Dark Queen

by Faith Hunter

  Dressed, warmer, I got in the cab, feeling pensive. There was a protein bar in the glove box. Three, actually. I ate them all without tasting them, which was likely a good thing. I could have bought Popeyes and now be eating cold fried chicken, but I hadn’t. Not poor planning, just . . . I hadn’t wanted to stop.

  The drive back to the city was silent, the radio off, no music through the system. Thoughtful. Worried, just a little. About Beast. About Ayatas. About tonight and my schedule. It was full and it was all going to be difficult.

  When I got home, I found a parking spot a half block down the street and walked to my door in the early dark, barefooted, carrying my muddy gear. Sniffing for the scent of lemons, the smell of werewolves. But the scents were the same as ever: food, urine, dust, mold, water on the muggy breeze. Because I was so close to Beast, I smelled him even before I got to my door. The floral scent of Ayatas.

  He was still in my house.

  Moving silently, I keyed open the door and slipped inside. The lights hadn’t been turned on in the foyer and there were enough shadows to hide in. I smelled Ayatas, Eli, Alex, Edmund, and Gee, pretty much the main members of my vampire clan and my maybe-brother. And the garlicky smell of Bodat. Their voices came from the kitchen and the living room. I moved into my room and showered off the remaining mud. Dressed in a long black skirt and jacket and a starched white shirt. I made up my face, going for dramatic, with black eyeliner and lots of mascara though it made my eyelids feel heavy. Scarlet lipstick. Working clothes.

  I pulled on a thigh rig weapon harness and weaponed up, adding the Mughal Empire dagger Bruiser had given to me, on a small harness on my hip. The hilt was gem-set jade; the scabbard was velvet-covered wood. The knife had been made in the 1700s, in India, with a slightly curved blade, a central ridge, and double grooves. It had a gold-overlaid palmette and cartouche at the forte. I had made it my ceremonial blade, wearing it when I wanted to make a statement. The blade was watered steel and it was said that it had magic, being charged with a spell of life force, to give the wielder the ability to block any opponent’s death cut. Bruiser had said about the spell, “Pure balderdash, but it makes a nice tale.” Still. Sometimes a history and reputation were magic of themselves.

  Barefooted, I walked silently into the living room. Alex and Bodat didn’t even look up. They were bent over several tablets and laptop screens, with the big-screen TV in front of them divided into various views. It was all security video of HQ. I didn’t bother to study anything. Pulling on Beast’s stealth and ability to move unseen, I stepped into the opening of the kitchen and stood there. Watching. Listening.

  Gee was at the table, sitting in my place. Edmund was standing near the sink, opening a bottle of wine. Eli was taking a huge chicken pot pie out of the oven. I knew the menu by the mouthwatering aroma. Ayatas was standing with his back to the side door, at an angle where he could see all the others but couldn’t see me, wouldn’t see me unless he turned his head or smelled me and searched me out. I was counting on the chicken pot pie—which smelled heavenly—to cover my scent. Ayatas would have a skinwalker’s scent glands, mostly human, whereas Beast had taken in the genetics of a dog’s scent glands and the part of the brain that analyzed and remembered the scents, from when we shifted to bloodhound. She was way better than any old skinwalker.

  Littermate, she thought. There was a sound of longing and wonder in the single word.

  Ayatas said, “You were telling me about the video footage.”

  “No. I wasn’t,” Eli said.

  “I could bring you in for questioning.”

  “You could. You won’t.” He set the Dutch oven on the table, on a wood rack I hadn’t seen before. My stomach cramped. I hadn’t eaten much after the shift and I was starving.

  “And why wouldn’t I?” Ayatas asked.

  “Because Leo has his talons in every law enforcement agency and politico in the state and a good many in D.C. Because you want Janie on your side. Taking me in, Alex in, Jane in, is not the way to build good relations. It’s a way to burn bridges you haven’t decided to burn yet. Bridges with Leo. Bridges with Jane. Bridges with Soul.” Eli took a long-handled spoon and cut into the pot pie’s crust, releasing steam and chickeny goodness. I pressed a hand to my middle. “You’re a smart guy,” Eli said. “But you’re also stupid.”

