True Dead

by Faith Hunter

  I/we nodded.

  Wrassler cursed. The room filled with the scents of shock, excitement, horror.

  “Leo told you, in words, in English, to come here and find this?”

  I/we nodded. The fact that Leo hadn’t killed and eaten us was an indication that Leo was not a revenant. He was, more or less, sane.

  Without turning his eyes from me, Bruiser said to Wrassler. “We do not speak of this. Not until we know more. I need a woodworker, an antiques repairer. Can you locate someone and get them here immediately? Send a car.”

  “Yes, Consort,” Wrassler said. He was holding his cell phone and left the room, moving fast.

  “Jane, can you shift to human?”

  Beast and I considered one another. It was close to dawn; maybe after dawn. Except for a very, very few times, shifting from Beast to human in daylight had always been impossible. But I didn’t know if Beast had been holding out on me all along, using the difficulty to maintain control, or if the sunlight actually was a problem. Beast? I thought.

  She blinked. Sat. Held my mind in her predator’s claws. I was poaching on her hunting grounds to ask this.

  Is hard. Will need much meat and grain for Jane. Jane will hurt.

  Is it going to hurt because the daytime process is so difficult or because you make it difficult?

  Beast didn’t answer, which I figured was an answer all on its own.

  I looked at Bruiser and forced our head down and back up. I/we padded from the office and back along the hallways to Leo’s old room. Bruiser didn’t follow, but a guard met us there and opened the door, standing back as if we were a wild animal who might attack for no reason. He closed the door behind us.

  Inside, alone, Beast stepped onto the bed and scratched all the covers and pillows together, making a nest, her claws pricking and pulling the fabric. She lay down in the nest and scrunched around. Jane will hurt, she thought. She extended the claws on her dominant paw and hooked them into her pelt at her chest. It was the exact place my wesa claws had torn Beast’s puma flesh when I accidently performed black magic and stole her body and her soul so very long ago.

  She ripped her own flesh. Skinwalker energies shot out, gray mist and black motes.

  The pain was electric. Spiraling. Piercing. Burning, icy, slicing. I was being flayed alive. My bones popped and my spine snapped back. I screamed.

  CHAPTER 13

  It’s Better Than Being Shot At

  I woke in human form. There was blood all over the sheets. I was shivering, panting, and my muscles felt as if I had been Tased.

  Bruiser eased down onto the bed and gathered me and all the bloody linens in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know it would be this bad. I’m so sorry.”

  “Beast did it,” I said. It came out a croak. “She shifted, and I think she made it hurt. Dang cat.” I breathed for a while and tried to force my muscles to relax. When that didn’t work and the muscle twitches became spasms, Bruiser carried me, sheets and all, to the shower and put me on the small, tiled seat. He stripped fast and sat on the floor, pulling me into his arms. He turned on the water as hot as we could stand it. I shivered, my teeth chattered, and I cussed Beast up one side and down the next as hard as I could. Bruiser chuckled silently at my cussing, mostly because the stuttering, chattering cussing came out all wrong.

  Half an hour later, my muscles were much looser, and Bruiser and I were busy doing other things. I felt much better after that. When we were both dry and dressed and trying to make our hair and his beard look less like we had been doing what we had been doing, I asked, “Did you get a woodworker to open Leo’s desk?”

  “Yes, just before I came here. He charged an outrageous price, but he found a small locket sealed inside a well-glued wooden niche.”

  “And?”

  “Within it are two miniatures. Tiny paintings: Ka N’vsita on one side and Adan Bouvier on the other. I have no idea what it can do, but it reeks of magic. I have had it messengered to our house.”

  “Okay. You want to know about Leo?”

  “Yes. If you feel up to it.”

  “I’m hungry as a starving cat, but yeah. You need to know.” Beast had let me access her memories, so I described the way Leo avoided all the security at our house, tapping on our bedroom window. I described how he looked, how he smelled. Carefully I repeated Leo’s words.

  Bruiser watched my face as I talked. “He was sane?”

