like to take her to bed. Okay, more than a couple—more like dozens. And dozens.
But that still didn’t explain what she was doing in his apartment. Looking like . . . damn, what had happened to her?
Even though he was in pain and really didn’t want to move—maybe ever—Cort eased himself off the couch and started toward her, his movements slow, partly because of feeling like shit and partly because she looked like she might bolt if he approached her too quickly.
“Katie? Are you okay?” he asked softly.
She stared at him, her eyes frantic and glassy. He wasn’t sure she’d even heard him, then she shook her head.
“Not really.”
Her response was oddly calm, given all the screaming she’d been doing—unless that hadn’t been her.
Dear God, please don’t let there be more than one hysterical woman in his apartment.
Cort pushed that horrifying thought aside. “What’s wrong? Do you know what you are doing here?”
Maybe she knew what clearly none of his friends did, but she quickly dashed that hope.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice reedy. “I woke up in someone’s room, but I have no idea how I got here.”
In someone’s bedroom. That meant either his bed, or his roommate, Drake’s, and truthfully neither option sat well with Cort.
“But—but I seem to have a larger—problem,” she said, her usually upbeat and happy voice trembling.
“What?” Cort’s stomach churned, this time not at the threat of losing his lack of lunch, but because obviously something awful happened to her. And he might have been there and didn’t even remember what it was.
She hesitated, then straightened as if bracing herself. She swept the mass of blonde hair away from her very pale face and looked at each of the men in the room, then back to Cort.
“You are going to think I’m absolutely insane,” she said. “But I seem to be”—she paused, clearly not knowing how to go on, but finally she just blurted it out—“I think I’m a vampire.”
Cort was certain she expected some sort of reaction to her statement, but he highly doubted it was the one she got.
“What the hell,” Wyatt said. “We’ve always said no crossing over coworkers. We don’t shit in our own backyard.”
“I didn’t do it,” Saxon said, shaking his head adamantly, his eyes wide. “Man, I didn’t do it. No way, dude. Nooo way.”
“I sure as hell didn’t do it,” came a raspy voice from behind Katie, which caused her to jump and scurry over to stand beside Cort.
Drake walked into the room, looking no better than the rest of them. In fact, he looked almost as distraught as Katie.
“Dude, do you remember what happened last night?” Saxon asked.
Drake shook his head, his strange expression not fading. Hell, maybe Cort looked the same way.
This was beyond weird. They’d all blacked out. They all had hangovers. And clearly someone had broken a cardinal rule and crossed one of their human acquaintances. He looked toward Katie, who seemed to be getting paler by the moment.
Quite possibly, she’d been turned into a vampire against her will.
He suspected he was becoming as pale as she was.
This was bad.
Damn, he couldn’t have been the one who bit her. It went against everything he believed in. But he could admit, at least to himself, he’d wanted Katie enough to think about biting her. He’d thought about having her in every way possible—but all he’d allowed himself to do was think about it. Hell, he hadn’t even asked her out. His vampirism always stopped him.
But apparently that isn’t a stumbling block anymore, he thought wryly.
But wow, she was a vampire. What if he had bitten her? No, he just wouldn’t have done that.
“Well, like I said, I didn’t do it,” Saxon repeated, as if he’d read Cort’s mind. “I’m all about safe sex.” He pulled a condom out of his jeans pocket. “See.”
Wyatt glared at the youngest band member. “What the hell does a condom have to do with crossing a human over? What, do you put them on your fangs?”
“No,” Saxon said, making a face like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. Clearly he didn’t listen to himself. “I have a motto: Keep ’em sheathed.”
Everyone stared at the dopey keyboard player.
“Get it? I keep my fangs sheathed and my . . .” Saxon glanced down toward his crotch. “Brown sugar sheathed.”
Cort grimaced. “What does that even mean?”
Saxon made his you’re so dumb face. “I’m talking about my penis.” He whispered the last word.
“I know that,” Cort said, getting impatient with this whole situation. “But you aren’t black.”
