by Faith Hunter
It took a moment for me to figure out what he meant and even then I didn’t believe it. “Vamps attacked NOPD? The human police?” A sinking feeling rose from my toe pads to the top of my head, making it hard to think. Vamps did not attack human law enforcement. It wasn’t done. Ever. Except that there was a war among vamps in Europe and they were attacking humans there. And now here. I watched the screen as multiple recorded events played out on it. Everything was changing. “Who are the attackers?”
“They didn’t leave calling cards,” he snapped. “The witnesses and the security footage indicate they’re speaking some language I don’t recognize. I’m trying to ID them with facial-rec software, but that’ll take forever if I can’t narrow it down to country of origin.”
“Do you think they’re working with the fangheads here?”
“No. They didn’t seem to know you were no longer in New Orleans. They were trying to draw out the Dark Queen,” Alex said. “Wrassler sent a pic of a message they left at the front door of NOLA HQ. It specifically demanded that your head be tossed out to them, no longer attached to your body. Clan Bouvier provided armed assistance to the police until they had things under control again.”
“Good.” The last thing NOLA vamps needed was problems with the local cops. “Play Sabina’s message again.” I watched the stone of the graveyard and the marble of her mausoleum burn as I listened to the priestess’s message.
“I am badly damaged.” That horrible cough sounded as if she was hacking up a lung. “Near true-death. The larger fragments of the Blood Cross are destroyed.” Cough. “My mausoleum is on fire.” Long silence. “I dig through the earth . . . with the last sliver of the cross in the Americas.”
My cell dinged and I answered, “Wrassler? You okay?”
“We’re fine, Leg—” He stopped just as he was about to call me Legs. His voice changed into the formal tones he once used for Leo. “Empress. But there are police in the front entrance. “What are your orders, my queen?”
My queen. Bruiser was in a sleet storm. Ed was skinned like a deer for butchering. Eli was taking care of business in a bivouac in freezing conditions in an unheated church—the best possible place for humans seeking shelter from vamps. The Asheville MOC knew nothing about NOLA. I was on my own.
I said something that my housemothers at the Christian children’s home where I grew up would have washed out my mouth for. With lye soap and a spanking too, most likely. Alex found it all highly amusing, blowing a teenaged snortle through his nose.
I said, “First order of business, I will not be referred to as queen. Got that?”
Alex asked, “Is that a royal decree?”
I swatted the back of his head.
Alex rubbed the spot as if I’d hurt him, but he was grinning. “You want Gee and Shaddock in here?”
I showed my fangs at him in what might be called a smile, in some universe, and nodded. “Please.”
Laughter and his normal New Orleans accent in his voice, Wrassler said, “I miss you people.” Without giving us time to respond, he went on, “Alex, see if they might be speaking Romansh.”
“Romansh?” he asked.
“It’s spoken in some EU countries,” Wrassler said. “There’s some of the former Atlanta vamps on the video too, five who took off rather than submit to Katie when she took over as Master of the City there, and three I recognized on the video footage as having fled when Rosanne Romanello defeated the New York City MOC. They were all with the fangheads who attacked us, so it’s a mixed bag, maybe a new alliance.”
He was describing a batch of masterless rogues, the kind I used to track, stake, and leave true-dead. “I want to see the vid,” I said.
The younger Younger nodded.
Wrassler said, “Yes, ma’am,” like a good Southern gentleman of a recent but bygone era. “And some good news. Derek showed up on the HQ steps. He’s been beaten to a pulp and bled nearly dry, but he has a heartbeat. Vamps are feeding him and will turn him if needed. He signed the papers.”
Derek had signed papers permitting himself to be turned if he died? “Oookaaay. Tell him if he grows fangs, we’ll get Amy Lynn Brown down there to get him through the devoveo as fast as possible. And make sure his mother has someone to continue her treatments.” Derek’s mom had cancer and Derek was working as the full-time NOLA Enforcer to keep her fed and healing. Last I heard she was holding her own. And then it hit me that Amy was here in Asheville. In danger.
I cursed again, this time under my breath. One step at a time, my old life and responsibilities in New Orleans were descending on me. I could run away again. I could turn human and die. Or I could stay in half-form and deal with treachery. Save my friends.
