by Faith Hunter
I eased closer and saw my name and address on the boxes. The packaging slips looked real. This was neither a bomb nor a mistaken delivery. I holstered my weapon, feeling a little foolish, but I wasn’t used to getting packages. Then it hit me.
Someone who knew me well—Sam? Daddy? Occam?—had ordered all this stuff for me. That someone had taken over my decision-making power and done what Occam might call an end run around me.
I heard the truck door open and shut softly.
Mud said, “Oh. Ummm. It came early.”
I swiveled on the balls of my feet to see Mud on the steps. She was wearing her new jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers, her hair down in a long tail and her tablet clutched in her hand. Her face wore an expression that was defiance with a little bit of guilt. “Came early?” I asked.
The defiance grew stronger. “Daddy told me he’d give me a dowry as good as yours when I got married or the cash now. He said I could use it for school or my wedding or however I wanted. I ain’t planning on a wedding and I can get financial aid at school, so I took the cash now.”
“I didn’t get—” I stopped. John had never told me there had been a dowry. But then, I had never asked. Seems that my daddy and my husband had handled things without the input of the daughter and wife, just like the churchmen always had, which should make me mad now that I knew it. But Daddy had let Mud make her own decision like a woman grown, so maybe Daddy had changed.
“I done all this behind your’n back, before we had that negotiation about working together.” She hunched her shoulders and hugged the tablet to her chest. “I seen where—I saw where you kept the papers on the brands and the models. Sam helped me order ’em online and I talked to your friend Brother Thad at Rankin Replacements and Repairs about the cost to put them in. It was supposed to be a surprise. But if’n I’m honest, it was also to get my way. Since we talked I been scared to tell you.”
I stood and studied the stack of boxes, remembering Thad’s hesitation when he talked about my solar array. “Well. Did Brother Thad give you a ballpark figure for installation?”
“He said he’d talk to you about it, but it’d be in range with the last upgrade. You ain’t mad?”
“If you had to do it over again would you talk to me about it first?”
“Yep.”
I shifted my eyes to my younger sister. “This must have cost several thousand dollars. Where did Daddy get that much money? He doesn’t even own his own land.”
“Six thousand, seven hundred dollars and forty-six cents after taxes and shipping and handling. And Daddy’s got money. The church sets up commercial greenhouses and windmill pumps for cattle and horses. Your’n windmill is a church product. They used to make a fortune growing and harvesting trees for the paper mill industry. That income stream started dying ’bout twenty years ago, but wood still brings in some cash. Daddy’s got investments. Mosta the churchmen got investments. And useta be, there was all the money the mamas brung in.”
“What did you say?” I asked, startled. “The money the mamas bring in?”
“The mamas,” she said, as if I was stupid. I just looked at her, confused. “The state put an end to their moneymaking after the raid. The one where them vampire hunters done come across your land.”
“What money?” I stood, feeling the sweat trickling down my spine.
“They’s poor and unmarried and they useta get medical care from the state and money each month for each young’un. It ain’t that much per young’un, but they gots lots of them. Daddy useta put some a that money aside each month in an account for college and for dowry.”
“Daddy and the mamas—” I stopped cold. That was why none of them had been legally married to Daddy until recently. They spent decades complaining about the government interfering in their lifestyle and they had been taking money from the state? I was pretty sure that was welfare fraud. “Used to take money?”
“The social services people put a stop to it after they raided the church,” Mud said, matter-of-factly.
That meant I had been indirectly responsible for the church’s loss of income when I let the raid start from across my land. Another reason for the church to hate me. Like a hammer of doom, all the personal implications hit me. I hadn’t been legally married to John until I was fifteen. Had John and Leah earned money off of me while I lived with them? I’d had Medicaid? Welfare? Medical attention I never used or never thought about? All behind my back. Or had Daddy kept getting the money when I went to John?
A tiny barb of anger lodged itself in my chest, prickly and painful. I had a bad feeling that poisonous spine was gonna grow until I had this out with Daddy. It was hypocrisy of the highest order and I wanted to throw things. Maybe break things. “Why do you say they used to make money?”
