by Faith Hunter
I laughed and it was part growl. If I were a cussing woman I’d have started about now, because this “crime scene” existed only because we had found it and taken over and saved the hostages. And killed the bad guys. Our people had done this. Not Rick’s. Instead, I laughed harder, took Le Bâtard’s head from Sabina. and nodded to Bruiser, who had attained his feet and was leaning against the truck. “Let’s go. We’re needed at HQ.” To Derek I said, “Gather up the heads and buy that bigger cooler. Take Amy Lynn Brown, Grégoire, the Robere twins, and Adan Bouvier and the others to safety.” He nodded and I walked away.
Back in the SUV, Le Bâtard’s disfigured head shoved into my cooler, Eli pulled away from the curb. Bruiser was riding shotgun; Edmund was in the backseat, passing my gear over to me. I was all the way in back with Louis, who still had a silver stake in his head and was bound in silver chains. He stank of poison and death, though he was marginally still undead.
With my feet, I shoved him against the over-full cooler to make room so I could strip and dress in my leathers, the formal ones Leo’d had made for my official presentation to the EuroVamps. I figured I had killed all the EVs I’d met except Louis and he wasn’t long for this world, but looking spiffy couldn’t hurt for the next meeting. Me in half-form and fancy leathers. I’d scare the devil himself. Go me.
I was more limber in this form and dressing wasn’t as difficult as it would be otherwise. I left off my boots in favor of paws and claws, and shrugged into my weapons rigs. I tightened some straps and loosened others—to better fit the rigs to my new shape—and I could feel water thudding onto the undercarriage as I worked. We rolled down St. Louis Street; the flooding was much worse, water up under the houses on raised foundations and stilts, inside others. We passed the green house with bathroom planters and the antique iron feet of the tub were underwater. The rainwater was rising.
We might have ended the curse that was keeping the storm systems in place, but they hadn’t dispersed on their own yet, though the air temps had risen. Rain had begun to fall again, melting the icy slush. I reinserted my earbud and mic, clipped the coms unit to my pants, and braided my hair, tying it off with a bit of string I found on the floor.
Over the vehicle’s coms, Alex said, “Patching Wrassler through.”
“Wrassler to the Enforcer,” a raspy voice said. “Do you copy?”
Dread filled me and I remembered the sound of splintering wood. “Wrassler? Copy. Go ahead.”
“Katie and Bethany are gone. They fought us. They took Leo.”
The scent of shock and fear filled the SUV. “Casualties?” Eli asked.
“Four . . . four wounded.” Wrassler cleared his throat and I realized he had to be injured. “We have them with masters. Two might make it.”
Gently, in a New Orleans’ cant, Eli said, “Are you one who will survive, my brother?”
“It was touch and go. But I should survive.”
“We’ll find them,” Eli said. “We’ll bring Leo back.” He was promising what he couldn’t. Until I realized he hadn’t said Leo would still have his head when we brought him back.
“Thank you,” Wrassler said. “Out.” The connection ended.
Over coms, Alex said, “I haven’t found the group of EVs or Leo, but I have a visual of Brute staring at a surveillance camera outside Pat O’Brien’s near the corner of St. Peter and Bourbon Streets.”
“Staring at the camera?” I asked as I climbed over the seat and shoved Edmund across the center, behind Eli, stealing his position behind Bruiser. Ed gave a long-suffering sigh that also sounded amused. I just grinned, my oversized canines pulling at my lips.
“Directly at it,” Alex said. “Wait. He moved. Okay, I got him again on a traffic cam, trotting down toward Royal Street, toward the river. Now staring at a camera near an antique shop. Water’s up to his ankles. The river is over its banks, flooding over the railroad tracks. The storm is stalled north of us, dropping more rain, and temps are rising, melting all the sleet, which means runoff is higher. The drainage system is diverting it, but not fast enough.”
“Best route?” Eli asked, punching in a street map and navigation of the city on the SUV’s computer system.
“Traffic is minimal with the rain. Recommend you stay on St. Louis, to Chartres, and right onto St. Peter. Brute is speeding up. Dead run through the water, up past Jax to the top of the levee. Lost him.”
