Black Arts jy-7 Page 11

  “And how will you know they’re guilty?”

  I smiled grimly. “I’ll know.”

  “Skinwalker knowledge?”

  I jerked my head down in an unwilling Yes.

  A delicate tapping sounded on the door, and I squared my shoulders and pushed away my angst. I didn’t have time for soul-searching or self-pity. “Come in.” When the door opened, my jaw tried to drop. I kept it in place, but not by much. Edmund Hartley, former blood-master of Clan Laurent, stood there, looking meek and mild, which was odd enough, but my surprise came because he had lost in a Blood Challenge to Bettina, Laurent clan’s new blood-master. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” I asked.

  He gave me a fangless smile. “I lost my title and clan in blood challenge, but Bettina is never wasteful. She accepted my clan and sold me to Leo.”

  “Sold—”

  “Bondage,” Adelaide said quickly. “He’ll work for Leo for twenty years, at which time he may choose to remain in Clan Pellissier or move to another clan, where he stands a better chance of regaining a clan of his own. It’s covered in a codicil to the Vampira Carta.”

  Twenty years wasn’t a long time for a fanghead. I shook my head. “Vamps.” It was nearly a curse, but not quite, and I said, “Ed, can you follow my lead and look threatening and spooky?”

  Edmund smiled slightly and, with a dry tone, said, “I believe I can manage.”

  I nodded and stepped into the hallway. Edmund was an old vamp, and I could feel his power as he pulled it up and around him, icy prickles, like spikes of frozen air. He stood about five-seven or -eight, slight of body, with hazel eyes that seemed to give off a pleasant vibe, like that of a history professor. Nonthreatening. But if his power signature was anything to go by, his body was no indication of his ability. I wondered how he had lost to Bettina, who was powerful, but not nearly as old as I felt Edmund might be. I looked back at him and wondered. Would a vamp deliberately lose a blood-challenge? Questions for later, which I was sure he wouldn’t answer. I checked my papers.

  “I’m ready to talk to the prisoners,” I said to Wrassler. Silent, he led the way.

  The first blood-servant was listed as Imogene, who worked as a housekeeper, and had been placed in a comfortable room, like a sitting room, with a sofa and chairs and a small table. When we entered the room, she backed against the wall, her pulse beating hard in her throat, the whites of her eyes showing in terror. She stank of fear sweat. And I felt like an ass.

  I blew out a breath of revulsion. My reasons for terrifying people were all valid. And all wrong. Still sighing, I plopped into a chair and gestured to the security twin to close the door. “Sit down, Ed, Del.” While they were trying to figure out if I was being serious or giving them a hidden command to do something else, I asked, “Imogene, do you know who I am?”

  She nodded once. “The vampire killer.”

  “Yeah. Among other things. One of Clan Arceneau’s people attacked me tonight.” Her fear stink spiked. “Did you know I was going to be attacked?”

  “Nonononono.” Her head shook back and forth as fast as her denials.

  “Did you know anyone was going to be attacked?”

  “Nonononono.” Imogene put her hands behind her body. As if hiding them. Or as if proving that her hands were not involved in any plot.

  Prey, Beast thought at me.

  “Hmmm.” I thought of how to phrase my questions to allow no opportunity for lying by omission or phrasing. “Were you made aware of any plans to attack anyone, anywhere?”

  “Nonononono.”

  “Have you had any contact with Adrianna since you came to the HQ?”

  “No. It’s not permitted.”

  I sat up straight and gave her a little “tell me more” gesture.

  “We’re here as part of security measures, part of proving loyalty to our master’s master. We don’t call home. We don’t talk with anyone during our stay and service here.”

  I turned that over in my mind and checked to see how long the Arceneau servants had been in the council home. It was two weeks. So if an order or a hidden compulsion had gone out to kill me, it was a long-standing order, one put in place weeks ago. The timelines were not quite right. Compulsions didn’t usually last weeks without reinforcing.

  I asked Imogene, “Did you have any sense or hint of anything wrong, or of anyone doing something against the Master of the City or his sworn servants?”

