Leo Has a Type?
“You believe, then, that this superwitch, Tau, has a plan to compel the witches and Mithrans into war and kill whoever is left alive. Or undead,” Leo said, adjusting his cuffs and looking himself over in a long cheval mirror beside his desk. “Something of the like was to be expected, of course. Witches have always been notoriously sly and unpredictable. Unlike Mithrans, who can drink of a subject or scion to determine reliability and loyalty, and to compel that loyalty when needed.” He ran a hand down his flat stomach and turned to see himself from every angle. Satisfied, he removed solid gold cuff links, not the sterling silver ones he might have worn to show his power to Mithrans, and dropped them in a velvet bag held by one of his valets, whom I had seen but never met.
Lawrence Hefner was English, with a south London accent, according to Edmund. He wasn’t exactly a blood-servant, nor was he a blood-slave. He was more of a rarity in the vamp world, a human in that strange position of salaried specialist who did not drink vamp blood beyond that which was necessary to be trusted. Larry, who had sniffed at me when I called him that, drew the strings of the bag tight and placed it carefully on Leo’s desk. Leo’s shirt was a modern blend, both wrinkle-free, soft, and heavy-starched-looking all at once, tailored to show Leo’s trim form and the muscles beneath. Modern tech fashions were pretty cool.
But as I stood there, Leo unbuttoned the shirt, pulled it from the tuxedo pants, and tossed it at Larry. I blinked. Twice. I hadn’t seen Leo shirtless in . . . well, never. At least not any time when he wasn’t bloody and damaged. This was different. His once-olive skin was pale and scarred, the kind of scars that indicated damage no human would have survived. Dozens of life-threatening injuries. Beneath it, lithe muscles flexed as he took another shirt from Larry and pulled it on. This one was linen, the cut loose across the shoulders. As he buttoned it, I met Bruiser’s gaze. His eyes twinkled, his expression an understated amusement, as if to say, Yes. He’s pretty. I know. I remember seeing him strip off a shirt before.
I realized that there was a reason Leo had us meet here, while he was dressing. He was showing off. I shook my head at Bruiser as if to say, Oh. My. Gosh. Really? Really! Bruiser’s eyes went to laughter and he looked away, at the rug beneath his feet, as if to hide his expression.
“Yes,” I said to Leo, bringing my attention back to the conversation and away from the silent communication with my sugar lump. “This very situation we’re facing has to be why there’s a schism between vamps and witches. Because a small group of determined, powerful, prepared witches could ambush and destroy a larger, better-armed group of vamps.” Leo lifted an eyebrow at me in disdain. “In a heartbeat,” I said. “No matter how fast a well-fed vamp might compel or mesmerize them, witches can work in daylight and from a distance. If the witches ever decide to take over the paranormal world, vamps are screwed. Especially when fighting a senza onore witch.” Leo knew all this. Dang it.
“Hmm. What do you think, Lawrence?” Leo asked, ignoring everything I had just said.
“I prefer the other, milord. The fabric, while not traditional, will provide comfort in a stressful situation, and should you take off your tuxedo suit coat for some reason, the lines of that dress shirt are more appealing.”
“I tend to agree. Now, what about the silks and the cummerbund?”
Now he was just messing with me. I was tired, worn, it was nearly dawn, the day of the Witch Conclave. I sat down. Without permission. Larry sniffed at me again. So I put my feet up on the desk and crossed my boots at the ankles. And yawned. Larry turned his back on me, clearly scandalized.
Leo laughed. “I depend upon my Enforcer to care for me,” he said. He took in the entire office, which was tightly packed with too many people, all watching him dress or carefully looking elsewhere. His gaze finally settled on Bruiser and Edmund, who had stepped up behind me, in some kind of unspoken accord. Leo’s face went tight and hard, his scent peppery in the crowded room. “Even a senza onore witch,” he said, emphasizing the words, “will not stop this parley. It is essential to the survival of the city and to my clan and my bloodline. It is essential to every Mithran and witch and human in the land. And it will take place.” He gestured to the door. “Everyone out. Except the Enforcers and the Onorio.” He glanced at Eli. “And that one.”
The room cleared fast, and as the door closed, Leo said, “My Enforcer and the Onorios shall all be in attendance. I will be quite safe at the conclave.”
I said, “But no one else will be.”
His shirt hanging open, Leo faced me, piercing me with his eyes. His power buffeted me, cold and potent, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I realized then that he was blood-flushed. He’d been drinking, and drinking deeply, from all the clan blood-masters and from the Son of Darkness in the lowest subbasement. The feel of his power along my flesh made me want to drop my feet to the floor and put my back to the wall, but to Leo, that would have appeared to be a defensive move, would have suggested that I was afraid, would have made me lose face in the presence of my enemies. So I stayed where I was, drawing on Beast to keep my breath and heart rate low and the stink of my fear inside me.
Leo’s tone was low, but every word was enunciated clearly, as if to drive it into the top of my skull like a nail. “If I die, there will be war among the Mithrans in New Orleans. All your friends will die. All the witches will die. Hundreds of humans will die in the immediate fallout. Within twenty-four hours. And after that bloodbath, the Europeans will walk in unopposed. At that time, thousands will die and the military will come in and destroy everything that registers on the psy-meter. Everything and everyone. It will be war and utter devastation.”