Gee and Shaddock entered the back door. I could smell their magic and mixed scents on the air. “Gee, Lincoln, get in here,” I called. “I need advice.”
“I attend my queen,” Shaddock called back. I had a feeling he was picking on me and when I saw his face, I was sure of it.
Brushing sleet off his shoulders, Gee said, “The little goddess has my attention.”
I would deal with the goddess stupidity later. I didn’t know if Gee called me that because I could timewalk, or because of the power I had over le breloque, or if it was because of the curse of the Anzu that kept his kind from truly shifting shape. Or just to be annoying. And I didn’t have time to figure it out now.
“First, is Amy safe?” I asked Lincoln.
“Yes. The little girl, my scion, is safe,” he said, his expression going grim.
Relief eased the unexpected tightness in my joints, but a tension headache was starting behind my eyes. I used to have a lot of those in NOLA.
I nudged Alex. “Explain it to them all so we’re all up to speed. Wrassler, you’re on speaker. It’s Alex, Gee, and Shaddock. Everyone else is stuck in Asheville in a snowstorm.”
“Huh. It’s spring here. We got green tomatoes in the garden. I’m putting you on speaker here so the security team can listen in. The cops are banging on the door, but they can wait.”
Alex talked. Wrassler talked. It didn’t take long to get everyone properly debriefed, except Eli and Bruiser, who weren’t here to advise me. Wrassler said, “We got a warning from a loyalist in Spain who says Shimon is in the U.S. for several things: he wants le breloque, new territory, and Amy Lynn.”
“Everyone wants Amy. Okay. Go talk to the cops,” I said. “If they don’t have warrants, don’t let them in. If they do have warrants, stall. Remind them that the HQ is actually a sort of ambassadorial location and get the State Department involved to slow them down. If they are there to ask for vamp backup at NOPD, call the local clans and get some experienced fighters there to help law enforcement. Call . . .” I stopped, a stutter of surprise at what was coming out of my mouth. “Koun. Did he accept the position as Acting Enforcer of Clan Yellowrock until Derek is found and can resume his duties?” I asked.
“Yes,” Wrassler said. “He said he’s yours to command.”
I’d be testing those bonds of loyalty. “Tell him I said to organize the Mithran resistance.”
“Yes, my queen,” Wrassler said.
“Call the Robere twins in Europe and get them to talk to the cops if needed.” I paused, thinking through the list of things I needed to do, like acquire new legal counsel. I needed a high-profile, high-powered legal team. “We need a legal office on retainer in NOLA, someone with experience in international law and finances. Is that something you can handle?”
“I can make some calls. I’m thinking ABC—Aurieux, Boutté and Cuvert De Boisblanc. They’ve got thirty-five lawyers on retainer and can help with everything from family law to customs problems. If they don’t deal with it, they’ll find someone who will.”
“Call them. In fact, call them before you go to the door. Send them an electronic retainer. And keep me in the loop.”
“Will do
, Queenie.” Wrassler disconnected.
“Queenie,” Alex mocked.
I let him. Being teased was a spot of normalcy in my life.
Lincoln said, “You gonna tell me why you’re still in half-cat form? And why you’re hiding out here instead of being in charge of all this mess in New Orleans?”
“Sure. My human body is dying of magic cancer. This one is healthy. And stronger, faster, and more agile than my human shape. Plus, between you and me, I quit. I sent a letter to Edmund resigning the job of Dark Queen and empress and leaving it all to him. Either he never got the letter or he decided he didn’t want the job and is winging it until something else happens.”
Shaddock sat on the ottoman in front of the sofa and laced his big hands between his knees. “Shimon didn’t seem to know that. Therefore, I agree. If Ed got the letter, then he kept that information from the Flayer of Mithrans even under duress, with the younger Son of Darkness in his mind.”
Which would make Ed way more powerful than he appeared. I grinned again. “Correct.” To Alex, I said, “Make sure our people can get back here at first light. Whatever it takes. Eli and I need to go scouting to the west. Oh. And see if you can find Legolas.” Alex looked confused. “The blond vamp who tore out Shiloh’s throat. He wasn’t at the Regal. He’s mine. Personal combat.”
