Lucy smiled. "I guess you're working, then?" she asked.
"Unofficially," Val replied. "Now look, cherie, it's getting late. You should go home. It's not a good night to be out and about. Too many feu follets."
Rolling her eyes, she shook her head both in confusion and frustration, and Val couldn't help but think that she would be perfect prey for an incubus. Their paranormal senses let them detect those wounded in spirit, whether it be loneliness, desperation, heartache, or disillusionment with life. Lucy needed to go home now and stay behind locked doors.
"Evil spirits. Monsters on the prowl," he explained.
"Of course. New Orleans is a monster haven—or monster heaven, take your pick. But I've lived here two years and nothing bad has happened to me."
Watching Val, Lucy wondered if she should say something about DeLeon. If she did, would he reveal anything about the youth-sponging monster? In a perfect world, she and Val would be partners. But then, in a perfect world they wouldn't have broken up.
Feeling it was appropriate, she went for broke. "But, then, nothing like an incubus has been in town before, has it?" She waited for any sign of reaction.
It wasn't long in coming. Val cursed a Cajun blue streak, then drew her back into a shadowed alcove. "Mon Dieu! Cést une erreur."
Lucy gave him another irritated look. "English, please."
"You're mistaken."
She snorted. "No, I'm not. I know, Val. I know about the Ka."
He went even whiter than his usual vampire complexion. "How the hell did you find out? Who told you?" His suspicions had been right all along; this menacing mess of a miss had stuck her pretty little nose into something that wouldn't necessarily get it bitten off, but more likely aged by four or five decades. Mais oui, that pretty little nose just might get her a pretty little headstone in the not-too-distant future—or at the very least end up permanently wrinkled like a Sharpei.
"I can't reveal a source," Lucy protested.
Val shook his head, glaring at her. "Serena Stevens! I should have known. My partner told me Serena acted funny when asked if she'd told anyone else about her attack." He wished he had a switch to take to the broomstick witch for having talked to Lucy.
"This isn't The X-Files, and you aren't Fox Mulder," he told her. "Stay the hell away from this, Lucy. It's police business, and none of yours."
"Why haven't you told the public about it?" Lucy demanded, her mouth turning down at the corners. "Don't you think everyone deserves to know that a new monster is in town? That a kiss can kill you. That, if you get lucky, you'll only get a quick trip to Florida and retirement."
"We don't want John Q Public up in arms," Val said. "We need to avoid mob mentality, humans with garlic and stakes attacking every vampire in sight. So… if a leak comes about the incubus, I'll know just where to look," he warned her.
Lucy started to argue, but Val was familiar with her tactics. He stalled her by adding, "We're calling a press conference in two days to inform the public." He didn't like informing the public, because that meant the incubus would know his cover was blown, perhaps making him harder to track. In the worst case, the incubus would move to a different territory, making him impossible to catch. He'd have to work fast to catch the beast.
Lucy closed her mouth, appeased. The public was going to be warned. But that also meant a slew of bounty hunters would be on the prowl for the Ka, which decreased her chances of finding the youth-stealing critter first. She didn't like that possibility.
"Just go home and stay out of this," Val advised her sternly. He was hoping that for once Lucy would use what little common sense God had given her and back off. "No story is worth your life."
"I know what I'm doing, Val," she replied. "I'm not a beef-witted simpleton."
The look he gave her said different. "Lucy, with your record you will either have the Big Easy in a big uproar, or end up with varicose veins and and a berth in a coffin. You don't know what you're doing."
"I do so," she snapped. "I'm a qualified professional."
"You were a weather girl. Now you do a talk show that's the joke of the paranormal world. Chet Huntley, Connie Chung, or Barbara Walters you are not. So stay the hell out of this!"
Every word stomped harder on her pride. "I might not be fricking Connie Chung, but I'm trying! And just why the hell do you care?" she hissed.
Val leaned against a column, staring hard at this hard-headed, distrustful, misguided mortal. She had a suspicious nature, which he abhorred, and she was so unruly that she created anarchy wherever she went. "You know what, cherie? I wish the hell I knew why I bother. I wish the hell I knew why I care."
Lucy's temper, which had been a roaring blaze, did a slow burn and then fizzled out as the import of his words struck. Val still cared! But just how much? Reaching out her hand, she gently touched his arm. "You do bother. You do care. Warning me? That tells me something."
His deep blue eyes were smoldering, but he shook his head. "Trop retard." Lucy opened her hands, palm up—she didn't understand—so he went on: "It's too late, Lucy. Too late. You didn't trust me. You didn't love me enough."
"But I did, Val. Surely you can't believe I didn't love you. Why, I loved you like nobody I've ever loved in my entire life. You were my moon and my stars."
"Whether you did or didn't, it's a little late now. That's all spilt blood, not to be cried over. It's in the past."
Lucy leaned into his chest, staring up into his eyes with earnest intent. She could sense something new, something she'd never seen. Something she'd never allowed herself to see?
"Forget the past," she said. "I'm listening now. I really want to know what happened that night. I really need to know."
Touching a finger to her chin, he bent his head toward hers. "I don't want to talk about it. I can't forget that you honored me so little. Trusted me so little."
She circled his shoulders with her arms, and reaching up and drawing his head down for a kiss. The kiss was scorching hot, burning with need and fever. Lucy's insides heated up, too. She had so missed Val's lips on hers. His soft, hot mouth, and the way he made her feel inside—all melting and sugary. This was heaven: being in his arms again, his lips on hers after four long hot summers and frozen winters. There was nothing but this moment in time. She wished it would last.
Val wanted to lose himself in these sweet hot passions that were unique to Lucy alone. But he couldn't. He didn't trust her anymore, not with his heart or his desires.
Lucy was jerked back quite unwillingly into the present by the sound of Val's name being called.
"Ah, Val, I've been looking for you everywhere, and here you are. You said you'd be bored at the Monster's Ball, but you don't look bored to me."
Both Lucy and Val drew apart. Val looked a little uncomfortable, and Lucy was dumbstruck. It was her: the slutty, villainous vampiress who had vamped Val! Lucy hated her, despised her, wanted to kick her blood-sucking butt from there to Fort Worth.
The woman seemed amused. "Val—aren't you going to introduce me to the lady you've been kissing?"
Val looked put out, but reluctantly complied. He said, "Christine Armstrong, this is Lucy Campbell."
Lucy glanced from Val back to the vamp. She was dressed in a tight golden dress that revealed most of her chest and her upper arms. The female vampire was muscular, but in a feminine and curvy way. The name Armstrong seemed to fit. This viperous vampiress could probably bench-press Lucy at least twice over.