I knew all this. We all did.
Leo went on. “The United States military has laid plans for this. They are called contingency plans.” He flicked that stabbing gaze up at Eli. “You will tell me that you have heard of such things.”
Eli was silent for the space of several breaths, and without looking up at him, I knew he was weighing loyalties between Uncle Sam and family. When he spoke, however, his voice was sure and certain. “Yes, sir. I have.”
Leo pulled his eyes back to me. “Therefore, you will keep me alive, for I am all that stands between all that you hold dear and a horror and ethnic cleansing that has not been seen in this hemisphere since the native tribal peoples were decimated and the population of the Amazon River disappeared in blood and disease and horror.”
Copying my partner, I said, “Yes, sir.”
Leo said, “The people I assign shall be yours to command. You will keep the peace. You will keep us all alive. It is your job.” I nodded and he said, “Make it so.”
With that pithy Star Trek order, Leo left the room. I stood up fast and shook off the effects of the magical demands. In the hallway, Larry met Leo, trailing after, talking about the benefits of scarlet silks versus total black.
Derek Lee wandered over and I turned my attention to him. “You got one day,” I said. “I want Ming of Mearkanis fed and dressed in finery. Get her jeweled up and her hair done. Make sure she’s not just presentable but a hundred ten percent. Not saying we’ll need her, but if Tau shows up, Ming could be the weapon we need to bring her down.”
“Why do you think that?” Derek asked.
“She isn’t pinned anymore. If she’s fed as well as Leo, has fed on Leo’s blood, they’ll have a link, which might benefit us in case of a fight. And she might recognize the witch magic faster than anyone else.”
Derek gave a head-tilt shrug, not agreeing or disagreeing with my reasoning, but accepting the order.
“Find Katie a safe place, not at her house, and make sure there are plenty of humans and loyal vamps to protect her and the kids. Set it up like a presidential security team, with observers and shooters in the high points all around. Protocol Stupid Move.” I had named it that because it was used only when we were backed into a corner so deep that any move at all was likely to kill us all.
“As to the conclave, make sure Grégoire is armed but pretty. He’ll be our final backup on-site.
“Make sure this place is locked down. I don’t want an ant to crawl along the street without you knowing about it and it being made dead.”
“Yes, ma’am, Legs.” Derek saluted, which I didn’t think he had ever done. If there was a slight trace of snide in Derek’s tone or gesture, letting me know he had seen my reaction to Leo’s naked chest, I ignored it. A girl was allowed to admire. And then feel stupid for it.
Before I left, I made three calls to specific members of the HQ security team, with additional orders I told no one else. Anything Leo was involved with had a way going FUBARed, and I wanted a net to catch us, just in case. They would be inside the ward, on the grounds, and would make sure there were no magical icons buried in the ground. They would also be there, ready to follow orders at a moment’s notice.
* * *
Beyond drained, depleted, and worn slap-out, I slept at Bruiser’s, beneath the framed bacon shirt, held in Bruiser’s arms, and woke up around noon, alone in the bed. I stretched like a big-cat, arms and legs moving in a long sinuous curve of muscle and tendon, and, silently, I slipped into the bath for a hot shower. Afterward, I pulled on the T-shirt he had worn while we ate a late dinner on the gallery, watching the world pass by. It had ended up between me and the burned persimmon couch in his living room, when we made love. The first time. The knit now smelled of his cologne, vaguely of Creole-Cajun fusion spices, and of him, heated and hungry for things other than food. I held the cloth to my nose and breathed in, holding his scent close. His odor was still changing, though by increments now, instead of by leaps and bounds as it did after he was changed from blood-servant to Onorio.
Feeling content, I checked the time and my messages. Everything was going according to plan, the Witch Conclave was going perfectly, the Youngers had everything in hand, everyone was doing his and her jobs, and I had some time to relax. Ducky. It paid to have minions. Not that I’d ever call the Youngers or Derek Lee that. I’m not stupid all the time.
I combed out my hair, leaving it to dry down my back before braiding it. I had learned my lesson about putting my hair up wet. In the Louisiana humidity, hair could stay wet all day, all night, and all the next day, if not allowed to air. I also brushed my teeth and left my toothbrush next to his. It was weird to see it there, next to my comb, my body oil, my face cream, which he had bought for me, and my lipstick. All in his apartment. Just weird.
I left the bath to catch the scent of shrimp and grits from Café Amelie and beignets with chicory coffee from Café du Monde. And tea made by Bruiser. He made great tea, especially for breakfast, strong enough to kick-start a mule. I liked a good strong tea, but Bruiser’s idea of breakfast tea was way more British than mine, which is to say, way more strong.
I heard him moving in the kitchen nook and followed him there, to climb up on one of the three white bar chairs. I rested one elbow on the bar and my head on my lower arm as I thumbed through the texts awaiting me. Again, nothing urgent. I put away the cell and looked up at my sorta boyfriend. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing my favorite thin linen-weave pants that hung low on his hips. “Can I hire you as my full-time chef?” I thought for a moment and added, “And lover?”
