by Faith Hunter
I closed my mouth with a soft snap. I didn’t have time for this, but I also didn’t not have time for it. I shoved my conflict down deep inside and shook his arm until he looked at me. “In the ways of The People, the War Woman was responsible for restitution and revenge after battle. I am War Woman.” His eyes widened slightly and his scent changed, though I couldn’t tell what the pheromones meant, except more confusion. “I promise you the right to choose how our enemy will die. If you choose, then for each man true-dead, I will cause our enemy to scream until he can’t scream anymore. I will let him heal. And I’ll make him scream again for the next man. For the men turned, I’ll bring them a cup of his still-warm blood to drink. If you choose this, the death of the one we hunt will not be clean or easy.”
Derek’s head went up, his mouth hard. “You’re asking me to let you torture a man.”
“No. I’m asking what you want done.”
“Clean death,” he spat. “I’m not a monster.”
I smiled, and knew it was bitter. “No. You aren’t. And for that I’m thankful.”
He blinked several times, then said, “You don’t want to . . . do what you said.”
“I really, really don’t. But for you, to honor your men, to remember your men, I would have.” I let a small smile soften my face. “The last time I counted coup—to use a word not of The People—I was five years old and my grandmother put the knife into my hand.” Derek’s scent changed again, this time taking on a clearly identified horror in the chemical mixture. “Humans, ordinary humans, can be far worse than the monsters. To torture a man when you’re a child, when your mother and grandmother stand beside you and guide in the methodology and the mechanics, it changes you. It changed me, changed who I became; who I am now. But I’m willing to go back to that time if you need me to.”
Derek took my hand from his arm, but instead of dropping it, he curled his fingers around my wrist and pulled my hand into a soldier’s handclasp. I gripped his wrist back. “They were soldiers for the United States. We’ll honor them with a soldier’s burial.”
We stood nearly eye to eye in the hallway, arms clasped. “Okay. Good. You want me there, I’ll be there. If not, I’ll understand. I’ll contribute to the families’ funds. And I’ll get Amy Lynn to feed your man. With a little luck and her super-duper special vamp blood, he might be back in as little as two years, rather than the standard ten.”
He released my arm and I let him. He said, “Savin’ my mama is worth part of my soul. And bein’ Leo’s Enforcer sounded—”
He stopped, and I could guess what it had sounded like. Easy job, lotsa money. But it had been a devil’s bargain. It always was, with fangheads.
Derek went on. “I don’t understand how fangheads think. Why not call in the law for the dead humans?”
“Leo had a hard time getting the human LEOs to leave, the last time one of his people died in this building. Leo has control issues and danger on his turf.” Derek didn’t reply so I said, “Honestly, I don’t really care what Leo does about the law.” Oddly, it was true. Once upon a time I called in the law every time a human incident took place. But it never did any good. Leo was his own law. Always had been. Probably always would be. And I was the Enforcer who carried out his law. I had quit, but not really. I was still doing the job and wouldn’t stop even when Peregrinus was dead. I still had a contract with Leo as his Enforcer for a cool half mil. And with the EuroVamps coming, this job might be the only way to keep my friends alive.
My forehead wrinkled as a thought occurred to me. “The last time someone died here, it was one of the new guys. Wayne something? He had what I thought was a hawk tattooed on his scalp. But maybe it was a peregrine?”
“I’ll check back. Make sure.” He pulled his cell and started thumbing around for photos of the crime scene.
“I know vamps work ahead, plan things for decades,” I said thoughtfully, uncomfortable with the direction of my thoughts.
“Centuries.”
“Yeah. For real. But it would be hard to put that incident together with the EuroVamps and Satan’s Three, and Reach.”
“No, it wouldn’t. Not for a fanghead.” He stopped thumbing on the screen. “Not a falcon. No. It was a hawk. And it was done in reds and browns, not the blue tattoos on the wrists of the fanghead and his human.” He turned the cell to me and I studied the photo of the top of Hawk Head’s scalp. The hawk tattoo looked nothing like the peregrine falcons sported by Peregrinus’ followers, and his wrists were bare. “Hawk,” Derek insisted.