  On the surface, Ayatas didn’t react with offense, but his scent changed. A faint spike of anger. Insulted.

  “Here’s what I think happened. You came here in your capacity as PsyLED to oversee the Sangre Duello. Smart. Necessary even.” Eli looked at Ayatas to make sure he was listening and back to his pot-pie work. “You had heard about Jane Yellowrock. Seen some YouTube video. I figure you had researched through PsyLED databases and questioned your family about the long-lost sister. And then Soul came into the picture and gave you more info, more than you found in the databases. The Europeans came. Things heated up here. You decided to apply for a job transfer, with the opportunity to meet Leo, and, on the side, to see if Jane is that sister. Combining two purposes into one trip isn’t stupid by and of itself. But that made Jane an afterthought.” He looked at Ayatas again. “Just a note of caution, counsel, whatever—Jane Yellowrock is never an afterthought.”

  I smiled, seeing Eli’s tension as he said that, his jaw tight. No one else might notice his anger, but I did.

  “If you put Janie first you might get somewhere. If you can figure out how to do that, and still complete your investigation, you might like your life a lot better and live a lot longer.” Eli began to scoop up servings into the bowls around the table. We were having the pie, salads, and a loaf of herbed bakery bread. Enough for all of us, but I was so hungry that I wanted to kick everyone out and eat it all myself.

  “Live a lot longer. Is that a threat?” Ayatas looked amused. He was leaning against the wall beside the butler’s pantry, where we kept our tea and coffee equipment. He looked relaxed, but his scent said otherwise.

  Gee said, “No. A fact. The Mithrans in NOLA are always dangerous. Apex predators.”

  “And Jane,” Eli said, “is their Dark Queen, which means she’s the biggest, baddest cat in the city.”

  My eyebrows went up. Me? That was crazy. Wasn’t it?

  “So what is the Dark Queen?”

  “Not totally sure,” Eli said. “A mystical, powerful creature that can use all sorts of magical items, witch, vamp, were. She can take positions of command and authority for herself, rearrange power structures. Sorta like a wild card in a full deck.”

  “You’re calling her a Joker?”

  “More like a Queen of Spades with the powers and unpredictability of the Joker.”

  I smiled in the shadows. I liked that description. It fit most of what we knew about the position of Dark Queen.

  Ayatas said, “She shifted into a half cat / half human. I have to find out how she did that. How she shifted into parts of something.”

  “For the agency? Or for yourself?” Eli nodded to Ed. My primo began to pour white wine into the glasses. Eli went on. “Because I’m guessing you can’t do what Janie did and you want to find out how. You want to learn how to shift into fighting form yourself.” Eli smiled, a tiny quirk of his lips, and carried the Dutch oven to the sink, then stood straight, his hands at his sides. It was the smile that warned me. And warmed me. He said, “You may be Janie’s brother or you may not. But you’re a selfish bastard. And we won’t let you hurt Jane. That? That is a threat.” He raised his voice so Alex and Bodat could hear. “Dinner is served.”

  I waited a good five seconds before rounding the corner. “I hope there’s enough for me. I’m hungry as a Beast.” It was a way to tell Eli that I’d been a cat and needed to replace calories used up in shifting.

  My partner gave me a look. It might have meant most anything. I smiled at him blandly and nudged Gee out of my chair, saying, “Up, my Enforcer, unless you want me to take a
bite out of you.” To Eli I said, “This smells yummy. I hope you made two.” I’d need more than a single serving to make up for lost calories.

  As the others took their places, shoving chairs around and bumping knees at the too-small table, Eli nodded his head and said, “There’s plenty.”

  I looked at Ayatas, the only one who hadn’t moved. “Even for him?”

  Eli made a pretense of looking around the table. “I guess I could set another place. He could squeeze in next to Bodat. If you want him here.”

  I looked at my br—at Ayatas. “It’s the way of The People to feed guests. To see after their needs.” Eli had another place setting ready and set it near the garlicky gamer kid as everyone scooted chairs closer.