Eli gunned the motor and the heavy vehicle shoved water out of the way as we sped downtown, river side. All of us checking weapons, silent but for the click and schnick and clack of guns. Edmund passed water to each of us and we hydrated. I pulled the Benelli and reloaded with silver fléchette rounds. Loaded the holder attached to the barrel.
Eli spun the wheel right and onto St. Peter Street. Muddy water from the river rushed down the street, flooding the lower level of buildings in the old Jax brewery. There were no lights in this part of town, the storm having unleashed its fury on the electrical grid. The night was thick and wet and threatening. Rain shattered through the darkness and pounded on the SUV like thousands of frenzied fists. We bumped over the railroad tracks and up across the grass to the top of the levee. Without waiting for the vehicle to stop, I shoved open the door and stepped into the rushing water, icy, above my ankles. My claws extended and pressed into the mushy, eroding soil. I pulled on Beast’s night vision and spotted Brute, downstream, fighting the debris-filled current. Someone in his jaws. Another form stood over him, a handgun extended, firing at him. The gunfire was muted in the roar of pounding rain, rushing water, screams. Even in the darkness, it was clear the werewolf was badly wounded.
Close in, the mud-brown water was white-capped and boiling. I caught sight of a tree, moving in the current, faster than I could run, only a few feet out. It was bigger around than a whiskey barrel, its limbs broken and sharp. I raced through the overflowing river, slipping twice, knowing that if I fell in, I might be swept away.
About thirty feet out in the dangerous current, a small boat fought upstream. A familiar man was at the motor at the back, steering, muscling the boat against the current. Vamped out. Trying to get to shore but spinning in the flooded river. This was their getaway plan. Dumbasses.
The shooter aimed carefully at Brute’s head. I gathered myself and leaped. Twisted in the air and shoved forward with my feet, back with my body. The shooter fired a last shot at Brute. The werewolf staggered and fell on top of the person in his teeth. I landed on the shooter with both paws. Screaming. Took him down. Removed his head with a single cut of the vamp-killer, seeing only afterward that I’d killed a human. One of the Cardonas, Macario or Gualterio.
I fell to the water, rolled up from my hip, and engaged his brother, slashing with pure, instinctive strength, no finesse. Cut off his hand, his sword and fist dropping into the Mississippi. Swept beneath the waves. Took his head too, his body falling.
Behind me, someone fired. In front of me, people fell. I took a shot to my upper arm. Eli was gonna be pissed off when he discovered he’d shot me.
Beast shut off the pain receptors and I engaged a vamp, the man from the still shots who had brought Madam Spy to shore in a dinghy. I felt two cuts, midchest, the force and the cutting power decreased by the leathers. He was good. His arms were long and his reach with the flat swords was longer. I was sneaky, which beat perfect form anytime. I threw a vamp-killer. The hilt slammed into his face before the blade spun into the night. I followed it up with a slash across his throat. And then I was inside his reach. Pulled a silver stake and shoved it between his ribs and into his heart. He fell. I went after another vamp. And another. None I knew.
I sliced the wigged-out woman’s face, and she backpedaled into the river, where she fell beneath the muddy water. Where was Katie’s sister? Where was Katie? And Leo?
And then I saw him. Unconscious or true-dead. I fought toward Leo, Bruiser at my side. I blocked a sword, ducking a seco
nd strike. Falling against my honeybunch. Bruiser pushed me back upright and took on two vamps. I kicked out. Struck a knee. Felt the bones snap. Saw my opponent fall away. Saw Leo’s hand clench.
“Get Leo!” I shouted. “I’ll cover!”
Bruiser ducked under two swords striking and rolled to Leo. I pulled the Benelli and fired twice. Point-blank. Two vamps dropped into the mud. I fired twice more as Bruiser hefted Leo to his shoulder and raced from the battle, into the night.
I spun, seeing forms moving in the dark and the rain. I took two steps toward them.
Bethany leaped onto my back, wrapped her arms around me, and said, distinctly, “You are mine, Skinwalker.” She sank her huge fangs into my throat. I smelled Leo’s blood on her breath. Her fangs ripped through my flesh. I fell. Toward the water. Toward a long limb that spun in a mini whirlpool.
