by Faith Hunter
I said quietly, “And I told you about Bethany beginning the Onorio ceremony the same way she began it with you.”
Bruiser nodded slightly. Sipped. “According to my old friends, after Bethany began the ceremony with Ka, Adan brought in two Mithrans, bound them with silver, and Adan inserted needles into their arms and performed a Mithran-to-human blood transfusion, forcing blood into Ka.”
I started to speak, stopped, and started again. “Two vamps? Which two?”
Softly Bruiser said, “Dominique and Shaun MacLaughlinn.”
“Anamchara: One dead, a traitor who had been working against Leo for ages; the other still alive, sane, and in league with Ka and Monique against us.” I sipped the champagne, which was probably a very expensive wine, but it just tasted winey to me. “Why did Adan give Ka a transfusion? Was he trying to turn her? Can humans or skinwalkers be changed into vampires through transfusion? I thought it had to go through the digestive tract?”
“This may have been one of Adan’s experiments, a test of some kind. And Malita Del Omo and Soledad Martinez were later cut and their blood was fed to Ka, against their will. Against hers.”
“I found Adan in a cage, bat-raving nutso. I broke his neck and gave him to Leo. In hindsight, letting him keep his head might have been a bad decision.”
“Adan had old handwritten texts, ones Malita and Soledad insist were written by the Sons of Darkness and one of their trusted confidants.”
“Who?” I asked.
“I’m narrowing that down. I received the impression that the texts were written long in the past, though I haven’t been able to discover who in the Pellissier bloodline would have been considered the current master of all. And . . .” He rubbed his bearded chin, making a raspy sound. “And why he might be considered to be stronger than the Flayer of Mithrans. Leo never called either of the Sons of Darkness master.”
I remembered Monique’s conversation with Bruiser about Leo’s master. More important were Leo’s own words. My master, not my maker. Who could this master be? Was it the same person and force behind Immanuel and Ka becoming u’tlun’ta? Fear froze my lungs. Could the master be Grandmother? Had she been working with the Sons of Darkness? Or perhaps another vamp, one stronger than Shaun?
I sat up straight in the limo seat. Dominique and Shaun MacLaughlinn had been forced to give blood and forced to feed Ka, which could have created some kind of forced bond between them. And with Shaun tied to Ka, and Ka tied to Monique in her soul home, that meant that Shaun, Ka, Monique, and whoever else was still alive-ish were likely still under the control of whatever vamp had created the experiment, including the two brain-sick vamps we had just left. There was enough black magic taking place to fry the brain of any weak vamp, but Adan wasn’t powerful enough to force sane vamps to his will. So who was? Shaun?
And . . . Ka had to be still alive . . .
I said all this to Bruiser and added that Beast thought the old vamps had smelled sick. “It’s possible that they are still under the control of the person who forced the experiment on them. Ka was Adan’s primo. Like me, Ka probably had little training, and we always thought that Adan was teaching her, but what if he was forcing her?”
Bruiser placed his champagne glass in the small wooden holder. “Your Beast found that high-powered magic locket with the pictures of them, and we have no idea what it actually does. Leo had hidden it, and we don’t know why.”
“Arcenciel blood was used in the construction of the locket. And in the construction of the flying lizard amulet Sabina gave me and in Shaun’s snake armband. Arcenciels can timewalk better than I ever could. Leo said someone was back. Who? And how much power do they have, individually or collectively? And . . . what does timewalking have to do with this whole situation?”
Softly, Bruiser said, “Enough for Shaun to survive his mind breaking when his anamchara died in the rising sun.”
“Maybe because he was mind-bound to more than Dominique,” I said. “A three- or more-way mind-binding might offer some protection and strength not offered to ordinary bound vamps.”
A silence settled between us, and I rested my head on Bruiser’s shoulder, letting all the possibilities resonate through me. All of them bad.
