Black Arts

CHAPTER 15 Toss the Dress Away

He was right. Buried beneath the scent of vamp and human and blood-meals was the prickly odor of witch magic, indicative of a witch using magic or of a magical implement—a device charmed by a witch—being drawn upon. I thought about the blurring magic of a charm meant to elude a camera, and of V. Sunrise down, and I drew on Beast. She padded forward, peering through my eyes, lending me her vision. A bright mist seemed to cover the two vamps, a dark rose fog of a magical keep-away field. The energies didn’t look or smell familiar to me, shaped by an unknown witch. But I did get a hint of cedar and sharp green, so maybe a vamp carried a charm made by an earth practitioner who had drawn on her own blood for a spell, and then added the blood of something else, maybe a small rabbit or large rodent. It felt vaguely like a keep-away spell, but with a dark, magical twist that made me feel itchy all over. There were hints of other magics in the room, other charms, but only the charms on these two seemed important.

To my left, Leo appeared in the house entrance with dual micropops in the air. Katie, his heir, stood behind him, her dark teal skirts billowing in the wind of their vamp-fast passage. Every person in the room turned to them, assessing the two in light of the many across the way. A tingle of Leo’s power spread through the room, Leo’s alone, not the power he could draw from the gathered, and Jack smiled, his lips closed, and slid his arm around Adrianna. The two looked cozy. If they were aligned, and especially if they were sharing blood and sleeping together, then Adrianna would have told him everything she knew about Leo, including Leo’s ability to draw from the clans, making our little beat-the-crap-out-of-Leo scene an interesting but futile exhibition. And if she had switched alliances, then where did that leave Clan Arceneau? In the hands of the shaking panicked vamp standing in the corner, struggling to not vamp out, staring at her superior in stunned horror, surrounded by silent blood-servants. I saw someone I recognized, but couldn’t place, move up beside the shaking fanghead and slide a solicitous arm around her. Brown hair. Familiar. Nothing dangerous about her. I looked back at the action.

The overhead speakers announced the arrival. “Leonard Eugène Zacharie Pellissier, blood-master of the southeastern United States, possessor of all territories and keeper of the hunting license of every Mithran below the Mason-Dixon Line, from the eastern border of Texas at the Sabine River, east to the Atlantic and south to the Gulf, with the exception of Florida. And on his arm, heir to Clan Pellissier, Katherine Louisa Dupre.”

Leo’s power rose higher, and I understood that by appearing as only two, Leo and Katie were giving a show of force of their own, all vamp power, and not just all vamp bodies, as Shoffru had done. The impression was that the two of them could take on the whole room, if they cared to do so. Leo’s and Katie’s blended scents seemed to whisper as they wove together and filled the space, and Shoffru’s smile went stiff. Beast felt the pull on the binding, and my insides tightened.

Behind Leo, and late, stepped two humans—only two—Del and Troll, their primos. The humans looked cool, calm, and collected, though they must have dashed like mad to get here so fast.

Katie placed her fingertips on Leo’s arm, and the Pellissier four moved across the room, so perfectly in sync it could have been choreographed. Through Beast’s binding, I felt Leo directing his escort, and felt an urge to join them, to make my footsteps fall into rhythm with theirs.

As if in mirror image, Adrianna slid from Jack’s Shoffru’s embrace, placed her hand on his arm, and they started across the ballroom floor, their retainers circling behind them, leaving Rick standing in an empty patch of floor. His nose curled as if he scented changes in the air. I took a breath and smelled it too. Aggression. Dominance. Something was about to happen.

To the side, the woman with the sword put a hand to the hilt and looked around the room. I hadn’t heard her speak, but she was communicating anxiety and anger with body language—all vampy-style, her head and spine twisting around in that inhuman way they have when they think no one is watching. For a moment I wanted, needed, to get her scent, but that desire faded as her gaze settled on me. Something seemed to tighten around me like a noose. Her eyes narrowed and I realized that she had been looking for me, for me personally. And then I saw the sword. I had seen it before and forgotten. Something was wrong with this. How had she gotten a sword in past security?

