Suddenly I was in my room, digging around in the box of trinkets. Pulling out the bone fragment I needed. I didn’t remember getting here. Timewalking. Didn’t care.
Beast? Fighting form.
Beast is ambush hunter, she thought at me. Using my hands, she grabbed a second box from under the bed, a box of bones and teeth. Shoved my hand inside. The Gray Between ripped across me, tore its way along my spine.
My bones snapped and popped. My belly wrenched and flipped as nausea bent me double before it vanished. Pain shot through me, twisting the length of my skeleton, stretching my muscles, broadening shoulder joints, re-forming hips and pelvis, twanging in my jaw as my teeth grew. I tasted blood as the tissue and bone in my mouth and jaw tried to accommodate the transformation and the new fangs.
And . . . I took on mass.
The rubies on my necklace shattered. Bloodred crystals melted and disappeared. I threw back my head and screamed Beast’s challenge, the sound roaring through the house and out the windows to the assembled vamps on the beach. In ten seconds I drew back my shoulders. I was half-form, my pawed feet stretching out the sides of the specially made combat boots, my jaw full of teeth designed to tear meat. My eyes glowed golden. But I was more. I was bigger. I was—
Beast is sabertooth lion. Beast is big.
The rubies. You—
Beast took mass from rubies. Took snake in heart of all creatures from bones. Took Glob magic. Gave magic to Jane. Beast is best ambush hunter.
I/we slid le breloque onto one arm. Took the Glob into my fist. Pulled the Mughal blade. I stepped back into normal time. My belly crunched, my head ached, but I shoved the pain away.
I leaped through the window and landed on the porch roof. Roaring my challenge. My body lit by lightning that flashed from the ordinary, natural lightning storm. The vamps on the beach turned to me, looking up, as rain and lightning slashed down. The vamps rushing from the surf stopped, waiting. I shoved the crown they all wanted onto my head. My voice a deeper octave, I screamed, to be heard over the storm, my voice a roar not heard on the Earth in millennia. My voice a basso reverberation, I shouted, “The Dark Queen challenges Titus Flavius Vespasianus for control of the Americas and of Europe. The Dark Queen demands La Danza de los Maestros de Sangre!”
Titus’s eyes went wide and he stepped back into the surging waves. Lightning hit the water and the shore, a two-pronged strike. Titus vamped out, his jaw unhinging and sliding back into place. This was the first time I’d seen him in fanged form. Five-inch fangs, as long as the priestess’s fangs, thick at the base and serrated. Top and bottom. Titus had dog fangs. And three-inch talons.
Beast fangs are bigger.
“By what right do you challenge?” Brandon called out.
“By the right of the Dark Queen and by the death of Leo Pellissier. A death not dealt by the sword used by Titus Flavius Vespasianus, but by witch magic. Vespasianus cheated with witch magic, outside of the protocol of Sangre Duello. Ask the witches.” I pointed with the Mughal blade to Molly and Lachish, who stood together beneath a hedge of thorns that glowed like the sunrise. “Ask the arcenciel who watches this Duello.” I pointed to the clouds. “Only within La Danza de los Maestros de Sangre may magic be used in battle. This challenge is legal and it is mine!”
Titus must have known he was shit-out-of-luck, because he shouted back, “I accept!” He shook his long and short swords at the sky. “The weapons we carry! And the weapon of time! The blood of my enemy still on my blade.”
“Here and now!” I shouted back, my voice low, a growl of fury. “And in time! Prepararse para la muerte.” I threw myself forward, leaped from the roof, and dropped toward the sand. Landed before him, my half-form knees bending, taking the fall. I slammed le breloque onto my head. It clamped down on me as if sealing itself to me.
“Unto true-death!” Titus screamed.
The death bell rang. Battlefield time-sense took over.
Titus’s longsword descended. He threw a smaller blade at me. In Beast-sight, I saw it spinning, flipping. I stepped aside.
Beast clawed again through the Gray Between. Time slowed. Slowed. The consistency of frozen taffy. Time stopped. Pain speared me through my right eye. Nausea rose in a vile rush that twisted my guts. The storm was heavy, rain suspended like crystal bullets striking down. It was hard to breathe. And dangerous to move. If I looked at the rain, I would see moments of time, might change moments of time. But if I didn’t look directly at the drops . . . I focused away from the rain. The time-droplets moved back, out of my way, leaving regular raindrops close to me.
Carefully, making sure I didn’t move quickly enough to accidentally alter time in any of the time-drops, I ducked beneath the sword strike.
Beast is best ambush hunter. Beast reached out for a droplet of rain. In it was the immediate past. The image of Titus’s sword striking Leo’s neck.
I stopped her. Thinking. Trying to see what might happen if we took that small part of time. The droplet beyond it was an image of Titus’s people attacking the Onorios. The droplet beyond that was an image of his people attacking the witches, a sword thrust through Molly’s belly, killing her and her daughter. Lachish dead in the rain, magical implements on the sand. Ailis dead. Koun and Tex dead. The droplet beyond that showed a bomb landing on the beach, another on the beach house. Titus’s ship exploding. Everyone dead. And worse beyond that. A pathway running with blood.
