Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7)

Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7) Page 35

There had been a vamp of color, François-Dominique Toussaint Louverture. He had turned some of the discontented and helped plot one of the major uprisings. It had taken years, and it was brutal, on both sides. Three of the surviving vampire clans, including some who practiced blood magic, came to Louisiana in 1791, upsetting the local political scene.

They had traveled on Shoffru’s boats, the Ring Leader and the Lady’s Virtue. Had the Damours turned Jack? Was he a vamp when he worked with Lafitte? So what did an old vamp want with working girls? Was it possible that he had been friends with the Damours and wanted revenge for their deaths? If so, how had he figured out that I had helped kill them? Nothing made sense. Nothing connected. Nothing.

I checked my e-mail, and I saw notes from Eli and the Kid. Eli had talked to some of the waitstaff at Guilbeau’s and discovered who had given the party, the one from which Bliss and Rachael had left and then vanished. The host’s name was unknown, definitely not a local vamp, and not a familiar local blood-servant either. I set him and the Kid to working on IDing him. Or her. It was hard to know gender with a name like Bancym M’lareil, and there was nothing in a quick Internet search.

The Kid had info on the local vamps and humans that Troll had ID’d, on the security footage leaving the party. Troll had also sent the Kid a text that the other humans who had gotten sick had all attended the vamp party in Guilbeau’s. Something had happened at the party that had made humans sick, but it wasn’t like the vamp plague that had attacked both vamps and the humans they fed from. And I still didn’t know how that related to the girls disappearing. Unless they were sick somewhere and not able to call for help? We had also discovered that the ashed-to-death vamps had attended the party. Something had happened at the party, and I needed to know what.

None of the people on the security footage had anything against Katie, Leo, or me, so far as Alex had been able to detect, so I created a note asking about info on the night in question—a formal one for the vamps and a much more casual note for the humans. But I signed both kinds of notes “The Enforcer, Jane Yellowrock.” I cross-referenced my files for the vamps and humans who had e-mail addys and sent these notes out right away, then created printed notes for the Luddites and addressed them for snail mail. I really wanted to make an in-person visit while wearing enough weapons to start a small war, but there were too many names on the list to risk that. And even if I managed to find the right lair and locate the girls, a frontal assault would likely get them killed. When I left my room, I discovered a gift-wrapped box outside my door—gold foil paper with a bloodred ribbon. I picked it up and carried it to the front room, holding it up in question. Without looking up from his tablets, the Kid said, “Delivery. Special messenger. Card on the side.”

And so there was—in a matching gold envelope. I pulled the card free and read the fancy old-fashioned script, For my Enforcer. To replace that which you lost in my service. Leo.

I thought about refusing—I always thought about refusing Leo’s prezzies. But he considered it an obligation to replace things lost in his service, and who was I to keep him from giving me what he thought was just compensation? Besides, he always gave totally superlative top-of-the-line gifts. I curled on the couch between the children—who were watching a movie, natch—and unwrapped the box. On the other side of the paper was a Lucchese boot box. From the size and weight it was boots, not mules or ankle boots or shoes. Delayed gratification was best, but I didn’t have the constitution for that crap.

I opened the box and peeled back the paper to reveal boots. Black leather with green leaves and gold mountain lions embossed on the shafts. These were hand-constructed, hand-tooled, hand-stitched, hand-everything Lucchese Classics, and they went for around three thousand bucks a pair. Cooing like some kind of girly girl, I lifted them out, the goat leather supple and softer than any piece of leather had any right to be. I removed the stuffing paper from the shafts and slid the boots on. “Holy Pan-hide, Batman,” I whispered. They fit perfectly. I was sure I’d never take them off again.

Still wearing the boots, I curled on the couch, half dozing, Angie Baby on my lap, and EJ now on the floor making “Bhupppp” noises with his lips as he pushed a toy truck around the floor. The Disney movie was playing softly. The Truebloods had a huge collection of kiddie movies.

I must have slept because when I nodded awake again, the Kid was no longer alone working at his table in the corner, running electronic searches. He now had a student. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes to make sure I was seeing what my eyes said I was seeing. Tia was a working girl from Katie’s and she was currently bent over Alex’s shoulder, listening to him talk computer. She was also making the Kid crazy, but that was another story.

Alex looked up and said, “Tia volunteered to babysit.”

“For the honor of computer lessons,” Tia finished, smiling coyly. Yeah, she knew what she was doing to the Kid. But he was nineteen and able to send her away if he wanted to. And they both knew his brother’s rules. No visits with any of Katie’s Ladies until Alex was twenty-one.

