Blood Cross: A Jane Yellowrock Novel

by Faith Hunter

  “Christie!” Bliss said.

  “She’s right,” I said, as I pulled a chair out with my foot and sat. “I am Christian and I guess I’m pretty inhibited—by your standards.” I looked at Tia and smiled gently. “For instance, I’m not flexible enough to hang from the ceiling while a vamp is feeding on me, especially not there.” Tia giggled, the sound childlike and innocent, which, thanks to the parents who sold their daughter out of the trunk of their car for drug money, she would never be. To Bliss, I said, “But I’m also a Cherokee, and I’m learning about the spiritual practices of the People, hoping to study their magic.”

  Bliss looked quickly away, her face shutting down. Bliss was still in the witch closet (or maybe she didn’t know she was a witch?) and any mention of magic use made her uncomfortable.

  I poured myself a mug of hot green tea from a carafe on the table, and a warm lemony scent wafted out. I was pretty sure it was a sencha green, with lemon grass, ginger, and chamomile for flavor. I added two spoonfuls of sugar and stirred, tilting my head to look at Christie. Today her hair was braided into two plaits like a schoolgirl’s and her face was bare of her usual harsh makeup. She wore no rings or chains through her multiple piercings, and for once she was mostly covered, if you counted a sheer robe over baby doll silk nightclothes as covered. I’d seen her at the dinner table dressed for an evening out with more exposed, pale skin than this. But even covered and without the steel through her flesh, her expression was worldly and jaded and watchful. Christie had always been just a bit cruel to me, as if I might want to steal what was hers.

  We invade her territory, Beast thought at me, sleepily. We are Big Cat. She is we sa.

  We sa. Little cat, or bobcat. Oh, crap. I am so stupid. I didn’t let the expression reach my face, but I suddenly understood what Beast was thinking, and it made total sense in a predator/prey way. Christie had been the biggest, baddest thing around, with her chains and whips and studded collars, until I showed up. And though she had no idea why, now she was not quite so big and bad.

  “But you?” I lied. “You scare me spitless.”

  Christie laughed, a startled bark of sound. The look she sent me was considering, measuring, maybe a hint hopeful. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’d love to watch you practice with that whip you carry sometimes.” It was Beast’s desire, not mine, but why not?

  “Christie is amazing,” Tia said, nodding, her full lips in a little bow. “She can whip a vamp until he almost bleeds. Only almost. She never breaks the skin. She’s talented.”

  I didn’t know how to handle that, but the image made Beast purr. “You each have a gift, you know,” I said, trying to find a way to bring up Bliss’s witch gift and her unknown parentage, “something special that sets you apart.”

  “You mean like Christie and her whip?” Tia asked, excited. When I nodded, her eyes widened in her coffee-and-milk-hued face. “What’s mine?”

  Okay, maybe I could have found a better way to broach the subject, but I was into it now, and I had to answer her. I floundered a moment and finally settled on the truth, even if it might not lead where I wanted it to lead. Slowly, feeling my way, I said, “You are gentle and kind and caring, and so forgiving. And ready to offer your clients not just your body, but your love and your affection. And they notice. They can tell you care.”

  Tia’s hazel green eyes had widened as I spoke, her mouth forming an O of surprised pleasure. “Do you read palms too?” She stuck out her hand, palm up, face eager.

  “No.” I shook my head. “No palms.”

  “Do Christie,” she said.

  I slouched back in my chair and fiddled with the tea mug, taking a sip of the sweet lemony tea, not quite sure how I had gotten myself into this. “Christie . . . is bold and adventurous. And controlled. She has to be to keep from hurting the wounded people who come to her for . . . um . . .” For wild, domination-based, bloody sex? No. “ . . . for help to meet their . . . special needs. And she’s brave and smart. And I think she’s observant and reads people real well.” When I stole a glance at Christie, she seemed taken aback, but not displeased. Thoughtful, she bit into a pastry, red jelly squeezing out the end, and she nodded as she chewed.

  “Do Najla,” Tia said.

  I looked at Najla, her skin so black it looked bluish in the dim light. “Najla is harder. She’s a survivor. She keeps secrets close to her heart. But if I was looking for a friend, I’d pick her in a heartbeat, because I don’t think she’d ever betray me if she finally gave her friendship.”