“You want me for a gigolo?” He placed a ladylike cup of tea beside my elbow and shared a half smile with me.
I let him see the satisfaction in my eyes. “You are uniquely qualified for the position.”
“Which position?” he inquired, his eyes heating as if he remembered several from last night.
I picked up my teacup in both hands and brought it to my mouth. The steam curled around my face, warm and soothing. “All of them?”
He pulled a serving spoon from a round utensil holder and opened a food-delivery container. As he dished up a late breakfast, he gestured to his shirt on me. “Is it a theme for us? Bacon?” he asked. I pulled out the tee and read it upside down. It was a tee I had bought for him at the touristy shop after seeing it hanging in the store window. It had a big raindrop on it and garish letters reading, I LOVE NOLA RAIN. IT SOUNDS LIKE BACON FRYING.
“Could be worse,” I said. “It could read Life Without Bacon.”
“True.” He dished up shrimp and grits into a china pasta bowl and set a plate of beignets between us. He leaned on the bar and dipped a spoon into his own bowl of spiced breakfast, and we ate several bites in companionable silence. “Shall I have that shirt framed too?” he asked.
“Eh.” I swallowed peppery grits and sipped my tea, which was a breakfast blend strong enough to bend iron bars and leap a locomotive, perfect for the spices. “Too much bacon might spoil the décor.”
He laughed and leaned farther across the bar to cup my head in his hand and claim my mouth as his own. An hour later, I went home to a nearly empty house. Molly and Evan were at the conclave, talking and voting, along with every other witch in town. Eli and Alex were at the conclave monitoring the witches’ security arrangements. The kids were in the safe house where Katie was sleeping, guarded by Derek’s most experienced men, the last members of Team Vodka. And by Brute. How weird was my life when I was grateful to have a werewolf guarding my godchildren?
Edmund was sleeping somewhere. Bruiser was at HQ making sure everything was okay there. I hadn’t been alone in the house in months, and the silence that had once been peaceful was unnerving. So I pulled out all three of my new fighting leathers and tried them on to decide which one to wear. Based on color. On style. Tried out all the color-coded custom Kydex holsters on the new weapons rigs. Badass. Totally badass.
And then I braided my hair and went through my meager collection of makeup to choose what I would wear with my ensemble. I am such a girl.
* * *
Two hours before dusk, I received the call from Molly and Big Evan. It should have come before I left Bruiser’s and I had been pacing the floors waiting. “We have approval,” Molly said.
“You sound less than excited,” I said.
“You try to get agreement between a couple hundred witches on anything and see how excited you are afterward. It took an hour before they could decide to update the rules on the national council—which hadn’t been updated in over a hundred years, about the time the first telephone lines crossed the nation. Then there were another several hours of wrangling on the need to update the rules on witch behavior and mores, and another hour on who was to enforce those rules and—” I could almost see Molly rubbing her forehead. “All that was before lunch, which was served late because the Seattle coven insisted on a thorough cleansing of the kitchen, in a spiritual sense, not with Comet and elbow grease, though that might have been considered too at some point. And then they had to purify all the copper pots the food was prepared in. And let me tell you, the stink of frankincense, yarrow, and white sage is awful on the air.”
“And?”
“And then, about three p.m., we began to discuss the fanghead situation. And we just got the vote. Leo’s in. His proposal for rapprochement has been approved without any substantive changes to the wording or the reparations. The mayor and the governor have been notified and will be here for a live, remote, glad-handing photo shoot for the late-evening news.
“Leo will need to be here in time for his speech at seven thirty, to be followed by more speechifying, and a late supper at eight thirty or nine. Can you make it happen?”
“Piece a’ cake,” I said. And crossed my fingers.
* * *
I notified everyone about the arrangements by phone call, not text. No way was I leaving anything in the hands of electronics. When everyone was notified, I decided on the new scarlet leathers. Seemed all I needed to get out of my unexpected girly mood and into action was a definite time and date for the vamp festivities. My last line in each call was “Wear the anti-DNA charms I had messengered over. Do not forget.”
I powdered up, because the weather was muggy and leather meant sweating no matter what. Over the unscented body powder I pulled on a stretchy knit cami top and undies, and then matching stretchy knit socks. My former combat socks didn’t work anymore. If I had to shift into a half form, I needed room for my feet to grow in width, room for my claws. I slid into the leather pants and snugged up the clasps and ties to get them tight, but not so fitted I couldn’t move when needed. Then the jacket, the rich, scarlet leather so gorgeous I wanted to pet it. They still smelled strong, but I wasn’t a walking, talking olfactory ad for cow skin. And I looked freaking fantastic.
My cell made a burbling sound and I bent to pick it up. The leathers squeaked, which wasn’t good. Vamps had very good ears. Something to remember if I needed to go silent. I opened the cell and read a text from Alex. He had found a witch whose child owned a crotch rocket. A blue Kawasaki. Worse, the teenager was a budding witch too.
