by Faith Hunter
The maid reentered behind Heyda, carrying another tray with tiny scalloped toast points topped with what looked like raw meat, and cucumber sandwiches on white bread. Raw meat? Another subtle insult, this one directed to the cat-man? I inhaled, trying to catch the scent, and thought it might be smoked salmon. That was expensive and so … no insult? I wished I knew more about manners outside of the church. The servant set the tray on a tea table, poured tea into my cup, and departed, the butler following her out, leaving Heyda and Cai behind. The two stood at what looked like parade rest, facing the main entrance to the parlor.
When Rick put down his glass and stood, I followed suit, though I heard and smelled nothing. The Master of the City, Ming Zhane of Glass, entered slowly, her power zipping over my skin like a swarm of ladybugs had landed on me. Ming was dressed in a black silk robe over a scarlet gown, the exact shade as her lips and the same shade as fresh blood. A gold chain hung around her neck, with a ruby pendant the size of a robin’s egg. She was Asian, petite, with almond-shaped eyes of an odd dark honey shade. Her black hair was long, up in a bun just like every other time I’d seen her. Her skin was smooth and pale as ivory, and her lips were painted scarlet.
The last time I met her, Ming had been only a clan Blood Master. Now she was a great deal more. She exuded all the power, elegance, and lethal intent of an apex predator. She looked totally at ease. And she was up, in control, and alert in the middle of the morning, which told us how powerful she was.
She would squash us like rats if we let her. I knew. I’d dealt with Ming before and she liked messing with humans and paras she considered beneath her. Like us.
Cai said softly, “The Master of the City of Knoxville and Tennessee hunting grounds, and Blood Master of Clan Glass, Ming Zhane, welcomes the special agents of Knoxville PsyLED Unit Eighteen to her clan home.”
Ming had said this visit was urgent, but clearly urgent did not negate protocol or the vampire social niceties when dealing with human law enforcement. Realizing that every word spoken today would have much more meaning than appeared on the surface, I ran the primo’s words through my mind.
Technically, Ming was her family name and Zhane her given name. She should have changed her family name to Glass when she defeated the clan founder a hundred-plus years ago, but she hadn’t. Keeping her own name, in the Asian manner, stated to the vampire world that she wasn’t one to abide by Mithran or human rules unless she wanted to, and that she was powerful enough to get away with anything she wanted. And the words Tennessee hunting grounds meant something more than being MOC. Ming was claiming the entire state of Tennessee as hunting territory. With Leo Pellissier true-dead and in the grave—or so they said—and Jane Yellowrock, the Dark Queen, in hiding, Ming was stretching her power and influence. Ming might be playing with us like a cat with mice.
Ming knew us, but Rick introduced us anyway, title to title. “Rick LaFleur, special agent in charge of Unit Eighteen of PsyLED, and Special Agent Nell Ingram. What can we do for you, Ming of Glass, Master of the City of Knoxville?”
I noticed he didn’t say anything about his werecat titles. And he didn’t mention the Tennessee hunting grounds. That was interesting.
Instead of answering, Ming sat and gestured us to sit as well. We did, on the edges of our seats. I pressed my left fingers against the wood again and watched as Ming smoothed her silk robe. She said, “I hope the refreshment is to your satisfaction.”
Rick looked nonplussed at the deflection, but I was ready for it. I lifted my cup and sipped, saying, “The refreshment offered by Ming of Glass is welcome, especially as the Mithran Master of the City is in such penury.”
Ming lifted a brow in what might be amusement. “Penury?”
I set down the cup and nudged the tea-bag string with a knuckle. “I know about whole leaves being preferred over the tea dust in tea bags.” I gave a smile as faint as her own and added a bit of church to my accent. “I ain’t a connoisseur of anything except vegetables, but I know my manners. And serving iced tea and store-bought tea-bag tea to a guest is an insult. Right? And Ming of Glass would never insult a guest. So Ming of Glass must be broke.”
“Broke?” Ming blinked. “Vegetables?”
