Black Arts

CHAPTER 4 A Touch of Tasteless Snark

The couple had been having problems, something Evan had confessed to us after an hour of silent hand-staring. He didn’t know what had been going on with Molly.

“She stopped talking to me,” he said, after lots of prodding. “She stopped sleeping with me. She stopped working in the garden. She stopped baking. She stopped . . . singing.” He looked at me, his face stricken. “That was the worst part. Molly always sang. Always. I never remember a time when she didn’t sing. Old songs from movies, or Broadway, or church. Children’s songs. Always singing. The house was silent for months.

“The last time I saw her, she kissed me and said good-bye, just like always. There was nothing different that day, except for this look in her eyes. This . . .” His hands flapped as he searched for a phrase. “This determined happiness. I thought it meant she had worked through whatever was wrong. I had no idea she was leaving.” He broke down then, and turned his face away so we couldn’t see his misery.

I had patted his broad back, as if that might help. It hadn’t. And I had no idea what to say to make it all better.

Now, lying in the dark of my room, I had a feeling that there was a lot of stuff going on with Molly we didn’t know, and the secret stuff was the important stuff. Where had Molly gone on her fifty-to sixty-mile excursion? What had she needed to make right? Why had she said she was coming to see me and then not shown up? And most important, why had she stopped doing magic?

Magic to witches was as natural as rain was to clouds, as natural as the cycle of the moon, as the motion of the tides, the flowing of rivers, the eruption of lava, the growth of plants, the movement of tidal winds. It was nature in all its glory and all its power, and once a witch began using her gift, denying it was said to be impossible, which meant that either Molly was practicing in private or something had happened to her magic. Something bad, or she would have told her husband. Beast padded to the front of my mind and lay down, staring into the dark. Her tail tip, thick and rounded, was twitching just a bit, showing her inner agitation at all the humans and witches in her house. But she had been mostly silent about it all day.

I rolled over and stared out the window. The night and a cloak of fog had closed in the house, making it feel small, isolated, cocooned, and too full. I lay in the dark, wearing a long-sleeved tee and flannel pants for the snuggle effect, hearing people move through the house, little groans of floorboards, small squeaks of stairs, voices murmuring, the sound of breathing. Too many people. It reminded me of the children’s home where I was raised, and none of those memories were particularly wonderful. Unlike at the children’s home, these people were friends and family, but . . . I just wasn’t used to having them all here, all the beds full, the house busting at the seams.

Like pack, Beast murmured deep inside. She wasn’t happy for reasons I didn’t fully understand. And if I would admit it, I wasn’t happy. I flopped back over, my hands behind my head, the covers up to my neck, and stared at the ceiling, the fan above me hidden in the shadows. But if I was honest, I was unhappy for reasons other than the people in my house. I was unhappy because of Molly.

My best friend in the entire world was in trouble. She had told her husband she was coming to see me, though she had refused to see me or speak to me in months. Why? Why would she not just pick up the phone? Why lie? Why all the deception?

Unless . . . Maybe Molly left that note, because she knew if she told Evan that she was coming to see me, he would follow . . . and she wanted him here? Why? My stomach muscles clenched as things started coalescing in the back of my brain, straining to take a form that I couldn’t yet make out. I slowly sat up in bed.

Either she was throwing him off the trail or she really was coming to New Orleans. Yet she had disappeared. And that side trip? All of Molly’s friends and sisters lived in or around Asheville, North Carolina. Where had Molly gone for fifty or sixty miles? Why had she then turned in her car and disappeared? And how was she living without money? That was the real question. Sooo . . . Molly had a plan. And I needed to find out what it was. And where she was getting her money. And if she ever got to New Orleans. Or if something had changed her plans against her will.

Taking the cell off my bedside table, I texted the Kid: Find where Molly’s mother lives. Name something like Bedelia Everhart. Check mileage. Start file. Whatever had happened afterward to change her plans, Molly’s original scheme had included me. That could be the only reason for using my name. So where was she?

• • •

I struggled awake in the night, feeling/hearing/knowing my door was opening. A faint scritch of wood on wood. The air moved differently over my face. The sound of the central heater was less muted, with a more hollow hum. And I smelled Angie Baby. “Aunt Jane? I’m scared.”

“Come on in,” I whispered, lifting the covers.

She slid into the bed, whispering, “Scootch over,” and she spooned into my tummy, pulling my arm across her. The smell of strawberry shampoo and witch child filled my nostrils. The bed, which had felt just fine only moments ago, felt wonderful now.

