Black Arts jy-7 Page 30

  I saw gears shifting in Big Evan’s eyes and the silence stretched out. He propped his meaty fists on his hips, and his face darkened from red to slightly purple. I wasn’t sure he was breathing, and his heart was suddenly pounding so hard that I was afraid it would explode—things I notice when my Beast is close to the front of my brain. He took a slow, whistling breath, and there was compressed magic in that minor key note.

  Musingly, thoughtfully, Evan said, “I wonder what Leo looks like without his head.” The words rattled around in my brain searching for meaning, but before I found it, he went on. “Because no way did that chief fanghead not know that Shiloh was alive and that Molly was with her. This is his city. Nothing happens here without the MOC knowing.”

  Oh, crap. This was gonna be trouble. I just knew it.

  “Yes, about that,” a scratchy voice said from the couch. Bruiser levered himself up on an arm, moving stiffly, his face twisted in pain. He coughed, the sound dry and harsh. “Since no one will allow an old man to get some sleep.” He looked at Evan, his brown eyes exhausted but clear. “Leo’s new primo called and spoke with me about your concerns and conclusions, and she suggested that you might believe Leo was involved. He had no idea,” Bruiser said. “None.”

  Bruiser had gaunt cheeks and a yellowish pallor. He was shaking slightly, a fine tremor that spoke of dehydration and calorie loss.

  “Wait,” I told him. I went to the kitchen and found a sixty-four-ounce bottle of blue Gatorade in the pantry area. I thought about bringing a funnel to get it into him faster, but figured I might accidentally choke him to death. I settled on a wide-gauge rubber straw currently in a water bottle Eli used to hydrate while he worked out, grabbed some energy bars and a bag of dried dates, and returned to the living room to see Eli tucking a blanket around Bruiser. Big Evan looked as if he might explode if not given all the info soon, but I opened the Gatorade and tucked one end of the long straw into it, the other into Bruiser’s mouth. “Drink.” He did, draining half the blue liquid in about sixty seconds.

  Bruiser pushed the straw away, but accepted a handful of dates and tossed them into his mouth. I didn’t think he’d actually taken the time to chew them, and was sure he hadn’t when he went back to the Gatorade and struggled to swallow at first. He finished off the bottle and placed a hand over his mouth in what might have been a polite British burp, but I heard nothing. “Excuse me,” he said.

  Impressed but not surprised, I went for another large bottle. By the time he’d taken in about a quart of the second gallon, he looked better and he had stopped shaking, but Bruiser’s voice was still rough when he said, “Leo took Shiloh in last summer.” My mouth dropped open, but Bruiser ignored it. “He didn’t know who she was, beyond her given name and her witch status. No history, no information at all. He didn’t know who any of the Damours’ scions were. He should have allowed her to be given the mercy stroke, given that she is a witch, and showed no indication of ever returning to sanity. But he asked Lincoln Shaddock to send Amy Lynn Brown to feed her.”

  I dredged my memory and came up with the name of the two-year wonder, a scion who was turned by Shaddock and went through the entire curing process in two years, finding sanity and reentering society in a brand-new record time. She had been brown-haired, slender, unremarkable, but with a good head on her shoulders, calm under fire, smart. Aaaand yes. That was the familiar female vamp I’d seen at vamp HQ, sliding an arm around the panicked fanghead standing in for the leader of Clan Arceneau. “Okay.”

  “She brought Shiloh out of the devoveo in less than two months, though your niece,” he said to Evan, “had been in thrall to the madness for years by that time.” Bruiser stopped and drank again. All I could think was that he’d have to pee like a racehorse, which was totally inappropriate under any circumstances, and I’d never say it aloud. I was, however, unable to keep a crooked grin off my mouth. Bruiser, as if he knew what I was thinking, shrugged with his eyebrows. He needed a shave, a shower, and new clothes, but he looked . . . good, sitting on my couch. Long and lean and dangerous.

  Beast focused on him intently and started to purr. Mine, she thought.

