Shadow Rites: A Jane Yellowrock Novel (34 page)

And then I braided my hair and went through my meager collection of makeup to choose what I would wear with my ensemble.
I am such a
girl.

*   *   *

Two hours before dusk, I received the call from Molly and Big Evan. It should have come before I left Bruiser’s and I had been pacing the floors waiting. “We have approval,” Molly said.

“You sound less than excited,” I said.

“You try to get agreement between a couple hundred witches on
any
thing and see how excited you are afterward. It took an hour before they could decide to update the rules on the national council—which hadn’t been updated in over a hundred years, about the time the first telephone lines crossed the nation. Then there were another several hours of wrangling on the need to update the rules on witch behavior and mores, and another hour on who was to enforce those rules and—” I could almost see Molly rubbing her forehead. “All that was before lunch, which was served late because the Seattle coven insisted on a thorough cleansing of the kitchen, in a spiritual sense, not with Comet and elbow grease, though that might have been considered too at some point. And then they had to purify all the copper pots the food was prepared in. And let me tell you, the stink of frankincense, yarrow, and white sage is awful on the air.”

“And?”

“And then, about three p.m., we began to discuss the fanghead situation. And we just got the vote. Leo’s in. His proposal for rapprochement has been approved without
any substantive changes to the wording or the reparations. The mayor and the governor have been notified and will be here for a live, remote, glad-handing photo shoot for the late-evening news.

“Leo will need to be here in time for his speech at seven thirty, to be followed by more speechifying, and a late supper at eight thirty or nine. Can you make it happen?”

“Piece a’ cake,” I said. And crossed my fingers.

*   *   *

I notified everyone about the arrangements by phone call, not text. No way was I leaving anything in the hands of electronics. When everyone was notified, I decided on the new scarlet leathers. Seemed all I needed to get out of my unexpected girly mood and into action was a definite time and date for the vamp festivities. My last line in each call was “Wear the anti-DNA charms I had messengered over. Do
not
forget.”

I powdered up, because the weather was muggy and leather meant sweating no matter what. Over the unscented body powder I pulled on a stretchy knit cami top and undies, and then matching stretchy knit socks. My former combat socks didn’t work anymore. If I had to shift into a half form, I needed room for my feet to grow in width, room for my claws. I slid into the leather pants and snugged up the clasps and ties to get them tight, but not so fitted I couldn’t move when needed. Then the jacket, the rich, scarlet leather so gorgeous I wanted to pet it. They still smelled strong, but I wasn’t a walking, talking olfactory ad for cow skin. And I looked freaking fantastic.

My cell made a burbling sound and I bent to pick it up. The leathers squeaked, which wasn’t good. Vamps had very good ears. Something to remember if I needed to go silent. I opened the cell and read a text from Alex. He had found a witch whose child owned a crotch rocket. A blue Kawasaki. Worse, the teenager was a budding witch too.

I pulled the guest list, and the young witch’s name wasn’t on the list. But . . . Yeah, but. Tau might have killed her to get the bike. Might have allied with the witch or her mom. Too many mights and might nots. But before I could
worry too much, Alex sent another text—
the young witch safe at home
.

I sent a quick text back, putting together the idea of a witch on a motorbike. There were dozens of places a witchy attack might be made upon Leo in the next few hours, but only one place where an attack might take place on the witches and Leo too. I weaponed up and strapped on my silver-plated titanium chain-mail gorget to protect my throat, and layered on the fancy gold-and-citrine gorget over it. When the horn tooted outside, I left the house, looking like a demon from hell. A well-armed demon from hell.

I climbed into the SUV that was my ride and greeted the driver. Wrassler said, “Looking good, Legs. Looking good.” I buckled in and he proceeded to update me on the security measures at HQ. Which gave me time to think.

*   *   *

At HQ things were going according to plan. Between them, Wrassler and Derek had every possible means of attack buttoned up at the vamp council chambers. The building across the street, from which an easy armed attack had once taken place, had been commandeered, and armed personnel walked the halls. Men and women with bullet-resistant shields lined the porte cochere, the shields overlapped to protect Leo’s passage from doorway to the limo. The three limos each had mapped out differing routes to take. Motorcycle escort was in place. NOPD had been notified of the passage of the MOC and the potential for problems.