Kit, Beast thought, purring happily.

I was glad it was dark because I knew there was a silly, goofy grin on my face. “What about Little Evan? Don’t you think he’s scared?”

Angie Baby sighed and settled deeper against me. “EJ’s brave. G’ night.”

“Good night, Angie.”

Moments later, I heard small feet pattering down the stairs, and EJ raced into the room through the open door, saying, “Me too! Me too!”

The silly smile still on my face, I reached over and lifted him onto the bed. He crawled across me, pushed me off my own pillow, and flopped into the warm spot. I pulled the other pillow over and fluffed it until it fit my neck and face, EJ’s cold back nestled into the small of mine. I pulled Angie close and closed my eyes, more than satisfied. And Beast was still purring. Finally she was content.

• • •

Beast kicked out, swiping my mind awake. Instantly my hands found the children, safe and asleep against me. What—? My cell vibrated on the bedside table. By Beast’s alert interest, I knew it was Leo. I took the cell into my hand, holding it as I pushed Beast away from control of my mind. She wanted Leo, always had, and the binding only made it worse. I needed to make sure that Leo never learned about the other soul that lived inside me, nor the fact that she was bound to him.

I eased out of the warm bed and padded into the living room, sitting on the couch and pulling the coverlet over me. I checked the time before I answered. Three eleven a.m. Like the middle of the day to a vamp. “Yellowrock.”

“My Enforcer.” The words were a soft rumble of sound, a possessive vibration that pulsed on the binding and made Beast ready to roll over and offer him her belly. Leo was using that come-hither tone the really old ones use when they are seducing for dinner and sex, and Beast liked it. My usual defense to all that was a touch of tasteless snark.

“Mornin’, Leo. ’Sup?”

His hesitation was slight, but noticeable, and I grinned in the dark until he said, “You will attend me before dawn. We have much to discuss.”

It wasn’t a request, and because the MOC paid my quite hefty retainer, I had to obey. But I didn’t have to kowtow to him about it. “Okeydokey, Your Royal Fanghead. You want I should bring my shooter? My tech guy? Or just me?”

He didn’t answer for a moment and I could almost see him trying to find a response to my smack. “You alone will be sufficient,” he said at last. “Shall we say half an hour?”

“Sure.” I thumbed the cell off without waiting for his permission, which was totally satisfying. It wasn’t much rebellion by anyone’s standards, but it was all I could manage, and until I could find a way to break my binding, I wasn’t going anywhere, so I might as well get paid for it. Moving silently in the dark, I dressed in jeans, boots, a fleece tee, and a leather jacket against the wind chill. I tucked the covers around Angie, picked up EJ, and made my way up the stairs to Evan’s room, to tap on the door. When he opened it, he was wearing a robe, for which I was grateful, as I had once seen Big Evan in his version of sleepwear—boxers and not much else—and once was enough. He took in my clothes, seemed to reach a conclusion, and tilted his head in question.

“His High and Mighty requested my presence before dawn. Will you let the wards down and put them back up?”

Evan whistled a soft single note, and I felt an indistinct prickle of magics against my skin as the wards fell. “Kids were both in your bed?” he rumbled in his version of a whisper.

“Yeah. They might be confused when they wake up.” I handed Evan his son, and watched with something like longing as he nestled the boy’s head on one shoulder and the sleep-limp body across his barrel chest. EJ’s arm came up and he hugged his father in his sleep, his lips making several smacking sounds as he adjusted his position. “I’ll bring up Angie. When you hear Bitsa start up in the street, you can reset the wards.”

“What’s up?” Eli asked. I hadn’t heard his door open and his voice came from the shadows. “Going somewhere?”

“Yes,” I said shortly. Once upon a time and not so long ago, I could come and go with no problems. Now it was like a theater production. I half expected someone to shout, “Lights, positions, aaaaaaand action.” But then I realized my tone might have been rude, and added, “Leo called. It’s okay. Go back to bed.”

I made my way back down the stairs, brought up Angie, and returned to the ground floor, where I opened the safe room door, hidden behind a bookshelf that moved on rolling hinges. The safe room was once used by Leo and his heir as a secret lair for their daytime trysts. Back then it had only one opening, through the floor from underneath the house, and was furnished with a bed and expensive sheets. The bed was still there, though now it was covered with sharp, shiny things and things that go bang and shoot, to kill big bad uglies. I chose a nine-millimeter semiautomatic handgun and two blades, strapped them on, and closed the door on its silent hinges.