Every time-drop near the death of Leo showed only destruction and devastation. If I went back in time and saved Leo, far worse would happen. I studied the drops. Praying for that one, looking for that one, single drop that might show me another path. But . . . every drop, each and every one, displayed the beginnings of a war between the Europeans and the American vamps. Further back were images of humans drained and dead in the streets. Humans hanging from streetlights in the French Quarter. Bombs dropping on New Orleans. Soldiers and tanks in the streets. Vamps at war with the United States.
Eli and Alex dead on the floor of our home.
Edmund lying back-to-back with Gee, both dead, beheaded.
All because I saved Leo. The pain in my head grew worse. I fought to keep my gorge down, swallowing the sickness there.
Heart aching, I said aloud, “We’ve messed up too much as it is. We can’t fix this by timewalking.”
Beast is best ambush hunter. Beast can save Leo.
No. We’ll screw up things. Mess up people’s lives. If we save Leo, that will change something that may have been supposed to happen. No.
Beast/Jane screamed, the sound lost in the vibration of thunder. And then Titus moved. He stepped into the time bubble with me. His sword swinging down. I caught it on the curved Mughal blade and stepped close, ramming up. Hit him in the jaw with an uppercut. The Glob sliced his chin and busted his lips. It sucked his power away. A sudden scalding burst of might I felt in my paw/fist.
Titus threw back his head and screamed. I tossed the Glob high, where it left the bubble of time, hanging in the air, and, Beast-fast, pulled a vamp-killer. Thrust with the vamp-killer, through his chin and up into his skull. Ripped out the knife, twisting. Titus shivered, shook, seizing as if the lightning had hit him. I slung back the arm and took Titus’s head.
I pushed the headless body out of the bubble of time, leaving him half falling and headless.
Speared his head from out of time on the Mughal blade. Pulled it to me. Sheathed the vamp-killer. With a claw, I lifted the thin chain that still rested on the emperor’s chest. Inside was a tiny quartz crystal with a miniature arcenciel inside. She was purple and gold and shimmering with fury. This explained why Soul had stuck around. One last arcenciel caught in crystal, a slave to a vamp who wanted to rule time. I tucked the crystal into my pocket. Reached for the Glob.
Carrying the head and my weapons, I left Titus’s body standing headless in the stationary raindrops. And I padded on my massive paws away from the fight. Into the storm, under the low trees. I dropped the head and fell beside it. I cried until my guts hurt. Until my body felt broken and scoured and bleeding.
Time still stopped, I pulled the crystal and said to the trapped dragon, “I can’t trust you not to bite me. So I’m going to make sure you’re freed when I’m not nearby.” I placed the crystal on a shell and left it there, in normal time. I picked up another shell and held it directly above the crystal. And dropped it. The shell fell from twisted time and hung suspended above the arcenciel. The moment it hit, the slave to time would be free. But Leo . . . Leo would still be dead.
I moved away from her, carrying the weapons and the head of the emperor. A strange amalgamation of odors were caught on the heavy, salty wind—Leo’s paper-and-ink-scented blood, a strong fragrance of fresh-cut lemons, and surf-wet werewolves. I looked out into the gulf to see the forms, unmoving, caught in time as they rushed ashore through the dark. Clan Des Citrons. Wet rogue werewolves were behind them, and two grindylows were closing in from the water and the storm-drenched beach.
I looked to the side. Eli was closing in. Firing. Caught in a sprint, angling into a safe line of fire. Derek raced beside him. Leo’s vampires rushed to attack, swords and bare-handed. Dacy Mooney, Del’s mother, was in the lead, her sword arching back to take a Des Citrons vamp’s head. The smell/sight/sound of Molly’s earth magic, red, blue, vibrant, tearing into the night. The sight of the Bighorn Pack, one dropping his camera, racing to the battle. Overhead, three arcenciels were in real time, dropping from the clouds, glistening in the night.
And then there were Aya and Rick, rising from the water, Benelli shotguns at the shoulder. One had fired, the low, hollow thrum of shotguns, the shot hanging in the air. Slightly farther back, two Navy SEALs were rising out of the water, picking off the emperor’s vamps and humans. When time returned, the wolves would howl. The vampires would scream. The stench of silver fléchette rounds tearing through flesh, and the reek of poisoned blood, would taint the air.
My not-so-secret last-ditch defense to protect our people and to keep the military from accidentally taking us all out. Because of my phone call, Gee had made sure that Ayatas FireWind and all the might he could call upon were a presence in the dark, in case Titus pulled a fast one and his people attacked. All of Leo’s merged paranormals were here, fighting together. Finally. But too late to save the Master of the City.
I should be out there. I needed to be there. I tensed to move. Pain slashed through me. I fell to the sand, hands and knees catching me. Gasping. Pain like a thousand snakes in my gut, biting me all at once. I screamed. Boneless, I landed on the sand.
Beast padded into the forefront of my brain. She pressed down on me, sending me to sleep.
