Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7)

Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7) Page 18

“Son of a gun. He did it to me again,” I murmured. A slow heat burned its way through me. I was tired of vampire games. “Get me my weapons,” I growled to the security twin at the door. “Now!” I added sharply when she didn’t move quickly enough.

Moments later they were in my hands. I checked the mag and load, and strapped the nine-mil on beneath my left shoulder, adjusted the draw until I was satisfied. Stuck the throwing knives into my belt, into special tiny sheaths there. I was good with the knives, though not perfect yet. Beast liked them. She called them flying claws.

I strapped the vamp-killer on my right thigh and twisted my braid up into a knot on the top of my head, securing it with the ash wood stake. My hands high and twisted into my hair, I said, “Get me a vamp. One of Leo’s master vamps. One who can read his dinner’s minds. A hungry one.”

Adelaide’s eyes went wide as she understood what I was asking. Not all vamps could read the minds of their dinners. Some could only bedazzle and charm and allure. But some master vamps could take it a step further. They could read the minds of their prey. I know. It had been done to me. Del picked up a phone and stopped, staring at the receiver. It was part of the in-house security system, an old part, installed before my time, but I had seen no reason to tear it out of the walls. It worked as backup in case of system failure of my own hardware. The receiver was attached to the wall via a long tangled cord and Adelaide watched it swing, thinking. After too long, she punched in a single number. “The Enforcer shall be interrogating Clan Arceneau’s blood-servants. She requests a hungry Mithran master. One capable of a forced reading of those from whom he feeds. I am not familiar with the Mithrans here yet— Yes. Of course.” She put the receiver down, slowly, the thick plastic clacking quietly. She didn’t meet my eyes and I felt compelled to explain.

“I have few options here, Del. I can ask questions and they will answer unless they were told or compelled not to. Then I can walk away or I could use harsher methods to make them talk. I could try waterboarding. Or bamboo shoots under their fingernails. Or drilling out their teeth. Or I can question them, and when they lie, get a vamp to drink it out of them. Which is the kindest method?” She didn’t reply, her eyes on the far wall, and a thin line drew between her perfect arched eyebrows—the lawyer thinking.

“Leo drinks from every servant who comes here, Del, and every one of them on this list has been here long enough to be tasted. Leo knew they were going to attack me. And he didn’t tell me. And he didn’t stop it.” Adelaide turned to me, the movement jerky, her blue eyes clearing, focusing in on me. “So clearly he wants me to find out something else too, something he only caught a part of, or a peek at.”

“And since he can’t look weak or uninformed, he’s going to let you do his dirty work.”

“Yeah. Kinda.”

Adelaide crossed her arms over her chest. “Can you torture people this way?” When I looked away, trying to decide how much to tell her, Del said, “A forced feeding is painful. No human who is working against Leo will willingly allow a feeding. And it . . . hurts, Jane. It’s a violation of body and soul.”

My face softened. She had given me an opening and I decided to take it. “Yeah. Been there, done that.” Her eyes, already wide, dilated farther. “Leo tried to force a binding on me. He attacked me and drank. And yeah. It was awful.”

She breathed, the purple shirt moving with the motion, the only sign of her agitation.

My voice a burr of sound, I said, “He apologized to me for it.” I heard the wounds in my own voice, the words hoarse with remembered pain. I forced down a breath past the tightness in my throat. “And he says he owes me a boon. A big one.”

She shook her head as if amazed or disbelieving. “And you stayed with him? Even after that?” Her face changed again as she added two and two and came up with a total. “Oh no. The binding. He forced you to become his Enforcer. And now you can’t leave.”

“Not in the way you mean. He tried to bind me. It didn’t work like it was supposed to.”

“Because you’re a skinwalker?” she hazarded, still adding things up in her lawyerly brain. When I didn’t reply, her tone changed into legal-cool, and she asked, “If you aren’t bound, why did you stay? Revenge?”

I sighed, realizing that Del was asking the kind of questions a vamp’s lawyer might make, which told me where she stood on the matter—like Bruiser, she belonged to the vamps, no matter how much she might like me personally. Once, she had said she wanted to be my friend. I had a feeling that was going to be a lot harder than either of us thought.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That . . . sounded wrong. Unkind. You aren’t the revenge type.” I snorted in disagreement and Adelaide chuckled sourly. “Okay. Let me rephrase. Why did you stay all this time when you could have left?”

