Shadow Rites: A Jane Yellowrock Novel (33 page)

Alex turned in as well, taking the necessary tablets to bed with him to continue the search for conspirators. Eli, Edmund, and I made a trip to vamp HQ, to fill Leo in on the problems in the hope that the MOC might, maybe, put off his participation in the big witch hoedown. Not likely. Not likely at all.

Leo Has a Type?

“You believe, then, that this superwitch, Tau, has a plan to compel the witches and Mithrans into war and kill whoever is left alive. Or undead,” Leo said, adjusting his cuffs and looking himself over in a long cheval mirror beside his desk. “Something of the like was to be expected, of course. Witches have always been notoriously sly and unpredictable. Unlike Mithrans, who can drink of a subject or scion to determine reliability and loyalty, and to compel that loyalty when needed.” He ran a hand down his flat stomach and turned to see himself from every angle. Satisfied, he removed solid gold cuff links, not the sterling silver ones he might have worn to show his power to Mithrans, and dropped them in a velvet bag held by one of his valets, whom I had seen but never met.

Lawrence Hefner was English, with a south London accent, according to Edmund. He wasn’t exactly a blood-servant, nor was he a blood-slave. He was more of a rarity in the vamp world, a human in that strange position of salaried specialist who did not drink vamp blood beyond that which
was necessary to be trusted. Larry, who had sniffed at me when I called him that, drew the strings of the bag tight and placed it carefully on Leo’s desk. Leo’s shirt was a modern blend, both wrinkle-free, soft, and heavy-starched-looking all at once, tailored to show Leo’s trim form and the muscles beneath. Modern tech fashions were pretty cool.

But as I stood there, Leo unbuttoned the shirt, pulled it from the tuxedo pants, and tossed it at Larry. I blinked. Twice. I hadn’t seen Leo shirtless in . . . well, never. At least not any time when he wasn’t bloody and damaged. This was different. His once-olive skin was pale and scarred, the kind of scars that indicated damage no human would have survived. Dozens of life-threatening injuries. Beneath it, lithe muscles flexed as he took another shirt from Larry and pulled it on. This one was linen, the cut loose across the shoulders. As he buttoned it, I met Bruiser’s gaze. His eyes twinkled, his expression an understated amusement, as if to say,
Yes. He’s pretty. I know. I remember seeing him strip off a shirt before.

I realized that there was a reason Leo had us meet here, while he was dressing. He was showing off. I shook my head at Bruiser as if to say,
Oh. My. Gosh. Really? Really!
Bruiser’s eyes went to laughter and he looked away, at the rug beneath his feet, as if to hide his expression.

“Yes,” I said to Leo, bringing my attention back to the conversation and away from the silent communication with my sugar lump. “This very situation we’re facing
has
to be why there’s a schism between vamps and witches. Because a small group of determined, powerful, prepared witches could ambush and destroy a larger, better-armed group of vamps.” Leo lifted an eyebrow at me in disdain. “In a heartbeat,” I said. “No matter how fast a well-fed vamp might compel or mesmerize them, witches can work in daylight and from a distance. If the witches ever decide to take over the paranormal world, vamps are screwed. Especially when fighting a
senza onore
witch.” Leo knew all this. Dang it.

“Hmm. What do you think, Lawrence?” Leo asked, ignoring everything I had just said.

“I prefer the other, milord. The fabric, while not traditional, will provide comfort in a stressful situation, and should you take off your tuxedo suit coat for some reason, the lines of that dress shirt are more appealing.”

“I tend to agree. Now, what about the silks and the cummerbund?”

Now he was just messing with me. I was tired, worn, it was nearly dawn, the day of the Witch Conclave. I sat down. Without permission. Larry sniffed at me again. So I put my feet up on the desk and crossed my boots at the ankles. And yawned. Larry turned his back on me, clearly scandalized.

Leo laughed. “I depend upon my Enforcer to care for me,” he said. He took in the entire office, which was tightly packed with too many people, all watching him dress or carefully looking elsewhere. His gaze finally settled on Bruiser and Edmund, who had stepped up behind me, in some kind of unspoken accord. Leo’s face went tight and hard, his scent peppery in the crowded room. “Even a
senza onore
witch
,” he said, emphasizing the words, “will not stop this parley. It is essential to the survival of the city and to my clan and my bloodline. It is essential to every Mithran and witch and human in the land. And it
will
take place.” He gestured to the door. “Everyone out. Except the Enforcers and the Onorio.” He glanced at Eli. “And that one.”

