Chapter One

Germaine Saint Louis was now nearly five thousand years old, and he had seen better days. Once upon a time, he had been a count, with a considerable fortune and a choice of only the best. Now he lived only on what he got from wealthy women and the occasional man.

He headed out on his nightly walk and headed to Bourbon Street, looking at the people with amusement as they gushed at bars and laughed at signs with neon-lit pictures advertising sex acts. Not all of them were tourists, and that never ceased to give Germaine some degree of entertainment.

It wasn't long before he grew tired of it, though. He got tired of things much more quickly these days. Turning south to the riverfront, he strolled into a coffee shop on Royal. He only ordered a croissant, something for his fingers to play with as he watched people on the street. This cafe had only been open for a month, if that, and it would probably only last a few months more before going out of business. And then, just as so many things Germaine had known, it would fall into the fog of time. Germaine's lips quirked; that had almost been poetic, even though he had been told by several of his friends that he was a crappy poet. And they were right. The line was stale.

Hearing a man's loud voice, his eye was drawn to a large group. The man leading them was dressed in black with a velvet jacket, top hat, and cane. Germaine smiled to himself. These people were so obsessed with ghosts and vampires, they couldn't resist having all sorts of underworld tours. It was another reason why New Orleans was such a great place to hide.

He watched the tourists idly, wondering if any of them might make good pickings. And then he saw someone who made him stand. Josephine? The bitch that had stolen all his belongings?

Leaving his croissant shredded on the table, he walked out of the cafe and fell into step behind the group, the anger fading from his step as he realized that Josephine had likely been dead for over one hundred years. Even if someone else had gotten to her, she'd never have stayed in New Orleans, where he might return for his things at any time.

But that was why he was here, wasn't it? He'd never hidden in the same city twice; no one would think he'd return to New Orleans.

And now that he was watching her more closely, he could see that her gait was different from Josephine's, not dainty or measured but heavy and purposeful. This woman's nose was different as well, smaller, and her skin was lighter. Her hair was as dark as Josephine's, though, pulled back in a braid. But there were similarities; her scoff at the guide's stories was exactly like Josephine's, and her eyes were quick.

No, for now, he'd simply watch. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do. Besides, he was curious.

Julia Heywood took another picture on her digital, even though she already had hundred of pictures of the balconies. This shot included a father lifting his daughter up by her hands. Eventually, she worked her way around to take a picture of the man who'd been following tour since Royal Street. But as she swung the camera around, he disappeared, only to reappear a few moments later out of the corner of her eye.

Their tour guide, Vincent, was acting out a scene between a vampire and a woman who might have been a whore, playing both parts. Julia wondered if Vincent knew he was gay.

She wasn't particularly worried that something might happen to her in the Quarter; she was sure she could outrun the man. He was in his thirties and didn't seem like the sort to work out at gym; she'd done some track back in high school and still ran for miles each day. He was handsome, though his nose was a little large. His hair was dark and curly, and even from a distance, she could tell that his chin was firm and stubborn.

The tour ended and the people dispersed. The man following them had apparently disappeared. Julia was too irritated the tour guide had been so badly overacting while telling the stories to tip him and stalked off to Dumaine, where her aunt was renting out her old house to Julia. The thought nearly shamed her. Julia had come here to get away from her family, to lose herself in a place of only one hundred twenty square blocks in which no one cared about anyone's past. She'd dropped out of college, quit her internship for the National Endowment of the Arts, quit her other part-time job as a tour guide at the Hollyrood House. Everyone had been so disappointed with her, but she had also quit caring. It just hadn't interested her. She'd felt dead inside, and to get away from her family and friends, she had run to New Orleans with her tail between her legs, where people were eternally reveled in death.

Yet here she was, renting a house from her aunt because she couldn't afford anything else. Money was running out; she'd have to find a job of some sort, though she couldn't think of anything she'd like to do. It would have to be done, though. She just wished she had some sort of plan.

