Black Arts: A Jane Yellowrock Novel (13 page)

I put two and two together with the info about Leo’s hostages from Lincoln Shaddock’s city, and felt a grin try to split my face apart, but I held it in and sauntered across the room. I drew on Beast’s stealth senses to help me move casually, smoothly, as if I belonged here. Which I did, sorta. I was nearly on her when Adelaide turned to me and lifted a delicate eyebrow. I so wished I could do that one-eyebrow thing, but it wasn’t something one could learn—the ability to lift one brow was genetic.

It was odd to look directly into the eyes of a woman. At six feet, I overtopped most females, and while I was never vain, looking directly at Adelaide Mooney always made me feel inferior and plain. Adelaide was drop-dead gorgeous, and since she was a blood-servant, that was funny on all sorts of levels.

“My mother said hello, and to remind you that she owes you one,” Del said, rather than a more conventional hello.

I blinked. I hadn’t expected her to lead with that. I had been part of the team that saved Dacy Mooney’s life, but the researcher who developed the vaccine cure for the vamp plague had really been the hero. All I’d done was help to get her treatment until the meds were ready, but somehow Dacy seemed to think it was all me and this wasn’t the first time she had sent thanks. “Okay. Sure. Whatever.” Man, was I charming and suave or what? “Ummm. You’re welcome. Again.”

That got me a smile and I rolled a shoulder in a shrug. “Buy you a beer?”

She laughed, that feminine tinkle-bell sound so many women could do, which I never had mastered. “Sure.” She reached into a refrigerated ice-filled bucket, one with beer labels on the sides, and pulled out two cold German ones. She twisted off the tops and I accepted mine. We clinked bottles and sipped. The brew was rich and malty and bubbly and delicious. Dang. I was feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.

“So, you’re a hostage?” I asked.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Luther Astor and I. He’s the Mithran donation, but it’s all very proper and polite. I get my job description tonight.”

“Who went to Asheville in your place?”

“Dominique and a human named Winston Beavers.”

I paused with the beer halfway to my mouth. Dominique was Grégoire’s heir, and with Grégoire in Atlanta, that left a hole in vamp politics in general and a huge hole in Clan Arceneau’s leadership. If I wasn’t mistaken, that meant that one of my archenemies—which sounded so comic bookish that I grinned—was in the leadership of one of the city’s most powerful clans. And the girls I was looking for had been on the way to that clan home to party-hearty after leaving Guilbeau’s—in a car with a redhead. Said archenemy was redheaded. Of course, I hadn’t actually talked to anyone who had seen them at the clan home party. All I had was indirect evidence and I knew better than to trust that. Well. Wasn’t that ducky? I wondered why I hadn’t been informed about all the changes in Clan Arceneau. Oh. Right. I wasn’t hanging around vamp central much these days.

“Hmmph,” I grunted, and sipped my beer. “You know anything about vamps from Texas being in town?” I asked.

“No. I’m still being read in, though. I’m supposed to attend this meeting tonight,” she said, “so I’m guessing I’ll be on security somehow.”

I chuckled and Adelaide laughed with me. She was a lawyer, not a shooter, and all I could think of was her stopping an intruder and making him sign a release form before belting him. I drained my beer and dropped the bottle into the empties bucket; it landed with a satisfying
clink-clank
. “Just to cover my bases, my friend Molly is in town and she went off with some vamps I didn’t recognize by scent.” And that felt all kinds of wrong to say aloud. “She wasn’t happy about leaving with them, though I’m not ready to call it kidnapping. Yet. Do you know anything about her?”

“No.” Del looked worried, which warmed my heart. I sucked at making and keeping friends, so it was nice to know someone cared about the people I cared about.

“We’ll get started when Derek—” The door opened, admitting Derek Lee and six of his men, all former active-duty Marines, all African-American, and each and every one badass to the soul.

Derek sought me out from the doorway. “Injun Princess,” he called out. It sounded like a barracks full of men being called to attention.

“Legs!” his men chorused loudly as they filed in.

All eyes in the room turned to me, and everyone and everything went mute, including the TVs. My palms started to sweat. I hated to be in charge of meetings. Derek, as if knowing what I was feeling, snorted in mildly malicious amusement. The seven were all dressed in night camo and looking so self-confident that the tattooed arm wrestlers puffed up like junkyard dogs.

