Broken Soul

by Faith Hunter

  “Good. Shower. Now.”

  “Yeah,” Eli said, far too casually. “You really do stink, babe.”

  I had been running around vamp HQ in my filthy Lycra and bare feet, and no one had said a word about it. Except my partner. He was such a good pal. Not.

  Fortunately, the elevator had been cleaned, housecleaning leaving behind a synthetic scent probably called Highlands Heather or Mystical Forest or some such stupid name. We were cleared for the gym floor, so I swiped my hand over the reader, punched a button, and soon I was standing, still clothed, under scalding hot water, letting it rinse away the stench of fighting.

  Standing under the hard spray, I stripped, and something fell out of my shirt and jog bra. I caught the smooth, rounded, plastic-like thing before it hit the floor and set it aside to finish cleaning. When my hair was washed and combed, I was lotioned up, and was wrapped in one of the plush towels kept in the locker room, I called out to Eli, “I’m ready to dress now.”

  “Clear,” came his response as he stepped out of sight of the curtained stalls. The towel covering me from shoulder to knees, I tossed my wet clothes into a sink and opened the locker assigned to me.

  I never knew what clothes I’d find in my locker, provided by the HQ staff. Sometimes it was formal wear. Recently, I had found three pairs of dancing shoes—black, gold, and a silver pair that I was pretty sure had been put there by Del. Once, a pair of really nice formfitting pants and a gorgeous, black, cowl-necked sweater had been inside. Today, I found clean undies, a pair of black knit pants, a pair of black jeans, two sweaters, and several T-shirts. Leo was giving me a choice. That was a change. Underneath the clothes and tied up with a red bow was a brand-new, custom-made holster, a tactical SERPA carbon-fiber thigh holster, adjustable for various makes and models of guns. And my blades. And my stakes.

  Had Leo given me this? He was a narcissistic, dictatorial, tyrannical, despotic, spoiled-as-a-child blood-sucker and he thought he could buy his way into my loyalty and my pants, so maybe, though guns didn’t seem his style. And then I saw the card. It was handwritten on heavy card stock in black ink. No envelope. I lifted the card into the light and read.

  “If a blade, tea, and catnip were not sufficient, perhaps I might woo you with a tactical, drop-thigh holster.” It was signed with a simple script G.

  A smile pulled at my lips. “Bruiser,” I said. And, “Woo. What an odd little word.” But the smile on my face lightened all through me.

  I dressed quickly in the jeans, a leather belt, and the red, thin knit, cowl sweater. I liked the big loopy collars. They were great for sliding silver stakes through and making them look like jewelry. They were also loose enough that the odd pain remaining near my belly button didn’t receive any unexpected pressure. I slid on the comfy slippers that were always in the locker. There must be a storeroom or closet somewhere that contained a stash, because I had taken several pairs home and there were always more here.

  My fighting leathers and combat boots were on the long bench that divided the locker room, stuffed in a satchel that Eli had found somewhere, as if he’d known I wouldn’t want to wear them. My weapons were in a neat row on the bench. Eli had cleaned the blades. “I’m decent,” I said softly, knowing Eli would hear me.

  Still geared up, he walked back into the main room and nodded to the weapons. It was Eli-speak for, What weapons do you want? How do you want to weapon up? All of it? Or just some? All that in a nod. We had learned to read each other’s cues so quickly that it was sorta disturbing. And maybe awesome.

  I held up the thigh holster and said, “Looky what Bruiser got me!”

  Eli spread out the custom-made thigh holster on the bench, studying it with approval. “The man’s got taste. And he seriously wants in your pants, babe.”

  A flash of warmth brightened my face and heated its way down my chest, so I thumped his arm with my fist. Hard. And took back the holster while he laughed and rubbed his biceps. I strapped the rig to my right thigh. A standard thigh holster was constructed with three straps, two around the thigh, one that went up and looped onto a belt. TV cops wore the rigs low on the thigh, which looked cool, but for close quarters fighting I liked my weapons a bit higher than the specs suggested. The upper thigh strap to my new rig went near my groin, the lower around the largest part of my thigh. The custom unit had a vertical strap that went to my belt, directly above the holster, and a longer, distinctive strap that went around my waist and back to the unit for stability. The holster was more complicated than a regular thigh rig, but because I was so slender the extra strap gave me more control and also allowed me to fasten on a holster for a backup weapon when I was wearing long coats or sweaters, like now. There was even a loop to secure my M4 harness. The shotgun hadn’t gotten a lot of use lately, but it was my go-to weapon when facing large numbers of big-bad-uglies. It cleared a wide swath, when needed.