“They had to settle with the state. Pay ’em some back and not take money the way they useta. social services people make sure it’s done right now.”
Instead of screaming, I took another breath and said, “This AC will eat power. Are you willing to go back to using lanterns an hour or two earlier in the summer? Because we’ll be out of light that much sooner.”
“But we’ll be cooler. I done decided I’m gonna be a townie girl real soon. Townies don’t sweat all summer and freeze all winter.” She paused, as if reconsidering. “Well. I’m gonna be a townie girl with a greenhouse and plants and a business selling my veggies and suchlike.”
“Hmmm.” I walked to the wide grouping of potted flowers and herbs on the far end of the porch and tilted one over to retrieve the key I had left there. There was a note beside the key, which I opened and read. It was from Brother Thad. I said to Mud, “Brother Thad says he’s adjusting his bid for the upgrades we talked about.” I looked at my sister, who still seemed a little on the defensive side. I keyed open the door and led the way inside. It was still cool enough, the night air chilled by the small air conditioning unit. It wouldn’t last long. A new AC unit would be nice. “A townie, huh?”
Mud followed me in. “Pretty much.”
I walked through the house and opened the back door, letting the cats inside. “According to my note”—I waggled it at her—“Brother Thad will be sending me an e-mail this morning. The second-story walk-in closet is more than a closet. At some point before I came to live here, maybe before John’s second and third wives divorced him because he couldn’t give them children, that space was roughed in for bathroom plumbing. I never knew. Putting in a small bath for you may not be as expensive as we’d feared.”
Delight flashed across my sister’s face. “I’m gonna have my own bathroom?”
“Maybe. We’re going to get prices for a new bathroom and all the remodel, including installing your solar upgrades. But don’t think it’s a done deal. The money for the custody court costs is not something I’m willing to touch. If we can’t afford all the construction, we’ll have to pick and choose. It might come down to a bathroom upstairs or a greenhouse.”
Mud let out a whoop that echoed in the rafters and the bedrooms upstairs.
EIGHT
I needed a nap, but that wasn’t going to happen. Just as I crawled into bed, newly showered and wearing a cropped pair of John’s old boxers and a tank top, my cell buzzed with a text. It was a message from Ming of Glass, the new, first-ever, Master of the City of Knoxville. The MOC was demanding my presence at her clan home. Now. After sunrise. In the daylight. Vampires slept by day. Ordinary vampires. I didn’t know about a Master of a City.
The text had come from Yummy’s number and I knew for certain that Yummy wasn’t old enough to be awake. The text had also gone to Rick. I wondered if the MOC had gone into the sleeping lair of her bodyguard and used Yummy’s dead-by-day finger to open her phone and send the message. Had the MOC known how to do all that?
My cell rang and I answered, “LaFleur. I see it.”
“We aren’t usually subjected to a command performance,” he said. “Part of me wants to refuse on general principle—law enforcement doesn’t act
at the behest of fangheads—but the realistic part of me knows we should go. You up for the drive or should I send someone to pick you up?”
“I’ll drive. What does she mean when she says, ‘Ming of Glass and Knoxville demands the attention and assistance of PsyLED. We have been physically and electronically attacked. Two blood-servants are missing.’”
“We’ll find out when we get there.”
“Copy that.” I hit end. “You’re a big help,” I accused the phone.
Mud stuck her head in the doorway. “I can go to Mama. The womenfolk is canning tomatoes and making basil vinegar and pesto today. I can grab some a our’ns and add to the mix in exchange for some jars.”
“Hurry and get some picked. And be careful of the roots. They need rain. We leave in twenty minutes.”
Mud raced to the garden, urging the cats out with her. I considered work clothes in the closet. Instead, I fingered a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and spotted a lightweight cropped jacket. “Demand my presence?” I stripped and dressed. “Get me off duty?” I sniped. “Just be glad I ain’t showing up to your august presence in bib overalls and work boots.”
I frowned at the world. I had started talking to inanimate objects and the air. Being a special agent was making me crazy as a bedbug.