I pulled the guest list, and the young witch’s name wasn’t on the list. But . . . Yeah, but. Tau might have killed her to get the bike. Might have allied with the witch or her mom. Too many mights and might nots. But before I could worry too much, Alex sent another text—the young witch safe at home.
I sent a quick text back, putting together the idea of a witch on a motorbike. There were dozens of places a witchy attack might be made upon Leo in the next few hours, but only one place where an attack might take place on the witches and Leo too. I weaponed up and strapped on my silver-plated titanium chain-mail gorget to protect my throat, and layered on the fancy gold-and-citrine gorget over it. When the horn tooted outside, I left the house, looking like a demon from hell. A well-armed demon from hell.
I climbed into the SUV that was my ride and greeted the driver. Wrassler said, “Looking good, Legs. Looking good.” I buckled in and he proceeded to update me on the security measures at HQ. Which gave me time to think.
* * *
At HQ things were going according to plan. Between them, Wrassler and Derek had every possible means of attack buttoned up at the vamp council chambers. The building across the street, from which an easy armed attack had once taken place, had been commandeered, and armed personnel walked the halls. Men and women with bullet-resistant shields lined the porte cochere, the shields overlapped to protect Leo’s passage from doorway to the limo. The three limos each had mapped out differing routes to take. Motorcycle escort was in place. NOPD had been notified of the passage of the MOC and the potential for problems.
I scanned the bikes as I waited under the porte cochere, and not one was brilliant blue. They were all white, and the riders wore white riding leathers, so we could keep track of them as Leo’s security. I sought out the three bikes whose riders wore red helmets and black riding leathers. One at a time, they lifted a hand to me. I nodded back. They were my backup plan if it all FUBARed as spectacularly as I feared.
The three Onorios stepped out of the doorway, heads swiveling, checking for danger. They were decked out in fighting leathers like mine, but all in black. None of them were weaponed up, at least not that I could see, though I was quite sure they wore enough blades on them to start a good-sized butcher shop.
Leo followed the Onorios, dressed in evening wear. He and Larry had decided to go with a solid black-and-white color scheme, the tux, cummerbund, tie, and lapel silk all in black. The shirt was the trim white one he had tossed at the valet. He ducked into the armored limo and sat, his eyes on me.
Ming Zoya, formerly of Mearkanis, came next out the door, wearing finery that could only have been put together by Madame Melisende, a blend of elegance and class that was uniquely Ming. The outfit had to be something left over from her time as clan Blood Master. She wore yards of scarlet silk to her ankles, embroidered with peonies and brightly colored birds. Feathers, dyed to match the dress, trailed below her waist and around her body, in a train of some sort down her back. She wore black shoes, like flip-flops but not made of plastic or foam, rather made of something with no flex. Her long black hair was up in magnificent braids and coils and curls, her lips and talons painted to match the silk. She smelled of blood. A lot of blood. And she looked young and beautiful and powerful, as unlike the thing that had come up from the water of the pit as it was possible to look. A different being entirely. Ming of Mearkanis was here under the slim possibility that she might recognize the witches’ magic before anyone else. She was our canary in the mine. If she started acting weird, compliant, anything at all out of whatever was ordinary for her, then the Nicauds might be near. Ming made it to her limo without incident.
Girrard DiMercy and Grégoire slid into the last limo in line before I could get a good look at them. One Onorio stepped into each limo.
Everyone was perfect and everything had been done according to plan. There was no reason to feel a sense of impending doom. No one could see under the roofed porte cochere without a drone. At this point we were all safe. Of course, we were about to hit the streets and that safety level was about to change totally. My heart raced. Everything from the moment Leo left the building made us a target.
I caught a familiar scent. I stopped, one hand raised to do . . . something. I turned, following the scent with my nose. An odor that I had last smelled when I was dying on the floor of the sparring room/gym. Here. At vamp central. I pivoted slowly and followed the scent. It led back into vamp HQ, from inside. I held up a finger, telling Bruiser to close up the limos and wait. I pulled a nine-mil and a vamp-killer and strode through the phalanx of confused security personnel, into the chambers. I got a glimpse of a female in the gray uniform of housekeeping. She tucked her head and ran for the elevator.
Beast shoved her speed into me. I raced across the small space and inserted a hand into the crack as the door tried to close. The woman backed into the corner of the small trap and curled into herself. Her arms crossed her body and she slowly sank to the floor. Beast and I analyzed her together. She was pretty, in a blond, blue-eyed, victim-prey kind of way. I had seen her in the gym footage, mopping my blood off the floor of the gym when Gee stabbed me. I had my traitor, the person who had given enemies my blood or hair or tissues to use in spells against me. And it wasn’t the outclan priestess who had bitten me when I first arrived here. It was a human.
“Why?” I asked, seeing my eyes glowing bright yellow in the metal of the trap.
She risked a look up at me and then back down. She shook her head. “I was stupid.”
And I couldn’t disagree. She was dumb enough to bring her scent where she knew I’d be. She should have run. “Stupid how?” I asked.
“In every way a girl can be.”