Inside me, I heard Bethany’s voice. You are mine. I claimed you before my Leo did. I claimed you before the angel did. I claimed you long before the Cherokee woman showed you the place you call your soul home. I claimed you before my George chose you in my place. You are mine.
“Jane!” Bruiser, screaming. He grabbed her hair and yanked her back. I twisted, her fangs ripping deeper into my flesh.
Everything happened fast, yet in that slowed battle time, where every detail is crystal clear.
Bruiser’s blade sliced across Bethany’s throat.
My feet slipped. Still twisting, I caught sight of Callan, in the dinghy only feet offshore. I landed hard on the slope. In the edge of the water. Bethany on top of me.
Lightning brightened the sky. My blood spurted into the night.
With her last strength. Bethany tore her fangs away, taking flesh with her. She pushed me. Down. I slid deeper.
The current caught me. Yanked me under. The water closed over me.
And then there was only darkness. Sucking me down.
• • •
I woke on a boat, lying in three inches of water. The sun was overhead.
My eyes were crusted with salt and gunk. I blinked but my vision got no better. I’d have wiped my face, but my hands were cuffed behind me. My shoulders, back, and butt ached.
I pushed to a sitting position. Remembered the fangs buried in my throat.
Looked around. I inspected my surroundings and myself. Storm clouds were on the northern horizon. The sun was setting in the west. Land was invisible. Around me was nothing. Water, water everywhere. I had been in a storm in the Mississippi. Now I guessed I was in the Gulf of Mexico. I had been bitten by a master, crazy, outclan priestess vamp. The water I was sitting in was red with my blood. I kicked the gas cans that were connected to the motor. Both rang hollowly, empty. Not good. I was still pelted, still fanged, and I was alone.
I tested the cuffs. The chain holding the wrist bracelets was the weak link. I chuffed out a laugh. Weak link. I braced my shoulders and spine, took a deep breath. And jerked. The cuffs abraded the flesh over my wrist bones, but nothing else happened. I tried again. Again. I smelled my blood; the pain in my wrists was terrible; my left fingers went numb. I tried it one last time and the metal gave way. I fell forward, into the bottom of the boat, taking in a mouthful of bloody, salty water. My arms dropped to my sides. I fought back to a sitting position and as quickly as I could, I started slow stretches to get my muscles moving and to get feeling back in my fingers. I started bailing out the boat.
Beneath the hull, something scratched, and my first thought was sharks. Then I thought, fanghead, hiding from the sun, instinctively reacting to the presence of blood in the water. I paused, remembering Callan in this very boat, in the river, trying to make it ashore. Good odds he was under the dinghy.
I touched my throat. It was heavily knotted and rippled with scar tissue. Healed. Not well, but well enough to not be dead. My skinwalker magics? Or the thing under the boat? I went back to bailing, ignoring the possible vamp under the boat, for now.
There was nothing useful with me in the boat. No cooler, no water, no food. I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten aboard. I wasn’t sure what day it was. I pulled my cell to find it was soaked and dead. I had a feeling that my people thought I was dead too. “Well, this sucks,” I said, my voice hoarse. Thirst dragged through me. I desperately needed to pee, but I also needed to save the urine in case I needed to drink it. Gag. Fortunately or not, there was nothing to pee into. For the moment, holding it was the wiser choice. My clothes were ruined, the leather damaged by salt water, gray and crusty white and stiff. I kept bailing out the boat. It took a while, but the blood in it was starting to smell.
As I worked, I heard more scratching from the underside of the hull. Come nightfall, I’d have to fight him. I rechecked for my weapons. All were gone. Even the Benelli. I remembered carrying it at some point. If the suckhead under the boat had tossed my gun, I’d rip off his head with my bare hands. Then I wondered if he had my guns and blades with him. If he was smart, he would have taken everything I had overboard with him and come up shooting. He didn’t need air, but by dusk, he’d be hungry, boiled, burned, and as salt damaged as my leathers.
I went through my pockets, finding a few trinkets: the Glob, of no use whatsoever since I had no idea how it worked or how to activate it, and a stone. It looked like black glass with bits of white in it. I didn’t know what it was. And then I started laughing.
He had held out a closed fist. Dropped a small black stone, one with white inclusions in it, in my big-knuckled paw. “It’s called an Apache tear,” he’d said. “If you need me, you can crush it. I will come.”
