by Faith Hunter
I thought about that as the scent of vamp blood grew in the closed garden. “Punishment. Being forced to fight while drained or grieving. Trickery. A big honking boon.” But I’d heard nothing about a clan blood-master being punished, and though the vamp war was in full swing when Edmund Hartley lost his status and his clan, I’d heard nothing about him injured or suffering the loss of someone close to him. Bettina wasn’t tricky enough to defeat this guy. I wasn’t sure that even Leo was tricky enough to beat him. And then I understood. “Politics. He gave up his position to gain something else.”
“We had an agreement, Onorio,” Edmund said, his voice barely a whisper but laced with threat. “Do not renege.”
“I abide by my word,” Bruiser said.
Silence fell on the garden. I’d lost my chance to learn the secret of Edmund’s change in status. The sky warmed to a golden hue, rosy at the horizon. Sirens sounded in the distance. The beginning of early morning traffic. The clank of a garbage truck in the next block. From beneath the banana plant I heard Brute’s breath ease; the faint wheeze disappeared. His heart rate steadied.
“Liam, you may desist and heal,” Edmund said, “while I get us out of the sun.” Edmund lifted Brute and carried him inside, out of the sun’s rays, and laid the wolf on the carpet, heedless of the bloodstains in the new construction. The vamps, Bruiser, and I crowded in after him and I pulled the fancy new blinds. “Liam, assist Vivian to hold the wolf. He will be stronger now. Rebecca, you will open your veins and feed the wolf.”
“And if it bites me?”
“You are being well recompensed in blood-meals.”
“Yeah. We are, aren’t we?” The female vamp knelt in the bloody carpet, her back to me. I smelled her blood when she opened her wrist.
“Edmund,” I said. “Thank you for this. I know vamps don’t generally like weres.”
“I detest them. I’d see them all in hell if I could. But. As I said, I am being well recompensed.”
“Yeah?”
“Yesss,” he said, drawing out the word. “I am no longer the lowest scion in servitude to the Master of the City. I have gained in status and my twenty-year bondage is now only nineteen. A small price to pay for a room without a view.”
I grinned in the dark, remembering Edmund’s lair, the room on an outside wall. And though the window was well covered by day, it couldn’t be a happy thought to know that the sun was only a foot away. “Leo gave you that?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice sly. “My master is generous to you.”
“Oh.” My grin fell away. “Yeah, Leo wants in my pants. That ain’t happening.”
Edmund chuckled lightly, the tone sly. “My master is patient.”
I ignored that, but I could tell by a faint shift in posture that Bruiser didn’t ignore it. “Is Brute stable?” I asked.
“He will be awake soon. Then I will set his limbs. It will be painful and we will have to restrain him. It might be better if you are not here then.”
“Try not to hurt him. I may need him.” I thought back over the local vamps’ past relationship with the weres and added, “And he’ll tell me how you treated him.”
Edmund chuckled again, the devious tone morphing into something darker. “Werewolves do not talk. They growl and yip and whine, but they do not talk. They scream with pain and howl for help, but they do not talk.”
I walked closer to Edmund. “That sounds like experience talking. It’s no secret that Leo had someone interrogate werewolves in his possession once. And that they didn’t survive the Q and A. So just to be clear, this werewolf talks. He talks to me. I may need him to track the Fifty-two Killer. So make sure Brute can still talk when he gets to me, make sure he’s out of pain and healed up nicely and not afraid. Or the second I take back the job, the Enforcer will put you back into an outer room.” I leaned in. “This time without draperies.” I turned my attention to Bruiser, standing impassively, his hands at his sides, his feet spread, his weight balanced, his eyes watching Edmund. Ready for a fight. Ready to protect me from Edmund. Which was just so cute.
I pivoted on one heel and left the house, giving Edmund my back, letting both men see that I had no fear of the vamp behind me. Dawn had officially arrived. I was exhausted. I needed sleep. But sleep was not on the menu for my day. I had to make it to vamp HQ for a little chat with Leo, a chat of an unpleasant nature, which would be even less pleasant with him up after dawn. He got bitchy then. And I had to contact the witches. And I had to deal with Molly and the problem with the blood diamond. So much to do, none of it fun. But first, I needed a shower and a change of clothes. And I didn’t have a car. Dang it.
