by Faith Hunter
“Yeah,” Evan said, his words slow with thought. “That would work.”
Molly nodded. “Evan, you’d make a separate ward. Add filters to the ward to allow only oxygen through the filter. Increase the outer air pressure, forcing the O² into the ward. Scientifically it might work.”
Eli said. “You set the ward. I’ll get the sledgehammer.”
“You got a sledgehammer here?” Evan sounded surprised.
“Never know when you might need a good sledgehammer.”
Mr. Prepared, Jane thought. Let’s sleep. Things might get rough tonight.
Beast closed eyes and slept in sun, waking only to see Evan break iron into tiny pieces, and magic smash against ward like bomb going off. Fire, too bright to look at, was inside ward. Did not smell blood, did not smell iron or salt or Jane hair, even with men shouting and jumping around like kits. Silly men.
I rested and slept and ate raw roast and steak all day. Eli was best litter mate.
* * *
It was dusk when I changed back, hidden in my own room. I stretched, fully human, on the bed. While I was starving, needing to replace the calories used to power my shifts, I hadn’t felt so good in a long time. I had successfully shifted when my life was in danger, had stayed in Beast form all day, sleeping on heated rocks, had no new scars, and my old ones were faded to pale pink lines. And from beneath the door came the scent of the grill all fired up and loaded down with more beef. I dressed quickly in Bruiser’s wrinkled shirt and a pair of leggings and went to the table.
Eli had prepared me a fourth chunk of meat, this one a thick steak grilled to rare and bloody perfection, with beer-batter-fried onion rings, asparagus sautéed in bacon drippings, which was out of this world, roasted sweet potatoes, and green salad with crispy bacon on top and hot bacon dressing. “Holy moly guacamole,” I said, taking my seat and digging in. I was half finished with the steak when my hunger was satisfied enough to look up. And came to a total stop.
The whole family was eating together. Everyone but Bruiser was here. Tears filled my eyes and Eli passed me a bread basket, saying, “If you get all sappy and cry, it will ruin the ambience. Plus, all the girls will have to do a hug-hug, kiss-kiss moment and the food will get cold.”
I took three slices of Molly’s homemade bread and blinked back my tears. “No way am I stopping eating just to cry and hug my friends. But you know I love you all, right?”
They all spoke over one another: “Yes.” “Totally.” “Yes, Aunt Jane.” “Wessh A’ Ja’.” “Back atcha.” “Whiny girl stuff.” And Brute whuffed.
I stilled, turning to see the werewolf stretched out on the floor, two empty plates near his feet. One was Beast’s plate. One was new. I thought back through the day. I remembered the claw marks on the floor at EJ’s bed. And Beast making nice-nice with the wolf. And the grindylow grooming Beast’s pelt. Around the table, my friends and family were deliberately paying attention to their food and not to me or the wolf. “He’s moved in?”
“He’s my werewolf,” Angie said.
“He’s ma wrolf,” EJ said, waving an asparagus spear in the air.
“He tried to save my son,” Molly said, taking the green spear from Evan Junior.
“The grindylow seems to think it’s a good idea,” Eli said.
“No,” Big Evan said.
I went back to eating, knowing that a family had to make tough decisions all the time and that, oddly, I wasn’t in charge.
“How much do you remember from today?” Eli asked, after an uncomfortable silence.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” I said. “I caught up on a lot of sleep today.” Which was how I heard what they had done all day, starting from the time Eli successfully beat the iron focals into small pieces and Evan’s working burned them to ash, releasing the last of the spell that was wrapped around Evan, which, fortunately, had been a simple knock-out spell, but had been geared to a human male, not an in-the-closet witchy man, allowing him to find consciousness and help with the spell-breaking.
Molly had done research on the witch names on her list. Alex had done research on Molly’s research. Eli had spent hours with Jodi Richoux, having missed the dawn conference call with Leo, and had made nice-nice with everyone on the security team, especially Derek and the men he chose to work with Jodi’s off-duty cops who would be on rooftops before, during, and after the Witch Conclave.