The sword-carrying vamp turned and watched Adrianna. As if feeling her eyes, Adrianna turned to the swordswoman. And she smiled. It was a purely sexual smile, full of longing and desire. And that thought too faded.

Beast slammed into me and I followed her instincts as I stepped toward the two groups, angling to meet them in the middle, rather than behind Leo. Jodi and Gee were at my sides and there was nothing I could do to keep them back and safe, short of shooting them myself. Beast was growling deep inside, but I didn’t have time to deal with her, not now, and I shoved her down.

Leo’s power rose, lifting and swirling Katie’s skirts in a false breeze, and moving toward the guests. It raked across my skin like rose thorns, and met the witchy power of the keep-away spell in a small explosion of blue sparks. The skirt of Adrianna’s gown lifted, and Shoffru hesitated, just slightly, midstride, as his spell-charm was countered by Leo’s pure power. His mouth firmed and he seemed to push back. The sparks went green and scarlet, like Christmas lights. And Katie’s skirts reversed course to swirl back as if in a strong wind.

Holy crap. It wasn’t just a charm. Jack Shoffru was a witch-vamp, like the Damours. And he had Adrianna—who had allied with the blood magic family and who knew all their secrets—on his arm. No wonder there were magics all through the room. No wonder the woman had gotten a sword in through the humans. A master vamp with witch magics was crazy scary. Shoffru’s power tightened, as if the air itself were growing thicker and harder to breathe. I searched out the swordswoman, but she was missing. Dang, where—there! At the entrance to the room. But even seeing her, I found it hard to remember why I cared she was there. Spelled, heavily spelled. Beast swatted at the spell from deep inside me, but nothing happened and she withdrew. And thoughts of the swordswoman slid away.

From the outside entrance spun a green . . . thing. Two of them. Grindylows. They raced past Rick, moving almost too fast for me to focus on them, but I knew what to look for, and this second shock made my breath hitch. The taller one came to my waist and had joints that bent the wrong way, limbs that were too slender and knobby for his body. His head was oddly shaped, his fangs were out, and when he ran, he was up on his toes, like a dog or cat, though he was generally bipedal, not a quadruped. His claws were out, looking like steel about three inches long. His pants and shirt were loose and baggy, hiding a body that I knew to be vaguely froglike, the skin hairless and green with darker green streaks, like dark serpentine stone. Darker and not as tall as the last adult one I’d seen, this grindy was golem-sized, about four feet high. And at his side was Pea, Rick’s juvenile pet grindy. Neon green–furred and kitten-sized, she had her claws out and fangs showing.

They spun to a halt in the middle of the two parties and the taller grindy hissed, his shoulders raised high on his neck. Pea, standing on two back feet, claws swiping in threat, chittered. Shoffru stopped, his eyes on the creatures from myth and legend. His lizard had curled on his shoulder and darkened to a bronze brown. Clearly the pirate-witch-suckhead had never seen a grindylow, nor had the swordswoman, nor the lizard. It ducked back inside the pirate’s shirt as the grindys herded Jack, his swordswoman, and Adrianna together. Derek and two of his men stood guard around them, weapons not exactly pointed at the pirate and his crew, but not pointed away either.

I said, “A gather is a place of peace, Shoffru. That means magical as well as physical. Back off or the guys carrying silver shot might mistake your actions as hostile and shoot you full of holes. And the grindylows might get ticked.” And then I blinked. There were two grindys in one place. That meant that the African weres were here. And even as I had the thought, they walked into the entrance.

An African werelion in his human form stood there, his kinky coarse black hair streaked with lighter brown, his eyes lion-gold in a dark-skinned face. I had taken the time to study the names from the were-community that Rick had mentioned, especially the werelion who was mentoring him, and this was Asad. “Asad,” the announcer said, “emissary of the Party of African Weres, and his wife, Nantale. With them is Paka.”

