The Devil You Know (40 page)

Without further word, Van withdrew his fire. Something within me eased. He sighed and climbed into the hearse. I jumped in behind him. Though he was silent, I could feel his body vibrating with barely suppressed anger. After he lay down, I closed and secured his coffin.

When I moved to Kathryn’s, she grabbed my wrist with a startlingly strong grip. The metal of her gold sun ring was cold against my skin. “You have five weeks. Do not forget your promise to consider what I have said.”

Light blue eyes so like my own but much wearier looked back at me from an aged face. I wondered if her silver hair had been black in her youth. I clasped her wrist in a warrior’s handshake. I was nowhere near the part of my mother’s book that spoke of Kathryn’s generation, but I didn’t need to read the writing on the wall to know she was a warrior…and a good leader. Despite our troubles, both demons had earned my respect, even before last night’s honoring of Gem and her father.

“I won’t forget,” I said quietly before closing and securing her coffin. As soon as I jumped out and closed the door, Mynx drove away, taking my new family home again. I watched the hearse’s tires kick up red dust as they maneuvered the lane that was more dirt and ruts than anything else. I watched…and breathed a sigh of relief.

Yes, they had gained my respect…and for the same reason, lost my trust. Despite their insistence otherwise, Kathryn and Van’s first priority was their people—as it should be. They would do what they must to find a new Queen. And right now, that looked to be me. I didn’t know why an immortal Queen would need a replacement or why she would pick one whose lifespan was a mere blink of the eye in comparison to her own, but I hadn’t misunderstood the look in Kathryn’s eyes.

Their return home was only a temporary respite for us all.

* * *

Hattiesburg, MS

The witchy scientists that comprised the Council’s special autopsy team noted the long black car first, their senses more attuned to the power pushing out of it than the human guard currently checking them in. When the car rolled to a stop only feet away, two hefty black-suited men helped an old stooped woman exit.

“Prime?” exclaimed Zeven, the leader of the team. Her blood, steaming in the hot humidity, suddenly ran cold. No one had told her there would be a dignitary present, especially not this one. The elderly leader of the Witch Covens had not left her Virginian mountain home in many, many years.

Hobbling on her cane, Lucine approached slowly, denying her guards’ assistance. “Well, what are you waiting for? That damn Russian’s corpse isn’t getting any fresher.” The Prime, the only witch any had ever seen to be born with eyes as black as a vampire’s, surveyed the group with disdain. Considered the best in their fields, they were all still so young, so fresh, so naïve…
so scrumptious.

Lucine resisted the urge to lick her lips. These younglings were hardly worth the effort. Besides, they were not her prey, not today. Her lips twisted in a secret smile.

“Yes, ma’am.” Zeven gave the lab’s guard a look.

The guard stood there, momentarily slack-jawed, then hurriedly fumbled open the door. They followed him down the winding path, through another set of locked doors, and into the main room where one dedicated tech was working. From there, they went to the vault. As they stopped under the large vent that circulated the air back into the lab, the guard thought he saw the old woman’s nostrils flare. He assumed the constant antiseptic smell burned her nose as it did his.

His mind open to her, Lucine would have smiled at his human naïveté had she not been too perplexed by the scents her keen nose had detected and by the familiar magic mixtures lingering in odd spots.

After opening the large steel door, the guard left the magical brains to their work. Being surrounded by dead people all day made him queasy enough without watching what the scientists did with their cache of sharp and strange tools. He didn’t have much of an imagination, and he didn’t regret the lack.

While Zeven and Lucine conferred regarding the Prime’s expectations, two of the younger scientists unzipped the bag. The zipper had barely cleared the dead vampire’s face when one man asked, “Wasn’t Roskov beheaded?”

Everyone stopped, turning to look at the nub of a stake protruding from the dead vampire’s forehead. A ring of black blood outlined its ashy surface before dripping a line through the vampire’s dark brows. All but the group’s leader stared.

Thinking she heard the Prime whimper, Zeven turned, mouth open to speak, and stopped, unsure of what she was seeing. Was that a tear running down the old witch’s cheek? She blinked, and the moisture was gone. The woman many called the Mistress of Magic bore the same cold congenial expression as before. Zeven shook her head. Even her vision had jetlag. She had to get control of this situation…before the Prime decided to take all of their heads in place of the missing vampire’s.

