Blood Cross: A Jane Yellowrock Novel

by Faith Hunter

  Bettina was the Rousseau clan master. Her hands had smelled of the killers at the party. She knew something. Part of me wanted to storm the Rousseau stronghold immediately, bare my teeth, break down the gates, and beat them all for info. But when dealing with kidnappings, you had to be careful. One wrong move and . . . I breathed deeply, trying to get my thoughts under control. Not succeeding much. Beast rumbled disgust deep in my mind. Flexed her claws and cut into me. Pain cleared my head.

  When I reached the kitchen, the kettle was starting a breathy whistle and Leo was measuring out tea leaves, his shirt buttoned and tucked into the black trousers, long sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows. He looked earthy and harmless, or as harmless as a gorgeous, no-longer-human, clinically deceased man can look in his shirtsleeves. Drop-dead gorgeous. If I hadn’t been so scared for Angelina and Evan and Bliss, I might have smiled at my whimsy.

  His feet, like mine, were bare. There was something unnerving about Leo’s bare feet, long and slender with a few black hairs on the upper knuckles of his big toes. He glanced up at me standing in the doorway and back, pouring steaming water over the leaves in the teapot. “I apologize for my bit of temper.”

  That what they’re calling it? A bit of temper? But I didn’t say it, settling on “Ooookay.”

  “Katie and I used this very pot for tea during the war.” With a quick smile he added, “That would be World War One.” He set the kettle on the metal rack and covered the leaves. I put cold fingers on the derringer.

  I itched to be hunting the kits but . . . where? I ground my molars and went for cups, choosing two aqua mugs. I put sugar on the counter and got Cool Whip and cream out of the fridge. “Yeah?”

  Leo put a tea cozy over the pot for it to steep. Making tea. The normality of it all was creepy so soon after the vamped-out demonstration at the foot of the stairs. Had he called a truce? Or had he forgotten about going all vampy on me? The last time he was here, he’d been intent on burning down my house and me in it. It had to be the Dolore. How close to the edge was Leo?

  “A third cup would be nice.” His tone was mild, backed by none of the power I knew he could put into his voice. “George is outside. I imagine he would like to come in.”

  Without comment, I got out another mug and went to the door. When I opened it, Bruiser was standing there, still wearing the casual open-neck shirt and jeans. He looked at my neck as if inspecting me for damage. I was pretty sure it was relief I saw before he blinked it away. “The ward is still in place here,” I said. “If you come around to the side, you can get in without the alarm going off again.”

  He nodded once and turned for the gate. No wasted words. I went back to the kitchen and got out cookies. My hands trembled when I opened them. Angie Baby had eaten two after lunch today. Now she was in the hands of a witch-vamp, and I had a bad feeling he wasn’t giving her cookies. I struggled with tears, the unfamiliar riptide of emotions pulling me under a swirl of fear and worry and grief. I sucked in a breath, fighting for control.

  Bruiser entered just as I put cookies on the plate and Leo poured the tea. One hand on his hip, Bruiser looked at the domestic scene; his brows beetled down in worry. I accepted a warm mug from Leo. After a hesitation, Bruiser did the same, holding it as if the tea were nitro. Leo sat and indicated we were to do the same, master in my house.

  No way. Not even if it kept him from whacking out. I leaned against the counter, one foot back in case I needed leverage to leap. George sat, sipping his tea, though I knew him for a coffee man. He added a teaspoon of sugar and stirred. Taking his cue, I added sugar and whipped cream to mine. When the spoons were set aside, Leo said. “George?”

  Succinct, a soldier reporting in, George said, “The Executive Vampire Council has agreed to meet with a witch delegation under diplomatic protection.” A shock zinged through me at his words. Vamps never had official dealings with witches. The last known discourse between the two races was over a hundred years ago. George slid a scrap of paper to me. “My master’s contact with the witch clans has assured me they are willing to address the council.”

  My brows went way up. I leaned in and took the small paper, tucked it into my pocket. Leo had arranged this? This took reason. I started to relax.

  “My master also understands that another member of the Everheart family coven, Evangeline, will soon arrive in New Orleans, as will Evan Trueblood, an unregistered sorcerer. Their arrival constitutes a new full coven in his city. Mr. Pellissier expects them to act as any tourist and return home when their visit is done.”