  “Yeah. He had been drinking from a lot of homeless people, but so far as Beast could smell, all were still alive. He said someone was coming, someone he couldn’t defeat. He said that because I killed Immanuel, and then the Sons of Darkness, this ‘my master’ had come to power. And he was more powerful than Leo was now.”

  Bruiser shook his head. “Monique mentioned Leo’s master. I’ve looked into Leo’s bloodlines, Amaury’s scion lines, and the list of still undead ancient Mithrans and Naturaleza. I could find no one worthy of the title of master who is still known to be undead. He was not speaking of Ka or Monique or the Firestarter?”

  “No.”

  “He wasn’t speaking of Shaun MacLaughlinn?”

  “No. I got the impression that Shaun is here to soften us up.”

  “Mmmm. I wonder if Shaun knows that. Ofttimes the older Mithrans use tools who are not aware of their low status and utter lack of value.” His face thoughtful, Bruiser dressed in the clothing he had tossed into the corner. They were wrinkled, but they fit so tightly the wrinkles were stretched out and invisible. He looked so good in clothes. And out of clothes. And all the time.

  In the bedroom, I pulled out another of Madame Melisende’s outfits and dressed. This one was a sort of old-blood brown. I hated it instantly, but it was warm and soft, and it fit perfectly. There was a pink one next to it. I yanked that one off the rack and balled it up.

  “Problem, my love?” Bruiser asked, all innocent, his worry momentarily gone.

  I held up the ball of fabric and shook it at him a little. He knew I hated this color.

  “I think that is a lovely shade of pink,” he said blandly.

  Laughing, I threw it at him. “I’m sure you’ll look gorgeous in it.”

  “I shall see that this is offered to others in the wardrobe room and a more suitable color is made for you, my love.”

  He tucked it under his arm, and we were still smiling when we left the room. In the hallway outside, stood Raisin. She was glaring at us. Beast was still close to the surface, and I could smell Raisin and her feelings—a mixture of animosity and fear and blood. Raisin was one of the oldest blood-servants at HQ, wrinkled like a Shar-Pei puppy but still sharp as a tack and as prickly as a blackberry vine.

  “I will have a word with you Primo,” she said in her British (maybe Welsh?) accent, sounding prissy and ticked off, her mouth making dozens of vertical lines on her upper and lower lips.

  “I am Consort, no longer primo, ma’am, but I am your servant.” Bruiser’s tone was clipped and reprimanding. He turned to me and said, pointedly, “My Queen.”

  I knew that the “I am your servant” part was an old-fashioned way of being polite, but I didn’t like it. I could tell that Bruiser didn’t like the fact that Raisin hadn’t called me queen. And that she said she “will have a word” versus “may I please have a word?” In the vamp world, she had been unforgivably and deliberately rude.

  “My Queen,” she said grudgingly.

  I had wanted to talk to Raisin about old things she might remember, but I had the feeling trying to draw info out of her would be a waste of time. I also know when I’ve been insulted, so I ignored her. In true vamp style, and true Beast style, I turned my back on her. “I’m hungry,” I said to Bruiser. “I’m heading home to see the loc . . . trinket and eat some food.”

  “I shall be along shortly, my most beloved queen. And I shall notify your brothers that you
will be arriving shortly.” He too turned his back and made Raisin wait as he used his phone.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the old blood-servant look down and lace her hands. Pretty sure she got the message.

  * * *

  * * *

  I had no idea what time it was, but it was still daylight when I got home. I was beyond hungry, and luckily Eli knew I was on the way and starving. He had a sandwich plate prepared for me, stacked tall with thin-sliced smoked ham and cheese, with lettuce and tomato, goopy with mayo, with a side of greasy scalding fries right out of the oil. He had made plates for Alex and him as well, and we all sat down to eat together. It was a marvelous meal with dark beer, lots of salt on the fries, and neither one of the guys watched me eat, so I could stuff huge mouthfuls of food in.

  When we were finished, I said, “How about the dishwashing waits, and we look at the locket now?”

