Black Arts: A Jane Yellowrock Novel (30 page)

Shoffru stopped in the entrance, taking in the room as if measuring it for carpet. Or as if imagining himself as owner. Proprietary. That was Jack. Oh yeah. Trouble in a Tux, with lizard. Should be a drink name.

Fanning out around the couple were vamps and humans. Lots of vamps and humans, including a woman who looked like a pirate herself, her face and ears studded and beringed, a sword hanging low on her hips. Why was she carrying a sword? No one but Pellissier security had been allowed weapons. But the thought evaporated. The woman was Jack’s heir, I deduced, from her position beside him. I blinked and the vision of the woman drifted to the side. Something seemed important about her, but I couldn’t figure what. She slid from my mind as insignificant, irrelevant. Shoffru had brought in maybe thirty of his people, all of them wearing black, encircling Adrianna like a rose delivered in a black velvet box.

I remembered the buses, chartered in Galveston, and had a mental image of pale faces peering out the windows at New Orleans, like fanghead tourists. The reek of unknown vamp filled the room, sharp and biting, and I bit my cheek to keep from sneezing at the commingled, acrid stench. When I could talk, I said, “So the invitation got them all through security, and the invite means we can’t shoot or stake them here.” Gee made a little “Mmmm” of agreement, and I tapped my mic, giving me a private line to Angel Tit. “You seeing this?”

“Yeah. You want it broadcast?”

“Yes.” I tapped again and said, “Everyone check your cells. The woman with the pirate-looking dude is Adrianna, the vamp Leo is hunting. For now, she has what amounts to diplomatic immunity and is to be treated with absolute deference, unless she starts trouble.” I thought for a moment, working it through. “With all the backup Shoffru brought, things could get dicey if she vamps out, especially with so many humans around, so everyone keep cool. In the event of trouble, hold fire, I repeat, hold fire, unless I give the word, and even then make sure you have only vamps in your sights.

“Wrassler, make sure Leo is informed of all this. Derek, send three more of your people into the hallway. Switch to infrared or low-light opticals as needed, should the lights go out,” I said. The instructions on tactics were totally unnecessary—Derek’s guys knew their business—but the human blood-servants who were working security might not be as well trained. Plus, I wanted it on tape, recorded, just in case the poop hit the prop. “Those with no low-light gear, hit the deck if the lights go out so the line of fire is free.” That got me some insulted looks from the regular HQ security staff, but I ignored them.

“Copy,” Wrassler said into my earpiece. “Copy,” Derek echoed.

I tapped off my mic, not wanting what I had to say next to be heard. “Gee. Nothing says we can’t follow them when they leave and take them then.”

“True. If opportunity presents itself, I will follow them. They bear watching.”

“I have a feeling they bear killing, but staking Shoffru isn’t my call.”

From across the room, Jodi strode toward me, her gait strong, her skirt trapped between her legs, the outfit not made for a determined stride. “Jane, why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Jodi asked, reaching my side.

“Because you’re a cop and this has
problem
written all over it?” I asked.

She slid a hand into a slit in her skirt and I knew she was readying her service weapon. “Yeah, well, when the dust settles, remind me that we need to chat. You can buy me that beer.”

I nodded, and Gee said, “Our PsyLED guest may be less wise than you, Detective.”

Rick was walking directly toward the couple who still stood framed in the decorative doorway, and moving with his cat’s grace, he swept three champagne flutes off a waiter’s tray. Jodi cursed. Without appearing to hurry, Rick quickly reached the arched opening and presented the couple with two of the glasses. They chatted, Rick’s body language seeming jovial and introductory, and he lifted his glass, almost appearing to toast them. They responded in kind, all sipping, all smiles. And I had to wonder what game Ricky Bo was playing. But the tension the two newcomers were radiating did seem to decrease.

“Pellissier on the move,” came through my ear wire. Leo was on his way down. Through Beast’s binding, I felt the MOC’s fury and his speed.

“Oh, crap,” I said to Wrassler in the mic. He grunted. Beside me, Gee put his hand to his hip, and I realized he was holding the hilt of a long sword, one I hadn’t noticed until now. I hated it when the people around me used magic to hide stuff. It seemed like cheating and the little girl in me wanted to shout,
No fair!
I evaluated the sword in an eyeblink. The blade was plain, a deep blued steel, but the quillon, é
cusson
, and guard were etched sterling over steel in fleur-de-lis, leaves, and vines, and the pommel was a silver-gray stone that flashed blue with the light. The sword had a sheen of magic about it, as if it had special powers or something. A magical sword in the hands of a glamoured bird-creature. My life was so freaking weird.