Over the next few days, Julia went around to the art galleries and got lucky; digital photos still weren't popular in the art world, but Ravyn's, a new cafe on Chartres, agreed to sell some of her photos. She didn't have the same luck in finding a job. She'd wanted a job in a clothing shop so she could get a discount, but Jax wasn't hiring. But to her surprise, when she got home from searching Thursday, Ravyn's had called asking for more prints; they'd sold out of her photos and wanted more.

Julia could hardly believe it, and as she carried the framed photographs to the cafe, she clutched them to her chest, a pain in her upper chest and a small voice whispering that it was too good to be true. They'd been priced at over sixty dollars; three had been eighty.

Roberta, the manager, greeted her when she walked in. "Let's see them," he said. Today he wore a loose shirt to hide the flatness of his chest and loose jeans with butterflies embroidered at the bottoms; his eyeshadow had made it this far without smearing but likely wouldn't last till midnight.

She spread the photos out. "I brought another copy of 'Angel of Light,'" she said. "It's my favorite. But we don't have to sell it if you like."

"Nonsense." He took the pencil from behind his ear. "You forgot to sign these. Number 'Angel of Light.' It's just a print anyway. We'll price it at sixty this time and see what happens."

Julia dug each out of its frame, frustrated that she'd forgotten to sign them. No can tell you're a novice, she scoffed at herself. When she was done reframing, Roberta hung them up on an emptied wall. When she walked out of the cafe, she was carrying a free coffee, two free muffins, and best of all, a little over two hundred dollars in cash. She wanted to call her parents and gloat, but she couldn't be sure her good luck would last. Just in case, though, she had to go take more pictures, ones she could sell.

The next week and a half of her life was just as good; her photos sold well, and she could finally afford little luxuries, like a new outfit and repainting her bedroom. It was only marred by glimpses of the man she'd first spotted on the tour. She had actually started thinking about calling the police, but he didn't speak to her until the day in Jackson Square, when she was focusing on a woman rubbing the soles of her feet on a bench and felt his breath on her ear.

"Her feet wouldn't hurt so much if she weren't so old."

Somehow, she knew it was the stalker guy without having to look. "I think the walking she's been doing is more at fault. It's the end of July, burning up outside. The sweat is making her hair stick to her neck. She must be tired and thirsty as hell. Besides, there's a woman to our left who's half the age and in much the same position." She took a few shots and then approached the woman to ask permission to use the photos; the man followed her, but she tried her best to ignore him.

After she had exchanged contact information with the woman and set off to take photos of the art vendors and musicians in Pirates Alley. The man fell into step beside her. "Have tea with me," he said abruptly.

"Tea?" she asked, wrinkling her nose slightly.

"Or coffee. Or wine, if you think you can trust me."

She turned to face him. "Whatever I think of you, I certainly don't trust you."

The corners of his lips were turned upward in a sort of grin. "I'll be sure to drug you on the sly, then."

Her eyes narrowed. "Is that supposed to seduce me?"

"Oh, no. I was never very good at seducing you. But have something with me. You can sit on the opposite side of the room, if you like."

"I'd like to sit on the other side of the city," she said. She'd read that stalkers took politeness as encouragement. She had no intention of encouraging him.

He smiled again. "We'll see." And then he was gone again, almost as if he had never been there.

She noticed the man more and more over the next few days. Whenever she went to eat beignets or have a cup of coffee, he always seemed to sit in the same room, never speaking to her or looking at her, but all his body movements seemed to be a unthreatening as possible. She tried to ignore him, but she was often upset after she spotted him and often went to take the most macabre pictures she could. She secretly hoped that if he saw her taking photos of alligators with crab claws for arms and children pretending to be vampires in the cemetery, he'd be freaked out and would leave her alone. But nothing seemed to work.