* * *
I took a taxi home. Rinaldo, the friendly taxi driver who made me a priority, picked me up on the street and took me back to my house, where I intended to change from the bloody clothes, have a quick debrief with my team, and decide what to do next. Because I had no idea what to do with all my problems.
* * *
The Molly problem met me at the front door with a sleeping, purring cat draped around her neck and Eli at her back. Mol was fully dressed in ironed jeans, a severe, button-down white shirt, and blue loafers, and I instantly could see the fine quiver running through her, strongest in her hands, her fingers tremulous. She looked exhausted, dark circles beneath her eyes; her pale skin had a yellowish pallor; her hair was pulled back in a scalp-wrenching bun. I would have almost rather had her meet me with her hair hanging wild and free. The tight, binding bun said too much about her state of mind.
“Molly, ma’am,” Eli said, his voice at her left shoulder, his familiar scent grounding me. “You gonna be okay, ma’am? I’d hate to have to knock you flat like Jane did. But I will, if you get magically violent.”
Molly’s eyes went wide and she stepped back, past Eli, fast. Her cat familiar stopped purring.
At least he had only offered to deck her, not fill her with lead. I sighed, the breath sounding weary and irritated in the uncomfortable silence of my front door.
“Great, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal,” I said. “You just threatened a powerful witch with bodily harm. That is the definition of stupid, just in case you were interested.”
Molly touched her jaw. “Is that why I’m sore?”
“Yeah,” I said flatly. “You don’t remember?” Molly shook her head and I said, “I socked you. Lachish healed you. Mostly. But you look like crap.”
A slight smile settled on Molly’s face. “You never have babied me. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome? I think?”
I eased inside, past Molly, and shut the door. Eli backed up to the bottom of the stairs. The cat had started purring again, which had to be a good sign. “Why did you have to knock me out?”
“Because you went for the blood diamond.”
Molly closed her eyes. With an effort, she kept her breathing steady. “And you have it with you still. I feel it. Okay. I think I’ll put on my music.” Molly left us to listen to the music her husband had recorded—music that was spelled to help her resist the urge to use her death magics. Her trembling increased as she climbed the stairs to the room she was using, the one directly over mine. In hindsight, it might have been smart to move the workout gear to that room and put Molly in the room at the back of the house. If she became the least bit avaricious again, I’d do that. Or send her to a hotel. Yeah. Better. With that course of action laid out, I went to my room and stripped out of my vamp-fighting gear.
The leathers had more blood on them than I’d expected, and it took a while to get them clean, especially the knees of the pants and the sleeve that had been burned on the snare of thorns. I had left my leathers dirty before and I had learned my lesson. The stink of vamp and human blood didn’t always come clean later. Living with Eli had made me more attentive to the details of my equipment. I used to just rinse them with water and clean them with saddle soap or leather-conditioning paste, or maybe vinegar or olive oil, depending on the type of filth. But I was short on vamp-hun
ting clothing, and cleaning these leathers the right way was a three-step process starting with baby wipes, followed by careful drying with a nonscratch cloth, and last by use of a proprietary bloodstain-removal spray that had come with the leathers. The spray was a nonstinky, non-water-based leather cleaner designed especially to remove blood but not harm the finish, and it dried odor-free. I rubbed the spray in with a soft, clean cloth. No stinting on the process this time. I didn’t want Santana to smell me coming, splattered with the blood of his dead ladyloves and the werewolf and me. By the time my leathers were clean, I was feeling a little less cantankerous, and I showered off the sweat of a New Orleans night, dressing in sturdy undies, slim pants, and a tank top, all in black. And my newest boots, the ones Leo had given me. My doubled gold chain and gold nugget necklace, with the mountain lion fetish wired on, made a bright counterpoint on the dark colors and made my yellowish eyes look more amber, darker and shadowed. My only makeup was bloodred lipstick.