Their scents filled the room, earthy, musky, the heated intensity of the sun on the African savannah. The two werelions advanced, Asad wearing white robes in an Arabian style, Nantale looking like a Nubian goddess in cloth of gold, wearing beaten gold on her wrists, on her ankles, and around her neck. Behind her moved Paka. Her scent was different, but if possible, even more intense, and it was familiar. She smelled like Kemnebi, of the dark wet heat of the African Congo, of green jungle and rushing water and danger. She smelled of black wereleopard.

And she was, with no doubt, in heat.

I pivoted toward Rick, and pain flashed through me, as if I’d been socked in the gut. He was staring at the woman. The girl. I looked back at her. She couldn’t be more than twenty-two. Her skin was dark, black as night, her hair lustrous and long, in a coil to the middle of her back. She wore a skirt in wildly patterned cloth, with a handkerchief hem, in reds and blues and purples. Her top was short sleeved, cropped to display her flat belly, the neckline round and gathered with a tie, which was open to reveal the curved tops of her breasts. The rounded mounds caught the lights, drawing the eye. Somehow I knew she was naked underneath the dress. That she would like nothing better than to toss the dress away and walk bare in the air currents and intense interest of the males.

The hot smell of her heat wrapped around me and tightened, and I was reminded of the snake thoughts from earlier. I couldn’t breathe. She was beautiful. Full lips, black skin, wide dark eyes, cheeks like perfect fruit, skin glistening with youth and health. I couldn’t breathe.

Rick stepped toward her. His face went slack and his eyes widened, like a sleepwalker or one who had been hypnotized. He took another step. Paka’s eyes found him and she smiled, her lips parting in a look that was pure sex, to reveal perfect teeth. She moved toward him, stretching out a hand. Magics tingled on the air, hot and sultry and sexual. Werecat magics.

Beast slammed into me. Mine! My mate!

“Not anymore,” I whispered back, feeling the shock of loss tingling through me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard the words, spoken by Asad, “Paka. A rare unmated female discovered by the Party of African Weres. Paka agreed come to America, to provide succor to the only American black wereleopard, to assist the unmated male through the transition of his first change.”

“The kindness is appreciated,” Leo said. “Our leopard has experienced much pain since he was turned.”

A roar started in my head, the roar of angry wind. Of stormy waves. Our leopard? Closer, a low growl sounded. At my side, fingers gripped my arm, and I realized I was being physically held back. And that the growl was mine. I wanted to slash and draw blood. I felt the tips of my fingers burn as Beast’s claws once again forced through. My forearms ached as pelt broke the skin. I smelled my own blood as I clenched my clawed hands.

Mine. My mate.

Asad spoke again, and I heard his words through the roar. “The Party of African Weres believes that Paka’s heat will offer the American a mystic path through the transition, from his human form in which he is trapped, to his animal form. She is here to assist. And”—I could almost feel his smile of pride—“to be a prospective mate.”

I whirled and left the room.

• • •

Nearly half an hour later, I came to myself, my back to the house, my dancing shoes planted in the soil, in the middle of Leo’s back garden. It smelled of fresh flowers: the stock and alyssum of the ballroom, and spring roses and early jasmine. Herbs. Fertilizers. And the reek of loss and grief.

I didn’t smell blood except the stench of my own, so I hadn’t killed anyone. I had just . . . lost it. Rick had a prospective mate, a black wereleopard, like him.

I made fists at the thought. My hands were human again, but my fingertips ached when I released the fists. I took a breath and blew it out. And I thought of a string of curse words I might use, but none of them were bad enough. And no dang way was I gonna cry.

It was as if the universe had it out for us. Or God. But no way was I gonna blame God, no matter how much I wanted to. This fell under the category of “life happens and it ain’t always fair.” Something a housemother at the children’s home where I was raised might have said.