I scanned the bikes as I waited under the porte cochere, and not one was brilliant blue. They were all white, and the riders wore white riding leathers, so we could keep track of them as Leo’s security. I sought out the three bikes whose riders wore red helmets and black riding leathers. One at a time, they lifted a hand to me. I nodded back. They were my backup plan if it all FUBARed as spectacularly as I feared.

The three Onorios stepped out of the doorway, heads swiveling, checking for danger. They were decked out in fighting leathers like mine, but all in black. None of them
were weaponed up, at least not that I could see, though I was quite sure they wore enough blades on them to start a good-sized butcher shop.

Leo followed the Onorios, dressed in evening wear. He and Larry had decided to go with a solid black-and-white color scheme, the tux, cummerbund, tie, and lapel silk all in black. The shirt was the trim white one he had tossed at the valet. He ducked into the armored limo and sat, his eyes on me.

Ming Zoya, formerly of Mearkanis, came next out the door, wearing finery that could only have been put together by Madame Melisende, a blend of elegance and class that was uniquely Ming. The outfit had to be something left over from her time as clan Blood Master. She wore yards of scarlet silk to her ankles, embroidered with peonies and brightly colored birds. Feathers, dyed to match the dress, trailed below her waist and around her body, in a train of some sort down her back. She wore black shoes, like flip-flops but not made of plastic or foam, rather made of something with no flex. Her long black hair was up in magnificent braids and coils and curls, her lips and talons painted to match the silk. She smelled of blood. A lot of blood. And she looked young and beautiful and powerful, as unlike the thing that had come up from the water of the pit as it was possible to look. A different being entirely. Ming of Mearkanis was here under the slim possibility that she might recognize the witches’ magic before anyone else. She was our canary in the mine. If she started acting weird, compliant, anything at all out of whatever was ordinary for her, then the Nicauds might be near. Ming made it to her limo without incident.

Girrard DiMercy and Grégoire slid into the last limo in line before I could get a good look at them. One Onorio stepped into each limo.

Everyone was perfect and everything had been done according to plan. There was no reason to feel a sense of impending doom. No one could see under the roofed porte cochere without a drone. At this point we were all safe. Of course, we were about to hit the streets and that safety level was about to change totally. My heart raced.
Everything from the moment Leo left the building made us a target.

I caught a familiar scent. I stopped, one hand raised to do . . . something. I turned, following the scent with my nose. An odor that I had last smelled when I was dying on the floor of the sparring room/gym.
Here
. At vamp central. I pivoted slowly and followed the scent. It led back into vamp HQ, from inside. I held up a finger, telling Bruiser to close up the limos and wait. I pulled a nine-mil and a vamp-killer and strode through the phalanx of confused security personnel, into the chambers. I got a glimpse of a female in the gray uniform of housekeeping. She tucked her head and ran for the elevator.

Beast shoved her speed into me. I raced across the small space and inserted a hand into the crack as the door tried to close. The woman backed into the corner of the small trap and curled into herself. Her arms crossed her body and she slowly sank to the floor. Beast and I analyzed her together. She was pretty, in a blond, blue-eyed, victim-prey kind of way. I had seen her in the gym footage, mopping my blood off the floor of the gym when Gee stabbed me. I had my traitor, the person who had given enemies my blood or hair or tissues to use in spells against me. And it wasn’t the outclan priestess who had bitten me when I first arrived here. It was a human.

“Why?” I asked, seeing my eyes glowing bright yellow in the metal of the trap.

She risked a look up at me and then back down. She shook her head. “I was stupid.”

And I couldn’t disagree. She was dumb enough to bring her scent where she knew I’d be. She should have run. “Stupid how?” I asked.

“In every way a girl can be.”

Which sounded as though it was going to be a long story, one best told to a vamp, with blood and compulsion and all that stuff. “Never mind.” I put away my weapons and fisted my hands. I walked into the elevator, letting my boots clomp in the small space. Behind me men and women gathered, watching. Behind me, someone held open the doors.

“What do they have planned?” I asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding miserable. “They didn’t tell me.” She risked a glance up at me, her pretty eyes full of tears. “Just that he would die. And I wouldn’t have to pass him in the hallways like he’s some kind of king and not even see me. After what we did together.” She caved in on herself and added, “I gave up everything for him. Everything.” And the weeping became a waterfall.