I studied myself in the long mirror in my bedroom, thinking about my hair, whether to yank it back in a bun like Molly’s, plait it into a long tail, or put it up into a fighting queue. Giving up on knowing what looked best, I parted it in a zigzag and let it hang, which I seldom did. Long hair made a perfect handle for a bad guy or evil vamp to grab to try to control me. But today it might be another kind of tool.
Bait, my Beast thought, to bring Leo closer. To make him foolish.
I smiled grimly and weaponed up, taking only a single nine mil and wood stakes. I was running low with all my silver stakes in a dead vamp. Remembering that made me dial Sloan Rosen. When he answered, I said, “You do know to behead the vamps, yes?”
“Your boy Edmund Hartley did that. Without permission, and against the ME’s wishes. He also removed your stakes, wrapped them in a cloth, and took ’em when he left. That was a serious breach of crime scene methods and I’m sure there will be repercussions.”
“Good,” I said, and closed the Kevlar cover of the cell. “One less thing to worry about.” Then I had an idea and dialed Edmund’s cell number.
“Jane Yellowrock,” he said into the phone, the tone sounding seductive.
Beast perked up and I thought at her, No. No way. Don’t even think about it.
“Edmund Hartley,” I replied. “Do you have my silver stakes?”
“Eight of them, which will be delivered to your residence once Housekeeping has cleaned off the blood and polished the silver to a nice, bright, deadly shine.”
“Ducky. Do you get a fee for beheading Leo’s enemies?”
“Though my position in Clan Pellissier is markedly higher after feeding a werewolf than it was prior to that, no Mithran in my lowly position may receive remuneration for servicing his master.”
Which just sounded icky, the way he said that. I said, “If you’re low on liquid funds, feel free to post the beheadings under my name and orders. I’ll forward my fee to you.”
Edmund hesitated. “That would place me under the commands of, and under the authority of, the vampire hunter, who is currently under contract to the Master of the City. Not under the authority of the Enforcer, where I have been hitherto.”
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
“Not to me, no. But it lessens the power that the Pellissier Clan blood-master may wield over me and makes me more bound to the vampire hunter.”
“Is that likely to make Leo mad?”
“At you? Yes. At me? No. I have no authority and therefore no responsibility.”
I chuckled, and the sound was wicked. “Make it so,” I said, “and be sure to tell him all that, uh”—I paused and tried to think of a term an old vamp might appreciate—“posthaste. Yeah. Tell him all that posthaste.”
“You are too kind,” Edmund murmured. “For this charity, I am at your service, and I owe you a boon.”
“Yeah. Whatever. I just like ticking off his Most High Toothy-ness.”
I thought I might have heard Edmund choking with laughter as I ended the call.
CHAPTER 21
You Are Going to Prick My Temper
It was well after dawn when I left my room and swung out the front door, hoping to leave Eli to get a nap. No such luck. He tapped on the SUV window as I inserted the key. I set a finger to the window button and it rolled silently down. “Busted,” I said.
“So busted. You can barely keep your eyes open. Move over. I’m driving.”
“You’ve had less sleep than I have.”
“Yeah. I know. Uncle Sam trains his Rangers to not need sleep like normal humans.”
I levered myself over the console into the passenger seat as Eli took my place and belted in. “I’m not a normal human.”
“I know that too,” he said, the engine turning over. “You’re part cat. Mountain lions sleep something like twenty hours a day, which means you’re overdue for a long nap.” Eli didn’t look my way, but his mouth took on that almost-smile thing he does. “Big-cats spend the other four hours hunting, eating, and mating. And you haven’t been with Bruiser much lately, except the short time . . . was it yesterday? When Alex and I went for groceries?”
That shut me up. I was pretty sure I blushed. “Drive.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And when we get there, be advised that I intend to bait Leo. A lot.”
“Because we’re pissed off with the MOC. I got that.”
