by Faith Hunter
I asked, “Who did you piss off in Knoxville?”
The Asian man stiffened. “Cai and I do not see eye to eye on security issues.”
“Yeah? You gonna get along with Wrassler and Derek and Eli, the people in charge of security? Despite the fact that I’d likely insult Ming if I sent you back to her with broken bones, I’ll do just that if you can’t play nice. Are you capable of following orders, or are you just a hothead with no self-control?” It was an insult. I intended it to be.
Long-Knife frowned. It took up his whole face, and it was clear he wanted to be in charge of anything and everything. He wasn’t a vamp, but had the look of a very old and very well-fed blood-servant. “I honor the Dark Queen,” he said, after a too-long silence. His accent wasn’t from an Asian country. Maybe Swedish, which was interesting. And he didn’t answer my question. Also interesting.
“Yeah? We’ll see. You can honor me by honoring them. Wrassler what else you got?”
“Your majesty. Florence is a nurse and Infermieri.” Infermieri. A healer vamp. I wondered where she had been only a couple of hours past when I was dead. I studied the female vampire Wrassler indicated. She was about five five, slim, and was wearing white nunnish gowns, like some outclan priestesses wore. Her power felt soft, warm, and flexible, not shell-like and formidable. I inclined my head to her.
“Florence is outclan,” Wrassler continued, confirming my thoughts, “one who is as independent and self-sufficient as any Mithran can be. I wish to appoint her as your personal nurse.”
“Nurse,” I said, deadpan. She had rich chestnut-toned hair up in a bun, brown eyes, and the kind of complexion that came from another time, another place. “Florence as in Florence Nightingale?”
“An unfortunate coincidence,” she said, her voice lightly accented. Maybe Italian. Maybe something similar.
Wrassler started to speak, and she raised a hand, stopping him.
“I will speak for myself,” she said. “I was turned by Lincoln Shaddock, before World War II, and left the scion lair after four years.”
Most fangheads had to cure for ten years, rule of thumb, before they could control their bloodlust enough to be among humans. “That was . . . fast.” That was Amy Lynn Brown fast. And Shaddock had never told Leo or me that he had turned another vamp who went through the devoveo so quickly.
“Yes, ma’am. I returned to Europe to visit my children and was trapped there by the start of the Second World War, unable to return to my maker. Following my son, a doctor, I went to work as a nurse in a mobile military hospital near the front lines. When my son was killed in a bombardment, I took over the medical care of 1,027 soldiers. My Mithran blood saved many. After the war, I sent papers to Lincoln Shaddock that I would be outclan, and I served under the outclan priestess Susanna. I was then, and I remain today, unaligned. I will save any that I can.”
The fact that another wonder-blood vamp came from Linc’s line was more than interesting. Of all the people in this room, this woman was clearly the most self-contained, the most headstrong, and the most useful. She was neither disdainful, nor in awe of my magnificent ears.
“So if an enemy Mithran and I were both injured,” I said, “you would triage the one most likely to live and save that one.”
“If My Queen accepts my service, and should I swear to her for the duration of this Mithran war, then the Dark Queen would receive my assistance first, unless she was well enough to survive on her own while I cared for another.”
“Uh-huh. Triage I understand.” In the years before I came to NOLA, I had taken a course as an emergency medical technician. I understood saving the savable, but I could tell from Wrassler’s expression that what she had suggested was not acceptable. “But if you saved my enemy and my enemy then killed me before you could save me, what good would that do? Wouldn’t that make you foresworn?”
Her head tilted and her brown eyes narrowed as she considered my question. I hadn’t studied under Leo for nothing. I added, “You would be serving the Dark Queen of all Mithrans, not some”—I searched for and found a word a woman of her time might understand—“not some ragamuffin.”
Her lips pursed, and I could see she was about to bargain with me for terms of her service. “I will stabilize the Dark Queen first, followed by any humans. Then I will stabilize your Mithran enemies and will stake them to keep them paralyzed. Then I would fully heal you. In that order.”
“That would take a lot of blood,” I said.
