Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7)

Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7) Page 51

Though I had to think that Leo had put all that together already and was using me to get rid of Shoffru for him. I shook that thought away and went on. “Shoffru is using the people closest to me to get the diamond.” I closed my eyes. “Del? Wake Leo up. Tell him that I’ll give Shoffru anything he wants to keep them safe. Understand?”

“Not really,” Del said, sounding all prim, proper, and lawyerly again, “but I think from your tone that Leo will understand perfectly. I don’t have the Damours’ estate addresses at my fingertips. I’m still trying to get settled here and learn my way around. But I’ll send you the addresses and coordinates of the lairs the moment I get them, along with the addresses of any locales where Jack Shoffru has been seen or might lair.”

It could be too little too late, but it was a start to making sense of the vamp-into-dust problem, the missing Bliss and Rachael problem, and finding Molly. I forced a smile, my lips feeling stiff and thin as I focused on Jodi. “Thanks. I’ll keep you informed.”

“Yeah. You better,” she said. “And if humans are in danger in my city, you let me in on the action. Understood?”

I nodded. I understood perfectly. And I had no intention of obeying her. I wouldn’t be calling in any law enforcement until I had done what needed doing, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. I was learning to control my big mouth.

I hung up the phone and looked at my pals. The Kid’s head was still bowed over the tablet, a smear of black and gold visible on the screen, oddly familiar. I pushed myself to my feet and said to Jodi and Eli, “I need to talk to Bruiser and Big Evan. And then we’re going to find and rescue Molly and Shiloh Everhart Stone, the newest vamp in New Orleans. And probably Bliss and Rachael too.”

I had finally understood what was going on. But more important, I had finally understood what I was, who I was. I was War Woman. And this was my fight.

CHAPTER 19

Beast’s Angel Tolded Me So

My bike was on the back porch, bent, busted, and twisted. Paint was scored off to reveal asphalt-scraped metal beneath, like the worst case of road rash in Harley history. The front wheel was a goner. It looked as if I had hit the curb head-on. The body was bent, as if I’d wrapped it around a light pole. Oil and gas dripped with a silent splat, leaking out like blood, to pool on the cardboard someone had placed beneath, like a blood-soaked mattress on a death bed. My bike smelled like petroleum products and burned rubber and defeat.

The Kid patted my shoulder and went inside, leaving Eli behind with me, his thumbs in his jeans pockets. Silent.

I squatted and placed a hand on her gas tank. Her once-smooth skin felt rough under my fingertips, cold. The mountain lion claws painted on the gas tank were mangled. The bike was . . . broken. “Oh, Bitsa. I am so sorry,” I whispered.

“We can ship her to North Carolina and get the original mechanic to work on her,” Eli said softly behind me. “You told me he’s a genius.”

“He’s like a Zen Harley master,” I said, hearing the grief and acceptance in my voice. “Nobody works with bikes like him. Yeah, he can fix her. Eventually. If I get you his address, can you handle the shipping?”

“Yep.”

I stood. “Okay.” I looked from my broken bike to Eli and felt some of the heaviness lift off me. “You’re awfully nice for a big bad fighting machine.”

“Let’s keep that between us, okay, Legs?” He gave the twitch of a smile that was his version of a belly laugh. “I got a rep to maintain with Uncle Sam’s second finest.”

I figured he meant Derek and his Marines cohorts. “Deal. Thanks.”

“Your fancy new boots are already back at vamp HQ. Adelaide is returning them to the company for repair or replacement. Your ruined clothes are in your room. And it’s no wonder you’re single. No lace, no black silk. I gotta tell you. I was terribly disappointed.”

“That breaks my heart. Not.” I shrugged. “I’m kinda hard on clothes,” I admitted.

“Yeah. I noticed. Go see George. He was in pretty bad shape too, maybe worse than your plain cotton undies, but I think he’ll survive.” Eli opened the door and held it for me, grinning enough to actually show some teeth. “For next Christmas, I’m buying you some decent underwear.”

“You mean indecent underwear.”

“You know me so well,” Eli chuckled, the sound filling the yard with amusement. I left him on the porch and entered the house.

• • •

I stood, looking down at Bruiser, sleeping on my couch. He was scarred, pale, and looked like death warmed over, but he was alive, breathing evenly, his eyes moving in REM sleep, Angie Baby sitting next to him, holding his hand. “He’s gonna be okay, Aunt Jane,” she said, her face solemn and encouraging, nodding like an adult health-care worker, trying to assure a family that a loved one was healing. “He’s hurt but he’s gettin’ better. Daddy played his flute for him, and I’m helpin’ make him better too. Can you see?”

