Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7)

Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7) Page 10

Without being asked, I assumed the position and let one of the guys pat me down. The procedures didn’t take long. I had brought only enough weapons to fight off and incapacitate or kill two vamps if they decided to attack me in the streets. I have enemies with long memories. Of course, if enough vamps decided to attack me at once, I’d be brought down by sheer numbers. Idly, I wondered how many bloodsucking enemies I had in the Crescent City. I ran out of fingers in my halfhearted count. I waited as my weapons were taken inside and locked away in the weapons safe I’d had installed in the nook near the front door.

“This way, Miss Yellowrock.” My frisker opened the inner doors into the marble-floored foyer. The smell of mixed vamp, blood-servants, and human blood hit me like a landslide. It was the stench of a funeral home: herbal and floral scents—dry and desiccated—all the mixed blood, some old and some brand-new. Beast’s ear tabs twitched, and I opened my mouth so she could taste/smell it all. She chuffed with reaction, whether liking the scent blend or not, I couldn’t tell. But I could feel her desire for Leo as she automatically parsed his scent signature out from among the others and breathed it deep. The binding on her pulled hard at me as she pushed me to go find her master and crawl into bed with him. Not gonna happen, I thought at her.

She spat in reply and hissed, showing her teeth, but backed away, into the deeps of my mind.

“I can find my way,” I said to the guard, testing.

“No, ma’am. It’s our pleasure to provide you escort.”

“Nice. Names?”

“Steven, with a V, Locke, with an E, and Stephen, with a PH, Hope.”

“Mmmm.” I stuck my hands in my pockets and followed Steven-with-a-V down the hallway and up the stairs. “Steven,” I said, “not to quibble, but if I had a weapon still on me, say a garrote, I could bring you down fast and get your weapon. Suggestions?”

Steven-with-a-V stopped and gestured me forward, to walk beside him, amusement evident on his face at the thought of a lean, leggy female taking him down. “Yeah, that works. Unless there are more than one visitor. Then maybe two escorts?” Steven nodded and I said, “I’ll adjust the protocols. Thanks.” I knew all that stuff, and had already formed my own opinions, but working with the guys meant including them in the routine changes. Now, when I changed the paperwork, Steven-with-a-V would be able to say something like “Yeah. We discussed it. I suggested the change. Yellowrock’s not bad for a chick. Even if she did imply she could take me with a garrote.” Cue manly laughter at the little woman.

He knocked on a door and opened it, showing me through before closing the door behind me. The papery, peppery scent of Leo flooded my nostrils and reached deep inside me, wrapping the silvered chain of the binding in an iron fist. Warmth flooded me. Beast sat up and looked out through my eyes, taking a breath and analyzing the scents. Leo’s was heated with the smell of anise, old paper, and ink made of leaves and berries. Good vampire smell, she thought at me. I wanted to sigh, but kept it in, and shoved down on her to show her that I was alpha, not her. There would be no mating with Leo.

I walked down the short wide foyer into the room beyond. The office of the Master of the City had been rebuilt in the last few months, and once again looked just as it had the first time I was here. It was a windowless inner room: the walls were hung with tapestries and heavy drapery; Oriental rugs in every shade were scattered over the floors. Not that long ago, one rug had been heavy with werecat blood. That one was gone, probably with the cops and later stolen away by the vamps. Cops had a hard time hanging on to evidence when vampires were involved.

The room was chilly, even with the hickory wood fire, something the old ones all seemed to like, probably for the ambience of their own time as humans. The bookshelves around the fireplace were new, filled with antique books, and hiding two no-longer-secret escape passageways. I’d been hard on Leo’s secret-keeping.

The furniture was wood, some hand-carved, some burled, others with gilt that glinted in the firelight and lamplight. Wingback chairs were around a small table, and the desk was so old it might have been hand-carved for a Spanish royal in colonial times. A thin laptop was open on it, in front of a modern ergonomic desk chair, the armoires locked behind it. They did double duty as file cabinets.

There was a chaise longue in the back of the office, a fancy one with tufted gold velvet upholstery and a velvet throw. Once before, I had been here and a naked girl had been sleeping on it. Tonight it was empty. Thank goodness. Though Beast disagreed and showed me an image of Leo and me on the couch having a grand old time.

I strolled in and plopped down into a wingback chair, uninvited. Put my boots up on a table and made myself look comfy. Leo was sitting at his desk in the leather chair, papers on the table before him, a pen in his hand, its nub scratching as he wrote. The master vampire was wearing an old-fashioned shirt, creamy silk with full sleeves and a tie at the neck, hanging loose. Not like a modern tie, bright silk with a pattern, chosen from dozens hanging in a closet, but slender white ties that were part of the shirt itself, part of the rounded band of the collar. The upper part of his chest was visible, collarbone catching the light in a pale-pale sheen, along with a few black chest hairs. His legs were stretched out under the desk, encased in black pants, some sort of nubby fabric with a dull sheen, and on his feet were black socks and plushy slippers. His black hair was pulled back into a little queue with a black ribbon, a loose tendril brushing his cheek. I knew how preternaturally soft his hair was. How silken his skin. Beast stretched out, purring.