I huffed out another breath and forced my shoulders to relax. I had a job to do. A job that would let me use the pent-up energy, the anger that still crawled under my skin. A job that would let me focus on something other than my own unhappiness and the once-again-ex-boyfriend, becharmed by a lovely catwoman who was sex on a stick. My ear wire was hanging on my neck, and I slipped it back around my ear, positioned the mouthpiece in place, and tapped it. I got Angel Tit.

“Sorry I went all girly on you, Angel. Update.” And I was pleased that I sounded like myself and not as if I had been screaming at the moon.

His voice crisp, Angel said, “Leo and the werelions are chatting. Wrassler is still coordinating a room-by-room search for whatever knocked out our man. Shoffru and his nutso date are dancing. He has a lizard on his shoulder. A minute ago, the lizard reached up and bit his earlobe near the earring and held on, swaying like it was dancing with them. Tell me that isn’t weird. The lady cop is dancing with a vamp, and keeping an eye on Shoffru. I think she likes lizards.

“The blood bar has a line and Gee DiMercy sent some more humans in to speed things up. And Leo sent word by Wrassler, and I quote, ‘With the exception of the pirate, my petitioners will not swear to me tonight.’ That mean anything to you, Legs?”

The name Legs came through like an endearment, and though I knew Angel meant nothing of the sort by it, it made me blink against tears. “Yeah. Got it. It means the young vamps won’t swear to him tonight. The show is canceled. More?” And by more I meant Rick, but I couldn’t bring myself to say his name.

Angel didn’t hesitate or sound pitying, and for that I was grateful. “The PsyLED cop and the leopard and the little green kitten left in a black cab, out the front door. Wrassler saw to it.” Relief made my knees weak, but he wasn’t done. “He also sent out word that you were checking a problem out back with the bomb-sniffing dog.”

I felt my shoulders relax, steadied myself, and said, “Thank you.” It might be stupid to care what anyone thought about my abrupt vanishing act, but I did.

“Copy, Legs,” Angel Tit said gently. “You say. Copy.”

“Copy. And thank you.”

“Ooh-rah.”

I went back through the porte cochere as if I owned the place, pulling on Beast to lend me her cat’s grace and hunting calm. I had made a dramatic exit, I was certain, but if I entered seeming calm and centered, most of those who saw me leave would assume it was a security situation that called me away so fast, not a broken heart. It was stupid to appear weak in front of vamps. Weakness was a possibly deadly emotion, and I had a reputation to defend—the rep of a nonvamp who could beat Leo on the sparing room floor. Head up, I flowed down the hallway, looking neither right nor left, and stepped into the elevator. Appearing cool and collected would dispel or deflect many potential problems.

Just as the doors closed, a black form stepped in, the doors barely grazing him on either side. I caught his scent even as I drew a weapon and I looked up into warm brown eyes. I shoved the blade back into the special pocket sheath. The door sealed and the elevator moved. “Wondered where you were,” I said. “New tux?”

Bruiser smoothed a hand down the satiny black of his lapel. “Yes. I think we should dance.”

I don’t know why that simple statement brought my pain to the surface again. I looked down at the small floor space, as much to keep him from seeing the fresh misery in my eyes as to inspect the floor. “Not much room. Besides, I’m working.”

“So am I. And the location of our dance will be near the pirate and the traitor.” When I didn’t refuse or disagree, he went on. “When Shoffru goes to pledge to Leo, we will keep the defector company.”

I thought about that while I spoke of more important things. “Was Adrianna around New Orleans when Shoffru ran with Lafitte?”

An approving glint lit Bruiser’s eyes. “Oh yes. Adrianna ran with a fast crowd even then.”

“The Damours.”

“Yes.”

“And Jackie Boy is a witch?”

“So it appears, though it isn’t in his dossier, and Leo—who had to have met him at some point—didn’t know.”

I grunted at that. Hard thing to hide, but Shoffru had done so. Which made him smarter and more powerful than expected. He had to make really good charms to hide witch-scent from a vamp. “Are you still Leo’s Enforcer tonight?”

