by Faith Hunter
As it rang, Eli swiftly secured his weapons, grabbed a pale gray jacket from the back of a chair, slung a gobag over his shoulder, and vanished into the night. Brute, the grindy riding on his shoulder, followed him out, working the lever that locked the cat door for security with his paws. The massive werewolf was silent and deadly backup.
“New Orleans Mithran Council Chambers,” Wrassler answered.
“George Dumas here. Anything odd happening? Anything on the security cameras?”
The silence on the line was acute; then there was the sound of keys tapping, and Wrassler said, “Checking cameras. And good evening to you too, Consort.”
Consort? I thought.
Bruiser is Jane’s mate, Beast thought. Jane is Dark Queen.
Bruiser laughed easily. “Forgive me. Good evening. I hope you are well.”
Keys kept tapping. “Tolerable. Winter’s over, so that’s always good. Keeps an old man’s bones from aching so bad.”
“We have snow here,” Bruiser said, the two men indulging in the common Southern niceties while I gritted my teeth, waiting for information on what problems were taking place in NOLA. On the screen, the Range Rovers just sat at the entrance to the inn’s driveway, snow accumulating on the vehicles, headlights illuminating the falling snow, the expanse of snow, and the dark trunks of trees striping the snow. Clouds of vapor gathered around and under the vehicles from the tailpipes.
“Nothing showing anywhere. No suspicious activity. No more people missing.”
“More people missing? What?” I muttered, moving closer to the office desk.
Alex said, “Oops.”
I realized my housemates knew things I didn’t. Things they were keeping from me because I was too sick to do anything good about anything awful. I wanted to hit something but I was so weak my fist would be little more than a love tap. “Go on,” I ground out the two words.
“Ronald Roland left Bouvier Clan Home Tuesday last, to pick up supplies, and never returned,” Wrassler said.
Ronald was heir of Clan Bouvier and he wore jeans and six-shooters at his hips. He could rapid fire the pistols faster than a nine-mil semiautomatic and hit any target he could see. I got a knot in my stomach thinking about a Mithran missing. “Who else?” I asked.
“Cooper,” Wrassler said. “Vanished about the same time. It’s been suggested that he’s on the way to see Janie and just didn’t say so.”
“Who’s Cooper?” I demanded, a flash of anger heating me.
“Tex,” Alex said softly.
Tex. I had claimed him. He was mine, part of Clan Yellowrock. Tex was a master vamp, as powerful as any master of the city I had ever known, but was content to do security at Vamp HQ. He was one of few vamps who had a dog, a big slavering mastiff who loved Tex better than peanut butter. “His dog?” I asked.
“We found him in Tex’s house,” Wrassler said.
“Tex would never leave his dog behind,” I said. Someone took Ed and Tex and Roland.
Took kits, Beast thought. Will kill taker of kits.
But the Son of Darkness Number Two only hit the shores a few days ago. He’s in Florida. So who else is here? Who has my people?
Without looking at me, Bruiser said, “If Cooper was coming here, he hasn’t made it. Who else?”
Guilt on his face, Alex muttered, “I’ve been scanning all traffic and security cams for seventy hours on either side of Ronald’s disappearance. Searching for Tex and Ronald.” He raised his eyes to me, his curly hair tangling in his lashes. “I don’t have a starting GPS so it’s not gonna be fast.”
“When did you first hear about all this?” I asked him.
He ducked his head away.
“One other Mithran hasn’t checked in.” Wrassler hesitated before going on, a strange break in words and tone. “Shiloh Stone, missing for a little over seventy-two hours.”
My heart fell and shattered into a thousand pieces.
Shiloh. Molly Everhart’s niece, my scion, also part of Clan Yellowrock, according to my claiming and according to vamp law. This. This is why they hadn’t told me. They knew what this news would do to me. I closed my eyes to shut out the world. Shiloh was a witch as well as a vamp. If any vamp had her and figured out what she was, she’d be killed in a heartbeat. She was young and not well trained as a witch, not a powerful vamp. She was mine to protect. I had let her down. I had let all of them down.
The old familiar guilt wormed through me, telling me I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t enough in any way. Especially now.
The more rational part of me suggested that if they were being held together, maybe Tex and Ronald could protect Shiloh. That part of me also suggested that if Shiloh was dead, Molly would kill me.