“Sit,” I said to the room at large, and chuckled when they all did.
Well-trained
junkyard dogs, chairs scraping, gear dropping, space provided and taken. Wrassler followed Derek’s men in and took up a stance against the wall beside the door. I nodded to him and he nodded back, putting one hand behind him, probably to be near a spine-holstered gun. Quietly paranoid. I liked that in a man.

“I’ll make it quick ’cause the chili smells good and I’m hungry.” That got a laugh and I leaned my backside against a table, stretching out my legs, pointing my toes. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Jane Yellowrock, currently the part-time Enforcer of New Orleans, and we have visitors coming in for a
gather
.” That startled them, even Derek. Leo musta told them about the guests, but not about the formality of a
gather
. Interesting.

“I don’t know who’s coming in, and won’t until the day of arrival, but you’ve already been making guest quarters clean and secure?”

“Six guest suites in all,” Tattooed Dude One said, after a quick nod from Wrassler. He had a tattoo of a hawk on his bald dome. It was meant to be intimidating, but I thought it was cute. And knew better than to say so. I nicknamed him Hawk Head. “Two currently in use. Four more in prep. Hallway cameras are operational,” he said. “Sprinkler system and exit alarms tested and are a go. Elevators are capable of lockdown. Exits are clear.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t know him, and needed to. I made a note in my book to read the dossiers of all humans in vamp HQ. “Electronic security?”

Wrassler said, “All suites have been swept. All conference rooms have been swept. Ballroom and party suites have been swept. No surveillance detected.” Which was not the same thing as there being no outside surveillance. Got it.

“I know you’re already under tight quarters,” I said, “and this makes it even tighter, adding guests and their security to the mix, but it won’t last long. So be cool, and if they try to stir up something, bring it to Wrassler or Leo’s primo.” They nodded, including Adelaide, who was sitting at a table, beer in front of her, taking notes in a dark purple notebook. The notebook matched her tees, her boots, and the necklace she wore—a massive purple stone wrapped in copper wire. Huh. Color-coordinated all the way.

“Two changes to the protocol,” I said. “I want three people at both entries at all times when we have guests or when we have a social event. Two will stay put if one guest needs escorting. The one guard escorting will walk side by side with said guest, not in front to prevent attack from the rear. When two or more guests need escorting, one guard will lead, and the other will follow. The remaining guard will call backup to the front, maintaining a two-man team at the entrances at all times. I want that fourth guard in place before the others clear the foyer.

“Back gates are to be treated like embassy security or prison security. Anyone here familiar with that protocol?”

A hand went up and it was Tattoo Dude’s. “I worked San Quentin for ten years. Know all about the entrance protocols. If you got mirrors and other equipment, I can set it up.”

“Get with Wrassler,” I said. “Make it happen.”

When Tattoo Dude looked confused, Wrassler lifted a hand. “Me. If Janie likes or hates you, she’ll rename you.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Derek asked.

“I’m guessing she’s withholding final decision.”

Derek stared at me. That wasn’t quite right. I didn’t know Hawk Head or Tattoo Dude, but they got names. That said, Derek and I had issues—like, even though he worked for the fangheads and for me, he didn’t like nonhumans. I shrugged at him and went back to my notes.

“Night of the
gather
, I want all hands present. All leaves are hereby canceled.” Several people groaned, and I shook my head with a slight smile. “Next, I want everyone in teams. I’ll be going over the list for security personnel, and will be putting everyone in place on the night of the soiree. Go over the protocols, especially the amended procedures, and watch your e-mail in-boxes.” I made several more announcements, all of it boring stuff, and then said, “Derek, get with me early on the night of. Any questions?” No hands went up and I said, “Last thing. As of seventy-two hours ago, we have a new vamp in town. Rented a limo in Texas. Anyone know about it?” No hands went up, no one looked secretive. Wrassler looked baffled and troubled. Vamps did not enter another’s territory without certain procedures being followed. To him, I said, “Take it up with Bruiser and Leo. See if they know anything. See if one of the visitors for the
gather
is coming from Texas.”

Wrassler said, “No one is coming from Texas. No one.”

That wasn’t good. Vamps making trouble at a
gather
wasn’t unknown. A new vamp in town just before a
gather
was worrisome. “Meeting’s adjourned,” I said. “Let’s eat.”

