by Faith Hunter
“That works,” I said, and then I drew on my children’s home background and said, “Pleased to meet you.”
He gestured me into the cabin, where there was beige leather everywhere, plush carpet, multiple video screens, and fold-down tables. “There are two sleeping cubicles in back,” Hines said, “and a full kitchen and bath.”
“Okaaay,” I said, drawing the word out. “I’m impressed, Captain.”
“In that case, we are fueled, preflight checks have been done, and we are ready for the last of the luggage to be stowed and for passengers to board.” He stepped into the cockpit and closed the door. Hatch. Whatever.
I looked around again and saw the fully stocked bar, Russian-style samovar teapot, and espresso machine. “Perks,” I murmured to myself. I had to remember the perks of the DQ job. Money didn’t buy happiness, but it did let me have pretty things. And I’d get back to NOLA way faster than I would have on my bike, and not be crowded into the Lear.
Do not want to fly in belly of metal plane bird, Beast thought. Do not like to fly at all. Will make Jane regret flying. Will wake Jane in mud with al-li-gator.
Yeah. I figured. But if you’re really nice, we might hunt boar while we’re in NOLA.
Beast perked up. Big-boar?
Sure. Why not.
Beast is best hunter. Will fly, but will sleep when flying.
I was laughing softly when I stepped back down the flight stairs toward the ground and the group standing there. I spotted Monique on the ground piled with the last of the luggage. Halfway down, I met Bruiser’s lovely chocolate-brown eyes and said, “Nice. Very nice. I claim one of the beds in back. Captain Hines says we can board.”
Monique moved. Vamp-fast.
Everything went slow, like cold honey.
The night shot through with the green and silver of Beast-vision as she thrust my cat sight into me. Bright. Crystalline.
Monique lunged at Bruiser. Her hands went around his shoulders. She wrapped herself around him. They started to fall.
Eli dove for the falling two. Thema and Kojo sprang at Monique.
My hand moved before I thought. Drew a nine-mil. Aimed. Squeezed. The sound of gunfire echoed in the night. Monique fell and rolled away from Bruiser. Head shot. I shot her body again as it dropped to the ground. And again. Eli, Thema, and Kojo had stopped in midcharge. The vamps were preternaturally still. Eli turned to me.
No one else moved.
Beast is best hunter, Beast said in the back of my mind.
She had drawn the weapon and fired.
We’ll be chatting about this, I thought back.
Beast does not chat. And she was gone.
Bruiser spun to his feet in a crouch and scuttled back, his eyes wide and shocked.
Eli was laughing slightly, a battlefield laugh, all mocking mirth. “Go Janie.”
Kojo and Thema rushed to feed and heal the Onorio. I holstered the weapon. “This is getting old,” I said. “Let her die.”
“But she is necessary to finding the Firestarter,” Thema said. “The Consort explained all to us.”
I reached the ground and toed the body. Monique wasn’t breathing or blinking, her open eyes to the dark sky, her skull misshapen at the exit wound. It seemed that three silver composite rounds were all it took to kill an Onorio. Her bowels and bladder had relaxed again, and she smelled like filth to my enhanced nose. TV doesn’t show the really gross parts of death.
Beast had done this, taken those shots. I never would have. There had been zero margin for error. Too high a likelihood of killing my own people. Belatedly, adrenaline gushed into my bloodstream. My heart raced.
“Another set of silver null cuffs,” I said. “Everything we have. And zip ties strong enough to chain a water buffalo. And hose her off before you put her in stowage with the luggage. She stinks from losing bowel control.”
I met Bruiser’s eyes and could see in them an awareness that Monique had been stronger than he was. He couldn’t have won a battle against her. Monique was the bigger monster. Dead monster.
Brute, who had not been in any of the vehicles that drove down the mountain, appeared at Monique’s body. On his head was a striped lizard with red wings, and on his back was a neon green grindylow. He bent over Monique and sniffed little bursts of breath, nose fluid snorting across her. He turned to me and growled a warning before bounding up the stairs and into the plane.
“How did you get here, and who invited you?” I called after him. He didn’t reply.