  “Unrelated, but pertinent,” he said, “Leo is having Amy’s blood tested to see if it’s something genetic, a fluke, or some reaction to Shaddock’s blood, that she went through the devoveo process so quickly and now is also able to help others through it faster.

  “Before Leo could learn the girl’s history or true name, Jack Shoffru entered New Orleans, far in advance of Leo’s approved timeline, and held a party at Guilbeau’s. He took Shiloh, which means he knew who she was. And no one knew until you told Adelaide to look for her. And worse, something went wrong at the party and two scions who attended died.”

  “Then Leo had his own shindig,” I said, and something went wrong. “Something got through security. Two somethings.”

  “We think they tried to search Leo’s rooms,” Bruiser said, sounding more and more like himself.

  “The blurry things,” I said, remembering the footage from the night of the party, and remembering Vodka Sunrise’s missing tooth.

  Bruiser looked from Big Evan to me and back. “Leo fed from Jack and learned about the diamond. Quite honestly, we didn’t know that they were searching, or what they were searching for, until then.”

  “All nice but I don’t give a rat’s ass about it,” Evan said. “What I want to know is, why did Leo not inform her family the moment Shiloh’s identity was known?”

  Bruiser would have to be a block of stone to not hear the threat in Big Evan’s voice. He bowed his head slightly, formally, to the larger man. Even with him sitting, in his unkempt state, the gesture looked formal, ceremonial. “It was a mistake, seen in hindsight. And when the young scions who had attended the party began to vanish, leaving behind only a pile of ash, and their blood-servants began to fall ill, Leo attempted to right the wrong and find the girl. It was too late. Shoffru had her. He failed.”

  “And what?” I demanded. “Leo figured it all out the night of the party and he still let me leave, knowing everything was coming down around his shoulders? Knowing my family was in danger?” I stopped as a flash of anger burst through me. I didn’t look at Big Evan because I could feel his reaction on the air, sparking and sharp with barely controlled magic. I pushed down on my own reaction because I might set him off if I let it go. “You didn’t think I should know this before I left vamp central?”

  “Yes, I did. And when I insisted, Leo kicked me out.”

  “Kicked you out?” Evan said, his magic stuttering and going still.

  “Permanently,” Bruiser said. He looked lost for a moment, a scant instant of shocked surprise. Then he pasted a cocky grin on his face and said, “Which was timely considering that I followed Jane and assisted her in her difficulties.”

  “Which nearly got you killed,” I said.

  Bruiser shrugged. “Leo and I have had difficulties over the last few months, but this was”—his face drew down, frowning—“different. Much more acute. I believe the proper phrase is, I need a new crib.”

  “Dude,” the Kid said, still sitting in the corner, watching us all. “I can bunk with the bro. You can have my room.”

  I sat up straight. This can’t be good. But before I could say no, Bruiser said, “Thank you. I won’t stay long. I promise.”

  Mine, Beast said. Will take Bruiser.

  “Uhhh,” I said, thinking, Rick . . .

  Will take Rick back soon, she growled. Will have Bruiser now.

  No, I insisted. I will be alpha in this one thing.

  Bruiser turned his gaze to me. And held me in it, as if he cupped his hands around my face, as if I was precious and . . . special. As if he would never hurt me. Ever. Or something. And . . . Beast purred, which I swallowed down. Hard. Oh, crap.

  Eli looked back and forth between Bruiser and me and his lips twitched.

  “Shut up, I said to them both, and Eli chuckled softly, the sound pure suggestive wickedness. I said t
o Bruiser, “This place is already pretty crowded.”

  “Yeah. Whatever,” Alex said, ducking his head. “I gave him my room. I took his stuff up there last night. So it’s, like, a done deal.”

  “His stuff?” I asked, and my voice broke into a tiny yelp on the end.

  “Yeah,” the Kid said. “I’m sending you info on the Damours’ potential lairs, to add to any Adelaide sends you. You shouldn’t need to fight once you find them, but you never know. And it’s less than two hours before sunset. You better get weaponed up.”

