Blood in Her Veins (Nineteen Stories From the World of Jane Yellowrock) (30 page)

Ahead of me, I heard more weapons
schnick
and
chock-a-chock
in firing readiness. Muscles swallowed so hard I felt it through his spine.

“Call out. Tell them who I am.”

Without waiting for a second prompt, Muscles shouted, “Dis here Jane Yellowrock. She come for . . .” To me he whispered, “What you come for?”

I thought about that. Admitting that I was itching to stake his master would probably not be my smartest move. “As Leo Pellissier's envoy. He's heard about the witch girl and wants to talk,” I said softly, knowing that we were possibly close enough for any vamps to hear.

“Leo send her,” Muscles shouted. “She want to talk about Shauna Landry.”

“Tell them we're walking up to the door. Tell them to stand down.”

“We coming. Put you guns away.”

I didn't hear any sounds of that, but I pushed at Muscles and we walked toward the front door and up a hill I hadn't noted from the satellite maps, keeping slightly to the right of the entrance, keeping what I hoped was a clear line of sight for Margaud.

•   •   •

The hill was a berm of built-up land, and the house was on stilts some ten feet higher. I figured the height was to protect against storm surge from the gulf or flood from upstream.

I stopped fifteen feet from the bottom step and called up, “I'm Jane Yellowrock, Leo Pellissier's Enforcer, here to talk parley with Clermont Doucette.”

“Parley? What dat is?” A deep voice asked from the door.

Mentally I stopped for a long moment.
Right. I'm not in New Orleans anymore.
“The Vampira Carta has a special section for parley, meaning that one person asks for parley and hospitality and the other accepts the
request and offers and guarantees safety. Both agree not to kill the other or act in violence except in self-defense.”

“I don' believe in dat Latin paper. We gots our own code.”

“Fine. You wanna talk or you wanna fight? 'Cause you will surely lose if you choose fighting.”

He laughed, the sound one of silken delight that vamps employ when they want to cajole and charm. Or insult. I could hear the insolent amusement in this tone. From my right I heard the distinctive sound of a shotgun readied for firing. From my left, I heard the same distinctive sound. And I saw a small red laser appear on the forehead of a vamp lost in the shadows until then. The chuckle died away and the targeted vamp stepped back, behind the door and into safety. A silence filled the night where the Doucette Clan Home stood, the silence of the dead, broken only by the breathing of humans. I counted ten, three of them my guys, two of them Muscles and me, making five more on the porch high over my head.

“How you get your men onto my land?” the vamp asked. “Close to my home?” It was a real inquiry, touched with mild confusion, and it identified the speaker as Clermont Doucette himself.

I didn't answer his question. Instead I repeated my own. “Talk or fight?”

“Talk,” Clermont said. Before the word died, his men had safetied and holstered their weapons, or broken open the shotguns. A match was struck and an oil lamp was lit inside, visible through an unshuttered window, though I was certain the light I had seen earlier had been electric. The men and women who had previously barred my way cleared a path across the front porch and left the head bloodsucker in the center. A woman carried the lamp from the doorway to a table on the porch and set it down before backing away.

“We talk,” Clermont said. “My house de same as your house, my blood de same as your blood, your safety good as my safety. My word on dis.”

It sounded like a formal saying, the giving of his word, and I knew that meant something to people as old as Clermont. I figured I was supposed to say something back, and I thrashed around in my skull for anything appropriate as a rejoinder. I settled on, “Yeah. I won't shoot you or stake you unless you attack me first.” After a moment I added, “Or behead you.”

Clermont chuckled, this time with real amusement. “Bring Pierre Herbert for healin',” he said to someone at his side, and a young human raced
down the steps, passing me. I didn't like having anyone behind me, but I figured Derek had him covered. I gently pushed Muscles away and took a deep breath, trying to settle my heart rate and calm myself. It was never wise to go into a nest of vamps when one smelled worried. Muscles looked at me over his shoulder before moving up the stairs, his feet loud on the plain wooden treads. I followed more slowly, holstering my weapon as I climbed. At the top, Clermont and I looked each other over, taking in details and drawing impressions.