She took my hand and instantly I could. I could see healing energies moving like a stream reflecting back a starry black sky, from Angie’s fingers into Bruiser. The stream was magic, Angelina’s magic. Magic she shouldn’t even have yet, let alone be able to use. “Angie,” I asked, “does your daddy know you’re healing Bruiser?”

“No, ma’am.” She shook her head, red-blond curls swinging. “Don’t tell him, okay? Him and Mommy’s both scared of my magic.”

Ohhh. This isn’t good. I let myself slide to the floor beside Angie. “They’re not scared of you, Angie. They’re not scared of your magic. They just want you to grow up some before you use it, so you don’t make mistakes and get hurt or hurt someone else.”

“And so the special policemen don’t come and take me away,” she added solemnly. “I heard them talking a bunch a times. The policemen will take me away from them if they find out I got my magic before I’m all growed up. But Uncle Ricky Bo knows and he isn’t taking me away.”

“Oh . . . Angie.” I took her free hand in mine and scooted closer on the floor. How was I going to fix this? “It’s just not fair for you to have to deal with all this when you are so little. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not little anymore, Aunt Jane. I’m seven years old now. I had a birthday party and everything, but you didn’t come to it. Why didn’t you come to my birthday party?”

I laughed through my nose, silently, knowing I was wrapped around Angie Baby’s finger and she was using that to her advantage. “Your mama was still mad at me. I bought you a present, though. I sent it to you.”

“Ka Nvista’s new dress.” She nodded. “It was pretty. I left it at home. I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about, Baby. Not a thing. But for now, I want you to stop trying to heal Bruiser, okay? And stop using your magic when you don’t absolutely have to.”

Angie tilted her in perplexity, her eyebrows drawing together. “But people need me, Aunt Jane. I’m supposed to help. It’s why I’m here. Beast’s angel tolded me so.”

Beast’s angel? Hayyel? That interaction between the angel and the people gathered in the room in Evangelina’s house, not long before I killed the witch, had lasted all of five heartbeats. A single moment of bright light and darkest chaos, the sound of swords clashing, and the scream of darkest evil fighting a blinding, killing light. But in that single moment, the angel had done a lot of things, and I was nowhere near figuring out what all he had done or how to undo any of it.

I wanted to say, Angie, do you know what the word inscrutable means? ’Cause God is inscrutable. He gave us life with no promises. And that life sometimes just slaps us silly for no reason, out of the blue, and leaves us to deal with the problems. Sink or swim. But Angie wasn’t ready to hear all that. And how did you tell a kid that the angel who talked to her might have his own agenda and that what the angel wanted might not be the best thing for the nonangelic?

I was getting in too deep with this. I was floundering. “Ummm, the angel didn’t mean you had to do it all now,” I said softly. Yeah. That sounded good. “Aaaaand . . . um . . . the angel wants you to grow up a lot more first.”

Angie straightened her head and grinned at me. “You’re funny, Aunt Jane.” But she let go of Bruiser’s hand and the black motes of dazzling magic vanished. Relief shuddered through me like a jackhammer. Angie went on. “Mommy’s hurt. She was okay, but she’s not okay now. You gotta go help her.”

My heart crawled up my throat on pounding feet. “Can you tell me what’s wrong with her?” I asked.

“She’s got dead stuff all around her. And she’s scared. She’s talking to God and you gotta help her.”

Molly was talking to God? Molly hadn’t really believed in God for a long time. “Okay. I’m trying really hard.” And then I grinned. “Your other birthday present? Is this.” I reached over and picked up the kitten, depositing her in Angie’s arms. “Her name is KitKit.”

Angie’s eyes went wide as saucers. “I been holding her! I love her!” She hugged the kitten close. “I always wanted a kitten for my own! Hi, KitKit! I love you already!” Angie Baby threw her arms around my neck, squishing KitKit between us. “Thank you, Aunt Jane! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I glanced up from the floor to the Kid, sitting at his table, working, and shamelessly listening in. He shook his head at me slowly, perplexed, baffled. Or maybe amazed. It was pretty brilliant of me.

I opened my cell and checked my e-mail to find one waiting from Del. In it were three addresses, all of them out of the city, west of the river. I dipped the cell at Alex, indicating I was sending him info. He nodded, and I hit SEND. “Directions, sat maps, anything you can get,” I said to him. “We have a couple of hours before sundown and we need to be done before nightfall.” Or Molly might not make it.