  I holstered one of my matched Walther PK380s at my right thigh, and the other one at the small of my back for a left-hand draw. The semiautomatic handguns were lightweight and ambidextrous, with bloodred polymer grips that perfectly matched the red of the T-shirt. Which was a girly thought and one I didn’t share with Eli, though I could imagine his expression if I did. The .380s offered less stopping power than nine-mils, but vamp central meant the possibility of collateral damage, and killing anyone or anything by accident was not on my schedule, now or ever. The .380 on my thigh, I pulled and holstered several times, testing the friction of the holster fabric, before I loaded it with standard rounds. The one at my spine was loaded with silver, just in case of vamp or were-animal attack. I liked to be prepared for both kinds of bad guys—human and supernatural big-bad-uglies.

  There was a special sheath in the thigh rig for a fourteen-inch vamp-killer—steel with silver plating along the flat of the blade. Steel to cut flesh, silver to poison vamps or weres. The thigh holster had deep pockets for stakes, and I inserted silver-tipped ash stakes with little wooden buttons on the ends so I could shove them into a vamp without hurting the palm of my hand if needed, and also so that I could get a good grip if I ever wanted to pull one out. It had happened. The stakes were a new design and though they resembled knitting needles, they were easier to use than my old model. Into my calf holster went a six-round Kahr P380, a small semiautomatic with a matte black finish, loaded with standard ammo.

  I stood and looked myself over in the long mirror and frowned. I looked long and lean and feminine, and even the gun strapped to my hip and thigh didn’t fix that. “It’s the cowl-neck,” Eli said, reading my mind again. “Makes you look soft and sweet.” He did that little lip-twitch thing he called a smile. “Good disguise, except for the gun. Which makes you look hot, in a deadly sort of way.”

  I shook my head at the left-handed insult and passed him the clear, rounded thing I’d found under me after the battle with the lillilend. Not wanting to steer him to my own result, I asked simply, “What do you think?”

  “This that thing you tucked into your boobs after the fight?”

  “Yeah. Who else saw?”

  Eli shrugged. “Bruiser. No one else, I think.” He ran his fingers over the curved side, which was blunt and smooth, and then over the opposite side, which was irregular, ripped-looking in spots, with longer fiber-like things hanging off. “Thin, clear, luminous, flexible, and slightly iridescent,” he said, bending it to test its plasticity. It sprang back into shape. “What I could make out of the thing in the gym, it was vaguely snakelike. Scale? Like from a snake? Ripped out of the skin underneath?” He mimed pulling one off.

  “I think so,” I said. Weirdly, the spot on my chest where it had touched my skin continued to tingle. I rubbed my sternum, trying to stop the reaction. “I should send it to Leo’s lab, in Texas, for DNA testing, but they already have the gunk off the floor.” I bent it and held it to the light, where the surface swam with color like the surface of a pearl. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll
keep it.” I tucked it into a slit in the thigh holster that buttoned shut, discovering as I did that there was even a small pocket in the rig, holding a tourniquet and sterile bandages. Bruiser had thought of everything. I liked that in a man. “Let’s get this debrief on the road.”

  We were walking into the security/conference room when Eli’s cell did that little jangle-buzz that let him know he had a text. “Alex has everything secure,” he said, “and all non-Jane footage ready for viewing.”

  • • •

  The air of the conference room was redolent of scorched coffee, fresh Krispy Kreme doughnuts, the heated scent of Onorio, to tell me that Bruiser was present, Grégoire’s intense personal vamp scent, gun oil, the reek of fired weapons, and testosterone. In other words, it smelled wonderful. The underground room had a security console, a huge monitor/TV screen, a massive table, and comfortable rolling desk chairs.