Not speaking to anyone else, I took the side door, zipping my jacket as I walked. I helmeted up and pushed Bitsa down the narrow drive, unlocked the tall wrought-iron gate with the fleur-de-lis at the top, and relocked it behind me. I kick-started my bike and headed off to vamp HQ, face shield up, out of the way, so I could take in the morning scents. I could have walked, but arriving on foot was not nearly as impressive as the growl of a Harley, and with vamps and their minions, style is everything.

The gate opened as I tooled down the street, which was against protocol, but then I saw Wrassler in the shadows, heavily armed and ready for action, with low-light goggles in place. The security guy, muscle-bound and tough as nails, could surely see my face, and I lifted a finger to acknowledge him. He raised the goggles, lifted a finger in return, and closed the gates after me. I left the helmet on Bitsa and took the stairs to the front door of the white stucco-and-stone-faced building, my hip-length braid bouncing against my backside.

The door opened before I had to announce myself on the intercom and I strolled through the outer doors and into the bulletproof glass breezeway. Two black-suited unfamiliar blood-servants nodded greetings to me, standing at the tables in the breezeway, and I placed my weapons in the black resin trays on top. It was Security 101, protocols I had instituted, and I studied the newbies and their demeanor as I complied with my own rules. They could have been twins, perfect as bookends, Caucasian, nondescript, brown hair cut short. Both moved like former military, in top physical and mental shape, each about five foot ten, buff and somehow fast-looking, and they clearly had both been through the meet-and-greet lecture I had helped to prepare. They looked tough, yet managed to smile and come across as happy to see me.

Without being asked, I assumed the position and let one of the guys pat me down. The procedures didn’t take long. I had brought only enough weapons to fight off and incapacitate or kill two vamps if they decided to attack me in the streets. I have enemies with long memories. Of course, if enough vamps decided to attack me at once, I’d be brought down by sheer numbers. Idly, I wondered how many bloodsucking enemies I had in the Crescent City. I ran out of fingers in my halfhearted count. I waited as my weapons were taken inside and locked away in the weapons safe I’d had installed in the nook near the front door.

“This way, Miss Yellowrock.” My frisker opened the inner doors into the marble-floored foyer. The smell of mixed vamp, blood-servants, and human blood hit me like a landslide. It was the stench of a funeral home: herbal and floral scents—dry and desiccated—all the mixed blood, some old and some brand-new. Beast’s ear tabs twitched, and I opened my mouth so she could taste/smell it all. She chuffed with reaction, whether liking the scent blend or not, I couldn’t tell. But I could feel her desire for Leo as she automatically parsed his scent signature out from among the others and breathed it deep. The binding on her pulled hard at me as she pushed me to go find her master and crawl into bed with him. Not gonna happen, I thought at her.

She spat in reply and hissed, showing her teeth, but backed away, into the deeps of my mind.

“I can find my way,” I said to the guard, testing.

“No, ma’am. It’s our pleasure to provide you escort.”

“Nice. Names?”

“Steven, with a V, Locke, with an E, and Stephen, with a PH, Hope.”

“Mmmm.” I stuck my hands in my pockets and followed Steven-with-a-V down the hallway and up the stairs. “Steven,” I said, “not to quibble, but if I had a weapon still on me, say a garrote, I could bring you down fast and get your weapon. Suggestions?”

Steven-with-a-V stopped and gestured me forward, to walk beside him, amusement evident on his face at the thought of a lean, leggy female taking him down. “Yeah, that works. Unless there are more than one visitor. Then maybe two escorts?” Steven nodded and I said, “I’ll adjust the protocols. Thanks.” I knew all that stuff, and had already formed my own opinions, but working with the guys meant including them in the routine changes. Now, when I changed the paperwork, Steven-with-a-V would be able to say something like “Yeah. We discussed it. I suggested the change. Yellowrock’s not bad for a chick. Even if she did imply she could take me with a garrote.” Cue manly laughter at the little woman.

He knocked on a door and opened it, showing me through before closing the door behind me. The papery, peppery scent of Leo flooded my nostrils and reached deep inside me, wrapping the silvered chain of the binding in an iron fist. Warmth flooded me. Beast sat up and looked out through my eyes, taking a breath and analyzing the scents. Leo’s was heated with the smell of anise, old paper, and ink made of leaves and berries. Good vampire smell, she thought at me. I wanted to sigh, but kept it in, and shoved down on her to show her that I was alpha, not her. There would be no mating with Leo.