“Okay. But . . . let’s keep that in back of our minds, okay? I don’t like coincidences.”
“Jane?” Derek didn’t often call me by my given name. It was Legs or Injun Princess. Not Jane. I looked my question at him. “You’re a Christian. How could you do that? When you were five? How could you do it now?”
“I don’t know.” I laughed shortly. “I probably need therapy.”
“Yeah. We all probably do.”
• • •
The team was assembled in the security conference room, including a few new faces.
I remembered Wrassler telling me he was trying to get help. Carefully, I said to Derek, “Your people?”
“Grégoire’s people from Atlanta,” he said. “They’ve been in training in the swamps for the last six weeks,” he reminded me. “Basic training. Leo fed on all of them. They’re loyal and integrated into the communications channels. Training isn’t up to my standards yet, but they’ll do in a pinch.”
I looked them over and shook my head. They were covered in mosquito bites, were sunburned, skinny, rangy, scruffy, and hard-eyed. They looked like they’d been rode hard and put up wet, as a horse-loving roommate in the children’s home used to say, and they had the body odors that claimed they had been in-country without access to bathhouses for a looong time. But they also looked ready to go to war, with that hair-trigger awareness the battlefield soldier always wore. I nodded at them by way of welcome.
“They’ve been read in on the deets,” Derek added. “We can talk freely.”
Which hadn’t even occurred to me. My mind had been too busy on other stuff to sweat things like humans without enough info to understand what was going on. “Too much went wrong tonight, guys,” I said. “Angel, I need to see everything you have on camera. And you’ll note that the stuff on the secondary control panel you installed has been integrated into this one, and a bill for the design has been submitted to Raisin. To Ernestine,” I amended. One of the texts had been from the Kid telling me he had found and assimilated the secondary set.
Angel Tit’s eyebrows bunched and he glanced at Derek. “Told you she’d figure it out. Told Leo and Del she’d figure it out. Told all’a y’all she’d figure it out.” Derek grunted and Angel punched some spots on his integrated control screen. Security footage appeared on the overhead video screen. I watched the new men studying the videos as if their lives depended on it. And maybe they did.
The action lasted half an hour, with time not matching up anywhere as we followed from camera to camera, watching as men and women died, as Wrassler was mangled, as trained solders tried to ignore the changing of time and fought back. As the digital feed sputtered and went all blocky at times just as it had before from the presence of the arcenciel. But this time, the arcenciel was on-screen for only some of the occurrences of the pixelating blocks. “What’s causing the interference?” I asked.
Angel swiveled in his chair and grinned at me. “This time it wasn’t caused only by the light-dragon. This time the interference followed the vamp Peregrinus. I did manage to get some clear shots of him. These might explain it.”
I stared at the still shots plucked from the video. The fanghead was moving at vamp speed, and on regular digital camera footage, he would have been a pixel-blur, but on the new cameras, he was fairly clear—dark hair, dark pants, white shirt, leather belt, and boots. Neckla
ce. But the jewelry looked different from the painting in the records room, and also different from the spare, stripped-raw moments when I had seen the vamp in person. Now the necklace looked larger, darker. Different.
“On the clearest one.” I pointed at the shot of my choice. “Can you zoom in and let me see the necklace?” I asked.
“This isn’t TV or the movies, but yeah, I can get in a bit,” Angel said. By his self-satisfied tone I knew he had already done it for himself.