“You don’t have to be black to have a . . . you know.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Wyatt growled, “why even bother, Cort?” He stood and strode over to the window. “We need to figure out what happened last night.”
“And I need to find my damned fang.”
Now it was Drake’s turn to gain everyone’s attention.
In response he curled back his lips to reveal a gaping, black hole where his fang should be.
Cort, Wyatt, and Saxon all gasped. Holy crap. Having one fang was like having one testicle. You could still get the job done, but you didn’t want anyone looking too closely while you did it.
“That sucks, dude,” Saxon said.
“It really does,” Wyatt agreed.
Cort opened his mouth to also agree—fang loss was no laughing matter—but Katie spoke first, her voice high-pitched and bordering on hysterical.
“Wait, wait, wait,” she said, raising a hand to stop them. “You are all vampires. You’ve all been vampires? As long as I’ve known you?”
Wyatt nodded as if that should be pretty obvious. Saxon gave her a hang-loose sign—because, well, he was stupid.
“I’m half the vampire I used to be but, yes,” Drake said.
Cort gave her a pained, apologetic smile, but nodded.
“So it must have been one of you that made me this way?” She tilted her head to show them two already healing puncture wounds, then she bared her teeth like Drake had just done to reveal two white, sparkly, and brand-spanking-new fangs.
“Show-off,” Drake said wryly, but his dry sense of humor was met by a glare from Katie.
“Perhaps not the best timing for that joke,” he conceded.
“Maybe it was one of us,” Cort said, only to be cut off by the adamant denials of the others, but he raised a hand to stop them. “But since none of us can remember, it’s hard to say.”
Katie stared at him for a moment, then said slowly, “So there are more vampires in the Quarter than just you guys?”
Before Cort or any of them could answer, a sudden whoosh and flapping sound echoed through the room, followed by a high-pitched squeaking.
Katie squealed, too. “A bat!” She ducked closer to Cort.
“Now, who the hell is that?” Drake asked, frowning up as the black winged creature circled the room wildly.
“Who?” Katie said, looking up at Cort with wide, wary eyes. “That bat is a person?”
“Well, not a person exactly, but maybe another vampire,” Cort said.
Her gaze shifted to watch the bat, her expression a combination of disbelief, dismay, and fear.
“Although sometimes a bat really is just a bat,” Cort added, hoping that might calm her. It didn’t seem to.
“I bet that’s Bob,” Saxon said with certainty. “You know how he always gets stuck in bat form when he gets drunk.”
Cort didn’t know, and he suspected none of them knew. Hell, Cort wasn’t even sure who Bob was.
“Bob?” Katie said. “Bob the bat.” She laughed, and Cort was pretty sure she was getting hysterical again. It was startling to see the always smiling, always sweet Katie totally falling apart, but discovering you are a vampire definitely did that to a person. In fact, he’d seen worse reactions. Much worse.
He slipped an arm around her, expecting her to pull away, but to his surprise, she sagged against him, the laughter dying on her lips.
“It’s okay,” he murmured to her.
“No, I really don’t think it is,” she murmured back.
“What the hell is Bob doing?” Wyatt said, ducking out of the way just as the bat swooped toward him. The bat made a sharp turn and dove toward Wyatt again. “Saxon, call your stupid friend off me.”
“He’s probably still drunk,” Saxon said.
“I don’t care,” Wyatt said. “He’s going to get caught in my hair.”
“Bob, stop it,” Saxon cried at the circling bat.
Katie laughed again.
All of a sudden the flapping sound grew louder, and something red flapped into the room, joining Bob in his frantic race around the ceiling.
“What now?” Wyatt asked, peering out from under his arms, which he had folded protectively over his long hair. “What the hell is that?”
“Wait, this one is a what and not a who?” Katie asked, staring up at the flying blurs.
A what and not a who. Why did Cort suddenly feel like he’d been dropped into a Dr. Seuss book? At least that would explain why nothing was making sense this evening.