I smiled. Yeah. My partner got that. And . . . we’re pissed off. Not you’re pissed off. But we’re . . . A feeling I had never experienced before rose from the deeps of me and began to spread out. It was a weird feeling—light and airy, and it made my eyes water. It was kinda . . . I didn’t know how to describe it. Maybe fluffy. Which I’d never say to Eli. Not. Ever. I looked out the window to hide the tears gathered in my eyes and I was glad he couldn’t smell my reaction. I stared out into the bright dawn so he couldn’t see my face. “Ticked off,” I said automatically. “You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah. I know. Ditto, babe.”
I blinked my eyes hard to dispel the tears as we rolled through the Quarter, silent now, getting ready to bait a master vampire in his lair. Go, us.
* * *
Eli and I made it onto HQ grounds from the side street without incident. The picketing citizens were fewer there and resorted to shouting at us as we turned inside. He parked under the porte cochere and we entered through the back. The repairs were coming along nicely, the store of building supplies that we kept on hand in the garden shed out back making a big difference in the speed of repairs. The back entry was repainted, the blood cleaned away, the walls looking brand-new. The elevator doors were perfect except for a couple of bullet holes in the metal. And what’re a few bullet holes between friends?
The sun was rising as we entered Leo’s office. He wasn’t alone, but his dinner was sleeping, possibly naked, on the chaise longue beneath a velvet throw. It wasn’t the first time I’d been there when a human was asleep after servicing his or her master. But it was the first time the sleeping human had looked all of fifteen. I threw Leo a murderous glance, and he lifted a single eyebrow in reply, amused.
I bent over the human and shook him awake. He was beautiful, with black hair worn long, blue eyes, and that perfect pale skin of the Black Irish. “Evening, ma’am.” Something in those two words drew rein on my budding anger. He sounded Irish too, and more composed than any fifteen-year-old blood-meal had any right to.
I stepped back and studied him more closely. Slender, with graceful bone structure, the shoulders of a dancer and the face of an angel. Michelangelo would have fallen in love with him and tossed the model for the statue of the young David out the window in favor of this guy. “How old are you?”
“’Tis closing in on forty, I am.”
My anger drained away like water down a drain. “Okay. Why have I never seen you before?”
He gathered the throw around him and swung his feet to the Turkish rug, sitting up. “I was rescued by Grégoire”—his voice didn’t
get harsh, but it did go toneless—“from a breeding pen outside of Atlanta, it was.”
“Oh.” I took another step back, my thoughts skittering around in my brain like rats in a cage. I put two and two together and came up with the child-man having been raised on one of the slave farms run by the former MOC of Atlanta and Greater Georgia, Lucas Vazquez de Allyon. I had killed the MOC. It was a death I didn’t regret. Not one bit. I’d never get used to the way most vamps think that they own humans. The EuroVamps would only be worse. Probably much worse. If they came to America and won a war, we’d have a lot more people like this, but they’d be a lot less happy.
Running on instinct, I put the blood-meal on Leo’s couch together with the human’s old master, the former Master of the City of Atlanta, de Allyon, and tried to fit the puzzle pieces of the European vamps and the Son of Darkness into the picture. And the Damours. They didn’t fit; none of the pieces connected. Until I added in Adrianna. She was there, on the outside of everything, her fingers in all the pies. But I could have sworn that Adrianna wasn’t smart enough or powerful enough to accomplish long-running treachery, one that would have spanned decades. It didn’t add up to a massive conspiracy, a long-term strategy to take over the Americas, but with vamps there were always more layers to the puzzles. And I was absolutely certain that I didn’t have all the pieces. And if I was wrong, then the mystery was a huge, overwhelming plot with more angles than I’d ever be able to figure out. There was no way I’d ever learn enough history to name all the pieces on the chessboard of vamp politics.
The pretty child-man offered me a smile that was wholesome and cheerful. “My new master, Grégoire, thought I might gain some much-needed education ’n’ training here at Mithran headquarters. My opportunity to acquire such knowledge was sorely lacking under my previous master.”