By now, she and her camera were inseparable, and she had photos in Ravyn's and The Crystal Gallery. It wasn't much, and it certainly wasn't a steady paycheck, but it was more than she'd had since she'd moved here. Her true introduction to her stalker occurred on a night when she was walking back to her home, money from her photos in her pockets, her camera at her hip. Unfortunately, she wasn't awake to see her stalker's heroics.

Germaine knew he was banking on this woman being Josephine's reincarnation; it was hard to believe she wasn't Josephine herself. Josephine hadn't liked him much at first either. He had watched her, spoken to her, and he couldn't get her out of his head. She might be the key to his reacquiring all his prizes he'd hidden away through the years; he was sick of having to kill people and steal their wealth.

So he was not exactly pleased when someone tackled Julia as she walked home, shoving her into an abandoned courtyard. He grimaced and moved quickly toward the courtyard, which for anyone else was hardly a blur. If she died, it would take a much longer time to recover his wealth, which would be something of a nuisance.

Julia's eyes were closed, a man greedily pocketing her camera and searching her pockets. Germaine disposed of him in a matter of moments. He made a meal of it, recovering her camera and the possessions the man had on him. After tossing the man's body into the house, he went and stood over her. Examining her head quickly, he found a rising knot on the back of her head, smelling faintly of blood. And her shoulder was bruised too, bleeding slightly, with numerous splinters. He was thankful he had only just had a full meal, or else he might have been more tempted to take of bite of her.

Perhaps this was what he'd been waiting for, the opportune moment to introduce himself as a white knight. What better way to earn a woman's love and, perhaps, her trust, than to save her from certain death? Not that he'd been sure she'd been facing certain death, but there was no harm in telling her that.

He looked around. It wouldn't do to have her wake up in some run down shanty. And he couldn't let her wake up in a hospital, either; she might tell the doctors he was a stalker or that she didn't want him around.

The most romantic option he had left was his hotel room. So he picked her up, put his jacket around her to hide the blood, and went to the streetcar. "Poor thing drank too much," he said to anyone who gave him a curious glance, complete with a winning smile. With a shrug, he would add, "I tell her she can't handle her liquor, but she always tries."

Julia woke with her head throbbing, and the rest of her body aching nearly as much. She remembered something hard hitting her, and then something even harder colliding into her. She groaned and tried to lift her injured arm to her head before a burst of pain made her lower it again.

"I see you're awake."

Her eyes snapped open. She recognized that voice. She sat up, trying not to show how dizzy it made her. She could handle it. Where the hell was she? Looking around, she saw a red bedspread, red walls, red furniture, red everything. This wasn't some sort of bizarre fantasy, was it?

"Where am I?" she asked.

"The Pontchartrain Hotel," he explained.

She focused on him. "In the Garden District? How'd I get into the Garden District?"

He shrugged. "I brought you. I didn't think you'd appreciate my entering your home without your permission."

"And the hospital?" she asked, touching her head gingerly with her uninjured arm.

He smiled; it was obviously designed to make her simper. She resisted. "It was nothing I couldn't fix myself. Allow me to introduce myself. Germaine St Louis. And you are Julia Heywood. I've bought some of your photographs. Though they don't exactly match the decor." He looked around with faint distaste. "Would you care for merlot?"

"No," she said coldly. "I would care to leave."

He smiled again, almost as if he was indulging a child. "If you can walk to the door, and think you can make it as far as the Quarter, go ahead." His smile turned wry. "Be my guest."

"I'd rather die," she said, not knowing how easily Germaine could assist her with that. She got up and stumbled to the door. She found the wall first and slid along it until she found the door itself.

"If you leave, I'll keep your camera and money," he said patiently.

Her hand stopped turning the doorknob. She slowly turned to face him.

He smiled. "I'm a bastard, aren't I?"

She nodded her agreement.

He had her on the ropes; he could see that. He loved ropes, despite how melodramatic they were, and he'd love to see her in some. He quickly moved on from that thought; it wouldn't help him.

"Spend the evening with me. After that, you can have your camera back, and your money. I'll even escort you back to the Quarter."