I curled my fingers under to keep from reaching for Leo, feeling the pull of the binding, and wondering again why Leo never seemed to. It had to be because the binding was completed while I was dying and changing into Beast. It was the only thing that made sense. He put the pen down, laced his fingers together on the desktop, and raised his face from the desk to me. His eyes were French black, his skin pale olive. From the darkness of the blue vein running across his forehead and down his temple, I could tell he hadn’t fed tonight. I breathed in, and he smelled hungry, which was an uncomfortable thought. Leo’s eyes held mine, without a hint of compulsion, curiosity in his expression rather than a predator’s gaze, and I let myself relax, just a hair. Just a bit. Waiting.

“Things have changed since you arrived in my domain,” he said slowly. “You are not entirely at fault, but you are . . . a catalyst, a goad to transformation.” That was true, so I didn’t respond. “We needed this stimulus that you have brought, but it has been painful to many of us.” Leo had fought a war since I first came to New Orleans, killing lots of his enemies, losing lots of his friends, disbanding half of the established clans, leaving four instead of the original eight, and that was only the most obvious of the changes. So, yeah, painful. He had a point.

But I wasn’t going to let it stand as totally my doing, because no way was that the truth. At the same time, I also didn’t want to provoke him unnecessarily. It was one thing to annoy the alpha predator over the phone, and totally different to bait the vamp in his lair. I said, carefully, “You used me and my presence here to achieve some important goals.”

He shrugged elegantly, his head, shoulders, and arms moving as if choreographed. “I am the creature that nature and the Mithran blood has made me. I make efforts to rule with fairness and compassion, but I am not afraid to use the skills and abilities and people at my disposal as I see fit to accomplish ends that will keep my people and my lands safe.”

Behind him, the door opened. I smelled Bruiser’s scent even before he appeared. He was wearing a new cologne, subtle and citrusy, applied with the light hand of someone who lived with predators who had an excellent sense of smell and an aversion to strong perfume.

He entered the office proper and stood in the opening, his hands behind his back, as if at parade rest, though as far as I knew, he had never been to war. He gave a smile, his lips pulling slowly as he took in my boots on the table, my slouch, and Leo’s studied patience. “Leo. Jane,” he said, acknowledging us both, in order of social and dominant importance.

Bruiser—George Dumas—was elegance itself, some of that refinement coming from the upper-class British upbringing, and some from his years acting as Leo’s chief blood-servant, head of security, and Enforcer. Leo’s real Enforcer, as opposed to my part-time job as imitation Enforcer. Tonight he was dressed in slacks and a starched shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show his arms, lean and muscled, and worn, brown loafers, no socks. Which made me smile for reasons I didn’t bother to try to understand.

“Sit, my primo,” Leo said. When Bruiser sat beside me, Leo went on. “We have several things to discuss. First is the illness of several blood-slaves. It is not the plague. More . . . much like the common cold that is apt to infect humans who do not drink regularly.” To me he said, “George is attempting to discover if they share anything in common. Worse is the disappearance of a Mithran in what appears to be a hoax or perhaps a kidnapping. I speak of this only to keep you informed,” he said to me. “I do not wish you to engage in the search or the investigation at this time. George will deal with this issue. I have other needs for you.

“Tonight at dusk, I will receive a communiqué from the European Council. There have been rumors of what the call might mean, but rumors are faithless things, promising much and delivering little.” I almost smiled at that, but he went on. “There will be a meeting of the full New Orleans Mithran Council just after midnight to discuss this call.” He looked at his primo as he spoke and Bruiser nodded, understanding some unspoken command. “At that time, I will schedule a gather to announce to the clans the European plans and rulings, as well as to present the new Mithrans who have risen this season.”

To me he continued. “I wish you to oversee the security for this gather. In-house protocols, safety measures for parking, vetting the waitstaff, and overseeing the caterer’s arrival and exit.”

A gather was a meeting peculiar to vampires. A powerful vamp could announce a gather and command all the vamps who had sworn him allegiance to show up. Then it was like—and yet very unlike—a democratic meeting. They might party, drink a few humans, maybe have a little sex, because for vamps, dinner and sex went together, or they might get right to business and discuss. Said discussions were not always peaceful; some required persuasion and a battle of compulsive power. Then the gathered would come to some conclusion and act. At least that was what had happened at the gathers I’d seen. “Okay,” I said. “Standard security?”