  Eli and Alex shared a glance that meant they had been talking about me. I gave both of them the stink-eye, but they pretended not to see me. Eli rose from the table, put his headset on, and began a reconnoiter, checking all the windows and doors. He was armed, and not just with a double-thigh rig, but with a double-shoulder holster. Four nine-mils. Extra mags were tucked here and there. And he was wearing body armor between his T-shirts. Eli was expecting trouble. Lots of trouble. I had been so hungry that I hadn’t noticed.

  Alex silently cleared the dishes off the table and put them in the sink. Eli and Alex were tense. Worried. I didn’t know what had happened, but it wasn’t good. I looked out the kitchen window to see a sentry patrol in front of the house.

  Satisfied with his recce, Eli ended a sotto voce discussion with the security team, turned off his mic, and returned to the table holding a tiny box.

  He and Alex sat on either side of me, protective, worried, or . . . maybe wanting the opportunity to speak very quietly. Eli confirmed that theory when he said softly, “The locket was concealed in a box. The box is carved from soapstone.”

  He seemed to be wanting some kind of response, so I said, “Okay.”

  “I’m human, and I don’t want to touch it. It felt funky, so I put the soapstone box inside a wood box.”

  If a fully human man could feel the magics inside, that was very bad. Or maybe very good? “Okay.” I held out my hands, cupped as if to drink water.

  Eli pulled a weapon and pointed it at the kitchen window, a cross-body aim that only a really good shooter could hope to make. Eli was better than good. With his left hand, he placed a wooden box in mine.

  The sense of magic hit me instantly. I dropped the wood box on the table. It was heavier than I had expected, and it rattled and bounced on the tabletop before coming to a stop in the center of the table. As if it knew where it was. Yeah. Right.

  Carefully, I opened the wood box. Inside was a small round box with a nub on top, like a small stem, the whole thing carved from dark green soapstone. I rubbed my fingertips against my thumbs, knowing that I didn’t really want to touch it either. But I was the Dark Queen. I had a job to do.

  “Crap. Hang on,” I said. I went to my room and came back, putting the Glob on the table near the small stone box. The sensation of dangerous magic decreased. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  I reached over and pinched the stem. Lifted it. Power rammed out of the box. I dropped the stem, stepped back, shaking my fingers. The stone lid rolled around on the table like a slow-spinning top. Carefully, I leaned over and peered inside. Nestled in the bottom was a locket.

  “Holy crap with toe jam,” I muttered.

  “What?” Eli demanded.

  “It looks like the winged lizard I got from Sabina, but it’s way more powerful.” It was made of the same kind of metal and was inset with powerful, clear things, a liquid droplet beneath each. I held a hand over the stone container, and I could actually feel the Glob soaking up the familiar-feeling magics. “It has arcenciel magic in it. It’s made from the scales and blood of a rainbow dragon.”

  I reached in and lifted out the locket, dropping it on the table. With the Glob in one hand, I opened the locket. On one side was an ink drawing of Adan Bouvier; on the other was an ink drawing of Ka, just as Bruiser had said. I closed it with a soft metallic snap and placed it back in the soapstone container. I rubbed my fingers and thumb together. They felt slightly numb. Tingly.

  “Okay. There are three magical thingies with arcenciel magic in them in NOLA, the dragon-lizard, the snake amulet worn by Shaun, and this locket. All have to be connected to whatever is happening between Sabina, Leo, Adan, Ka, Shaun, and this unknown master.”

  “We need to keep the amulets separate,” Eli said. “The lizard is in the gun safe. What do you want to do with this?”

  I frowned. There had been a generation of witch children that had disappeared in bursts of light. It had crossed my mind that they been stolen by arcenciels, but that wasn’t a can of worms I wanted to open. Avoiding bringing up that topic, I asked, “Would an Everhart know anything about arcenciel magic?”

  “I’ll mention it to Liz when we talk later, but I doubt it.”

  “Let me know if you find out anything. I’ll stick the box in my closet under Molly’s hedge of thorns and obfuscation workings.” Molly Everhart Trueblood was my BFF and the older sister of Eli’s girlfriend, Liz. All the Everhart bloodline witches were powerful, and I knew for a fact that they had access to grimoires full of ancient magic and history. Moll provided me workings for a good price, and I took care of big bad uglies who came after her family.

