Black Arts jy-7 Page 16

  Inside, in a black velvet jewelry bag, was the blood diamond. I opened the drawstring, eased the gem to the lip of the bag, and trapped the blood diamond in the cloth with the tips of my fingers, careful not to let it touch my skin. It looked like a pink diamond or a washed-out, pale ruby, about the size of my thumb from the last knuckle to the thumb tip, and it was faceted all over in large chunky facets. It was on a heavy gold chain, a thick casing holding the gem, the casing shaped of horns and claws. The gem was sparkling and dancing with lights, internal lights, not just reflected lights. I had a feeling that it would glow with its own light in a dark room, though I’d never tested that theory. The gem was beautiful and ugly and quite possibly the most powerful thing I had ever seen in my life—and that counted all the witches I knew put together. The blood diamond had been fed the deaths of hundreds of witch children for centuries, in fatal blood-magic ceremonies that featured human sacrifice. The diamond was an artifact worth killing over. It had belonged to the Damours. Now I had it, hidden away. It was safe, for now, but it occurred to me, staring at the awful thing, that I needed a will. If I died, someone responsible needed to have charge of it.

  Yeah. Happy thoughts inspired by the gem of death and destruction.

  I closed up the bag, stuck it back in the RadBox, and called the teller to help me put everything away properly. Satisfied that the Icons of the Dark were safe, but not emotionally content with that fact, I rode back home, weaving through rush-hour traffic, which in New Orleans was a whole ’nother kinda awful.

  • • •

  I left the house again at seven forty, Eli driving. He had insisted on coming with me when I told my assembled pals and houseguests about my evening’s plans. His exact words were “Leo’ll bust your butt. This I hafta see. I’m driving.” My roomies. So supportive.

  In the SUV, I adjusted the stakes in my bun to keep from stabbing my scalp when they hit the vehicle roof and didn’t speak until HQ was in sight. “You did a good job on the door and windows.”

  “I did a little construction for Uncle Sam.”

  “Anything you can talk about?”

  “Nope.”

  “You keep secrets like a madam,” I said conversationally. “All tease and no share.”

  Eli made a sound like choking and I let myself smile, knowing he saw it when he glanced at me from the corner of his eye. He recovered quickly. “Holy sh—crap, woman. But you got that all wrong. I am never a bottom. Totally a dommes.”

  “Promises, promises,” I said. He made the spluttering sound again, but I went on. “Okay. You know the vamps will try to take our weapons away when we get to the door. Yours especially,” I added. “Security protocols that I put in place.”

  Eli grunted, lowered the SUV window at the gate to vamp HQ, and said to the little camera, “Eli Younger and Jane Yellowrock to see Leo Pellissier.” The gate opened and the window rose. “Despite you not wearing a leather bikini, cuffs, and a dog collar, this is gonna be fun,” Eli murmured.

  I just grinned. “Someday I’ll tell you about the mud wrestling.” This time he swallowed down the choking sound.

  We parked in the front of HQ, the only vehicle parked there tonight, and walked together up the stairs. Just as we reached the top, Eli asked, “So, what does sparring mean to a vamp?”

  “No idea,” I said sourly. “But I don’t think I’ll enjoy it.”

  Eli huffed a laugh as the air lock doors opened. “Sure you will. Just let your eyes do that weird gold glow. You fight better when that happens.”

  Deep inside, Beast chuffed and flicked her ears. Fun, she thought at me.

  “Besides, I have an idea or two that might help.”

  “No backstabbing. And I mean literal backstabbing,” I said. Eli just looked thoughtful.

  Four security types met us inside the air lock, two pairs of twins, all male, all with military-length haircuts, and all dressed in black pants and white shirts. “Ms. Yellowrock, Mr. Younger,” one said. “Your weapons, please.”

  “You can have the guns, but the stakes and knives stay with us,” I said. “I’ve been invited to spar with Leo and have a feeling I’ll need my claws. Blades,” I corrected quickly.

  “One moment,” one said. He murmured into his mouthpiece, listened, and then looked at me. “Mr. Dumas says that will be acceptable, but he insists that you each be accompanied by two security. You’ll have to wait while backup arrives.”

