by Faith Hunter
Storm and Derek dead in the street. Raisin dead. Adan dead. Bruiser reading vamps, trying not to bind them, his face showing nothing. Nothing at all of the misery he had been feeling at taking on the burden of such a terrible act. Monique headless-dead. Gramma and Ka being loaded into the SUV and taken to the witch null prison, where they were now, under guard. I had a bad feeling about them, but despite the evil they had done, they weren’t mine to sentence. They were the problems of Panther Clan Elders. They were Aya’s responsibility, unless they got free and killed witches or humans in my city. So far as I could prove, they hadn’t, and until they did, my hands were bound. Once they killed the people I was sworn to protect, all bets were off. I’d take their heads. Kill. Again.
I rolled out of bed, showered, and did the girly things I needed to do in this shape.
Wearing a plush bathrobe, I padded barefoot out of the bath to find my bed had been made while I was in the shower, and my weapons had been laid out on the spread. I figured Quint had been involved, though in this form, I couldn’t really differentiate her scent her over the blood and vamp aromas carried on the air system.
The noise in the hallway had decreased as vamps and their dinners paired off, or tripled off, or multipled off for blood sharing. My stomach growled, and I thought about walking barefoot and robed down to the kitchen, but I didn’t want to appear to be presenting myself as a potential dinner to any vamps. I threw open the closet doors, and the first thing I saw was a brand-new set of armor in a gorgeous gold, which hadn’t been here before. I no longer knew how many suits of armor I owned. I knew what one set cost. The Dark Queen’s fashion and defensive wardrobe expenditures had to be astronomical. I shoved the gold suit aside on its hanger.
Fortunately the clothing in the closet had been replaced and was all stuff I liked—no weird colors, just black, gold, and red—so I could mix and match. I wasn’t good with fashion, but I figured even I couldn’t mess up with the minimal color choices. The pants and skirts were all black, except the one scarlet dancing skirt that had to be a full circle of the lightest flowing silk. Everything in the closet had slides at the waist with decorative or hidden buttons to give me inches where I needed them. The pockets were mostly faux, so I could always carry concealed. The necklines of the tops were loose and flowing or skintight stretchy stuff. Two shirts had crossover necklines to be worn over a tank or camisole. Each piece had been made with shape-shifting and weapons in mind.
It should be easy to decide what to wear. I started with the narrow cabinets to the sides of the closet and pulled open drawers that held undies and bras in my size, most way too fancy. But I found a few things tucked away that were more useful than lace, satin, and silk, as if someone other than Madame Melisende had snuck them in. Go Quint. I pulled on cotton undies, a Lycra jogging bra, and a body-hugging T-shirt. I had more boobs again, which was nice, but I needed padding to protect my more delicate bits from weapon harnesses. Satisfied with the start, I studied the clothing.
Tonight was the scheduled duello between my executioner and the warrior chosen by the latest invader, Shaun MacLaughlinn, assuming he showed up after breaking parley and attacking us. It was also the date of the execution of the vamps in the basement, which Shaun surely knew, and so he might show up at HQ to attack again and to try and get his people back. Who knew with suckheads? Knowing he had been working with Monique, Granny, and Ka, and that his cohorts were now dead or imprisoned, he might be planning most anything tonight. It was what any self-respecting vamp would do—promise to be on best behavior, cheat, promise again, and then cheat again. I should wear the armor. So maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as I had hoped.
A soft knock sounded on the door, and I heard a voice say, “It’s Quint.”
Despite only having a human nose, under the door, I smelled seafood and only one person. “Come,” I said, unlocking the door, drawing on the robe and palming a throwing knife. Just in case.
The door opened, and the scent of fresh shrimp seared with peppers and homemade bread hot from the oven filled the room. Quint carried in a tray over her head, like a waiter in a fine restaurant, and laid out my meal on the tiny table in the corner. It had drop-down sides, and when they were lifted, it could easily seat three. There was a pitcher of iced green tea with lots of lemon, a green salad, bacon-wrapped asparagus, a bottle of wine, which we both knew I wouldn’t appreciate, and the fabulous shrimp.