"I have no interest in an escort service," she muttered, leaning her forehead against the door.

He smiled and moved to stand beside her, careful not to invade her space. Pity. She'd be a big hit in an escort service. "I promise to stick to public places as much as possible, and I swear that I won't hurt you or allow you to come to harm." He waited, but she didn't move. "There's a Haunted History tour that meets downstairs in the lobby that I thought you might like."

She turned her head towards him. "I bet a camera would really help capture the tour."

He smiled again. "Let's go to dinner, and then on to the tour."

After he treated her to dinner in the lobby restaurant, along with the Pontchartrain's famous Mile High Pie, he took her on a walk and bought her a pair of disposable cameras. She seemed refreshed to some extent, and on the tour, she clicked away, trying to capture him in more than a few shots when she thought he wasn't looking. He grinned to himself. He wouldn't appear in any cameras more than he would in a mirror. Whether she realized this or not, she chatted with him almost comfortably on the way up to his room, noting what they had seen and evaluating their guides' performance.

True to his word, he escorted her back to her home, returned her money and camera when they arrived. She didn't invite him in, but he was still pleased with the evening.

Over the next week, Julia and Germaine became friendlier with one another, beginning with chatted across a table or two to each other if ever they ate out (which Julia was doing more often now); eventually they were sitting at the same table. But she noticed that Germaine was growing more and more agitated by something until one night at dinner he asked, "Do you believe in reincarnation? And answer seriously, Julia."

"Not really," she said after a few moments, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

"Why not?"

"It just seemed silly."

He smiled, trying to look more amused than he felt. By now, she could recognize most of his looks. "But going on Haunted History tours is sensible?"

"I think they're fun," she said tartly, bristling. "The people who take them are fascinating. Besides, you first saw me on one of those tours; do you think that's silly." He had told her that when they'd first gotten to know one another.

Whatever he thought, he didn't tell her. "When we have more time, I want to talk to you about something. Introduce you to someone." He stood. "Come on. I need to walk you home."

"What? But I'm not done!" He'd never been the first to stand up.

"I need to do something, and quickly. I want to walk you to your home before then." He grinned, but it didn't convince her. "I don't want you to be mugged again."

She stuffed her unfinished bagel in her purse and for once put her camera in her purse as well; she didn't think Germaine would like it if she stopped along the way to take photos. She allowed him to walk her back, even though she had to struggle to keep up with him. Her coffee sloshed in her hands so much that she ended up throwing it away in one of the trash cans reading "Trash your city, trash yourself." He saw her through the door and left.

"He seems protective of you," a voice noticed in the darkness.

Julia quickly tried to turn on the light, but a hand covered hers. "Bulb's broken anyway," a different voice said softly.

"Is she one of them?" the first person asked. And all at once, Julia was whipped around, her hair pulled back harshly and fingers roving along her neck. What, were they going to strangle her? She thought she heard sniffing as well.

"No. She's human." Yet another voice.

"Good news, girl. Seems like you'll get to live a little longer." Julia's blood went cold. "Now tell us everything about your relationship with Count St Germaine."

She swallowed. She had to find a way out- Count St Germaine? Germaine was his last name? He'd lied to her about his name; what else had he lied about? Lying bastard! She'd known all along that he'd just been a bloodsucking lying bastard! She launched a sweeping kick out, hitting something shorter than herself. Setting her feet quickly, she pushed herself backwards, but the figure moved fast and she merely slammed against her own door. She was pressed against it immediately; her hand reached to test the doorknob, only to find that it was locked. She hit out at the person pressing against her. She missed half a dozen times, but he had to maneuver in such a way that she could gain some ground. As soon as she got the chance, she ran for the courtyard, where there was more like. The gates her locked, and the person chasing her, no, the two people, were no more than blurs, one slower than the other, but still incredibly fast. She darted up the iron staircase in the corner beside the gate, tripping when someone grabbed her ankle from between two stairs. She pulled and kicked, but it had slowed her down. The person, a man with cold eyes that glinted in the darkness and blond hair pulled back in a thin ponytail, let go of her a split second so he could get onto the stair.