• • •
I dropped Mud off at Mama’s, the smell of garlic and basil and tomatoes making my mouth water, and took off for the clan home of Ming of Glass. In the middle of the morning.
I beat PsyLED SAC Rick LaFleur there, so I drove by the house, which was off Kingston Pike, on Cherokee Boulevard, in the fancy part of town. I pulled over, turned off the truck, and lowered the window, taking the spare time while I waited on my boss to Google the address and go through county records. Every Tennessee county kept building records on deeds, titles, land boundaries, and most everything else. I extended my search into the county building inspectors, looking into plumbing, electrical, security, and everything else I could find.
The house was within spitting distance of the Confederate Memorial Hall, and probably had a view of the Tennessee River. Seen from above, it had a huge footprint. According to county records it was nearly twelve thousand square feet and had an attached six-car garage, a full, newly upgraded security system, a sprinkler system, a slate roof, a swimming pool, a tennis court, and a three-hole putting green. There was what looked like a brand-new greenhouse on the far side of the house. The barn and five-board fencing had a new coat of paint since the last satellite pictures and the jump rings set up on the pasture seemed to get a lot of usage. The grounds were attractively landscaped with local flora and had dozens of mature oak trees that provided shade to the horses I could smell on the hot summer air. I noted that the security upgrades had been done by Yellowrock Securities, Jane Yellowrock’s company. Rick’s ex had her tentacles in every vampire clan home in the Southeast. I checked for a text reply. Nothing yet.
The entrance to the address was protected with a reinforced iron pole gate. Nothing but a small tank or someone on foot was getting through. I spotted a camera and a small speaker at the entrance as I drove by, and other cameras followed the fencing, with what might have been motion detectors and low-light and infrared monitors.
Rick—LaFleur for this interview—cruised up beside me, lowered his window, puffed out cigar smoke in a little ring, and smiled. Cigar smoke had been used for decades as a way to mask scent patterns from vampires and he would reek of it. His silver and black hair was brushed back; he was wearing a white dress shirt and a tie. For a para who had spent the night in the null room, he looked pretty good. “You up for this, Ingram?”
“They’ll call me Maggot.”
“They might. But how long they do that is up to you.”
I tilted my head. Up to me? I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he didn’t give me a chance to question him. “Leave your window down,” he said. “Show your ID to the camera and wait until they give you permission to enter. Follow me in. Leave your weapons locked in the truck.” He made a U-turn; I followed him up to the gate, waited my turn, and showed my ID.
The first quivers of nervousness raced through me on tiny little spider feet. I swallowed the nerves down. According to Spook School, vampires could smell nervousness and it activated their predatory instincts. I didn’t know if I could protect myself from a vampire. Didn’t know if I could drain them into the earth if they should attack. I didn’t know if the earth would spit them back out or entrap them as it had Brother Ephraim. Leaving my weapon in the truck felt stupid. Taking it with me felt more stupid. I wished I had bought a silver cross. Silver stakes. Something.
Ming of Glass owed me a boon. Boons were important things to vampires and that boon was worth much more now that Ming was an MOC. Did that give me protection and bargaining power? Was that what Rick meant? Then again, being called Maggot or Maggoty might be endearing, and might therefore give me the power to manipulate them without them knowing I was doing so. Churchwomen were excellent manipulators, and while I wasn’t near as good or as sneaky as one of the mamas, I was still pretty good. To be Maggot or not to be Maggot. It was a conundrum.
The driveway was long and winding, made of pressed and painted concrete that looked like cobbles; visitor parking was a wide area to the right of the house. I parked beside LaFleur’s official vehicle and took in the armed human guards patrolling, working with dogs. I made a point to step out of my truck where one of the guards could see me and remove my weapons, leaving only my ID and badge in view as I moved with false confidence toward the front entrance.
The house was made of dull brown river rock and a similar color brick. The wood trim was painted in three tones of cool browns and the working shutters were painted steel. I knew a lot about Ming of Glass, but a lot of what I thought I knew was from my church upbringing. The vampire was often used as a threat against unruly children. “You’un be good or Ming of Glass will snatch you’un outta your’n bed and turn you into a demon.”
