Black Arts jy-7

by Faith Hunter

  “Sooo,” I hedged. “Was this a date or business?”

  “Yeah.” And he gave me that smile. Oh, good merciful heaven. I remembered that smile, the one he used to give me when we woke up together. “Question,” he said. “If I found that sex was safe—”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Good to know.” He smiled and licked a minuscule speck of hot sauce off his lips, which was what I wanted to do. Dang it. “There’re differing opinions in the were community about sex and infection. Most say it isn’t possible to transmit during sex, that the grindys don’t kill for misbehavin’. The same people also say that it isn’t worth taking a chance, so they mate only within the community.”

  Community. A werecommunity? Yeah. That. A community that I wasn’t part of. But I kept my reaction and the odd surge of disappointment to myself. Casually, I asked the question “Were community? In the U.S.?”

  “No. The werewolves are too reclusive. The community is online, worldwide. I have contacts in Africa, which helps. Not Kemnebi,” he said, before I asked about his onetime mentor and full-time enemy. “I’ve met this African werelion online, Asad. In human form he’s this huge black guy, and some kind of war chief for his human tribe, the Fulani. He’s been . . . He thinks he can find a way to help me.”

  Help him shift into his werecat, which would end the pain of his body always trying to free his cat. End the insanity-agony of the three days of the full moon when he was trapped on the verge of the shift, his mind held together only by a music spell woven by Big Evan. “That would be wonderful,” I said. Deep inside Beast thought, Could run with mate. Could hunt with mate.

  “So. What are you working on?” Rick asked.

  “We’re gonna talk about work?”

  “That’s something won’t end with us in bed, you maybe infected, and us maybe killed by my own personal killing machine.” He was talking about Pea, the neon green, kitten-sized grindylow that had been assigned to Rick to keep him from spreading the were-taint. “Spill it, babe.”

  “Not much.” I filled him in on the missing girls, the tail car, and the presence of Jack Shoffru in town, and—mostly—on Molly going missing. Long before I was finished, Rick had his phone out and was pulling info on the names from a database I didn’t recognize. It had a U.S. Government seal with vibrant black and gold lettering and graphics that I didn’t have time to read before he clicked his password in. I figured it was a PsyLED thing and Rick would share if he got something good. Turned out I was right.

  “We have nothing on Molly or Evan. Nothing new on witches missing—” He stopped and looked at me from the corner of one eye. “Other than cold cases, which you know all about. George told me about some blood-servants getting sick, and new fangheads going true-dead for no known reason. Said you’d update me.”

  Bruiser was talking to Rick? When did that start? “I’ll e-mail over what I can,” I said. “I don’t have much yet.”

  Rick shrugged, indicating that would work for him. “Shoffru is a different matter entirely. He’s a person of interest by law enforcement agencies all over. DEA for cocaine and brown tar heroin. DOJ, IASOC, and Interpol for human trafficking and racketeering. FBI just because they couldn’t be left out. And you think he’ll be at the meeting tonight?”

  I twirled my empty beer bottle, taking in the hard planes and shadows of his face. I loved it when he talked cop. I just wish he had something to use to find Molly. “Yeah. He’ll be there. Which is probably why Leo invited you and let me ask Jodi to attend. He wants ol’ Jack to know he has cop friends locally and in high places.”

  “Huh. Dress code?”

  “I’ll be working. Guests are expected to wear black tie.”

  Rick gave me a slow smile, one with a twinkle in his black eyes, and said, “I look good in a tux. But I look better out of a tux.”

  “Yeah. I remember.” I looked at the time on his phone and stood before I got myself into trouble I might not get out of. “I gotta change and get to HQ. Come on. Walk me out.”

  He slid an arm around my waist and half danced me back out into the warming, uncertain spring air.

  • • •

  “I’ll take Bitsa,” I said to Eli, my eyes on my cell, a thumb flipping through text messages, “and change closer to party time. You bring my clothes and the weapons and gear when you come, and get Derek and his guys set up in back. The New Orleans Police Department’s gun-and explosive-sniffing dog and his handler will be at HQ at five p.m. I’ll leave it up to you where you want to keep them, but I’m sure the dog will need water and a place to do his business. Ask the gardener. That’s all I got.” I looked up at Eli. “You got anything?”