As if they had heard that Leo was heading down—and maybe Shoffru’s ears were that good, what did I know?—the pirate and Adrianna moved from the doorway into the ballroom, Rick keeping pace. My boyfriend-of-sorts glanced at me once and then back to Shoffru, his body moving like that of a cat intent on interesting prey.

Gee eased the fancy blade out partway and leaned in, sniffing as the vamp scent grew. Softly, for my ears only, he whispered, “Fee-fi-fo-fum. I smell the blood of a witchy one. Dark magics. Blood magics. Black arts all.”

CHAPTER 15

Toss the Dress Away

He was right. Buried beneath the scent of vamp and human and blood-meals was the prickly odor of witch magic, indicative of a witch using magic or of a magical implement—a device charmed by a witch—being drawn upon. I thought about the blurring magic of a charm meant to elude a camera, and of V. Sunrise down, and I drew on Beast. She padded forward, peering through my eyes, lending me her vision. A bright mist seemed to cover the two vamps, a dark rose fog of a magical keep-away field. The energies didn’t look or smell familiar to me, shaped by an unknown witch. But I did get a hint of cedar and sharp green, so maybe a vamp carried a charm made by an earth practitioner who had drawn on her own blood for a spell, and then added the blood of something else, maybe a small rabbit or large rodent. It felt vaguely like a keep-away spell, but with a dark, magical twist that made me feel itchy all over. There were hints of other magics in the room, other charms, but only the charms on these two seemed important.

To my left, Leo appeared in the house entrance with dual micropops in the air. Katie, his heir, stood behind him, her dark teal skirts billowing in the wind of their vamp-fast passage. Every person in the room turned to them, assessing the two in light of the many across the way. A tingle of Leo’s power spread through the room, Leo’s alone, not the power he could draw from the gathered, and Jack smiled, his lips closed, and slid his arm around Adrianna. The two looked cozy. If they were aligned, and especially if they were sharing blood and sleeping together, then Adrianna would have told him everything she knew about Leo, including Leo’s ability to draw from the clans, making our little beat-the-crap-out-of-Leo scene an interesting but futile exhibition. And if she had switched alliances, then where did that leave Clan Arceneau? In the hands of the shaking panicked vamp standing in the corner, struggling to not vamp out, staring at her superior in stunned horror, surrounded by silent blood-servants. I saw someone I recognized, but couldn’t place, move up beside the shaking fanghead and slide a solicitous arm around her. Brown hair. Familiar. Nothing dangerous about her. I looked back at the action.

The overhead speakers announced the arrival. “Leonard Eugène Zacharie Pellissier, blood-master of the southeastern United States, possessor of all territories and keeper of the hunting license of every Mithran below the Mason-Dixon Line, from the eastern border of Texas at the Sabine River, east to the Atlantic and south to the Gulf, with the exception of Florida. And on his arm, heir to Clan Pellissier, Katherine Louisa Dupre.”

Leo’s power rose higher, and I understood that by appearing as only two, Leo and Katie were giving a show of force of their own, all vamp power, and not just all vamp bodies, as Shoffru had done. The impression was that the two of them could take on the whole room, if they cared to do so. Leo’s and Katie’s blended scents seemed to whisper as they wove together and filled the space, and Shoffru’s smile went stiff. Beast felt the pull on the binding, and my insides tightened.

Behind Leo, and late, stepped two humans—only two—Del and Troll, their primos. The humans looked cool, calm, and collected, though they must have dashed like mad to get here so fast.

Katie placed her fingertips on Leo’s arm, and the Pellissier four moved across the room, so perfectly in sync it could have been choreographed. Through Beast’s binding, I felt Leo directing his escort, and felt an urge to join them, to make my footsteps fall into rhythm with theirs.

As if in mirror image, Adrianna slid from Jack’s Shoffru’s embrace, placed her hand on his arm, and they started across the ballroom floor, their retainers circling behind them, leaving Rick standing in an empty patch of floor. His nose curled as if he scented changes in the air. I took a breath and smelled it too. Aggression. Dominance. Something was about to happen.