“I’ve been told that I grow the finest vegetables in the state,” I said.
Rick looked at the sweating glass in his hand. He might know all about vamps, but he didn’t know about a woman’s insults. “We’re here for—” Rick started.
Ming’s hand flew up in a cutting gesture as she interrupted, “My finances are not an appropriate topic of discussion. You will try the cucumber sandwiches.” She indicated the plate of sandwiches. “I should like your opinion.”
“Oh, I’d never compare my cukes to anyone else’s,” I said. “That would be too unkind of me, would reek of hubris and ego and disrespect to my host.”
Ming’s deep brown eyes sparkled in amusement. She knew I was insulting her not-so-subtly in return for the tea insult and she was enjoying herself. “But I insist,” she said, her tone dropping into vampire compulsion that felt like warmth and heat and drugged happiness.
Except it didn’t work on me, especially with my hands on wood. “In that case, I’ll do Ming of Glass the favor of taste-testing her veggies.” I took a sandwich, bit, and chewed. Rick’s face went bland as a vampire’s face, as he caught up with the deeper potential meanings of the preceding conversation. The rest of the room awaited my judgment in fascinated interest. I swallowed and sipped the now-tepid tea in my cup. Set down the cup. Making her wait. I was channeling the mamas’ careful social interactions with the wives of other churchmen. There was an elusive line I shouldn’t cross.
“It’s quite nice,” I said, staring at the small sandwich in my hand.
“Only nice?” Ming asked.
“I’ve always found that lemon cucumbers need a bit more organic material in the soil to give them that zing. The soil you used is just right for Mexican sour gherkins, though.”
“Organic material?”
“Dead things,” I said. Rick made a soft grunt of air, Ming’s eyebrows went up, and the room went frozen, offended, silent. I just smiled the sweet kind of smile a churchwoman uses when she’s about to offer a kind, syrupy, polite insult. “Maggots know all about dead things. They make good eatin’.”
The silence went harder and colder and deadly. A good three seconds later, Ming burst out laughing. Well, it was a little titter of sound, but for her I reckon it was like a belly laugh for ordinary folks. “Mexican sour gherkins,” she repeated. “These are good cucumbers?”
“They’re actually not a cucumber or melon at all.” I scrunched up my face, trying to remember. “I think they in the Melothria genus. A little sharper lemon taste. Fewer seeds. A little more … tart maybe? But really good with mayo and sourdough bread, which, when made right, has bigger holes than the white bread your cook is using. The holes let the flavors mix better. I have some Mexican sour gherkin seeds I’d be happy to have delivered to Ming of Glass for her gardener to try. It’s a little late in the season to plant outside, but they’ll do okay in a greenhouse. With the right amount of organic material.”
Amused, Ming sipped her tea. “Would Special Agent Maggot be willing to test our organic mixture and recommend the perfect addition of … dead things … to improve our vegetables? We expect the Dark Queen to visit us when she goes on progression.”
“Progression?” Rick asked.
“To visit her far-flung subjects.”
Rick said nothing, but Ming’s nostrils fluttered and she smiled slightly. Despite the cigar smoke, she had smelled his reaction to the discussion of Jane Yellowrock—the Dark Queen of vampires, who was not going on any kind of trip that I knew of. Ming was playing games with us, slashing at Rick’s emotions, trying to put us where she wanted us. Ming wanted a favor but didn’t want to be beholden to cops. She shifted her attention to Rick. He set his glass aside. I followed their lead and put down my tiny sandwich. Niceties were over. And I knew w
ithout looking that Rick was ticked off with me. There might be words about my taking lead on the social portion of this discussion. I wasn’t planning on backing down.
Carefully, Ming said, “We have a legal conundrum and wish advice upon how to proceed.”
Rick nodded once and glanced at me, but when he spoke it was to the Master of the City. “Ming of Glass, I hear, but need to clarify. Do you wish to make an official police report?”
“What are her options?” Heyda asked.
Rick considered, leaning forward and clasping his fingers together between his knees. “If Ming of Glass wishes to file a report, she will be speaking to the SAC of Knoxville. Every detail will be entered into a database that might be read by many people in law enforcement.”
