I needed a nap, but that wasn’t going to happen. Just as I crawled into bed, newly showered and wearing a cropped pair of John’s old boxers and a tank top, my cell buzzed with a text. It was a message from Ming of Glass, the new, first-ever, Master of the City of Knoxville. The MOC was demanding my presence at her clan home. Now. After sunrise. In the daylight. Vampires slept by day. Ordinary vampires. I didn’t know about a Master of a City.
The text had come from Yummy’s number and I knew for certain that Yummy wasn’t old enough to be awake. The text had also gone to Rick. I wondered if the MOC had gone into the sleeping lair of her bodyguard and used Yummy’s dead-by-day finger to open her phone and send the message. Had the MOC known how to do all that?
My cell rang and I answered, “LaFleur. I see it.”
“We aren’t usually subjected to a command performance,” he said. “Part of me wants to refuse on general principle—law enforcement doesn’t act at the behest of fangheads—but the realistic part of me knows we should go. You up for the drive or should I send someone to pick you up?”
“I’ll drive. What does she mean when she says, ‘Ming of Glass and Knoxville demands the attention and assistance of PsyLED. We have been physically and electronically attacked. Two blood-servants are missing.’”
“We’ll find out when we get there.”
“Copy that.” I hit end. “You’re a big help,” I accused the phone.
Mud stuck her head in the doorway. “I can go to Mama. The womenfolk is canning tomatoes and making basil vinegar and pesto today. I can grab some a our’ns and add to the mix in exchange for some jars.”
“Hurry and get some picked. And be careful of the roots. They need rain. We leave in twenty minutes.”
Mud raced to the garden, urging the cats out with her. I considered work clothes in the closet. Instead, I fingered a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and spotted a lightweight cropped jacket. “Demand my presence?” I stripped and dressed. “Get me off duty?” I sniped. “Just be glad I ain’t showing up to your august presence in bib overalls and work boots.”
I frowned at the world. I had started talking to inanimate objects and the air. Being a special agent was making me crazy as a bedbug.
I dropped Mud off at Mama’s, the smell of garlic and basil and tomatoes making my mouth water, and took off for the clan home of Ming of Glass. In the middle of the morning.
I beat PsyLED SAC Rick LaFleur there, so I drove by the house, which was off Kingston Pike, on Cherokee Boulevard, in the fancy part of town. I pulled over, turned off the truck, and lowered the window, taking the spare time while I waited on my boss to Google the address and go through county records. Every Tennessee county kept building records on deeds, titles, land boundaries, and most everything else. I extended my search into the county building inspectors, looking into plumbing, electrical, security, and everything else I could find.
The house was within spitting distance of the Confederate Memorial Hall, and probably had a view of the Tennessee River. Seen from above, it had a huge footprint. According to county records it was nearly twelve thousand square feet and had an attached six-car garage, a full, newly upgraded security system, a sprinkler system, a slate roof, a swimming pool, a tennis court, and a three-hole putting green. There was what looked like a brand-new greenhouse on the far side of the house. The barn and five-board fencing had a new coat of paint since the last satellite pictures, and the jump rings set up on the pasture seemed to get a lot of usage. The grounds were attractively landscaped with local flora and had dozens of mature oak trees that provided shade to the horses I could smell on the hot summer air. I noted that the security upgrades had been done by Yellowrock Securities, Jane Yellowrock’s company. Rick’s ex had her tentacles in every vampire clan home in the Southeast. I checked for a text reply. Nothing yet.
The entrance to the address was protected with a reinforced iron pole gate. Nothing but a small tank or someone on foot was getting through. I’d spotted a camera and a small speaker at the entrance as I drove by, and other cameras followed the fencing, with what might have been motion detectors and low-light and infrared monitors.
Rick—LaFleur for this interview—cruised up beside me, lowered his window, puffed out cigar smoke in a little ring, and smiled. Cigar smoke had been used for decades as a way to mask scent patterns from vampires and he would reek of it. His silver and black hair was brushed back; he was wearing a white dress shirt and a tie. For a para who had spent the night in the null room, he looked pretty good. “You up for this, Ingram?”