Beast looked inside at Jane’s snake. The snake that was at the heart of all beings was twisted, knotted, frayed. It had four strands, not the two strands it was supposed to have. It was broken, like the body of prey that raced away and fell off a ledge into a deep place.
Beast looked into Jane’s belly. There were dark places there. Sickness. Growing fast. Jane was dying. But . . . Beast was best ambush hunter.
Beast found own form and shed mass into sand on beach. Stepped into form of Puma concolor, mountain lion. Shifted. Beast’s snake in heart of all things was healthy. Was strong.
Time returned, storm throwing cold rain and lightning to ground. Arcenciels dove to earth. Trapped arcenciel leaped for sky. Rain beat into pelt. Lightning flashed, hitting water. Hate storms. Hate rain.
Struggled out of Jane clothes. Shook pelt. Did not help. Rain still fell, cold and wet. Beast looked out at storm. At dark forms fighting in curling water. Eli and Derek and Tequila boys, fighting. Rick and Ayatas firing on vampires arising from water. Other humans with them. Hunters Jane called military. Smelled lemons and silver and blood. Smelled human blood and vampire blood. Smelled much death. Bruiser stood on sand, watching fighting. Seeing Leo body. Tears leaked down his face.
Bruiser shed tears for friend.
Fighting slowed. Tequila boys carried bodies to shore. Vampire bodies smelling of Titus and of lemons. More fighting on ship out in curling water. Derek had sent Bruiser’s boat to attack emperor’s boat. Was good Enforcer. Derek did not need Jane now.
Beast hungered. Considered head of dog-fanged king of vampires. Was like alpha lion of strongest pride of African lions. Was tasty? Beast pawpawpaw to head. Licked at neck. Was tasty. Strong blood. Beast extended claws. Pulled head to body. Lay belly to sand. Ate mouth and face of vampire. Ripped off jaw from alpha of vampire pride. Was strong blood. Strong flesh.
Would stay Beast for one day or five. Would be good to hunt for fish in water and kill birds nesting onshore. Crunched into skull. King of vampire brain was tasty.
Much later, after sun rose and its warmth stole territory from winter night, Beast looked up. Eli was watching. Leaning against tree, arms crossed to hide claws. Human sign of peace. Beast chuffed. Licked lips. Batted parts of skull to Eli. Crown of skull whirled in sand. Stopped. Beast panted. Waited.
“Leo’s in a box of blood. His head is still attached, but not by much. Probably not enough to save him.”
Beast growled. No. Leo head was gone. Flying. Eli is stupid kit. Leo is dead.
Eli said, “And worse, an arcenciel appeared out of nowhere and bit him. Arcenciel bites are psychotropic and psychotoxic. It might be months before we know if he survives and if he’s sane.”
Beast took a soft, slow breath, understanding. Arcenciel Jane set free hadn’t bitten us. Arcenciel changed time. Arcenciel bit Leo body.
Eli kept talking. “The Vodka boys set up a distraction with George’s boat and a SEAL team boarded Titus’s ship. Freed the captives—the Carusos, two witches who had been using a form of Cym’s obfuscation charm to hide the ship from the military, an Onorio who hung in chains. Turned all the others over to Edmund.”
Beast licked own jaw and muzzle free of blood. Tasted good on tongue.
“While Soul fought her own kind and then tried to save Leo, Derek and I took the fight to the water. Rick and Ayatas and a small group of SEALs caught Clan Des Citrons and the rest of Titus’s fangheads trying to get ashore. For once you didn’t just fly by the seat of your pants, Babe. You did good setting that up officially. Ayatas had the ear of the FBI, CIA. You figured he had the ear of the other government services and military too.”
A tone of satisfaction entered his voice. “The fangheads didn’t make it ashore.”
Beast chuffed. Jane is sneaky. Made sound of kit call, high-pitched and sweet.
Eli kept talking. “Edmund already took over the reins of the U.S. territory. Leo did well to make Ed his heir. He’s making peace with everyone, whether they want it or not.” Eli smiled slightly. “He’s good at this. He’s spoken to the press, to the governor, and to members of Congress on the phone. He’s making plans to go to Europe and take over there, in your name, and he’s taking Grégoire with him to take over those holdings at the same time. He appointed Alesha Fonteneau to run NOLA until he gets back. Once things are settled, he wants you to go to the European court and take over as the Dark Queen.”
Beast shook head in human way, side to side, trying to think like Jane. Leo head is not gone? Saw Leo head fly into air. Thought about arcenciel in crystal. About Soul hiding on island. Timewalkers. Better timewalkers than Jane.
Eli smiled tiny smile. “Molly’s okay. So is her baby. You staying here for a while?”
Beast nodded once. Stupid human move.
“There’s food in the house. Call when you want to come home.”
Home. To Jane den. With Eli and Alex. With Jane sick and dying. Beast snorted softly. Eli walked away.
I woke up under the low tree. Human shaped. Naked. The sun was a scarlet wash of color in the west. There was a bag that looked waterproof hanging in the limbs of the tree just above me. I reached up and touched it. The bag was dry. The sand beneath me was dry. The air was cold and damp, blustery, but the sky was bright, the cerulean blue of sunset with a single star and a sliver of moon half-hidden in distant clouds. The island felt empty. The house had no lights. Everywhere was dark, silent. Deserted.