* * *
* * *
I woke in the small but fancy sleeping cubicle when we landed with a soft bump, engines roaring as we slowed. It wasn’t yet midnight; I was human-shaped and alone on the memory foam mattress, the room small, dark, and comfy, like a puma den with silk sheets. The jet was taxiing from the runway, the vibration steady, the jet engines still noisy. Voices could be heard through the walls.
I rolled over and thought about my shifts into Beast form and half-form. Once upon a time, I had shifted forms only at specific times. Well, usually. There were one or two times when Beast had changed how and when I shifted. And now, I shifted when I was sleeping, and the pain never woke me up. When I slept, Beast was often in control. I let that thought settle inside me. Was Beast controlling the seemingly accidental shifts while I was asleep? That would suck.
Beast had given me the ability to move faster than I used to be able to. Fast enough to draw my weapon when we were boarding and fire at Monique before she and Bruiser hit the tarmac. Before the vamps and Eli could invade my field of fire. Fast and steady enough to not miss my moving target and accidently hit Bruiser. Vamp-fast.
Beast likes vampire blood, she thought.
You took and used the DNA of vamps, didn’t you. Vamp blood to make me faster. Vamp blood. Just like you took the canine DNA to get a better scent-nose.
Jane cannot take the snake that lives in the center of all things, things that still live, without becoming u’tlun’ta. Liver-eater. Beast is not Jane.
Holy crap. I sat up, silk sheets shushing across me. You did. You took vampire DNA. And you can . . . Can you shift at will? Can you?
Beast cannot control sleep shifts. Beast did shoot Monique person. Beast loves Jane. Beast’s angel loves Jane.
So the angel did something to us. Figures. I rolled out of bed and dressed in the same clothes I had worn onto the jet, except I put on normal battle boots. Have you been practicing on me? What about the short time limit on staying human? I asked her.
Beast and Hayyel tried to fix this in the time that was past, she thought, and we failed.
Oh goodie. A busybody but relatively unhelpful angel was helping a sentient mountain lion to fix my latest shape-shifting problem. What could go wrong?
Jane needs weapons. Killing claws and white-man guns. Jane is in danger.
Which was a different kind of answer to a different situation entirely.
I debated on the effect I wanted to have on my people. Subjects. Whatever. I was landing in possibly hostile territory, so I still strapped on the weapons I’d worn on the trip to the airport, enough to start my small war. Eli’s previous instructions and comments on commanding warriors flashed through my mind. He was right. It would never be easy for me.
In the tiny lavatory, standing in front of the miniscule mirror over the small lavatory shelf, I brushed my teeth and smeared on red lipstick. I rebraided my hair. It was long and black, and this time the plait was neat and uncomplicated, a tight, fine tail that fell over one shoulder to my hip. Before I left the small lavatory, I texted Aya and told him I was in NOLA, wondering if he’d offer any info about grandmother.
He sent a one-word reply: “Thanks.” Ayatas FireWind wasn’t chatty with me. I wondered if he talked to his team at PsyLED or kept them at arm’s length.
I had to get the vamps to safety from the morning sun and get everyone else where they belonged. And tour HQ. First time since I killed the Son of Darkness in HQ’s basement. And because Wrassler and
Jodi’s wedding was so close, I had to make sure none of my problems would overshadow their festivities.
Looking badass in jeans, tee, and denim jacket, my chest strapped with blades and three semiautomatic handguns in a harness, I left the sleeping nook. The main area was empty, smelling of vampires and anxiety. The jet’s door was open to the night. We had landed at the commercial airport instead of the private one, where we kept the Lear and the helicopter. A bigger plane needed a longer runway. Right. Warm, sticky-wet air blew in from outside. It smelled of burned jet fuel, auto exhaust, and the salty water from the Gulf of Mexico. And that distinct, old-city scent of urine and spices and coffee and people and sex and urgent energy mixed with the slow lethargy that was New Orleans.
This city wasn’t truly home, not like the mountains. But still. It was another kind of home. I stood in the open doorway, watching as Eli and Bruiser directed the vamps and the humans into specific vehicles and loaded the luggage according to some plan they seemed to understand. Without my input.