What did I do to be surrounded by so many weepy humans? I backed out of the elevator and caught sight of Scrappy, Leo’s new secretary, and Del, Leo’s new primo. I hadn’t seen much of Del recently and we exchanged nods. “She was Leo’s pet for a while?”

Del’s mouth hardened in a line as she looked over the girl. Except for the height, they were dead ringers for each other. “Before my time.”

I thought about Grégoire. And Katie. Blondes. “Leo has a type?”

“It’s fluid. Currently he is chasing blondes.”

“Get someone to bleed and read her and send anything pertinent to Alex and Eli.”

“I’ll see to it, Enforcer,” Del said.

Yeah. My order, sanctioned by the authority given me by the man who had hurt this poor pitiful girl. Who would likely slide into more blood and sex slavery. “See if you can find someone with a lot of finesse. And then see if they can break her addiction.” When Del looked at me in amusement, I added, “Try,” making that an order too.

*   *   *

I entered Leo’s limo and a security person closed the door. “Problems?” Bruiser asked.

I frowned at Leo. “One of his castoffs was working with the Nicaud witches. You really need to keep it in your pants.”

Up front, Wrassler made a choked sound. No one spoke. Leo’s eyebrow rose, just the one. There were multiple emotions in the elegant gesture—amusement at me, a trace of anger at the woman’s betrayal, a steely-eyed promise of retaliation at my lack of proper etiquette. “Keep it in my pants . . .”

“Yeah. Your need to tap everything that moves causes nothing but problems.”

Leo said stiffly, “I have taken your recommendations under advisement.”

Which said and meant absolutely nothing. I just frowned back at him before looking around the limo. “Everyone got your anti-DNA charms?”

“We all have them,” Leo said, sounding almost snappish.

The motorcycles pulled out in a roar and Leo’s limo followed them, turning right. Ming’s turned left, and Grégoire’s turned right and then pulled away from us, each limo taking a different route.

As my worries increased, we drove through the streets of the French Quarter and down St. Charles Avenue, toward the Elms Mansion and Gardens. All three limos arrived without incident. All the motorbikes arrived safely. Even the traffic cooperated and not a single motorcycle came near any of us, except the ones ridden by Leo’s security as they zigged and zagged through traffic, keeping watch. Everything was perfect.

Heck. It didn’t even rain. When the other shoe drops, it’s gonna be a kicker. Ha-ha,
I thought as we reached the Elms. Wrassler, driving the limo that Leo and I were in, pulled into a parking space on a side street, one guarded by a police officer in charge of traffic cones. There was no press. In a city like New Orleans, a gathering of two hundred unknowns was nothing, and Leo’s appearance hadn’t been publicized.

I gave Bruiser a communications headset before I slid out of the limo. I rearranged the stakes in my bun from travel-position to higher, into a tall silver, garnet, and ash-wood halo, adjusted my weapons, and wished there had been time to oil and wear my slightly squeaky leathers for a month. But a girl can’t have everything. With Beast-sight, I took in the house and the surrounding area. Everything glowed with witch magics, reflected in windows across the street, in the paint jobs of the limos. Here, where we needed it just as much as, or more than, under the porte cochere, there was no phalanx of armored shields. No.
Such precautions would have made Leo look weak. My unease grew.

The motorcycle escort pulled in and dismounted fast. They lined up, providing a passageway of bodies for Leo to walk through. If someone shot at Leo, they’d more likely hit one of his humans. Which ticked me off, but that was the ugly truth of the blood-servant life.

Bruiser followed me, and together we flanked Leo’s door as he slid, elegant and graceful, from the leather seat. Leo breathed in my scent, which let me know how much he liked the trace of alarm that was coming from my pores. I thought about smacking him, but this wasn’t the time or place to depend on snark.

Ming slipped from the next limo, petite and delicate and powerful, to be flanked by the Robere twins. “I feel nothing,” she said to Leo across the short distance. “No taste of the magics used against me.” Which meant the enemy witches were probably saving whatever attack they were planning for when we were all inside and had no room to maneuver whatsoever. Just ducky.