  The primo, Adelaide Mooney, opened the meeting with the info that Leo and Gee were being treated by the priestesses. She assured us that they would both be okay, but it would be tomorrow night before we’d see them again. With the fast healing of vampires and whatever species an Anzû was, that sounded pretty ominous. Del looked haggard but elegant, dressed in a monochrome blend of blond tones that matched her hair, which was down and curling on her shoulders. I remembered seeing her at some point in the gym, sword raised. It had been only a glimpse, but it looked as if Del knew her way around sharp objects.

  When she finished her report, I asked, “Can you tell us what Leo was saying when the thing flew into the room? It sounded like, Lepree lumyear. Larcencel. Larcencel.”

  Del’s eyes flicked down and back to me. I wasn’t sure what the reaction meant, other than she wanted to be done and outta here. She stood and said, “The Master of the City said to give you this.” She passed a folded scrap of paper to me. On it was written in a shaky hand, with what looked like a ballpoint pen, the words, Grand danger, mon cour. L’esprit lumière. L’arcenciel.

  It wasn’t Leo’s usual fancy, calligraphy-like script, and I’d never seen him use a ballpoint pen or write on a torn piece of paper, but the words on it had the right Ls in them to be his handwriting. “Okay. What’s it say?”

  Toneless, she replied. “It says, ‘Great danger, my heart. The light spirit. The rainbow.’”

  “What’s wrong with his heart? Did the bite damage it?” For that matter, did Leo even have a heart? Fortunately I got my mouth closed before I said those words.

  “I believe that Leo is calling you his heart,” Bruiser said, his tone droll.

  “Oh. Okay. No.” I looked at Del and finally was able to deduce her expression as an unwilling possessiveness. Del and Leo had begun a relationship that included more than just blood sharing, and this read like I was poaching on her territory. Though how that all worked when Leo was still sleeping with Grégoire, I had no idea. “I’m not his heart. He just calls me that to tick me off.”

  “I see. Well . . . if you need me, I’ll have my cell and in-house radio.” She turned on her expensive two-inch heels and left the room. I followed her into the hallway, but she cut me off with a terse, “I don’t have time now, Jane.”

  I stepped back fast at her abrupt words. An embarrassed flush shocked through me. I don’t make friends easily and—

  “Sorry,” Del said. Her shoulders slumped and she rubbed her forehead. I didn’t get headaches much but Del looked like she was in pain. “It’s been a difficult week.”

  Tentatively, I said, “Leo giving you a hard time?”

  She dropped her hand. “I’m not the primo he’s used to working with,” she said stiffly, as if she had heard the words once too often recently. “He’s still grieving for George, and there’s nothing I can do to take away the fact that he’s lost his right-hand man. It’s also taking me a while to get up to speed. I don’t know where things are located, filed, or stored. I made a mistake ordering wine for a small gala Leo has planned. We got a delivery of ‘substandard, even for American swill,’ wine that I liked and that cost a small fortune. He broke every bottle. Every single one. Quesnel was horrified.”

  Which sounded like underling-speak for the boss was being a pain in the butt. Was the jealousy a misread on my part? I said, “Ouch. Sooo, because you don’t have instant recall and superpsychic powers of vamp-omniscience, Leo bites your head off?”

  She smiled slightly. “Metaphorically speaking.”

  “Want me to stake him for you?”

  Del spluttered with laughter, which was what I had hoped for, her pale complexion brightening. “I think not. Job security, you know.”

  “Yeah. I bet it’d be hard to find a new position as primo in today’s job market.” The words felt familiar, as if I’d said them before. To Del? To Bruiser? Both had changed jobs recently.

  Still chuckling, Del stretched her shoulders back and then let them relax. She said, “I’m sorry about my tone in there. Girls’ day out soon? I know this town has excellent spas and I’m dying to try one out.”

  I didn’t do girlie stuff, manis and pedis and facials, but I’d had a massage once and it had been fantastic. “Soon,” I promised her with a nod, and then added, “Leo doesn’t understand the concept of monogamous. He’ll protect you with his life and give you anything you want except that.” Without watching for her reaction, I opened the conference room door and slipped back inside.

  The lights were off in the room, security footage up on the oversized central monitor screen. A voice in the darkness said, “Legs, I’ll look over the footage again later for anything we might have missed, but so far, nothing shows on the cameras until the rainbow thing, whatever Leo called it, entered the gym.”