  Ayatas was staring at Edmund, not moving. “I thought Mithrans preferred blood over normal food. Human food.”

  Placidly Edmund said, “We consume a variety of foodstuffs. Blood is the favored food, but I do not sip from my mistress or her family. And Eli is a splendid cook.” Edmund turned to me. “Do you wish to offer thanks, my mistress?”

  We had started praying over meals after the angel Hayyel had reappeared in my life. It might be nothing more than covering my bases, or it might be something significant, but it made me feel better. I nodded and closed my eyes. The others quieted. “We are thankful for the blessings of this day. Thankful for family. For clan. For food.”

  Eli, Alex, Edmund, and Gee said together, “Amen.” Bodat looked confused. Ayatas looked surprised. I passed the bread around and dipped a spoon into the pot pie. And Oh. My. Gosh. Ignoring the men gathered around the table, I ate. And ate a second serving. And then ate a third serving. Fortunately Eli had more than one loaf of bread, and the second pot pie in the oven. It was, nearly, enough.

  By the time I was finally fullish, the others had long finished eating and Bodat and Alex were washing dishes. Eli had slipped to the third-floor construction site with Gee and Edmund, their muted voices coming down the stairs. Ayatas was sitting to my right, his gaze on me. I pushed my chair back from the table, meeting Ayatas’s eyes. “Alex?” I said. “Would you mind leaving the dishes?”

  “We’re mostly done.” He looked back at me and said, “Oh. Come on, Bodat. Let’s give them some privacy. We can finish this later.”

  My entire face softened. Only a few months before, Alex wouldn’t have understood what he was being asked. Now he was adulting. They left the room. I picked up my wineglass and sniffed the contents. It had a nice crisp aroma. Even good wines tasted a little vinegary to me, and unless I was cuddled with Bruiser, I didn’t typically enjoy them. However, as an Enforcer I needed to know about them even if only a rudimentary and passing familiarity. I hadn’t touched the glass while I ate and it was a little too warm to be perfect now, but I sipped anyway. It had a nice balance of acid and earth and oak. I swallowed. Eh. It was still wine. I put the glass down. I had dithered enough. “I heard you talking to Eli.”

  “They are very protective of you.”

  “They’re family.”

  “You have a family.”

  I said nothing.

  Slowly he leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, lacing his fingers together. His sleeves were folded neatly to midarm, exposing skin that was the same golden shade as mine. He said, “Where were you all those years you were missing? Why . . . why didn’t you come looking for us, once you grew up?”

  “The early reports were correct. Amnesia. No memory, no language, no social skills.”

  There was no smile in his voice when he said, “Raised by wolves.”

  I shrugged. “I’m sure you know my childhood history. There’s enough public record to make that part easy. When I turned eighteen I left the Christian children’s home where I’d been raised and moved to Asheville, where I got my training in security and lived for several years. While I was there I rode through every small town where The People still lived in North and South Carolina, into Tennessee, looking, listening. Wondering if I had family, if someone among The People would recognize me as a missing daughter, sister. Would take me in. When I did come upon someone who looked and smelled and sounded like what I remembered, they had no interest in a skinny Cherokee chick. And no one knew of a kid who had been lost in the mountains and never found. I rode through the territory of the Western band once. It was even more foreign.” I took a breath and asked the question that I’d wondered for so very long. “Your questions work both ways. If you’re not lying to me, creating an intricately layered fiction, if my family are all skinwalkers, if they are all as long-lived as you seem to be implying, then why didn’t . . .” I let my words trail away, thinking, Why didn’t my family come looking for me?

  There. That was my real reason for running away last night. Ayatas FireWind claimed to be what I was, claimed to be family, and he hadn’t come right away. Latent shock boiled up inside. Pain, loneliness, betrayal gushed after it. A geyser of misery that went back to a single day in the snow that I could barely remember. The day an old woman forced me to shift into a bobcat and pushed me into a blizzard to live or die alone. I had been five years old.

