Read Online [Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine by Barbara Monajem - Free Book Online Page A

There was nothing to give up on, seeing as he wasn’t after Marguerite, but the bird just laughed. Sailing up there on the air currents, life must be peachy keen.
    Maybe it was right, though. Not only had Marguerite shown very little fear, but she wasn’t the least bit sensible. She had stood up for him this morning, most likely on impulse.
See
, he told the bird,
I’m trying to take her at face value. I’m trying not to be suspicious
.
    Good for you
, it replied blandly. Constantine felt the blood darken his cheeks. Christ, why must it make him feel like a little kid asking for praise? He shook the guide’s presence away and went on with his own thought process.
    In spite of his warnings, Marguerite had kissed him. Again, not sensible at all. Not only that, her roommate had possibly been murdered—and maybe merely letting Gideon know about it wasn’t enough. He took out his phone and sent Jabez, his bodyguard and fellow vigilante, to make sure she’d gotten home okay. There. He’d discharged his responsibility. Again. Damned if he would beg for more snarky approval from the bird.
    The instant the Pontificator stood still, Constantine dropped another acorn.
    “Damned squirrels!” cried the Pontificator, rubbing his head. “They should all be shot. I’m getting out of here.” He took off with long, frustrated strides. Constantine stood up, leaned perilously out through the branches, and lobbed one straight shot directly at the back of his head.
    “What the hell?” The Pontificator whirled. “Did you throw that at me? Did you?”
    “Throw what?” Lavonia frowned. “Eaton, did you throw something?”
    But Eaton was yards away and oblivious, humming under his breath while consulting a compass and a scrap of paper. “Sunrise… five something… a little bit southeast, I suppose, right around where the chicken house is.” He squinted across the park in the direction of Hellebore University’s agricultural complex and began humming again, this time one of Constantine’s more peaceful songs, albeit somewhat off-key.
    We’ve heard that before,
the hawk said. Then,
Look who’s on his way to the mound.
    “There must be somebody up that tree!” stormed the Ridiculous Pontificator.
    “Only a squirrel.” Myra gave an exasperated wag of the head.
    “And a hawk! Look at that gorgeous hawk!” cried Lavonia, eyes on the sky. “Come on, Eaton. It’s getting way too hot to be outdoors.” They headed for the stairs.
    Constantine swung easily downward. He had just landed on a huge limb twelve feet above the ground, when the fan from this morning crashed out of a path in the woods and thundered up the side of the mound. With a delicious slow-motion anticipation of the enfoldment of doom, Constantine waited for the conflagration. The guy bounded onto the surface of the mound, the others turned, and all hell broke loose.
    “Zeb Bonnard!” Myra hollered, her ruddy complexion turning to flame. “I’ll wring your neck!”
    Something pinged in Constantine’s gut, like last night but not quite, and then was gone. What
was
that? And why?
    This kid matters
, the bird said, whatever that was supposed to mean.
    The Idiot Pontificator joined in. “You damned hoodlum—you’re the one who made that crank call, sending me up here when it was too late!”
    “Roy, that’s uncalled for!” Lavonia cried. “You have no proof Zeb did anything.”
    “Zeb, Zeb,” said Eaton, “think of your poor father. Think how your mother would have felt.”
    The four of them surged toward the kid. He danced back, fists clenched. The Furious Pontificator let out a howl of rage and lunged.
    Constantine joined in the fun. One moment Zeb and the Pontificator were locked together in a death grip. Then the Pontificator was on his hands and knees on the grass, and Zeb was scrambling up, panting and heaving. Constantine nodded at Myra, winked at Lavonia, and said to Eaton, “We should talk some time, Professor Wilson.”
    The Pontificator