Moments later, Adelaide brought me a bowl of chili with beans, over rice, and a loaf of bread on a wood paddle, with a serrated bread knife. We sat with Wrassler and caught up on Asheville, and the new personnel in HQ, and shared info and files on our electronic tablets, including the dossiers on the new people. It was homey. Chatty. Fun.

Until Beast sank her claws deeply into my brain.

I saw movement. A smear of red and blue. A glint of metal—a blade, moving fast. I whirled to my left, lifting that hand in an instinctive block. Caught the descending arm on the meaty part of my lower arm. My right hand went for the bread knife on the table as I moved. Right foot shoved my weight, left ball of foot pivoting. Twisted my left arm around the attacker’s right, securing it. Knocked away the attacker’s knife with a right fist to his wrist. Heard the bone break.

Rising but still ducked, I blocked his other arm. Twisted my body under the attacker’s arm. Slammed my shoulder into his stomach. Brought the knife in hard. Felt it penetrate clothes and slide off of leather, like a belt. Felt it press against flesh. Stopped at the first faint smell of human.

I chuffed in disgust and continued my pivot, torquing more power into the shoulder, drawing on Beast’s strength. Tossed my blunt table knife into the corner. Lifted my attacker off his feet, his weight change part of the move. Whirled and dropped him.

He landed flat. The sound was like a dozen sandbags hitting, and an “Oomph” of lost breath. I fell across him, one hand under his chin, clawing at his throat, the other clawing into his abs.

“You’re dead,” he managed. It was a promise.

Hunter attacked in safe place,
Beast thought at me.
Pack hunters!

I blinked away Beast before she/I ripped into his soft belly. In the same instant, I hit him in the side of the neck with my fist, with enough force to knock him out. His eyes rolled in his head. I leaped to my feet and put my back to the wall. No one else was attacking. I risked a glance down.
Dang
. Hawk Head was out cold.

I growled low, the vibration filling the room.
Fun!
Beast chuffed at me.
More!

Everyone stared. No one else had moved. I was pretty sure no one was even breathing. Wrassler stood slowly and walked to my side of the table. He nudged Hawk Head with a pointed toe. “Derek, secure the prisoner,” he said.

“Not just yet,” I whispered. I swallowed, forcing Beast back down. I managed a breath that hurt all the way to my toes. Chuffed it out.

“Why not?” Wrassler asked.

“Whose clan is he?” I asked.

“Clan Arceneau,” Wrassler said. His face fell as he put it together. Grégoire and his heir were both gone, leaving the clan home in the hands of Grégoire’s secondo heir—who was well known to be my enemy, Adrianna.

The memory came back in an instant, rushing through me like a steaming deluge.

I had been at a vamp party. I had slid open the pocket door to the darkened powder room, seeing myself in a slanted mirror, haloed in shadows. Stepping in, I flicked on the light.

A blur swept toward me from the left, crossing the mirror. Time dilated and slowed. Beast screamed deep inside, shoving her strength and reflexes into my veins with a rush of power and heat. Vamp fangs and claws flashed in the mirrors, falling toward me.

The weight of two vamps crushed down immobilizing me. Fangs biting. The next few moments were desperate as I tried to fight my way free. But I was losing. Above me, another vamp watched, icy power flowing from her. Red hair, curly and wild, fanned out, a gold torque etched with Celtic symbols hung around her neck, a gold cuff shaped like a snake climbed one arm. I staked her just as Leo appeared.
“Adrianna,”
he had said, the word so full of power, it had made my skin ache.

Yeah. That had been a bad one. Me bleeding in a building full of vamps. It was amazing that I had survived. And later, of course, I’d staked her properly. But for reasons of his own, Leo had brought her back to her undead life, and kept her somewhere until she recovered from her own double death and the mind-breaking separation of anamchara with one of the Damours—black-magic-practicing witch-vamps I had killed. Yeah. We had a history. None of it important, but all of it bad.

And now, with Grégoire and Dominique out of town, Adrianna was in control of Arceneau, one of the most powerful clans in the U.S. Adrianna, who had flaming red hair, like the person in the car with Katie’s missing girls. And the girls had gone to Adrianna’s territory and then disappeared.
Crap!
No way was this gonna end well.