by Faith Hunter
“In you go,” she said, pulling me to my feet. Which hurt a lot. But there was a seat in the shower, and I managed to get onto it before I passed out. Leo had a very swanky bathroom with a huge tub in the far corner big enough to fit three or four, which I remember very well from the one time I walked in on Leo, Katie, and Blondie lounging in it.
Jodi placed a bottle of water into my knobby, long-fingered hand, and said, “Drink. I’m getting you something to wear from that enormous closet. Don’t die while I’m not in here babying you.”
Babying me. Right. I slumped against the tile. Which was heated. Holy crap, that felt good. Water pounded, trickled, and steamed. I started to feel warm again and tilted up the bottle of water, draining it before my eyes could close. Because no way was I not following Jodi’s orders. Jodi had always kinda scared me, if I was honest with myself.
Bottle empty, I looked down at the white Carrara marble and saw that fresh blood was dribbling slowly out of my abdomen. Something had opened up. That couldn’t be good.
“Jodi,” I whispered. “Help.”
CHAPTER 11
I’m Not Fond of the Pelt. It Itches.
I had no idea Jodi had such good hearing, but she was in the shower with me before the plea for help finished echoing around the vast bathroom. I also hadn’t known she could be the motherly type, as she turned off the water, wrapped me in a towel, and shouted for Tex and Koun. My two vamps placed me on the floor of the shower and joined me there, healing me, which involved a lot more furry and bare skin than I wanted to show and me drinking a lot more of Koun’s meaty blood.
Jodi waited on the guys to finish healing me and then shooed them back out. She helped me shower, helped me into silk undies and a tunic and leggings created by Madame Melisende, a casual outfit that was soft and slightly brushed for warmth on the inside and sleek on the outside. And because it was handmade for my multiple body shapes, it adjusted to fit like a glove. In the drawer of Leo’s bathroom—my bathroom now, I guessed—was a tube of red lipstick in one of my usual bloodred shades. I dabbed a little onto my pale cheeks and smeared it around, then lined my lips. Jodi combed out my hair, which had gotten terribly tangled.
“You want me to braid it?” She asked.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I’ll take care of it later.”
“Are you going to fix my wedding site?”
“If it can’t be fixed, I happen to own a mansion you can use. Will that do?”
“Yellowrock Clan Home?”
“Yeah.”
“That’ll do. But I have new rules.” She put the lipstick and the comb away. “No uninvited vampires crashing the wedding or the reception. No undead mayhem. No hot and cold running revenants. No were-creatures at all, with the exception of Brute and Rick, if he can get away from the case he’s working on, which doesn’t look likely.” Rick, her old partner and my former boyfriend, had been invited. “I’ll be annoyed if you paranormal psychos ruin my wedding. And you don’t want me annoyed.”
I met her eyes in the mirror over the sinks and realized that this had to be a new addition since Leo died. Vamps never had mirrors. In the reflection, I could see how happy and afraid Jodi was.
Sudden tears gathered in her blue eyes, and she said, “Some people are only ever allowed one chance at happiness. And Homer will die working for you. He’ll stand up and take a bullet. And die. For you.”
Softly I said, “Wrassler doesn’t know it, but he’s about to be promoted to administrator of security at HQ. Eli already has the paperwork done. It’s a desk job, Jodi, with an increase in salary and lots of power and pomp and circumstance. It was going to be my wedding present to y’all.” Among other things. I’d had it all planned out. It was to be a surprise, but I didn’t mind telling her. She needed it now.
Tears spilled out over her lids, and I realized she had panicked when she’d heard about gunfire at HQ. “So who will be taking care of you when you’re here?”
“Derek will be head of my various security details, including protection at the clan home, my personal home, and all my NOLA traveling. Eli and Alex will continue to be my personal security elsewhere, as well as my partners in everything else. Koun and Tex will take over bodyguard detail. It’s been planned for weeks.”
She threw her arms around me. The top of her head came to my shoulder. Awkwardly, I patted her back with one hand. I so sucked at hugs.