  “Fine by me,” I said. Four security for two guests? Someone was taking my suggestions to extremes. However, Eli and I together could probably take down an entire squad, so maybe not. I unbuckled my holsters and started placing my handguns in the black lacquered trays. Beside me, Eli did the same, but with far greater reluctance. Eli liked his weapons. “All of them, Eli,” I said. “Next we get frisked.”

  Eli shook his head at that and said to the security, “Get fresh and die.”

  The security guy who had been doing the talking said, “Former SEAL here. I’ll wipe the floor with you, army boy.”

  Eli grinned, showing his teeth. “You can try.”

  “Men,” I muttered. And not in a nice way.

  • • •

  We were led through vamp headquarters until we reached the elevator. I had never been entirely comfortable with the elevator, knowing that it went to parts of the building that were inaccessible by stairs. Which seemed unsafe in case of fire, unless the vamps had escape tunnels. Which they did. But I hadn’t been shown where they all were either. I figured I’d have to become Leo’s Enforcer for real for that to happen, and I wasn’t that interested. All six of us crowded into the cramped area, the smell of blood and humans and steroids filling the airless space as the doors swished closed. Some humans were using gym candy. I wondered briefly what effect anabolic steroids had on vamps who drank the blood of servants who were using, then let the thought flutter away. I had more important things to worry about. The leader twin swiped his card and the elevator moved.

  We were let out on a floor I didn’t recognize, though I did recognize the same make and model of security cameras that Bruiser, Eli, and I had installed on all the other floors. Too much to ask that I’d get paid for the design down here too. Dang vamps.

  The hallway was carpeted. We passed what looked like storage rooms and locker rooms, one for men and one for women. We passed a lounge with couches and a small kitchen, smelling of old pizza and tacos.

  The reek of vamp and blood and aggression swirled on the air currents, pushed by the ventilation system. Beast peered out through my eyes and purred, Fun. A small smile pulled on my lips, and her delight peered through my eyes. A sideways glance by one guard let me know that my eyes were glowing gold. Beast sent a shot of adrenaline through me. Fun, she thought again. Like finding new territory filled with big prey.

  Down, girl, I thought at her.

  The guard opened a door and the stink of sweat and blood and testosterone whiffed out at me. The room we entered was sized for a basketball court, one with various lines on it that allowed it to become tennis, multiple wrestling rings, and areas for martial arts mats to be placed. Tonight the martial arts pads were down. I had halfway been hoping Leo had something else in mind when he said spar, like verbal sparring, where my snark ability would come in handy. No such luck.

  All along the white-painted concrete walls, there was also stadium seating, styled with padded benches with metal backs. They were full. On the center mat, two vamps were sparring, their movements so fast I could barely follow. Beast leaned into the forefront of my brain and studied the speed and flexibility of the two. It was like watching a dance, a dance with a loud drum solo sound track—slapslapslap, oof, thudthudthud, a rare sucking breath of pain, a rarer moment of stillness, and then more attacks, blocks, kicks, spins. I was so not gonna like this.

  “We don’t have a hot tub hidden away at the house somewhere, do we?” Eli murmured. I sighed, knowing the question was rhetorical. “I have a feeling you’re gonna be one bruised babe tomorrow.”


  “Yeah.” I mean really. What else could I say?

  The match ended with a quick feint-punch-block move that sent one opponent flying off the mat and into the wall with a crack that I could feel through the floor and that left a bloody smear on the white-painted concrete blocks.

  “That hadda hurt,” Eli said. His tone was far too jovial and I slanted my eyes at him to see a huge happy grin in place. Before I could respond, a loud clap sounded and my attention was pulled to the center of the court.

  Leo stood in the very middle of the padded center mat, dressed in loose black gi pants in a style I’d never seen before, with flaps that folded over the sides and ties that were stuck inside the waistband. His feet were bare, toes gripping the mat, his chest was bare, and his arms were out to the sides. He turned in a slow circle so the assembled could see him clearly. His skin was pale olive white after centuries out of the sun, his ribs standing out starkly. Scars showed evidence of piercings and slashes, and over his left ribs, beneath his arm, a huge scar traced the flesh like a spider’s web, as if his ribs had been caved in by a massive mallet or a grenade or—

  I felt Eli tense beside me. “That killed him,” he murmured. His hand reached up as if to touch his collarbone and the scar there. He stopped and let his hand drop slowly. Leo had been a warrior for all of his life, fighting sorties, night battles, attacking out of the darkness, a demon from hell, a soldier’s worst nightmare. And he had the scars to prove it. How bad did a wound have to be to leave a scar on a vamp?