Evan and Molly had come up with what sounded like a contract with Edmund, to cover the blood vow given by their underage daughter to Edmund Hartley. I kept my mouth shut about that one, still bothered by the similarity to what I had done as a child, when I took a blood oath to kill my father’s murderers.
And they told me about the package that had come while I slept on the rocks in the back. They all seemed eager for me to open it, but until I finished the food, I was going nowhere and doing nothing. Because the food was OhMyGosh too good for words.
After dinner, while the sun was setting in a red sky, I let my godchildren drag the package to me across the floor. It was huge, big enough to ship a chair in, but weighed little by comparison to the size. The box was postmarked in Louisiana and it had a return address I recognized. I ran a hand over the cardboard, feeling a hint of icy magic from within, and smelling the scent of leather.
“I haven’t ordered anything from this company in ages,” I said, “and I feel magic.” I glanced at Molly and said, “You didn’t feel anything?”
Evan answered for her. “No. Neither of us.”
“Open a ward over me and the box?”
Evan and Molly stood to either side of me, at north and south, and Molly said, “Inverted hedge of thorns.” The magic snapped over me and the box with a sizzle of familiar energies. The inverted hedge kept magics inside, rather than keeping an attacker out. Which meant if the box blew up, the family and the house were safe, though my insides might be splattered across the ward like some kind of gross, bloody artwork.
Feeling uneasy, I slit the packing tape open and pulled out long lengths of big green bubble wrap. My uneasiness was warranted: the feel of magic increased with a tingle that burned and ached along my skin. Beneath the bubble wrap was an envelope. Below that, I could see black leather, the soft gleam of the leather itself suggesting that it was high quality. I peeled back some of the plastic to reveal a set of fighting leathers, far nicer than any I had ever been able to afford.
Before I removed the last layer of plastic and touched the leather I opened the envelope and read the paperwork. The leather was described as top-grain, armored with sterling silver-over-titanium chain mail and flexible plastic (to repel talons and fangs) and Dyneema (to repel blades), and it came with top-quality, heavy silk lining. More important, the leathers had been treated by the Seattle coven to repel magic. Just the jacket had to go for upward of two thousand bucks, and the box was way bigger than one used to ship a leather jacket.
There was a card with the paperwork and the leathers’ description. My trepidation growing, I placed the descriptions on the floor beside my knees and opened the card.
The leathers were from Leo, the card reading, “A gift for my Enforcer, that you may shine among the Enforcers of the Europeans, and that we might appear as worthy opponents.” And it was signed with Leo’s calligraphy-style siggie, all swirls and fancy curls.
This was vamp politics. Which meant I couldn’t say no to the gift. Not that I wanted to. Some girls want jewelry. I wanted stuff like this.
I peeled away the last layer of plastic. The leather itself put out an icy-cold magic, sparking blue and silver to Beast-vision. The texture of the magic meant the jacket was spelled for temperature control as well as being spelled against attack magic. I’d heard of such spelling. It was offered to the mundane world by the Seattle coven for mucho dinero. From outside the ward, Molly and Big Evan heaved oohs and aahs at the sight of the magic on the jacket.
Beneath the black leathers came a magical glow, and I realized that there was more in the box. I placed the black leathers on the floor by my knee and removed more packing paper. Below the paper was another set of leathers. My breath caught. This set was of dark gold leather, the color of my eyes when I was human, an amber gold with darker striations, almost like a . . . like a pelt. I lifted out the jacket and the pants beneath. Instantly I could see the leathers worn with the fancy ornamental gorget Leo had given me. The boots beneath were black, exact copies of the other pair.
And there was more paper below that one.