“They’ll call me Maggot.”
“They might. But how long they do that is up to you.”
I tilted my head. Up to me? I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he didn’t give me a chance to question him. “Leave your window down,” he said. “Show your ID to the camera and wait until they give you permission to enter. Follow me in. Leave your weapons locked in the truck.” He made a U-turn; I followed him up to the gate, waited my turn, and showed my ID.
The first quivers of nervousness raced through me on tiny little spider feet. I swallowed the nerves down. According to Spook School, vampires could smell nervousness and it activated their predatory instincts. I didn’t know if I could protect myself from a vampire. Didn’t know if I could drain them into the earth if they should attack. I didn’t know if the earth would spit them back out or entrap them as it had Brother Ephraim. Leaving my weapon in the truck felt stupid. Taking it with me felt more stupid. I wished I had bought a silver cross. Silver stakes. Something.
Ming of Glass owed me a boon. Boons were important things to vampires and that boon was worth much more now that Ming was an MOC. Did that give me protection and bargaining power? Was that what Rick meant? Then again, being called Maggot or Maggoty might be endearing, and might therefore give me the power to manipulate them without them knowing I was doing so. Churchwomen were excellent manipulators, and while I wasn’t near as good or as sneaky as one of the mamas, I was still pretty good. To be Maggot or not to be Maggot. It was a conundrum.
The driveway was long and winding, made of pressed and painted concrete that looked like cobbles; visitor parking was a wide area to the right of the house. I parked beside LaFleur’s official vehicle and took in the armed human guards patrolling, working with dogs. I made a point to step out of my truck where one of the guards could see me and remove my weapons, leaving only my ID and badge in view as I moved with false confidence toward the front entrance.
The house was made of dull brown river rock and a similar color brick. The wood trim was painted in three tones of cool browns and the working shutters were painted steel. I knew a lot about Ming of Glass, but a lot of what I thought I knew was from my church upbringing. The vampire was often used as a threat against unruly children. “You’un be good or Ming of Glass will snatch you’un outta your’n bed and turn you into a demon.”
The door was open, ice-cold air billowing out, when we reached it. A man wearing a dove gray suit with a scarlet pocket hankie bowed us in and I realized the suit was a tuxedo and the man had to be a butler. He was about five feet, six inches tall, clean shaven, and he was wearing white gloves even in the heat.
“Master of the City Ming of Glass welcomes you to her clan home. Please accept refreshment. I’ll inform the master that you have arrived.” He bowed again and swept an arm toward a fancy room, what might be called a parlor. A maid, wearing the same color scheme, ushered us in and offered us iced black tea with lemon or mint.
Rick said, “Thank you. We’d love some. With lemon for me.”
The offer was not something I should ignore or refuse even though I was already shivering as the sweat chilled on my body. But I didn’t want cold tea. “Thank you,” I said. “But if it would be possible I’d like a cup of hot tea?” And a blanket, which I did not say aloud. Ming’s lair was cold.
The maid opened her mouth and closed it, glanced at the doorway and the butler who was standing in the opening. Something passed between them and was gone. “Of course, miss. It will be just a moment longer.”
Rick’s lemony tea appeared in about ten seconds, the dark liquid in a cut crystal glass, carried in on a silver tray. I knew very little about really good crystal or silver, but this was heavy, the glass faceted like diamonds. Rick sat on the small sofa and took his glass in hand. He was all elegant and upper class and . . . Why wasn’t Rick a vampire chick magnet? He fit right in. That was strange.
Two minutes later, the maid reappeared with a teapot and a pretty teacup and saucer on a wooden tray. Two strings hung outside the teapot lid. I stared at the strings. I’d read a library book back when I wasn’t working for PsyLED. It was a novel about a modern girl from China and her very old grandmother. The young girl had made tea from loose leaves for the older woman as a sign of respect. In the novel, giving guests tea from tea bags was an insult. Ming was Asian, an old, old Asian. Tea in the China of her day would probably have been nearly sacred. While icing tea could be considered a way to blend into local culture, serving it steeped from a tea bag was probably like thumbing her nose at us. I didn’t know enough to do more than guess that Ming was offering a sly disrespect.