Which sounded as though it was going to be a long story, one best told to a vamp, with blood and compulsion and all that stuff. “Never mind.” I put away my weapons and fisted my hands. I walked into the elevator, letting my boots clomp in the small space. Behind me men and women gathered, watching. Behind me, someone held open the doors.
“What do they have planned?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said, sounding miserable. “They didn’t tell me.” She risked a glance up at me, her pretty eyes full of tears. “Just that he would die. And I wouldn’t have to pass him in the hallways like he’s some kind of king and not even see me. After what we did together.” She caved in on herself and added, “I gave up everything for him. Everything.” And the weeping became a waterfall.
What did I do to be surrounded by so many weepy humans? I backed out of the elevator and caught sight of Scrappy, Leo’s new secretary, and Del, Leo’s new primo. I hadn’t seen much of Del recently and we exchanged nods. “She was Leo’s pet for a while?”
Del’s mouth hardened in a line as she looked over the girl. Except for the height, they were dead ringers for each other. “Before my time.”
I thought about Grégoire. And Katie. Blondes. “Leo has a type?”
“It’s fluid. Currently he is chasing blondes.”
“Get someone to bleed and read her and send anything pertinent to Alex and Eli.”
“I’ll see to it, Enforcer,” Del said.
Yeah. My order, sanctioned by the authority given me by the man who had hurt this poor pitiful girl. Who would likely slide into more blood and sex slavery. “See if you can find someone with a lot of finesse. And then see if they can break her addiction.” When Del looked at me in amusement, I added, “Try,” making that an order too.
* * *
I entered Leo’s limo and a security person closed the door. “Problems?” Bruiser asked.
I frowned at Leo. “One of his castoffs was working with the Nicaud witches. You really need to keep it in your pants.”
Up front, Wrassler made a choked sound. No one spoke. Leo’s eyebrow rose, just the one. There were multiple emotions in the elegant gesture—amusement at me, a trace of anger at the woman’s betrayal, a steely-eyed promise of retaliation at my lack of proper etiquette. “Keep it in my pants . . .”
“Yeah. Your need to tap everything that moves causes nothing but problems.”
Leo said stiffly, “I have taken your recommendations under advisement.”
Which said and meant absolutely nothing. I just frowned back at him before looking around the limo. “Everyone got your anti-DNA charms?”
“We all have them,” Leo said, sounding almost snappish.
The motorcycles pulled out in a roar and Leo’s limo followed them, turning right. Ming’s turned left, and Grégoire’s turned right and then pulled away from us, each limo taking a different route.
As my worries increased, we drove through the streets of the French Quarter and down St. Charles Avenue, toward the Elms Mansion and Gardens. All three limos arrived without incident. All the motorbikes arrived safely. Even the traffic cooperated and not a single motorcycle came near any of us, except the ones ridden by Leo’s security as they zigged and zagged through traffic, keeping watch. Everything was perfect.
Heck. It didn’t even rain. When the other shoe drops, it’s gonna be a kicker. Ha-ha, I thought as we reached the Elms. Wrassler, driving the limo that Leo and I were in, pulled into a parking space on a side street, one guarded by a police officer in charge of traffic cones. There was no press. In a city like New Orleans, a gathering of two hundred unknowns was nothing, and Leo’s appearance hadn’t been publicized.
I gave Bruiser a communications headset before I slid out of the limo. I rearranged the stakes in my bun from travel-position to higher, into a tall silver, garnet, and ash-wood halo, adjusted my weapons, and wished there had been time to oil and wear my slightly squeaky leathers for a month. But a girl can’t have everything. With Beast-sight, I took in the house and the surrounding area. Everything glowed with witch magics, reflected in windows across the street, in the paint jobs of the limos. Here, where we needed it just as much as, or more than, under the porte cochere, there was no phalanx of armored shields. No. Such precautions would have made Leo look weak. My unease grew.
The motorcycle escort pulled in and dismounted fast. They lined up, providing a passageway of bodies for Leo to walk through. If someone shot at Leo, they’d more likely hit one of his humans. Which ticked me off, but that was the ugly truth of the blood-servant life.
Bruiser followed me, and together we flanked Leo’s door as he slid, elegant and graceful, from the leather seat. Leo breathed in my scent, which let me know how much he liked the trace of alarm that was coming from my pores. I thought about smacking him, but this wasn’t the time or place to depend on snark.
Ming slipped from the next limo, petite and delicate and powerful, to be flanked by the Robere twins. “I feel nothing,” she said to Leo across the short distance. “No taste of the magics used against me.” Which meant the enemy witches were probably saving whatever attack they were planning for when we were all inside and had no room to maneuver whatsoever. Just ducky.
Grégoire and the Mercy Blade stepped lightly from the third limo and joined us. Both of the narrow-waisted men were dressed in silks and satins and leather thigh-high boots, Gee in a gold-color brocade that looked vaguely familiar, and that contrasted with his hair. Grégoire wore black, something like what Zorro might have worn, though without the demi-mask, to contrast with Gee’s. And then I got it. They were wearing each other’s clothes. They had shared. How . . . cute. I kept my lips in a neutral position, not allowing my face to show my amusement, which would have been a good way to get sliced and diced. The two made a fetching set of bookends—deadly, dangerous, lovely book ends. The witches would swoon at the sight of the pretty, pretty boys.