  Her mouth turned down. “You mean like ESP or mind reading? Or body language or something? Or like they had been given a compulsion to kill you or something?”

  “Yes. Anything.”

  “No. But . . . Louise said she had a bad feeling about the new security guys.”

  I looked at my list. Louise was two rooms down. And the two new security guys had to be the tattooed duo. I clicked on their personnel files. Hawk Head and Tattoo Dude had joined Clan Arceneau only two months ago, and according to their dossiers, they both had previous prison records, with assault, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to kill, B&E, home invasion, and attempted murder between them. So the one who said he had prison security experience had meant from the inside, a totally different interpretation from what I had wanted. The lie by itself wasn’t definite indication of current evil deeds, but it wasn’t a rousing endorsement of high-minded actions either. And not the type of blood-servants vamps usually wanted. Trained mercenaries, yeah. Street thugs, no.

  “Okay. Imogene, I’ll have a meal sent in. I want you to relax. Thank you for sharing your worries with me.” Her mouth formed a small O of surprise as I stood and left the room, my muscle behind me. In the hallway, Edmund and Del both stared at me in surprise. “What? You thought I was going to hurt her?” I shook my head and led the way to Louise’s room, where I knocked and entered.

  That went pretty much like the last interview, except when I asked the question “Louise, did you have any sense or hint of anything wrong, or of anyone doing something against the Master of the City or his sworn servants?”

  Her head shook no, and then bobbed yes. “The new men had weapons.”

  “They brought weapons into this building that they didn’t register?”

  She nodded uncertainly. “I found them in the dirty laundry. I didn’t tell anyone.” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “I should have told someone?”

  “Yes. You should have. Will you show us where the weapons are now?”

  She nodded and stood, and her sweat smelled of fear and chili spices, heavy on the garlic. She led the way out of the room where she had been held and up the stairs with a fast-tapping toe rhythm, and down a short hallway. She let us into a room with a passkey. The small room had six bunks in a place that usually held two and it was a disaster: clothes everywhere, boots, candy wrappers, drink cans, fast-food packages littering the table and scattered on the floor, chairs overturned, wet towels dropped everywhere, the bunks piled with clothes and electronics and porn magazines. “I cleaned it this morning,” Louise whispered.

  “Yeah. I believe you.” And I did. The Arceneau security roommates were apes. They’d done everything but throw feces at the walls. Not Grégoire’s type at all. I had a feeling that all of them had been contracted since he left for Atlanta, and were sworn to Adrianna.

  Louise went to the bathroom and scooted the laundry basket into the short entrance with her feet. She pulled back the few dirty clothes the guys had not tossed to the floor, to reveal three silvered blades and two small handguns—.22 semiautomatics. I knelt and tossed the dirty clothes out of the basket, sniffed the weapons. The blades were all coated with the same faint stench. I took the basket and handed it to Adelaide. “This hardware needs testing. Overnight it to Leo’s private lab in Houston. I want independent confirmation if something is on the blades. And check the rounds. See if something is on them too. Just in case.”

  She nodded and took the basket, and I said, “Let’s go visit the bad guys. Ed, here’s where you get to be scary.”

 
“With pleasure,” he said, and his fangs slowly, so slowly, snicked down. They were a little over two inches long and bone white. His eyes bled scarlet and his pupils widened until they were black discs in bloody orbs. His mouth and jaw seemed to unhinge, growing longer and wider. Only the really old ones could show such control while vamping out.

  Louise backed slowly away, her fear almost palpable in the room. Ed turned to her and hissed. I thought she would pass out, and Wrassler took her shoulder in his meaty hand. “It’s okay,” he said. But his voice didn’t sound quite as confident about that as I might have wished.

  “Yeah. That outta do it,” I said to Ed.

  Del handed off the basket of weapons to Wrassler. “See that these get to my desk, and relock my office door,” she said. “And take Louise back to Imogene’s interrogation room and lock them in for their own safety. Get them some food and drinks.”

  “I’ll see it gets done, ma’am,” he said, which I thought was awfully subservient of the big guy. And awfully polite. Del did cast an “I’m in charge. Don’t mess with me” vibe, and she did it without weapons and without looking threatening.