  Not knowing where else to go, but absolutely certain that I didn’t want to stay in the room with all the guys, I went to my room, shut the door, and started changing clothes. As I left the room, I muttered just loud enough for them to hear, “Men.” They laughed. Great. I was an amusing tension reliever for them.

  Deep in my mind, Beast said, Mine.

  And deeper still, I ached quietly for Rick. Which was just too incredibly stupid of me.

  • • •

  It didn’t take long for me to gear up. But it was weird. We were taking orders from the Kid. When had that happened? He texted our cells with the addresses for the Damours’ possible lairs and GPS coordinates and sat maps of the locations. Back in the foyer, we checked com gear and turned for the SUV parked out front.

  Big Evan stepped in front of the door. “Shotgun,” he said.

  He wasn’t asking for one. He was claiming the passenger seat, intending to ride along. I nixed the idea fast. “You are the only one who stands a snowball’s chance in Hades of controlling your daughter,” I said. “You cannot leave her with the Kid or Tia without her making them think they need to follow us.” At his confused expression, I muttered, “Trust me, big guy. Your daughter is doing magic, magic with raw power and no math or spells. And she’s got scary good control. So move. Now. I’ll find Molly and bring her home to you.”

  “And if you need magic to help?”

  “Then we’ll back off and call you. Deal?”

  He heaved a breath that I felt across the foyer, and rubbed his face, sliding his hand down his beard. He smelled of sweat and fear, a slightly sour stench. His massive shoulders slumped. “Okay.” He went back to the sofa and sat down beside Bruiser.

  “What’s wrong with this picture?” Eli asked.

  “Too much to list,” I muttered. “Let’s go while we can.”

  CHAPTER 20

  What Took You So Long?

  The first place on the Kid’s list was on Ulloa Street, near I-10, and out of the French Quarter, a world away from the lair of the three vamps, well, two, now that one was true-dead, a bag of ash. It was a narrow single-story building—empty of inhabitants but full of a mixed ethnic bag of carpenter types, a plumber, and maybe an electrician, standing around doing that guy thing that looks lazy but is actually part of working. Or so they say.

  Eli stuck his head out the window and called out to the man closest, “Yo. How long this place been empty?”

  “We been here, like, six weeks,” the Latino guy nearest said. “It was a doctor’s office till then, man.”

  “What are you turning it into?”

  “Some rich dude’s digs. Guy’s got it all.” He rubbed his fingers against his thumb to indicate money. And made another gesture that suggested the client was getting a lot of other kinds of action too. The men all laughed, Eli too. He gave a lethargic wave—another one of those manly gestures that suggested they all understood one another—and raised the window so the men wouldn’t get a good look at me as he drove off.

  I snorted. Eli just slid his eyes to me and headed for the bridge and the Mississippi. “No rich guy’s gonna live here,” I said. “They’ll buy something in the Garden District or out at the lake.”

  “He was shooting a line,” Eli agreed, with what might have been a teasing note in his voice, “’cause he saw I was with a woman.”

  “Oh. Suave.” I would never, ever, understand men.

  We accelerated down the street and I felt a prickle on the back of my neck. I looked around but saw nothing, and the unease dissipated into exhaustion and lack of sleep. Behind the seat was a blue cooler I hadn’t noticed before. I heaved it over the seat and into my lap.

  Eli glanced at it and warned, “The Kid packed it for us. It’s probably full of crappy food.”

  He meant it would contain sweets and carbs and he was both right and wrong. We had snack cakes stuffed with creamy centers and slathered in icing, energy bars, nuts, dried fruit, trail mix with Chex cereal in it, three kinds of meat jerky, two energy drinks, and cola. I downed a Coke nearly as fast as Bruiser had drunk the blue Gatorade and opened a pack of the snack cakes. “Caffeine and sugar,” I explained to Eli, who hadn’t asked. He shook his head but held out his hand. Without asking what he wanted, I popped the top of an energy drink before handing it to him. Then I opened a stick of jerky, which smelled like vinegar and preservatives. “Whatever floats your boat,” I said.

  Again, I felt that prickle of . . . something on the back of my neck. I pulled the visor down and studied the traffic behind us, but saw nothing odd.