I debated trying the tea. Uncertain, I took my place on a leather chair with carved swan-neck arms, touching the wood surreptitiously, and looked over the large room. It had a high ceiling, attic fans, and stiff-looking furniture. I surveyed the room, looking for the most likely hiding places for the security cameras, just like the nosy cop I was becoming. I figured that a room this large would have at least four cameras, and decided that they were on the bookshelf, on the mantel, over the entrance door, and at the smaller door to the side where the maid had emerged.
I also decided to not drink the tea just yet. I kept the fingers of my left hand on the wood of the swan-necked chair arm. It was fine wood, tightly grained cherry, from a local forest. I liked it. And it offered me a connection to the land.
From the doorway I was facing, a black-suited man I identified as Ming’s primo human blood servant—Cai, no last name on file anywhere—and Ming’s vampire security specialist, Heyda Cohen, entered. Cai was about my height, slender, and though there was no data on file about his fighting abilities, I got the distinct impression that he was deadly. He moved like a hunting cat, perfectly balanced, fluid. Rick watched him move and placed his glass to the side as if to free his hands. Heyda was tiny, of Middle Eastern or East Asian descent and very beautiful. She was also awake in the daylight, and though she looked as if she could fall asleep in a heartbeat, being awake by day meant she was quite powerful. A vampire war against God’s Cloud of Glory Church had been fought over her, and I had been partly responsible for her rescue from the churchmen. It was the occasion when I first met Jane Yellowrock, and . . .
I took a slow, steadying breath. In many ways, Heyda was responsible for all the changes in my life. Heyda’s eyes were sharp when they landed on me and she nodded solemnly, as if in recognition of me as something or someone important. In her eyes I might be. I had been involved in other ways with the protection of the vamps in Knoxville, including the return of Mira Clayton’s adopted, nonhuman child. That rescue was the source of the boon between her boss and me. And yet, Ming offered questionable tea. I could be reading the situation wrong.
The maid reentered behind Heyda, carrying another tray with tiny scalloped toast points topped with what looked like raw meat, and cucumber sandwiches on white bread. Raw meat? Another subtle insult, this one directed to the cat-man? I inhaled, trying to catch the scent, and thought it might be smoked salmon. That was expensive and so . . . no insult? I wished I knew more about manners outside of the church. The servant set the tray on a tea table, poured tea into my cup, and departed, the butler following her out, leaving Heyda and Cai behind. The two stood at what looked like parade rest, facing the main entrance to the parlor.
When Rick put down his glass and stood, I followed suit, though I heard and smelled nothing. The Master of the City, Ming Zhane of Glass, entered slowly, her power zipping over my skin like a swarm of ladybugs had landed on me. Ming was dressed in a black silk robe over a scarlet gown, the exact shade as her lips and the same shade as fresh blood. A gold chain hung around her neck, with a ruby pendant the size of a robin’s egg. She was Asian, petite, with almond-shaped eyes of an odd dark honey shade. Her black hair was long, up in a bun just like every other time I’d seen her. Her skin was smooth and pale as ivory, and her lips were painted scarlet.
The last time I met her, Ming had been only a clan Blood Master. Now she was a great deal more. She exuded all the power, elegance, and lethal intent of an apex predator. She looked totally at ease. And she was up, in control, and alert in the middle of the morning, which told us how powerful she was.
She would squash us like rats if we let her. I knew. I’d dealt with Ming before and she liked messing with humans and paras she considered beneath her. Like us.
Cai said softly, “The Master of the City of Knoxville and Tennessee hunting grounds, and Blood Master of Clan Glass, Ming Zhane, welcomes the special agents of Knoxville PsyLED Unit Eighteen to her clan home.”
