Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7)

Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7) Page 53

Bruiser pushed the straw away, but accepted a handful of dates and tossed them into his mouth. I didn’t think he’d actually taken the time to chew them, and was sure he hadn’t when he went back to the Gatorade and struggled to swallow at first. He finished off the bottle and placed a hand over his mouth in what might have been a polite British burp, but I heard nothing. “Excuse me,” he said.

Impressed but not surprised, I went for another large bottle. By the time he’d taken in about a quart of the second gallon, he looked better and he had stopped shaking, but Bruiser’s voice was still rough when he said, “Leo took Shiloh in last summer.” My mouth dropped open, but Bruiser ignored it. “He didn’t know who she was, beyond her given name and her witch status. No history, no information at all. He didn’t know who any of the Damours’ scions were. He should have allowed her to be given the mercy stroke, given that she is a witch, and showed no indication of ever returning to sanity. But he asked Lincoln Shaddock to send Amy Lynn Brown to feed her.”

I dredged my memory and came up with the name of the two-year wonder, a scion who was turned by Shaddock and went through the entire curing process in two years, finding sanity and reentering society in a brand-new record time. She had been brown-haired, slender, unremarkable, but with a good head on her shoulders, calm under fire, smart. Aaaand yes. That was the familiar female vamp I’d seen at vamp HQ, sliding an arm around the panicked fanghead standing in for the leader of Clan Arceneau. “Okay.”

“She brought Shiloh out of the devoveo in less than two months, though your niece,” he said to Evan, “had been in thrall to the madness for years by that time.” Bruiser stopped and drank again. All I could think was that he’d have to pee like a racehorse, which was totally inappropriate under any circumstances, and I’d never say it aloud. I was, however, unable to keep a crooked grin off my mouth. Bruiser, as if he knew what I was thinking, shrugged with his eyebrows. He needed a shave, a shower, and new clothes, but he looked . . . good, sitting on my couch. Long and lean and dangerous.

Beast focused on him intently and started to purr. Mine, she thought.

“Unrelated, but pertinent,” he said, “Leo is having Amy’s blood tested to see if it’s something genetic, a fluke, or some reaction to Shaddock’s blood, that she went through the devoveo process so quickly and now is also able to help others through it faster.

“Before Leo could learn the girl’s history or true name, Jack Shoffru entered New Orleans, far in advance of Leo’s approved timeline, and held a party at Guilbeau’s. He took Shiloh, which means he knew who she was. And no one knew until you told Adelaide to look for her. And worse, something went wrong at the party and two scions who attended died.”

“Then Leo had his own shindig,” I said, and something went wrong. “Something got through security. Two somethings.”

“We think they tried to search Leo’s rooms,” Bruiser said, sounding more and more like himself.

“The blurry things,” I said, remembering the footage from the night of the party, and remembering Vodka Sunrise’s missing tooth.

Bruiser looked from Big Evan to me and back. “Leo fed from Jack and learned about the diamond. Quite honestly, we didn’t know that they were searching, or what they were searching for, until then.”

“All nice but I don’t give a rat’s ass about it,” Evan said. “What I want to know is, why did Leo not inform her family the moment Shiloh’s identity was known?”

Bruiser would have to be a block of stone to not hear the threat in Big Evan’s voice. He bowed his head slightly, formally, to the larger man. Even with him sitting, in his unkempt state, the gesture looked formal, ceremonial. “It was a mistake, seen in hindsight. And when the young scions who had attended the party began to vanish, leaving behind only a pile of ash, and their blood-servants began to fall ill, Leo attempted to right the wrong and find the girl. It was too late. Shoffru had her. He failed.”

“And what?” I demanded. “Leo figured it all out the night of the party and he still let me leave, knowing everything was coming down around his shoulders? Knowing my family was in danger?” I stopped as a flash of anger burst through me. I didn’t look at Big Evan because I could feel his reaction on the air, sparking and sharp with barely controlled magic. I pushed down on my own reaction because I might set him off if I let it go. “You didn’t think I should know this before I left vamp central?”

“Yes, I did. And when I insisted, Leo kicked me out.”

“Kicked you out?” Evan said, his magic stuttering and going still.

“Permanently,” Bruiser said. He looked lost for a moment, a scant instant of shocked surprise. Then he pasted a cocky grin on his face and said, “Which was timely considering that I followed Jane and assisted her in her difficulties.”

“Which nearly got you killed,” I said.