“Big Evan is driving around the city, listening for Molly,” the Kid said.

Weird things happened when I took naps, even unexpected naps.

The side door opened, rousing me, fully, and Big Evan came in. He looked worn and wan and dejected. Pretty much how I felt. “Anything?” I asked, realizing that I had been dozing with my mouth open. I checked my lips for drool and thankfully found none. I just hoped the Kid hadn’t taken a photo.

“No. I drove all over the city, but I couldn’t pick up anything. You?”

“Leo said a lot of nothing last night, but claims he doesn’t know where Mol is. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have her.”

Evan shook his head and slumped up the stairs, even his footsteps sounding dejected.

Angie turned in my lap and craned her face up at me. “Daddy’s worried about Mama.”

My heart flipped over. How did I answer this? “I know, honey.”

“Mama’s coming back. Right?”

I forced the horror and fear and worry down deep inside. I had made promises to my godchild before and been able to keep them, but this time . . . This time felt different. “I’m—” I stopped, the words strangling. “I’m searching for her,” I managed. “I’m trying to find her.”

“Good.” Angelina pulled Ka Navista from the crack in the couch and tucked the doll into the crook of her arm. The doll looked frazzled and tattered and much loved, the long black hair tangled. To the doll she said, “My aunt Jane can do anything.” My heart turned over and went flat, as if the life had been sucked out of me. I looked away and batted my eyes to keep the tears away.

“I’ll do my very, very, very best,” I whispered.

Beast butted my soul with her head. Will find Molly kit-mother. Will kill ones who took her. She flexed her claws into me; the pain shocked the fear and worry away.

Okay. Yeah. We’ll find Molly, I thought back, feeling inexplicably better.

“We’re gonna have company.” Angie crawled from my lap and sat in the corner of the couch, watching the doll with determined, hopeful eyes.

And then I heard the bike. It had the high-pitched whine of a Kawasaki. And it was heading our way. Despite my lingering worry and pain, heat bloomed from my middle, flamed up my torso, and folded itself over my shoulders while settling low in my abdomen. It was like being embraced by a big-cat, as Beast’s interest fluctuated and changed.

The bike was familiar. It slowed in the street. And puttered close to the house.

Angie looked at the opening to the foyer, the front door, and the stairs, where her father had gone, and whispered, “I let the wards down.”

“You let . . .” I stopped. Angie could manipulate her father’s wards? Did he know? I had a feeling that he didn’t.

The Kawasaki bike went silent. I stood and looked down at myself. Jeans. Navy T-shirt. Killer boots. I walked to the repaired door, hope joining the warmth that sat deep inside. A knock came. A familiar tat-a-tat-tat. I dropped my head against the jamb for a moment, fighting my smile, and when I was sure I had it under control, I opened the door.

CHAPTER 13

You Gonna Invite Me In?

He stood as tall as me in his black Frye boots. Black jeans, a short-sleeved black tee, his black leather riding jacket hanging on the Kow-bike. His hair was longer than I had ever seen it, finger-combed and looking even darker than its usual black, damp from the helmet. I could smell gun oil, spicy aftershave, cigar. And his cat.

“Let’s go for a late lunch,” Rick said, leaning in, supporting his weight on his arms, high, to either side of the door, stretching up to show his biceps and the damaged tattoos there. And pulling his T-shirt against pecs and abs. Oh my . . . “You can call Tom for an intro. Fair warning, though. He’ll tell you I’m trouble.”

My breath hitched to a stop. They were nearly the same words he’d used to ask me on our first date. “Yeah,” I drawled, no longer holding in my reaction to him, leaning closer. “’Bout that. I know you’re trouble, Ricky Bo.”

His teeth flashed in a smile, his crooked bottom teeth pushing on his lip. “But I’m worth it, babe. Besides, even if I didn’t make you crazy . . .” He leaned farther in, bringing his mouth near mine. “I have info you want.”

I rested a hip against the door and considered, feeling my insides melt under his black-eyed gaze, his breath warm on my neck and jaw. “You let your hair grow,” I said, wanting to touch it, to touch him.

Rick canted to the side, resting on the outside jamb, stretching even closer, so we were only a fraction of an inch apart. I could feel the warmth of his body, and his scent grew even stronger, jungle nights, heat, cat, and man. “My current job,” he said, “doesn’t have a dress code when I’m in the field.”

“You on a job now?” I asked.

“Yeah. I got a party tonight at Leo’s.” His lips grew fractionally closer. “You gonna be there?”