Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7)

Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7) Page 9

Magic to witches was as natural as rain was to clouds, as natural as the cycle of the moon, as the motion of the tides, the flowing of rivers, the eruption of lava, the growth of plants, the movement of tidal winds. It was nature in all its glory and all its power, and once a witch began using her gift, denying it was said to be impossible, which meant that either Molly was practicing in private or something had happened to her magic. Something bad, or she would have told her husband. Beast padded to the front of my mind and lay down, staring into the dark. Her tail tip, thick and rounded, was twitching just a bit, showing her inner agitation at all the humans and witches in her house. But she had been mostly silent about it all day.

I rolled over and stared out the window. The night and a cloak of fog had closed in the house, making it feel small, isolated, cocooned, and too full. I lay in the dark, wearing a long-sleeved tee and flannel pants for the snuggle effect, hearing people move through the house, little groans of floorboards, small squeaks of stairs, voices murmuring, the sound of breathing. Too many people. It reminded me of the children’s home where I was raised, and none of those memories were particularly wonderful. Unlike at the children’s home, these people were friends and family, but . . . I just wasn’t used to having them all here, all the beds full, the house busting at the seams.

Like pack, Beast murmured deep inside. She wasn’t happy for reasons I didn’t fully understand. And if I would admit it, I wasn’t happy. I flopped back over, my hands behind my head, the covers up to my neck, and stared at the ceiling, the fan above me hidden in the shadows. But if I was honest, I was unhappy for reasons other than the people in my house. I was unhappy because of Molly.

My best friend in the entire world was in trouble. She had told her husband she was coming to see me, though she had refused to see me or speak to me in months. Why? Why would she not just pick up the phone? Why lie? Why all the deception?

Unless . . . Maybe Molly left that note, because she knew if she told Evan that she was coming to see me, he would follow . . . and she wanted him here? Why? My stomach muscles clenched as things started coalescing in the back of my brain, straining to take a form that I couldn’t yet make out. I slowly sat up in bed.

Either she was throwing him off the trail or she really was coming to New Orleans. Yet she had disappeared. And that side trip? All of Molly’s friends and sisters lived in or around Asheville, North Carolina. Where had Molly gone for fifty or sixty miles? Why had she then turned in her car and disappeared? And how was she living without money? That was the real question. Sooo . . . Molly had a plan. And I needed to find out what it was. And where she was getting her money. And if she ever got to New Orleans. Or if something had changed her plans against her will.

Taking the cell off my bedside table, I texted the Kid: Find where Molly’s mother lives. Name something like Bedelia Everhart. Check mileage. Start file. Whatever had happened afterward to change her plans, Molly’s original scheme had included me. That could be the only reason for using my name. So where was she?

• • •

I struggled awake in the night, feeling/hearing/knowing my door was opening. A faint scritch of wood on wood. The air moved differently over my face. The sound of the central heater was less muted, with a more hollow hum. And I smelled Angie Baby. “Aunt Jane? I’m scared.”

“Come on in,” I whispered, lifting the covers.

She slid into the bed, whispering, “Scootch over,” and she spooned into my tummy, pulling my arm across her. The smell of strawberry shampoo and witch child filled my nostrils. The bed, which had felt just fine only moments ago, felt wonderful now.

Kit, Beast thought, purring happily.

I was glad it was dark because I knew there was a silly, goofy grin on my face. “What about Little Evan? Don’t you think he’s scared?”

Angie Baby sighed and settled deeper against me. “EJ’s brave. G’ night.”

“Good night, Angie.”

Moments later, I heard small feet pattering down the stairs, and EJ raced into the room through the open door, saying, “Me too! Me too!”

The silly smile still on my face, I reached over and lifted him onto the bed. He crawled across me, pushed me off my own pillow, and flopped into the warm spot. I pulled the other pillow over and fluffed it until it fit my neck and face, EJ’s cold back nestled into the small of mine. I pulled Angie close and closed my eyes, more than satisfied. And Beast was still purring. Finally she was content.

• • •

Beast kicked out, swiping my mind awake. Instantly my hands found the children, safe and asleep against me. What—? My cell vibrated on the bedside table. By Beast’s alert interest, I knew it was Leo. I took the cell into my hand, holding it as I pushed Beast away from control of my mind. She wanted Leo, always had, and the binding only made it worse. I needed to make sure that Leo never learned about the other soul that lived inside me, nor the fact that she was bound to him.

I eased out of the warm bed and padded into the living room, sitting on the couch and pulling the coverlet over me. I checked the time before I answered. Three eleven a.m. Like the middle of the day to a vamp. “Yellowrock.”