I walked down the short wide foyer into the room beyond. The office of the Master of the City had been rebuilt in the last few months, and once again looked just as it had the first time I was here. It was a windowless inner room: the walls were hung with tapestries and heavy drapery; Oriental rugs in every shade were scattered over the floors. Not that long ago, one rug had been heavy with werecat blood. That one was gone, probably with the cops and later stolen away by the vamps. Cops had a hard time hanging on to evidence when vampires were involved.

The room was chilly, even with the hickory wood fire, something the old ones all seemed to like, probably for the ambience of their own time as humans. The bookshelves around the fireplace were new, filled with antique books, and hiding two no-longer-secret escape passageways. I’d been hard on Leo’s secret-keeping.

The furniture was wood, some hand-carved, some burled, others with gilt that glinted in the firelight and lamplight. Wingback chairs were around a small table, and the desk was so old it might have been hand-carved for a Spanish royal in colonial times. A thin laptop was open on it, in front of a modern ergonomic desk chair, the armoires locked behind it. They did double duty as file cabinets.

There was a chaise longue in the back of the office, a fancy one with tufted gold velvet upholstery and a velvet throw. Once before, I had been here and a naked girl had been sleeping on it. Tonight it was empty. Thank goodness. Though Beast disagreed and showed me an image of Leo and me on the couch having a grand old time.

I strolled in and plopped down into a wingback chair, uninvited. Put my boots up on a table and made myself look comfy. Leo was sitting at his desk in the leather chair, papers on the table before him, a pen in his hand, its nub scratching as he wrote. The master vampire was wearing an old-fashioned shirt, creamy silk with full sleeves and a tie at the neck, hanging loose. Not like a modern tie, bright silk with a pattern, chosen from dozens hanging in a closet, but slender white ties that were part of the shirt itself, part of the rounded band of the collar. The upper part of his chest was visible, collarbone catching the light in a pale-pale sheen, along with a few black chest hairs. His legs were stretched out under the desk, encased in black pants, some sort of nubby fabric with a dull sheen, and on his feet were black socks and plushy slippers. His black hair was pulled back into a little queue with a black ribbon, a loose tendril brushing his cheek. I knew how preternaturally soft his hair was. How silken his skin. Beast stretched out, purring.

I curled my fingers under to keep from reaching for Leo, feeling the pull of the binding, and wondering again why Leo never seemed to. It had to be because the binding was completed while I was dying and changing into Beast. It was the only thing that made sense. He put the pen down, laced his fingers together on the desktop, and raised his face from the desk to me. His eyes were French black, his skin pale olive. From the darkness of the blue vein running across his forehead and down his temple, I could tell he hadn’t fed tonight. I breathed in, and he smelled hungry, which was an uncomfortable thought. Leo’s eyes held mine, without a hint of compulsion, curiosity in his expression rather than a predator’s gaze, and I let myself relax, just a hair. Just a bit. Waiting.

“Things have changed since you arrived in my domain,” he said slowly. “You are not entirely at fault, but you are . . . a catalyst, a goad to transformation.” That was true, so I didn’t respond. “We needed this stimulus that you have brought, but it has been painful to many of us.” Leo had fought a war since I first came to New Orleans, killing lots of his enemies, losing lots of his friends, disbanding half of the established clans, leaving four instead of the original eight, and that was only the most obvious of the changes. So, yeah, painful. He had a point.

But I wasn’t going to let it stand as totally my doing, because no way was that the truth. At the same time, I also didn’t want to provoke him unnecessarily. It was one thing to annoy the alpha predator over the phone, and totally different to bait the vamp in his lair. I said, carefully, “You used me and my presence here to achieve some important goals.”

He shrugged elegantly, his head, shoulders, and arms moving as if choreographed. “I am the creature that nature and the Mithran blood has made me. I make efforts to rule with fairness and compassion, but I am not afraid to use the skills and abilities and people at my disposal as I see fit to accomplish ends that will keep my people and my lands safe.”

Behind him, the door opened. I smelled Bruiser’s scent even before he appeared. He was wearing a new cologne, subtle and citrusy, applied with the light hand of someone who lived with predators who had an excellent sense of smell and an aversion to strong perfume.

He entered the office proper and stood in the opening, his hands behind his back, as if at parade rest, though as far as I knew, he had never been to war. He gave a smile, his lips pulling slowly as he took in my boots on the table, my slouch, and Leo’s studied patience. “Leo. Jane,” he said, acknowledging us both, in order of social and dominant importance.