The screen changed and the necklace moved front and center, bigger, but more blurred. On the chain hung the raptor in flight, the same focal he had worn for the painting centuries ago. But now it was joined by a larger, black focal, wired onto the necklace. The focal was vaguely spear-shaped, wider at the top, pointed and clear at the bottom like a jeweled crystal pulled from the earth. Something was inside it. The thing inside trailed down to a point, the same way water runs down glass, all squiggly. I didn’t have to see it again. I knew what I was seeing. I knew why Soul had lost contact with the hatchling, and what the moments meant when he and the light-dragon had been in my presence. Peregrinus had captured the young arcenciel and made it tiny. He was wearing the hatchling in a jeweled crystal, wired onto his necklace with steel wire. And arcenciels were allergic to steel. I narrowed my eyes, letting that thought percolate until I realized that this could be what Bethany had been talking about, but hadn’t understood how to accomplish the act. Peregrinus was riding the dragon . . .
“Depending on the learning curve, I’m guessing the necklace means Peregrinus now has access to some of the arcenciel’s power, and some of her weaknesses too, whatever they are,” I said. And since I had caused the death of Peregrinus’ pals, and then chased him away from killing (or eating or draining or whatever) the chained Joses Bar-Judas, I could guess that he would keep coming after me, as part of finishing whatever he originally came to accomplish. And yeah. He’d be angry.
I checked the current time on the video screen. It was an hour before dawn. I doubted that Peregrinus would be back tonight. To Derek, I said, “Get what you can from the vids. See about making this place secure. Get battery lighting on every hallway and stairwell. Get Leo, Grégoire, and Katie fed on ample human blood and somewhere safe.” I felt the expression that curled my mouth down. “Get them fed on the thing in the basement. Its blood is strong. Peregrinus will be back, probably tonight, which gives us maybe twelve hours. I have to talk to some people. Oh. And please see that the security at the graveyard is turned off. No need to alert or disturb the local LEOs.”
“Yeah,” Derek said, with false complacency. “No need for the local cops to get off their fat butts just to arrest you.”
“They can try.” That got some laughter, which felt like a good note to leave on. I swung out of the room, to find Eli waiting in the hallway, his earbuds in. He’d been listening to the meeting.
“I made the call to Del. Where are we going?” he asked, managing to sound only mildly curious, as if the information wasn’t vital, like how I took my tea, instead of how I was gonna keep us alive. I barked out a laugh and headed for the stairwell and up. “If I don’t tell you, will it kill you?”
“No, but we’ll waste time if I have to beat it out of you. And I might hurt my knuckles,” he added thoughtfully, our feet echoing on the stairs. I shook my head, smelling blood and bowel contents, the stench of fired weapons, and the stronger reek of cleansers in the contained stairwell air. Someone had died here recently. Odds were it was one of Derek’s men.
We left the stairwell and reentered the foyer. I hadn’t seen it since the lights came back on. There were uniformed men and women everywhere, mopping up blood. Men and women with hammers, plywood, and power tools working on making the entry secure. Not that the plywood was going to keep Peregrinus out. No chance.
I stepped into the empty weapons room and checked Wrassler’s Judge back in. No amount of firepower was going to help me where I was going. I picked up a set of keys and gestured to the back of the building.
“We jogging to the next gig too? Or are we stealing one of Leo’s armored SUVs to get wherever we’re going?”
“Borrowing. Not stealing.”
“Pa-tay-toh, pa-tah-toh.”
“Have you seen Brute or Bruiser?” I asked.
“Nope. Kinda worried about both.”
We pulled out of the back security gate, the vehicle smelling like cigarettes and weed. Fast-food wrappers were in the back floorboard, along with empty Red Bull cans and what might have been empty condom packages. I’d be talking to a driver or two: some guards needed to be taught to clean up after themselves; weed might slow reaction time; having sex on the job was stupid in a dozen ways; and smoke was a dead giveaway to any enemy vamp with half a nose. A visual which made me chuff with laughter.
As I pulled up to a light, I said, “We’re heading to the vamp graveyard across the river.”
“I got that part.”
“Yeah, well, the fun part will be me telling Sabina about the Son of Darkness chained in the basement, always assuming she doesn’t already know. And telling her about Peregrinus. And telling her we killed the Devil and Batildis.” Eli grunted ruminatively, so I finished with, “And then comes the not-fun part. Asking Sabina for the sliver of the Blood Cross, to kill Grégoire’s brother.”
