“On the way,” I said. Rick was already picking up the blanket and our stuff. I grabbed up my gear and we raced back to the limo. It was gonna be a long night, and for some reason, I was feeling all mellow and peaceful and easy. I smiled as we ran.
We left our luggage for later pickup in the house we had rented and damaged, and tore back toward New Orleans. I was in Grégoire’s limo with Alex, Bruiser, Derek, and Eli. The limo had taken some hits during the fight with the blood-servants, and I wasn’t looking forward to telling Grégoire that his ride was now damaged. Derek’s other men, the injured and the healthy, were in the truck that had brought our gear and in the rented limo that Leo and Grégoire had arrived in. Leo had commandeered his own helo and he and Grégoire were already halfway back to New Orleans.
So much was left undone. We had never met or confronted the master of the city, the vamp whose name I couldn’t pronounce, Big H. It was a serious breach of vamp protocol to enter an MOC’s city without going the first night to say howdy. Of course, it was a worse breach to go in and shoot up and behead his guests, so maybe I was overthinking things. Or maybe I’d just made another fanghead enemy. Go, me.
In the limo, Alex was intent on something on his electronic gear, shoving in little finger-sized drives, saving, adding other files, oblivious of us. He had a plastic Coke bottle with a tall straw in the drink holder meant for crystal champagne flutes. Eli and Bruiser were discussing tactics and strategy for securing the humans and vamps, and on the phone to Leo and Grégoire and once to NOPD. Laying out plans.
Bruiser was in charge of this gig, not me; I was just muscle, a shooter, and I was stretched out on the rear seat, letting the events of the night flit through my brain like bats in candlelight, small things illuminated for a moment before darting away. I was aware of everything. The smell of dried blood and sweat on all of us, the stench of sick and dead vamp, tired humans, blood-servant, and the smell of cat caught in my clothes. The limo engine purred. The softer sounds of Alex’s electronics whirred and clicked. The night, like black velvet, pressed against the windows. The men glanced back at me often, their puzzlement a faint tinge of scent on the air. The road bucked constantly beneath us, the expansion joints making the car rock.
I knew that Rick was in a car somewhere behind us. I could feel him. His concentration. His intensity. I guessed he was driving and talking and giving orders. Cop stuff. I knew that his inhuman unit and Soul were with him, but I was no longer jealous. I could feel his relationship with Soul and it was nothing like what he felt for me. She was his mentor, friend, and teacher. He honestly just liked her. I wasn’t sure that knowing what Rick was feeling and doing was a good thing, and though it was nice on one level, I hoped it would fade soon. It was distracting.
And I could feel something else, like a disconnect in the fabric of the world. That was a little poetic, especially for me, but there it was. Something was wrong. We were under attack. We had caught one traitor, so . . . how had de Allyon known we were in Natchez?
I pulled my cell and sent a text to Alex. “Is Cheek Sneak our bad guy?”
He texted back “Still looking.” Which was no help at all. With Eli taking his cell, he knew we were onto him. If he was the bad guy, he wasn’t likely to make another mistake.
“How about the others?” I texted again. “Anyone likely?”
Alex looked up at me a moment later and nodded, a scant movement of his head, and sent me a text back. I read it, closed my cell, and put it away. So. Alex agreed with me. It was one of six people, with Cheek Sneak at the top of the list He was probably dirty. Not definitively. Which was no help at all, really. I remembered thinking recently that once a list of suspects rose above five, things got complicated. Like now. And the Kid had some new info for me, stuff he’d downloaded off the computers at de Allyon’s before Rick took over. I remembered the green and red computer or battery-backup lights in the room where I’d fought the first vamp. The Kid had gotten in there and downloaded all the PCs. He was freaky smart. He was gonna be a huge help to me, even though he did need a shower again something bad. Stinky little fart.
The limo was breaking every traffic law there was. We passed no cops, lucky us, thanks to someone’s interference, maybe Leo’s. Maybe he had called in a few favors. Or Bruiser had. Operations involving vamps meant that the system worked differently—that whole “Some pigs are more equal than others” deal. I just rested through it all, letting the world pass me by for once. Not fighting for once.
When New Orleans’ bright lights lit up the horizon, Bruiser’s cell rang. “George Dumas,” he said. He got a funny look on his face. His eyes slanted up and met mine. His accent went all British and snooty as it did when he was under stress or worried or really, really angry. Based on the way his eyes went dead, I was betting on anger this time. “Yes. I know who Lucas Vazquez de Allyon is. If you harm Katie, your blood, and the blood of your people, will run in the streets.”
I sat up slowly.
“We are,” Bruiser said. His eyes bored into mine. “Have you replaced your dead Enforcer? Yes. Jane Yellowrock is with us.” A cold smile lifted his lips. “Good. We accept.”
I had a bad feeling that the “we” part, of the “We accept,” actually meant me.
That cold little smile stayed in place as Bruiser hit END and speed-dialed another number. I was more shocked than anyone when Sabina answered.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dumber Than Dirt
After Bruiser hung up the phone with Sabina, the tension in the limo was as sharp as lightning, all of us staring at Bruiser. I said, “Let me get this straight. I just got accused of the murder of Ramondo Pitri, and according to vamp law, I have to go to trial. Like now.”
Bruiser nodded, his lips pressed tight. “Not tonight. But soon. Within two days.”
“But that murder accusation could prove to be a political error on the part of de Allyon, who was angry, probably ticked off by the attack on his Natchez property. But for whatever reason, he blamed me and is using the death of Pitri to get back at me.”
The men reacted to the “for whatever reason” part of the statement with various amounts of amusement. I ignored them and went on. “By accusing me of murder, de Allyon opened the door to forcing his blood-feud back under the Vampira Carta. Right so far?”
When Bruiser nodded, I said, “And so, based on that accusation, you got Sabina to call a parley, under the flag of truce, with de Allyon, ostensibly to iron out details about my trial. But at the parley, Sabina intends to force him back under the rule of the Vampira Carta, all by her lonesome. Oh. And I can’t refuse the trial. Is that about right?”
Bruiser chuckled, the sound unamused and harsh. “Yes. Not that anyone expects the trial to go against you. But during the parley, which should last two hours, Leo will be getting a feel for de Allyon’s forces, while Leo’s scions will rescue Katie.”
I sat back in my seat at that one. “Ah,” I said, finally understanding. Everything about the parley was a feint except that last part—finding Katie. The limo had been idling in front of my house for five minutes while Bruiser detailed the facts of our current situation, and my place in it all, to our small crew.
“If I go to trial and get convicted, the penalty is death.”
“No,” he said gently “The penalty for this particular charge is to be turned by the accuser, and to serve under him for all eternity.”
I thought about that for a moment. About being de Allyon’s plaything forever. About the risk of Leo using a parley to rescue his heir. About the fact that Sabina would not be informed of the subterfuge. It was audacious. It was sneaky and devious. I liked it. Well, I liked everything except the part about me having to go to a trial.
I looked out the tinted windows at my house. I’d called it my freebie house for ages, refusing to claim it. But