Ming had said this visit was urgent, but clearly urgent did not negate protocol or the vampire social niceties when dealing with human law enforcement. Realizing that every word spoken today would have much more meaning than appeared on the surface, I ran the primo’s words through my mind.
Technically, Ming was her family name and Zhane her given name. She should have changed her family name to Glass when she defeated the clan founder a hundred-plus years ago, but she hadn’t. Keeping her own name, in the Asian manner, stated to the vampire world that she wasn’t one to abide by Mithran or human rules unless she wanted to, and that she was powerful enough to get away with anything she wanted. And the words Tennessee hunting grounds meant something more than being MOC. Ming was claiming the entire state of Tennessee as hunting territory. With Leo Pellissier true-dead and in the grave—or so they said—and Jane Yellowrock, the Dark Queen, in hiding, Ming was stretching her power and influence. Ming might be playing with us like a cat with mice.
Ming knew us, but Rick introduced us anyway, title to title. “Rick LaFleur, special agent in charge of Unit Eighteen of PsyLED, and Special Agent Nell Ingram. What can we do for you, Ming of Glass, Master of the City of Knoxville?”
I noticed he didn’t say anything about his werecat titles. And he didn’t mention the Tennessee hunting grounds. That was interesting.
Instead of answering, Ming sat and gestured us to sit as well. We did, on the edges of our seats. I pressed my left fingers against the wood again and watched as Ming smoothed her silk robe. She said, “I hope the refreshment is to your satisfaction.”
Rick looked nonplussed at the deflection, but I was ready for it. I lifted my cup and sipped, saying, “The refreshment offered by Ming of Glass is welcome, especially as the Mithran Master of the City is in such penury.”
Ming lifted a brow in what might be amusement. “Penury?”
I set down the cup and nudged the tea-bag string with a knuckle. “I know about whole leaves being preferred over the tea dust in tea bags.” I gave a smile as faint as her own and added a bit of church to my accent. “I ain’t a connoisseur of anything except vegetables, but I know my manners. And serving iced tea and store-bought tea-bag tea to a guest is an insult. Right? And Ming of Glass would never insult a guest. So Ming of Glass must be broke.”
“Broke?” Ming blinked. “Vegetables?”
“I’ve been told that I grow the finest vegetables in the state,” I said.
Rick looked at the sweating glass in his hand. He might know all about vamps, but he didn’t know about a woman’s insults. “We’re here for—” Rick started.
Ming’s hand flew up in a cutting gesture as she interrupted, “My finances are not an appropriate topic of discussion. You will try the cucumber sandwiches.” She indicated the plate of sandwiches. “I should like your opinion.”
“Oh, I’d never compare my cukes to anyone else’s,” I said. “That would be too unkind of me, would reek of hubris and ego and disrespect to my host.”
Ming’s deep brown eyes sparkled in amusement. She knew I was insulting her not-so-subtly in return for the tea insult and she was enjoying herself. “But I insist,” she said, her tone dropping into vampire compulsion that felt like warmth and heat and drugged happiness.
Except it didn’t work on me, especially with my hands on wood. “In that case, I’ll do Ming of Glass the favor of taste-testing her veggies.” I took a sandwich, bit, and chewed. Rick’s face went bland as a vampire’s face, as he caught up with the deeper potential meanings of the preceding conversation. The rest of the room awaited my judgment in fascinated interest. I swallowed and sipped the now-tepid tea in my cup. Set down the cup. Making her wait. I was channeling the mamas’ careful social interactions with the wives of other churchmen. There was an elusive line I shouldn’t cross.
“It’s quite nice,” I said, staring at the small sandwich in my hand.
“Only nice?” Ming asked.
“I’ve always found that lemon cucumbers need a bit more organic material in the soil to give them that zing. The soil you used is just right for Mexican sour gherkins, though.”
“Organic material?”
“Dead things,” I said. Rick made a soft grunt of air, Ming’s eyebrows went up, and the room went frozen, offended, silent. I just smiled the sweet kind of smile a churchwoman uses when she’s about to offer a kind, syrupy, polite insult. “Maggots know all about dead things. They make good eatin’.”
