by Faith Hunter
Not wanting to get my sweat on them, I showered off, which I was doing a lot more than I ever had in the cool air of the mountains, and dressed in my one pair of long silk underclothes before pulling on the new leathers. The jacket had rings along the side seams threaded through with leather straps so I could adjust the fit for bulky winter layers or tighter for summer riding.
Stiff, shaped armor pads—not ballistic armor, but plasticized, high-density foam armor, wrapped in silver mesh—could be inserted into zippered pockets across my shoulders, down my back, along my forearms, legs, and thighs. At the joints of knees and elbows, more flexible armor could be fitted in. Straps had been sewn along the outer thighs for sheathed vamp-killers, and there was room in the wrists for forearm sheaths. Small leather pockets with Velcro fasteners were perfect for stakes and crosses, and one pocket was plastic lined for a vial of holy water. There were straps with snaps for securing my shotgun harness in place at my back. And all over the jacket sleeves, the high collar, at the inside of the elbow, and on the pants at my groin—the pulse points where vamps usually fed—tiny rings had been sewn. Silver. To poison any vamp who did manage to bite me. It was so cool I was drooling.
When I had it all on and cinched tight and weapons in place, I stamped my feet into my new, never-worn, black cherry Lucchese boots, let my braids fall around me with tiny clicks, smeared on my favorite bloodred lipstick, took a deep breath to prepare myself, and turned to the one full-length mirror at the closet. I didn’t recognize the broad-shouldered valkyrie who stared back at me. “Holy crap,” I whispered. I looked so . . . freaking fine. Ball dresses were for girly girls. This . . . this was for a warrior. For a vampire hunter. “Holy freaking crap.”
I was still preening when Molly came through the side door, a huge basket of folded clothes in her arms, Little Evan strapped to her back papoose-style, and Angie leading the way. When they saw me, the two females stopped dead. Molly’s jaw dropped. Silently she mouthed something and I was pretty sure it was a lot stronger than my own “holy crap.”
Angie launched herself at me, squealing, and I caught her up in my arms. “Aunt Jane. You look beautiful.”
“Deadly,” Molly said. “Wicked. And gorgeous in a deadly, wicked, vampire killer way.”
I couldn’t help my cocky smile. “I do look pretty good, don’t I?”
Molly set the basket on the table and I set Angie on the floor to help Mol off with the papoose tote.
“I want to play dress-up too. Miss Bliss and Miss Christie gived me some stuff. Mama, show Aunt Jane.”
“You let Christie give her stuff?” Christie’s personal and professional style went more to spiked collars, whips, chains, and multiple piercings.
“Just some silver rhinestone jewelry. Tame stuff.”
Angie took the play-pretties from her mother and modeled a sparkly rhinestone necklace. Molly pulled an old, peach silk nightgown over her daughter’s head. On a grown-up the gown would have come to midthigh; it reached Angie’s ankles, and with the purple T-shirt beneath, it looked precious. My heart went all mushy and my throat went tight at the sight. I snapped a few pics of Angie in her finery, and Molly took more of the both of us to e-mail to Big Evan in Brazil. I printed out the best pics and hung them on the fridge. They looked really . . . nice hanging there.
I was left with an odd feeling inside, one I couldn’t name, but that felt similar to the serenity that had started out my day, though this was a lot more intense than that. A lot.
Once the pictures had been sent off to Evan, we all helped me out of the leathers and boots, which was harder than getting into them. Angie kept on her finery, but I opted for a pair of shorts and a T because, despite the AC, it was still muggy and warm and the leathers had been hot. We ate a late meal of peanut butter and jelly and iced tea. The lump that had formed in my throat at the sight of Angie in her dress-up clothes expanded as we munched, as Angie smeared jelly on her face, and Little Evan spat gobs of green baby food goo and laughed. It was so . . . homey.
Afterward, still in her peach silk finery, blue eyes sleepy, Angie curled up on my bed with her Cherokee doll, patted the mattress, and said, “Nap time, Aunt Jane.”
“Molly?” My voice sounded strangled. “She wants me to take a nap. With her.”