“I hate you,” she said.
“For making you cry?”
“For not telling me sooner.” She sniffed, shoved her bobbed hair back, and wiped her eyes. The tears made them even bluer. “And for having all those gorgeous clothes. There must be twenty creations in your walk-in closet.”
“You know I prefer jeans and a tee or a sweater, right?”
She laughed through her tears. “And you look fabulous in everything. Except for the fur.” She touched the pelt where my neck and shoulder met. “That would make me nuts.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m not fond of the pelt. It itches.”
She laughed some more, the teary kind of laughter. “And probably attracts fleas.”
“Don’t be mean,” I said, a smile on my face and in my voice.
“I’m too sweet to be mean,” she lied. “Let me call this in, and we can take a look at my wedding site.”
I remembered seeing the fireball crashing through. And the sprinkler system coming on. It had to be horrible. “Do we hafta?”
“Yeah. Come on. “She hooked her arm through mine and led me into the hallway and through the line of assembled humans and vamps, all of whom looked unhappy, sad, or angry, and all staring at me. “And by the way,” she said when we had passed the last one, “why were your people so bitchy when I got here?”
“Oh. That. Ummm. The blood in the shower? I got shot and sorta nearly died. I’m not supposed to die. I’m supposed to shift before I die.”
Something hit me, hard and fast. My father had died. Midshift, he had died. Maybe all skinwalkers can die if they don’t shift in time. Maybe, when I was healed in the rift, I lost my special ability to shift back faster than death could take me. That would suck. And since my DNA had been affected, it would make total sense. If vamps hadn’t been close by, I’d be dead right now. Silent, I followed Jodi through HQ to the ballroom. She walked slowly, which was good, because dying can take a lot out of a girl. I was quickly winded.
The ballroom looked worse than I expected. The stained glass had been shoved to the side in a wet, multicolored pile. There were scorch marks on all the columns and a big scorched area on the floor. The row of tables were burned, leaving only metal frames, the tops blackened crisps. The ballroom stank like chemicals and smoke and, oddly, burned hair.
Jodi said nothing. She put her hands on her hips, shoving back the exercise jacket, thrusting her boobs forward. Jodi was one of the most hourglass-shaped women I knew, but when she assumed what I thought of as her cop stance, she didn’t look petite or rounded or bosomy. She just looked mean. But at least she was dry-eyed and not teary anymore.
There were four uniformed staff with shop vacs and rug cleaners drawing up the black water. More staff were stripping off the unburned linens from most of the chairs to send them out for cleaning. Others were removing the ruined tables and carrying them outside into the night.
I looked up, expecting to see the worst, yet the ceiling wasn’t as bad as I had assumed. Only one of the arches had been broken in, only one of the stained glass “windows” had been busted. Still. There was no way to repair the roof by the time of the wedding.
Wrassler entered behind us and wrapped Jodi in his arms. Size-wise, they looked like a silverback gorilla hugging a baby chimp. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmured into her hair.
“We’re moving the ceremony and party to the Yellowrock Clan Home,” she said, steely voiced and way too calm. “We need someone to contact all the guests and let them know.”
“My people can do that,” I said.
“Yeah. They can. An
d they better.” She transferred those sweet blue eyes to me, and I nearly took a step back. “And the clan home better look like a million dollars. And the fangheads are reimbursing the caterer and the bridal supply shop for everything the fire destroyed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Or,” Wrassler said, “we can get the hole covered with a piece of plywood and get the NOLA coven to glamour the missing stained glass.”
“Oh,” Jodi said. She looked up at the ceiling and frowned. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
She should have thought of it right away, because Jodi came from a witch family.
“That’s perfect,” she said. “And Jane can pay for it.”
“I can do that,” I said. To Wrassler, I added, “Spare no expense, and get every caterer and flower shop in town working to get the place up to speed. It needs to be perfect.” I turned to Jodi and said, “Whatever the coven charges. Ernestine will write a blank check.”