I was alone.
I rolled carefully to my feet and untied the bag. Found inside a pair of jeans wrapped around undies and a bra, three T-shirts for layering, and a warm jacket. Running shoes beneath them with a pair of wool socks stuffed into the toes. On the bottom was a vamp-killer and le breloque. And the Glob. Memories came hard and fast. Del dying. Katie in danger of dying. So many others. My memory of Leo’s head flying. Flying. Flying. Over and over. And time bending, bubbling, twisting. Changing reality. Changing every moment of the possible present.
I blinked the images away, only to see them again, on the back of my lids. I had a feeling I would see them forever. Yet, atop that was the memory of Eli telling Beast that Leo might still live. That he was poisoned by an arcenciel bite. Things not in my timeline. I shivered hard in the cold wind. Studied le breloque.
I had killed the emperor. I was now the Dark Queen of the vamps. De facto ruler of the fangheads. “This sucks,” I said to the empty beach.
I pulled on my clothes. Braided my hair in a sloppy braid. I picked up the crown, slid it over one arm, took the vamp-killer and the Glob, and trudged to the house. There were no lounge chairs dotting the shore. No fire pit. No people.
The island was silent. I was marooned on a deserted island? That would be a kicker, if I was stranded here. So much for being the Queen of the Suckheads.
I climbed the steps to the house and found the front door unlocked. I kicked the sand off my shoes and went inside.
The windows were shuttered closed, leaving the house dark inside. The furniture was cocooned under white sheets. The house sounded big and hollow and empty. It even smelled empty.
“Beast? How long did you keep me asleep?” My voice echoed in the empty rooms.
We grieved, she thought at me. Which was sort of an answer.
My stomach growled. I made my way to the kitchen. Opened the refrigerator. The light inside came on, proving that the solar panels on the roof three stories above were still working. Which meant plumbing. A shower would be nice. The shelves inside the refrigerator were full of food and beer and wine. Boone’s Farm Fuzzy Navel. I chuckled and pulled the note off the bottle in front.
It read simply, I love you. Come home.
Bruiser was fine. That was good. I stuffed the note in my bra next to my heart. I removed the bottle and opened it. Drank it down. It tasted fantastic. Beyond fantastic. I opened another, wishing for once that I could get roaring drunk. Skinwalker metabolism wasn’t agreeable to a good roaring drunk.
Brains are better, Beast thought at me.
“Gack,” I said aloud, my stomach rumbling.
Pig is good, though.
I opened the freezer. The pig had been fully pulled and placed in zippered, gallon-sized plastic bags. Five of them, frozen hard. I stuck one under the kitchen faucet and let water run over it until it was soft enough to remove the meat from the plastic and then nuked the gallon of meat until it was hot. While it thawed and heated, I checked the food in the fridge, knowing the smell would tell me how long I had been alone on the island. The beanie weenies didn’t smell perfect, but I pulled them out and stuck them in the microwave when the pork was hot. Dumped the pig into the soup tureen on the kitchen island. That was when I spotted the card on the Carrara marble. Heavy card stock, folded over, red writing on white paper. It was the red of one of my lipsticks. Bloodred. Not so favorite anymore.
The note was arranged like an upside-down pyramid. It read:
Chère, I done left you rest of that pig you like so much.
The Kid done left you a satellite phone. Eat.
Call home. We come get you.
Deon.
I spotted the phone on the island too. Didn’t pick it up.
While the beans heated, I carried the tureen around, snacking, and made a quick tour of the house. Someone had stripped the wet wallboard tape from the walls, reapplied fresh. There was no luggage left. No sign of blood on the floors.
When the microwave dinged I brought the bottle of Boone’s Farm and the food to the front porch and sat down in the dark. Night had fallen fully. The surf sounded lazy and languid and soothing.
I ate and drank. Watching the tide roll in.
When my belly was full, I put the leftovers in the fridge and took a hot shower. The house was cold, but someone had left an electric blanket on the bed I had used, along with a set of sheets and my luggage. The blanket smelled like Molly. Eli had said that she was okay too. I pulled on sweats and the wool socks that had come with the shoes and wrapped myself in the blanket. I fell on my bunk and let sleep pull me under.
I woke at dawn. Ate pig. Drank wine. I was halfway through the bottle when I saw a flash of a head flying through the air. Leo’s head. Memory. Intense as reality. Stark, electric. I blinked. Sobbed once, hard and harsh and dry. Eyes burning. Leo was in a blood box. He might not be true-dead. Or not exactly true-dead.
A second image slammed into me. Titus’s head in my hand, then dropping to the sand.
I’d killed him. It was what I did. I killed people. Beings. Sentient creatures. But I should have killed Titus the moment he walked up to the house on the beach, surrounded by his people. I should have drawn the Mughal blade and taken his head right then. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.
Hadn’t.
I finished the bottle. There were more. Bruiser had left me twelve, an entire case. The wine sat heavy on my stomach. Queasy. So I drank more.