Molly hid a grin, but not very well. “Big tough vampire killer all scared of a six-year-old wanting a nap? I’ll be in my own bed, thank you very much.” She carried the baby upstairs. Angelina yawned hugely and patted the bed again. Gingerly, I crawled onto the mattress and lay down, stiff as a board. Angie curled into my side, yawned again, and promptly fell asleep. Happy was far too mundane a term to describe my feelings. There had to be another word better suited to this sappy, sentimental, fiercely protective sensation that thumped through my chest with my lifeblood. Had to be. And it was followed by a jolt of fear, intense and icy. I knew it couldn’t last. Nothing this good ever could, which terrified me down to my toes.
I eased to my side, slid an arm around Angie, and closed my eyes. Tried to relax. I could get used to having Molly around. To having kids around. They made life so much more intense and . . . And naps were a good side benefit.
Beast, quiescent all day, rolled over in my mind and sent me one word. Kits.
I woke at dusk to find Angie gone, the place beside me cool to the touch, and my bedroom door shut. Molly must have wanted me to sleep in. As I stretched, my cell rang, and I dug it out of my new leathers to see the number for Katie’s Ladies displayed. “Jane,” I said.
“Tom, here. Is Bliss over there? She has an early caller and her room is empty.”
Early caller meant early customer. “Hang on.” I moved through the house, sniffing. Bliss hadn’t been here. Molly was on the side porch with the kids. “Not here. No one saw her leave? Nothing on the security system?”
“Just some interference about an hour ago.”
Interference? I didn’t like it. A sudden pulse of fear shot through me. Bliss was a witch, a witch who looked younger than her age, a witch who had no magical, protective wards on her home. Did that put her in danger?
“I’ll be right over.” Not bothering to change, I pulled on flip-flops and told Molly to go inside and set the wards. Ignoring her concerned face, I vaulted the fifteen-foot brick wall between our houses. It was nearly sunset and the air had that soft, balmy, glowy heat I was coming to associate with spring evenings in New Orleans. It would be a great night for a ride, my hair loose and flowing in the wind, Bitsa growling beneath me. Maybe later.
Despite my moment of fear, I didn’t expect to find Bliss really gone, as in missing gone, more like stepped-out-for-some-shopping gone. And I certainly didn’t expect to sense anything in the backyard, so I wasn’t fully alert until I caught a whiff of magic. Witch magic. And witch blood.
I stopped and parsed the scents, pulling my braids into a knot, out of the way. Most magic has a distinctive smell. Some is a bit peppery, maybe with a hint of spice in it; some smells like fresh-baked cookies, or freshly turned earth, or wood smoke. Though I don’t have synesthesia, I have to say witch magic often smells herbal and blue, like cornflowers. And sometimes a little mellow-yellow. My own magic, the scent that erupts in the air when I shift, smells earthy, musky. Vamp magic, the smell that clings to them when they hunt, pulling on the gifts of stealth and mesmeric mind games, is peppery and desiccated, the way dried herbs smell after they’ve sat too long on the shelf.
Here, I smelled witch magic, witch blood, and an overlay of vamp. A very specific vamp, his scent signature as knotted and twisted as a braided rope. My heart thumped hard. The rogue maker. A vamp in daylight? Or near enough to count, anyway. And he didn’t smell scorched either. He smelled well fed and as healthy as a dead thing can smell. My hackles rose and Beast hunched within me, claws out and probing. I didn’t have a stake or cross handy. Stupid to have left the house without them. But it was still daylight, for pity’s sake.
I drew in a breath, mouth open, seeking a more familiar scent si
gnature, but it was missing. Bliss hadn’t been out here recently. I didn’t need to go all the way around the house, instead ringing the bell at the back door. Troll opened it instantly, one hand rubbing across his bald head, worry on his face. “Let me see the tapes,” I said by way of greeting. “And get all the girls down here for a chat.” After a moment, I added, “Please,” to which Troll grunted while leading the way to the new security console hidden behind the doors of a seven-foot-tall, black-lacquered chest with gold-leaf dragons capering across its doors. A new thick oriental rug was in the entry, a matching one at the console, both done in dynamic shades of gold and maroon and black. Really nifty. Troll had been redecorating.