  My heart stuttered. No one but Molly and her sisters knew about Evan. Crap. I sipped my tea, mind racing. Evangeline Everheart had been pulling strings, using her connections to set up talks. A full coven meant five, Evan, Molly, Evangeline, and the children. Mr. Pellissier expects . . . My first reaction was to tell Leo to stuff it where the sun didn’t shine, but I figured with a vamp that was pretty much anywhere. His words were tantamount to a command, and probably had import in the vamp/witch chats planned. So maybe I’d better not stick my big, clawed feet into the mix. “Okay. I’ll pass along his . . . request.” Okay, so I couldn’t let it go by without a small dig at his orders.

  Leo watched, nothing in his dark eyes, or nothing human, anyway. He put down his mug with a soft tap of stoneware on wood. I felt George tighten, smelled a sudden chemical change on his skin. Not fear, not exactly, but it was close. I gathered myself, preparing for whatever was about to happen. “You have been asking about the devoveo. Why?”

  Nerves that had been twined about me for hours tightened. I set my mug down to free my hands; Leo didn’t look quite . . . right. “I had hoped the word might be important but it isn’t. The sire of the young rogues is burying his progeny—their progeny.” I shrugged. “Whatever—in secret graveyards, in the middle of a pentagram with crosses all around. And the graves stink of witch magic.” Leo didn’t react at all, his face unreadable.

  “According to my sources he’s been stealing witch children off and on for decades and killing them, I think at the graves, witch blood sacrifices. My gut’s saying that it’s all tied in with the vamp curse, but the only way that fits, even a little bit, is one note I found about drinking witch blood being a temporary cure for the devoveo.

  “But it’s only a temporary cure. Unless someone’s trying to spell it permanen—” I stopped midword. It made sense. “They’re trying to avoid devoveo—the curse—altogether. The only ones I’ve heard about who did that were the Sons of Darkness. What are they? Could they be in New Orleans?”

  Leo went still, that weird shift from nearly human to dead immovability, a block of pale marble carved into human shape. Bruiser set down his mug, claiming my attention. He blinked slowly, his face going white, high spots of color on his cheeks; his eyes were full of warning and he gave an almost infinitesimal shake of his head. “Boss?” he said, his voice too gentle, too wary.

  What did I say? It couldn’t be a big secret about devoveo, or drinking witch blood. Crap! What else did I say?

  Everything, even the air, went still and silent, so sharp it was almost cutting, for one awful moment. “You dare speak of the Sons of Darkness,” he said, his voice the barest whisper of breath. Then Leo vanished. Phased into a blur. In the visible echo of the movement he reappeared, right in front of me, in a burst of vamp-scented air. Icy dead hands like steel bars embraced me, claws cutting into me. There wasn’t time to gasp. His fangs tore into my throat. Pain ripped through me, lightning agony. I heard Bruiser shouting, “No! Leo, no!”

  Beast screamed, trying to shift, shift, shift now! Leo shook me as a dog shakes prey, shredding my throat. Teeth buried so deep I felt tendons snap and tear. My blood spurted across the room. Adrenaline shocked through me too late; I heard something heavy fall nearby, vibrating through the house. Beast screamed again. Her strength in my veins, I somehow got my hands up. Pulled two hair sticks, my motions slow as my own death. And buried them in Leo’s body. The angles were all wrong. Nowhere near his hear
t. He shook me so hard my teeth clacked together. I tasted blood, salty and sweet. The world tilted at an odd angle.

  I was falling. My blood fountained again. Landed in a bouncing heap, my blood a cascade. Drenching over a body on the floor. Spattering two legs at eye level. My carotids were severed. Again. My heart pumping out.

  Beast heaved a breath that coated my lungs with blood. Screamed and tried to shift. Got my legs up under me. Spurting blood, I/we ran toward the back of the house. Past a downed George. Crashed through the back window in a shower of antique glass and more modern storm window. Stumbled across the lawn. Beast in control.

  Darkness gathered at the edges of my vision. The world telescoped into a tiny spot of color and life. My pulse was fading. Cold clutched at me.

  I staggered toward the rocks. Something red and burning swooped up behind me.

  I sought for the snake buried in the cells of all life. I sought for Beast. But I was too injured. There was only that new emptiness at the heart of me. I managed a breath, sucking in blood mixed with the vital air. Choking. Drowning even as I bled out. I tried to cough. I fell. Landed. The rocks caught me, a cold, hard bed.