  Najla’s eyes narrowed as if she were picking through my words for something to pounce on. Finding nothing, she canted her head and stared at me, hard. Tia clapped her hands, excited. “That’s Najla. When the rogue vampire attacked Katie that time, she grabbed all the girls upstairs and barricaded the door to her room and broke up a chair and gave out stakes. She was gonna kill it if it got in. Do Bliss! Do Bliss!”

  This was my chance in, but I knew I could screw it up big-time if I said the wrong words. I chose a Krispy Kreme donut and bit in. It was cream filled and chocolate iced, my very favorite, and was perfect with the lemon-drop tea. As I chewed and thought, I took in the room. This was the first time I’d been in it since the rogue attacked. The black-wood, antique dining room furniture he’d destroyed had been replaced with more modern pieces of burled pecan wood, with Spanish wrought-iron curlicues on the pedestal legs and chair backs. The walls had been repaired and repainted a warm milk chocolate, and the damaged paintings of Katie that had lined the walls and the heavy draperies had been cleaned and rehung. I swallowed the donut and licked my fingers. Drank my tea. And became aware that the four girls were watching me, silent. And they were never silent.

  “Bliss,” I said. They leaned in closer. “Bliss has gifts far beyond most people. She can smell things other people can’t, hear things they can’t. And I bet she can see things other people can’t, or see things in a different way from most people.”

  “Like the old ladies. Remember?” Tia looked at the girls, one hand making a fast circle as if speeding them up. “Three times now. We all saw five old women, but Bliss said they were really younger, and had blue and black sequins all over.” Tia shrugged as if to say, “See, like that.”

  “Yeah,” I said, carefully. “Blue and black sequins” was a way that power signatures might be described if one didn’t know what they were. “Bliss would see things differently because she can see through magical glamours. She has what the Irish might call ‘the sight.’ ”

  Bliss stood abruptly, so fast her chair rocked and spun halfway around. Silent, her blue-black hair swinging, she left the room. Tia’s mouth opened and tears gathered in her eyes. “She’s mad. But the sight sounds like a good thing.” She looked at Najla and Christie, pleading. “It’s a good thing, right?”

  Christie looked at me, her eyes cold. “Not if you want to keep it secret, it isn’t.”

  Tia looked from Christie to me, tears dropping over her lids and spilling down her cheeks. “Bliss?” she called, and trailed her friend out of the room. Najla gave me a look that could have cured meat and followed them. I could hear their footsteps as they raced the stairs to their rooms on the second story.

  “Real smooth, Yellowrock,” Christie said. “How you gonna tell her she’s witch-blooded when she don’t want to know?”

  “You knew?” I asked.

  “Pretty sure. She’s got the sight, like you said. But she doesn’t want to talk about her parents or her life before here. Katie said to give her room to deal with it in her own way.”

  Which would have been nice to know. “You’ve all seen five glamoured women a few times?” When she nodded, it was stiffly, as if she wanted to lie and say no, but couldn’t see how to pull it off. “Where? And it was always the same women?” I asked because I had seen something like that once before but couldn’t quite bring it to mind.

  “In the Quarter a couple times. In the Warehouse District once. Bliss has a regular, a vamp client who s
ends a car for her and brings her to an upscale apartment in the district, so she’s there pretty often. Tia has a regular on Royal Street she sees twice a week. Don’t know about it being the same women, but it was the same glamour each time. Middle aged, dowdy, a little plump. Why?”

  “Not sure. But would you pass the word? Next time someone sees them, call me? I’d like to get a look.”

  Christie rolled her eyes. “Sure. Whatever.” She slid a punk-pink cell phone across to me. “It isn’t working yet, but you can input your number. Then get outta here. I need my beauty sleep.”

  I parked Bitsa in public parking near the front door of the NOPD on South Broad Street. The power was back on here, traffic lights working, air conditioners humming, marked units whizzing out to answer calls. I wasn’t armed, but I did have my cell phone, change for vending machines if I got hungry, a spiral notebook, and a camera. And here, the cell towers were up and running. Sweet.