Bruiser shrugged. “Leo and I have had difficulties over the last few months, but this was”—his face drew down, frowning—“different. Much more acute. I believe the proper phrase is, I need a new crib.”

“Dude,” the Kid said, still sitting in the corner, watching us all. “I can bunk with the bro. You can have my room.”

I sat up straight. This can’t be good. But before I could say no, Bruiser said, “Thank you. I won’t stay long. I promise.”

Mine, Beast said. Will take Bruiser.

“Uhhh,” I said, thinking, Rick . . .

Will take Rick back soon, she growled. Will have Bruiser now.

No, I insisted. I will be alpha in this one thing.

Bruiser turned his gaze to me. And held me in it, as if he cupped his hands around my face, as if I was precious and . . . special. As if he would never hurt me. Ever. Or something. And . . . Beast purred, which I swallowed down. Hard. Oh, crap.

Eli looked back and forth between Bruiser and me and his lips twitched.

“Shut up, I said to them both, and Eli chuckled softly, the sound pure suggestive wickedness. I said to Bruiser, “This place is already pretty crowded.”

“Yeah. Whatever,” Alex said, ducking his head. “I gave him my room. I took his stuff up there last night. So it’s, like, a done deal.”

“His stuff?” I asked, and my voice broke into a tiny yelp on the end.

“Yeah,” the Kid said. “I’m sending you info on the Damours’ potential lairs, to add to any Adelaide sends you. You shouldn’t need to fight once you find them, but you never know. And it’s less than two hours before sunset. You better get weaponed up.”

Not knowing where else to go, but absolutely certain that I didn’t want to stay in the room with all the guys, I went to my room, shut the door, and started changing clothes. As I left the room, I muttered just loud enough for them to hear, “Men.” They laughed. Great. I was an amusing tension reliever for them.

Deep in my mind, Beast said, Mine.

And deeper still, I ached quietly for Rick. Which was just too incredibly stupid of me.

• • •

It didn’t take long for me to gear up. But it was weird. We were taking orders from the Kid. When had that happened? He texted our cells with the addresses for the Damours’ possible lairs and GPS coordinates and sat maps of the locations. Back in the foyer, we checked com gear and turned for the SUV parked out front.

Big Evan stepped in front of the door. “Shotgun,” he said.

He wasn’t asking for one. He was claiming the passenger seat, intending to ride along. I nixed the idea fast. “You are the only one who stands a snowball’s chance in Hades of controlling your daughter,” I said. “You cannot leave her with the Kid or Tia without her making them think they need to follow us.” At his confused expression, I muttered, “Trust me, big guy. Your daughter is doing magic, magic with raw power and no math or spells. And she’s got scary good control. So move. Now. I’ll find Molly and bring her home to you.”

“And if you need magic to help?”

“Then we’ll back off and call you. Deal?”

He heaved a breath that I felt across the foyer, and rubbed his face, sliding his hand down his beard. He smelled of sweat and fear, a slightly sour stench. His massive shoulders slumped. “Okay.” He went back to the sofa and sat down beside Bruiser.

“What’s wrong with this picture?” Eli asked.

“Too much to list,” I muttered. “Let’s go while we can.”

CHAPTER 20

What Took You So Long?

The first place on the Kid’s list was on Ulloa Street, near I-10, and out of the French Quarter, a world away from the lair of the three vamps, well, two, now that one was true-dead, a bag of ash. It was a narrow single-story building—empty of inhabitants but full of a mixed ethnic bag of carpenter types, a plumber, and maybe an electrician, standing around doing that guy thing that looks lazy but is actually part of working. Or so they say.

Eli stuck his head out the window and called out to the man closest, “Yo. How long this place been empty?”

“We been here, like, six weeks,” the Latino guy nearest said. “It was a doctor’s office till then, man.”

“What are you turning it into?”

“Some rich dude’s digs. Guy’s got it all.” He rubbed his fingers against his thumb to indicate money. And made another gesture that suggested the client was getting a lot of other kinds of action too. The men all laughed, Eli too. He gave a lethargic wave—another one of those manly gestures that suggested they all understood one another—and raised the window so the men wouldn’t get a good look at me as he drove off.

I snorted. Eli just slid his eyes to me and headed for the bridge and the Mississippi. “No rich guy’s gonna live here,” I said. “They’ll buy something in the Garden District or out at the lake.”

“He was shooting a line,” Eli agreed, with what might have been a teasing note in his voice, “’cause he saw I was with a woman.”