The room cleared fast, and as the door closed, Leo said, “My Enforcer and the Onorios shall all be in attendance. I will be quite safe at the conclave.”

I said, “But
no one else
will be.”

His shirt hanging open, Leo faced me, piercing me with his eyes. His power buffeted me, cold and potent, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I realized then that he was blood-flushed. He’d been drinking, and drinking deeply, from all the clan blood-masters and from the Son of Darkness in the lowest subbasement. The feel of his power along my flesh made me want to drop my feet to the floor and put my back to the wall, but to Leo, that would have appeared to be a defensive move, would have suggested that I was afraid, would have made me lose face in
the presence of my enemies. So I stayed where I was, drawing on Beast to keep my breath and heart rate low and the stink of my fear inside me.

Leo’s tone was low, but every word was enunciated clearly, as if to drive it into the top of my skull like a nail. “If I die, there will be war among the Mithrans in New Orleans. All your friends will die. All the witches will die. Hundreds of humans will die in the immediate fallout. Within twenty-four hours. And after that bloodbath, the Europeans will walk in unopposed. At that time,
thousands
will die and the military will come in and destroy everything that registers on the psy-meter. Every
thing
and every
one
. It will be war and utter devastation.”

I knew all this. We all did.

Leo went on. “The United States military has laid plans for this. They are called
contingency plans
.” He flicked that stabbing gaze up at Eli. “You will tell me that you have heard of such things.”

Eli was silent for the space of several breaths, and without looking up at him, I knew he was weighing loyalties between Uncle Sam and family. When he spoke, however, his voice was sure and certain. “Yes, sir. I have.”

Leo pulled his eyes back to me. “Therefore, you will keep me alive, for I am all that stands between all that you hold dear and a horror and ethnic cleansing that has not been seen in this hemisphere since the native tribal peoples were decimated and the population of the Amazon River disappeared in blood and disease and horror.”

Copying my partner, I said, “Yes, sir.”

Leo said, “The people I assign shall be yours to command. You will keep the peace. You will keep us all alive. It is your
job
.” I nodded and he said, “Make it so.”

With that pithy
Star Trek
order, Leo left the room. I stood up fast and shook off the effects of the magical demands. In the hallway, Larry met Leo, trailing after, talking about the benefits of scarlet silks versus total black.

Derek Lee wandered over and I turned my attention to him. “You got one day,” I said. “I want Ming of Mearkanis fed and dressed in finery. Get her jeweled up and her hair done. Make sure she’s not just presentable but a
hundred ten percent. Not saying we’ll need her, but if Tau shows up, Ming could be the weapon we need to bring her down.”

“Why do you think that?” Derek asked.

“She isn’t pinned anymore. If she’s fed as well as Leo, has fed on Leo’s blood, they’ll have a link, which might benefit us in case of a fight. And she might recognize the witch magic faster than anyone else.”

Derek gave a head-tilt shrug, not agreeing or disagreeing with my reasoning, but accepting the order.

“Find Katie a safe place, not at her house, and make sure there are plenty of humans and loyal vamps to protect her and the kids. Set it up like a presidential security team, with observers and shooters in the high points all around. Protocol Stupid Move.” I had named it that because it was used only when we were backed into a corner so deep that any move at all was likely to kill us all.

“As to the conclave, make sure Grégoire is armed but pretty. He’ll be our final backup on-site.

“Make sure this place is locked down. I don’t want an ant to crawl along the street without you knowing about it and it being made dead.”

“Yes, ma’am, Legs.” Derek saluted, which I didn’t think he had ever done. If there was a slight trace of snide in Derek’s tone or gesture, letting me know he had seen my reaction to Leo’s naked chest, I ignored it. A girl was allowed to admire. And then feel stupid for it.

Before I left, I made three calls to specific members of the HQ security team, with additional orders I told no one else. Anything Leo was involved with had a way going FUBARed, and I wanted a net to catch us, just in case. They would be inside the ward, on the grounds, and would make sure there were no magical icons buried in the ground. They would also be there, ready to follow orders at a moment’s notice.