He was tall for a man of his time, nearly six feet, lean and gangly, with dark brown eyes and blondish hair, a combination that seemed common in this area. He was dressed in worn jeans, an ironed white dress shirt, a suit jacket in pale gray or dull blue, and a narrow, charcoal-colored tie. And boots, which somehow surprised me, though boots were ubiquitous in Louisiana. A pair of reading glasses perched on his head and reflected the light.

I don't know what he thought of me, but he indicated the chair closest and waited until I sat, the gesture of a man of his time for a woman, not the way a warrior would act with another warrior. But I wasn't in a position to gripe about his good manners. I was now in the nest of vipers, and no matter how good Derek or Margaud was, any Doucette could kill me way faster than my people could react to save me.

Clermont leaned in and sniffed delicately. “What kind of predator you is?”

“Not one that will hurt you or your people unless you try to hurt me first.”

Clermont thought about that for a while, putting together the phrase
try to hurt me
with the thought that I obviously believed they would not be successful. He nodded slowly and studied me. “I like you boots.”

Which was just weird. I said, “Thanks. Um. They're Lucchese. I like yours too. Tony Lamas?”

He grinned happily, showing only his human teeth, and pulled up his pant legs to display his boots. “You know boots? Dat a good ting. Tony made dese boot for me hisself in nineteen forty-two. Bes' boots I ever have, dey is.” He dropped his pant legs and said, “I got wine, beer, cola, bottled water, coffee, tea. May I offer you some libation to wet you whistle?”

All I could think was,
Crap, I have no idea how to handle this.
I said, “Uh, thanks but no thanks. I'm fine.”

He spread his fingers as if to say,
Fine. Down to business. State your piece
, which was a lot to gather from a single gesture, but there it was. Clermont crossed his ankles and laced his fingers in what looked like a posture personal to him, back when he had been human.

I wasn't good at diplomacy, blowing things up and shooting things being more my way, but I gave it a shot. “Leo Pellissier sent me to . . .” I paused and chose my words carefully. “. . . to inquire about Shauna Landry, who, he has heard, is here against her will, to be turned against her will.”

“Why?” When I looked puzzled, Clermont said, “Why Leo, Blood-Master of New Orleans, show an interest in us now? Why not a hundred year ago, or when he take over for dat worthless king Amaury?”

To that I had no answer. After a seriously awkward pause, I said, “I think he thought it was your choice to swear to him, or him to conquer you in a Blood Challenge, and he . . . mmm, he, mmm, respected you too much to come after you.” Which was a lot better than
he thought you weren't worth the effort
. Knowing Leo it was the latter.

“Blood Challenge? Like a duel?” Clermont asked.

I hadn't studied a Blood Challenge, but I'd run across the term and that definition seemed to fit the parameters. “Sorta, yeah.”

Clermont seemed to study the night sky. When his head moved, I realized he was in a rocking chair, and it started to squeak as he rocked, a pleasant rhythm in the night. Almost as if he called them to sing, frogs started to croak. I'd heard them before while in Beast form, the deep, almost-aching, nearly demanding basso profundo melody. Crickets joined in the song. A barred owl gave its hoot,
hoo-hoo-hoo-hooooo
. Something large splashed in the bayou out front. A night breeze strengthened and the lamp flame wavered, casting shadows that moved and crawled.

The porch we sat on was maybe thirty feet wide and fifteen deep, the house and its entrance behind us and rooms on either end. This protected it from wind and rain on three sides and yet still provided a view of the bayou out front, the live oaks on the property, and the cypress standing in the water, knees pushed up above the surface anchoring the trees in the silty bottom. The last of the sunset was a pale pink line on the horizon, the sky quickly fading to a dark cerulean overhead.

I shouldn't have felt so suddenly peaceful, but I did. I let my body relax into the chair, and I realized that I didn't chill out very often. To take the opportunity in this perilous place was stupid and dangerous, but even knowing that, I let my muscles soften and my backside settle, just a hint, just a bit. “If the offer of tea is still open,” I said, “I'd like a cup of hot.”