Julia immediately launched herself, using every bit of momentum she could, pulling herself forward using the bars, pushing herself using the stairs. She didn't have to get to the top, just high enough that she could jump over. As soon as she was high enough that she thought she could just make it, she jumped; the man grabbed her foot, and she started swinging downward, headfirst.

Germaine didn't enter his room; he'd decided to go through the window, but he smelled blood before he even got that far. His first day in his room, he'd glued shards of glass to the window frame. At least one intruder had pierced his skin going through.

He'd noticed people following him over the week, never the same person twice. But some he'd recognized. Vampire hunters. And worse, members of the Morgan family. Jesus. Kill one of their servant girls and they get all vindictive assassin on you. Not even a blood relative.

He went against the voice at his head that was screaming at him to run away and went forward two steps. Then he realized that he was an idiot who ought to listen to the voice screaming in his head and turned tail. He'd pick up Josephine. Er, he'd pick up Julia, and they'd go somewhere Josephine had been before, where she might have hidden his wealth. Maybe Julia would remember something.

The wall of the courtyard broke Julia's fall. She cried out as the air left her, and to make the pain worse, the man was pulling her back, dragging her midriff along the cement top. She couldn't breathe. She knew she had to fight, but she wasn't sure how.

And then Germaine was there, jumping over the wall and punching the man before grabbing Julia. She whimpered as his arm wrapped around her midriff, but he shifted his grip until his was cradling her before she knew it, and then there was only a roaring sound in her ears and her breath was stolen again. When at last they stopped, she was gasping, and Germaine seemed somewhat winded as well.

He put her down, and she crawled away. It was a dilapidated building she'd seen near th Riverwalk Marketplace. How had they gotten so far so fast? How much was Germaine hiding? "Count St Germaine," she whispered.

Germaine went still. He hadn't been called that in a long time. He tried to grin. "I see they told you about that."

She glared at him. "What else did they tell you?"

He looked at her. They must not have told her much more than a name. "How'd you get away?"

"I hit them. A lot."

"Seriously."

"I am serious."

He frowned. She was too weak for that to be true.. "Look, I'm going to go out and get us some clothes and food. Promise me that you'll stay here, okay? And stay quiet. It'll take a while, but they can track us down by scent if they have to. I'll be back before then, but just... stay here. It's safer if we can help each other." It would be safer to just kill them all. But there were a lot of Morgans, and all of them were vampire hunters, and they had help. The bastards.

Trusting her preservation instincts to keep her there, he left. He only killed one person, and he was careful to hide the kill; he didn't want the Morgans to hear of a vampiric death close to where he was hiding. With the person's wallet (God bless tourists who carried around too much money), he bought clothes for them both and some snacks. Taking the purchases back, he made her change before he answered any of her questions.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she was wearing the skirt he'd gotten and the tank top. It hadn't realized until he saw her wearing the skirt that the outfit made her look even more like Josephine. He regretted the choice, but he didn't have time to indulge. She didn't look happy; he couldn't blame her.

"So what the hell have you got me into?" she asked him.

He flinched and took his time answering. "How do you like living an adventurous life?" he asked weakly.

"I don't. I like taking pictures and using the profits to sit in a cafe and watch people outside. Who were those people?"

He tried to grin again. "Vampire hunters." His grin widened as he listened to her shocked silence.

"What?" she asked at last.

"Vampire hunters. I'm something of a vampire, you might say." He shoved his upper lip up to reveal rather pointy teeth. "They aren't that pointy right now, really. I just ate. They'll come out more as I need more blood. Or if I feel threatened. But I have marks on my neck. Just dips, really. They've had a few thousand years to fade." Afraid that she'd run if he moved closer, he rushed forward and took her hand, pressing her fingers against the dips in his neck.