The silence went harder and colder and deadly. A good three seconds later, Ming burst out laughing. Well, it was a little titter of sound, but for her I reckon it was like a belly laugh for ordinary folks. “Mexican sour gherkins,” she repeated. “These are good cucumbers?”
“They’re actually not a cucumber or melon at all.” I scrunched up my face, trying to remember. “I think they are in the Melothria genus. A little sharper lemon taste. Fewer seeds. A little more . . . tart maybe? But really good with mayo and sourdough bread, which, when made right, has bigger holes than the white bread your cook is using. The holes let the flavors mix better. I have some Mexican sour gherkin seeds I’d be happy to have delivered to Ming of Glass for her gardener to try. It’s a little late in the season to plant outside, but they’ll do okay in a greenhouse. With the right amount of organic material.”
Amused, Ming sipped her tea. “Would Special Agent Maggot be willing to test our organic mixture and recommend the perfect addition of . . . dead things . . . to improve our vegetables? We expect the Dark Queen to visit us when she goes on progression.”
“Progression?” Rick asked.
“To visit her far-flung subjects.”
Rick said nothing, but Ming’s nostrils fluttered and she smiled slightly. Despite the cigar smoke, she had smelled his reaction to the discussion of Jane Yellowrock—the Dark Queen of vampires, who was not going on any kind of trip that I knew of. Ming was playing games with us, slashing at Rick’s emotions, trying to put us where she wanted us. Ming wanted a favor but didn’t want to be beholden to cops. She shifted her attention to Rick. He set his glass aside. I followed their lead and put down my tiny sandwich. Niceties were over. And I knew without looking that Rick was ticked off with me. There might be words about my taking lead on the social portion of this discussion. I wasn’t planning on backing down.
Carefully, Ming said, “We have a legal conundrum and wish advice upon how to proceed.”
Rick nodded once and glanced at me, but when he spoke it was to the Master of the City. “Ming of Glass, I hear, but need to clarify. Do you wish to make an official police report?”
“What are her options?” Heyda asked.
Rick considered, leaning forward and clasping his fingers together between his knees. “If Ming of Glass wishes to file a report, she will be speaking to the SAC of Knoxville. Every detail will be entered into a database that might be read by many people in law enforcement.”
“Ming does not wish her words to be made known to others,” Heyda said. “This will not be an official report.”
Rick nodded his understanding. While he didn’t seem to comprehend the niceties and backstabbing of Ming’s chitchat, my boss did appreciate the vampire mind-set when it came to power plays. He took off his badge and placed it on the table. I followed suit. Now I was just Maggot, and Rick was just Rick. Not cops.
“Rick LaFleur hears Ming of Glass.”
“Rick LaFleur the human? Or the wereleopard, the cat who is second in the leap of the Dark Queen? And first in Gabon, in Africa.”
I stiffened in surprise. Ming was really well informed and she was getting a lot of mileage out of this meeting and this problem. Or she needed help of a different nature.
“I am many things,” Rick said evenly. I wondered if Rick was really this calm or if his old undercover reflexes were kicking in.
“It is to the Dark Queen’s leopard I will speak,” Ming said with a mean little smile.
Rick didn’t react visibly, but I had a feeling his scent changed enough for the fading cigar smoke to no longer hide it. He hadn’t talked to Jane Yellowrock in months. He had no power in the leap and no permission to speak for Jane, but he was over a barrel. “The beta cat of Yellowrock leap hears.”
Ming said, “We were attacked last night, our land and holdings and humans. Two humans have been turned or they would have died. Two Mithrans are injured and sleeping with my blood in their veins to heal.”
“Would Ming of Glass specify what kind of attack?”
Humans hadn’t died, so we could keep this unofficial, but Ming was pacing a narrow path.
“It was magical,” Ming said, with distaste.
Heyda said, “We defeated the attack and strengthened our defenses, but to know such a thing was possible would be a gift to our enemies and an indication that Ming was less powerful than she clearly is.”