I had worried that since Gee had been spelled once before, he might be again, but Molly and Evan had given him an extra trinket, Christmas-tree-shaped, that was pinned to his lapel. If he was on the bad end of a magical attack, all the little Christmas tree lights would light up. That and the anti-DNA charm were good enough for me. I wanted his ability with a sword tonight, and if his tree lights lit up, I’d just bonk him on the head and knock him out. I had mad skills that way. I had no Christmas tree charm, but I wore a charm like the others, my leathers were spelled to withstand all sorts of magical attacks, and with my Beast Early Warning System I had enough protection. Totally enough.
Bruiser and I, with Leo between us, walked through the line of security toward the front of the house with its unarmored, stained-glass-windowed front doors. Our cadre didn’t look like a show of force to non-Mithrans, but it was. We were dangerous enough to defeat most any attack. Or so I had told myself.
Evan was standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the lights within. The witches must have been watching for us to arrive, because the ward dropped with a shower of black, silver, and crimson motes of power, and a falling rush of flaming energies. The conclave witches had to lower the ward so that we might enter, and this was the best time of all to attack, when the defenses were down and people were in motion. But nothing happened as we filed in and our outside security took up their places. No green magics. No explosions. No iron and water scent. No warning from Ming. Nada.
My black-helmeted backup precautions took their places on the porch and nodded to me as we passed. They didn’t appear to be armed, but they all were. Heavily.
The door closed behind us all and the ward went back up with a prickle of magics that would have made my hair stand on end if it wasn’t braided so tightly and plastered to my head. The magics rising over the house and grounds made me want to sneeze. The Elms was warded so completely that looking at the crisscrossed energies was like looking at a scarlet sun. Even humans could see the magics.
Evan bowed to Leo. “Welcome to the National Council of Witches, sir. The council has passed all of the accords.”
“Ahhh,” Leo said. “A momentous day indeed.”
“Yes, sir. This way, please?” He extended an arm to show us the way, and I moved out in front. As I passed Evan, I presented him with a leather booklet containing a single written page, the titles of the vamps to be introduced. Under cover of the move, he pressed something into my right hand. I looked down and saw a lump of clear yellow, amber, and brown. A sticky note was stuck to it. I pocketed it for a later read.
Waiting still for that other shoe, I led the way into the ballroom, where the witches would hear the vamp trio’s titles announced. The smells hit me first. If I had hoped to tease out the one scent of the Kawasaki-riding senza onore witch, I was sadly mistaken. The stink of magic burned my nasal passages, mingled with the awful mashed-up scents of perfume, scented body sprays and lotions, fabric softener in their clothes, hair spray, sweat, bad breath, toothpaste, and the food odors from their lunches. I managed not to gag or wrinkle my nose at the blended stench, but it was a near thing.
We filed in and onto the low dais in the ballroom corner, across from the entrance, where the speech-giving was taking place. No one jumped us. No one threw magic. No one even looked dangerous. Mostly they looked like middle-aged women of various cultures and ethnic backgrounds, most of whom could have used a fashion makeover centered on what not to wear. Ever. But they looked uniformly pleasant, if tired. No one even frowned at us.
Evan opened the booklet I had given to him. Vamp titles were always too long, too complicated, and boring to anyone but them, so the fangheads had agreed to trim the titles that would mean nothing to the gathered witches anyway. He cleared his voice as he scanned the page, and I checked out the hidden cameras and the positioning of the exits, the mansion and gardens so heavily warded that no one and nothing could get in or out. I hoped that we didn’t have a fire.
Evan introduced the vamps in order of importance, from least to most significant, “Ming Zoya, former Blood Master of Clan Mearkanis, currently third in line to the position of Master of the City of New Orleans.” Which was news to me. Ming might have been elevated because of something about the vamp war, or Leo had promoted her to make her look more important to the witches gathered here. There could be a dozen overlapping reasons for her promotion. She was sniffing the air, searching out the witches, but from her body language, she was having less success in finding the senza onore than I had.
Evan went on, reading from the small booklet. “Grégoire, Blood Master of Clan Arceneau, of the court of Charles the Wise, fifth of his line, in the Valois Dynasty. Second in line to the position of Master of the City of New Orleans.”
Grégoire bowed and smiled and looked for all the world like a fifteen-year-old boy dressed up for cosplay at a local faire or for a part in a school play. Pretty. Vivacious. But the sword at his hip was real and he wasn’t afraid to use it. While he was being charming, I pulled the small thing that Evan had given me. It was about the size and shape of a goose egg, lightweight, with a faintly resinous scent. I put my right hand behind my back and explored the lump with my fingers as Evan continued.
“Leonard Eugène Zacharie Pellissier, Mithran Blood Master of the City of New Orleans and the Southeastern United States, with the exception of Florida.” All three bowed and Leo’s bow was the least deep. It all meant something to the vamps, but nothing to the witches. In fact, the vamps might be insulting the witches to pieces and they would never know it. The Onorios stood to the sides, the Roberes on one end, at the windows, Bruiser with me.