  I was hoping to find info and evidence about witches and vamps and the problems between them, as well as info on vamp history that might lead me to the young-rogue maker. It wasn’t kosher to bring a camera into NOPD, but unless they searched me, I wasn’t going to mention it. I wanted evidence, and if I was left alone with it, I was going to take copious photos and e-mail them to myself. I could take pics with the cell, but I didn’t know its memory capacity, and I might need a lot. I tucked the camera and cell phone into my boot.

  Inside, it was a madhouse; a couple dozen manacled malcontents reeking of vodka, beer, malt liquor, wine, cheep perfume, and reefer were waiting to be processed. Officers were darting here and there—okay, were meandering here and there—and computer keys were clacking, radios, phones both cellular and landline, were ringing, PCs were beeping, printers were clattering, and the law enforcement 911 radios were chattering. It was oddly cozy, yet I was as nervous as a cat in a room full of wolves.

  Beast perked up and paid attention to the organized confusion. Her claws were doing that milking thing they did to my psyche when she was interested in something, claws out, a sharp dig into my mind, claws retracted. It wasn’t comfortable, but it did keep me alert.

  Breathing just a bit too fast, starting a nervous sweat, I signed in and waited for the armed guard to look over my credentials and make a phone call. While waiting, I checked my cell phone and saw I still had bars. Cool. Now, if the bars extended further into the walls of NOPD, and if I could get the camera and cell inside, I’d be set to go.

  When the armed officer finally waved me through, he had to shout directions over a loud confrontation at the front door. A multipierced cross-dresser in a skintight purplesequined evening gown—and nothing else—had started screaming about his right to go to the ladies’ room, despite the clear evidence of male dangly bits jiggling against the purple dress. Thanks to her—his?—histrionics, I was able to hand off my cell and camera to myself and not set off the metal detector as I scooted through.

  Moving fast, feeling a trickle of sweat slide down my backbone, I tucked both items back into my boot, accepted my visitor’s badge, and took the stairs to the third floor, as per the shouted directions. I meandered my way to the back of the room, which was done in office boring and smelled of Starbucks; someone had made a run and the paper cups were scattered among the desks. By the time I saw Rick LaFleur, I was cool and relaxed—or at least I looked that way. Rick was sitting in an uncomfortable-looking desk chair, his feet on the desk, crossed at the ankle. The cop had black eyes and black hair, what the locals called a Frenchy look. And he was gorgeous, by far the prettiest man I’d ever known. He also had intricate tattoos of a bobcat and a mountain lion—my animals—hidden beneath his shirt, on one shoulder, and a ring of big-cat claws on the other. And likely a lot of scars since the attack by a sabertooth lion’s claws.

  We hadn’t seen each other since the attack, hadn’t even chatted over the phone, except for the one time when I told him what I could about the violent confrontation he’d barely lived through. Now Rick watched me as I crossed the room. He wasn’t smiling. He looked cold, aloof, and not particularly friendly.

  What was it about my male acquaintances and dour faces? Whatever it was, I wasn’t taking it sitting down. That way led to being sidelined and one-upped. Beast had other ideas too, and I could feel her peering through my eyes. Provocative was Beast’s middle name. Following her lead, I slapped Rick’s feet off the desk and took their place. “Long time no see, Ricky-Bo. You look remarkably healthy for cat food.”

  He narrowed his eyes and set his feet on the floor. Not that he’d had much choice. His Frye Western boots and ratty jeans had been hanging unsupported in midair until he lowered them. Rick wasn’t happy. Until recently, he had been undercover. I had followed him in beast form, and listened in on a conversation or two, including pillow talk. I had also saved his life, though his memories of that event were confused and befuddled. If he remembered the attack clearly, he’d be more appreciative, I assured myself. Of course, he was still on administrative duty. According to Troll, the majordomo at Katie’s Ladies and Rick’s uncle, he was permanently out of the undercover business now that the vamps in town knew he was a cop. So maybe he wasn’t appreciative after all.

  I leaned in to him and spoke softly. “Ricky-Bo, I need access to any files or reports about young rogues roaming free, say, in the last few years. NOPD got any vamp files?”