Even though he knew it was probably a lost cause to try and understand this new turn of events, Cort squinted to make out what had just joined the bat.
And as expected, his deduction only added to the confusion of the evening. “I think, I think that’s a . . . parrot.”
As soon as he said the word parrot, the bird flew down from the ceiling and landed on Cort’s shoulder, the shoulder of the arm that was around Katie. Katie screamed and jerked away. The parrot lifted its crest and cawed in shrill response.
“Crazy train . . . crazy train,” the bird squawked in a weird falsetto voice.
Katie squealed again, then fell back into her hysterical laughter. Yeah, this was all going very, very strangely.
“Rad, dude, a talking parrot.” Saxon nodded, approaching the bird.
The bird eyed him with skeptical, beady, black eyes. “Jenny, I’ve got your number,” it said, then cawed loudly and ruffled its feathers.
“I don’t think that bird likes me,” Saxon said, looking wounded again. He ran a hand through his tangle of surfer-blonde hair.
“What happened to your forehead?”
Saxon frowned, touching the place where Cort stared.
“What is it?” the mussed blonde asked, looking around at all of them, panic clear in his eyes. “What is it?”
Wyatt leaned in to inspect the large pinkish mark. “It looks like a burn. In the shape of a cross.”
“A burn? From a cross?” Saxon hurried off to the bathroom to inspect.
“Okay, this is officially crazy,” Wyatt said, watching Saxon leave. “Cross burns. Parrots. Fledgling vampires. Craziness. Oh, and let’s not forget idiots trapped in bat form.”
Wyatt looked up at Bob the bat, if that was actually who the bat was. It no longer flitted around the room, but now hung from the dusty chandelier in the center of the living room ceiling. But it did shriek loudly at Wyatt’s comment.
The bird cawed again, nearly deafening Cort.
“I think it’s safe to say that none of us have a clue what happened last night,” Drake stated.
“Except I’m definitely a vampire,” Katie said slowly, and Cort noticed she was no longer staring at the parrot, but rather her hand. “And apparently I might be married as well.”
She lifted her left hand to display a gold wedding band. A gold wedding band that had “Hers” etched onto it. The rest of the guys, including Cort, reluctantly looked down at their own hands. Oddly he wasn’t terribly surprised when he saw that he, too, had a golden band glinting on his left hand.
And, of course, etched in the band was the word “His.”
“Are we married?” Katie asked, her voice pitchy again, hysteria creeping back. This time, the same sensation was creeping up on him, too.
Married. Damn, he’d never even managed to ask this woman out on a date. They couldn’t possibly be married. This was crazy.
“That probably means you crossed her over, too,” Wyatt pointed out.
“No, it doesn’t,” Cort said automatically, even though he wasn’t sure. “And I’m sure I didn’t marry her either.”
He was even less sure of that, what with the matching rings and all.
“I didn’t marry you,” he repeated to Katie as if saying it again would somehow make it true.
Katie rightfully didn’t look convinced, and for just a moment, Cort could have sworn an emotion akin to hurt flashed in her dark blue eyes, but he couldn’t be certain.
“Damn, I feel rough. I need some blood,” Drake said, but before he could leave the room, Saxon returned, blocking his exit.
“It is a cross burn. That’s really messed up.”
“Just chalk it up to one crazy-ass night,” Drake said, moving around him. “At least you have all your teeth.”
“I have a permanent scar, dude,” Saxon said, distressed, lifting his bangs. “You know wounds from religious relics take forever to heal.”
Drake shrugged and left the room.
Drake was never long on sympathy.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” Katie said, the hysteria somehow gone and replaced by genuine empathy.
Amazing. She’d just discovered she was undead, and she was still being her kind, generous self.
“Thanks, man,” Saxon said, smiling appreciatively.
Well, at least his troubles seemed soothed. Too bad all their problems weren’t so easily dismissed.