I spotted Eli in his new leathers, looking spiffy, eyes intense, his jacket unzipped for easy access to the weapons he was wearing beneath, but his body appeared relaxed and easy. As if everything was okay.
It had never occurred to me that there would not be an attack. But . . . I had to consider the possibility that the senza onore witches had planted all the magic they had in the yard, and that once it exploded, they were out of witchy firepower. I managed a deep breath at the thought. It was possible that we’d blown up all they had up and that everything was going to be hunky-dory. That possibility had never seriously crossed my mind.
Leo lifted his head from the bow, took a breath that made his nostrils move, inhaling the mingled scents. “Many thanks for allowing me to speak with your gather. Our species have been divided, and divided again, with war and discord and fear, when we Mithrans came from witches and owe our magic to them. It is my hope that the Witch Council of the United States of America will heed my plea and accept my offer of reconciliation and peace. I know you have been presented with my offer of resolution and restitution, and have had an opportunity to discuss it. I am here now to answer any questions . . .”
Yada yada yada.
I took another breath that didn’t hurt and only then noticed that I’d been holding myself ready for battle. I put my hands together, shielding the thing the thing Evan had given me with my left, and glanced down. It was a lump of yellow, brown, and rusty-iron-colored stuff, a vaguely ovoid blob of nothing much at all. The note said:
Lump of burned iron-dust from two of the icons.
Encased in melted frankincense.
Mixed with an Everhart-Trueblood spell.
These three things encase the brooch that was in the pit with Ming.
Holy crap. It didn’t feel like magic, but it had to contain some pretty major hoodoo.
A small arrow at the bottom of the note suggested that there was something written on the other side. I flipped the small paper over to see smaller print.
This will get three beings through the wards.
Once out, they can’t get back in.
It may do other things against the ones who used the brooch on Ming.
We inserted a . . . a backatcha working in the frankincense.
It hasn’t been tested. It hasn’t flown.
I held in a smile. When Molly created a new spell that flunked when tested, she folded it into a paper airplane and few it across the room. “It hasn’t flown” was an attempt at humor. I pocketed the blob and turned my attention back to the rest of the ballroom. Evan was standing near Eli. The witch caught my eye and I nodded once, very slightly. His beard, which he had trimmed short after the burning, moved, suggesting that he might have smiled back.
The Q and A had started and Leo was answering with as much honesty as I had ever heard, though anyone who had ever listened to vamps dicker could hear the places where he fudged or talked around or answered a different question from the one that had been asked. Of course, he was so charming that he got away with it most of the time. As long as he didn’t try to compel them, we were all good and they wouldn’t fry him into a strip of vamp-flavored jerky.
Things moved from boring toward conclusion pretty fast. Until a witch asked, “We understand that a Mithran contingent from Europe is expected soon. If we sign your accord, how would their presence in the city affect us?”
Leo actually offered a small bow to her, in recognition of one who got the political implications. The woman nodded back. She was short and middle-aged, with broad hips and hair dyed in strips of pink, burgundy, cerise, and purple. The hair was braided and hung long, maybe longer than my own. “Madame is wise and politically astute with her query,” Leo said. “There are many ways to consider such a question, and I wish to be perspicuous and candid with this issue, so forgive my verbosity. Such wordiness is frowned upon in these modern times of hashtags and sound bites, but I must offer a complete answer.
“The Mithrans of Europe have no love of witches. The Parisian War between our species in the third century AD left the remaining Mithrans with . . .” Leo smiled. “. . . anger issues.”
The witches tittered.
I had to guess the vamps had lost that battle.
“There are Parisian survivors among the Europeans,” he continued, “and if they still cherish violent intentions against witches, there might be . . . difficulties. And if they come with violent intent against the Americas-based Mithrans, instead of peaceful ones, there is the possibility of . . . shall we say, more than verbal discord?” Leo paused and clasped his hands behind his back. He dropped his head, his posture so professorial that it was disconcerting. I had to wonder if Leo had been an actor in his earlier life. Or a professor. “If they choose violence here, war between the European and the New Orleans Mithran factions becomes more likely.
“It has been my purpose,” he said, staring at the dais and his patent leather shoe tops, shining black in the ballroom lights, “and my intent to keep the humans and witches of this city safe from all discord between the factions.”
“Not safe from the Damours who killed our children?” the woman asked, her soft voice carrying through the abruptly silent room.
“This requires a tale not oft told, of the world as it was in the days of slavery,” Leo said. “And the slave revolt in Saint Domingue, what is now Haiti, and an evil clan of Naturaleza vampires who were also witches.”
An explosion sounded, juddering through the floor. The vamps were instantly holding bladed weapons. Eli was holding a handgun, and his head snapped to me. Bruiser sprinted to the front door, the other Onorios spilt, one Robere twin to the Chaperone’s Alcove and its entrances to the back and side of the house, and the other to the doorway to the Louis XVI Room. Eli tilted his head, listening to the aftershocks and echoes, and said, “Outside the ward. Within a block. Similar to the ones in the yard.” Belatedly the witches began to stand.