  His eyes sharpened and I could see things taking place behind them. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like whatever he came up with. “Maybe. What do you have to trade?”

  A negotiation. I should have known. “How about your life? Remember that one? And how about the rogue who killed the cops, your friends and fellow officers. You saw the photographs. You owe me.”

  Rick’s expression closed down, into that mask they all do, cop-face. “Maybe, maybe not. How ’bout you share what you’re working on for the vamps? If I like it, we’ll see if NOPD has anything you can use.”

  I let a bit of Beast shine through my eyes and leaned in. Rick didn’t run, but his body went still and I smelled adrenaline creep from his pores. I spoke low, so only he would hear, and Beast watched his eyes, evaluating him like a predator. “My contract is to bring down a vamp who’s making young rogues and setting them free, uncured, to feast on the populace. I got nothing yet, so sharing is out for now, but the quid pro quo was already satisfied.”

  I let my eyes drop to his chest and the sabertooth claw scars hidden beneath his shirt. I had a flash of memory. An image of Rick in a pool of blood in the middle of a ruined room. It was as fresh and cutting as that night.

  His eyes darkened, as if he was seeing that night too, the memory of the attack. He swore but the words were without heat, his gaze turned inward, a hand on his scarred chest. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but I didn’t like the lost look growing in his eyes. I nudged his knee with mine. “So. You gonna tell me what I need to know? About the vamps?”

  With a visible effort, he pulled himself back into the present and his gaze met mine, searching and oddly vulnerable. For a moment, I thought he might reach up and touch my face, but he sighed instead, and the sound had an “I give up” quality about it. “Yeah. I guess you got the QPQ right. I don’t know what it is about you, Yellowrock.” As I had no idea what he was talking about, I said nothing and after a moment he blew out another breath, this one sounding irritable again but without the resigned note. “Come on.” And with that, I was in. Rick LaFleur, former undercover cop, now on administrative duty, led me down several flights of stairs to a room with no name, only a number: 666.

  “Cute,” I said of the numbers.

  “Yeah, cop humor. We keep the weird-shit cases and the woo-woo files in here.” He sounded like his old self again, lighthearted and carefree, no trace of that night in his voice. He opened the door and preceded me in. And I heard a metal drawer slide open. Over Rick’s shoulder I saw Jodi Richoux. She was sliding a slim red folder into a metal file cabinet and the look she shot me was full of mean
ing, if I’d only been smart enough to know what the meaning was. But whatever it was, Jodi wasn’t surprised to see me here. In fact, I had a feeling she had been expecting me, had seen me arrive, and beaten me to the room. I sniffed the air, smelling her apprehension as she closed and locked the cabinet drawer.

  I’d had beers with Jodi before Mol arrived. We weren’t exactly bosom buddies, but we had ended up on the dance floor, half drunk and whooping it up. It had been nice having a gal pal of sorts, as I had been kinda lonely until Molly came. “LaFleur, Yellowrock,” she said.

  “Richoux,” we both said back, in offbeat unison. She nodded and left the room, giving me that look again, and glanced back to the drawer she had opened. And then she was gone.

  The room was walled in metal file cabinets painted gray and military green, surrounding a long table and six metal folding chairs. No windows. Just two bare bulbs lighting the room in a harsh blaze. Rick patted the file drawer that Jodi had just closed, saying, “Everything we’ve gathered on the vamps since they came out of the closet is right here.” He jingled a ring of keys, selected one, and unlocked the file cabinet.

  Everything was a two-drawer file cabinet labeled 666- 0V. On top of the cabinet were stacked three cardboard boxes. I opened a cabinet drawer to find folders divided into sections with little tabs—Clans, History, Miscellaneous, that kind of thing. My fingers itched with impatience, and I pulled a thick one on history and opened it. Loose pages shifted with a dry, raspy sound like snakes slithering on rock. On top was a police report from 1978.

  “Ahhh,” I said, not looking up from the folder, excitement rising. “I may be a while.”

  “I’m locking you in.”

  “What? No.” I wasn’t crazy about being stuck in a locked room anywhere and Beast didn’t like it at all. I felt her staring out of my sockets, a growl low in her throat that I caught before it erupted out of mine.