Our flight and ride had been mostly silent, he had been distant, and now, clearly, he didn’t plan on coming inside. He tossed the cell to the seat and opened his arms, taking my hand, pulling me closer and onto his lap. Our arms went around each other. Silent, we breathed each other’s breath; I felt our heart rates, different at first, then slowly, as we sat, they synced. I lay my head on his shoulder.
“I love you,” he said. “I love you, and I don’t know how to protect you, how to keep you safe, how to make you happy without smothering you. You have enemies I didn’t even know about. That terrifies me.”
“You’re going back to HQ to see who the master might be, aren’t you?”
“There are journals everywhere at HQ. Sub-four. Sub-three. Leo’s private belongings are stored somewhere, perhaps in the empty room next to his old office. He will have some records. I need to find the text Soledad and Malita were talking about.”
“What about the library? Are there black magic texts and journals in the library?”
“Unlikely. The Vodka Boys were meticulous in finding all such items and storing them in sub-four storage,” he said, “but I never directed them to look in the library, only in storage areas. Why do you ask?”
“There was one night that Bethany and Sabina called me into the library, and we had a very strange discussion. I don’t remember what it was about now, but maybe it will come to me.”
Bruiser breathed out a quick laugh. “Hiding in plain sight. In the library. Why not. No one looks at the books in the library, why not store things there.”
“Hidden passages, hidden shelves, hidden whatever.”
He laughed quietly. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“I get to go meet with my brother—my brother by blood—about my grandmother’s perfidy and betrayal. Wanna change places?”
“Not in a million years.” He kissed me lightly and slid me to the seat. “I love you. You are my love first, my queen second, and I will love you and serve you for long as there is breath in this body.”
“I love you too. Be safe.”
Eli stepped out on the porch. Two security vamps, Thema and Kojo, took up posts on either end of the house.
Bruiser added, “And you have plenty of security.”
I stepped from the limo, muttering just loud enough for my honeybunch to hear. “Poor delicate little ol’ me, needing all you big strong fighting folk to protect me.”
Apparently, I still spoke loud enough for vamp ears. Thema made an indelicate snorting sound.
“Be safe, my love.”
“I promise.” I think we both knew I didn’t know how to be safe, but for this man I would try. Inside, I crashed and slept like a log, waking just in time to check on security protocols for Jodi and Wrassler’s formal nighttime wedding.
CHAPTER 14
He Made the Sign of the Cross, and No One Caught on Fire
I woke two hours before the wedding in half-form, which was unfortunate. I liked my half-form for battle or sparring, but not for fancy events with friends. I had wanted to be human-shaped for the wedding. Dang it.
Lying in the sheets, I called on Beast for help, but she ignored me.
Fortunately, I had no active part in Jodi and Wrassler’s wedding. I wasn’t a bridesmaid or groomsman, where my shape and pelt would call attention to me instead of the happy couple. I was a guest, which meant no one would be asking me to be all queenly, and that suited me perfectly. I could be a fly on the wall with no problem.
I got up and showered, did what few girly things I needed to in this form, and pulled on a robe and squishy slippers. Unexpectedly, without knocking, Quint was in my room g
iving orders. “Sit,” she said, and pointed to a small chair in the narrow bathroom. I sat, and she began to tell me what I needed to know about the big event. She started with the basics. “This is a white-tie wedding. White tie is also known as full evening dress. It’s the most formal, most traditional evening dress event in all of Western civilization. Put your hands down. I’m braiding your hair.”
I wasn’t used to being given orders, but Quint’s tone had me obeying. Instantly. It was eerily like the tone used by the house mothers at the Christian children’s home where I grew up. I sat, silent and unmoving, as she worked.
White tie wedding was explained to me by Quint in excruciating detail as she braided my hair into ten differently sized and differently directed plaits. Though I hated someone I didn’t know touching my hair or braiding it, I would have to get used to it eventually. Might as well be tonight. I held in my sigh as she worked and tried to pay attention.
