Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7)

Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7) Page 24

How many vamps have beards? I typed into his tablet. How many blood-servants? Thinking about the limo from out of state, I added at the bottom How many Texans?

Lots, he typed back. Thirteen local fangheads scanned in already, no Texans. I’ll try to do facial matching. At my questioning look he said aloud, “Like facial recog programs, but this one matches parts of a photo with other known photos.” He hit a key and a shot came up. It was from the other side of the street and it took me a moment to realign my brain with the car’s spatial reality. I was looking at the tail car from the other side. Sitting at the passenger window in the backseat was a vamp. The one I’d killed earlier this evening. The now true-dead vamp who had attacked my freebie house had been tailing the vamp who drove off with Katie’s missing girls, which made no sense at all. Another key punch brought up the driver of the second car. Below his face, the Kid typed Macon Brown. Human. Blood-slave, not -servant, this info per your vamp census last year.

I nodded. Blood-slaves were the hangers-on in a vamp’s household, there for food and sex and odd jobs, and to be passed around to any visiting vamps. Or sold to another vamp to pay a debt. They were addicted to vamp blood and would do anything to get more. Literally anything with anyone. Blood-servants were much higher class. They were attached to a clan, had contracts that laid out their jobs, and were sworn to a blood-master. They were cared for, healed when injured or ill, and usually provided blood meals only to the one they were sworn to. I had started a file on them, keeping track of who was sworn to whom.

“So. We have a hired car in front, supposedly on the way to a party at Arceneau Clan Home, with one female vamp, an unknown man with a nose ring, and the girls, and a car in back with a former blood-slave, a now true-dead vamp who attacked our home with Adrianna, and an unknown bearded male, possibly a vamp, wearing an earring. Right?” I didn’t expect an answer and I didn’t get one.

The Kid shrugged, but added, “The girls never got to Arceneau Clan Home. They turned around partway and headed totally in the wrong direction. And the tail car must have lost them as they left the city. When the black cab went over the Mississippi heading west, the tail car was nowhere in sight.”

“Huh. Keep me informed,” I said. I punched in Wrassler’s number and left him a message on voice mail. “The vamps who attacked my house were involved with the disappearance of two of Katie’s girls, but may not have been working with the vamp who took them. They may have been tailing them, which makes the disappearance of Bliss and Rachael part of this.” I hesitated. “Whatever this is.” I hung up. Softly, I asked Alex, “Anything on Molly?”

The Kid shrugged, a typical teenaged gesture that was equal parts annoyance, frustration, and exhaustion. He didn’t know and it was eating him up inside. “No,” he muttered. “Nothing new except that I isolated a camera that views the valet parking. I’m trying to get the time and date differentiated.”

I patted his shoulder, sighed, and rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the tension in the muscles. “On another subject, text Wrassler to call in someone with prison or government experience to go over the protocols in the back parking. The Tattooed Duo were handling that, and now we got nobody in-house, but I’m sure one of the clans has a specialist they can send over. Also, get him to go over all the security upgrades that were seen by the two.” Which was sufficiently confusing, but I figured he could make sense of it all. I closed my door and fell across the mattress, rolling over to strip off my weapons and shove them under the bed. I was crashing. I desperately needed a nap.

• • •

I woke to the smell of coffee and bacon. Mostly the bacon. I had slept an hour, and felt worse for it. I rolled from the bed and again stowed my smaller weapons in the gun safe in my closet and the larger ones on the high closet shelf where the children wouldn’t see them. I stripped out of my sweaty clothes, which still stank of blood and gore, and showered, the water almost scalding while I soaped and washed my hair, before I switched it to cold—or cold as New Orleans water ever got. I braided my wet hair and dressed—and because I lived with so many males, I started with a bra. Hated those things. Even a holster felt better most days. Over it went a T-shirt and thin cotton pants. It was March in New Orleans—cold one day, humid, wet, and warm the next. Already I could smell spring flowers over the stench of humans in the city. The house felt stuffy, and it wouldn’t be long before we had to turn on the AC in the daytime. Back home in the Appalachians, we might still have snow on the ground. Deep inside, Beast rumbled something that sounded like Home. Go home.

Flip-flops and a nine-mil in a spine holster completed my ensemble.

I left my room and joined the breakfast mayhem in the kitchen, thumbing my cell open to check for voice mails. “Any messages or text from Wrassler?” I asked.

“Aunt Jane! Aunt Jane! Aunt Jane!” Two midsized projectiles launched through the air at me, in what was becoming a ritual, the strawberry blond one at midthigh and the redheaded one from much higher—directly off the tabletop where he had been standing. Beast shoved into me and I caught EJ in midair just as Angie Baby rammed against my legs. I staggered but caught my balance and hoisted EJ over a shoulder, juggled my cell, bent and picked up Angie, and deposited them in their seats. They were still squealing and the guys eating breakfast stared at me with open mouths.