“Ming does not wish her words to be made known to others,” Heyda said. “This will not be an official report.”
Rick nodded his understanding. While he didn’t seem to comprehend the niceties and backstabbing of Ming’s chitchat, my boss did appreciate the vampire mind-set when it came to power plays. He took off his badge and placed it on the table. I followed suit. Now I was just Maggot, and Rick was just Rick. Not cops.
“Rick LaFleur hears Ming of Glass.”
“Rick LaFleur the human? Or the wereleopard, the cat who is second in the leap of the Dark Queen? And first in Gabon, in Africa.”
I stiffened in surprise. Ming was really well informed and she was getting a lot of mileage out of this meeting and this problem. Or she needed help of a different nature.
“I am many things,” Rick said evenly. I wondered if Rick was really this calm or if his old undercover reflexes were kicking in.
“It is to the Dark Queen’s leopard I will speak,” Ming said with a mean little smile.
Rick didn’t react visibly, but I had a feeling his scent changed enough for the fading cigar smoke to no longer hide it. He hadn’t talked to Jane Yellowrock in months. He had no power in the leap and no permission to speak for Jane, but he was over a barrel. “The beta cat of Yellowrock leap hears.”
Ming said, “We were attacked last night, our land and holdings and humans. Two humans have been turned or they would have died. Two Mithrans are injured and sleeping with my blood in their veins to heal.”
“Would Ming of Glass specify what kind of attack?”
Humans hadn’t died, so we could keep this unofficial, but Ming was pacing a narrow path.
“It was magical,” Ming said, with distaste.
Heyda said, “We defeated the attack and strengthened our defenses, but to know such a thing was possible would be a gift to our enemies and an indication that Ming was less powerful than she clearly is.”
I understood. The vampires were awake in the daytime, which was an indication of might. But they had been successfully attacked.
“This magical attack,” Rick said. “Please clarify.”
“A spell of calling was issued, a magical summons,” Ming said. “Two of our number attempted to leave the grounds and their humans endeavored to stop them.”
Rick’s body tightened and his eyes glowed a slight green with his cat. He leaned now toward Heyda. He said, “Tell me about this calling.”
Heyda said, “After midnight, two of our number stood and walked to the doors, moving as if automatons, as if not hearing the calls of their humans, as if they were spelled. The humans tried to intervene and the Mithrans killed their own blood-servants. I was able to stake the Mithrans and thus stop their actions. Ming and I were able to turn the humans. The spell was strong, lasting for hours, during which time other Mithrans fought to remain in their lairs, fought to not answer the calling. Altogether eleven Mithrans were staked. Only two of us resisted the spell used against us.”
That meant that Yummy had been called too. Yummy was the closest thing I had to a vamp friend. But I couldn’t ask about her right now. I firmed my lips, stopping my words.
“How many times has this calling happened?” Rick asked.
“Why do you ask this?” Ming asked. “How do you know this attack has occurred more than the once of which we speak?”
“Because I have been called to my leopard and once ended up on a riverbank in cat form, near a witch’s circle. A circle of cursing and summoning, one that showed evidence of the presence of Mithrans. I was called last night, and resisted the spell.”
“A witch curses both were-creatures and Mithrans?” Ming said, her eyes flashing. “What do the local spell casters say to this? We have tried to contact them to negotiate that they cease such attacks. They do not reply to us.”
Softly, Heyda said, “Ming is ready to go to war with the spell casters. She has called for the assistance of Lincoln Shaddock. He and his people will travel here during the night.”
Shaddock was the new MOC of Asheville. That meant a lot more vampires in Knoxville than normal and tensions might flare. A war between the paranormal creatures was a very bad thing and to be avoided at all costs.
Rick held up a hand in a gesture for peace. “The witches are not your enemies. One of the city’s PsyLED special agents is a witch and she is as baffled and concerned as we are. She spoke with the local coven leader. They don’t know anything about the circles and they’re …” He paused. “Not fearful, but wary. Worried. They say the witch circles are a dangerous and forbidden magic and they refuse to help us apprehend the witch who is casting this curse. They say it’s an outside witch, not one of their own.”