  “Just an undying happiness that I don’t have to wear a tuxedo or get all dolled up like a girl. You polished your nails,” he accused.

  I curled my fingers under, admiring the bloodred color. “Tia did it for me. I’m just a working stiff like you, tonight.”

  Eli chortled, and before he could play on the word stiff, I said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll never be stiff. I’ll never have a stiffie. So don’t go there.” Angie walked down the stairs from where she had been napping, and I said, “Kids present,” which put an end to any smart retorts by Eli.

  “Aunt Jane? You going to a party?” Angelina asked, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. “Do I get to watch you become a princess?” Angie had watched my first-ever transformation into vamp security, and never forgotten it.

  “Not tonight. Just lipstick and hair.” I pointed at my head.

  “Oh.” She dangled by her arms from the banister. “You find my mommy soon, okay? And bring her home. I miss her.” Her mouth pulled down and her eyes welled with tears.

  I rushed to her. “I’ll find her, Angie Baby,” I said, cursing myself at the promise I might not be able to keep.

  Angie threw her arms around my neck and hugged me. “I love you, Aunt Jane. But I miss my mommy.” She smacked a wet kiss on my cheek and raced back up the stairs into her bedroom. She left me feeling all hollow inside, an emptiness that ached, and cooling tears on my cheek.

  “Anything on Molly?” Eli asked softly.

  “No,” I said, heading out the door. “Big Evan is getting antsy.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m outta here.”

  • • •

  I steeled myself against Leo’s pull on Beast and walked into vamp HQ to see Wrassler and Jodi standing in the foyer. She was dressed in her casual cop khakis and jacket, and nodded a greeting to me. “We’re done for now. I’d like the crime scene to be left as is until forensics can take one last look.”

  Wrassler said, “Not a problem, ma’am. I’ll attach a padlock right now.”

  “The body’s gone, though, right?” I said, with a half smile.

  Jodi ignored my question and asked one of her own. “You got any idea who killed him yet?”

  “Not me,” I said, “and if Leo knows he isn’t saying.”

  Wrassler kept his face bland. Too bland. I had to wonder what Leo knew. And why he wasn’t sharing.

  “Oh. Forgot to tell you,” Jodi said. “The guess about Galveston paid off. Shoffru came in at the port. We have records of passports. Vamps did it legally this time.”

  The news was helpful but not currently relevant.

  “Okay. I’m for home and a shower,” Jodi said. “Jane, what am I tonight, cop or guest? Because if I’m a guest I have no idea what to wear.”

  Wrassler said, “The house has a few cocktail dresses on hand for when the blood-servants have to do formal-wear duty. You look like about a size eight?” Jodi nodded uncertainly. He pulled out his cell and started keying in info. “I’ll have something delivered. You want them sent to cop central or home?”

  I wasn’t sure whose mouth had dropped lower, Jodi’s or mine, but Jodi managed a “Thank you,” and gave him an address I knew wasn’t hers. Smart woman. Sending a dress from a vamp to the NOPD was likely to get her a ribbing if not questions from the brass. Giving her home address
gave the vamps too much knowledge. I wondered what friend would be getting a delivery. She left quickly thereafter and I watched Wrassler watch her go. Jodi made a trim figure, her stance capable and no-nonsense.

  “She didn’t give me her real address, did she?” he asked, his eyes tracking her out the front door.

  “Nope.”

  “She’s cautious. I like that in a woman.” Wrassler was interested. As in interested.

  I hid my smile, and while his upper brain was off duty, I said, “I’d like to talk to the humans who attacked my house.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum. I Smell the Blood of a Witchy One

  Wrassler’s gaze jumped from Jodi to me and went from somewhat lustful to full-on intent. Blindsided. And he gave away something, though I wasn’t sure what. I set a slightly interested expression on my face and said, “Now, if you please.”

  “Leo has read them. They’re out.”

  “Out as in asleep? Blood-drunk? Anemic from blood loss? Or dead?”

  “Blood-drunk.” He sighed and rubbed his hand over his bald scalp. “Leo said not to take you to them, but I’m betting that won’t work for you.”

