Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7)

Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7) Page 39

“Clan Bouvier,” the announcer said. The clans comasters Innara and Jena entered together. They were tiny, one blond and one darker haired, five foot two in matching shoes, and their dresses were two shades of red, one ruby and one dark fuchsia. The girls were mind-joined anamchara, fully loyal to Leo, and though they looked cute, they were deadly. I’d seen them fight, and savage was a good descriptive term. Roland, their clan heir, stood behind them, dressed in a black tux, looking deadly and cold. Other clan members and their blood-servants moved out around them.

The stink of vamp was now so strong I wanted to sneeze, and pressed on my nose to stop it as I talked into my mic. “Everyone in, except Clan Pellissier, who are secluded with Leo upstairs. We have ten minutes before the guests start arriving.”

In the ornate ballroom, all the humans went immediately for food and alcohol, some vamps slipping into the small alcove for a blood snack. Leo had approved the blood bar. I didn’t like the practice, but I knew there were no weapons stashed in the curtained nooks, and really, what could I say anyway? The humans wanted the blood-servant relationship. I took the time to grab a bottle of water and walk the perimeter of the ballroom, hydrating.

• • •

The first guests to arrive were cops. “Special Agent Richard LaFleur of the Federal Psychometry Law Enforcement Department and Detective Jodi Richoux, New Orleans Police Department,” the voice announced. Rick’s tux fit him like his own skin, or his own pelt, black and touchable. On his arm walked Jodi, wearing a long dark chocolate brown dress in some kind of gauzy material that flowed around like veils. She looked good and she knew it. I was betting the flowing skirts hid her service weapons and a backup. I had left word that law enforcement was permitted to have guns on premises.

The two had a good working relationship, from the time Rick worked in NOPD, and, like good partners, they immediately split up and started working the room, meeting people and checking out my security measures.

Rick made it over to me faster than I thought possible, considering his casual saunter. He didn’t put an arm around me, but he did ogle my cleavage, with an appreciative grin. “Nice dress, babe. But I bet you look even better out of it.” I tried to force down an instant flush, but it rose anyway, settling deep in my belly. Without waiting for a reply, he chuckled and moved on past, to greet a vamp just walking out of the blood bar.

“Dang,” I mumbled under my breath.

Through the overhead speaker, stringed instruments started playing. I listened to the com chatter, hearing that the next guests had begun to arrive.

And then something changed. A voice on the full-member-security channel stopped speaking midsentence, and didn’t start speaking again. I saw two of Derek’s men in the hallway adjust their headphones and look around, their bodies suddenly hyperalert, so it wasn’t my unit. I tapped my mic. “Angel, security cameras. Do you see anything odd? Someone not where they’re supposed to be? Doing something weird? Lying down like they just passed out?”

“Sound off,” Angel commanded. The regular service chatter was cut and a tense silence lay over the security channel. One by one, Derek’s people checked in, their words preceded and followed by tiny clicks of the com system.

“T. Jolly Green Giant,” the first said. “All is a go. Front entrance is clear.”

“T. Sweaty Bollock. All is a go.”

“T. Antifreeze. I’m good. Back entrance is clear and shut down.” The T stood for Tequila. Derek named all his groups of men after drinks.

“T. Sunset. Clear.” “Trash Can, clear.” “Red Dragon, clear.” “T. Acapulco, clear.” “V. Martini, clear.” “V. Lime Rickey, I’m good.” The V stood for Vodka. And no one else spoke.

A long silence sounded before I heard, “V. Lee’s Surrender, clear,” Derek said. “We got one disappeared.”

I tapped my mic. “Angel, who’s missing? Cameras. Report.”

I remembered to breathe, forced down my anxiety, and drew my Walther, catching Jodi’s eyes. Pointed to the guest entrance. When she saw my gun, she nodded and drew her service weapon, moving with it in both hands, pointed down, trigger finger along the slide. She moved to stand beside the entrance, but behind a column that gave her both protection and a good angle of fire.

“Vodka Sunrise is down,” Angel Tit said over the coms unit, his voice calm. “I repeat. Vodka Sunrise is down. His position is beside the elevator on the back entryway floor.”

“Hold your positions,” Derek said. “On my way.”

My heart started racing. Something bad was happening, and it had started at the elevator. Someone had gotten past one of Derek’s men.

Angel Tit said, “All I can see is his boots. Suggest you take the nearest men with you. That would be Trash Can and T. Sunset.”

“Sunset, move midhallway and cover both ends,” Derek ordered. “I’ve taken the stairwell. I am in position. Trash Can, approach the elevator.”