“And you believe them?” Heyda asked, skeptical.
“Yes. Both as a law enforcement officer and as a wereleopard.”
“Are the witches also under the summoning?”
Rick shook his head. “I don’t think so. But they’re casting auguries for the future and reading the cards. They told our agent that all the readings so far point to ‘grave danger.’”
“How many circles?”
“Twelve,” Rick said, “over the three moon cycles.”
Ming’s lips tilted slightly down and she said, “Maggot. You have read the land at the circles of summoning?”
“I have. Mithrans were there, either before or after the summonings were cast.”
Ming’s eyes tightened, her white-powdered face giving little away. “My clan is spread about the city. Only a few lair here. None have reported such a summoning. Heyda, you will contact the ones who lair otherwhere to see if they have been called and did not report it.”
Heyda murmured, “Yes, my mistress.”
Rick asked, “Why wouldn’t they have already contacted the Master of the City if they’ve had problems?”
I was looking at Heyda when he spoke and I caught the barest flinch in the skin around her eyes. I knew that look. Fear. Ming’s people were afraid of her, and Heyda couldn’t say that. But I could. “You rule your people with an iron hand, don’tcha?” I felt the brush of Ming’s magic. I dug my fingernails into the wood before it got too strong and I forgot what I wanted to say. “People, even blood-sucking people, don’t look for help to the ones who show no mercy.”
Ming speared me with a look and I almost reared back, losing face, in vampire terms. Almost. Instead, I pressed my nails into her chair arm so hard that I damaged the shiny finish, the bare wood beneath soothing. After a space of time, Ming’s eyes narrowed. Stiffly she said, “Will you read my property to see if the summoning is in the land?”
And now we knew the real reason we had been commanded to visit the clan home of the Master of the City of Knoxville. Ming wanted another favor, without us understanding that it was a favor. I had been setting and keeping careful boundaries in this meeting, boundaries that established who was head honcho, who was alpha. That alpha person was my boss. Pointedly, I looked at Rick. I was being deliberately heavy-handed enough that Ming was certain to pick up on all my clues. “I have my blanket in the truck. I can do that favor for Ming of Glass now, if you like.” I put careful emphasis on the word you.
“Yes,” Ming said, answering for him.
“Special Agent
Ingram, you have my permission,” Rick said at the same time.
I replied to Rick in the vernacular of Unit Eighteen. “Boss, it’s unlikely that I’ll note anything except the sensation of Mithrans on this land.”
“You will sense maggots,” Ming said. This time there was no playfulness in her tone.
I took my badge and closed my fist around it, keeping it out of sight so Ming would know that I was speaking as Nell, not a cop. “Ming of Glass did not kill her guests when we placed ourselves at her mercy by answering her invitation. I will read her land for her as a favor and a kindness.” I left the room for the front of the house and the door, hearing the softly indrawn breath of Heyda. Yes, I thought. Think on that. You don’t want to make it official? Then it’s tit-for-tat and quid pro quo. Now Ming owed me a boon and a favor.
• • •
On first read, I got nothing on the land except the crawly sensation I associated with vampires and dead things. Then I pushed into the earth with my consciousness, calling on Soulwood, and the earth opened up around me, colors sparking and tumbling and full of power. Ming’s land was more active than my own, the energy lively and youthful. I realized that, in some way, Ming had sealed this land to herself and fed it for decades. She called it her hunting grounds. I wondered briefly if she had spilled human blood on it in sacrifice to claim it, but I was pretty sure that spilling blood for the land was an ancient European custom, not Asian. If Ming spilled blood it was her dinner, not a sacrifice, though the land might not know the difference.
I studied the earth all around and decided that no witch magic had penetrated the ground itself. Nothing in the trees. Whatever the attack had been, it left no trace. Withdrawing, I stood and carried my blanket to the truck.