“Done,” Jodi said. She made a snorting sound and turned in Wrassler’s arms. They stood there for what felt like hours but was likely only half a minute. Then Jodi patted his big arm to let him know he could let go, and she walked from the room. Over her shoulder she said, “I’ll tell the officials this is now a diplomatic situation. Get the Robere’s on it.” With that, she was gone.
Fortunately, Brandon and Brian were now in town for the wedding, and though I hated to ruin what was supposed to be a festive vacation, Jodi was right. They were the best men for the job. I blew out a breath that sorta whistled.
Wrassler chuckled, but it was a sad sound, as he looked around the room. He shook his head. “You have subjects you need to meet.”
Subjects. I hated that word, now equating it with blood-servants, people who owed me something and who I had to protect. I wanted to say no, but I figured this fiasco was totally my fault, so I just nodded and let him lead the way back to a main-floor tea room, my big paw-feet silent on the flooring. “Any news from the vamp graveyard? Any sightings of Sabina or revenants or whatever?”
“No, My Queen,” Wrassler said softly. “No reports of drained humans. No reports of Mithrans being attacked.”
“Okay. Keep me informed, please.”
“I will.”
The room we stopped at was a tiny reception room, the table in the center set for tea for four. Wrassler sent me in alone. The room was empty, so was the teapot, and I was starving. Bummer. I wondered if the tea service had been set there for show, and if so, why? I had no idea how formal this meeting was, so I took the chair I would have taken had I been greeting dangerous enemies, my spine to the corner, facing the door. When I sat, my hands were shaking with fatigue. The room was small, I didn’t have a weapon, I was backed into a corner, and I was hungry enough to make me grumpy.
Beast thought at me, Is like cage. Do not like cages.
Yeah, I thought back, trying to relax in the fluffy floral chair. Unfortunately the fabric of the clothes, the chair, and my pelt started to work against each other and ride up. And itch. Sometimes I hated my pelt.
There was a discreet knock, and the door opened, admitting two men and two women, Wrassler behind them. He closed the door and stood there, clearly my security. The other four seemed at a loss until Wrassler cleared his throat and said, “Dark Queen of the Mithrans. May I introduce Dr. Pierre Paquet, who has taken over the vampire funeral home. He and his wife, also Dr. Paquet, became doctors in France in 1939. I will arrange an introduction with Dr. Solange Paquet at a later time.”
I didn’t offer my hand to the doctor, but I did give a slight, regal head bow. He returned a fast up-and-down nod, but his eyes stayed glued to my cat ears, pointed atop my head. Yeah. I’m a cat. And your queen. I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Your majesty,” he managed, sounding as if he might faint. He dropped to his knees, which made me want to laugh, but no way was I giving in to this hilarity.
“My Queen, this gentleman”—Wrassler continued to the next man—“is a blood-servant in security, second in line to Ming’s Cai. They call him Long-Knife. He has been sent to us on loan from the Master of the City of Knoxville as assistance to track the Firestarter.” There was something in his tone that said the man was more or less than just a gift. Either a prize or a troublemaker. Knowing Ming, I figured she had sent me a troublemaker. He had long dark hair, a wiry build, and eyes that might have come from the Steppes of Russia. He was also trying to hide a bad case of belligerence, which I decided to poke a bit.
I asked, “Who did you piss off in Knoxville?”
The Asian man stiffened. “Cai and I do not see eye to eye on security issues.”
“Yeah? You gonna get along with Wrassler and Derek and Eli, the people in charge of security? Despite the fact that I’d likely insult Ming if I sent you back to her with broken bones, I’ll do just that if you can’t play nice. Are you capable of following orders, or are you just a hothead with no self-control?” It was an insult. I intended it to be.
Long-Knife frowned. It took up his whole face, and it was clear he wanted to be in charge of anything and everything. He wasn’t a vamp, but had the look of a very old and very well-fed blood-servant. “I honor the Dark Queen,” he said, after a too-long silence. His accent wasn’t from an Asian country. Maybe Swedish, which was interesting. And he didn’t answer my question. Also interesting.