  Leo completed his circle. “Well done,” he called out, his voice a sharp quick echo on the walls. “And now I call my Enforcer.” I jerked, thinking he meant me, but he went on. “My Onorio, you may join me. We shall see what you are now.” Which sounded like a threat in so many ways.

  Bruiser stepped into the front, from where he had been standing behind a small group of people. He was wearing a gi, top and bottom, but he untied the black belt at his waist and dropped it, then shrugged out of his top as he stepped onto the mat. He topped Leo by several inches and maybe thirty pounds, all muscle, his skin darker than I remembered it, tanned. He was fit and brawny next to Leo’s more slender body, but in a master, appearance is always misleading. I willed Bruiser to glance my way, but it would have been stupid to look away from an opponent, and Bruiser was never stupid.

  Overhead, recorded music began, a violin playing something low and sweet, with a gypsy feel. The strings curling with emotion and defeat and love lost. Painful music. The two on the mat bowed to each other. And Leo attacked. One heartbeat he was standing. When the heartbeat ended, Bruiser was on the mat, his face bleeding. “Get up,” Leo said, bouncing on his toes.

  Eli yanked me back, a hand on my upper arm. “No,” he murmured, his lips at my ear. “I think this is for a purpose. A demonstration.”

  “He means to kill him.”

  “No. I don’t think so. It isn’t the way warriors think. A reprimand, maybe. Something. Not an excuse to kill. Not in front of witnesses.”

  Of course. That all made sense. I took a calming breath and stopped pulling away, but settled my hands onto my knife hilts. Feeling the rigidity of my delts, Eli kept his hand on me, holding me still.

  Bruiser rolled to his feet. Before he was fully upright, Leo attacked again, spinning, pulling Bruiser’s arm with him. I heard the shoulder come out of joint with a sliding pop.

  Anger boiled up through me. Eli’s fingers dug into the soft tissue of my arm, holding me in place.

  Using the out-of-joint arm, Leo forced Bruiser to his knees. Bruiser went, with a grunt of pain. Leo let go the arm and kicked out, catching Bruiser with the ball of his instep, midabdomen, and spinning him. Up. Into the air. Leo’s fist caught Bruiser’s face as he whirled. Blood sprayed high. Splattered over Leo’s chest. Bruiser fell and lay still on the mat. The room filled with the scent of blood, strange blood with a salty, sweet undertang. Bruiser’s Onorio blood. I had smelled blood similar to it on the only two other Onorios I knew of—Grégoire’s primos, both in Atlanta with their master.

  “First blood,” Leo said calmly. “Match to me.” He looked around the room. “Someone take care of him.”

  Adelaide slipped from the small group of people Bruiser had been standing with and pointed at two others. Together, the three lifted Bruiser and carried him out a door in the rear. Eli’s fingers held me still, but a low growl sounded in my throat.

  Leo turned to us and looked us over, taking in the assortment of blades and stakes. A slow smile spread over his face, looking pleased and almost . . . hungry. My insides tightened and my lips parted, breath coming fast. I felt the chilled damp of panic bud along my spine, the icy fear melding with the heat of anger in my blood. The door closed behind Bruiser. My heart skipped a beat and then pounded hard. I clenched my hands on the hilts of two vamp-killers.

  “My other Enforcer,” Leo nearly purred, “is here as part of the entertainment tonight.”

  He held out a hand to me, almost as if he was asking me to dance, his black eyes focusing on me intently. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream and attack. I wanted to pull a gun and fill him full of silver bullets—which was probably why I’d been forced to leave them at the door.

  Instead I dropped my hand and relaxed my palms, walked toward him across the basketball floor, Eli at my side. We stopped at the edge of the mat and I pointed down at my feet.

  “You may remove your boots,” Leo said, managing to sound very French, agreeable, and dictatorial all at once. Around the mats the spectators started talking, low whispers filling the space.