  “Nope,” I said again.

  “So I made a video of them, with a time stamp.” He thumbed through his phone and pulled up a video. “Here. They’re breathing but asleep. Less than two hours ago. It’ll be at least eight more hours before they wake enough to be coherent.”

  “And what did Leo find?” I asked sweetly.

  “Nothing you didn’t know. That Adrianna is in a lot of hot water. She got them blood-drunk, bound them, fed them the lie that Leo wanted you dead, and ordered the attack on you. She led it herself. Leo called her in, but she hasn’t shown.”

  “Oh boy. Adrianna is rebelling against her sworn master of the city, in the absence of her clan blood-master.” This was like a soap opera, vamp-style. Not bothering to hide my delight, I said, “What does Grégoire think about all this?”

  “Not funny. He’s pissed that Leo hasn’t found her. Scuttlebutt says he’s leaving Atlanta and coming home to deal with her.”

  I chuckled. “Out-of-town guests, his heir missing employees, a missing witch in his town, and open rebellion in his ranks, the European Council on the warpath, and his second most powerful clan in the hands of Adrianna, a psycho Celt with fangs. Yeah. Leo’s not happy.”

  “Keep that laughter to yourself,” Wrassler advised. “Leo’s sent his Mercy Blade to find Adrianna.”

  “Ah.” And that said it all. My smiled faded. Vamp law in the United States was not yet the same as human law, with Leo having declared them to be independent, the way tribal Americans were independent. Sorta. So far, the political and justice systems seemed happy with that, because incorporating the superstrong, human-blood-drinking, daylight-sensitive vamps and the full-moon-shifting weres into the human legal system meant very expensive changes to police departments, jails, and prisons. For vamps, the Mercy Blades took the place of cops, acting under the direction of the vampire to whom they were sworn. Gee DiMercy had several duties, and one was to give the mercy stroke of death to vampires who were insane, but who were still part of a master’s clan or house. The fact that Gee DiMercy had been sent after Adrianna meant that she had been given a death sentence by her master.

  My job as a rogue-vamp hunter was a bit different. I usually tracked down the unaffiliated insane vamps and killed them. Or I had until I’d taken the job from Leo and gotten my Beast bound. Dumb move, that.

  I let all the info shuffle through my mind. I didn’t like Adrianna. She was totally psychotic. She had attacked my house when my godchildren were inside. She wanted me dead. I didn’t necessarily want her dead, just . . . contained. Maybe in a silver cage. Not that I had any say in the matter.

  I had a truly panic-worthy thought. Was Adrianna involved with Molly’s disappearance? Terror rose in me, but I shoved it down, hard. Fear wouldn’t help Mol. I needed to save the energy for when I found her, for the fight to get her free. I brought myself back to the concerns at hand.

  Wrassler handed me his cell and I studied the video. The time stamp was just what he’d said—assuming no one had tampered with the electronics. The humans were asleep on twin beds, breathing smoothly. Both were fully clothed, if a little pale. One was drooling, the other was smiling. Blood-drunk for real. “Okay. Whatever. Let’s go over the final security arrangements. Who’s on electronic monitoring?”

  “Angel Tit.”

  The rest was boring logistics.

  • • •

  Ninety minutes before the festivities, Eli arrived and sent my clothes to the ladies’ locker room where I had showered before. He was already dressed in night camo, and together we did a final run-through of the house and the grounds. Everything was in place. Derek and his men had shown up at the same time as NOPD’s bomb sniffer dog, and Eli and the former Marines had secured the premises. It wasn’t exactly a lockdown, but it was close. Every car would pull through the gate out back, pause for the bomb-sniffing dog—who was a cute Jack Russell, black Lab mix—then motor up, beneath the little drive-through-roofed area that Wrassler called a port kashar, but spelled it porte cochere on my notes. French, probably. The passengers would get out and receive a good crotch-sniffing by the dog. Well, not really, but I could hope. The mental image of a two-hundred-year-old vamp with a dog nose in his crotch was giggle-worthy, but not something I could share under the circumstances.