She pulled away, looking at him fearfully. "A vampire?" she echoed.

He nodded and grinned. "Don't worry. I don't kiss and kill. Oh. Okay, I sort of do. But I don't get into actual relationships and then kill."

She stared at him. He scowled. "Look, it's all an overblown misunderstanding. I took a little bite of one of their ancestors, she ended up dying, and now they've been hunting me for a few generations. They're probably after you because they think you- Because of me. I admit that. But- Why don't you get some sleep? You can have the upstairs bedroom. We'll talk it over in the morning. You want me to bandage you up?"

Julia shook her head, disappeared into the bedroom, and slammed the door as loudly as she could. This turned out to be counterproductive, and the door fell off its hinges and she took some minutes trying to put it back in place before simply leaning it against the frame. Germaine looked on, amused, and didn't forget that five minute period until the day he died.

When Julia woke in the morning, she went out to shift from the snacks that were left. Germaine hadn't eaten anything, and she had to wonder if he was hungry. But then, she'd never actually seen him eat anything, had she? He'd always bought food and poked at it or ripped it apart.

"Morning," Germaine said from the French windows. "You slept surprisingly well."

She tensed. "You were watching me sleep?"

"I didn't want you to run."

She sat on her feet, looking at him as she contemplated recent events. "Why are you so interested in me?" she asked at last. "It isn't love, so you can stop pretending that."

He looked back at her for a few moments and then smiled. "No, it isn't love. Vampires don't really know what love is. We've lived too- but you don't want to hear that." He considered for a moment. "I talked to you about reincarnation."

"And that surprisingly doesn't help me." Vampires, vampire hunters, being kidnapped, living in a house that had no running water, a bed that was mostly a dirty sheet on the floor, and now he wanted to discuss reincarnation? How much did he think her mind could handle?

"There was a woman once named Josephine Laveau. She was related to the Voodoo queen, if you're interested in trivia like that. You remind me a lot of her, and she had something I wanted."

"I'm nobody's reincarnation," she said firmly.

"Prove me wrong," he said with a shrug. "I said I wanted to introduce you to someone. If she says you weren't Josephine in a past life, then I'll leave you alone. You can go on with your life, and with any luck, the Morgans will leave you alone."

Something inside her cried out. She didn't want him to leave, but she sure as hell didn't want him to stay. She wanted her life back, to have some sort of purpose again, even if it was taking photos that she depended on completely for her income. "I'll meet her," she said firmly. "I'll meet anybody you want me to, so long as you'll leave me alone afterward."

She hadn't had to have phrased it like that, he thought. "I'll bring her to you," he said. "Stay here. I'll try and bring you breakfast too. Coffee and a beignet, right?" Before he had to endure her confronting him about stalking her, he left.

He returned less than twenty minutes later, holding the door open for a woman wrapped in brightly colored wraps and head scarves. "Julia Heywood, may I introduce to you Madame LeSayes. Madame, Julia Heywood."

"Hmm," Madame said, stepping forward. Her skin had been dark once, but it had faded with time; wisps of hair that showed through were white. Her nose was thin and pointed, her cheekbones high, her eyes black and sharp. She was terribly thin, so waspish that even her bones looked brittle. Still, she lifted Julia's chin before Julia had even had a chance to speak. Madame held the girl's eyes and didn't look away.

The moment seemed to last for hours. Germaine hardly believed it when he realized he was nervous.

"Ah," Madame said at last. "There you are, Josephine."

Josephine held her cloak more tightly around her as she bustled across the street. She had loved New Orleans only a short while before, but now the everyday tedium was taking its toll. She stopped at a familiar corner, staring at a familiar building. The apothecary had been closed ever since Germaine had left. She'd always known he was stupid, but really, how stupid could he be, bringing a girl up, biting her, and then getting distracted by friends and letting her escape? The bitch had broken her leg in three places, and what she had told the police had been damning. Josephine was glad the girl was dead. She would never tell whether or not she had helped along the girl's death.