  I couldn’t remember how . . . how to shift. My hand fell on something hollow.

  The box, Beast thought at me. The box. My fingers sought inside. Touched bone. The world went dark, Beast’s voice the only sound. Mass to mass, stone to stone . . . mass to mass, stone to stone, Beast called to me, old words. Words of power. Words she knew and understood. Words she loved. Mass to mass, stone to stone . . . mass to mass, stone to stone. Beast will be big. Beast will be big!

  Gray lights dancing with black motes floated over me. Beneath me the stones cracked and spat brittle, sharp shards into the air. The red thing at my back grew, crackling with sparks. I sank deep into the snake of the jaw I clutched. Saw the pattern. X and Y. So different. So alien. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I can’t do this.

  Beast wrenched control away.

  And I shifted. Became Beast. Bones popped and muscles twanged with agony. Nerves tore, flames and ice burned along my limbs. My back arched. My throat healed. Pelt sprouted, bristling. Clothes ripped and slid into tangled, twisted bonds. Claws broke the flesh of my fingertips. I threw back my head and screamed.

  Tired, so tired. Huffing air. Panting breath. Hot. Tired. I rolled from broken stone, pulled haunches beneath me. Sitting on rocks surrounded by red light. Danger. Red light spilled around me. Beast was big. Sabertooth big. Colors were often grayed in my Beast eyes, but something of her had shifted with me.

  Hedge of thorns has been sprung, Jane thought.

  I looked at Molly’s protecting magic. Saw Jane-blood-soaked dirt and circle of red witch light. Hedge of thorns sparkled with nothingness, motes black like moonless night. They swarmed like moths, never lighting. Like the magics of the gray place for shifting. I growled. Much power here.

  Witch power is usually gray or blue. Why is Molly’s newest magic red?

  Placed paw on Jane like paw on kit. Silent. Predator is near. On the other side Leo howled like mad wolf, vamped out. Rogue. Screaming. Caged outside hedge of thorns. My stomach wrenched in hunger. Too many shifts. Not enough food. Worse than hunger times. Better too. I was Big Cat now. Very big.

  What have you done? Jane whispered, prey-fear in her thoughts.

  I opened mouth and long fangs parted. Sabertooth fangs. Good for killing. Big teeth. I roared. Lion roar, like African lion. Louder than Beast scream. Claiming territory. Claiming self. I am Beast. I/we, together, are Beast.

  Leo, chest heaving, stopped at challenge in roar. Big predator roar. I could see him. He could not see Beast. I huffed. Roared again.

  Bethany walked around side of house. She was still in skirt and turban. But now she carried spear, bones and bits of stone hanging from it, tied with twine. Raffia, Jane thought. Used by a shaman. Silly Jane thoughts. Now thinking names, words her strength. Stupid words. Words unimportant. Jane nearly died. Words did not save Jane. Only Beast saved Jane. I shoved her down, paw on her chest. Beast is alpha.

  Bethany touched Leo. He stilled. Legs wobbled. Sat onto ground, hard. Bethany pulled hair-stick stakes out of his skin. Leo hissed. Moaned. Bethany dropped sticks. Neither was silver tipped, poison to vampires. Leo said silver would not kill him. Lie? Humans lie all the time. Big cats cannot lie, scent of lie is always known. Leo was lucky. I understood lucky. Sometimes Beast ate. Sometimes prey got free. Each was luck, good for one, bad for other.

  Bethany looked at hedge of thorns. “I heard the roar. It was much like the lions of Africa, but . . .” She shook her head. “Different.” She put a hand out to touch hedge of thorns. And jerked away.

  Huffed in laughter. Panted. Rose and padded two steps to fountain, kicking torn human clothing away. No water poured from fountain top, not with hedge of thorns glowing, but water in bowl was cool. Drank. Thirst gone, I sat. Watched. Predator eyes on shaman. She opened small bag and took out packets. Poured powder into leaves and put some onto Leo’s wounds. She cut her skin. Gave Leo blood to eat. Smelled sweet. Belly rumbled. Hurting.

  Leo panted like Beast, needing air. When he had breath, he stood. His eyes still vamped. “She is a were. I felt the power of her change; the energies were familiar, exactly like the workings of the lupus clan.” Tears leaked down his face, bloody with his pain.

  Leo wiped his face, blood on his hand. But he stood straight. His eyes looked more human. “But by her roar, she is a werebeast like the one that killed my son and took his place.”