The door was open, ice-cold air billowing out, when we reached it. A man wearing a dove gray suit with scarlet pocket hankie bowed us in and I realized the suit was a tuxedo and the man had to be a butler. He was about five feet, six inches tall, clean shaven, and he was wearing white gloves even in the heat.
“Master of the City Ming of Glass welcomes you to her clan home. Please accept refreshment. I’ll inform the master that you have arrived.” He bowed again and swept an arm toward a fancy room, what might be called a parlor. A maid, wearing the same color scheme, ushered us in and offered us iced black tea with lemon or mint.
Rick said, “Thank you. We’d love some. With lemon for me.”
The offer was not something I should ignore or refuse even though I was already shivering as the sweat chilled on my body. But I didn’t want cold tea. “Thank you,” I said. “But if it would be possible I’d like a cup of hot tea?” And a blanket, which I did not say aloud. Ming’s lair was cold.
The maid opened her mouth and closed it, glanced at the doorway and the butler who was standing in the opening. Something passed between them and was gone. “Of course, miss. It will be just a moment longer.”
Rick’s lemony tea appeared in about ten seconds, the dark liquid in a cut crystal glass, carried in on a silver tray. I knew very little about really good crystal or silver, but this was heavy, the glass faceted like diamonds. Rick sat on the small sofa and took his glass in hand. He was all elegant and upper class and … Why wasn’t Rick a vampire chick magnet? He fit right in. That was strange.
Two minutes later, the maid reappeared with a teapot and a pretty teacup and saucer on a wooden tray. Two strings hung outside the teapot lid. I stared at the strings. I’d read a library book back when I wasn’t working for PsyLED. It was a novel about a modern girl from China and her very old grandmother. The young girl had made tea from loose leaves for the older woman as a sign of respect. In the novel, giving guests tea from tea bags was an insult. Ming was Asian, an old, old Asian. Tea in the China
of her day would probably have been nearly sacred. While icing tea could be considered a way to blend into local culture, serving it steeped from a tea bag was probably like thumbing her nose at us. I didn’t know enough to do more than guess that Ming was offering a sly disrespect.
I debated trying the tea. Uncertain, I took my place on a leather chair with carved swan-neck arms, touching the wood surreptitiously, and looked over the large room. It had a high ceiling, attic fans, and stiff-looking furniture. I surveyed the room, looking for the most likely hiding places for the security cameras, just like the nosy cop I was becoming. I figured that a room this large would have at least four cameras, and decided that they were on the bookshelf, on the mantel, over the entrance door, and at the smaller door to the side where the maid had emerged.
I also decided to not drink the tea just yet. I kept the fingers of my left hand on the wood of the swan-necked chair arms. It was fine wood, tightly grained cherry, from a local forest. I liked it. And it offered me a connection to the land.
From the doorway I was facing, a black-suited man I identified as Ming’s primo human blood servant—Cai, no last name on file anywhere—and Ming’s vampire security specialist, Heyda Cohen, entered. Cai was about my height, slender, and though there was no data on file about his fighting abilities, I got the distinct impression that he was deadly. He moved like a hunting cat, perfectly balanced, fluid. Rick watched him move and placed his glass to the side as if to free his hands. Heyda was tiny, of Middle Eastern or East Asian descent and very beautiful. She was also awake in the daylight, and though she looked as if she could fall asleep in a heartbeat, being awake by day meant she was quite powerful. A vampire war against God’s Cloud of Glory Church had been fought over her, and I had been partly responsible for her rescue from the churchmen. It was the occasion when I first met Jane Yellowrock, and …
I took a slow, steadying breath. In many ways, Heyda was responsible for all the changes in my life. Heyda’s eyes were sharp when they landed on me and she nodded solemnly, as if in recognition of me as something or someone important. In her eyes I might be. I had been involved in other ways with the protection of the vamps in Knoxville, including the return of Mira Clayton’s adopted, nonhuman child. That rescue was the source of the boon between her boss and me. And yet, Ming offered questionable tea. I could be reading the situation wrong.
