Broken Soul: A Jane Yellowrock Novel

by Faith Hunter

  I looked them over and shook my head. They were covered in mosquito bites, were sunburned, skinny, rangy, scruffy, and hard-eyed. They looked like they’d been rode hard and put up wet, as a horse-loving roommate in the children’s home used to say, and they had the body odors that claimed they had been in-country without access to bathhouses for a looong time. But they also looked ready to go to war, with that hair-trigger awareness the battlefield soldier always wore. I nodded at them by way of welcome.

  “They’ve been read in on the deets,” Derek added. “We can talk freely.”

  Which hadn’t even occurred to me. My mind had been too busy on other stuff to sweat things like humans without enough info to understand what was going on. “Too much went wrong tonight, guys,” I said. “Angel, I need to see everything you have on camera. And you’ll note that the stuff on the secondary control panel you installed has been integrated into this one, and a bill for the design has been submitted to Raisin. To Ernestine,” I amended. One of the texts had been from the Kid telling me he had found and assimilated the secondary set.

  Angel Tit’s eyebrows bunched and he glanced at Derek. “Told you she’d figure it out. Told Leo and Del she’d figure it out. Told all’a y’all she’d figure it out.” Derek grunted and Angel punched some spots on his integrated control screen. Security footage appeared on the overhead video screen. I watched the new men studying the videos as if their lives depended on it. And maybe they did.

  The action lasted half an hour, with time not matching up anywhere as we followed from camera to camera, watching as men and women died, as Wrassler was mangled, as trained solders tried to ignore the changing of time and fought back. As the digital feed sputtered and went all blocky at times just as it had before from the presence of the arcenciel. But this time, the arcenciel was on-screen for only some of the occurrences of the pixelating blocks. “What’s causing the interference?” I asked.

  Angel swiveled in his chair and grinned at me. “This time it wasn’t caused only by the light-dragon. This time the interference followed the vamp Peregrinus. I did manage to get some clear shots of him. These might explain it.”

  I stared at the still shots plucked from the video. The fanghead was moving at vamp speed, and on regular digital camera footage, he would have been a pixel-blur, but on the new cameras, he was fairly clear—dark hair, dark pants, white shirt, leather belt, and boots. Necklace. But the jewelry looked different from the painting in the records room, and also different from the spare, stripped-raw moments when I had seen the vamp in person. Now the necklace looked larger, darker. Different.

  “On the clearest one.” I pointed at the shot of my choice. “Can you zoom in and let me see the necklace?” I asked.

  “This isn’t TV or the movies, but yeah, I can get in a bit,” Angel said. By his self-satisfied tone I knew he had already done it for himself.

  The screen changed and the necklace moved front and center, bigger, but more blurred. On the chain hung the raptor in flight, the same focal he had worn for the painting centuries ago. But now it was joined by a larger, black focal, wired onto the necklace. The focal was vaguely spear-shaped, wider at the top, pointed and clear at the bottom like a jeweled crystal pulled from the earth. Something was inside it. The thing inside trailed down to a point, the same way water runs down glass, all squiggly. I didn’t have to see it again. I knew what I was seeing. I knew why Soul had lost contact with the hatchling, and what the moments meant when he and the light-dragon had been in my presence. Peregrinus had captured the young arcenciel and made it tiny. He was wearing the hatchling in a jeweled crystal, wired onto his necklace with steel wire. And arcenciels were allergic to steel. I narrowed my eyes, letting that thought percolate until I realized that this could be what Bethany had been talking about, but hadn’t understood how to accomplish the act. Peregrinus was riding the dragon . . .

  “Depending on the learning curve, I’m guessing the necklace means Peregrinus now has access to some of the arcenciel’s power, and some of her weaknesses too, whatever they are,” I said. And since I had caused the death of Peregrinus’ pals, and then chased him away from killing (or eating or draining or whatever) the chained Joses Bar-Judas, I could guess that he would keep coming after me, as part of finishing whatever he originally came to accomplish. And yeah. He’d be angry.