I placed my chair in the corner, kept the throwing knife in my lap, and sat. Quint watched my every move, and though there was no way she could have seen the small blade, I was pretty sure she knew it was in my lap. Out of the fixins, I put a po’boy together. Though the asparagus was an odd contribution, the bacon made it all work.
“So good,” I mumbled through a mouthful.
“Why did you open the door without checking if I was alone?” Quint asked. “You did the same thing at your house when Thema and I were together. Yet you sit with a throwing knife ready to defend against me.”
I chewed and swallowed. Took a sip of the lemon green tea. It was pretty good, for iced stuff. “I could smell food. And you. At the house, I could smell you and Thema. And I carry the knife because you’re a sociopath, and I’m not one hundred percent sure of you yet.” I shrugged.
Quint studied me, her body deceptively lax and loose. “Most people can’t tell that about me. My family doesn’t know. The only other person who knew is dead. How do you?”
“All animals know. It’s in your body language. Small things.” I didn’t offer to tell her what things, especially in light of the other person who knew is dead comment. I was getting smarter in this world of bloodsuckers, other paras, and humans with issues.
Her expression didn’t change. She turned her back on me and looked at my closet. “Tonight you have a duello, which may not take place, though you will know soon. And after that, there may be executions. Or not. The prisoners at HQ might agree to go to new masters.” She shrugged. “Either way, you must be appropriately attired. Your scarlet armor has been cleaned and is airing out. I can have your black armor or the white armor sent over. But if you don’t like the idea of armor again, the black pants, scarlet crossover shirt, and black jacket would be acceptable. With the extra body mass, you no longer look weak and defenseless. The business clothes give an aura of strength, as in, you’re so tough and well protected you don’t need armor.”
“Fine. In which case, you can stand in front of me and take any shots,” I joked.
“Of course,” Quint said, as if it went without saying. “I’ll have your black dancing shoes sent over. Your extra weight doesn’t appear to have affected your height or shoe size.” She pulled the items out of my closet and hung them on a rack she suspended from the closet door top. “What are you going to do with your hair?”
“Something basic. Tight braid. Tied in a fighting queue at my nape in case I have to armor up after all. I’ll do it and my makeup myself.” I didn’t want her touching my hair again. I pushed away from the table. “Take the tray. Be back in twenty, armored and armed.”
“Of course,” she said again. Quint stopped. “Your sense of smell is much better than human, even in human form?”
“Yes.”
“Can you smell sickness? Emotions?”
“In Beast form and half-form, yes. Not so well in this form.”
“I see.” She left the room as she came in, tray up high.
When she was gone, I let out the breath I had been holding. Quint was a seriously scary woman. Beast purred deep inside. Good predator woman.
Yeah. She is.
* * *
* * *
“The Sangre Duello will take place as arranged in parley,” Bruiser said softly.
“Why?” I asked, my question serious. “They attacked us. Multiple times. Why should we give them opportunity again?”
“Because if there is no official duel, they will continue to attack us, killing our people. If Koun wins, they will likely use treachery, attack af
ter the duel, and then we can destroy all your enemies, who will be gathered in one place. There will be an end to it. If Koun loses, we can use parley and protect our people. Again, there will be an end to it.” He smiled at my expression. “The Dark Queen’s honor will not be besmirched. I promise. Our people have parleyed the details and announced them to the world.”
“Treachery can work both ways,” I said.
Bruiser smiled slowly. “Yes. It can. We will be ready. We will be on our home grounds.”
Eli, at my side in a rolling chair, said, “We got this, babe.”
I sighed and blew out a breath. I kicked off the dancing shoes Quint had messengered over from my home and put my feet up on the big table in the security room, the massive screens overhead. “I’m listening.”
“A swordsman named Dovic, no last name, or perhaps no first name,” Bruiser said, “is to be Koun’s opponent.”
Alex, sitting at the main comms station, said, “Dovic is legendary in vamp sword fights. He always fights to the death, no first-blood matches, no tourneys. He’s an all-or-nothing kinda guy.” He pointed overhead. “Watch.”