“I am, though I am choosing my replacement. What do you think about Derek?”

I laughed shortly. Derek wasn’t fond of vamps, not even Leo, and not even when Leo had healed some of his men from wounds suffered in his service. “Be sure to film it when you ask him. That should be interesting.” The elevators opened and I took Bruiser’s arm. The heat of his body was like a fever, and I felt it roar through my flesh like Beast hunting. Teeth showing, intent. Pushing its way through my grief.

We will scream out our pain to the moon at dawn, she thought at me. Then we will kill our rival. And retake our foolish mate.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said to her and to Bruiser, letting Beast have her way for now. “We might have to revise the middle part a bit.” I had no intention of killing anyone. “For now, let’s go dance,” I said. “Can you get some better music? I liked that track that was playing the night I beat the crap out of Leo.”

“Which was a thing of beauty to behold.”

I snorted. “His beating you was staged, wasn’t it?”

“Not precisely.” Bruiser tapped his mic, requesting a change in music. He didn’t pause as we entered the ballroom to the opening strains of a Bonamassa instrumental I didn’t recognize, clueing me in on who at vamp central liked the blues guitar player. Bruiser. He had set up the music for my fight with Leo. In advance. I put that realization away for later.

Bruiser led me forward into the middle of the dance floor—the pirate and his scarlet-haired traitor to my left and Bruiser’s right—and into a slow, slow tango. Totally not what I was expecting, totally not what my hidden heart wanted, but I moved with him, my feet and body finding the cadence of the steps in the odd rhythm of the song, one not arranged for the Latin dance. I concentrated on his lead and let the beat hold me to the floor, knowing that I might lose myself in the music and dance through the pain if I forgot that I was working.

Bruiser was a masterful dancer, my body moving like a length of silk in his arms, bending and sliding and dipping, my feet shifting perfectly, though my shoes were leaving small bits of earth from the garden in our wake. There was something mystical in the music and the soil dropping from my feet, as if I had walked from a grave and into the dance. My heart began to lighten as Bruiser bent me back over his arm, his leg between both of mine, pressing into the center of me. I wanted to pull away, but he held me there for a moment, for several long beats, his eyes on mine. “They have stopped dancing,” he murmured beneath the music. “Watching us.”

I smiled, slow, so slow, and let my head drop back, exposing my neck to him. It was a position of submission to the predators watching. A posture of a different kind of submission to Bruiser. His arm tightened across my back and I arched deeper. Closer into him.

He rolled me up in his arms, trapping me, whispering in my ear. “Some night soon,” he said.

I let my smile slide away, promising nothing, but not denying him. Knowing I wasn’t ready. Not right now. Especially not tonight. Maybe not ever. Yet he yanked my body against his, a reminder of his intent. I slid away from him, whirling, as I always had done before. And Bruiser laughed, saying softly, “No, Jane. Not this time.” And deftly, as if I weighed a feather, he whirled me back to him.

The song ended with me at Bruiser’s feet, one arm up, resting at the top of his thigh, his Onorio heat blazing though the cloth of his trousers. He leaned down and murmured, “Shoffru’s heir, Cym, is no longer with us tonight. We should wonder why that is so.”

“Yeah. We should.”

A different Bonamassa song started, even slower than the first, and Leo stepped into the dance, replacing Bruiser as if they had planned it. And who knew? Maybe they had.

Leo pulled me to my feet and led me into his arms. His black eyes caught mine. And I felt Beast staring up and out at him through me. The silver chain that bound her to him tightened, vibrating, a slight tremor that reached into the deeps of me, through my grief, through my anger at him for the forced feeding.

My life was so messed up.

Leo held me for two beats, then stepped to the side, into a bolero. The dance steps were so slow and romantic, the pauses with our bodies at sharp angles to each other, our legs intertwined as the steps ground us together. His body was ice-cold, where Bruiser’s had been inhumanly heated. Beast purred.

Inside, I wept.