Bruiser—George Dumas—was elegance itself, some of that refinement coming from the upper-class British upbringing, and some from his years acting as Leo’s chief blood-servant, head of security, and Enforcer. Leo’s real Enforcer, as opposed to my part-time job as imitation Enforcer. Tonight he was dressed in slacks and a starched shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show his arms, lean and muscled, and worn, brown loafers, no socks. Which made me smile for reasons I didn’t bother to try to understand.

“Sit, my primo,” Leo said. When Bruiser sat beside me, Leo went on. “We have several things to discuss. First is the illness of several blood-slaves. It is not the plague. More . . . much like the common cold that is apt to infect humans who do not drink regularly.” To me he said, “George is attempting to discover if they share anything in common. Worse is the disappearance of a Mithran in what appears to be a hoax or perhaps a kidnapping. I speak of this only to keep you informed,” he said to me. “I do not wish you to engage in the search or the investigation at this time. George will deal with this issue. I have other needs for you.

“Tonight at dusk, I will receive a communiqué from the European Council. There have been rumors of what the call might mean, but rumors are faithless things, promising much and delivering little.” I almost smiled at that, but he went on. “There will be a meeting of the full New Orleans Mithran Council just after midnight to discuss this call.” He looked at his primo as he spoke and Bruiser nodded, understanding some unspoken command. “At that time, I will schedule a gather to announce to the clans the European plans and rulings, as well as to present the new Mithrans who have risen this season.”

To me he continued. “I wish you to oversee the security for this gather. In-house protocols, safety measures for parking, vetting the waitstaff, and overseeing the caterer’s arrival and exit.”

A gather was a meeting peculiar to vampires. A powerful vamp could announce a gather and command all the vamps who had sworn him allegiance to show up. Then it was like—and yet very unlike—a democratic meeting. They might party, drink a few humans, maybe have a little sex, because for vamps, dinner and sex went together, or they might get right to business and discuss. Said discussions were not always peaceful; some required persuasion and a battle of compulsive power. Then the gathered would come to some conclusion and act. At least that was what had happened at the gathers I’d seen. “Okay,” I said. “Standard security?”

“More than that. Many things may change in the next months and announcements will not all be met with joy.” His voice went steely. “There should be no repeat of the events of our last soiree.”

My lips tightened involuntarily, and I knew Leo saw the small movement. I had screwed up at the first vamp shindig I worked. Werewolves had gotten in by leaping from roof to roof and busting in through the stained glass windows in the ballroom. I had since figured out how they had gotten in and placed more security cameras to cover the roof system and the walls outside the grounds, and while no one could fault me for not knowing that werewolves could leap forty feet, my security measures had still been insufficient. I nodded once, feeling a bit as I had as a kid being reprimanded by a very proper and intimidating principal.

“We have arranged for enough human warriors to keep my people peaceful and safe,” Leo said. “Derek Lee has been informed that you will be contacting him, and will need his men. There is a meeting of the full security team tonight before dusk. At the meeting, Derek will place himself and his men under your command.”

Leo always meant more than just what was said, and my eyes narrowed as I took all that in. Derek was placing himself and his men under my command? I’d gotten the impression that he’d rather eat dirt than take orders from me again. It would undoubtedly tick off the former Marine . . . which could be fun. I should bring popcorn. Wisely, I didn’t say that.

Leo turned his Frenchy black eyes to me. I felt their weight and the leashed power in him as he added, “At the gather, you will be acting as my true Enforcer.”

If I’d been in big-cat form, my pelt would have spiked up. Leo had tried to make me his true Enforcer once before. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience. But he had said, You will be acting as my true Enforcer. Acting. Not actually being. I glanced at Bruiser, who had polite interest on his face. It wasn’t the expression of a guy who had just been fired in favor of the new girl in town. But something felt wrong with all this—wrong in a “Jane is about to be hoodwinked” kinda way. And Beast didn’t like it, which was odd, because she was bound to the MOC and should be happy about anything that brought her closer to him.

To make certain that Leo was saying what I thought he was saying, I said, “I won’t permit you to force a feeding from me again.” It came out half growl, and my upper lip curled to show my teeth as Beast leaned in hard, showing her displeasure at the memory of pure predatory dominance. “I will not be bound to you against my will.” Bound more, but I wasn’t saying that part, since Leo didn’t know. “I’ll stake you or die trying.”