“I read your report about the shard. It was taken from the wood of Calvary that the sons of Judas Iscariot used to bring their father back to life. And thereby accidently made the first vamp.” I nodded at his words. “Talking to Sabina sounds like fun,” he said, overly nonchalant.
“Yeah? Last time I did this, she nearly killed Rick and me. You know all the old wives’ tales about vamps being able to do stuff with their minds, like telekinesis and teleportation?” Eli grunted, still sounding bored. “Sabina can slam you against a wall with her mind alone, and hold you there, steady, while she tears out someone else’s throat and drinks them down at her leisure.” This time, Eli’s grunt was a little less sanguine. That was a good word, sanguine, its roots in the color red, like blood. And by the faint scent change in Eli’s sweat, he wasn’t sanguine anymore.
• • •
We pulled into the graveyard to find the hinged metal arms of the gate standing open in invitation. It was the darkest part of the night, the moon below the horizon, the sun not yet risen. The white stone mausoleums stood among the white shell paths, the statues on each roof looking like something out of Europe, white marble angels holding metal swords. There were no lights. Vamps didn’t need lights to see by, and any human who wandered in after dark to vandalize or find a place to neck, to use Aggie’s term, was likely to end up as dinner for the priestess and then wake up with no memory of the night before. The SUV’s headlights picked out the individual aboveground graves, the tree line in the distance, and the chapel. I rolled to a stop about fifteen feet away and cut the engine.
The chapel was small, though larger than the multi-casket tombs with their gated and locked doors. The chapel’s windows glowed softly with candlelight, bloodred, ruby red, wine, burgundy, the pink of watered blood. That candle flicker spoke to the old ones, a sign of all things good and safe. Inside, something moved past a window, a shadow only. “You need to stay here,” I said.
“I’m backup.” There was disagreement in his tone.
I shifted in my seat to Eli in the dark of the car, still brightened by the glowing dash lights. “She’ll assume I brought her a human to munch on.”
Eli grumped, giving in, by the scent. “Really like teleportation?”
“And really like mind-warping. You need to stay in the car.”
“So why am I here?”
“To tell the others and prepare for Peregrinus to attack tonight if she kills me.”
“You take all the fun out of a nice drive in the country.”
“I do, don’t I? I’ll be back in a bit.”
Eli stayed in the vehicle, watching as I took the steps to the front door, knocked, and entered.
CHAPTER 22
I Am a Far Worse Devil
The priestess was sitting in a rocking chair at the front of the chapel, wearing her nunlike white robes, her pale, once-olive-skinned face glowing in the light of the candles. She pushed with a toe, the chair rocking back and then forward, back and then forward, but no way did I think she was relaxed. If I said the wrong thing or did the wrong thing, she would be on me like white on rice and faster than the speed of light. To her side was a stone bier, like a sarcophagus, the lid too heavy for me to lift alone, even with Beast helping, though I could push it aside if the need arose. Inside were the treasures she guarded. No way did I think I knew everything she hid there. No way was I eager to go exploring. Again. I’d learned my lesson the first time.
I walked between the rows of wood pews, my feet loud in the quiet place, and paused about twelve feet away. I gave a nod of respect, the closest thing to a curtsy that I could do. In the silence, marred only by the sound of the rockers on the old floor, I waited.
Her black eyes glittered as she surveyed me, her hands clasped at her waist. Rocking. Rocking. And I waited.
“What do you want, skinwalker?”
I nearly jumped but managed to hold the startled reaction in. As if she saw it anyway, a faint smile crossed the priestess’ face.
I licked my lips, wondering when my mouth had gone so dry. “Joses Bar-Judas is chained in the lowest subbasement in the Mithran Council Chambers in the French Quarter. Tonight, a group of Mithrans kidnapped Katie and a wounded Leo, captured a juvenile arcenciel in a necklace that one wears around his neck, busted into HQ, and tried to set the Son of Darkness free, or kill him to get his power, or something. We got in the way.”