Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7)

Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7) Page 41

As if in mirror image, Adrianna slid from Jack’s Shoffru’s embrace, placed her hand on his arm, and they started across the ballroom floor, their retainers circling behind them, leaving Rick standing in an empty patch of floor. His nose curled as if he scented changes in the air. I took a breath and smelled it too. Aggression. Dominance. Something was about to happen.

To the side, the woman with the sword put a hand to the hilt and looked around the room. I hadn’t heard her speak, but she was communicating anxiety and anger with body language—all vampy-style, her head and spine twisting around in that inhuman way they have when they think no one is watching. For a moment I wanted, needed, to get her scent, but that desire faded as her gaze settled on me. Something seemed to tighten around me like a noose. Her eyes narrowed and I realized that she had been looking for me, for me personally. And then I saw the sword. I had seen it before and forgotten. Something was wrong with this. How had she gotten a sword in past security?

The sword-carrying vamp turned and watched Adrianna. As if feeling her eyes, Adrianna turned to the swordswoman. And she smiled. It was a purely sexual smile, full of longing and desire. And that thought too faded.

Beast slammed into me and I followed her instincts as I stepped toward the two groups, angling to meet them in the middle, rather than behind Leo. Jodi and Gee were at my sides and there was nothing I could do to keep them back and safe, short of shooting them myself. Beast was growling deep inside, but I didn’t have time to deal with her, not now, and I shoved her down.

Leo’s power rose, lifting and swirling Katie’s skirts in a false breeze, and moving toward the guests. It raked across my skin like rose thorns, and met the witchy power of the keep-away spell in a small explosion of blue sparks. The skirt of Adrianna’s gown lifted, and Shoffru hesitated, just slightly, midstride, as his spell-charm was countered by Leo’s pure power. His mouth firmed and he seemed to push back. The sparks went green and scarlet, like Christmas lights. And Katie’s skirts reversed course to swirl back as if in a strong wind.

Holy crap. It wasn’t just a charm. Jack Shoffru was a witch-vamp, like the Damours. And he had Adrianna—who had allied with the blood magic family and who knew all their secrets—on his arm. No wonder there were magics all through the room. No wonder the woman had gotten a sword in through the humans. A master vamp with witch magics was crazy scary. Shoffru’s power tightened, as if the air itself were growing thicker and harder to breathe. I searched out the swordswoman, but she was missing. Dang, where—there! At the entrance to the room. But even seeing her, I found it hard to remember why I cared she was there. Spelled, heavily spelled. Beast swatted at the spell from deep inside me, but nothing happened and she withdrew. And thoughts of the swordswoman slid away.

From the outside entrance spun a green . . . thing. Two of them. Grindylows. They raced past Rick, moving almost too fast for me to focus on them, but I knew what to look for, and this second shock made my breath hitch. The taller one came to my waist and had joints that bent the wrong way, limbs that were too slender and knobby for his body. His head was oddly shaped, his fangs were out, and when he ran, he was up on his toes, like a dog or cat, though he was generally bipedal, not a quadruped. His claws were out, looking like steel about three inches long. His pants and shirt were loose and baggy, hiding a body that I knew to be vaguely froglike, the skin hairless and green with darker green streaks, like dark serpentine stone. Darker and not as tall as the last adult one I’d seen, this grindy was golem-sized, about four feet high. And at his side was Pea, Rick’s juvenile pet grindy. Neon green–furred and kitten-sized, she had her claws out and fangs showing.

They spun to a halt in the middle of the two parties and the taller grindy hissed, his shoulders raised high on his neck. Pea, standing on two back feet, claws swiping in threat, chittered. Shoffru stopped, his eyes on the creatures from myth and legend. His lizard had curled on his shoulder and darkened to a bronze brown. Clearly the pirate-witch-suckhead had never seen a grindylow, nor had the swordswoman, nor the lizard. It ducked back inside the pirate’s shirt as the grindys herded Jack, his swordswoman, and Adrianna together. Derek and two of his men stood guard around them, weapons not exactly pointed at the pirate and his crew, but not pointed away either.

I said, “A gather is a place of peace, Shoffru. That means magical as well as physical. Back off or the guys carrying silver shot might mistake your actions as hostile and shoot you full of holes. And the grindylows might get ticked.” And then I blinked. There were two grindys in one place. That meant that the African weres were here. And even as I had the thought, they walked into the entrance.

An African werelion in his human form stood there, his kinky coarse black hair streaked with lighter brown, his eyes lion-gold in a dark-skinned face. I had taken the time to study the names from the were-community that Rick had mentioned, especially the werelion who was mentoring him, and this was Asad. “Asad,” the announcer said, “emissary of the Party of African Weres, and his wife, Nantale. With them is Paka.”