“That’s not Roskov!” Zeven barked.

A tech pointed to the name on the bag. She glared at him. They’d all received a copy of the Russian’s bio, which included a photo. Names meant shit if the face didn’t match.

“Search the facility, every body. Deep magic searches and visual checks. Be thorough. Maybe someone simply messed up and switched a tag.” Her people scrambled from the room. “And someone get me an ID on this guy!”

Without a word, Lucine turned and left, leaving them to their futile search. She knew the man within that bag. If he was there, then Roskov was long gone. The Council could search all they wanted, but the old witch knew better. Domini Roskov was one vampire that would never turn up again. So as Lucine LaFortuna moved out of the lab and up the ramp into the sunshine, all the while leaning heavily on her cane, she began to move up her plans, not caring to waste her time searching for a man who would never be found. With her, she carried the scent of one that was remarkably like her.

The scent of a demon-guardian. The scent…of a
selenocid
.

When Lucine was settled in her limo, she rapped her cane on the dark glass separating her from the driver. When he lowered the partition, she said, “To New Orleans.”

It would be daylight when they arrived, but she could wait, as could her hunt for the one who was like her. There could be only one Mistress of the Moon, but the girl’s magic was still too raw. She would let it ripen before stealing it—the fruits of war were much more succulent that way. Until then, she had more pressing business.

Lucine had once given Louisiana’s Vampire King her good heart—her Bon Ame—in trust. Bon lay dead on the autopsy table. And Lucine wanted answers as to how her heart had been lost. If Seth didn’t have them for her, she might have to take a heart from him in turn.

Balance was after all the key to keeping the universe on a smooth track.

* * *

I was sitting on the front steps, waiting for Jacq’s return, when an unfamiliar dusty car with a rental logo on the front tag came bumping down the gravel drive. Shading my eyes, I watched as the driver exited the car and opened a ward door. The woman who normally blew through life like a wild Fury approached the porch with unprecedented hesitation. I was surprised to see her but no more surprised than Aunt Helena would be. She hadn’t mentioned her assistant’s return from Prague.

“Elvira.” I smiled. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

She smiled and her power hit me with extreme force. If I hadn’t been sitting, I would have fallen. I sucked in a breath, shaking my head dizzily. My demon-half lunged against her bars, thinking we were under attack, but I shushed her, simply looking at the banshee with wide eyes. The lust, love, desire…and fear…the other woman had inadvertently released was
definitely
not for me. Talk about too much information.

“Sorry.” She took a step back. “I’m having some…issues. I thought Helena could help.” She took another step, red climbing her swarthy neck. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“No.” I reached out a hand but stopped short of touching her.

Her eyes swirled dangerously with barely repressed magic. The color of midnight fog, they were like a vortex of mists, one that would suck in a unsuspecting soul. One touch, and I could lose myself in her turbulence to never appear again.

“Don’t go,” I said. Suddenly everything made sense. “Aunt Helena’s upstairs, napping.”

Elvira looked concerned. “Is she unwell?”

“She hasn’t been sleeping much lately and seems anxious about something but won’t say what.” I shrugged. “That’s all I know.” I’d tried to subtly check her health using my healer’s abilities, but my intuitive aunt had caught me and slapped the magic away with enough sharpness to make me think twice about making another attempt.

Elvira took one step then two, reclaiming the distance she’d given up moments before.

I smiled. “I’m sure she would be glad to see you.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Elvira muttered, climbing the stairs and entering the house.

I turned to reassure her but the door was already closed. I considered going after her but changed my mind when a horn blared. I looked to see Fera driving Mynx’s black SUV like a madwoman up the drive. They came to a dusty, crunching halt feet shy of the wards.

Before I could stand, Jacq was out the door and striding determinedly through the wards, Fera hot on her heels. I was worried until I saw Brit and Nana following at a more sedate pace.

“Where’s the fire?” I asked, brushing the dust from the back of my jeans.

“Right here.” Jacq rushed me.