  I checked the current time on the video screen. It was an hour before dawn. I doubted that Peregrinus would be back tonight. To Derek, I said, “Get what you can from the vids. See about making this place secure. Get battery lighting on every hallway and stairwell. Get Leo, Grégoire, and Katie fed on ample human blood and somewhere safe.” I felt the expression that curled my mouth down. “Get them fed on the thing in the basement. Its blood is strong. Peregrinus will be back, probably tonight, which gives us maybe twelve hours. I have to talk to some people. Oh. And please see that the security at the graveyard is turned off. No need to alert or disturb the local LEOs.”

  “Yeah,” Derek said, with false complacency. “No need for the local cops to get off their fat butts just to arrest you.”

  “They can try.” That got some laughter, which felt like a good note to leave on. I swung out of the room, to find Eli waiting in the hallway, his earbuds in. He’d been listening to the meeting.

  “I made the call to Del. Where are we going?” he asked, managing to sound only mildly curious, as if the information wasn’t vital, like how I took my tea, instead of how I was gonna keep us alive. I barked out a laugh and headed for the stairwell and up. “If I don’t tell you, will it kill you?”

  “No, but we’ll waste time if I have to beat it out of you. And I might hurt my knuckles,” he added thoughtfully, our feet echoing on the stairs. I shook my head, smelling blood and bowel contents, the stench of fired weapons, and the stronger reek of cleansers in the contained stairwell air. Someone had died here recently. Odds were it was one of Derek’s men.

  We left the stairwell and reentered the foyer. I hadn’t seen it since the lights came back on. There were uniformed men and women everywhere, mopping up blood. Men and women with hammers, plywood, and power tools working on making the entry secure. Not that the plywood was going to keep Peregrinus out. No chance.

  I stepped into the empty weapons room and checked Wrassler’s Judge back in. No amount of firepower was going to help me where I was going. I picked up a set of keys and gestured to the back of the building.

  “We jogging to the next gig too? Or are we stealing one of Leo’s armored SUVs to get wherever we’re going?”

  “Borrowing. Not stealing.”

  “Pa-tay-toh, pa-tah-toh.”

  “Have you seen Brute or Bruiser?” I asked.

  “Nope. Kinda worried about both.”

  We pulled out of the back security gate, the vehicle smelling like cigarettes and weed. Fast-food wrappers were in the back floorboard, along with empty Red Bull cans and what might have been empty condom packages. I’d be talking to a driver or two: some guards needed to be taught to clean up after themselves; weed might slow reaction time; having sex on the job was stupid in a dozen ways; and smoke was a dead giveaway to any enemy vamp with half a nose. A visual which made me chuff with laughter.

  As I pulled up to a light, I said, “We’re heading to the vamp graveyard across the river.”

  “I got that part.”

  “Yeah, well, the fun part will be me telling Sabina about the Son of Darkness chained in the basement, always assuming she doesn’t already know. And telling her about Peregrinus. And telling her we killed the Devil and Batildis.” Eli grunted ruminatively, so I finished with, “And then comes the not-fun part. Asking Sabina for the sliver of the Blood Cross, to kill Grégoire’s brother.”

  “I read your report about the shard. It was taken from the wood of Calvary that the sons of Judas Iscariot used to bring their father back to life. And thereby accidently made the first vamp.” I nodded at his words. “Talking to Sabina sounds like fun,” he said, overly nonchalant.
r />   “Yeah? Last time I did this, she nearly killed Rick and me. You know all the old wives’ tales about vamps being able to do stuff with their minds, like telekinesis and teleportation?” Eli grunted, still sounding bored. “Sabina can slam you against a wall with her mind alone, and hold you there, steady, while she tears out someone else’s throat and drinks them down at her leisure.” This time, Eli’s grunt was a little less sanguine. That was a good word, sanguine, its roots in the color red, like blood. And by the faint scent change in Eli’s sweat, he wasn’t sanguine anymore.