Leo looked away and back up quickly. In a human that might have been a tell, a physical tic that indicated stress or a lie or— “Primo. A moment of privacy, please.” Bruiser glanced from me to his boss and stood, gave a formal-looking nod that could have been a modified bow, and silently left the room. When the door shut behind him, Leo said, “I wounded you. I am sorry.”

I sat up in my chair and put my feet on the floor. “Say what?” I felt Beast pawpawpaw into the forefront of my mind, and I breathed in through my mouth, taking in the MOC’s scent. He wasn’t lying. There were no stress hormones on the air. If anything, I smelled something that might have been called meekness, if such emotions had a scent at all. Inside me, Beast chuffed with confusion and flicked her ear tabs.

“A master,” he said, studying his hands on the desk, “does not force his will upon others to feed or to bind. A master does not use violence on those under his care without need. A master, by definition of the word, should never have to resort to such methods.” His hands went flat to the table as if holding himself down, and his eyes went unfocused. As if memories carried him to places he’d rather not revisit.

“I was close to reentering devoveo when you saved me from the hands and fangs of my enemies. I had been drained, Jane. Tortured. And you freed me. To save me, my people fed me full, beyond volumes even Naturaleza might drink. They brought me both humans and Mithrans and I drank deeply, nearly draining the cattle, in order to keep me from the brink of true-death. But it was not enough. My body healed, but my mind was . . . fragile. My . . . instability . . . was not an excuse for what I did, as Americans say, but this does offer some explanation.”

My mouth had gone dry during his halting words and I had to fight to breathe slowly, but calm was far from me. I knew Leo could hear my increased heartbeat, and smell the shocked pheromones seeping through my pores, because his pupils dilated. It was a vamp predator reaction.

His control held and he went on. “Perhaps if my heir had not been recently risen from being put to earth. Perhaps if my primo had not been recently risen as Onorio. Perhaps if my Mercy Blade had not been acting upon agendas of his own, and perhaps if the priestess had not kept information from me . . .” He shrugged again, and this one was far less graceful. “Perhaps many things. I was powerful, full of the blood of my people, but I was not in control when I forced you, when I drank from you against your will and attempted to bind you. I was not myself.”

Leo raised his eyes from his hands and sat back, moving slowly, the way one predator moves in the presence of another, to not startle or give cause for attack. “Your eyes glow golden,” he said, his voice like a caress. “There is nothing in the few histories of skinwalkers that speak of such a bright glow. Yellow eyes, yes. But not this glow.”

I struggled with my heart rate, trying to keep it steady as Leo said aloud something that been my secret, mine alone, and then mine and Molly’s, for so very long. But my flesh went hot as I thought about what he might mean by the histories of skinwalkers and I had to wonder what he had discovered. What his priestess might have told him.

Leo went on. “You are different from others of your kind, I think.”

Beast’s hackles rose and I shoved down on her, feeling her slink away, her surprise as intense as my own that Leo would talk to me about all this, about any of this. But like any cat, she was also amused and delighted at the power play and at Leo’s . . . tentativeness, was the only word I could find. She sat in the back of my mind and extruded her claws, pressing them into my mind. It hurt. She intended it to.

When I didn’t respond, Leo lifted the fingers of one hand, as if throwing something to the side. “But that is of no matter. What is imperative is that I make this right. I forced a feeding. I hurt you.”

I nodded, the movements jerky. My hands gripped the upholstered arms of the chair as if to keep me in place. “When I took your blood, against your will, when I attempted to bind you against your will, I broke . . . not law, but . . . custom, perhaps. That which is custom for masters. For the forced taking of your blood, I owe you a boon,” he said, “at the very least. A great boon. You could have half of my kingdom.” He smiled, but I just stared, not acknowledging his use of scripture in the analogy. “Until such a time as you claim it, you own part of me. I am yours to command.”

“Ummm.” Yeah, that’s telling him. But really. What was I supposed to say? And You own part of me? Say what? I said instead, “But you gave blood to help Misha’s daughter Charly stay alive.”

“That was charity for one injured by Naturaleza.”

“Okay. You owe me a big honking boon. Gotcha.”

He didn’t smile. “And”—he took a breath, deeper than the ones that simply allowed him to talk; it was a human breath in its depth—“at some time in the future, when you are able”—he looked back at his hands and said in a perfectly human tone—“I would have your forgiveness.”

If one of my vamp enemies had been in the room, he could have meandered over and drained me dry, before I could react, I was so stunned. “Uhhh.”