“But we should probably try to figure out what happened,” Saxon said. “You know, retrace our steps or something. But first maybe we need to assimilate what we do know.”
Cort raised an eyebrow. Who’d have guessed that the out-there surfer dude would be the one trying to act the voice of reason. Maybe the burn had seared some sense into him. And despite his typically odd choice of wording, Saxon was right. They needed to try and piece together what they knew. Maybe that would jog their memories.
“Okay,” Cort said. “The last thing I remember was being on the riverboat. We took a break and headed to the bar for a drink.”
“That’s the last thing I remember, too,” Drake said as he strode back into the room, with a wineglass filled with blood. “I remember toasting Johnny with Raven.”
“Raven,” Cort said, realizing the way he said the man’s name sounded much like Seinfeld when he addressed his unpleasant neighbor, Newman.
But the truth was, Cort did not like Raven. Raven was a vampire, too, except he fancied himself as some sort of Goth prince of darkness. Cort found him pretentious, self-indulgent, and frankly outright silly.
He tried to find the poser vampire amusing since he really was rather pathetic with his outlandish clothing, tattoos that tried too hard to be deep, and then there was his harem of women. Raven had a group of women who actually agreed to let him feed from all of them. They were sort of a combination sister wives/all-you-can-eat buffet.
But what really had Cort gritting his teeth about the jerk was that Raven had recently taken notice of Katie. Cort hated the idea of Katie being involved in that. Or involved with Raven, period. Or any other male, for that matter.
Wait, what was he thinking? He certainly hadn’t made any moves to get her himself.
Well, except for maybe last night. They were now wearing matching wedding bands. That was a move. A big one.
But there had to be a simple and reasonable explanation. It had to be some sort of joke or something. He couldn’t imagine, no matter how gone he was, that he’d get married like this.
But then again, he’d vowed to never cross over another mortal, not without their absolute consent, and even then he wasn’t sure he’d do it. Immortality was a blessing and a burden. At least it had been for him.
“I vaguely remember going out onto the deck to talk to Stella,” Wyatt said, frowning. “Where is Stella? I would think she’d be with us.”
Bob the bat chose that moment to swoop down from the chandelier, buzzing close to Wyatt’s head again.
“Saxon! Call off your moronic buddy,” Wyatt shouted, his hands going back up to protect his hair.
“Bob, you so need to chill,” Saxon said toward the ceiling, but the bat had disappeared into the other room.
“If we are done with this little trip down amnesia lane, I’m going to get some more blood,” Drake said testily, then unconsciously fiddled with the place where his fang had once been.
“Wait,” Cort said, “so we all blacked out around the same time.” He then turned to Katie. “Do you remember anything?”
Katie was staring wide-eyed at Drake’s now empty wineglass. It probably was unnerving to watch someone sip blood like it was a fine cabernet. Or maybe she was longing for a glass herself. If that was the case, that desire was probably freaking her out even more.
She tore her gaze away to look at Cort, narrowing her blue eyes as she tried to focus. Yeah, she was definitely fighting a craving.
“I remember coming onto the riverboat to give you all my condolences about Johnny.” She squinted more. “You were all doing shots, making toasts to him. Cort—you asked me to join in. I did a couple, but then said I couldn’t do any more. So you decided to go back onstage and play Johnny’s favorite song.”
“‘Freebird,’” all of the remaining bandmates said in unison, except for Saxon who said, “‘Jessie’s Girl.’”
They all stared at him and he shrugged. “I’m scarred, man. What do you want?”
“Do you remember anything more?” Cort asked Katie.
She nodded slowly.
“I think I remember you”—she looked at Cort—“pulling me up onstage to sing along, and then . . .”
She thought a moment longer, then shook her head. “Then that’s all I remember.”
“I think I should go to Stella’s place and check on her,” Wyatt said, clearly concerned for their sound woman.
But before Wyatt could even hit the hallway, a low, muffled groan came from farther down the hallway.
Wyatt spun back to them. “Did you hear that?”