She was holding onto Germaine's possessions. All of them. The house hadn't been large enough to hold it all, and she'd had so much property that she'd let him use her. She had thought he would come back for it, but no one had heard from him since the night he'd left. He'd left bottles of merlot and human blood behind too, the moron. She cursed him in several languages.

But Josephine was no fool. She knew she was dying. Chances were, she'd die before Germaine's return. If he ever returned. She had to take measures to prepare.

Julia woke with the stench of ale and sewage in her nose. When her eyes focused, she was staring into black eyes like pools. She quickly looked away. "Oh. Sorry about that. How long have I been staring?"

The woman smiled. "You'll like Josephine Laveau, Julia Heywood. She was a fantastic woman."

"Josephine Laveau?" Julia echoed. The woman Germaine thought she was a reincarnation of. That's right. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I don't- I'm not a reincarnation."

Madame LeSayes smiled. "You'll start noticing differences. Don't worry. You were only half before; you and Josephine can become whole. You will be better with Josephine. She could be quite a guide. Could hold her own with the best of them. Perhaps you channeled her a bit when fighting those vampires, eh?"

"Fighting vampires?" Julia echoed. "Channeled?" She was feeling dizzy again.

The old woman looked at Germaine. "You have quite a taste in women, my old friend. They all either have bolts missing or too many nuts rattling around." She laughed, the brittle laugh of an old person who enjoys mocking others a bit too much.

Germaine merely smiled, unperturbed. "I trust you can find your own way out?"

Madame smiled, her eyes straying to Julia. "I should warn you though; New Orleans is surrounded. Not just the Vieux Carre. I'm surprised you made it this far." She smiled again. Julia noted with a faint degree of surprise that the woman still had all her teeth. Cackling again, the old woman disappeared downstairs and left.

Julia stared at Germaine. There was a thought nibbling at the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite place it.

Germaine fidgeted. This couldn't be happening. How had they closed in so much? He noticed Julia staring, and glared at her for the first time since they'd met. He'd been distracted. And for what? Wealth that he couldn't even sneak out of town because they might kill him. There had to be a way out of this.

"You," he said softly, his voice dangerous. He now wasn't even trying to hide how violent he could be. "I need you to tell the Morgans something for me."

Julia was twenty-three, and she had seen better days. Germaine was angry with her or, more likely, taking his anger out on her. She was still too dazed to really care. She was struggling to remember something, though she didn't know if it was a location, an object, or a person. The thought made her shiver. She didn't want to have another person inside her or be some second version of a person.

And she was supposed to remember something for Germaine, wasn't she? It was something more pressing, but much less important. She took a detour to the French Market while she struggled with what Germaine had told her. That's right. She was supposed to go back to her own home, let one of the vampire hunters catch her, and tell them that Germaine had been killed. Or had fled. Or been captured by someone else. Germaine hadn't been able to decide. He'd mentioned swimming across the Mississippi or hiding in the shark tank at the aquarium.

So what should she tell them? She looked at a pile of alligators' heads and moved towards the back, where the jewelry and clothing was. Leaning over a table with dainty necklaces, gem flowers on silver chains and sparkling gems on shiny chains. She reached out to touch one while the vendor was distracted by a gaggle of tourists. With a jerk of her wrist, the necklace was in her pocket and her hand was hovering above the other necklaces. Julia blinked at her hand. It was as if she hadn't done it at all, but she had. She'd wanted the necklace, and she'd taken it. And it felt wonderful.

She knew instinctively that she'd be pushing her luck too far if she hung around until the necklace was discovered missing. She moved on. Though she didn't quite trust herself to do it again, she went to the opposite side and picked up a purse. This, too, was a success, but by now Julia was too upset to give it another go and left. She went to Ravyn's and asked for any money her pictures might have gotten, even though it was early. Roberta wasn't in, and the underline wasn't sure he could give the money away before the assigned day, but she did get a free bagel and a coffee.