Their scents filled the room, earthy, musky, the heated intensity of the sun on the African savannah. The two werelions advanced, Asad wearing white robes in an Arabian style, Nantale looking like a Nubian goddess in cloth of gold, wearing beaten gold on her wrists, on her ankles, and around her neck. Behind her moved Paka. Her scent was different, but if possible, even more intense, and it was familiar. She smelled like Kemnebi, of the dark wet heat of the African Congo, of green jungle and rushing water and danger. She smelled of black wereleopard.

And she was, with no doubt, in heat.

I pivoted toward Rick, and pain flashed through me, as if I’d been socked in the gut. He was staring at the woman. The girl. I looked back at her. She couldn’t be more than twenty-two. Her skin was dark, black as night, her hair lustrous and long, in a coil to the middle of her back. She wore a skirt in wildly patterned cloth, with a handkerchief hem, in reds and blues and purples. Her top was short sleeved, cropped to display her flat belly, the neckline round and gathered with a tie, which was open to reveal the curved tops of her breasts. The rounded mounds caught the lights, drawing the eye. Somehow I knew she was naked underneath the dress. That she would like nothing better than to toss the dress away and walk bare in the air currents and intense interest of the males.

The hot smell of her heat wrapped around me and tightened, and I was reminded of the snake thoughts from earlier. I couldn’t breathe. She was beautiful. Full lips, black skin, wide dark eyes, cheeks like perfect fruit, skin glistening with youth and health. I couldn’t breathe.

Rick stepped toward her. His face went slack and his eyes widened, like a sleepwalker or one who had been hypnotized. He took another step. Paka’s eyes found him and she smiled, her lips parting in a look that was pure sex, to reveal perfect teeth. She moved toward him, stretching out a hand. Magics tingled on the air, hot and sultry and sexual. Werecat magics.

Beast slammed into me. Mine! My mate!

“Not anymore,” I whispered back, feeling the shock of loss tingling through me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard the words, spoken by Asad, “Paka. A rare unmated female discovered by the Party of African Weres. Paka agreed come to America, to provide succor to the only American black wereleopard, to assist the unmated male through the transition of his first change.”

“The kindness is appreciated,” Leo said. “Our leopard has experienced much pain since he was turned.”

A roar started in my head, the roar of angry wind. Of stormy waves. Our leopard? Closer, a low growl sounded. At my side, fingers gripped my arm, and I realized I was being physically held back. And that the growl was mine. I wanted to slash and draw blood. I felt the tips of my fingers burn as Beast’s claws once again forced through. My forearms ached as pelt broke the skin. I smelled my own blood as I clenched my clawed hands.

Mine. My mate.

Asad spoke again, and I heard his words through the roar. “The Party of African Weres believes that Paka’s heat will offer the American a mystic path through the transition, from his human form in which he is trapped, to his animal form. She is here to assist. And”—I could almost feel his smile of pride—“to be a prospective mate.”

I whirled and left the room.

• • •

Nearly half an hour later, I came to myself, my back to the house, my dancing shoes planted in the soil, in the middle of Leo’s back garden. It smelled of fresh flowers: the stock and alyssum of the ballroom, and spring roses and early jasmine. Herbs. Fertilizers. And the reek of loss and grief.

I didn’t smell blood except the stench of my own, so I hadn’t killed anyone. I had just . . . lost it. Rick had a prospective mate, a black wereleopard, like him.

I made fists at the thought. My hands were human again, but my fingertips ached when I released the fists. I took a breath and blew it out. And I thought of a string of curse words I might use, but none of them were bad enough. And no dang way was I gonna cry.

It was as if the universe had it out for us. Or God. But no way was I gonna blame God, no matter how much I wanted to. This fell under the category of “life happens and it ain’t always fair.” Something a housemother at the children’s home where I was raised might have said.

I huffed out another breath and forced my shoulders to relax. I had a job to do. A job that would let me use the pent-up energy, the anger that still crawled under my skin. A job that would let me focus on something other than my own unhappiness and the once-again-ex-boyfriend, becharmed by a lovely catwoman who was sex on a stick. My ear wire was hanging on my neck, and I slipped it back around my ear, positioned the mouthpiece in place, and tapped it. I got Angel Tit.

“Sorry I went all girly on you, Angel. Update.” And I was pleased that I sounded like myself and not as if I had been screaming at the moon.

His voice crisp, Angel said, “Leo and the werelions are chatting. Wrassler is still coordinating a room-by-room search for whatever knocked out our man. Shoffru and his nutso date are dancing. He has a lizard on his shoulder. A minute ago, the lizard reached up and bit his earlobe near the earring and held on, swaying like it was dancing with them. Tell me that isn’t weird. The lady cop is dancing with a vamp, and keeping an eye on Shoffru. I think she likes lizards.