“Yeah? We’ll see. You can honor me by honoring them. Wrassler what else you got?”
“Your majesty. Florence is a nurse and Infermieri.” Infermieri. A healer vamp. I wondered where she had been only a couple of hours past when I was dead. I studied the female vampire Wrassler indicated. She was about five five, slim, and was wearing white nunnish gowns, like some outclan priestesses wore. Her power felt soft, warm, and flexible, not shell-like and formidable. I inclined my head to her.
“Florence is outclan,” Wrassler continued, confirming my thoughts, “one who is as independent and self-sufficient as any Mithran can be. I wish to appoint her as your personal nurse.”
“Nurse,” I said, deadpan. She had rich chestnut-toned hair up in a bun, brown eyes, and the kind of complexion that came from another time, another place. “Florence as in Florence Nightingale?”
“An unfortunate coincidence,” she said, her voice lightly accented. Maybe Italian. Maybe something similar.
Wrassler started to speak, and she raised a hand, stopping him.
“I will speak for myself,” she said. “I was turned by Lincoln Shaddock, before World War II, and left the scion lair after four years.”
Most fangheads had to cure for ten years, rule of thumb, before they could control their bloodlust enough to be among humans. “That was . . . fast.” That was Amy Lynn Brown fast. And Shaddock had never told Leo or me that he had turned another vamp who went through the devoveo so quickly.
“Yes, ma’am. I returned to Europe to visit my children and was trapped there by the start of the Second World War, unable to return to my maker. Following my son, a doctor, I went to work as a nurse in a mobile military hospital near the front lines. When my son was killed in a bombardment, I took over the medical care of 1,027 soldiers. My Mithran blood saved many. After the war, I sent papers to Lincoln Shaddock that I would be outclan, and I served under the outclan priestess Susanna. I was then, and I remain today, unaligned. I will save any that I can.”
The fact that another wonder-blood vamp came from Linc’s line was more than interesting. Of all the people in this room, this woman was clearly the most self-contained, the most headstrong, and the most useful. She was neither disdainful, nor in awe of my magnificent ears.
“So if an enemy Mithran and I were both injured,” I said, “you would triage the one most likely to live and save that one.”
“If My Queen accepts my service, and should I swear to her for the duration of this Mithran war, then the Dark Queen would receive my assistance first, unless she was well enough to survive on her own while I cared for another.”
“Uh-huh.
Triage I understand.” In the years before I came to NOLA, I had taken a course as an emergency medical technician. I understood saving the savable, but I could tell from Wrassler’s expression that what she had suggested was not acceptable. “But if you saved my enemy and my enemy then killed me before you could save me, what good would that do? Wouldn’t that make you foresworn?”
Her head tilted and her brown eyes narrowed as she considered my question. I hadn’t studied under Leo for nothing. I added, “You would be serving the Dark Queen of all Mithrans, not some”—I searched for and found a word a woman of her time might understand—“not some ragamuffin.”
Her lips pursed, and I could see she was about to bargain with me for terms of her service. “I will stabilize the Dark Queen first, followed by any humans. Then I will stabilize your Mithran enemies and will stake them to keep them paralyzed. Then I would fully heal you. In that order.”
“That would take a lot of blood,” I said.
“In one night, I stabilized eighty-seven humans and only fed three times. I did not drain my victims.”
I looked at Wrassler and he nodded. This woman was way more than she appeared, had powerful blood, and amazing self-control. “Why are you here?” I asked her. “In New Orleans. Offering to be my nurse.”
“I worked with Edmund, the Emperor of Europe, and Grégoire, the Blood Master of all of France, who is also your warlord. I saw what they were trying to accomplish, this new world of Mithrans who are bound to a new law. I read the Vampira Carta of the Americas, and I listened to them speak of this Dark Queen who would usher in a new and better time. Their war in Europe is now ended, and they will come here to be formally recognized. By the Dark Queen. I have come to serve this queen. You.”
I needed a nurse because I was breakable and mortal. Right. I looked at Wrassler. “You set this up?”