“That was outside the ward,” Lachish said. “We are utterly safe.” She looked down her nose at the vamps and said, “Put away your weap—”
Something clattered and thumped upstairs. Overhead. As if falling and landing on the floor. “Alex,” I said. Alex had set up his equipment in a small room off the stairway. I was halfway up the stairs, moving at Beast-speed, when Leo and Bruiser passed me, their bodies pops of air and blurs of color.
Leo was kneeling at the Kid’s side, fingers pressed to his neck at the carotid. My heart plummeted. “He is not dead,” Leo said, “but I smell his blood.”
“Alive,” I shouted down the stairs to Eli, who was standing halfway down, guarding access to the front entrance, the ballroom, and the stairs, weaponed up like a ninja in his new spelled leathers. Guarding our exit, knowing that we were better able to help Alex right now than he was, when he had to want to be up here with his brother. “Out cold,” I added, watching Leo’s medically proficient examination. His fingers came away bloody. “Head wound, but it doesn’t appear major.”
Eli didn’t reply, but I smelled his relief as if he’d been standing right beside me. I searched out and found Bruiser, who was entering the closed upper rooms with impunity, rooms set aside for family and privacy. The explosion might have been outside the ward, but Alex was inside and down. Something was wrong.
To Leo, I said, “I don’t see magics.” I eased into the room, clearing the closet and window nook and under the tiny desk. I was holding a vamp-killer in my left hand and the blob in my right. “No witches, no magics.”
“A candlestick is the culprit,” Leo said, his fingers growing bloodier as they crawled through Alex’s hair. “When he wakes, I will see that he is fed to mitigate any possibility of brain damage.”
“They hid here,” I said, coming back to the closet and tucking my head within. Something touched my face, like a spiderweb in the dark, a feathery brush of . . . magic. I wrenched my body out, tripping on my own feet. “Magic!” I shouted. A sneeze slammed through me. Witch magic. A lot of magic. Something thumped my left hand, no more than a fist bump of force.
Everything happened fast. Pain ripped out of my palm and green magics swept out from the closet to me, instantly coating my body, the floor, Leo, and Alex. A fast blur of flaming green. I cursed and shook my hand, but green flames roared up, shaped for an instant like an eye. My left hand caught fire, flaring with green flames. The pain was instantaneous. I staggered back a step, mouth open to suck in a breath that burned in my lungs. The anti-DNA charm sizzled and died, not built to withstand such intensity.
On pure instinct, I dropped my weapons, pulled the blob from my pocket, and slammed it into my left palm. The flames on my hand went out. The heat in my chest cooled. The pain stopped. The remnant flames raced up my spelled fighting leathers and died, but . . . my hand. I gasped and swallowed back a scream. My hand was blistered and weeping. I opened my fist and the pain flared back, so I closed it on the blob again. But I had seen enough. The flesh was coming off in small wrinkled, water-engorged strips, leaving the muscles beneath visible and raw. My poor hands, hurt again. This New Orleans gig was proving more damaging, more often, than I had ever expected.
Around me, the green magic boiled on the floor, spitting and spattering, like water poured into a red-hot pot. No one but me had caught fire. The spell had been targeted to me. That was a relief and a surprise, but I’d take it. I just had to get out of here before the spell touched my skin again and burned me to a crisp. With my booted foot, I flipped up the vamp-killer, which had landed at my feet, and caught it.
Leo’s fine-boned fingers were still in Alex’s hair. Bloody but unmoving. As if pressed gently against the perimeters of the wound to slow the bleeding.
“Jane?” Bruiser asked. He was standing at the door, weapons out, including a sword I seldom saw him carry. He hadn’t been carrying a sword in the limo and I had to assume he’d secreted one on the premises. “You’re hurt.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I triggered something, but this put it out.” I showed him the hand holding the blob. “Unfortunately it’s still active. Can you see it?”
Bruiser shook his head. “No.” But there was a strange look on his face, confusion, maybe. And he sniffed as if something smelled unpleasant.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“I . . . I don’t know.” He knelt by Leo, into the green, low-lying spell-mist. Tilted his head.
“Jane?” Eli called.
I heard more sizzling. My brain clicked back on. The anti-DNA charms were going out all at once.
There was no way that anyone could have known that I would be the one to trigger the spell. No way to know when the targeted spell had been put in the closet, but under ordinary conditions, it wasn’t a place I should have even entered. The chance of me entering the closet, even with Alex injured, was minimal. I was missing something. The green spell was still pouring out around my feet, filling the room. I was missing something. Something big.
“Jane!” Eli called, soft, but edgy. “Leo?”
Leo lifted one hand to his face. Opened his mouth. And he licked his bloody fingers. His head swiveled from Alex up to me, that inhuman oddly jointed way they move when they don’t care if they look human. From his place on the floor Leo’s gaze swallowed me. Fastfastfast, he vamped out. Eyes bloodred with pupils blown, huge and black. Green flames danced in his eyes. Leo’s fangs schnicked down. He rocketed up, talons reaching for me.
I’d been wrong. The spell hadn’t been aimed only at me.