“My Enforcer.” The words were a soft rumble of sound, a possessive vibration that pulsed on the binding and made Beast ready to roll over and offer him her belly. Leo was using that come-hither tone the really old ones use when they are seducing for dinner and sex, and Beast liked it. My usual defense to all that was a touch of tasteless snark.

“Mornin’, Leo. ’Sup?”

His hesitation was slight, but noticeable, and I grinned in the dark until he said, “You will attend me before dawn. We have much to discuss.”

It wasn’t a request, and because the MOC paid my quite hefty retainer, I had to obey. But I didn’t have to kowtow to him about it. “Okeydokey, Your Royal Fanghead. You want I should bring my shooter? My tech guy? Or just me?”

He didn’t answer for a moment and I could almost see him trying to find a response to my smack. “You alone will be sufficient,” he said at last. “Shall we say half an hour?”

“Sure.” I thumbed the cell off without waiting for his permission, which was totally satisfying. It wasn’t much rebellion by anyone’s standards, but it was all I could manage, and until I could find a way to break my binding, I wasn’t going anywhere, so I might as well get paid for it. Moving silently in the dark, I dressed in jeans, boots, a fleece tee, and a leather jacket against the wind chill. I tucked the covers around Angie, picked up EJ, and made my way up the stairs to Evan’s room, to tap on the door. When he opened it, he was wearing a robe, for which I was grateful, as I had once seen Big Evan in his version of sleepwear—boxers and not much else—and once was enough. He took in my clothes, seemed to reach a conclusion, and tilted his head in question.

“His High and Mighty requested my presence before dawn. Will you let the wards down and put them back up?”

Evan whistled a soft single note, and I felt an indistinct prickle of magics against my skin as the wards fell. “Kids were both in your bed?” he rumbled in his version of a whisper.

“Yeah. They might be confused when they wake up.” I handed Evan his son, and watched with something like longing as he nestled the boy’s head on one shoulder and the sleep-limp body across his barrel chest. EJ’s arm came up and he hugged his father in his sleep, his lips making several smacking sounds as he adjusted his position. “I’ll bring up Angie. When you hear Bitsa start up in the street, you can reset the wards.”

“What’s up?” Eli asked. I hadn’t heard his door open and his voice came from the shadows. “Going somewhere?”

“Yes,” I said shortly. Once upon a time and not so long ago, I could come and go with no problems. Now it was like a theater production. I half expected someone to shout, “Lights, positions, aaaaaaand action.” But then I realized my tone might have been rude, and added, “Leo called. It’s okay. Go back to bed.”

I made my way back down the stairs, brought up Angie, and returned to the ground floor, where I opened the safe room door, hidden behind a bookshelf that moved on rolling hinges. The safe room was once used by Leo and his heir as a secret lair for their daytime trysts. Back then it had only one opening, through the floor from underneath the house, and was furnished with a bed and expensive sheets. The bed was still there, though now it was covered with sharp, shiny things and things that go bang and shoot, to kill big bad uglies. I chose a nine-millimeter semiautomatic handgun and two blades, strapped them on, and closed the door on its silent hinges.

Not speaking to anyone else, I took the side door, zipping my jacket as I walked. I helmeted up and pushed Bitsa down the narrow drive, unlocked the tall wrought-iron gate with the fleur-de-lis at the top, and relocked it behind me. I kick-started my bike and headed off to vamp HQ, face shield up, out of the way, so I could take in the morning scents. I could have walked, but arriving on foot was not nearly as impressive as the growl of a Harley, and with vamps and their minions, style is everything.

The gate opened as I tooled down the street, which was against protocol, but then I saw Wrassler in the shadows, heavily armed and ready for action, with low-light goggles in place. The security guy, muscle-bound and tough as nails, could surely see my face, and I lifted a finger to acknowledge him. He raised the goggles, lifted a finger in return, and closed the gates after me. I left the helmet on Bitsa and took the stairs to the front door of the white stucco-and-stone-faced building, my hip-length braid bouncing against my backside.

The door opened before I had to announce myself on the intercom and I strolled through the outer doors and into the bulletproof glass breezeway. Two black-suited unfamiliar blood-servants nodded greetings to me, standing at the tables in the breezeway, and I placed my weapons in the black resin trays on top. It was Security 101, protocols I had instituted, and I studied the newbies and their demeanor as I complied with my own rules. They could have been twins, perfect as bookends, Caucasian, nondescript, brown hair cut short. Both moved like former military, in top physical and mental shape, each about five foot ten, buff and somehow fast-looking, and they clearly had both been through the meet-and-greet lecture I had helped to prepare. They looked tough, yet managed to smile and come across as happy to see me.