The console—Boeing’s Visual Security Operations Console Sentential, or VSOC, the same sort of system designed for U.S. embassies around the world, but scaled down for private use—was also brand-spanking-new. The system had been installed at Leo’s expense, integrating the existing cameras into new software and new sensors that gave a 3-D view of the grounds, the public rooms of Katie’s Ladies, and, when the girls were working in-house, additional monitoring of their bedrooms. It was a way of keeping them safe, and they didn’t seem to mind.
To me it was pretty icky, and since I knew that Leo was monitoring the security systems of most of the vamp clans, clandestinely and in contravention of the Vampira Carta, and would have access to the downloads, it got doubly icky. Free porn for him. Total lack of privacy for the girls. But I hadn’t said anything about that. It was something I wanted to have in reserve for later. Troll punched a button and I could hear him throughout the intercom system, “Girls, meet in the dining room, please.” With another click he said, “Deon, the girls will need drinks set out, and some of those fruit cups.”
“Cocktails and fruit coming, Tom.” Deon was the new cook. No one would tell me what had happened to Ms. A, the former cook who had been attacked by the liver-eater, as Beast referred to the skinwalker I’d killed. Except to say she wasn’t dead, which was a comfort of some sort. Deon was new, a three-star chef from the islands, who had been offered Ms. A’s position. The very newness of him set my teeth on edge at the moment. I didn’t know Deon, and when something goes wrong with a security system and there’s a new guy around, he becomes a likely suspect for tampering.
“How much of the system was activated?”
“All the outside cameras, public rooms, and hallways. Here, at four fourteen, we have a shot of Bliss leaving the dining room. Twenty seconds later, she enters her bedroom and closes her door. Then nothing until the interference, which isn’t supposed to be possible with this system.”
“It isn’t possible,” I agreed, “for humans. Maybe a witch could interfere with it; I don’t know. Play it again, and slow it down for the last two minutes before the interference.” I followed the sequences one frame at a time and saw nothing unusual. No burst of magic caught on film. And I knew that magic could be seen on film at times, especially digital film, as a scatter of light particles scarring the image. I pin-pointed where each girl was and where Troll was, at the time all the screens went to snow. “Let me see the kitchen.”
On the monitor, I watched Deon, who was slight of form, about five-seven, and gayer than a nineteen fifties chorus-line dancer, as he washed his hands before tackling sushi. Deon had promised me a sushi-making lesson one Sunday afternoon. Beast liked sushi too; it was one raw meat we could both enjoy. But if Deon had done something to Bliss, I’d make him pay. Deon spent ten minutes slicing veggies and raw salmon before looking up, puzzled. And the interference hit. Troll grunted, seeing the perplexed expression on Deon’s face. The new guy had seen or heard something.
“Total time the system was blanked was two minutes and forty seconds.” Troll hit the RESET button. “Long enough for Bliss to get out or someone to take her.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Bring it back up and let me see where everyone is after the interference.” No one had moved except Deon, who was looking out the back window of the dining room, heavy drapery pushed free, a sushi knife in his hand, and Troll, who had been working on accounts in Katie’s office before the interference and was standing in front of the console afterward. “She didn’t go out the front door. And if she went out the back door, I’d have . . .” I stopped. I’d have smelled her. Right. “Deon might have seen her.”
“I got a bad feeling about this,” Troll rumbled. “Some-thin’s wrong.”
I checked Bliss’s room, which was decorated in ice blues and grays. There was nothing broken, no evidence of a struggle, and her purse was on a hook in the closet, containing her ID, credit cards, and a wad of cash. I was pretty sure she hadn’t left without it, not willingly.
Her room overlooked a service alley below. I checked to see if the window would open easily, and it did. There was a shed roof below. Though it was twelve feet down and looked pretty flimsy, she could have sneaked out of the house by the window. But that just didn’t feel right. A gust of air blew up, carrying a blood scent. I had smelled Bliss’s blood not long ago, and this wasn’t hers. Someone else had bled outside, where there were also a few indications of residual magic. Nothing important.
I spent another twenty minutes talking to the girls while they drank early cocktails, and to Deon, who was the only one who’d heard anything, though from the side of the house, not the rear. When I asked him why he had looked out the back, he’d lifted his chin. “There be no windows to the side of the house. But good ears, I got, and I heard a thump from there.”