Julia had never stolen before, except for a few pieces of candy when she was young. And with those, she'd been caught and had had to pay for them. But her wrist had never moved like that, and she'd never gotten away with it. She tried for ten minutes trying to make excuses, but at last took to blaming Josephine.

No, not Josephine. Josephine didn't exist. Germaine had done it. New Orleans had brought out the worst of her. Indulgent city. Founded by thieves and pirates; it had gotten to her.

Someone sat at her table, his gray hair cropped short to his head. "Hello," he said cheerfully. "I tried to take you hostage earlier tonight. Do you remember?"

Julia considered him for a few moments. "I do," she said at last. "Do you expect gratitude?"

He chuckled. "Though you might be prettier, Josephine had more tact."

She glared at him; he merely smiled. "We've been following Count Saint Germaine for a while now; the only woman he's been so... tolerant of, besides yourself, was Josephine Laveau, who coincidentally looked much like you."

"And how do you know that?" Julia asked.

The man produced a locket on a chain, flipping it open for her to see. Her jaw dropped slightly as she reached to take it; he let her, but held onto the chain.

It was a painting, old, but well cared for. Julia's face was leaner, paler, her dark hair shorter. The woman's eyebrows were wider, more like Audrey Hepburn's, her lashes darker, but the similarities were still there. Julia shared the woman's chin and mouth, cheekbones, and eyes. Julia had always wondered why she had dark eyes when everyone else in her family had been born light-eyed.

"We've had this since Laveau became something of a major player. Nothing like the Voodoo Queen, of course, but she was no one to be overlooked." The man lowered his chin, but his eyes never left Julia's face as he pulled the locket away. "Count St Germaine isn't the only person who thinks you might be a reincarnation of Josephine Laveau. And Josephine was quite the wealthy young woman. Her treasure amounted to over a million dollars back then. It might amount to billions today."

The way his eyes were watching her tipped her off. He didn't see her as Julia, but as Josephine. It irritated her, but she didn't feel much like complaining. To her, she and Josephine were still different people, and she'd rather people look at Josephine like that than her. His eyes were cold, calculating, and he was looking at her as if figuring out a way to get Josephine's wealth. Her eyes narrowed. Go with that one, she thought. "I'm sure vampire hunters could use billions of dollars."

His eyes glinted. "I'm sure we could. So he told you that, did he?"

"He did." She smiled. "Unfortunately, Josephine was rather fond of him as well. I sent him elsewhere on her behalf."

He looked up, truly seeing her face, the almost taunting glint in her eye, perhaps for the first time. "What? Impossible."

"Quite possible, I assure you." Her heart was beating quickly; she couldn't believe how much she was enjoying this.

"Where is he?" he demanded.

Her lips twitched. "Eva, Alabama. It's got a population of fewer than one hundred people; you wouldn't find it unless you were looking" She stood and kissed his cheek, smiling even though she wanted to vomit a little. "Good luck."

He stood and followed her out. "Why tell me where he is if you're protecting him?" he demanded.

"Why did you let me go so easily when you tried to hold me hostage earlier?" She smiled. "Germaine has left. You can look in Eva if you want. Good luck finding him."

She left him to return to the house on Decatur and found only a note. "You'll be safer now."

Germaine smiled as he watched her through the window. He'd hoped she'd be upset, but it was more flattering than he'd expected. She must have tried hard to convince the hunters he'd left. He hoped she'd succeeded. What he had to do now was figure out what to do; when you lived as long as he did, you could grow a little bored, but with any luck he'd be safe here for a while. First, he had to find out if anyone had sold him out, and who it was. He'd watch over Julia from a distance and hope she got in touch with Josephine. Nothing seemed better right then than retiring so some little-known town in Europe. Of course, he might have to abandon it when the Morgans caught up with him. That could be problematic.

First things first. Julia wasn't going to survive if they thought she was mixed up with him. He had to make sure that wouldn't happen.