“On the contrary, Queenie,” Lincoln said, making it a permanent nickname. “He insulted my empress by harming her primo on my territory. Technically, according to the Vampira Carta one and two, he’s mine. Personal combat, to the death,” he said to Alex. “You find him, you let me know.”
Alex tilted his head to me, his long curls bobbing, eyes flashing amusement. “Protecting our Queenie is not gonna be easy. She likes to fight her own battles.”
“Which she can do. But if we end up fighting through layers of pissant, lower-echelon-level bullyboys, that’s not her fight. It’s mine.” Shaddock glanced at me. “We clear on that?”
“Crystal. I’m heading for bed. Alex needs shut-eye too, if one of your people can man the screens and the security system. Later.”
I went up to Bruiser’s and my room and crashed, my nose on his pillow so I could surround myself with his scent.
* * *
* * *
I slept until ten, when the mattress moved and I smelled Angie and EJ. Both kids climbed up on the bed, Angie on one side, EJ on the other. I grunted, my face buried in a pillow and covered by a veil of my long hair. “I’m still wearing my costume,” I said.
“Dat not a costume,” EJ said. “Dat’s Ant Jane Big-Cat. Mama said so.”
“Even though I’m ugly?” I asked. “Scary? And have big teeth?”
“The be’er to eat you with,” EJ said, and giggled.
“Ant Jane isn’t a wolf. She’s a big-cat,” Angie said.
“Like the one we saw outside the window? Except her not spawtted.”
I reached back and pulled my hair out of the way, rolling over slowly. I sat up on the bed, glad to see that I’d fallen into the sheets fully clothed. “Spotted? What spotted cat?” I asked softly, remembering the scat on the edge of my hunting territory. “And how big was it?”
“It was big,” EJ said. “Big as a lion!” His eyes went wide and his arms spread out.
Angie was watching me too carefully, her strawberry blond curls tied back in a tail. “Mama said it was prob’y a house cat, but it was too big. It was a big-cat, Ant Jane. Bigger than your big-cat.”
“Did it make a noise? A sound? Did it roar?”
“It did this,” EJ said. He made three coughing noises and then he opened his mouth and tapped on his cheeks, making a hollow noise. “And then it did this.” He snarled and made a roaring sound. Almost like an African lion. Almost.
It seemed the cat from the small creek on my hunting territory had decided to come closer. I rolled out of the bed to my feet. “Show me.”
EJ reached up with both hands, a demand to be picked up. I swung him up in my arms and, when we were in the hallway, up to my shoulders to ride.
Angie took my hand, a big girl, though the desire to be carried through the house on the shoulders of a Beast-form Aunt Jane was evident in her eyes. She led me to the kids’ room, past the bed and the sleeping Cassy, and up to the window, where she pointed at the tree line. “See the pine tree?” she asked. “Right there. Under the branches.”
EJ squealed as I swung him down from his perch to the floor. “Okay. You two stand here and watch for me. I’m going out there and I need you to let me know when I’m in the exact spot, okay?”
Angie nodded, all grown up and serious. “I’ll do like this.” She waved both arms over her head.
“Good.”
EJ just turned and raced from the room. “Toddler help” had its own parameters.
I left the room and the house at a trot, sprinted through the icy air, across two inches of solid sleet, to the tree line and the only evergreen. It was a wild spruce, not a pine, but close enough. The stink of male cat came to me, strong, the cat spray of a territory marking. It had followed me back here, whatever it was, based on the spray and scat that Beast had left on the territory boundary. I looked back at the window where Angie stood, silhouetted in the overhead light. She waved her arms enthusiastically.
I bent and crawled beneath the cedar fronds and saw what I was looking for and had hoped not to find. Paw prints. Not a dog or a wolf, which would have left claw marks at the tip of each toe, but a clawless print, four-toed, like a large mountain lion. But the center pad was too big for a mountain lion, the toes too close to the back pad. Not a bobcat, not even an exceptionally large one. This was indeed a big-cat print. Large spotted cat could mean that PsyLED was watching me. Unit Eighteen, in Knoxville, had a spotted African leopard on its team, and surely all of PsyLED knew by now that vamps had invaded Asheville.
Cat is not Africa cat, Beast thought. Is not werecat. Is other cat. Is cat from Beast’s hunting territory. Do not know this cat.