“Okay. Thanks, Deon,” Troll said as the doorbell rang. “That helps.” Deon gave a little wrist flick and carried his unappreciated fruit cups back to the kitchen. Indigo jumped up and raced upstairs. The blonde was taking Bliss’s early customer.
“I’ll look around outside,” I said, my curiosity growing. I left by the back door and flip-flopped around to the side of Katie’s Ladies, to the narrow, unadorned utility area. It was getting darker now, the sky a deeper blue with golden clouds on the western horizon. I paused to get my bearings, and thought I heard a sound, a brief note of . . . something. But it was gone too fast, was unimportant.
In New Orleans, every square inch of possible garden space is heavily planted, with miniature gardens springing up in places homeowners and business owners in other locales would have ignored or overlooked, so the barrenness of the place was a surprise. It was no more than five feet wide, with no entrance from the street in front. The small overhang I’d seen from above was made of plywood, brittle and warped with age, and protected a push mower and gardening supplies. There was no indication that anyone had jumped from the window to the shed roof. I didn’t need to check it. I could go away.
I stopped midturn. Paced back, slowly. The compulsion hit me again. Go away. Nothing to see, nothing to smell, nothing here. The space had been spelled, and I hadn’t noticed when I was here earlier.
Resisting the compulsion, I eased down the alley, breathing in a strong, unfamiliar witchy scent, a trace of Bliss, and the tang of blood. Someone had been casting in the narrow alley. And she had bled here. I looked around and spotted a thin spray of blood up the wall. A bit more was splattered on the ground, as if the wounds had been quickly stanched. I knelt down to get closer to the scent markers on the ground. My nose was an inch from the dirt when I heard the scream, long and broken.
“Jaaaaaaane!”
A door thumped. From my house. It was Molly.
CHAPTER 14
They should all be staked
My heart stuttered painfully as Beast poured power into my bloodstream. The dusky dimness grew brighter, as if a flash had gone off inside my head, as she bled into my vision. A growl erupted from my throat. I whirled, raced toward my house.
Beast-fast, I crossed the yard and leaped, catching the top of the brick fence with one hand and levering myself up and over, the flip-flops lost in the dash. As I was vaulting the fence, I saw a ladder leaning against the brick. It hadn’t been there before. I snarled.
And took in a
whiff of vamp. And of witches. The trails overlaid one another in a twisting spiral from Katie’s Ladies to here. Instantly I understood the trap that had sprung. They had taken Bliss, then waited in the alley, hidden under a spell that had subtly encouraged me not to check around the entire house. When I went inside Katie’s, they had simply climbed the fence and come here. Then they’d attacked.
I dropped into a defensive crouch inside the walled garden. There was no siren scream of anything trying to get through the wards. Had Molly not activated the perimeter ward? Had she forgotten after I left the house? I hadn’t waited to see that she was safe.
The smell of blood hit me, rich and fresh. Molly’s. I/we screamed.
I raced across the porch. A blaze of magics prickled across my skin. The wards are still in place. But they smelled burned, ragged. Someone had blasted a hole through them at the kitchen door. The edges fluttered, singeing the air with the smell of scorched earth and ozone.
Inside, the smell of blood was stronger. Bloody prints tracked across the floor. Beast-fast, I followed them. Molly lay in a spreading pool of blood at the foot of the stairs. Bleeding from everywhere. Her eyes wide with shock, her lips mouthing words. “My babies. He took my babies.”
I wasn’t sure what I did next. I know I called 911. I remember a fast vision of my hands grabbing clean towels from the folded clothes. Tying them over the wounds on her torso with clean sheets. I remember fighting to shift, Beast thrumming through me. I remember tears dripping from my nose and cheeks. I remember shouting to the 911 operator that Molly was hurt bad and the children had been kidnapped.
I remember the paramedics set off the ward at the front door. And I sent them to the side, the ward wailing. And I remember, so clearly, holding Molly’s blood-slick hand in mine when she fought the paramedics who were trying to help her. And the fear on their faces when they looked into mine.