“Holy crap,” I whispered. I pulled out the next layer of paper, to see a flash of red. The third set of leathers were scarlet, my favorite lipstick tint. The magical power signature on this set was brighter, hotter, and I knew without testing them that the magics in this set were particularly strong, maybe with double rebound magic, so that any attack spell that came at me rebounded on the sender. A third pair of boots was beneath the red leathers. In the bottom there were three sets of matching grips for my .380s and for the nine-mil handguns. There were also new stakes, wood, the handgrips burned with the new Yellowrock Securities logo, the tips all silver. The blunt ends of the stakes each had a cabochon gem in the end, blackstone, garnet, or citrine, matching the leathers, four stakes in each gem color, to wear like jewelry in my hair. Jewelry deadly to vamps.
But there was still more. In the bottom was a second box, this one sealed and marked with the name Eli Younger. I indicated that the inverted hedge could be dropped and I lifted out the box, holding it up to Eli.
He accepted it, standing over me and my pile of fighting finery. He knelt beside me and sliced through the sealing tape. Inside, wrapped in matching packing paper, was a set of leathers, matte black, as befitted a second.
From the living room Edmund said, sounding droll, “They match mine, which were given to me by Leo before he kicked me out. They are hanging in the storage room, in a garment bag. I do hope they aren’t in the way.” There was something snide in the last line, but I ignored it, my thoughts on the time schedule for ordering, measuring, cutting, sewing, shaping, and spelling so many sets of leathers in so many different colors and sizes.
There was a smaller, bright red cardboard box to the side, one I hadn’t even noticed. It had no address on it, and had been hand-delivered. I looked the question at the boys and Edmund said, “From George Dumas.” More snide, which I again ignored.
I opened the box and peeled back the tissue paper inside. And I lifted out the thing on top.
“Niiiice,” Eli said. “Custom Kydex holsters for all your gear.” He flipped a card over and handed it to me without reading it. The note said, “Jane. The gift isn’t roses, nor so valuable as a lovely Moghul blade, but they are practical and they match your new leathers. They are custom-made by the Green River Holster Company. George.” There was a business card attached that said GRHolsters.com.
I retrieved three weapons from my room and slid a fourteen-inch-long vamp-killer into a holster shaped like a blade. It clicked when it was seated, a soft snap that said the weapon was secure until I wanted to free it. The nine-mils clicked into place too. “Cool,” I said, knowing there was a silly girly smile on my lips. But a guy who knew how to buy the perfect present tended to bring on a lot of such smiles.
My cell rang and I instantly knew who it was. I met Eli’s eyes, and his squinted just a hint. It was his ticked-off face. He knew too. The time proved that we were being played, part of the vamp politics. I flipped open the Kevlar cover and said, “Leo.”
“You have received your gift, my Jane?”
Toneless, I said, “Yes. They’re beautiful. This stuff is for the Euro Vamp visit, yes? What are you planning? And for how long have you been planning it? And am I supposed to be dead when it’s over?”
Leo chuckled, that silken laugh they do that sends shivers over my flesh, that come-hither sound that makes them the apex predators. “I have known this was coming for a very, very long time, my Jane. I have planned this from the moment you killed my enemy, de Allyon, shifted into a puma in my limo, and shredded the seats with your claws.” The call ended.
CHAPTER 13
It’s Too Dark to See, But I’m Rolling My Eyes
Not long after dark, Eli and I drove up to the Elms Mansion and Garden and parked on a side street. I was in street clothes instead of the new gear, because the smell of the leathers was too much for my sensitive nose. I had tried them on, however, and they were luscious, but not luscious enough to wear without a really good airing out.
The weather was cool, the humidity was low for New Orleans, and the sunset had been spectacular, a red wash across the western sky. As we walked up, we saw five witches warding the grounds: Lachish, her gray hair like steel in the garden lights, Molly with her glorious cap of curls, and three others. One was Bliss, and the young woman had changed a lot since she accepted that she was a witch and began training. She was still ethereally beautiful, with very pale skin and black hair, but she no longer lived at Katie’s Ladies, no longer serviced vamps and bigwigs in town by donating blood or other services. And she no longer went by Bliss, but by her given name, Ailis Rogan. I inclined my head, letting her know that I recognized her, but didn’t go over. I wasn’t sure how much of her past she had shared with others. There were two more witches I had met before, Butterfly Lily and her mother, Feather Storm. Neither was a powerful witch, but they were useful to route magical workings through, when a full coven of powerful witches was unavailable, as for this test.