On the center overhead screen, I watched Dovic fight. Though there were multiple duels, watching them didn’t take long. Each ended with Dovic’s opponent beheaded in record time. The longest duel was forty seconds. His use and competency with a multitude of weapons was impressive, the fights I viewed involved: two flat Spanish dueling swords (one short, one long), three different weights of cutlasses, axes, hatchets, a dueling pistol and a sword brandished together, a ball-peen hammer and a switchblade, a dull pencil and a butcher knife, and a silver vamp-killer and fillet knife. No matter what weapon or combo of weapons was chosen by his opponent, he won. Even for a vamp, he was freaky fast.
Dovic was blond, blue-eyed, and scarred, including a deep, puckered scar from his right eye, across his cheek, to his chin, which meant he had fought when he was human too. As I watched the matches, I also watched Koun, sitting on the far side of the large conference table, a delicate cup of tea at his elbow, both hands slowly and lovingly cleaning his swords. They were the kind of dueling swords used in the Mithran version of the Spanish sword fighting method known as La Destreza Verdadera, also known as the Spanish Circle, or the cage of death.
I had seen Koun fight in the Mithran La Destreza technique. He was beautiful in motion. But Dovic was fast, intent, and purposeful. And his current master had an amulet that might make his scions even faster. I wanted to say, Stop this. You can’t do this. But there was no stopping it. And my fighting was sloppy at best, incompetent at my worst, and I was mortal. And my life meant the lives of too many others. So I couldn’t take over.
Koun wasn’t naked, the way he usually fought. And he wasn’t wearing the black armor I had seen him fight in. He was armored in the latest version of Dyneema, Kevlar, and a layer of anti-magic-spelled cloth to deflect spells and spelled weapons. His armor was nearly white, swirled with shimmering, crystalline blue in the same shapes as his blue Celtic tattoos, as brilliant as the pale crystal of his eyes. Magic moved through the tat shapes, powerful energies. He looked spectacular, frozen, like a glacier. Only his hands and his head from earlobes up were uncovered. His blond hair was pulled back into a fighting queue. As if he knew I was watching him, he smiled slightly.
Returning to the screen, I said, “Show me the La Destreza ones again. Quarter speed.”
Alex said, “Yes, My Queen.” The scenes moved across the screen, one at a time, the endings all the same. Death.
“Eighth speed,” I said.
Eli tapped his earbud, slipped away from his chair, and out the door. I watched him go and returned my attention to the overheads.
The scenes played out again, and this time I caught it. Dovic had a tell. Calmly I said, “The left elbow.”
“Your eye has improved. And yes. Always, My Queen,” Koun said. “Every single time. I tried to teach him better.”
I blinked. Better? “You were Dovic’s teacher?”
“For many years. He was an exemplary pupil, faster than any Mithran or Naturaleza I ever fought. Faster than I am by far.”
“So him being here, the two of you fighting. Is what,” I said, part question, part demand.
Without looking up, Koun said, “The sad end to Dovic’s hubris. I shall claim his swords and his land when I take his head. Fighting your battles has been profitable.” Koun lifted a square of chamois and polished his short blade. “Your kind gift of armor is much appreciated.”
I frowned and looked around the room. No one was looking at me. I had a feeling I had missed something. Then it hit me. When I was Leo’s Enforcer, my armor had been supplied to me as part of my payment. That meant that I was—or should have been—providing Koun, my chief strategist, with all the high-tech armor and weapons at my disposal. I said, “You’re my warrior. There’s more where that came from.”
The door behind me opened, and Eli entered. He dropped to one knee, holding up a small box, his eyes meeting mine, full of demand. “Forgive me, My Queen. I forgot to retrieve your favor. For your warrior.”
I took the box, which was lightweight wood, carved all over in geometric designs. I opened it to see a lace-edged scrap from my closet upstairs. My first thought was that he’d brought me a pair of the fancy panties, but I held in my nervous, shocked laugh and lifted it out. Eli looked from my face to the hanky, kissed his own fingers, and looked at Koun. I put it all together. Fights and tourneys, ancient ways, and the favor bestowed on a warrior who was fighting for his queen. Right. Crap. I had forgotten that I was supposed to be using all the formal vamp war etiquette too. Koun wasn’t a modern-day European, but he had fought through all the centuries since he was turned. He would understand and expect this kind of stuff, and I never remembered to do it.