  “Okay,” I said as I slid into a chair at the head of the table. Belatedly I identified the voice as Angel Tit, one of Derek’s men, a former active-duty marine and IT security specialist. And the scent beside me was Bruiser, silent, watching. He must have come back in through the other entrance. I could feel his eyes on me in the dark. “What?”

  “That,” he said. That was digital footage from four cameras, taking up half of the screen, two by two. I’d installed the cameras to cover all aspects of the workout room and its two entrances. The screens showed footage that had been aligned by time stamp to show the moment the creature entered the gym in a flash of light. Instantly, all the cameras had splotches of white-out and partial white-out, in the blocky shapes of ruined digital feed.

  Angel said, “I’m piecing together sections of footage that are still okay, so we can get a view of the fight. This is all I got at this time.”

  A fifth screen appeared on the far right of the TV and showed the creature entering the room. It was a blister of light, a halo of nothingness with glistening movement to the side that could have been wings, followed by a smoky cloud of out-of-focus, thrashing tail. The camera angle changed, and changed again as it flew across the room. It whipped to Gee and bit him.

  “It went straight to Gee,” I said. “I thought it was angling for Leo and got Gee instead. But it targeted Gee DiMercy first. Anybody have any ideas about that?” No one answered, but I could feel a growing discomfort in the room as the snake thing attacked Leo, fought, and finally flew away, then did it again, and again, as Angel replayed the footage. The uneasiness might have been the result of the appearance of what would have passed for a dragon in mythology, or maybe the part where Bruiser and I both vanished from the screen into a haze of gray energies, but whatever caused it, the humans in the room were not happy campers. Fortunately, no footage appeared showing me in half-cat form, and though it was strange that no one brought that up, I decided not to mention it. Discretion being the better part of valor, or I am a scaredy cat, or something like that.

  We watched the footage several more times before I said, “Okay. Stop. Is it just me or does anyone else get a different impression of the action from what we saw in the room at the time it hap
pened?”

  “I thought my eyes were going bad,” a voice said from the front of the room.

  “Nothing I see now is what I saw at the time,” Bruiser agreed. His voice wasn’t worried, but it was far more bland than usual, which was telling in its own way.

  “Me neither. That’s not what I saw,” another voice said. Others murmured what they had seen.

  “I saw a buncha bats. Nearly crapped my pants.”

  “I saw bees, dude. Killer bees. Heard ’em too. Scared the shi— Ooof. Whadju do that for?”

  “No cussing around Janie,” Angel Tit said, making it sound like a law.

  “I just got dizzy, like someone spiked my drink.”

  “I started itching. I got outta there.” Others agreed. The spectators to the sparring had cleared the room fast. Few witnesses had been left to see my partial shift. “Interesting,” I said, feeling a weight lift off of me. “So it makes humans forget they ever saw it. Pretty good survival mechanism. Everyone write up a report and send it to my e-mail.”

  There were groans from around the room, the soldier’s universal hatred of after-action reports. Beside me, Bruiser chuckled under his breath. I said, “We need to know if it’s messing with our minds, our eyesight, or our memories.” That shut them up. No one human liked to think their minds might be an open book to some supernat.

  I said, “I want to know what everyone saw at the time, versus what we just saw on the footage. Keep the reports brief and get them to me by nightfall. Angel, see if you can sharpen the images or fix the interference or whatever you call the blocky white-out sections. Send it to me ASAP.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Nice work with the tech lingo, Legs,” he said with unrestrained sarcasm. The men laughed, and some of the tension that had been generated by the meeting dissipated. “Just kiddin’, Janie. I’ll let you know what I find and send the Kid a copy.”

  “Good. Lights, please.” We all blinked as our eyes adjusted and someone passed around a mega-sized coffee carafe and a tray full of mugs. Boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts followed. I wasn’t interested in the coffee but took a vanilla-cream-filled doughnut and bit into it, the sugary, doughy goodness practically exploding in my mouth. Vanilla cream squished out the small hole and I caught it on a finger and licked it clean. I had to wonder whether the local witches had ever heard of light-dragons, and I pulled my cell to text my best friend, Molly, to ask for me. Eventually, I’d have to meet the local witches myself, but so far, I hadn’t had to add that to my supernatural plate.