  And then the guests would be escorted to the elevator and the ballroom, where Wrassler and I would be. Not that planning and security measures would make the ballroom safe. The last big par-tay had ended in werewolves shape-changing and attacking through the stained glass windows. It had been a bloody mess. At least this time Leo hadn’t invited the press to the event.

  Before changing clothes, I checked the ballroom one last time. It was fancy, a sort of colonial Moorish mix, with pointed arches and domed ceilings, held up with fluted gilt-painted columns. There were stained glass insets in some domes, illuminated by artificial lights.

  The floor was pink marble and the matching rugs were so rich my feet sank into them. Narrow, rectangular linen-draped tables were lined up in the middle of the room, and side chairs had been placed along the walls, all expensive museum-quality furniture. Also along the walls were curio cabinets filled with objets d’art, historical and archaeological items donated by vamps, and a bunch of macabre stuff. My favorites were the handmade items of tribal life from Africa, South America, and the U.S.: stone hammers, pottery that had been shaped without a potter’s wheel and fired in open fires, spear points, and knapped weapons—not that I had time tonight to examine them.

  Bouquets of aromatic flowers were everywhere, some standing tall in vases with water and some in little pots. The honey fragrance of sweet alyssum and the more intense scent of stock drifted in the air. The flower color scheme was a little of everything, pink, purple, white, and yellow, very springlike.

  On the serving tables were gold-plated serving ware and utensils, nothing silver to harm the vamps. Platters for the humans were laden with cheeses, fish, meats, and a carved watermelon full of tropical fruit. A cute blood-servant bartender dressed in black tux pants and a black halter top was icing drinks at the alcohol bar and a blood-servant in similar garb, but far skimpier, stood guard in front of the blood bar, a small alcove off the main room. All the servers were loyal blood-servants, not hired, though Leo’s usual catering service had provided and set up the food.

  Satisfied, I went to the elevator and down to the locker room assigned for me to change clothes. My locker was on the end, in the corner, a tall, narrow one, from floor to ceiling, my name on the front, Jane Yellowrock, and beneath it, the word Enforcer. I opened the locker, to see shelves at the top, and hanging space in the middle with a shoe space at the bottom. But my slacks and shirt weren’t there. Instead there was a designer dress on a padded satin hanger. I shoulda known. Leo had a thing about dressing me. He said it was part of my
job description. I thought it was more that he liked being in control.

  I didn’t argue, and instead lifted out the dress and inspected it. It was made of a metallic-looking fabric that felt like silk, the bodice in an old-rose-gold color and the sleeves in a pewter-colored fabric. The flaring skirt was rose gold too, with bands of pewter sewn in at the waist, splaying down the sides, and at the hem. The dress was so soft it slithered through my fingers.

  I wanted to find fault with the dress, but there were openings at the sides where pewter fabric met gold, slits for weapons, with holsters and sheaths built in for both my guns and my blades. I thought the colors would make me look washed out, but when I held the dress up to me and inspected myself in the mirror, it brought out the golden hues of my skin. It looked great, even without makeup. Dang Leo. The only flaw was that the dress was one of those stupid side-zippered things.

  “Okay. I can do this.” I stripped to my underwear and slipped the dress over my head. It was tight, binding one elbow to my side, then my chin to my chest. Maybe it was part snake. I was struggling to get it on when the door opened and Adelaide waltzed into the room. I say waltzed because her dress moved as if she were dancing and she looked like a million bucks. Dressed in a floor-length dress of pale gold cloth, a shimmery color to match her hair, and wearing jewels that looked like the real thing, she was elegant and perfect, and I was disheveled and off balance, one arm in a sleeve, one arm and my head through the open zipper, the dress off to the side.

  “Do not laugh,” I ordered.

  But she did. It was a sympathetic laugh, I had to give her that, even as she went to work on straightening the dress and getting my arm in the proper hole and pulling the zipper tight, which made me catch my breath. The dress was totally formfitting and I wasn’t sure that breathing was part of the form. “Shoes?” she asked, and I pointed to my new boots and my dancing shoes. “Serviceable,” she said, “but not elegant. And even the new boots won’t do for tonight and with this outfit,” she said with a cheeky grin.