I understood. The vampires were awake in the daytime, which was an indication of might. But they had been successfully attacked.
“This magical attack,” Rick said. “Please clarify.”
“A spell of calling was issued, a magical summons,” Ming said. “Two of our number attempted to leave the grounds and their humans endeavored to stop them.”
Rick’s body tightened and his eyes glowed a slight green with his cat. He leaned now toward Heyda. He said, “Tell me about this calling.”
Heyda said, “After midnight, two of our number stood and walked to the doors, moving as if automatons, as if not hearing the calls of their humans, as if they were spelled. The humans tried to intervene and the Mithrans killed their own blood-servants. I was able to stake the Mithrans and thus stop their actions. Ming and I were able to turn the humans. The spell was strong, lasting for hours, during which time other Mithrans fought to remain in their lairs, fought to not answer the calling. Altogether eleven Mithrans were staked. Only two of us resisted the spell used against us.”
That meant that Yummy had been called too. Yummy was the closest thing I had to a vamp friend. But I couldn’t ask about her right now. I firmed my lips, stopping my words.
“How many times has this calling happened?” Rick asked.
“Why do you ask this?” Ming asked. “How do you know this attack has occurred more than the once of which we speak?”
“Because I have been called to my leopard and once ended up on a riverbank in cat form, near a witch’s circle. A circle of cursing and summoning, one that showed evidence of the presence of Mithrans. I was called last night, and resisted the spell.”
“A witch curses both were-creatures and Mithrans?” Ming said, her eyes flashing. “What do the local spell casters say to this? We have tried to contact them to negotiate that they cease such attacks. They do not reply to us.”
Softly, Heyda said, “Ming is ready to go to war with the spell casters. She has called for the assistance of Lincoln Shaddock. He and his people will travel here during the night.”
Shaddock was the new MOC of Asheville. That meant a lot more vampires in Knoxville than normal and tensions might flare. A war between the paranormal creatures was a very bad thing and to be avoided at all costs.
Rick held up a hand in a gesture for peace. “The witches are not your enemies. One of the city’s PsyLED special agents is a witch and she is as baffled and concerned as we are. She spoke with the local coven leader. They don’t know anything about the circles and they’re . . .” He paused. “Not fearful, but wary. Worried. They say the witch circles are a dangerous and forbidden magic and they refuse to help us apprehend the witch who is casting this curse. They say it’s an outside witch, not one of their own.”
“And you believe them?” Heyda asked, skeptical.
“Yes. Both as a law enforcement officer and as a wereleopard.”
“Are the witches also under the summoning?”
Rick shook his head. “I don’t think so. But they’re casting auguries for the future and reading the cards. They told our agent that all the readings so far point to ‘grave danger.’”
“How many circles?”
“Twelve,” Rick said, “over the three moon cycles.”
Ming’s lips tilted slightly down and she said, “Maggot. You have read the land at the circles of summoning?”
“I have. Mithrans were there, either before or after the summonings were cast.”
Ming’s eyes tightened, her white-powdered face giving little away. “My clan is spread about the city. Only a few lair here. None have reported such a summoning. Heyda, you will contact the ones who lair otherwhere to see if they have been called and did not report it.”
Heyda murmured, “Yes, my mistress.”
Rick asked, “Why wouldn’t they have already contacted the Master of the City if they’ve had problems?”
I was looking at Heyda when he spoke and I caught the barest flinch in the skin around her eyes. I knew that look. Fear. Ming’s people were afraid of her, and Heyda couldn’t say that. But I could. “You rule your people with an iron hand, don’tcha?” I felt the brush of Ming’s magic. I dug my fingernails into the wood before it got too strong and I forgot what I wanted to say. “People, even blood-sucking people, don’t look for help to the ones who show no mercy.”
Ming speared me with a look and I almost reared back, losing face, in vampire terms. Almost. Instead, I pressed my nails into her chair arm so hard that I damaged the shiny finish, the bare wood beneath soothing. After a space of time, Ming’s eyes narrowed. Stiffly she said, “Will you read my property to see if the summoning is in the land?”