  I started to toe the Luccheses off, but Eli was suddenly kneeling at my feet, one hand on my ankle. I stopped midmove and Eli flashed that strange smile up at me. I realized it was his battle smile. Eli liked combat. He’d missed fighting, missed pitting himself against an enemy, missed the adrenaline rush. “One of those other things I mentioned? Is this. Come on, Cinderella,” he said, his voice dropping to a register lower. “Off with the glass slippers so you can claw the bastard.”

  I laughed. It was totally inappropriate, but I laughed. The people in the stands stopped talking, all at once. I could tell that they turned to us, as one, but I kept my gaze down, at Eli.

  The boots and the socks came off together, hooked in his thumbs. From the boot sheaths, Eli removed the knives, one at a time, holding them so the light glinted off the silver plating and steel edges before setting them on the floor. Silver was for one purpose only. To kill vamps. He was making sure the people watching knew who I was and what I did. Pressure built in the room, hot and prickly as barbed wire left in a desert sun. Eli spun on one knee and spoke to Leo. “Weapons?” he demanded.

  Leo studied us thoughtfully, me standing, Eli at my feet. Leo’s theatrical smile drifted away, leaving him looking curious and . . . interested. “Are you acting as Jane’s second?”

  “Does she need one?”

  Second? Oh, crap. A second was what one had in a duel. A pal to make sure the rules were followed and to take the injured fighter home to die if necessary.

  “Perhaps,” Leo said. “Bare hands.” Around us, the room went more silent, the final sounds of voices dying away, the small breaths and shuffles and cloth-on-flesh of movement ending.

  “Rules?” Eli asked, his voice ringing in the silent room.

  “No one dies . . . again.” Polite laughter sounded from the stands, but hushed, as if they weren’t quite certain why they laughed. I breathed deep, smelling vamp and human and fresh blood, my heartbeat speeding, but steady now. Deep inside, Beast prowled, back and forth, as if caged and waiting. Everyone knew that Leo intended to do to me what he’d done to Bruiser. This was a demonstration of power and control. And of who was in charge. He didn’t want to kill me, but he did want to hurt me. I could turn and walk away. Or I could do what I wanted to.

  From behind us, others entered the room and walked along the walls to the stands. As they moved, I reached down and unstrapped my thigh sheath. Handed the vamp-kil
ler to Eli. He didn’t draw the weapon, but he made sure everyone could see the length of the blade before he put it beside the others on the floor.

  Eli extended his knee. It looked like an offering. Confused, I took in his face and he glanced to his knee, lifted his eyebrows. He looked urgent. Only a beat too late, I placed my right bare foot on his thigh and he rolled up my jeans leg, moving slowly, exposing my golden Cherokee skin. He unstrapped the sheath there.

  Moving as if he did this every day, Eli rolled down my jeans and indicated my other foot with the barest of gestures. I placed my foot on the floor and lifted the other. Eli rolled up the left jeans leg, uncovering the weapon hidden there. Another knife. He unstrapped it as well and placed it beside the others.

  “Wrists,” Eli requested.

  I held out my hands, palms up, and Eli rolled up my sleeves, removing the blade sheaths. These were small knives, throwing knives, well balanced. He pulled one, the silver plating only on the center of the flat blade, the steel edge so sharp it would draw blood before one could see it touch the skin. He leaned out and placed the knives to the side.

  “Stakes,” he requested, his hand extended. I lifted my arms and pulled the first two out of my hair. These were the new ones, custom-made of ash wood, fourteen inches long, wicked sharp on one end, rounded and buttonlike on the other, a shape that fit snugly into the palm of my hand. He took them and I lifted my arms again.

  Overhead, I heard a faint click and the first strains of guitar music floated into the room. I hadn’t noticed when the gypsy violin stopped. A moment later I identified the new music. Joe Bonamassa, playing “Living in a Dust Bowl,” a live version, all hot electric guitar, blues, and sex. I drew up the last of my weapons, the sterling silver stakes with steel tips, holding them high for just a moment, letting them catch the light.

  And I smiled. Beast padded closer, pawpawpaw.

  Eli looked up from my feet and murmured, “Let it out. Let it go. Don’t think, just move.”