“I totally heard that,” Saxon said. “Maybe it’s Bob coming back into human form.”
Another groan sounded, this time louder.
“That doesn’t sound like Bob though,” Saxon said, tilting his head. “He’s from Boston.”
Cort was pretty certain that you couldn’t tell a person’s accent from their moan, but as usual, it didn’t seem worth the effort to point that out to Saxon.
“Let’s just go check,” he suggested instead.
Carefully all five of them moved into the hallway, creeping forward as if they expected someone to jump out at them. As if they weren’t all vampires who could easily defend themselves from well, just about everything.
Except memory loss, apparently. And it turned out, memory loss was very unnerving. None of them were acting like themselves.
First they peeked into Drake’s bedroom, which was cluttered with a large assortment of leather clothing and guitars, but appeared empty otherwise. Next they all looked into Cort’s.
The bedding was a tangled mess, and random clothing littered the floor, but it, too, seemed empty.
“This is where I woke up,” Katie said. “Or rose. Or whatever I do now.”
Yeah, well, whatever she wanted to call it, being in his room also seemed to imply that whatever happened to her last night, Cort had been involved.
Drake gave him a pointed look, clearly thinking the very same thing.
“Oh, you aren’t off the hook yet,” Cort murmured to his roommate, only to see Katie shoot them both a dirty look.
They sneaked farther down the hallway, then came to a dead halt as another moan echoed toward them. Very close now.
“The bathroom,” Drake mouthed.
Cort and Wyatt nodded. Saxon did his usual hang-loose sign, and Katie’s eyes were huge
They all hesitated until Cort nodded and stepped forward. They moved as one behind him. When they reached the bathroom, Cort couldn’t see the source of the moaning. Not at first. But then after a few moments, he realized there was something or someone sprawled in the bathtub, the shower curtain half over him—her—it—whatever.
Cort squinted, certain he couldn’t be seeing what he thought he was seeing. Even with his excellent vampire vision.
“That looks like a priest,” Wyatt said, confirming exactly what Cort was telling himself he was absolutely not seeing.
“Why would there be a priest in your bathtub?” Saxon asked.
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Drake said, but gave Cort and Katie another pointed look.
“Huh?” Saxon said, clearly lost.
“Actually, I think the bigger question is how you didn’t notice him while you were in here,” Cort said to Saxon.
Saxon lifted his hair from his forehead again, jabbing his thumb toward the ugly, red burn. “I was a little distracted.”
“Let’s wake him up. Maybe he knows something,” Wyatt suggested, shouldering his way into the bathroom. He flipped on the light, but the priest didn’t rouse.
“He seems drunk or something. Maybe we should let him sleep it off,” Cort said, his first instinct being that he didn’t want to know what this priest might have to say. But then he realized he—and Katie—needed to know the truth.
He glanced at Katie, who worried her bottom lip, clearly as nervous about what the priest might say as he was.
“Don’t do that,” Cort said softly. “You could nick yourself with your new fangs.”
She stared at him for a moment, but stopped.
“Try to wake him,” Drake said, gesturing to Wyatt.
Wyatt stepped forward, only to stop again. “He has Stella’s purse.”
“What?” Drake said.
“He has Stella’s purse. Why would he have that?” But Wyatt didn’t wait for an answer. He reached down and tugged it out from underneath the priest’s limp arm. The man’s hand flopped to the bottom of the tub with a thud.
“This isn’t good,” Wyatt said, staring at the tatty old messenger bag like it was one of Stella’s limbs rather than just an accessory.
“I have to go look for her,” he said, again shouldering his way past the rest of them.
“Shouldn’t you wait and see what this guy has to say?” Cort called after Wyatt, who was already striding toward the door.
“Call me if he tells you anything.” The apartment door slammed.
“He’s too tense, man. It makes me weary.” Saxon sighed.
“You make me weary,” Drake said, then pushed Saxon into the bathroom.
“Hey! Dude,” Saxon muttered.