Alex murmured, “Janie knows about the missing vamps. Yeah. All of them. Tex Cooper, Ronald, the heir of Clan Bouvier, and Shiloh Stone.” I realized he was updating Eli in the field, on comms.
“I’ve instituted new protocols since Derek Lee’s car went off into a bayou and he went missing. And since Janie isn’t here,” Wrassler said.
“Derek’s missing too?” I asked, louder. “When? How?” Heat flared through me, anger I hadn’t experienced in months. “And why wasn’t I told?” I demanded of Alex. Derek was the number one security guy at HQ now that I had other titles and responsibilities. “I should have been told.”
“With all due respect, Legs,” Wrassler said, his words clipped, his voice laced with anger, “you left New Orleans.”
My mouth opened in protest but I said nothing. What could I say? I was sick. Dying. I had abdicated. I stared at Alex. He was tapping away on one of the multiple keyboards and he had an old-fashioned mouse at each hand, a gaming stick, and two finger pads lined up within reach. Beneath his naturally dark skin, he was flushed with mortification. I looked at Bruiser who met my eyes with . . . was that pity?
Wrassler went on. “Ed was Leo’s heir. And Ed was your heir, but everything came through the grapevine, not official notification, no ceremony, no pomp and circumstance, and you elected not to send a prefect or cede dominion of the city to another. With you out of the picture and Ed in Europe, we’ve done the best we could to protect New Orleans and keep the peace. Under the circumstances, the city is doing outstanding.”
Unspoken was the sentiment No thanks to you.
My running away had resulted in a long and heated tirade by both Youngers that had included accusations like selfish, spoiled, dispassionate, nonaligned, and detached. And cruel. Their charge that I had been cruel in running away had been the one that hit home. I had thought I was saving them the torment of watching me die. Instead I had hurt them. They hadn’t yet let me live it down, and this thing with Wrassler wouldn’t help.
“Before Edmund Hartley took off,” Wrassler said, his voice rising in pitch and tone, “he instructed us not to initiate contact with you unless you were in danger. You are not in danger. We know you’re sick, but skinwalkers live forever, so what the hell do you want me to do, Janie?” he shouted.
“Holy crap on a cracker,” I said. “I’ve got cancer; I’m not dead.” And I felt, now that anger was coursing through me, more like myself.
“Cancer,” Wrassler said, startled.
“Got it,” Alex said, without taking his gaze from the screens. “I’ve pulled up the police report on Derek.” His fingers had been tapping as Wrassler and I argued. “Derek Lee’s vehicle was found in a bayou about twenty-five miles out of New Orleans after a hard rain. Official reading is that he tried to cross a bridge that was running deep with runoff and was swept off the road. But no body’s been found. According to the written report, there was damage to the back panel that could suggest he was rammed. Here are the investigating officer’s photos. They show a gray smear of contact paint. Sending all this to you at HQ.”
Alex had obviously accessed official law enforcement re
cords. Illegally. I should have stopped that, but . . . we needed the info.
“Cancer? What the hell do you mean you have cancer?” Wrassler said. Then, as he caught up on everything, “Rammed? I never got any photos. Let me look. I was assured by the sheriff—” He stopped. We waited. After several seconds, Wrassler cursed. “This was in Plaquemines Parish. I screwed up. I’m sorry, Empress.”
Empress. Me. Wrassler was great at security and tactics but wasn’t quite as competent on politics and law enforcement. He should have called me personally, no matter what, even against Ed’s orders. But he was mad at me for disappearing, so he didn’t. And the Youngers and Bruiser knew how sick I was so they didn’t tell me. And the Plaquemines sheriff had reason to hate vamps. And me. I had, after all, helped Leo to muck up her current job, and had thrown her future political aspirations into the toilet.
I pushed my thoughts back to Derek Lee. Despite having each other’s backs in some pretty hairy situations, he and I never really got along. Derek was afraid of vampires and the sexual stimulation that resulted from being a blood-meal to one of them. But Derek was under the protection of Edmund Hartley, so in a convoluted way, Derek was mine to protect, even if he himself didn’t want to be. I had failed him too. My eyes burned, dry and aching.
Alex talked over my silent thoughts. “I’m sending a request from NOLA fanghead HQ up the law enforcement ladder to the governor. I’m requesting that the official investigation into the accident not be closed until someone has considered the possibility of a hit-and-run and kidnapping.”