My second morning on the island in Jane form, I crawled from bed and walked naked down to the beach to swim. The air was warmer, eighties, but the water was cold when I dove in and swam deep. Halfway hoping I’d be eaten by a shark. I wasn’t that lucky.
When exhaustion claimed me, I crawled up the shore and lay in the sun on the sand. Naked. Alone. When the sun threatened to burn even my golden-toned skin, I rinsed off in the outside shower and went in search of something other than pig. I found a baked fish in the freezer, next to a plastic container that was marked with the words RICE PUDDIN’. I microwaved them both. Ate the entire fish—which had Deon’s touch on it, lemon and herbs—and the whole container of rice pudding, which tasted like coconut and rice and dates and cranberries. They shouldn’t have tasted good together, but they did.
I drank another bottle of wine, deciding that I’d drink a bottle per day from now on, to mark off the days as human. But I didn’t feel so well. And I was tired. Grief could make a person tired. Right? Right.
Days passed. A helo flew over once and I waved it off. It left. I was okay. I just needed privacy. But instead of feeling better, I was feeling worse. A lot worse. After the last bottle of wine, I knew it was time to call for extraction. I’d been walking on the beach at sunset, the empty bottle in my hand, swinging. I’d tried singing. Quit when my own ears protested. I was a mile along the beach, heading back to the house, when the sickening feeling hit me, a wrenching nausea that tossed me to my knees, retching. I vomited up everything I’d eaten for dinner, hard and nasty. Onto the sand.
It was full of blood.
I used to throw up blood when I bubbled time, but it had been days. Weeks.
“Beast? What’s happening?”
Jane is sick. Jane may be dying.
Relief zipped through me like lightning. I wouldn’t have to keep on. I thought about being sick. It’s the snake in the center of all things, isn’t it?
Jane is broken. Jane has darkness growing in her. Beast sent me a vision of my insides.
I have cancer, I thought, wonderingly.
Jane is dying. Jane has broken time. And time has broken Jane.
Well. How ’bout that.
The helo landed on the beach two hours after dawn.
I climbed on and accepted the ear protectors. Put them on and strapped myself in. Gave the pilot a thumb up and settled back to not enjoy the ride. I was weak and nauseous. Pretended to be fine. Eli met me at the landing site, took one look at my face, and grasped the bag I carried. Led the way to the armored SUV. Headed to HQ, which was where I told him to go. We rode in silence, his battle face on, giving nothing away. Midway there he said, “Babe.”
“Don’t,” I said. “Please don’t.”
He nodded and threaded through traffic. Parked in front of HQ.
“I’ll be just a minute,” I said.
“I’ll wait for you.” The way he said it held overtones of, I’ll wait for you forever, no matter what. I didn’t reply to the tone. I didn’t have forever. I opened the bag that had been waiting for me on the backseat and removed the small weapon. Stuck it in my waistband at my spine. Just in case. Picked up the vamp-killer and strapped it to my thigh. Stuck the Glob in a pocket. Also just in case. I shut the door.
HQ looked the same as I climbed the steps. The outer doors opened. The inner doors opened. The smell inside was different. No blood. No sex. No scent of fading funeral flowers or parchment. There were vamps here, sleeping, but not in great numbers and not the ones from before. Instead there was a long line of humans waiting. Wrassler limped toward me, his hands out, a welcoming smile on his face. I held up my hand to stop him. “Not now,” I said softly.
Wrassler’s face fell and he gave me a truncated nod before stepping back in line. No one frisked me. No one said anything about the weapons on my person. Everything was different.
Silently, I took the elevator to the basements, all the way to sub-five. I was armed with a fourteen-inch silver-plated-steel vamp-killer with a crosshatched handle, the Glob in my pocket, and a small .32 pistol loaded with silver-lead rounds. I didn’t need anything else for this.
The doors opened. The lighting was low. Brute was sitting at the feet of the Son of Darkness. One of them, anyway. Joses looked pretty good for a heartless lump of vamp-meat. Stinkier. Hairier. Brute had been biting him enough. Joses was halfway to being a werewolf-vamp bag of bones.
“Hiya, Brute.”
He panted at me, his white coat catching the low lights with an almost ethereal glow.
“Leo’s in a box of blood. He isn’t in charge anymore.” I pulled the vamp-killer. Dropped the bag. “Okay with you if I finish this?”
Brute chuffed. Tilted his head, tongue lolling. He looked at Joses, his eyes staring at the vamp’s wrists and ankles, where he hung, suspended on the wall. Brute chuffed what might have been a warning. Looked at me. Turned his massive head back to Joses and whined, a single plaintive note.
I walked past the white werewolf and positioned myself.
“You will not.” The words grated out, harsh as stone on stone.
I looked at Joses. He was looking back at me. Eyes focused, black pupils in yellow orbs. Sane-ish. As sane as the old ones ever got. Talking. Giving orders.
“Say again?”
“You will not. I live. Forever.”