“George and my servant whom you call Wrassler have additional information for you regarding the gather. You are dismissed.”

Like usual. But this time I didn’t even care. I stood, walked to the office door, and out into the hallway. Bruiser was waiting for me. Leo’s primo looked me over, lifted a single elegant eyebrow, and closed his mouth on whatever he was going to say. Instead Bruiser said, “You look . . . peaked.”

“Yeah.” I blew out my breath and stuck my hands deep in my pockets, my shoulders up near my ears. “I think that means I look crappy.”

Bruiser smiled, the motion slow as he took me in again, his eyes roaming almost possessively. He gestured along the hallway, indicating it was time for us to move. When we were some ten feet from Leo’s door, he said, “You do not look crappy. You look lovely.”

I shook my head but I couldn’t help the grin his words brought to my lips. I wasn’t a lovely woman by anyone’s estimation. Interesting, maybe. When I was all doodied up maybe a bit better than interesting. But never lovely, which implied more natural grace than I’d ever had and bone structure that was less strong. But I wasn’t good with compliments and so I just shrugged and followed him. Which was easy. Bruiser had, by far, the best butt I’d ever seen on anyone, and it flexed as he walked toward the front of the building.

“The boss said you have info for me?” I asked, changing the subject from me and taking my attention off his backside, to something I could converse about. Like business.

“Yes.” Bruiser’s lips pulled down into a scowl and he turned to me, tilting his head down so our eyes were on a level. “We have a Mithran missing, in a strange manner, and I have a bad feeling she is true-dead.”

“True-dead how? When you behead a vamp you have a lot of proof, most of it bloody and gory and hard to get out in the wash.”

He slanted his eyes at me again, dark humor lurking around his mouth. “Strange. Like something out of TV or film. One of Leo’s newly freed scions disappeared from her sleeping lair overnight. The only thing left was her jewelry, her clothes, and her personal items.”

“No body. No head,” I clarified.

“No. And nothing to wash out.” He smiled.

“She maybe left with someone?”

“No. Her new blood-servants went to bed with her. When the boys woke, all that was left was a pile of dust. Ash and some kind of granules, actually.”

My mouth opened and closed. I had nothing to say to that for way too many steps down the hallways. I figured the term boys meant her young blood-servants. Ewww. I managed “That is weird, even for fangheads. The boys hurt her? Burned her to ash?” Though I had no idea how that might be possible.

“No. Leo sent a master he trusts to drink from them. At dawn, they went to sleep in a pile like a bunch of puppies and when the boys woke, she was gone.”

From a side corridor Wrassler emerged. “You tell her?”

“I did. She seems as bemused as we are.”

Wrassler popped the knuckles of his left hand, and then the right, and what would have been snaps in an ordinary-sized human were more like thunks from his meaty hands. “I’ve been handling it.” He looked at Bruiser and something passed between them that I couldn’t decipher in the heartbeat of time it lasted. “I got a minor promotion to security chief.”

I thought about that for a moment. The primo was security chief as part of his duties as primo, but he seemed almost indifferent at the change in the status quo. I wondered if the change was due to Bruiser’s own change in status to Onorio and if he’d share later, or if I’d never be told what was up. Never was more likely. Even if Bruiser was some kinda superblood-servant, that didn’t mean he would be free from loyalty to Leo. I did wonder if Superblood-Servant warranted his own comic book and I had to smother a laugh at the thought of him in a black bodysuit and bat wings. “Huh,” I said, fighting the laughter. That’s me. So good at soliloquies.

“Reach is researching any similar occurrences in the histories,” Bruiser said. “It’s nothing to worry yourself over just now, but be aware. Wwwrrassler”—he stumbled over the nickname and I let a smile form—“will send you reports if we hear anything useful.”

I’d rather not spend my time bent over a bunch of electronic gear researching, so I wasn’t going to ask for the gig unless it got more physical—boots-on-the-ground kinda stuff. I shook my head. “Yeah. Okay. What do you know about the gather?”

“Boss is nervous about it,” Wrassler said. “Which is why he’s got Bruiser overseeing the caterers personally, handpicking the blood-meals, getting his pet designer to make sure everyone’s clothes coordinate.” He ran his hand over his scalp. “Leo hasn’t been this worried about a meeting since the leopards came to visit.”

“Who’s the visitor?”

“Don’t know. But scuttlebutt says the gather will be to discuss a future visit by the European Council.”