“Whose signature goes on that?” Eli asked his brother.
“Jane’s, as Dark Queen.”
“Who’s Edmund’s heir?” I asked, as a thought occurred to me. Last I’d heard, Ed had appointed Katie to manage things, but if he had an heir, that person could be my—what term had Wrassler used? My prefect. Yeah. Ducky!
“He didn’t have one. All you have are the local Mithrans. Vamps need a leader, Legs, someone to rule the office of Master of the City. Edmund’s office. Your office.”
My office. Crap.
“You said something about protocols changing after Derek left. What protocols?” I asked.
Wrassler said, “No one leaves anywhere, anytime, without sending a text to HQ first, and then another when they return. Anyone missing is reported to HQ. We follow up every twenty-four hours. Most of the Blood Masters are complying.” Which meant that some were not.
“Derek was the Pellissier Enforcer. Now he’s missing. I need an Enforcer in NOLA,” I said. “Someone everyone would obey. A vamp Enforcer.”
“That . . .” Wrassler made a soft hmmming noise. “That would actually work. Someone to take names and break a few jaws.”
Alex tapped a keyboard and the camera feeds at the entrance of the inn’s driveway took center place on the TV screen. To its side was a series of smaller screens, most lit with pale green light. I walked closer and took in the feed from one infrared and a dozen low-light cameras mounted in the trees. One showed a very pale form moving through the snow, from camera to camera. Alex punched some buttons and the cameras changed to infrared, but Eli showed up no better. On other screens I followed Brute and his passenger. The werewolf was a hot, bright impression on infrared, the grindy even hotter.
“Hang on,” I said to Wrassler and pointed at the screen. “Why is Eli showing cold?” I asked. I didn’t add, as a vamp.
“Cold coat,” Alex said, distracted. “So well insulated he won’t show up if he drops into a crouch in the snow. Precautions against tech-savvy enemies.”
Alex enlarged the video of the Range Rovers, creating a grainy mess as he initiated programs to clean up the feed. Blocks of black and white and color flashed all over and resolved into the video of a vamp emerging from the first vehicle. He moved with that sliding, easy grace of the vampire, something I had forgotten or gotten so accustomed to while living among them that I no longer noted it until now, when I had been away from them so long. He had a long, lean face and long pale hair, reminding me of Legolas in The Lord of the Rings movie, except cruel, hard. He wore slacks and a dress shirt and city shoes, with a long winter coat that made him appear even more broad-shouldered and slim than he already was. The color sharpened, to show the lipstick red of the Range Rovers and the gray of the gorgeous coat.
Onscreen, the vamp lifted his head and sniffed the air. Snow pattered down onto his coat and hair, not melting. Cold-blooded for real. The other vehicle’s front window lowered and Lego spoke to the other one, whose face was hidden. I regretted not having audio on the cameras.
“Eli has the driveway mined in two places,” Alex said, “but farther up, not at the street.”
“We don’t know who is in the vehicles,” I said. “We couldn’t detonate anyway.”
I returned my attention to my cell. Speaking slow, with a care for the meaning of each word, I said, “Wrassler, two groups of vamps have moved out of Europe. One group may have been in New Orleans for a while—long enough to snatch our missing people. Withdraw all of Clan Yellowrock into HQ and invite the other clans. Go on lockdown. Send word to Koun requesting that he accept the position of Acting Enforcer to the Dark Queen, New Orleans District, in addition to his position as chief strategist of Clan Yellowrock, until such time as Derek is able to resume his duties. If he isn’t interested in the job, send me a list of candidates. Alex will send a letter instructing all blood clan masters to defer to Koun, Acting Enforcer to the Dark Queen. So speaks the Blood Master of Clan Yellowrock”—I took a breath, claiming my political power—“and the Dark Queen.”
“Yes, my mistress,” Wrassler said, with a breath of relief.
On the screen, the lone vamp standing in the snow turned toward the camera recording him, as if he knew it was there. Snow fell on his face. He was green-eyed and now I could see the nearly white platinum blond of his hair. He stretched out an arm and snapped his fingers. The back door to the second vehicle opened. A girl was shoved into the brightness of the headlights: she fell to her hip, skin white as the snow. Long, straight red hair slapped down. “No,” I whispered, placing a hand on the screen. Lego grabbed the girl’s arm and yanked her up, against his chest. Dark red smears were left in the white behind her. Blood. Her blouse had once been white. It was dull with brown stains.