“T. Sunset. I am in position.”

“Trash Can. Entering elevator.” I heard the soft ding of closing doors over my com. Trash Can was in the most dangerous position. Whatever the cameras had missed could be waiting for the doors to open. A second ding indicated that the doors had opened. “Trash Can. Leaving elevator.”

“Lee on bottom floor,” Derek said softly. “I have V. Sunrise in sight. Repeat. Have a visual on Sunrise. He is on the floor but he is moving. Repeat, man down, but he is mobile.”

A string of curses came over the com, in the harsh, slurred tones of Vodka Sunrise. “Somebody knocked out my tooth.” And then he started back cussing.

“Entering hallway from elevator,” Trash Can said. “I have a visual of target. No encoms,” he said. “Repeat, no encoms.”

“Situation is secure,” Derek said.

I gave Jodi a thumbs-ups and touched my mic. “High-alert status for entire team. Anyone, I repeat, anyone, who enters your area is to be stopped, ID-confirmed, and searched as you consider appropriate. Angel, go over security on the cameras in that area. I want to know what happened.”

“Copy. On it, Legs.”

Jodi reached me. “What?”

“Don’t know. We had a man down. Something’s wrong, but I don’t know what.”

“Vamp parties are so much fun.” She moved away into the crowd, her gun once more hidden in the flowing folds of her skirt. I looked around. No one on the other communications channel seemed to have noticed anything odd. The blood-servant security types looked calm and efficient in whatever jobs they were doing.

“Legs,” Angel Tit said into my earpiece.

“Go ahead,” I replied.

“Something funny about the footage. It’s all blurred. When it clears, Sunrise is on the floor, bleeding and not moving. Magic sometimes does this to digital footage.”

“Magic,” I said bitterly. “Copy it and send it to Alex.”

“Copy.”

A form appeared at my side, startling me. I had one hand on the blade at my thigh before I recognized Gee DiMercy. My breath went tight. The misericord was slim, slight, and deadly, dressed in black but not a tux. He was wearing an odd sort of outfit, tight but elastic, allowing him to move. He looked dark and deadly, like a modern-day ninja or hired assassin. Which he was, in a way. And worse, he was fully armed with knives strapped at both thighs; they had long blades for knives, more like short swords with carved ridges on the utilitarian grips. “We have a problem,” he said, staring at the door the guests used from the porte cochere.

“Yeah, I—” And I realized he didn’t have access to the communication channels. I followed his gaze, my right hand still holding the Walther .380 and my left on a knife hilt. A couple entered and my hands tightened on both. “Crap,” I said. The place went slowly, uncomfortably, silent.

Much too late, the announcer said, “Ahhh. Jacques Shoffru, Master of the City of Veracruz and Cancún, Mexico, and all hunting territories between. And his companion, Adrianna, formerly of Clan St. Martin, currently of . . .” The speaker hesitated, not sure how to name a vamp who had been given a death sentence. He ended with the more polite “of Clan Arceneau.”

Crap. Crapcrapcrap. Adrianna was working with Shoffru. Starting when? For how long? Did that mean Shoffru knew everything Adrianna did? Did she have anything to do with the attack on Sunrise? “How long has she been on the premises?” I demanded.

Gee tilted his head up and looked down his nose at me. “Only now. She has been in my sight all but about two seconds as she rounded from the elevator.”

I tried to put that into the time that had gone by and the man down, as Derek took over the situation on the ground floor. I tapped my mic. “Derek. How many just came up?”

“Elevator full, two groups of fifteen. Coordinated movements. No one separated from the groups, no one unaccounted for.” Meaning nothing looked hinky with them as it might relate to Sunrise hitting the floor and losing teeth. But if magic had been used, who knew what had really happened? I looked back at Adrianna. “How did Adrianna get past you? And is it okay for me to hurt her? Bad?”

Gee said, “We can discuss how she eluded me later. For now, she is on the arm of Jack Shoffru, and as his guest, she is in possession of an invitation, one that guarantees her access to the premises and personal safety while she is here.”

I chuckled, the sound low but not amused. Along with every other eye in the room, I studied the pair. Adrianna had her scarlet hair up in a fancy do of braids and curls and pins and pearls. She was wearing a designer dress the same scarlet as her hair, the skirts flowing out around her, her shoulders and décolletage bare, the neckline covered with crystals and pearls and plunging nearly to her waist. Around her neck was a Celtic necklace, and a gold snake crawled up one upper arm, jewelry she had worn to a vamp function before—the night she tried to kill me. My heart rate sped at the memory.

“Got another smear on-screen,” Angel said. “Sending men to intercept.”