To the side, the woman with the sword put a hand to the hilt and looked around the room. I hadn’t heard her speak, but she was communicating anxiety and anger with body language—all vampy-style, her head and spine twisting around in that inhuman way they have when they think no one is watching. For a moment I wanted, needed, to get her scent, but that desire faded as her gaze settled on me. Something seemed to tighten around me like a noose. Her eyes narrowed and I realized that she had been looking for me, for me personally. And then I
saw
the sword. I had seen it before and forgotten. Something was wrong with this. How had she gotten a sword in past security?

The sword-carrying vamp turned and watched Adrianna. As if feeling her eyes, Adrianna turned to the swordswoman. And she smiled. It was a purely sexual smile, full of longing and desire. And that thought too faded.

Beast slammed into me and I followed her instincts as I stepped toward the two groups, angling to meet them in the middle, rather than behind Leo. Jodi and Gee were at my sides and there was nothing I could do to keep them back and safe, short of shooting them myself. Beast was growling deep inside, but I didn’t have time to deal with her, not now, and I shoved her down.

Leo’s power rose, lifting and swirling Katie’s skirts in a false breeze, and moving toward the guests. It raked across my skin like rose thorns, and met the witchy power of the keep-away spell in a small explosion of blue sparks. The skirt of Adrianna’s gown lifted, and Shoffru hesitated, just slightly, midstride, as his spell-charm was countered by Leo’s pure power. His mouth firmed and he seemed to push back. The sparks went green and scarlet, like Christmas lights. And Katie’s skirts reversed course to swirl back as if in a strong wind.

Holy crap.
It wasn’t just a charm. Jack Shoffru was a witch-vamp, like the Damours. And he had Adrianna—who had allied with the blood magic family and who knew all their secrets—on his arm. No wonder there were magics all through the room. No wonder the woman had gotten a sword in through the humans. A master vamp with witch magics was crazy scary. Shoffru’s power tightened, as if the air itself were growing thicker and harder to breathe. I searched out the swordswoman, but she was missing. Dang, where—there! At the entrance to the room. But even seeing her, I found it hard to remember why I cared she was there. Spelled, heavily spelled. Beast swatted at the spell from deep inside me, but nothing happened and she withdrew. And thoughts of the swordswoman slid away.

From the outside entrance spun a green . . . thing. Two of them. Grindylows. They raced past Rick, moving almost too fast for me to focus on them, but I knew what to look for, and this second shock made my breath hitch. The taller one came to my waist and had joints that bent the wrong way, limbs that were too slender and knobby for his body. His head was oddly shaped, his fangs were out, and when he ran, he was up on his toes, like a dog or cat, though he was generally bipedal, not a quadruped. His claws were out, looking like steel about three inches long. His pants and shirt were loose and baggy, hiding a body that I knew to be vaguely froglike, the skin hairless and green with darker green streaks, like dark serpentine stone. Darker and not as tall as the last adult one I’d seen, this grindy was golem-sized, about four feet high. And at his side was Pea, Rick’s juvenile pet grindy. Neon green–furred and kitten-sized, she had her claws out and fangs showing.

They spun to a halt in the middle of the two parties and the taller grindy hissed, his shoulders raised high on his neck. Pea, standing on two back feet, claws swiping in threat, chittered. Shoffru stopped, his eyes on the creatures from myth and legend. His lizard had curled on his shoulder and darkened to a bronze brown. Clearly the pirate-witch-suckhead had never seen a grindylow, nor had the swordswoman, nor the lizard. It ducked back inside the pirate’s shirt as the grindys herded Jack, his swordswoman, and Adrianna together. Derek and two of his men stood guard around them, weapons not exactly pointed at the pirate and his crew, but not pointed away either.

I said, “A
gather
is a place of peace, Shoffru. That means magical as well as physical. Back off or the guys carrying silver shot might mistake your actions as hostile and shoot you full of holes. And the grindylows might get ticked.” And then I blinked. There were two grindys in one place. That meant that the African weres were here. And even as I had the thought, they walked into the entrance.

An African werelion in his human form stood there, his kinky coarse black hair streaked with lighter brown, his eyes lion-gold in a dark-skinned face. I had taken the time to study the names from the were-community that Rick had mentioned, especially the werelion who was mentoring him, and this was Asad. “Asad,” the announcer said, “emissary of the Party of African Weres, and his wife, Nantale. With them is Paka.”