  A moment later we stood in front of Tattooed Dude’s room. The two most likely suspects had been placed in real interrogation rooms—minimal uncomfortable furniture, no way to turn off the lights. I opened the door slowly and stepped silently into the room. With the grace of a hunting predator, Ed moved in as well, staying to my left. I drew my vamp-killer and let Beast shine into my eyes.

  Tattooed Dude was standing with his back against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest, and a great poker face in place. Or maybe with him it was a Russian roulette face. He had arranged the two chairs to either side and the heavy metal and wood table at a slight angle, perfect for bringing into a fight or using as defensive props. Without a single suggestion on my part, Edmund raced in front of me and tossed the furniture behind us. He moved so fast the three pieces landed with a single crash. Tattooed Dude flinched, dropping his arms to his sides and fisting his hands. And I grinned, showing blunt human teeth, feeling Beast in the front of my mind.

  With this guy, I didn’t waste words, just pulled a throwing knife and let the overhead lights glint off it. When I spoke it came out in a lower-register Beast-growl. “Who ordered you and your pal to attack me?”

  Tattooed Dude snarled at me. I flicked the knife. I’d been aiming at TD’s hand, but caught him higher up, the blade entering between the two bones of his lower arm and sticking into the wall at his back. He squealed like a stuck pig and Edmund was on him.

  The squeal stopped, choked off. Edmund plucked the knife away and rode TD to the floor, perching atop the big guy’s chest like a small raptor on the chest of a larger, fallen prey. Edmund drank once long and deeply, from the cut arm, his hand making a rotating “get on with it” motion to me.

  “Who ordered you and your pal to attack?”

  Edmund gave me the sign again, which I figured meant he had the answer. Dang, the guy was fast. Below him, Tattooed Dude relaxed as he gave in to the feeding and the compulsion of a master vamp. Edmund might no longer be a clan master, but he’d lost none of his skills.

  “Were you supposed to kill or just injure?” At the hand signal again, I sped up my questions. “What was on the blade? Poison? What herbs? Where did the concoction come from? Was a witch involved? Did Grégoire know about the attack?” Ed shot me a glance of ire but didn’t break contact with the prisoner. “Did Dominique know? Did Adrianna know? Did anyone in Clan Arceneau know about the attack? Did anyone at this compound know? Are there any more attacks planned against the Master of the City? Are there other attacks planned against me or those I claim as mine?”

  Edmund’s eyes shot to me and he withdrew his fangs. He lifted the hand still holding the knife and checked his watch. “Get to your home, Enforcer. They are there now.”

  I said something crude, grabbed the knife that was covered with my attacker’s blood, and raced out the door. Wrassler, back from running errands for Del, was on my heels, and for a big guy, he managed to nearly keep up with me, talking through his headset mic as we ran. “Secure the premises,” he said into the mic. “Lock down!” But when I reached the front door I slammed the bloody knife tip into the table that held the trays for weapons and cursed again. “I don’t have a car or my bike.”

  “I’ll drive,” Wrassler said, pushing ahead of me and out the door. We dove into an armored SUV, the powerful engine turning over. The roadway in front of HQ was wreathed in mist, the fog rising from the Mississippi and enfolding the entire French Quarter. Streetlights were halos of yellow, the mist capturing the light and keeping it close. Spell or natural, it made no difference. It would make fighting harder.

  Wrassler drove like a maniac and we were at my place before my heart rate could settle. He braked about a hundred feet out. The street was silent, no radios played, no music or TV came through windows, no people wandered the pavement, drunk or homeless or bored. “This don’t look right,” he said.

  The street in front and the houses to either side of my freebie house were free of fog, as a cold wind shunted through, dropping down from above, swirling around, and blasting away. With Beast-sight, I could see sparks of green in the wind; I heard distant flute music and a slow tapping, like a drum. It was Big Evan, warding the house with air magic.

  Kits attacked in den, Beast hissed at me. Kits not safe!

  I pulled my cell and called Eli. “Jane,” he answered.

  “We’re out front. What have they done and how many are there?”