  “Only thing that’s been sticking to us is that old red Ford van,” Eli said, reading my worry. “We passed it ten minutes ago. It’s got a yellow Baby on Board sticker on the back window and is driven by a woman in her fifties. Brown hair, wrinkles, about a hundred fifty pounds overweight.”

  “Not vamp food, then,” I said. Vamps had a predilection for skinny, and their dinners tended to be fit, young, and pretty for a long time, one of the side effects of sipping on vamp blood in return for dinner and service and sometimes sex. Still, I kept an eye on the van until it turned off into a strip mall.

  The second address on our list was on the west side of the river on Lake Cataouatche, in an area that was green with impenetrable foliage as far as the eye could see, houses popping up between swampy land, sitting on acreage too large to be called lots. The houses we passed all had canal access out back and thick, wild vegetation all around, the air already thick with mosquitoes this early in the season.

  Eli made a left and slowly puttered down a recently graded dirt road, rocks and shells flipping onto the undercarriage. I checked my cell as the vehicle crawled. The house at the address fit the swank image of one of Leo’s scions, with a three-car garage and a pool to go with the pricey palms, dense landscaping, and red tile that roofed a brick house of maybe five thousand square feet. From the dirt road, we could see a powerboat docked on the water beyond the house and a furnished, screened room in the backyard, bigger than the house on Ulloa Street in town. But the kids’ toys in the yard were a clear contraindication to newly risen vamps. We didn’t even speak as Eli made a three-point turn and headed back the way we had come. Waste of time.

  We were almost back to the paved road when I spotted something. “Stop! Back up.” I strained to see what had caught my eye. Whatever it was, it was across the narrow canal. Eli backed up and braked in an opening of the vegetation, black water visible past the thick greenery.

  On the other side of the canal was a barren lot with a house situated in the middle. The house was new, with green tile roofing, brick facade, paved drive, separate garage, and blackened earth instead of greenery in a wide arc around the house. Not plowed. More like burned. Debris floated on the faint breeze. It looked as if the landscaping company had scorched the earth prior to new plantings that were scheduled to arrive any minute. It looked dead. It smelled wrong. Even with the wind against me, I should have been able to detect the scent of burned plants and scorched earth through the open window. “What?” Eli asked.

  “Is that place on our list?”

  He checked his cell while I kept my nose in the open, taking in the few scents that came from that side of the canal. “Not ours, but I just got a list from Adelaide. It’s on that one.”

  Something about the barren home site pulled at me. “I want to see that place. Up close.”

  “Not a problem,” he said, raising the window and eas
ing on down the dirt road. “I’m pretty sure there’s a bridge somewhere.” He might have been being sarcastic. Getting from one side to the other in the bayou country often meant long detours. Too bad we didn’t have a boat hitched up in back.

  • • •

  It was dusk when we pulled up in front of the house, the engine rumbling. I lowered my window to see better. A gray tree stood, leafless, the bare wood showing where the bark had peeled away and fallen to the ground. Littered around it were twigs and leaves, shriveled and dark. The shrubbery around the house was dead too, looking burned. Dead grass stood, spiky and broken, black earth in patches, showing beneath. Up close, it still looked burned, and the yard seemed to move as the night breeze lifted the debris. It was ash. Ash. Yet I didn’t smell anything burned. The house showed no signs of being touched by flame.

  The moon was rising over the black water, easily seen beyond the house. A low white mist was rising off the water, buffeted gently by slow-moving winds like huge hands were fluffing it.

  Dead vamps and granules of ash, I thought. And then I remembered the bouquet in Molly’s hotel room. Dying, the first day I went there, shriveled to ash on my next visit. Molly, not doing magic anymore, according to her husband. And then an older memory. Molly and her sisters fighting Evangelina. Molly, an earth witch, drawing the life force out of the garden, killing every plant, every garden snake, every mouse and squirrel, to save her younger sisters from the elder one.

  “Oh. Holy crap on cheese crackers. I am an idiot.” I should have known right then, the moment that Molly used her power for death instead of life, that there would be problems. “A total complete idiot.”