I closed my fist around it and I squeezed. Nothing happened. Even in half-form I wasn’t strong enough to crush it. I pulled out the Glob, set the Apache tear on the engine housing, and brought the Glob down on it, shattering the obsidian.
Gee DiMercy to the rescue, I thought. But he didn’t come. And he didn’t come.
The day went on. And on. Cold, with a brilliant sun, and lapping waves. Eventually, the sun began to set, the clouds picking up the red rays and casting the entire skyline in shades of scarlet and crimson and fuchsia. The moon rose. The first star peeked out. The sky began to darken. The vamp beneath began to scrabble on the boat bottom. Hull. Whatever. Vamp nails on wood.
The scratching on the bottom of the boat got stronger. This was not going to end well.
The clouds to the north boiled. Sparkled. Dragons. Les Arcenciels. Five of them, in all colors of the rainbow. Gee DiMercy darted among them, his blue and scarlet plumage catching the pale light. I came to my knees in the bottom of the boat. I was so thirsty that my throat ached. I’d never be able to yell at them, and in the light they wouldn’t see me. But I was wrong. They dove down from the clouds, the dragons diving into the water near my boat, long and lean and glistening, erupting to play, creating huge waves that nearly capsized me. “Hey!” I yelled. “Watch it!” But it came out a scratchy croak and I was ignored.
Gee DiMercy alighted on the small seat of the dinghy. From a pocket he pulled a bottle of water, cold and wet with condensation. “You called, my mistress?”
I took the bottle, opened it and crushed the weak plastic, forcing the water into my mouth in a single long drink. I dropped it in the bottom of the boat. “Another.”
“No. As your IT specialist says it, you will hurl.”
I blinked. Laughed. “Yeah. That sounds like Alex.” Out in the water, dragons played, dipping and splashing and trumpeting like elephants and cheeping like birds. Their scales caught the last rays of the sun and threw back the light. Their frills splashed and wings made waves big as buses. The dinghy rocked violently. Beneath the boat, the vampire had grown silent, unmoving as the dead. “I need a ride home. Can you help with that?”
“Of course, my mistress. Your people will be pleased. They think you are dead.” He handed me a cell phone. “It is a satellite phone. It might save his life if you were to call George Dumas.”
I punched in his number. It rang and rang. He finally answered, the single word raw and ragged. “What.”
“Howdy, Bruiser.”
A silence grew, too long, too vacant, a void, barren of life and hope. “J . . . Jane?” he whispered.
“Yeah. You okay? Leo okay? Did we win?”
“I’m . . . Leo is . . . fine. Jane?” he repeated, his tone still disbelieving.
“I have one last vamp to take care of. Then I’ll be home.”
“Dear God in heaven.” He took a breath so tattered it groaned in pain. “Jane?”
“Yeah. I’m okay. Ish. I’ll be home soon. I gotta take a swim.”
“I love you,” he whispered. “I was afraid . . . Afraid I would never get to say the words. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I said. “See you soon.” I ended the call and gave the cell to Gee DiMercy. There was a weird pain and odd warmth in my chest, and I wondered if my heart was gonna explode or something. I blinked into the sunset, seeing a reverse image on the inside of my eyelids. Bruiser loves me. I took a breath. It felt cold and wonderful going down. I felt weightless and buoyed and . . . totally weird. Instead of saying any of the things I was thinking and feeling, I said, “There’s a suckhead under the boat.”
“I am aware. The arcenciels are teasing him much as cats tease mice.”
Ten feet off the sidewall of the boat, the water rose in a liquid bowl and erupted. A dragon made of light had become flesh, pearled and glistening and leaping for the sky, a cerulean creature of myth made real. In her jaws was a vampire. She flew straight up and whipped her tail, flipped her body, and dove for the ocean. Carrying the vampire, she leaped and frolicked before leaping for the sky again, and diving back. Two feet above my fragile boat, she hovered and shook her prey. Guns and blades fell into the boat. My weapons. Callan looked like a rag doll in her dragon hands.
Another arcenciel broached the water and leaned over the side of the boat, her face human and gorgeous, human hands holding her in place. Soul said, “We’ll take him to your house. He may provide some intelligence that we don’t yet have.”