“In one night, I stabilized eighty-seven humans and only fed three times. I did not drain my victims.”
I looked at Wrassler and he nodded. This woman was way more than she appeared, had powerful blood, and amazing self-control. “Why are you here?” I asked her. “In New Orleans. Offering to be my nurse.”
“I worked with Edmund, the Emperor of Europe, and Grégoire, the Blood Master of all of France, who is also your warlord. I saw what they were trying to accomplish, this new world of Mithrans who are bound to a new law. I read the Vampira Carta of the Americas, and I listened to them speak of this Dark Queen who would usher in a new and better time. Their war in Europe is now ended, and they will come here to be formally recognized. By the Dark Queen. I have come to serve this queen. You.”
I needed a nurse because I was breakable and mortal. Right. I looked at Wrassler. “You set this up?”
“We inquired for an Infermieri. She hopped on the next flight. Edmund and Grégoire vouchsafe for her.”
“Fine.” I met her eyes, deep brown and calm. “I accept the service of the outclan healer, Florence. However, your maker, the Master of the City of Asheville, Lincoln Shaddock, the vamp who turned you, has been looking for an Infermieri. When the war’s over, keep that in mind,” I advised her. “He’s a nice guy.”
Her eyebrows went up, and I realized that suckheads didn’t always think “nice guys” were worth working for or with. Only powerful guys.
I added, “You probably know this, but he’s way more powerful than he acts, and you would be close to Amy Lynn.”
Florence blinked once, as if processing that. For a vamp, she had a very expressive face.
“Last one?” I asked.
“My Queen. This is Quint. She is Quesnel’s niece and an accomplished lady-in-waiting, bodyguard, and secretary.”
Quesnel was Leo’s sommelier. He didn’t like me because I drink beer, not swanky wine, but he was necessary at HQ to satisfy the palettes of the fancy-type vamps who stayed here sometimes. My brain stopped. “What? Lady-in-waiting? Waiting for what?”
Wrassler’s face looked as if he was trying not to grin at me, but not really succeeding. “She is trained in a variety of etiquette proprieties and royal conduct, and has studied for the last year to be your most personal assistant and security. Her areas of expertise include wardrobe selection”—his voice made a very suspicious hiding-laughter hiccup sound before he finished his sentence—“hairstyling, and makeup. She is also proficient in keeping a royal and personal calendar, handling events, taking care of onerous and unnecessary appointments and phone calls, and scheduling the important ones for your convenience.” His voice steadied. “She speaks four languages, is a crack shot, and is a seventh dan black belt in taekwondo. She is a capable cook, has survival skills should you ever be stranded in the wilderness, can fish, hunt, and prepare a variety of wild game over an open fire. She knows of your various forms. She has no sense of fear.”
I looked over the diminutive woman. She was the essence of ordinary. She was a head shorter than me, muscular, wore her hair in a dyed-blond butch cut, and had pretty painted nails. But her eyes were empty. Utterly empty. And she smelled of the absence of emotion.
“How well do you lie?” I asked her.
“I never lie.”
“How often do you speak the truth?” I asked.
“Never.”
“If I walked into the win
e cellar and killed Quesnel, what would you do?”
Finally her eyes took on life and honesty. “I would kill you in a heartbeat.”
Wrassler’s entire face changed, and he reached for his weapon under his left arm beneath his suit jacket.
I held up a single finger, stopping him. “If you swear to me, Quint, how many others, beside Quesnel, would come before me?”
“No one.”
I raised both brows at Wrassler and asked, “How many people other than Quesnel are important in her life?”
“No one.” He nearly snarled.
“Good by me. You and the others swear to me. Right here, right now.”
Florence dropped to her knees as graceful as a curtsy. The doc dropped again to his knees slowly, as if they might be achy. Long-Knife didn’t want to kneel and dropped down slowly so I could see his reluctance. Quint went to one knee but offered me her knife. Which Wrassler clearly had no idea she carried. I took the blade. It was a nice, well-balanced, ten-inch vamp-killer, silver-plated, very sharp steel. Quint was sneaky. Probably a sociopath. But she would be my sociopath. Leo would have bound her to him in a heartbeat.