Backpedaling, I caught my foot on the step. Before I could fall, I was thrown over her shoulder for the second time in a week.

“What? Put me down!” From her back, I could see everyone, including Nana, approaching. My face was hot enough to fry an egg. I hissed, “You are so dead for this, Jacqueline Slone.”

She pushed into my mind an image of me shooting her with the water hose after Ramus’s attack. This was followed by an image of me spanking her with her own belt. My eyes narrowed. Apparently, that French she’d hurled at my back as I ran away had been a promise of retribution.

Bring it, baby
. I pushed the taunt back at her, and her grip around my butt tightened. The image of her naked in the shower spanking my ass before I had jumped out and run away popped into my mind, and I had to resist the urge to wriggle in anticipation.

“We’ll be back in a few days,” Jacq said to Nana.

Then our bodies dissolved, moving through time and space. Right before everything went a silvery gray, my prim and proper, always mannerly and decorous, staid grandmother winked at me. Winked! She bloody winked at me.

If I’d had a jaw at that moment, I would have dropped it.

It seems whatever my aunt and Elvira had was catching. At this rate, I would soon be the only sane one left.

* * *

At an undisclosed location some miles away…

With a rushing blast of heat, the iron door raised and the pine coffin rolled from the conveyor’s metal slats into the oven. The operator, a small wizened brown elf, sat on a high stool in the control room. His skin was dark and splotchy, his fingers thin and twig-like as he slowly pulled the lever to lower the door, trapping the coffin and its contents in the flames. The demons and their escort stood nearby watching. The little man went about his tasks, answering Kathryn’s occasional question. This was not the first time the building—little more than a crumbling cinder block shack with a chimney—had hosted royalty. It wouldn’t be the last.

“It’s a shame to waste such a comfortable box,” Van groused sarcastically. “You never know when you might be in need of another funeral.” To Mynx, who watched the woods surrounding the small building’s front through a hole in the blinds, he said, “You had better keep an eye on that cousin of mine, or hers will be next.” Van thrust his hands into his pockets, resisting the urge to fist them. He still simmered with anger but was trying to push it away.

Mynx kept her gaze steady on the woods, her senses sweeping the area for anything amiss. Her job wasn’t over until Kathryn was on the other side of the gate and within the safety of her own world. She had learned to read people well over the centuries. Vanguard wasn’t angry with her or even Cate. There was some other hurt, some other fear, beneath his sudden fury. It had been locked away, hidden behind a strong door. Maybe it was something Cate had said or maybe was connected to Vanguard’s brush with death. Whatever it was, something had cracked that door. Slowly but steadily, Van’s emotions were spilling out. And with Cate gone, the black-haired man believed there was no other target for his bluff and bluster.

Of course, he was wrong. Another target was much closer than he realized.

Van was about to say something as equally crabby, but a husky voice from the back room of the crematorium interrupted.

“Some things really never change.” A tall woman pushed through the swinging door. “You’re as mouthy as ever,
Uncle
. Maybe you should be the one to stay and keep whoever you’re discussing out of trouble, as clearly you are so good at it.”

Van turned quickly, fire coating his fists and chest. But when he saw the woman, he hesitated. There was something strikingly familiar about her. With her boots, they were nearly at eye level. He knew those light blue eyes as well as he knew his own, but the auburn curls and one-dimpled grin didn’t fit.

Kathryn gasped softly.

“Who are you?” Vanguard asked, stepping in front of his Queen while keeping an eye on Mynx and the brown elf. Van didn’t trust anyone on this side of the gates and few on the other—and with good reason. He had personally cleared the building before allowing the others to enter. All the entrances were locked and well-warded with his magic. Unless she could walk through walls, the only way the stranger could have entered was if the brown elf had shown her an entrance Van was unaware of.

“My name’s not for you to know,” the stranger said. “You can think of me as…the future.” The corner of her mouth tilted up, mocking him.

Van was torn between gaping and taking the offensive. When the stranger reached to touch his Queen, his choice was clear. He grabbed the auburn-haired woman’s wrist, squeezing with enough force to grind together a mortal’s bones. “No one touches the Queen without leave.”