  I swallowed hard, forcing down the pain. Forcing it back into the darks of me. Yet, tears gathered in my eyes, hot and stinging. I blinked them away too. Calmed my breathing and let go a breath that smelled of old despair and suffering. I knew Ayatas had smelled the pain. I knew that gave him some kind of power over me if I let him take it. Instead I pulled all my suffering deep inside and crushed it into stillness. Emotionless, sounding almost detached, I stared into Ayatas’s eyes and said, “Eli is right. If my family still lives, why didn’t you come for me?”

  “We didn’t know you existed until the videos surfaced. Until we saw you on the television as a warrior woman working for the vampire master of New Orleans. Until we saw you kill a demon, the Raven Mocker, on television. Uni Lisi, who is one of the Keepers of the Secrets, said we must watch and wait to be sure you were not u’tlun’ta. They had to research and share the old stories. This took time. Time to be certain that it was possible. The Elders do nothing in haste.”

  At the mention of the Elders, I thought about Aggie One Feather, the local Elder who was helping me to try to remember my past. There was no way that she had been left out of the loop. They had called her. I was sure of it. And I was equally certain that she had told them nothing. Personal privacy was sacrosanct to an Elder. But did it work both ways? Why hadn’t she talked to me about it, unless she couldn’t?

  “Why should I believe you?” The question was harsh and disbelieving, but inside, deep in the soul of the lost little girl growing up in a children’s home, I wanted to believe. I wanted this more than I wanted breath or vision or sanity. Valued it more than I valued the sanctity of my own soul. And that was a weakness that another could exploit. That was—

  “Gvhe,” Ayatas said, the syllables more breath than air.

  Tears flooded my eyes, hot and painful. I focused through them on his laced fingers, thinking, reasoning past the unbridled emotion the single word created in me. How had he known? I had only just remembered my child name. I had told no one. I didn’t blink. Didn’t move. I held in the tears by force of will, breathing deeply. Not looking up. Only someone who had lived then would know that name, my baby name.

  “Wildcat,” Ayatas said. “Or We-sa, Bobcat. According to the old tales, our father called you both.”

  My gaze turned inward, backward, to a past I no longer consciously remembered.

  I was standing on a precipice of rock and loam. Inches from my bare toes, a sheer cliff fell off into a chasm. At the bottom, a fog swayed, so dense it seemed impenetrable. A cloud upside down. Below us a hawk soared. At the bottom the cloud parted to reveal racing water, a river running wild, white water roaring.

  A hand held mine. Heated. Long fingered. Golden skinned.

  A hand like Ayatas’s. I said nothing, but I knew this place. It was a real p
lace in my childhood memory. I knew this place.

  My father’s voice came to me out of memory. “Gvhe. Your mother carries my child, a brother or sister for you, one of her clan. I charge you to remember this place, this moment. I charge you to promise to care for your mother and your brother or sister. They are yours. Your heart is strong. You are strong. You are enough to protect them should something happen to me.”

  I stared into the chasm. The river rumbled. The ground was chilled beneath my feet. My father loved this place more than any other. He had wanted to fight for this place, for this land. For this water called Nvdayeli. The yunega, the white man, was stealing it and all the land which no one could ever own. America was stealing it. And there was nothing the Tsalagi could do about it. We would have to leave. Forever.

  Because the white man had discovered yellow rock here. Gold, like my true, full birth name. And the white man lusted after it.

  My father said, “Your mother will name our child after this place. Nvdayeli. And you will care for the child of your mother’s womb.”

  This memory, this place was the origin of my brother’s name; the name meant Land of the Noonday Sun, a gorge so deep, so sheer, that the sun reached to the valley floor only at midday. Nantahala. Nvdayeli, in the language of The People.

  And . . . Yellowrock. Yellowrock, the gold for which my people had suffered. Gold—the curse for which I had been named.

  I blinked and the tears spilled over my cheeks, scalding and salty. My breath came faster. Shorter. I whispered, “Nvdayeli Tlivdatsi, of Ani Gilogi. Nantahala Panther of the Panther Clan. Ayatas Nvgitsvle, One Who Dreams of Fire Wind. Your sister welcomes you. I welcome you to my home.”

  Ayatas reached out and touched my hand with one fingertip, a sliding caress. “Sister.”

  I said, “I failed you.”