Big Evan stood to the side. In order to protect his children, he hadn’t outted himself, and he was here incognito, wearing a ball cap and sunglasses, looking like a bored human husband, but watching everything with a keen eye.
The five witches had drawn a witch circle that covered the house, the extensive grounds in back, the large central patio directly behind the house that lined up with a gazebo and a statue, the garden areas, the trees that lined the property, part of the sidewalks, and the curb at St. Charles Avenue. In back, the witches were standing at pentagram points with Lachish at north, and the two weaker witches standing in between the stronger witches. Moving sunwise, it was Lachish, Butterfly Lily, Molly, Feather Storm, and Ailis/Bliss. By pulling on Beast-vision, I could see the working as it unfolded, rising very slowly from the circle and beginning to lift to cover the house and grounds.
Jodi and Sloan Rosen were standing outside the house grounds and the warding, watching the witches work. Jodi was a small, curvy blond, who was the public face of NOPD’s paranormal department, while Sloan spent most of his time in the bowels of the woo-woo room in research. Not that Sloan couldn’t do the same job as Jodi, but he had a huge price on his head, put there by the local chapter of some big gangs. Sloan had been undercover with them and had barely gotten out with his head—and loads of info on the gangs. If it hadn’t been dark, I doubted he’d be in public.
In the middle of St. Charles Avenue, in front of the Elms, Derek and his small, loyal, most experienced team of men were working on issues related to parking and witch safety during and after streetcar transportation up and down the major thoroughfare. Safety for the streetcar was paramount, as so many out-of-towners would be using the streetcar for transportation between the Elms and nearby or French Quarter hotels.
“Jodi,” I called out. She started to reply but snapped her head to the circle. The sizzle of magics interrupted, of a working shattering, swept over me, scorching hot, lifting the hairs on my body and up my
neck. I inhaled and caught the stink of ozone, the smell of smoke.
In an instant, everything went wrong, in overlapping impressions and sensations.
Big Evan roared with pain. He threw his head back, spine arching, and cartwheeled into the circle, through the rising magics, to land on the grass. Fire flared from one arm and both legs, the stink of burning flesh on the air. Smoke rose in puffs and spirals. The circle and warding began to fall.
And the faint stink of old iron and salt came from all around.
Along with Eli and Jodi, I raced for Big Evan. But the working hadn’t completely fallen and I caught the others, holding them back. “It’s not down yet,” I said. Eli jerked free and sped into the dark, for what, I didn’t know. I pulled Jodi away, and signaled to Derek to keep his men away, watching helplessly as Evan rolled in the grass, trying to put out the flames. Roaring with pain and anger.
I could enter the Gray Between and crawl through the falling energies, but at the thought, my belly wrenched with what I hoped was only phantom pain. I might die before I ever got to Evan. I ground my teeth against the fear and reached inside myself to touch my skinwalker magics, gathering them. Just in case.
Jodi pulled her radio and identified herself and her twenty, which was cop-speak for location, as she gave the Elms’ address. The witches in the working struggled to hold the degrading circle, trying to keep it from exploding or imploding or whatever was trying to happen.
Molly shouted her husband’s name, but didn’t move from her place as she and the other four witches gathered the energies of the circle and the incipient ward, as if pulling huge cables, coiling them on the ground, lowering the power into the earth, grounding the energy. From Evan, broken energies sparked and sizzled and flew into the air. Though he had to be in horrible pain, he was trying not to use his air magics to put out the fire, which would have been a snap. But not today, not in front of witnesses, and not against the green flames.