Oh. Yeah. A normal woman would have dropped them or ended up in a pile on the floor. “Not human,” I said. “Deal with it.” Just saying the words was liberating. It was like shutting off a loud, out-of-balance motor, one that had caused an unstable vibration all through me, one I hadn’t noticed until it was gone.

Pretending I didn’t notice the sudden silence in the room, I picked a slice of bacon off the platter in the middle of the table and shoved it into my mouth. Chewing, I prepared myself a plate. It was scrambled egg day and I had regular eggs, Cajun eggs, and Western eggs. Cajun was cooked with red peppers and Western was cooked with onions and bell peppers and jalapeños. I served up most of what was left of each, scooped on a dozen strips of bacon, and sat, adding four pieces of toast to my plate. “Good,” I mumbled as I ate. Around me the men started back eating.

“Glad you approve,” Eli said dryly.

I said through a mouthful of eggs, “Report from Wrassler?”

“The humans who attacked the house have no memories of the attack,” Eli said. “The last thing they remember is a party with some sailors at the Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base out in Belle Chasse.” When I looked up, chewing and lost, he added, “Belle Chasse is an unincorporated location in Plaquemines Parish.”

I stopped chewing and swallowed the bite whole. Which hurt. When I got it down, I said, “Vamps and military guys?”

“Yeah,” Eli said, concern lacing his tone. “NAS JRB is six nautical miles from downtown New Orleans. It’s home to the 159th Fighter Wing, USCG Air Station New Orleans, a Marine Corps Reserve unit, navy and army units.”

I felt as if I were being given a military readiness lecture. And maybe I was.

“Layman’s terms: The base supports both the 159th FW’s NORAD for air defense and Homeland Security, and the Coast Guard Air Station New Orleans search and rescue/maritime law enforcement missions. It contains a military airport known as Alvin Callender Field. I’ve already notified your ex. Or your maybe sometime. Or your—”

“Rick will do,” I said, sounding more prim than I intended.

“The info was confirmed by a vamp-feeding and Vulcan mind meld,” the Kid added. “There were vamps at the military party. One had red hair. Wrassler said to call him after four p.m.”

I snorted into my breakfast as I ate. Vulcan mind meld. It fit. “Hmmph,” I said. “Now wayward vamps want a piece of Uncle Sam? Leo will be ticked. Cajun eggs are the best. More?”

“Good G—gravy, woman. You just ate a dozen eggs,” Eli said. I shrugged. He got up and opened the fridge for more eggs and milk. I was nearly done when he flipped a pan of steaming eggs onto my plate and I dug in again. When I was satisfied, I pushed back the plate, swallowed the last bite down with a slurp of cold tea, and met Evan’s eyes.

He was tired and fighting anger, tiny hot flames in his blue eyes. I said, “The Kid will update you on Molly, but we don’t have a lot to go on. Yet. When is the last time you did a finding spell on her?”

“This morning,” he said. “And I got nothing. But more like it’s blocked, not like she’s . . . gone.” He meant dead. “Which is a relief of some sorts.”

“Can you tell who’s blocking her?” I asked. “Like, is she blocking all targeting and finding spells herself, or is someone else blocking her from others?”

The corners of Big Evan’s eyes pulled down with his frown. I could tell he hadn’t thought about her blocking him out. But now that I’d planted the worm in his skull, it was burrowing deep.

Go, me. With a little luck, I might make cruelest skinwalker of the year. “Can you tell if she’s still nearby?”

“She’s within fifty miles,” he said.

“Mommy’s okay,” Angelina said. “But she’s scared.”

My mouth came open, but I stopped on whatever I was going to say, when Evan said, very gently, “You can tell she’s okay?”

Angie nodded. “All the time. Can I have more syrup?”

“You’ve had enough sugar, sweetheart,” Evan said, his eyes unfocused. “Can you tell where Mommy is?”

Angie scrunched up her face and thought, chewing her breakfast. “No. She’s okay. But she’s scared. You hafta find her soon. Can I please be excused? Me and EJ’s gonna play in the backyard.”

“Sure,” Evan said. “Don’t try to leave the yard.”

“Biscause the alarms will go off,” Angie said, nodding. “From your wards.”

“Right.” But it was obvious that he wasn’t really hearing her. EJ crawled out of his high chair and he and Angie scampered out the side door, their footsteps hollow on the wood porch into the backyard. Evan looked down, fighting disappointment and fear and despondency so strong it crossed the table in dark waves.