  “They firebombed the house. Evan put it out, but it was risky. Wind tried to fan the flames at first. Four targets that I can see with low light. Two vamps, two humans.”

  Firebomb? Again? I needed to get a magical something put over the siding so it wouldn’t burn. Low light meant he was using his toys to see in the dark. “Witches working with them?”

  “Not so I could tell.” A moment later, he said, “Evan says he can’t sense anyone. The fog seems natural, coming off the Mississippi.”

  “Kids?”

  “Asleep in the safe room. Front door is my twelve. Tangos are four, total. Human encoms are two: at two o’clock, on the side of the neighbor’s house, and at six o’clock, outside the fence. Evan says that the human in back is coming over the wall. Vamp encoms are two: standing on the wall at our six, and standing hidden in the edge of the fog, in the street at twelve. I say again, four tangos.” Tango was Eli’s shorthand for unknown human or supernat targets. Encom was Eli’s shorthand for enemy combatants, which meant they were armed.

  “Okay. I’ll take the front.” I pulled my vamp-killer and palmed the blade that had cut Tattooed Dude. And smiled. “Tell Evan to let the fog closer at the street. I’m out.” I closed the phone.

  “Human at the side of the house next door, there.” I pointed for Wrassler. “The space between houses is something like six feet, so it’s close quarters. I’m going after a vamp in front of the door, hidden in the fog.”

  “I’ll take the human.” Wrassler turned off the engine, leaving the vehicle parked in the middle of the street. Reached up and disabled the interior lights, drawing a long-barreled semiautomatic with the other hand. “Go.”

  I went, sliding out of the SUV, leaving the door open. Beast rammed her power and vision into my bloodstream, adrenaline like a drug, speeding my heartbeat. Her night vision sharpened my own, the night glowing silver and green with tints of blue. The vamp standing in the fog was a warmer shade of pale melon, his body heat, slightly warmer than the fog, making him nearly glow. This was something I hadn’t ever seen before, and I realized that Evan’s spell must have now included a search out vamp component. Nice. Moving on little cat feet—which made me want to laugh—I circled around the vamp so I was downwind. He smelled of gasoline and the sharp stink of struck matches. If I’d been in Beast-form, my ruff would have stood on end.

  I tossed the bloody knife through the fog, to land at his feet with a clank.r />
  Distraction of blood scent and noise.

  CHAPTER 8

  B-b-b-b-bad to the Bone

  The clatter and the smell of blood shocked the vamp, and he crouched. I was already launching myself through the air, right at him, intending to knock him to his back and place the blade at his throat. Beast took over the leap. The vamp and I collided, almost gently, my open left hand catching his right shoulder, gripping hard, my right hand moving across his body with a fast swipe, like claws. No! I thought at her. Alive! But I couldn’t wrench control away.

  The blade caught his throat just below his larynx. My momentum and mass-in-motion carried the sharp edge through his tissue with only the slightest resistance, to jar into his spine.

  We hit the ground and I tucked, rolling across him, letting go the vamp-killer handle to keep from damaging him any more. Bending my arms to take the fall, cradling my head down, curling my spine into the somersault and instantly up to my feet. I was splattered with vamp blood, cool and sticky on my skin. He hadn’t fed recently, which ruled out Naturaleza vamp.

  I smelled the silver that finished the job of killing him true-dead. No one to question. I snarled at Beast, I needed to question him.

  She growled back, Hunter of kits. Must die.

  Furious, I pulled my blade free of his flesh, wiped both it and the throwing knife on his clothes, free of blood, and left him lying in the street. With Beast’s vision and Evan’s spell, I could see two forms wrapped together in the lee of the house at two o’clock, both a vibrant orange, both human. Wrassler had the human in a sleeper hold, and eased him to the ground as I raced up. “It’s me,” I whispered. “Stay here. I’m checking the back.” I sprinted around the brick fencing, pulling Beast’s speed through me. I leaped high, grabbing the fence with one hand and swinging myself over, the brick grinding into my human-soft palms.

  Stupid Jane. Needs paws.

  Yeah. And living attackers.

  Beast didn’t reply.