“Black,” Clermont said to the shadows. “That good China black what come de mail las' week. And bring out de girl. She can speak for herself to de famed vampire hunter.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Shauna arrived before the tea, holding the hand of a male vampire. She fit her father's description and the small graduation photo provided by Lucky. Her hair was pulled back and braided, leaving her face and narrow jaw fully exposed. She was prettier than her photo, or she had already been fed a lot of vamp blood, improving her skin and her vitality. The boy holding her hand was fully vamped-out, his two-inch fangs down, his pupils wide and black in bloodred sclera; he was close to losing control. If he had been aping human he would have been a pretty boy, with brown hair to his waist, some braided, some hanging free, an aquiline nose and almond-shaped eyes. Gently I asked, “You're Clermont's son?”

“And heir,” he said, his words only slightly misshapen by his fangs. “Gabriel Doucette,” he said, pronouncing it
Gab-rel Doo-see
. “I can give her everything. A home. A place. A long, full life. I love her.”

While he spoke, the girl held his hand tighter and gazed at him with fierce adoration in her eyes.

Well, crap. So much for kidnap or vamp glamour
. I hadn't studied Shakespeare in high school, but even I knew this was starting to look a little like it was more along the lines of
Romeo and Juliet
than a kidnap plot. Unlike
Romeo and Juliet
, however, this story left one family holding all the cards. Lucky Landry had lied to me. Surprise, surprise.

Because he was so close to the edge, I turned my gaze to the girl for a moment, indicating I was speaking to her, before looking off into the night. I said, “Your father thinks you were kidnapped. You're here of your own free will?”

At the word
kidnapped
, power spiked along my arms and settled in my fingertips, an electric pain that promised more if I wasn't careful. It was an attack spell, something prepared beforehand and waiting, a
defensive measure worthy of my friends the Everharts. And I had a feeling if she let loose with it, I'd get hurt. Shauna's voice, when she spoke, was calm, determined. “I love Gabriel.”

I thought about that for a moment before turning to Clermont. “How many witches have you turned in the last hundred or so years?”

His brows went up. He opened his mouth and closed it, pursed his lips, thinking. “Four,” he said, his voice quiet, almost buried in the night noises. I could see him thinking, putting two and two together—his history with witches, my question, my being here at all, which, considering the danger I was in, must be important.

Keeping my tone soft and gentle, I asked, “Have you ever seen a witch make the change into vampire?” When he said nothing, I added, “Witches don't accept the change as well as humans. Witches seldom come out of the devoveo—what you may call the insanity—at all.”

Gabriel growled and his lips pulled back. Beast flooded me with adrenaline.
Kit shows killing teeth,
she thought at me.

“Gabe!” Clermont barked. But Gabriel didn't back down.

I kept my gaze in the distance and my voice soft, saying, “Shauna, did you know there's a strong possibility you could remain insane forever if you get turned?”

She didn't answer, but her eyes widened and her lips parted in alarm. And Gabriel let go of her hand. In the blink of an eye, everything went to hell in a handbasket.

Gabriel lunged at me.

A spot of red appeared on his shirtfront.

He yanked up my arm, his vampire claws piercing my wrist.

The
crack
of a rifle sounded in the night.

Clermont
moved
, his fist impacting his son's chin.

Gabe's body snapped back; his claws shredded my flesh.

Twin
boom
s sounded off to either side.

Vamps all around me vamped-out.

The smell of blood and vampires filled the night.

I dropped back to the chair and stabbed upward with a vamp-killer, the twelve-inch blade sliding into the belly of a vamp who was reaching for me, fangs-first. My angle was wrong to pull the M4, but I managed to get a .380 out. Off safety. Fired. Hitting a vamp in the face. Another in the
shoulder. Vamps screamed, the piercing, horrible wail of death I could hear even over the acoustic damage of the firearms.

Some small part of my brain knew I'd just sentenced a vamp to a slow, painful death by silver poisoning with the vamp-killer, but the gun's ammo was standard, and no vamps would die from that. Humans could, though. Collateral damage. I did not want to hurt the humans.

Derek and one of his men were on the porch. I saw Derek toss two hand grenades into the house, his movements seen as overlays of static images. I closed my eyes and threw an arm over them. The flashbangs took down every vamp inside with the blinding light and intense noise. More vamps were wailing, my ears vibrating painfully with the high tone.