“Wake him,” Drake said again, gesturing toward the unconscious priest.
“Why me?” Saxon said. “I’ve already got battle scars. He could throw holy water on me or something.”
“Just do it,” Cort said, getting impatient.
Saxon hesitated a moment longer, then nudged the priest’s leg with his Vans-clad foot. The priest didn’t respond.
“Wake up, Father,” Saxon said and prodded him again. Nothing.
Saxon turned back toward them and shrugged. “What do we do now?”
“Three for one. Three for one. Craaazy. Craaazy.”
Everyone gaped at the parrot, which quite honestly Cort had forgotten was still perched on his shoulder. Clearly his memory still wasn’t working quite right. Who forgot about a large red bird on their shoulder? The same guy who very possibly forgot that he bit a woman then married her. Or vice versa.
“The bird must be talking about Krazy Korner. They have three-for-one specials,” Drake said, as if they all didn’t know that very well. “Maybe we were there last night? Maybe someone there remembers something.”
“That could be,” Cort agreed, although he wasn’t sure following the ramblings of a tropical bird was their best strategy.
“Going to the chapel and we are going to get married,” the bird said in its strange singsong voice.
“The chapel,” Drake said, seeming encouraged by the bird’s comments. “You two need to go to the all-night chapel on Burgundy.”
Cort gave him a doubtful look. “Really? We are going to wander around the French Quarter because a crazy bird is saying random things? He’s probably just repeating phrases he’s heard.”
“Crazy train. Crazy train,” the bird called.
“Do you have a better idea?” Drake said.
“But what about the priest?” Cort said.
“Like you said, he’s drunk or drugged or something. And I think the bird is a good lead. We can come back and see if we can wake the holy guy after we check out these places,” Drake said.
Cort wanted to argue, when was a talking bird ever a good lead? But Katie touched his arm, her fingers pale against the sleeve of his black shirt.
“We need to try to find out something,” she said. “And a chapel seems like a good start.” She lifted her left hand and wagged her fingers. The gold band flashed in the light.
As if he needed a reminder.
Cort’s gaze moved from the ring to her pale face. A wave of protectiveness rushing over him again. She deserved answers. After all, even if they weren’t married, her whole life was changed. She didn’t have a life anymore . . . she had an eternity.
He nodded, but then turned to Drake. “You take the parrot.” He jerked his shoulder toward his bandmate. The bird ruffled its feathers, but didn’t budge.
“I’m not taking the parrot,” Drake said, eyeing it dubiously.
“You were the pirate,” Cort pointed out.
“I wasn’t a pirate. I was a convict on a penal ship, which eventually turned to piracy. But that doesn’t really make me an actual pirate, per se,” Drake said.
“Penal.” Saxon chuckled. “That’s funny.”
“Fine,” Cort said. “We’ll take the bird, but you have to take Saxon.”
Drake hesitated, glancing at the bird, then their blonde bandmate thoughtfully.
He sighed. “Come on, Saxon. Let’s go to Krazy Korner.”
“Okay,” Saxon agreed readily, oblivious to the fact he’d just barely been chosen over a bird as a search partner.
They both headed to the door.
“Well, I guess you are stuck with me and the bird,” Cort said.
Katie nodded, but didn’t say anything. She still looked as if she might get hysterical at any given moment. She didn’t seem like she needed to feed. Her color was good and her eyes didn’t have that dark, glazed look they got when vampires were hungry. This seemed to be just natural hysteria, for which he couldn’t blame her.
They followed the other two out of the apartment, but once they reached the street, Drake and Saxon went in one direction, while Cort and Katie needed to go the other way.
“Call me if you find out anything,” Cort called after his bandmates.
Drake waved in response without looking back.
Cort sighed, then fell into step beside Katie.
“Why do I have the feeling we just sent Shaggy and Scooby off to find clues?”
Katie smiled vaguely, but he could see she was lost in her own thoughts.
“Jinkies. Jinkies,” the parrot called.
Jinkies, indeed.