She was full of info on etiquette and protocol and the way things must be done. And she had said the words as if they were a title while clipping the braids into an elegant bun-type thing that I’d never have managed without her. Quint then applied my makeup, putting glittery stuff on my cheeks and mascara on my lashes. She painted my Beast-fingernails scarlet. Beast was purring at the attention. If I was honest with myself, it felt kinda nice to be fussed over. Not that I’d ever say it aloud.
While my nails dried, Quint began to pull evening wear from the closet, all made by Madame Melisende for this one event and brought here at some point over the last day or so. Because they hadn’t been there before.
Careful not to mess up her handiwork, I sat in the corner chair and let Quint display and describe dresses, and tried not to sigh a long suffering note. I hated clothes stuff. But after the first red scarlet silk dress, no matter what she said, I gave the same answer.
“Scarlet silk, cross shoulder, low back,” Quint said. “Slit up the leg so you can wear a thigh blade.”
“Currently, I’m pelted on my back, shoulders, and my upper legs. It will show something odd, improperly pelted, will ride up, and itch. No. Next.”
“Gold velvet, long-sleeved, bottomless pockets for reaching a weapon in a thigh rig.”
“Ditto. No.”
“Black silk—”
“Ditto. No.”
“Crimson sheath—”
“No.”
After the fifteenth dress, I said, “How many more do you have?”
“Your modiste created twenty-four dresses for you to choose from tonight.”
“Twenty—” I scowled at Quint. “Screw all that evening dress crap. With all the eating I’ve done in the last few days, I’ve put on a few pounds, all muscle, and my shoulders will make any dress look stupid. Same with the pelt. Everything will itch. Nope, nope, nope. No dress. Pull out my scarlet leathers.”
“Your majesty—”
“My Queen or Jane. I hate majesty.” I crossed my arms over my meager chest.
“But—”
“No buts. Help or get out.”
Quint didn’t scowl or frown. Her expression didn’t change. Even her scent was unchanged. Quint had no emotional reaction to my statements at all, even when I was snarly. She pulled out the scarlet leather armor, hung its hanger on a hook, and held one hand out to me, palm up. She made a little Get up gesture. I stood. She yanked off my robe.
I almost flinched. Fortunately I was wearing undies, but I wasn’t used to anyone seeing me unclothed in half-form. I didn’t like people looking at me. I glared at her. She ignored my reaction.
She walked around me, eyeing me clinically, evaluating. “You’re right. No dress would do you justice.” She shook her head. “You are magnificent.”
A weird feeling trickled through me, uneasy, surprised, uncertain. As far as I could tell, Quint wasn’t lying. Magnificent? Steeling myself, I looked in the mirror for more than just a glance.
Tonight’s half-form consisted of the shoulders, legs, arms, and knobby hands of my half-Beast, with a more muscular human torso, tiny waist, narrow hips, and human feet. I had a long neck, my human face and head, with cat ears up high and hairy, poking through the fancy black braids like golden furry ornaments. I frowned. I looked like a cat version of Jessica Rabbit. Or a boobless and hairy Barbie doll from the fifties. Not . . .
Magnificent? Me?
Quint stretched the armor out on the bed, unfastened all the belts, buttons, zippers, and securing mechanisms, and began belting it in place on my body, cinching the straps for a perfect fit. She knelt in front and offered a new pair of convertible dress boots for me to slip my feet into. And then she began to add my weapons, mostly the ceremonial stuff, starting with my sword and the sterling and wood stakes, and ending with Bruiser’s gift, the Mughal blade. Its curved scabbard rested at my hip, the shape somehow following around my side, the stone handle near my waist.
My gold gorget went on last over my gold nugget necklace and the armor, along with two matching snake arm cuffs that once had held magical workings and had belonged to vamps. Both of which had been beheaded.
In record time, I stood looking at myself in the mirror. Beast peeked through my eyes to see too, and the golden glow of her presence was . . . Magnificent? Holy crap.