*   *   *

Beyond drained, depleted, and worn slap-out, I slept at Bruiser’s, beneath the framed bacon shirt, held in Bruiser’s arms, and woke up around noon, alone in the bed. I stretched like a big-cat, arms and legs moving in a long
sinuous curve of muscle and tendon, and, silently, I slipped into the bath for a hot shower. Afterward, I pulled on the T-shirt he had worn while we ate a late dinner on the gallery, watching the world pass by. It had ended up between me and the burned persimmon couch in his living room, when we made love. The first time. The knit now smelled of his cologne, vaguely of Creole-Cajun fusion spices, and of him, heated and hungry for things other than food. I held the cloth to my nose and breathed in, holding his scent close. His odor was still changing, though by increments now, instead of by leaps and bounds as it did after he was changed from blood-servant to Onorio.

Feeling content, I checked the time and my messages. Everything was going according to plan, the Witch Conclave was going perfectly, the Youngers had everything in hand, everyone was doing his and her jobs, and I had some time to relax.
Ducky
. It paid to have minions. Not that I’d ever call the Youngers or Derek Lee that. I’m not stupid all the time.

I combed out my hair, leaving it to dry down my back before braiding it. I had learned my lesson about putting my hair up wet. In the Louisiana humidity, hair could stay wet all day, all night, and all the next day, if not allowed to air. I also brushed my teeth and left my toothbrush next to his. It was weird to see it there, next to my comb, my body oil, my face cream, which he had bought for me, and my lipstick. All in his apartment. Just weird.

I left the bath to catch the scent of shrimp and grits from Café Amelie and beignets with chicory coffee from Café du Monde. And tea made by Bruiser. He made great tea, especially for breakfast, strong enough to kick-start a mule. I liked a good strong tea, but Bruiser’s idea of breakfast tea was way more British than mine, which is to say, way more strong.

I heard him moving in the kitchen nook and followed him there, to climb up on one of the three white bar chairs. I rested one elbow on the bar and my head on my lower arm as I thumbed through the texts awaiting me. Again, nothing urgent. I put away the cell and looked up at my sorta boyfriend. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing my
favorite thin linen-weave pants that hung low on his hips. “Can I hire you as my full-time chef?” I thought for a moment and added, “And lover?”

“You want me for a gigolo?” He placed a ladylike cup of tea beside my elbow and shared a half smile with me.

I let him see the satisfaction in my eyes. “You
are
uniquely qualified for the position.”

“Which position?” he inquired, his eyes heating as if he remembered several from last night.

I picked up my teacup in both hands and brought it to my mouth. The steam curled around my face, warm and soothing. “All of them?”

He pulled a serving spoon from a round utensil holder and opened a food-delivery container. As he dished up a late breakfast, he gestured to his shirt on me. “Is it a theme for us? Bacon?” he asked. I pulled out the tee and read it upside down. It was a tee I had bought for him at the touristy shop after seeing it hanging in the store window. It had a big raindrop on it and garish letters reading,
I LOVE NOLA RAIN. IT
SOUNDS LIKE BACON FR
YING
.

“Could be worse,” I said. “It could read Life Without Bacon.”

“True.” He dished up shrimp and grits into a china pasta bowl and set a plate of beignets between us. He leaned on the bar and dipped a spoon into his own bowl of spiced breakfast, and we ate several bites in companionable silence. “Shall I have that shirt framed too?” he asked.

“Eh.” I swallowed peppery grits and sipped my tea, which was a breakfast blend strong enough to bend iron bars and leap a locomotive, perfect for the spices. “Too much bacon might spoil the décor.”

He laughed and leaned farther across the bar to cup my head in his hand and claim my mouth as his own. An hour later, I went home to a nearly empty house. Molly and Evan were at the conclave, talking and voting, along with every other witch in town. Eli and Alex were at the conclave monitoring the witches’ security arrangements. The kids were in the safe house where Katie was sleeping, guarded by Derek’s most experienced men, the last members of Team Vodka. And by Brute. How weird was my
life when I was grateful to have a werewolf guarding my godchildren?

Edmund was sleeping somewhere. Bruiser was at HQ making sure everything was okay there. I hadn’t been alone in the house in months, and the silence that had once been peaceful was unnerving. So I pulled out all three of my new fighting leathers and tried them on to decide which one to wear. Based on color. On style. Tried out all the color-coded custom Kydex holsters on the new weapons rigs. Badass. Totally badass.