  The Dolore, Jane murmured to me. Grief.

  “Not a were.” Bethany scented air in short sniffs. “Taste her scent. Not a were, she. Her smell is different from them. Different from the cursed of Artemis, our enemy.” Bethany walked around hedge of thorns. Her feet balanced like cat, her skirt moving. She shook spear with each step, shaman dance, small bones and stones and shells crackling, rattling, like tail of snake-enemy as Bethany circled hedge of thorns. “I do not know what she is, but she is not our adversary.”

  “She asked about the Sons, and about the curse. This outsider knows about the curse.”

  “I have read the runes.” She stood beside Leo, arms wide, feet apart, toes pointing out. Butt of spear was grounded, held at angle. “The runes warn us of change, change yet again in the world of man. Perhaps this is the change foretold.”

  “You would leave her alive?” Leo had human look on face. Shock.

  Bruiser walked from house. I growled, though was safe behind hedge. Bruiser’s feet made noises to alert his alpha. “What’s that red light? What’s behind it?”

  Humans and vampires do not see beyond light. This is good.

  Bethany sniffed air. “Jane is there. And with her may be a lion. It roared.” She touched spear, face sad. “So like home.”

  “Or she may be an African lion were,” Leo said, voice stubborn, like Jane.

  “No.” Bethany tone was firm. “Not a were.”

  Bruiser licked blood from his lips. A large bruise was purple, like flower, from temple to mouth, size of big-cat paw. Remembered Bruiser body on floor. Leo hit him?

  Yes, Jane whispered. Yes . . .

  “Boss, someone might call the police. The red light is enough to attract the attention of the neighbors. We need to go.”

  Bethany turned, walked away. Bruiser took her arm. Leo stared at glow of hedge of thorns. “I do not know what you are,” he whispered. “But you tread on dangerous ground. Leave the curse alone. Do not ask questions about the Sons of Darkness. Do not pry into the devoveo. Our curse cannot be lifted. It has been tried and the price of failure was death to our young. You have never been forced to kill your own child when she lingers, eternally mad. You cannot know the grief it brings. Stop your research. Fulfill your contract. Then go. Do you understand me?”

  Beast hacked softly. Understand. But will not obey.

  As if he knew Beast’s thoughts, Leo sighed breath he did not need. Followed blood-servant Bruiser, and woman who might be mate to both o
f them, away. Car started in street. Drove away. Scents faded.

  Padded to edge of ward. Placed paw on it. Magic swirled up, tasting of nuts and plants, things Jane would eat, but Beast would not. Red ward fell in shower of sparks and blackness. Smell of burned plants. Strong ward. Good protection. Too small to fit over entire den. Should have been over entire den: Jane house, garden, rocks-of-shift. Then kits would be safe. Anger rose at thought of kits and Bliss. Needed to find them. Kill stealer of kits. Rend flesh and spill blood. Duty of mother.

  Hunger tore into belly like predator claws. Padded to house and leaped through broken back window. Went to kitchen and found meat cooked by Molly and Jane. Tore open packs. Clear plastic holding meat. Jerky. Hard and tough. But ate it. Ate it all. Hunger is angry predator.

  Went back to rocks. Hunt for kits is Jane hunt. I will give strength. The I/we of Beast will help. But Jane will stalk. I/ we lay on rocks. Thought of Jane. Mass to mass, stone to stone . . . mass to mass, stone to stone. Jane. . . . Pain and gray light sparkling. Pain, pain, pain. Rock beneath groaned and cracked. Mass to mass, stone to stone . . . mass to mass, stone to stone.

  I was stretched on the rocks, gasping. The pain was like being flayed alive. It hurt to change so often, so close together. When I could, I levered myself upright and to my feet, feeling of my face and neck and running my hands over me. My throat had new scars, the flesh ridged, the skin tender and thin. It would take a lot of shifts to regain smooth skin, but at least I seemed to be my usual size.

  Whenever I changed mass, I worried that I’d keep some or lose some. I didn’t know enough about physics to guess how I changed mass, or to guess if retaining or permanently losing mass was even possible, and so I avoided mass change, usually sticking to creatures my own size. Beast, on the other hand, liked big, which meant stealing mass from stones. Rock had no genetic structure, was clean material to take mass from. But mass exchange resulted in the rock cracking, shattering, and often exploding.