It hit me. This was a trip not only for a wedding, and to discover what we could about Sabina and Leo’s body, but for discovery and introspection and friendship. And to establish that I was the Dark Queen, Blood Master of Clan Yellowrock, and interim Master of the City—all jobs I had tried to get out of but that no one I considered trustworthy wanted. Eli looked up at me, standing at the top of the stairs, a perfect target. He frowned, and I started down, out of the silhouette of cabin lights, while he scanned everything around us.
My feet rattled the metal stairs as I descended. I might have to fight here. I might even die here. But I would never do it alone. I’d be with the people I loved. And this time I was healthy and whole, and had hope that my funky shifting problem might have a solution, some secret that Beast and her angel might have firmly in hand. Paw. Whatever. I’d have Bruiser, Eli, and Alex. And my clan. This could actually be fun.
Seven vehicles were parked nearby, all armored, all belonging to HQ. Without discussion, Bruiser had taken over as if he was my primo as well as my Consort, and was directing how everyone would travel. This stuff was vital decision-making but boring, and everyone here knew I hated the tedious stuff. Not having to be in charge of vital minutiae was another Dark Queen perk. Go me, seeing the positive.
Eli and Bruiser tossed a heavy bag into the back of an SUV. I had ordered her to be hosed off, but even from here, the bag smelled of blood and feces. Monique in a zippered duffel. Brute growled at it, and Bruiser stopped and looked from the werewolf to the body bag.
When I reached the tarmac, I held myself high and with confidence. I was, after all, the Dark Queen. It was time to start acting like it.
* * *
* * *
“Tex, Alex,” Bruiser said, “please take the dogs, the werewolf, the lizard, and the majority of our gear to Janie’s personal residence.” That was my freebie house. “Secure the premises and verify channels of communication. Then I would like Tex to join the rest of us at HQ.”
Eli said, “With Alex at our house and me at HQ, we can verify and secure channels, can look over current protocols, run a scan for surveillance, and make sure all electronics there are up and running and integrated with HQ and the other clan homes.” He glanced at me in my human form, my belly growling from the unplanned shift. “There’s plenty of meat at our house, Janie.”
My mouth watered. “Bacon from Cochon?”
“I ordered a delivery of andouille, tasso, bacon, and a couple of capicola.”
Capicola were whole pork shoulders cooked Italian style. Best meat ever.
“And the usual roasts and steaks and some smoked salmon,” he said. My mouth started watering, and Eli chuckled. “And normal groceries for the less carnivorous.”
Bruiser said, “Kojo and Thema, gather your gear. You are guests at HQ. I have issued orders for Wrassler to find you a safe room there.”
“We would prefer to stay with the Dark Queen,” Kojo said.
“You are not her scions,” Bruiser said. “You chose not to swear to her. We could put you up in Acton House, the Mithran boarding house, but you have no blood-servants to feed upon.” Bruiser’s tone had gone from primo precise to the compassionless tone of someone bringing down the full weight of truth and the result of lifestyle choices upon their heads. They were unwanted guests. We were being nice, but on our terms. “In the Mithran Council Chambers, there are a few masterless humans who will likely offer themselves to you.”
Kojo’s face fell. Thema turned black angry eyes on me. Once upon a time, I might have smiled at her or shrugged to show at least a little caring. But I was the DQ. Their fealty and loyalty had been temporary, and that time had passed. They were currently unsworn. Living in my territory. Drinking from humans who were sworn to me. They were tolerated, not welcomed.
Plus, I thought, at HQ, there would be someone to keep an eye on them, and they would not be close enough to present a danger to the rest of us. Unsworn guests, guests who had not been bled and read by my most trusted Mithrans, would not be allowed to live with me.
“Koun,” Bruiser continued, “take the body in the bag to HQ. You will place the body, with the null cuffs and strips still in place, in the scion room, lock it in a cage, and train a security camera on it. There is something about the body that made Brute uneasy, so I’m not taking chances. Then you can ride back with My Queen to our home. There are two safe, windowless rooms in the attic for you and Tex.”