Drawing on all my fancy vamp court talk, figuring what I might say, I stood and walked around the table to Koun. “My warrior and executioner.” I stuck a hand into my pocket and pulled out one of the small throwing blades strapped to my thigh. I pricked my finger with its tip and a tiny bead of blood rose to the surface of my skin.
Koun went still, his hands cradling the polishing cloth and sword.
I wiped the blood onto the pale pink hanky, staining it permanently. “In you I am well pleased,” I said. I kissed the hanky and extended it.
Koun breathed in the scent of my blood. Raised his eyes from the hanky, meeting mine. He slid from the chair to both knees, head bowed. The chamois had vanished, and his hand was bare as he raised an empty palm. “My Queen.”
I placed the hanky into his palm. “Be safe. I’ll pray for you.” I stopped. “And I’ll pray for your soul.”
His eyes jerked to mine. His entire body shuddered. “My Queen?”
“I don’t believe your soul is gone. No matter what you may have seen once upon a time.” No. It wasn’t gone. It was stored somewhere. Like in a pocket universe, the kind the Glob stored energy in.
Tears filled Koun’s pale eyes, making them glisten. He whispered, “My Queen.” He kissed the hanky and tucked it inside his armor over his heart.
Behind us, both doors opened, creating a wide gap. Eli pulled two weapons and aimed there. Leo stood in the opening, unarmed, dressed in black, his hands clasped in front of him. Brute, the white werewolf stood at his leg. Something like joy passed through me but was quickly gone. Replaced by a frisson of fear. Was he here to challenge me for his city?
“Hold your positions,” Eli said to the security teams on comms. The room went silent. “Alex?”
Alex said softly into his mic, “No sign until now.”
That meant Leo had gotten inside without anyone knowing. I had a feeling that Brute had brought him, timewalking.
Alex added, “No weapons. No scions. Not here to take over.”
Leo said, “I do not wish to retake this city. Such responsibilities are no longer mine. I am here to say one thing.”
Slowly, Eli lowered his weapons, but he didn’t holster them.<
br />
Koun studied the former master of the city but made no move to go to Leo or to bow to him. He didn’t lift his sword either. He just waited, breathing in Leo’s scent as if it told him something important.
Leo looked at me. “I am not here to take part in or interfere in the events that may unfold tonight. Such is not my place. But if you need me, you may call. Well done, Jane Yellowrock. Well done.”
He placed one hand on the werewolf’s head. Light, brilliant, in the shape of a cat’s eye, burst out. And they were gone.
“Ooookaaay,” I said slowly. “Brute is Leo’s . . . transporter.”
“No sign of them anywhere,” Alex said. “No alarms, no monitors triggered.”
Eli holstered two weapons. He was armored, which I hadn’t noted until now. He glanced at Alex. “If you got that on vid, send it out on the V-web.”
I didn’t know what that was, but I could wait for info later. “Join me for tea?” I asked Eli. “We need to go over the security for the duello.”
“I am honored,” Eli said, his dark eyes twinkling. “Thank you. My Queen.” Together we left the room. As the door closed, I thunked his head. His laughter echoing down the hallway was the best thing I’d heard all day. “Babe,” he said, “Leo didn’t kill us. And he’s right. You did good.”
* * *
* * *
The original form of La Destreza was different from the vamp version. Vamps had added from other longsword fighting systems, calling it the cage of death. They used two swords, usually one long, one shorter; their armor, when they used it, was no longer the original stuff worn in Spain but was updated. And in real combat, they never covered their faces. Matches took place in a fighting circle, and the goal of this one was to wound one’s opponent so horribly that taking a head was an easy feat. But I didn’t want my enemies inside HQ, so the parley had determined the duello would take place elsewhere, and no one had told me the final location. Which was Yellowrock Clan Home.
I hadn’t been to the official clan residence in ages. I was pretty sure that the last time I was there was the day I shot Derek. Who was now dead.