“Yeah?” I reared back, the vamp-killer in a two-hand stance. Joses’s shackles snapped. Shattered. Fell away. He surged off the wall, spider-fast, pushing, bowing, springing, leaping in explosive force. Right at me. Beneath the vamp-killer blade.
Time slowed into a battlefield intensity. I saw/smelled/felt/heard the pop of displaced air. Vamp speed on meth, a rupture in reality. And he grabbed me. Claws sinking deep. Inside the vamp-killer’s reach. Beast shoved into me, claws bursting from my fingertips, fangs ripping through my jaw.
Too late. Too late.
The Son of Darkness opened his mouth. Unhinged his jaw. I reared back, my claws piercing him. Shoving him away.
Foolish kit. Not defense. Must attack, Beast thought.
A werewolf roared. I jerked to the side. Not far enough. The SOD’s five-inch fangs sank deep. But there was no pain. He was healed enough to have vamp saliva. Analgesic, I thought. His magic shot into me. Struck at my core, at the five-pointed magic that resided there. My mind flickered on and off. All I could think was . . . How . . . ? And then even that was gone.
Joses sucked deeply at my torn shoulder. Moved his head to my throat. My blood felt heated and languid. My muscles softened. My joints relaxed. My arms came up around him.
Suddenly I was in my soul home. Lying on the damp, cool gray stone. Staring up at the ceiling, domed overhead. Hayyel’s wings fluttered where they rested, draped down the walls.
Beast appeared over me, her golden eyes glowing. She lay atop me, her cat warmth soothing. And then she slid into me, falling through my soul, to the place where we were one. And I was back in the basement. Things were happening around me. Roars. The ground was shaking. People were screaming.
Beast lifted my hand away from Joses. Slid it into my pocket. Curled my fingers around the Glob. Beast eased my hand out of the twisted cloth and raised my fist. She pressed it into the wound on Joses’s shoulder where my/our claws had pierced him. Into his blood. The Glob that held a shard of the Blood Cross and part of the spike of Golgotha woke. Blazing hot. Attacked. Sudden as a pouncing mountain lion. It gripped Joses’s magic. Tore it free. Joses stopped. Frozen.
The memories of Joses Santana opened. And I fell into the sensation and person of Joses—Yosace, Bar-Ioudas. I saw, I felt, I knew . . . knew . . . the moment the two Sons of Darkness killed their sister and spilled her blood onto the pile of bloody wood. Onto their father’s dead body. Chanted as she died. Chanted and spoke wyrds so ancient, even Yosace didn’t know the meaning.
Knew the moment the betrayer opened his eyes. Took his first breath. And attacked.
Knew the feel of Ioudas Issachar’s fangs buried in Joses’s own throat.
Knew the moment the sons finally trapped their father and chopped him into bits with a stolen Roman sword.
Knew the moment they walked the streets of Jerusalem and tasted the first kiss of blood.
Knew when they killed. Killed again. Innocent blood, so full of life.
Then hiding. Always hiding. Always running. Always going back and back and back again to the pile of bloody broken wood, the pile of the Blood Cross, that had given them this undeath.
Fleeing the Christians who sought to kill them.
Escaping the hell that the Romans brought upon the rebellious city. Taking the ones with whom they had shared their gift of undeath.
Reaching safety. Settling in Rome. Later in France. And later still in Spain. Traveling the world, from Africa to the steppes of what is now Russia and China. Drinking from the Khan who would change the world. Giving Genghis power and success in return for servitude and safety and enough humans to satisfy them. For centuries. Hundreds. Thousands. The power behind the conquest of the world. Then back to Europe. And—
The memories stopped. I returned to myself.
The Glob was so hot in my palm that I could smell the flesh there scorching. I blinked. Holding the Glob in his blood, I pressed the Son of Darkness away from me. Hands gripped his head and pulled back. Other fingers gripped his jaw and pulled down. I smelled Eli. He hadn’t stayed in the SUV. Of course he hadn’t.
The fangs of the Son of Darkness slid from the lower curve of my neck.
Beast rolled me over and to my feet. People backed away fast. I picked up the vamp-killer I had dropped when I embraced the SOD. I raised the blade and swept it down.
And took the head of the Son of Darkness, Joses Santana, Yosace Bar-Ioudas, the son of Judas Iscariot. There was almost no blood. The body quivered. Shook. The fingers clenched and opened. I held up the head. Its eyes blinked. Focused on me. “Huh,” I said.
The lips moved, though there was no sound. “I live,” Santana’s head said.
I considered that.
Beast thought at me, Vampire head is tasty.
I did not want to know how she knew this. I looked over my shoulder. “Brute? You hungry?”
The werewolf stood and padded to me. Sniffed at the head of the creator of the vamps. Brute chuffed. Santana’s mouth opened in horror, a silent scream. I tossed the head up into the air like a basketball. Brute leaped. Caught it in his fangs.
“When you’re done”—I indicated the pulsing body on the floor—“be sure to clean up any mess.” Brute chuffed again, muted through the hair of his dinner. “We don’t want anything left to regrow.” Brute nodded and dropped the head to his paws.