“And who will feed us while we guard our queen?” Koun asked. “There is no room in the house for our blood-servants.”
Bruiser glanced sidelong at me. “While we were vacationing, we arranged all the necessary permits with the Vieux Carré Commission, and we have created a gate in the brick wall between the former Katie’s Ladies Bordello and Jane’s personal residence. With the permission of Katherine, the Master of the City of Atlanta, our humans will stay there and will have a chef and a housekeeper to look after them.”
Tex shrugged easily in agreement. “Good by me, hoss.”
Koun inclined his head. His pale skin and black and blue swirling and geometric tattoos made him look dangerous, but it was the expression in his pale eyes that told the true tale, a violent and primitive hunter and warrior who loved war and fighting. And because he had lived so long and lost so many, he no longer had anything left to lose. Yet, he had appointed himself Chief Strategist of Clan Yellowrock, a battlefield promotion that I had confirmed. And he had sworn his loyalty to me.
“This is acceptable to me,” he said. “But we will need more Mithrans and therefore more blood-servants to protect the houses, the grounds, and the Dark Queen.” He gave a small smile. “Our queen is strong-willed and difficult to control. She will inevitably get herself in trouble.”
“Say what? Me? Get myself in trouble?”
Eli said sadly, “Babe . . .”
Koun, that small smile still in place, bowed his head formally. “With your permission, I will choose an additional number of Mithrans, their blood-servants, and human warriors from headquarters to stay temporarily in the old bordello.”
“As the chief strategist suggests,” Bruiser said, still in primo mode, but this time with an answering small smile.
“Consort.” Koun bowed low. “My Most Royal Queen, Your Majesty.” He stood upright, his pale eyes glinting with sly amusement. “You have my thanks, my loyalty, and my service.”
Clearly he was messing with me. I snorted, got in the SUV Bruiser directed me to, and strapped myself in, the Benelli across my lap. I stared out unseeing across the airport, a plane landing as another taxied for takeoff.
I wasn’t very likeable. Or charming. Or beautiful. I sure as heck wasn’t very royal. And yet I had all these great people around me. I must be doing something right, however small. So maybe . . . Maybe I could do this. And if I did everything just right, I might get to kick some vamp butt, and that might make it all worthwhile.
* * *
* * *
With Kojo a
nd Thema trailing us, Eli and Koun preceding us carrying the body-duffle-bag, dripping a little, and Bruiser at my side, we climbed the steps toward the bullet resistant airlock at NOLA vamp HQ. At the top of the stairs, I turned and looked back over the city that had become mine. My city. Because I was master of the city whether I wanted it or not.
A dense fog was rising from the Mississippi close by. It haloed the street lights, blurred neon lights, and obscured the low buildings of the French Quarter. The low clouds muted the sounds of traffic, the strains of jazz and blues from the bars and restaurants. Moving car lights were magical little globes of glowing fairy mist in the heavy air. The smells here were water, water everywhere, coffee, liquor, fried food, heavy on the spices. Yeah. A different kind of home from my mountains.
A small, snowy white owl, like something out of Harry Potter, soared along the street, wings flapping once, silent as death. A moment later it disappeared. A small animal screeched in agony. NOLA didn’t have snowy owls. It wasn’t cold enough here, especially in the fall. It felt like a portent or an omen. “That’s not creepy,” I said. “Not at all.”
Eli chuckled that dry, emotionless sound that meant nothing funny and nothing good. Together we turned and went on up the stairs.
The front entrance system of the council chambers was unassuming on the surface. We stepped through the first “glass” airlock door and faced the second set of glass doors, more glass to either side. All of the glass was far more than it appeared. It was triple-paned polycarbonate bullet-resistant glass. It was strong enough to stop most ammo up to a small rocket. It would now take a lot more ordnance than most gangs, rogue vamps, and blood-magic witches had around to get to us.
The outer doors locked behind us, securing us in what amounted to an airtight, see-through cage, with steel supports and structural armor in the ceiling and floor. We’d been bombed here once. We’d learned from our complacency.