I stared down, focusing on nothing. Beast was bound. Couldn’t say that. I settled on “Lots of reasons. I’d been killing vamps for years, and never thought of them as anything but monsters who deserved to die. I was acting on my own instincts. Me. Alone. When I got to New Orleans, I discovered that there was something more to it all. Something other than see-vamp-kill-vamp. Some vamps may have just needed more time to cure.” I rolled a shoulder forward in a shrug. “But I killed them before they could finish the change that might have let them be something more. That said, according to vamp law, they deserve to die if they kill a human, no matter if they are technically insane when they kill. Once a human is turned, everything gets all mixed up. So yeah. It sounds stupid, but that’s part of it.”

Adelaide nodded in agreement with my legal judgment and said, as if clarifying, “But Leo hurt you. And you’re staying anyway.”

I nodded.

Softer, she said, “He hurt you, and you would do that to someone else?”

My old pal guilt squirmed under my skin. Knowing I was slipping down some slippery slope, ever farther away from any kind of high ground, I said, “Every blood-servant here has been drunk from. Every one of them signed away their rights to personal freedom. Being here, being dinner, isn’t against their will. No one’s going to refuse being sipped on except the ones holding out on me. I won’t force them, but they will be turned over to Leo for judgment.”

“And you think them signing a piece of paper is an excuse to let a Mithran hurt them?” This time her tone was curious, as if she were peeling back layers of me to see what rotted underneath, at the heart of me.

“They signed a contract. You’re a lawyer; you know what that means. I could ignore it, but that person might have other orders, like, to kill Leo in his sleep, or set off bombs during the gather. Orders that will kill people, Del. Humans. Vamps. People I like. People I don’t like but have sworn to protect. So yes. I’ll hurt the guilty.”

“And how will you know they’re guilty?”

I smiled grimly. “I’ll know.”

“Skinwalker knowledge?”

I jerked my head down in an unwilling Yes.

A delicate tapping sounded on the door, and I squared my shoulders and pushed away my angst. I didn’t have time for soul-searching or self-pity. “Come in.” When the door opened, my jaw tried to drop. I kept it in place, but not by much. Edmund Hartley, former blood-master of Clan Laurent, stood there, looking meek and mild, which was odd enough, but my surprise came because he had lost in a Blood Challenge to Bettina, Laurent clan’s new blood-master. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” I asked.

He gave me a fangless smile. “I lost my title and clan in blood challenge, but Bettina is never wasteful. She accepted my clan and sold me to Leo.”

“Sold—”

“Bondage,” Adelaide said quickly. “He’ll work for Leo for twenty years, at which time he may choose to remain in Clan Pellissier or move to another clan, where he stands a better chance of regaining a clan of his own. It’s covered in a codicil to the Vampira Carta.”

Twenty years wasn’t a long time for a fanghead. I shook my head. “Vamps.” It was nearly a curse, but not quite, and I said, “Ed, can you follow my lead and look threatening and spooky?”

Edmund smiled slightly and, with a dry tone, said, “I believe I can manage.”

I nodded and stepped into the hallway. Edmund was an old vamp, and I could feel his power as he pulled it up and around him, icy prickles, like spikes of frozen air. He stood about five-seven or -eight, slight of body, with hazel eyes that seemed to give off a pleasant vibe, like that of a history professor. Nonthreatening. But if his power signature was anything to go by, his body was no indication of his ability. I wondered how he had lost to Bettina, who was powerful, but not nearly as old as I felt Edmund might be. I looked back at him and wondered. Would a vamp deliberately lose a blood-challenge? Questions for later, which I was sure he wouldn’t answer. I checked my papers.

“I’m ready to talk to the prisoners,” I said to Wrassler. Silent, he led the way.

The first blood-servant was listed as Imogene, who worked as a housekeeper, and had been placed in a comfortable room, like a sitting room, with a sofa and chairs and a small table. When we entered the room, she backed against the wall, her pulse beating hard in her throat, the whites of her eyes showing in terror. She stank of fear sweat. And I felt like an ass.

I blew out a breath of revulsion. My reasons for terrifying people were all valid. And all wrong. Still sighing, I plopped into a chair and gestured to the security twin to close the door. “Sit down, Ed, Del.” While they were trying to figure out if I was being serious or giving them a hidden command to do something else, I asked, “Imogene, do you know who I am?”

She nodded once. “The vampire killer.”

“Yeah. Among other things. One of Clan Arceneau’s people attacked me tonight.” Her fear stink spiked. “Did you know I was going to be attacked?”