  • • •

  We pulled into the graveyard to find the hinged metal arms of the gate standing open in invitation. It was the darkest part of the night, the moon below the horizon, the sun not yet risen. The white stone mausoleums stood among the white shell paths, the statues on each roof looking like something out of Europe, white marble angels holding metal swords. There were no lights. Vamps didn’t need lights to see by, and any human who wandered in after dark to vandalize or find a place to neck, to use Aggie’s term, was likely to end up as dinner for the priestess and then wake up with no memory of the night before. The SUV’s headlights picked out the individual aboveground graves, the tree line in the distance, and the chapel. I rolled to a stop about fifteen feet away and cut the engine.

  The chapel was small, though larger than the multi-casket tombs with their gated and locked doors. The chapel’s windows glowed softly with candlelight, bloodred, ruby red, wine, burgundy, the pink of watered blood. That candle flicker spoke to the old ones, a sign of all things good and safe. Inside, something moved past a window, a shadow only. “You need to stay here,” I said.

  “I’m backup.” There was disagreement in his tone.

  I shifted in my seat to Eli in the dark of the car, still brightened by the glowing dash lights. “She’ll assume I brought her a human to munch on.”

  Eli grumped, giving in, by the scent. “Really like teleportation?”

  “And really like mind-warping. You need to stay in the car.”

  “So why am I here?”

  “To tell the others and prepare for Peregrinus to attack tonight if she kills me.”

  “You take all the fun out of a nice drive in the country.”

  “I do, don’t I? I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Eli stayed in the vehicle, watching as I took the steps to the front door, knocked, and entered.

  CHAPTER 22

  I Am a Far Worse Devil

  The priestess was sitting in a rocking chair at the front of the chapel, wearing her nunlike white robes, her pale, once-olive-skinned face glowing in the light of the candles. She pushed with a toe, the chair rocking back and then forward, back and then forward, but no way did I think she was relaxed. If I said the wrong thing or did the wrong thing, she would be on me like white on rice and faster than the speed of light. To her side was a stone bier, like a sarcophagus, the lid too heavy for me to lift alone, even with Beast helping, though I could push it aside if the need arose. Inside were the treasures she guarded. No way did I think I knew everything she hid there. No way was I eager to go exploring. Again. I’d learned my lesson the first time.

  I walked between the rows of wood pews, my feet loud in the quiet place, and paused about twelve feet away. I gave a nod of respect, the closest thing to a curtsy that I could do. In the silence, marred only by the sound of the rockers on the old floor, I waited.

  Her black eyes glittered as she surveyed me, her hands clasped at her waist. Rocking. Rocking. And I waited.

  “What do you want, skinwalker?”

  I nearly jumped but managed to hold the startled reaction in. As if she saw it anyway, a faint smile crossed the priestess’ face.

  I licked my lips, wondering when my mouth had gone so dry. “Joses Bar-Judas is chained in the lowest subbasement in the Mithran Council Chambers in the French Quarter. Tonight, a group of Mithrans kidnapped Katie and a wounded Leo, captured a juvenile arcenciel in a necklace that one wears around his neck, busted into HQ, and tried to set the Son of Darkness free, or kill him to get his power, or something. We got in the way.”

  Sabina said nothing, did nothing except to rock, and I cleared my throat, feeling way worse than I did when I’d been called to the principal’s office as a kid.

  “One Mithran and her blood-servant are dead. The dead are Batildis and the Devil.”

  I could have sworn that Sabina tried to smile, though her lips didn’t move. “This is good. They have long been a pox on this Earth.”

  “Okay. Ummm. Not so good. The lead Mithran, named Peregrinus, got away. With the arcenciel. And he’ll be back. Revenge and all. And unfinished business with Joses Bar-Judas.

  “A onetime friend told me also that Peregrinus was coming for me, for the icons I have in safety. For the things Leo has, or might have in the safe on sub-four.”

  Sabina gave a slow sigh that stank of old blood. Her breath, so seldom used, always had the scent of old death. I tried to ignore it. “L’arcenciel. Essendo luci. Titles I had thought never to hear again. Rainbow. Being of light or light-being in an archaic dialect of Latin,” she said. “With the arcenciel, Joses, and enough blood, Peregrinus will be strong enough to defeat all. This I understand.” Her brow wrinkled. “Knowledge and secrets are much harder to maintain, hidden, in this day and this age. Once, all one had to do to hide great secrets was to kill the humans who knew of it. No longer.”