I looked around at the humans who stared at me in fear and horror. As if I was a monster. Which I was. All except Eli, who looked vaguely amused. To the others, I said, “Go back upstairs. Leave the wolf to his dinner. When he’s done, burn the bones and scatter the ashes.” They turned and fled.
I walked to the elevator and the doors closed behind Eli and me. My last glimpse of the SOD was Brute eating all the soft tissue of the face, in preparation to ripping off the jaw and eating the brains. I had been with Beast when she ate skulls and brains. I knew how it was done. Messy but effective. She sent me an image of Titus’s head as she ate it. Gack. The elevator rose to the foyer, the two of us silent, me trying to decide what I needed to do next.
There was the undying heart in the hands of the NOLA witch coven. Wherever that was. I figured I could leave that to Eli.
I left the way I came in, but this time there was only Wrassler waiting. I stopped and shook his hand. He hugged me. I hugged back. Silent. Tears in his eyes. I stepped back and asked, “Del?”
Wrassler shook his head. “Her mother took her back to the mountains. She was buried there, in the family plot.”
I blinked away the tears. “Jodi? Did she ever say yes?”
Wrassler beamed. “We’re planning a June wedding.”
“Congratulations!” I hugged him hard. Holding him close, so I couldn’t see his face, I asked, “Leo?”
“Buried in the Pellissier mausoleum, beneath the new moon, with the blood of his enemies poured upon him, with the potion of blood he created from the Caruso vial. Buried with all honors and glory due to his name.” Wrassler stopped, breathed in slowly. “He didn’t rise with the full moon.”
My heart clenched. But . . . Leo had given part of himself to me when I tasted his blood. I wondered what would happen if . . . I reached out with my mind, with my skinwalker magic, calling to him. Leo? Are you there?
But there was nothing. No answer. Not even a hint of a whisper of a breath of undeath. I shook my head and left HQ, Eli on my heels.
I heard the lock clack closed as I got into the car. Laid back my head.
Eli drove me to my freebie house. My house. My first home ever. I had the deed. I owned it outright. A fierce sense of possession washed over me. Then it rolled away like the surf on the island. I got out of the SUV and went inside. Alex rushed up and hugged me. I hugged him back, as if memorizing the way he felt against me, all bone and muscle and inches taller than when we first met. Eli gestured to him and the Kid stepped back.
“We’ll catch up after dinner,” Alex said. “I’m in the middle of security for your new clan home.” I nodded and he stepped away.
Dropping off my gear, I walked around the house looking things over. Eli stood in the middle of the living room, watching, waiting. He said nothing, as I noticed the missing wall and the exposed fireplace. I could smell paint and fresh building materials.
I’d asked him once to see if he could find and restore the original fireplaces. This was my answer. While I hid on the island, he had found one, uncovered it, and repaired it, with a ceramic surround, a bronze facing, and a heavy Victorian-style mantel carved with curlicues and fleurs-de-lis. Beautifully restored. It was on the small wall between living room and kitchen. I’d never have thought about a fireplace there. I checked out the kitchen to see that we now had a copper farmhouse sink and commercial fridge, things Eli had been wanting. I checked out the laundry, which was unchanged, and followed him up the stairs. He had refinished the bathrooms, with sleek quartz countertops and new fixtures and fancy tile. My partner had been busy. I smiled at him to show I liked it.
A smile lit up his face and he led me up the new narrow staircase to the third floor.
It was amazing. The central space was vaulted and wood floored. The bedrooms in back—office spaces to make the housing and insurance companies happy—were finished. The bathroom was a tiny cubicle done up in marble and antique ceramic tiles.
I finally spoke. “This is gorgeous.”
Eli nodded, his face full of compassion. “Babe.”
I held up my hand and shook my head.
“But—”
I shook my head again. “Edmund?” I asked. Ed. Leo’s heir. The vamp primo of the Dark Queen. Complicated. Just the way Leo wanted it.
“In Paris,” Eli said. “As your emissary. Setting up a cabinet, establishing your power, sending out edicts in your name.”
“Good. It’ll be easy for him to step in when I abdicate.” I walked away and down the stairs. Behind me I heard Eli talking on his cell, his tone frustrated.
I spent the day in my bedroom, moving money around, writing e-mails and letters—on real paper with a pen. Predominantly my abdication as emperor of the EuroVamps, dated to the coming full moon. Eddie Boy could have it. Sending texts. Appointing people to positions of power. Choosing two vamps as temporary heirs to the European Mithrans—Grégoire as heir, and Katherine as second heir. Seemed simple enough. If they didn’t abdicate. Granting Ming of Glass status as Master of the City of Knoxville. Granting Lincoln Shaddock Master of the City of Asheville. This made sure Amy Lynn Brown was safe, in Clan Shaddock, protected by her now-powerful Blood Master. Trying to figure out how to ensure that Leo’s newest werelion cub fosters were safe, but not sure how to do that. I ended up leaving that for Edmund to determine.
I also appointed the Youngers as coheirs of Clan Yellowrock. Gave them money and power to protect Molly and Big Evan and my godchildren.