  I put the top back on the soapstone container and closed it all up in the wood box. The wood had to have some kind of power-dampening working in it because I could handle it now without the numbing reaction. The Glob, however, was red hot, so I left it on the table as I carried the locket to the closet, placed it on the top shelf, and set up the hedge amulet for the protective working. This particular hedge of thorns was a blood-activated, third-gen version, created to hide and protect magical thingies from thieves. I pricked my finger, initiated the hedge with a smear of my own blood, and the energies powered up with a faint red shimmer. It covered the box, my crown (which I didn’t remember bringing home), and other, less dangerous stuff. The hedge might not be as powerful as a portable null working, but it was effective enough, and without me, it would be dang difficult to get to the locket.

  I closed the doors, thinking about all the magical doohickeys I had collected. Wondering if anything new had been discovered in the foundation of the chapel.

  In the kitchen, I saw that Eli had rolled the Glob onto oven mitts but that the tabletop was heat-damaged.

  “Sorry,” I said, looking at the damage.

  Eli and Alex laughed as if I had said something funny. And maybe I had. Of all the horrible things that happened to and around me, a small scorch mark was one of the least important. The Glob had cooled quickly, so I carried it back to its spot in the closet, in the plastic bin with all the other crazy stuff. My life was weird.

  As I was standing up from the floor of the closet, I heard a knock at the door. Eli didn’t race to it, weapons drawn, but he did move fast into firing position.

  From his desk, Alex said, “Front cameras show an HQ messenger. No other movement except a prostitute negotiating with a john in a Porsche down the street. Back and side cameras all negative. Katie’s Ladies cameras all negative.”

  My cell rang softly, with HQ’s main number on it. “Hang on,” I said to the guys as I took the call. “Yellowrock.”

  “My Queen,” Raisin said, sounding just a tad sarcastic.

  I put it on speaker and walked to the bedroom doorway so my brothers could hear the call. “Ernestine?” I asked, pretty sure she would hate my nickname for her.

  “Yes, My Queen,” she said briskly. “The Primo—forgive me—Your Consort requested me to look over and translate a journal that the Pri—your Consort—gave to me. I hav
e messengered over the journal and my translation.”

  Eli had ambled closer and said, “Your willingness and joy to bow to your queen and follow the orders of her Consort have been noted.”

  There was a faint hesitation before Raisin continued. “Yes,” she said. “Things change. Often. And sometimes in dangerous ways not expected by those who rule.”

  Which sounded like a threat. Or a promise. But her words made Eli smile that cold battle smile that said he had an enemy in his sights. “Continue, Ernestine. And tread carefully around your queen and her faithful and loyal servants.”

  Raisin said, “The journal is not old, only from the 1920s. However, I found mention of a Cherokee woman and thought you might be interested. I recall this Cherokee woman,” she said, her tone making it a racial slur against native people.

  I narrowed my eyes and glanced at Eli. His eyes were watching out the window, but his body was relaxed, too calm. Battle ready.

  “She was well known as a blood-servant, though few were allowed to sip of her.” Raisin’s tone said that was unusual and wrong. “She had eyes like yours.” More insulting tone.

  Raisin had never liked me, but she had never been so totally without manners or respect. It was almost as if she felt there would be no reprisals for her attitude. We had traitors in HQ. Was Raisin aligned with them? From Eli’s reaction, he had the same questions.

  Raisin continued, “While I do not recall the events in the text, I thought that My Queen might be interested.”

  The messenger at the door. Right. Old vamps and old blood-servants seldom used text. The phone in Raisin’s office still had a wire into the wall . . . I nodded to Eli and said, “Ernestine. Your many years of service to the Mithrans of the city, and your current manner, have been noted.”

  “My Queen.” She ended the call without being dismissed.

  I thought about the scents I had caught from Raisin when she appeared outside Leo’s bedroom door. The mixture had been more than animosity and fear. It also had been strong with fresh blood, and Raisin had never smelled so strongly of blood in the past. Raisin had fed and been fed on. A lot.