Okay. I was going to have to go cat hunting. Soon. But I had things to do first.
Back at the house, I threw a steak on the hot grill à la Eli, liberally sprinkled it with salt and pepper, and let it sizzle for a few minutes. I flipped it, gave that side the same treatment, turned off the flame, and picked up the two-pounder with a BBQ fork. The fat spat and spit as it dripped on the hot grill.
I spotted EJ, peeking around the corner. Holding the steak over the stove grill, I spoke over my shoulder, saying, “Aunt Jane can’t use good manners like I’m supposed to. My teeth are too big.”
“The be’er to eat me with, Ant Jane. Can I watch?”
I thought about that. I could say, Yes, but don’t tell your mama. Which was unfair to Moll and Big Evan. Or I could say, Go away, which hurt my heart. I said, “Grown-ups eat with a fork and knife and not with their fingers. I’m gonna be eating with my fingers. It’s embarrassing.”
“Oh,” EJ said. A few moments later he added, “I’m gonna go find sissy.”
“Thank you, EJ.”
“You we’come, Ant Jane.”
I heard him patter away and tore into the half-raw steak, swallowing big chunks. So good.
A soft noise made me whirl, and I saw Angie Baby peeking around the corner, one eye visible, one eye hidden. EJ peeked around too, his head lower. So going to find Sissy meant bringing her back here. I wiped my mouth and grinned, showing my fangs. EJ giggled. Angie said, “Can I braid your hair, Ant Jane?”
I went very still, meat in one hand, halfway to my mouth. For the Cherokee, the braiding of hair was ceremony. The placing of one’s entire self, one’s physical and one’s spirit self, into the hands of another. There had been a time when I let anyone braid my hair, not knowing the significance of the act. “Do you know how to braid hair?” I asked her.
She nodded, her strawberry curls bobbing. “Mama taught me.”
&n
bsp; “Okay.” I put the meat into the fridge, washed my hands, and said again, “Okay.” I lifted both kids to sit on the bar, feet dangling off. “You fall and I’ll be mad.”
“I won’t faw, Ant Jane,” EJ said.
Angie just pushed me around and gathered my hair into her hands. She stroked her fingers through it, from my nape to my hips, long brushing motions. She began to braid my hair, her fingers slow and a little clumsy. Warmth rose from the floor, from the soles of my feet, along my spine, and up to the top of my head. I breathed out, tension leaving my body. For the first time in a very long time, I relaxed.
* * *
* * *
Molly and her kids had taken a nap, and the children were still sleeping when Moll joined us in the TV room/office. Her hair looked like a half-inflated helium balloon, puffy on one side, flat on the other. The baby was over one shoulder and Moll was doing that rocking, swaying, bouncing thing that seemed common to human mothers.
Beast watched Molly as if she was prey but sent me an image of a mountain lion nursing kittens. The mama cat was flat on her back, front and back legs outstretched and milk-engorged teats facing up. On four of the teats were young kits. Kits of Beast kit. Beast brought meat to kit and helped teach young to hunt. Kit and kits left Beast’s territory for place of setting sun. Beast never saw kits again.
I’m sorry.
Molly took a seat on the sofa and began patting the baby’s back. Moll was making tiny humming noises in the back of her throat, like half singing, none of the notes in any particular key, but the sound was soothing nonetheless.
Beast is sad. Beast loves kits.
I sent my other half an image of two cats hugging, and when she didn’t respond, I turned my attention to real life in the TV room/office and updates that I knew had to be waiting.
Alex was watching replays. On the big screen, divided into two larger screens, were the spectacles of the fire at the NOLA vamp cemetery, and the encounter with the SOD in the Regal. In NOLA, I watched as the rock itself burned and melted into puddles of lavalike molten stone. I dropped into the heated recliner, threw my feet up, and watched as the chapel whooshed up in flames and swirled into a fire devil, high in the air. In the Regal Imperial Hotel, I watched as vamp pairs fell and Ed bled. On the hotel footage Alex had hacked into, I stood there as if I hadn’t a care in the world, my half-form full of false moxie. False. But I walked away with all my people. I couldn’t help the smile that pulled back my lips and exposed my fangs.