And now we knew the real reason we had been commanded to visit the clan home of the Master of the City of Knoxville. Ming wanted another favor, without us understanding that it was a favor. I had been setting and keeping careful boundaries in this meeting, boundaries that established who was head honcho, who was alpha. That alpha person was my boss. Pointedly, I looked at Rick. I was being deliberately heavy-handed enough that Ming was certain to pick up on all my clues. “I have my blanket in the truck. I can do that favor for Ming of Glass now, if you like.” I put careful emphasis on the word you.
“Yes,” Ming said, answering for him.
“Special Agent Ingram, you have my permission,” Rick said at the same time.
I replied to Rick in the vernacular of Unit Eighteen. “Boss, it’s unlikely that I’ll note anything except the sensation of Mithrans on this land.”
“You will sense maggots,” Ming said. This time there was no playfulness in her tone.
I took my badge and closed my fist around it, keeping it out of sight so Ming would know that I was speaking as Nell, not a cop. “Ming of Glass did not kill her guests when we placed ourselves at her mercy by answering her invitation. I will read her land for her as a favor and a kindness.” I left the room for the front of the house and the door, hearing the softly indrawn breath of Heyda. Yes, I thought. Think on that. You don’t want to make it official? Then it’s tit-for-tat and quid pro quo. Now Ming owed me a boon and a favor.
On first read, I got nothing on the land except the crawly sensation I associated with vampires and dead things. Then I pushed into the earth with my consciousness, calling on Soulwood, and the earth opened up around me, colors sparking and tumbling and full of power. Ming’s land was more active than my own, the energy lively and youthful. I realized that, in some way, Ming had sealed this land to herself and fed it for decades. She called it her hunting grounds. I wondered briefly if she had spilled human blood on it in sacrifice to claim it, but I was pretty sure that spilling blood for the land was an ancient European custom, not Asian. If Ming spilled blood it was her dinner, not a sacrifice, though the land might not know the difference.
I studied the earth all around and decided that no witch magic had penetrated the ground itself. Nothing in the trees. Whatever the attack had been, it left no trace. Withdrawing, I stood and carried my blanket to the truck.
Rick was leaning against his vehicle, sunglasses over his eyes, his silvered hair swept back, ankles crossed, one hand dangling from his pocket, the other rubbing his mangled tattoo. “Ingram.”
I gave him a nod and opened the truck door. Heat billowed out. I had forgotten to leave the windows open an inch. I tossed the blanket inside to the passenger seat.
“You did good catching the thing about tea. I’ve visited at the Glass Clan Home before and been offered tea, always iced.”
“It might notta been an insult. What’s polite in one culture—Southerners drink a lot of iced tea in summer—is an insult in another. Ming’s an old vampire. She’s adapted, but I bet not enough to offer a respected guest tea from commercially packaged tea bags. When someone she respects is a guest, they probably get the good tea, something loose leaf from a single estate.”
He gave a faint smile. “I’m guessing she’s starting to respect you.” He shifted slightly and changed the subject. “What did you find in the earth?”
I leaned into the heated cab and found a water bottle. It was an old one I had filled with Soulwood water and, though it was disgustingly warm, I opened it and drank it anyway. The taste of Soulwood was a refreshment I couldn’t explain to anyone. I capped the empty and tossed it back in the truck to refill later. “Nothing useful. The witch magic didn’t soak into the land. The property itself wasn’t compromised. I’m guessing it was a calling, just like what you’re getting. I also have a feeling that when she talks to the vampires who lair off-site, she’ll find they’ve had issues that they didn’t report.”
Rick nodded slowly. “You did good, Ingram. Go home. Get some sleep.”
I was exhausted. I waved to the humans guarding the grounds, climbed into the heated cab, and drove home. With Mud at Mama’s I didn’t have to be alert. I slept like a log, which was still funny in all sorts of ways.