It was a truncated ceremony since I wasn’t a vamp and had no intention of sharing my blood with them. Afterward they filed out, and I was left with Wrassler. I said, “So I have NOLA’s undertaker, a loaner with a bad attitude that Ming probably expects me to fix, a nurse who might be the difference between me living and dying, should I not be able to shift again, and a bat-shit crazy wardrobe consultant. How did these people all happen to turn up here, tonight? That’s mighty suspicious.”
“The Consort was approached by Florence through the intercession of Edmund. He negotiated her potential contract, My Queen. She arrived in New Orleans an hour ago, and just now arrived here. Florence will remain close to you from now on. She will be moved into Katie’s house with your overflow blood-servants and additional security. Long-Knife, once he’s been bled and read, will be moved to another clan home because he’s such a pain in the butt and no one wants to work with him. Quint . . .” He dropped onto the chair opposite me and rubbed his face as if his head, jaw, and teeth ached, leaving his hand over his eyes. “I had no idea about her.”
“She smelled wrong.”
Wrassler lifted his hand from his eyes. “Smelled . . . Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
I figured I had surprised Wrassler.
I blew out a sigh, sad that the tea table was set for tea, but the pot was cold and empty. I wasn’t going to get tea. Or food. My stomach growled. I stood, which meant that Wrassler had to get to his feet too. Because I was the queen. Right. I hated protocol. I gestured to the door. Wrassler opened it, allowing me to exit. “You up for a walk?” I asked. “I want to check on the prisoner in the scion lair.”
Wrassler frowned, following me into the hallway. “Why didn’t you take Monique’s head, Janie?”
“I thought about it. But Leo taught me to know my enemies. And . . .” An interesting thought reared its head. If Monique lived, I might be able to use my new lizard amulet icon to force a mental connection, just like Sabina did to me. I might learn who was behind everything.
In the scion lair, the Onorio was chained in the only cage for humans, one without silver plating. Monique wasn’t breathing. Her mouth was open and her eyes were dried. She looked dead. But she didn’t smell as if she was decaying. I needed to talk to some older Onorios and soon. We left the scion lair.
“I need a little privacy,” I said to Wrassler.
He opened a door to a tiny waiting room, sparsely furnished with mismatched older chairs, a tiny table, and a single lamp. “I’ll bring you tea. Sliced beef sandwiches are waiting to be delivered, My Queen.”
I sat on the sofa and said, “I’m teaed out. How about a Coke? And, Wrassler? I’d like to be Janie when it’s just us,” I said. “Or Legs. You can save the queen stuff for when we’re official.”
He gave me the best grin, one I remembered from back before I was politically powerful and scary and all that stuff. “Sure, Janie.”
The door closed, and I was alone in one of the tiny rooms that were scattered all through HQ. Rooms that had probably once been furnished with daybeds or chaise lounges used as private feeding rooms. Ick.
I leaned back and thought through what I wanted to say. Wrassler delivered a tray of food and slipped back out. I popped the top on the Coke, drank, ate, and thought some more. I dialed Brandon Robere.
When he answered, it was with the same title Wrassler used. “My Queen, how may I assist you?”
“Two things. One: I shot a powerful Onorio in the head. She has no heartbeat, isn’t breathing, and she looks dead. But she doesn’t smell dead. And two: I need to know about binding Onorios. Rule of thumb says Onorios can’t be bound. But. Is it possible for a stronger, older Onorio to bind a younger, less powerful one, or maybe multiple Onorios to bind one?”
“I heard about the head shot, My Queen. Nice shooting. And no. If she isn’t decomposing, then she is trying to heal. That may not work at all, or she may come back with a scrambled brain, like a revenant, or she may come back fine. No one knows. If you want her dead, take her head. If you want her alive for some reason, you must guard her well.”
“Okay. And binding Onorios?”
“Yes and no. I have never heard of an Onorio being forcibly bound, but we can be drained, our power and our life force taken by another, leaving us vulnerable to death by normal mortal violence. I’ve also never heard of multiple Onorios binding any of our kind.”