  All you had to do was kill the humans. Right. But I didn’t say it.

  Sabina met my gaze. “What do you wish of me, she who walks in the skins of the beasts?”

  “I’d kinda like to use the sliver of the Blood Cross.”

  She rocked. And rocked. Beyond the windows, I could feel the sun starting to rise. The color of the windows was clearer, redder. The candles, oddly, seemed to cast less light, the shadows shrinking and becoming denser. It was nearly dawn. I knew Sabina was old, but I figured that she still needed to be out of the sunlight, probably sleeping in the huge stone sarcophagus in front of the chapel. The one with her likeness carved in the stone.

  “Do you believe?” she asked. Reading my confused expression and maybe my scent patterns, she went on. “Do you believe in the cross? In the crucifixion? In the resurrection? That the Christ was transcended, ascended to heaven? Do you believe?”

  I swallowed, buying the time to think, knowing that she would smell any dissembling, any lie. Knowing that my answer was important to her. History, if not religion, had always been important to this priestess. And, the more I learned about the origins of the vamps, maybe religion too. I took a shallow breath and held out my arms as if to display myself. I said, “I am human flesh, bone, and tendon. Yet I can change shape and form, like magic, and become an animal. I know that there is another place, maybe another universe of energy and matter, but in a different form. It may power my own . . . what we call magic.

  “I have a soul, that lives inside this body, but isn’t caged by it. Even in another form, I can still maintain my identity, the sanctity of my spirit, of my soul.

  “I live in a world with vampires and werewolves and Mercy Blades and les arcenciels,” I said, stumbling over the French, “who use a magic I can’t even begin to comprehend.” I frowned and dropped my arms. Her expression hadn’t changed, but she shook her head slowly, which didn’t seem like a good sign.

  “My best friend is a witch. I’ve seen her do what looks like magic with her gift. I’ve been healed with the magic of Bethany, the priestess, once, by Leo once, and by Edmund Hartley more than once. I’ve seen Leo raise his magic in such power that it burned on the skin of my arms. If I believe in magic, in power that I can’t understand, how can I not believe in more, in stuff that’s supernatural and holy and even bigger than the power I’ve seen myself?

  “I don’t think that we know everything that happened back then.” I pointed to the bier that held the Blood Cross. “I don’t think we understand everything that we think did happen or that we were told did happen. But
there was power left in the cross and in the nails, the power of his blood. The Sons of Darkness just stole it and made it evil, as humans always make things evil. So . . . yes, ma’am. I believe.”

  “Even though you are Chelokay?”

  Chelokay was one of the ways that Cherokee had once been pronounced. “Even though,” I said. “The belief systems are not in opposition.”

  “The white man’s Christ and his priests declared the skinwalkers to be the evil ones, the devils. Before Batildis’ Chelokay blood-servant was called the Devil, the skinwalker was the devil.” She cocked her head, sniffing, reading my face, my body language, my scent patterns. “And yet, you believe. Why?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. The hope of things unseen,” I paraphrased, “faith, that is. That kind of hope. I want there to be something bigger, something better than the rest of us.”

  “And if there are many things bigger and better than humans?”

  “Not my problem,” I said, suddenly tired. “I don’t care. There are bad guys, and demons, and horrible things that go bump in the night. Other things that are good, the kindness of strangers, angels on wings, messengers from above. Even a priestess in a vampire graveyard.”

  “I am not good. I am not kind. I am a far worse devil than the human so named and now dead.”

  “Maybe so. I still need the sliver of the Blood Cross. I still have to kill Peregrinus.”

  “To save Leo Pellissier and his wanton lovers Katherine and Grégoire?”

  “I’m between the devil and the deep blue sea. So to speak.”

  Sabina’s chair stopped rocking. And it was empty. I didn’t even hear the pop of displaced air as she moved. She was standing by the stone sarcophagus. The lid weighed, like, four hundred pounds and she lifted it, opened it with one hand, casually, the way I might lift the lid of a jewelry box. A moment later she closed the lid, softly, gently, as if it were made of cardboard. Her back to me, she said, “You would use the cross made evil by Ioudas Issachar?”