Kitssss, Beast whispered before falling silent again. All Beast’s kitssss. She had been oddly uncommunicative since I returned to my human form. I didn’t know what her relative silence meant, but she wasn’t missing; she was still there inside with me, so I was okay with her silence.
Rereading the will I had signed months ago, a will that left trusts for my godchildren, for Molly and Evan, for the Youngers. Leaving everything else to the heirs of Clan Yellowrock. I wasn’t sure the office of Dark Queen could be passed on, but if it could, it would go to the entire NOLA witch coven. I left Bruiser all my magical items and Bitsa—the things that held me here and gave me power, and the one thing that spoke to me of freedom, my panhead bastard Harley.
I sent a letter of intent to the B-twins, the Robere brothers, who were the lawyers of the NOLA vamps, to sue Raymond Micheika, the leader of all the weres on earth (and especially the leader of the African weres, the most politically powerful group). In the letter I accused Raymond of treachery against Americans, on American soil. I told the Roberes to proceed with legal papers in my name, with any charges and grievances they could think of, and asked them to send a copy of the paperwork to whatever legal department in the U.S. government would be most effective at keeping Raymond off U.S. soil. I signed it, the Dark Queen of the Mithrans and the Blood Master of Clan Yellowrock of New Orleans. I even signed papers for the house that had once been Rousseau Clan Home. It was big enough to be the Clan Home of Clan Yellowrock, the official clan residence, and it was actually two full-sized homes in one, perfect for clan business. And it had a pool. I toured a few more houses online while I was at it, and bought two more. Money wasn’t a problem. Not now. Not ever again. I talked to Bruiser on the phone, loving the sound of his voice, loving the fact that he loved me. His last words were, “Ed took the Learjet, so I’m flying commercial. I’ll be back from New York on the red-eye. Don’t wait up. I’ll crawl in beside you.”
“I won’t wait up,” I promised.
I checked the news for the last weeks to discover that there had been a number of grisly deaths on the full moon—homeless men slashed to death with knives, throats slit. The grindys had been at work, killing people bitten by the rogue wolves, the new, fledgling werewolves the rogue pack had created. The news of the insane serial killer had hit the airwaves like a tsunami and then disappeared when the killings stopped. If the dead had been wealthy, the press would still be going nuts over it, but since they were poor and largely unidentified, the press had drifted quickly to other stories. Typical, I thought cynically. As well as I could tell, the rogue pack were all dead too. I wasn’t sure why the grindys didn’t kill all the werewolves and be done with it rather than letting the Bighorn pack survive and thrive. Maybe it was the fact that they had a leader and they didn’t spread the were-taint. Maybe something else.
While I worked I packed. Quietly. Surreptitiously. Weeding through the things I now owned. Finding that I ended up with just enough to fit in Bitsa’s saddlebags, which, oddly enough, was mostly just the clothes, boots, and weapons I used to travel with and a few of the smaller magical trinkets I wanted to keep.
An hour before dusk, I walked out of my room and through the house, hearing Alex in the shower, smelling roast in the oven. I eased outside. I was weaponed up. Dressed for the road and the cold weather. Riding leathers. Boots. I walked across the side porch.
Ed’s fancy car was gone, just like so many things. I loaded Bitsa’s saddlebags. Opened the wrought-iron side gate with its fleur-de-lis scrollwork at the top. Straddled my bike. Sat there, staring out through the gate.
“You not gonna say anything?” I asked.
Laconically, Eli said, “Figured that was your job, since you’re the one running away from us.”
I looked back. My partner was sitting in one of the rusted metal chairs we had picked up in a junk place somewhere, the kind with a frame made of a single length of metal pipe, and that rocked back and forth as the metal gave and returned to normal. But he wasn’t rocking. He was dressed in jeans and a zipped jacket. Boots. He looked good. Best brother I might ever have.
“I’ll be back.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. I’ll be dead, I thought to myself. Didn’t say it aloud. “I need some time.”
He nodded, that minuscule motion that was all Eli. He stood. “You’ll need these.” He stepped off the porch and walked to me. In his hand were two small white boxes. I opened the first one to see the medicine bag that had once belonged to my father. Symbol of the life I had lost, the violence I had found. “Ayatas says you should open it.”
Instead, I closed the box and Eli gave me the other one. In the bottom of the box was a stack of business cards. New. The logo at the top was of a crown stabbed through with two stakes. Below that were two lines.
JANE YELLOWROCK.
HAVE STAKES, WILL TRAVEL.
I smiled slightly and tucked a card into my jacket pocket. The boxes, I shoved into the saddlebag on top of my ammo and stakes. I tilted my head up at him. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Babe.”
“Tell Alex—” I stopped.
“I’ll tell him,” Eli said softly.
I rose up and dropped my weight down, kicking Bitsa to life. She spluttered for a while, so I pulled on my helmet. Adjusted the fit of the Benelli M4 so it didn’t pinch my butt. Looked up at Eli. His eyes were intense, calm, so . . . alive. I smiled. He smiled—a real smile full of joy, of family.
I gave Bitsa some gas. Pulled along the two-rut drive and out onto the street. Gave her some more gas. And took off for I-59. And the road to home.