Never heard of didn’t mean couldn’t happen. “What about voluntarily agreeing to be bound?” I told him about the beings in the bloody hull of Monique’s soul home. When I finished, he was silent for a time.
“I’ve heard about Onorios in the past who agreed to a mutual binding, much like anamchara. That may be what you saw in your vision. But when you shot Monique, the binding was interrupted. If there are other Onorios involved in this mutual binding, then they will be desperate. They will do anything and everything within their power to get her back. Even without her mind intact, she would be useful to them.” He hesitated again before saying, “My Queen. My suggestion is to have your executioner address this situation.”
Kill Monique. Not yet. “I want to use her to draw out the others. I’ll see she’s guarded well and I want you and your brother to take extra precautions too.” Because Monique wasn’t the only Onorio in NOLA. “Now. About the whole crowning of Eddie. Where do we stand?”
“The papers are all drawn up, My Queen. We are prepared.”
* * *
* * *
I worked until close to dawn, making sure that Monique was well-guarded and securely locked down. With Cowbird Protocol in place, Monique should be fine. But I wasn’t taking chances. Eli and I also spent time with the security teams, going over wedding protocols. Busy work, but urgent and necessary busy work.
I was still in half-form, and the nice soft lining of the fancy outfit kept catching on my pelt and pulling it. The pants rode up, the back got stuck, and I looked ridiculous. When things seemed in place and going smoothly, I made a trip to Leo’s room—my room—and left the outfit on the floor. I was sure someone would pick up after me, because the bloody sheets were all gone, the bed was made up neatly, and the shower and bath had been cleaned into shiny spotlessness.
There were no jeans or tees in the closet. The only thing that looked comfortable was a sweat suit, and it was an ugly shade of white-people flesh, sort of like mayo with a hint of peach. Not that I’d ever say that to them. I pulled it on, and it was just as uncomfortable on my pelt.
Beast thought at me, Ugly human clothes. Jane has pelt. Should not cover up beautiful pelt.
I pulled out the neckline of the top and looked down at my hairless boobs. Nope. Not happening.
Beast chuffed with laughter.
I checke
d to see if Quint’s number had been added to my cell, and it had. That meant that Alex had access to my cell and all its settings. I thought about lodging a complaint, but I could also just buy a burner phone most anytime. With the danger we were all facing, Alex’s access allowed him to track and find me if I went missing. Frowning, I texted Quint my clothing request. Her first job would be to change out my wardrobe.
I texted Bruiser that I was ready to go home. He met me in the downstairs entrance. The doorway still smelled of fire and burned chemicals but looked better than I expected, except for the charred cement and the burned hulk of a car. We crawled into the back seat of an SUV. It had a limo-worthy privacy panel in place, and so I laid my head on my honeybunch’s shoulder. As we pulled out of the back gate, Beast shoved her claws into my brain. I/we saw a form out the side window. We sat up fast.
“What?” Bruiser asked. He was already holding a nine-mil.
“Something. Don’t know. A shadow?” I pointed. “Another one.” They were shadowing the SUV. I couldn’t make them out, but I did see crotch-rocket motorcycles on side streets. I looked at my honeybunch. “You put people watching my every move.”
He holstered his weapon. “Guilty, my love.”
“Mmmm.” I snuggled back onto his shoulder. “So when I got shot, how did you get to me so fast?” I smelled his reaction as fresh adrenaline shot through him, the scent of distress.
“I was close,” he said carefully. “Alex told me the front gate had been breached.”
“So you knew the front was being attacked, and you ran outside without backup. You got pinned down first. In a firefight. Then I ran outside and got pinned down too.” I was half irritated at both of us, and he had to hear that in my tone.
“I was never in imminent danger,” he said, the beginning of anger tinting his tone. “But you had to lead your people into battle, still thinking you are immortal. As we know now, you are not.” He pulled me close, intense emotions making his English accent stronger. “You were not supposed to be there. You were supposed to be safe in the security room. Please do not rush in where angels fear to tread when you have been told to stay put.”