I stopped dead at the top of the foyer steps, and so did the men. Wrassler wore worry on his big, flat-featured face. Bruiser was watching me work it through. “Leo said he’d be getting a communiqué from the EC,” I said. “Not a phone call or a chat, but something that might be considered an order or a plan of action. The vamps from the council are coming? Sometime soon? Not their human lackeys?”

“That’s what I hear,” Wrassler said. “If the gossips are right, it’ll be the first time the top European Mithrans left the continent since the eighteen hundreds, and the visit could be, maybe, in as little as six months.”

Six months seemed like a long time away, but to a long-lived vamp that was an eyeblink of time. I guessed the vamps had a lot to plan. The European Council probably traveled with their entire households, steamer trunks full of clothes, dozens of servants, a lawyer or two, interpreters, cooks for the humans, maybe provisions of food that their blood-servants couldn’t get here. . . traveling like visiting heads of state. If visiting vamps was the kind of rumors Leo had been talking about, then no wonder he was worried. I would have to readdress every bit of security, both physical and protocols, for that kind of gig, which was why Leo wanted me as acting Enforcer. I was more up-to-date on current security hardware than Bruiser, his real Enforcer. I started down the stairs again, Wrassler beside me, Bruiser following. And this time I could feel his eyes on my backside and legs. Bruiser was a leg man. I felt warmth rise in me, settling deep inside.

“In addition to the announcement,” Bruiser said, “we’ll have visitors for the gather, and an introduction of the new Mithrans.”

Wrassler looked disgruntled at that and rubbed his scalp again, a gesture that meant he was disturbed. “Yeah. I got details.” He pointed to the waiting room cum holding cell just off the foyer. I went with him. Bruiser closed the door after me, leaving himself on the outside without a word. I figured he would catch up with me later. Wrassler opened the small fridge and handed me a Coke. I popped the top and took a swig.

“Two months ago, Leo sent Grégoire to Atlanta, to reorganize De Allyon’s clans, to bring to the light the Naturaleza who refused to accept Fame Vexatum.”

I knew Grégoire, Leo’s secondo heir, had been sent to clean up the mess there, but I’d assumed he was back by now. And “bring to the light” was formal vamp-speak for killing a misbehaving vampire true-dead. Fame Vexatum was the way vamps lived in the modern world. They pretty much starved, but the starvation allowed them stronger mental gifts of compulsion and more mental control than other vamps, Naturaleza vamps, had.

“It’s a real mess,” he continued, opening a can of Red Bull. “De Allyon had a human breeding and slave program on a farm in the hills near Chattanooga.” Whatever he saw on my face made him chuckle dryly. “Yeah. Federal cops are involved, and PsyLED, and because of all the hoopla, Leo has instituted the hostage chapter of the Vampira Carta with Lincoln Shaddock.”

“Hostage?”

“Yeah. When Leo put Shaddock on notice for a decade of reorganization before he could apply for Master of the City status again, he set up an exchange provision.”

I thought back to the night, months ago, of the gather, the ceremony where the chief fanghead of Clan Shaddock heard the result of his request for an upgrade in status. I remembered something Leo had said during the ceremonies. I quoted, as nearly as I was able, “For a certain amount of time there was to be the ‘customary and agreed-upon exchange of blood-servants and scions.’”

He pointed a finger of approval at me. “That. A couple of our vamps and blood-servants are in Asheville, dealing with organizational stuff, so we get a new human and a vamp in exchange.” Wrassler drank down his Red Bull in three swallows and crushed the can. He tossed it into the recycle bin, where it clanged around with the rest of the aluminum. “Quarters are tight here as it is, until Leo moves into his new clan home, and no one’s happy about the new people. We had to clear out two bedrooms with four beds each already, four more for the gather, and the rest of us are bunking in together.”

I sipped to hide my smile. “Sounds cozy.”

“Not. Anyway, none of this household stuff is your job, since you already updated the hardware, but the gather will be.”

“I’m supposed to be here before dusk to go over security for the ceremony.”

“Come hungry. Stephen is making his signature chili, so hot it’ll melt your eyeballs and fry your brain.”

I finished my Coke and tossed the can. “Somehow that sounds more dangerous than delicious, but I’ll be here.”

“You only live once. Unless you’re a vamp or a cat.”

I chuckled at the joke, ignoring his speculative expression. Yeah, I got killed, turned into a big-cat, and came back to life in the back of Leo’s car. Not going there. And didn’t say it aloud. “See you tonight,” I said, and made my exit from vamp central.