She was still bleeding freely and there were vamp-bite marks in her throat.
He jerked her hair, pulling her face up, into the meager light. Snow fell on it, unmelting.
Shiloh Everhart Stone. Of course it was.
“He’s got Shiloh. She’s hurt bad,” Alex said softly to Eli.
Wrassler cursed, hearing the words over our connection.
Sooo . . . one group of vamps or two? I had told the Flayer where I was. If a second group was, or had been, in NOLA and bleeding and reading my people, then they may have figured out where I was too. Either way, this was bad.
Eli put on a burst of speed. But the drive was uneven and unpredictable and he couldn’t run flat out without risking a broken ankle. The snow suddenly fell harder as a sideways blast of wind shunted it horizontal. We weren’t supposed to have wind at all. Brute put on a burst of speed, bounding high through the drifts.
Through the blustering snow, I watched as the vamp raised his hand and ripped out Shiloh’s throat. Blood splatted and dribbled, bright in the whiteout. He didn’t drink. He held her up by the neck and wasted the blood, a vamp insult. Lego dropped her to the snow and got back into his Rover. Sedately, the two vehicles backed out of the drive and pulled into the night.
“You are dead,” I whispered to him.
Shiloh raised a hand. Gripped her throat. And squeezed. Shutting off the meager blood loss. Meager because she had already been drained so completely. Blood oozed through her fingers.
Brute dashed after the Rovers, a flash of white wolf on white snow, and out of camera range.
Eli fe
ll to Shiloh’s side and pulled a small blade. Without the headlights it was hard to see, and the snow grew thicker. Heavier. The night darker. Eli placed his wrist at Shiloh’s mouth, but she pushed it away. She couldn’t drink. She didn’t have a throat. She needed vamp blood to heal. And we didn’t have any. Brute raced back to Eli’s side, panting, looking all wolf and furious, as if he would attack and destroy the world. He threw back his head and howled, the sound angry and demanding. Unanswered.
“Keep my people safe,” I said to Wrassler. “That includes Jodi and Sloan.” I ended the call. To Alex I said, “Call Big Evan. Tell him about the Range Rovers. Tell him to shield his vehicle.”
“Roger that.”
“Tell him that as soon as it’s safe, they’re to turn around and go back home. Nothing is safe here.”
He didn’t reply.
“You should have told me” I whispered to Bruiser.
“To what purpose,” he whispered back. “We have done what you wanted us to do.”
He was right. I had run away. And now, my world was falling apart, my friends were in danger, and I couldn’t do a single freaking thing about it. I had sworn to protect all my people. I had failed. I needed to heal. Fast. Now. I needed to be everything I had walked away from. And more. And I couldn’t.
Except . . .
“What?” Bruiser asked softly. I raised a hand to stop him, thoughts whirling through me, images, sensations, memories.
I had taken Leo’s blood at the creation of Clan Yellowrock.
I had taken Gee’s blood at the creation of Clan Yellowrock. I had taken Edmund’s blood. I wasn’t a vamp, and calling Ed hadn’t worked before, but . . .
But I wasn’t a vamp. Right. Not a vamp.
But I was the leader of Clan Yellowrock, through the blood of Leo. And I was the Dark Queen.
“I need the crown.” Without thinking about it, I pulled on Beast-speed and raced up the stairs toward the bedroom. Pain forgotten, lost in the wash of blood spilled from Shiloh’s throat.
I ripped open the closet door and dropped to my knees in front of the oversized plastic tub of magical trinkets and snapped the lid open. Everything I had brought from New Orleans and everything the Youngers had brought from NOLA when they joined us here was in the tub: charms Molly had made for me, the carved bone coyote that had appeared after a weird dream, the blue Anzu feather Beast had taken from a dead Anzu, lots of stuff in a jumbled mess. I grabbed up the Glob. The lightning-and-angel-created, multi-magical-item amulet was warm to my hand. The Glob absorbed magic. That was the Glob’s magical power, to drain out magic, especially aggressive magic being used against me. It had once drained le breloque when the crown tried to take me over against my will. But it hadn’t stopped the power merge when I had chosen to use the crown. Le breloque was somehow tied to the position and power of the Dark Queen, not that I knew how that worked. Yet. I stood and carried them both back down the stairs, feet tapping fast, passing Bruiser on the way up.