Beast is best hunter, she thought at me. Beast is beautiful and dangerous but needs killing teeth to go with claws.
Mmmm. Not tonight, I thought back. I like the human face.
Quint and Beast were right. And . . . just . . . wow.
Quint stood on the chair I had been sitting in. Rising up behind me, she lifted her arms and placed le breloque on my head. It snapped into place, tight—too tight.
I hadn’t planned to wear the crown, but Quint hadn’t asked me. Now there was no getting it off. Every time it snapped into place, I was afraid it was stuck there for good, but when it was ready, it came off just fine. I had to keep reminding myself of that. Stupid crown.
We headed to HQ to probably get in everyone’s way and make people stop what they were doing to accommodate the queen. Tough. I was going to stick my nose into everything.
* * *
* * *
The ballroom was stunning. The smell of smoke was gone. The magic that hid the damaged ceiling was holding up, security was on high alert to keep anyone from throwing spells or fireballs, so the room and HQ itself was likely safe. A string quartet was playing quiet strains. The flowers smelled sweet, as if just picked, the linens had all been replaced. There was a dark rose carpet down the center aisle between the chairs. Yeah. Perfect.
The wedding was scheduled an hour after dusk, and the guests started gathering half an hour early, seated by HQ’s security guys, who were Wrassler’s best friends and “dudes of honor,” as he had started calling them. An excited hushed murmur underlay the stately silence as the guests were ushered in.
I stood in a dark corner, Quint at my side, an unexpected and uncomfortable presence. Quint was wearing a ball gown, but even an untrained eye could see the weapons bulging here and there. Together we watched everything, my bodyguard ready for anything. At least she wasn’t a chatterbox.
The first half hour, as guests arrived and were seated, went off like a charm. No one tried to drink down a human, no vamps issued challenges or cut one another to a bloody death.
The officiant arrived. Since the ceremony wasn’t being held in a Catholic church, which would have allowed her to have a Catholic priest, Jodi had chosen an aging Episcopal priest, Father Juan Ramirez. He was probably the first priest of any stripe or denomination to enter the Council Chambers of the Mithrans of New Orleans without holding up a silver cross and being followed by a mob carrying torches. Father Juan was insanely curious—and nonjudgmental—about vamps, so that helped. He shook every vamp’s hand, he made eye contact without fear of being rolled, and he made the sign of the cross, and no one caught on fire.
; The vamps were equally interested in the priest. As they entered, their eyes found him instantly and followed his every move. If vamps still wrote journals, I guessed everything about the wedding and Father Juan would be immortalized for posterity.
I figured all that was a step in the right direction of peace and harmony between other paras and humans. Not that I wanted to use this ceremony as part of the peace efforts. That was a Leo thing to do, and even the thought made me uncomfortable. Pulling my mind away from Leo’s multilayered plans, I went back to studying the crowd from my shadowed corner.
The vamp and blood-servant groomsmen were all wearing black dress coats with tails, white shirts, piqué waistcoats, and white bow ties worn around standing collars in the wing-tip style. They properly finished it off by wearing high-waisted black trousers and patent leather oxfords, or court shoes.
Some of the warriors in the crowd wore orders insignia and medals. Others in the crowd wore top hats, white gloves, white scarves, pocket watches, and orchid or rose boutonnieres.
I had spent so much time around fashion-conscious vamps that I knew what all that crap meant. Not that I admitted as much to my new bodyguard / fashion consultant.
Every single male was resplendent, especially Bruiser. Holy crap. He looked great in that formal getup. And when Koun entered . . . Even with my more human nose, I could smell Quint’s interest. She thought he looked hot. He seemed oblivious to her interest.
The women were in full-length ball gowns or evening gowns in all the colors of an artist’s palette, all wearing evening gloves past the elbow and carrying small handbags. They wore expensive faceted stone jewelry, and there were glittering tiaras here and there.