Soul was staring at Gee as she held out her hand in invitation. “Come to me, little bird. I smell her scent on you. She bit you, yes?” Soul laughed, not unkindly. “Let’s fly together. And you can tell me all you know of the hatchling.”
They vanished in a flash of gray energies, shot through with black and sapphire motes. And my house was suddenly mostly empty.
With the situation at least moderately secure, my body decided it was safe now to give in and let the stomach cramps take me over. I bent double as my insides tried to twist me apart. I had been right. Pain delayed was pain intensified. I’m gonna die after all was my last coherent thought.
CHAPTER 18
Werewolf Laughter
The cleanup took two hours and left the house with the cozy, lightless feel of a cave. I liked it, once I was able to breathe enough to appreciate it. Eli was less positive, but he’d find security issues in a castle, one with a mote, a drawbridge lined with C4, and rocket launchers and antiaircraft weapons mounted on the turrets. I smiled to myself at the image, limping, still holding my middle with an arm.
I put the mop away, still smelling vamp blood, even over the smells of bleach and suds, even with Leo gone to Katie’s place where he could feed on the working girls, and be ministered to by the priestess until he was fully healed. He hadn’t come to, while he was lying on my floor, but he had looked a bit less lifeless before his heir had hauled him over the fence, handling his body one-handed, Derek behind her, his dark skin gray with fatigue. Katie was scary strong.
The priestess had left, without a word, just walked out the front door opening and disappeared into the night. Their departures had left the house feeling too large and far more windy.
Once I was able to formulate a rational thought again, we had debated moving. It was an option. But the debate hadn’t lasted long. Only that castle with the mote and the rocket launchers could protect us now.
So Eli and Alex had made the place as secure as possible, with plywood, quick-mounted motion detectors, cameras focused on the street, the side and backyards, and the wall around back. Which was ironic, as I had broken the ones Katie had put there to keep tabs on me when I first came to New Orleans. We weren’t safe in this house. But after staking Leo, I wasn’t safe anywhere, especially not at HQ, and the Youngers still refused to go camp out at vamp central without me. And Soul, whose luggage was still upstairs, could find me in the gray place of the change, and move through brick and plaster better than the light she seemed to be made of. Here we stayed.
We were sitting down to a quick dinner—salads, steak, microwaved potatoes, Coke for Alex, and beer for Eli and me—when the rain started again, a loud and demanding storm with wind and lightning and thunder. The meal was without music, without TV volume, with only the storm to hide the approach of strangers and enemies, and the outside cameras hooked up to the Kid’s monitors. Rain beat down on the roof, the front of the house, and added a loud staccato rumble to the dinner.
I hoped the rain might be loud enough to wake Bruiser, who still slept on the couch. He lay on his side, curled in a half-fetal position. The man didn’t snore, which pleased me for reasons I hadn’t looked into yet.
My cell buzzed midstorm with a text from Soul that said, We are here. See lights in house. No answer at door. NO DOOR. Please advise. Are wet.
I chuckled and texted back, Side gate. Enter through window. To the guys, I said, “Soul’s back and she must be human because she can text. And she’s not alone, and she’s wet. Oh. And she noted that we have no front door.”
“She’s clearly got mad powers of observation even when she’s a dragon,” Alex said. “Got her on the monitor. Well, well, well. This should be fun.”
Eli pushed his half-eaten meal away, and went to the windows of the main room. I heard the window opening, the sash sticking and scraping. And it occurred to me that Soul might not have written that text herself. Anyone with her cell could have sent it and be holding her—
I heard Eli jump back fast. I came up with a gun in one hand and a vamp-killer in the other, and reached the living room in a single leap that made the Kid yelp in surprise before he laughed, the sound wicked and mocking.
Eli was crouched, a nine-mil in each hand, aimed at a huge, soaking wet, white, growling dog, with crystalline blue eyes. It showed Eli its teeth. Big honking teeth that I recognized. This was no dog. It was a white wolf, a werewolf. I fought the desire to shoot him. Though Beast hated his guts on principle—he was a canine—he had once saved my life in the middle of a werewolf attack.
He crouched and raised his shoulders, his growl a rumble that I felt through the floor. Soul was just stepping through the window, and she shouted, “Brute! Stop that!” Like Brute, Soul was soaked through to the skin—not even her magic was keeping her dry through the downpour. She shoved a dripping plastic grocery bag across the floor and hit the wolf in the side with her knee.
Brute stopped growling and closed his lips over his teeth. He looked up at Eli and chuffed. And shook. Water and the stench of wet dog flew everywhere.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Brute snarled at me. So did Eli, who had been caught in the flying droplets. I holstered my weapons and went to the kitchen, returning with two hands full of dish towels, which I tossed to Eli and to the floor at Brute’s feet. “Roll around in the towels, dog. Get yourself dry, or I promise I’ll toss you outside to sleep on the back porch like the mongrel you are.”
The wolf dropped on the pile of towels and rolled, scattering them everywhere and leaving a large wet spot on the newly cleaned floor. He huffed the whole time, werewolf laughter.
Midroll, Brute wrenched himself back to his feet, nose to the floor, snuffling and growling again. “Not to worry,” I said to Brute. “It’s just Leo’s blood.” The wolf tilted his head in a totally human gesture of astonishment and I said, “I staked him earlier for interrupting my shower and trying to kill me.”
The wolf’s look went blanker. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. This time his tongue lolled comically.
Soul asked, “Forgive me if I don’t quite remember everything from before, but is he . . . ah . . . true-dead?” The look in her eyes said she was calculating how Leo’s death would affect the vamp legal-system negotiations. And how long I’d be alive to tell the tale.
“I wish. But nah. Katie took him home to feed him.” I handed Soul a larger towel and helped to pat her down while she started giving us the third degree, law enforcement officer–style.
“Where are the Mithrans staying? Why are they here? How many are there? Did they really hurt Reach?”
The answers were minimal and unsatisfactory, but they were all I had. “We lost them. They’re supposedly after magical things to take home to the EuroVamps. Satan’s Three and any humans they might have. What little intel we have suggests around ten. And I don’t know. He sounded”—I frowned at the memory—“hurt.”
Soul shook her head and then shook out her platinum-silver hair, running her fingers through to finger-comb the long strands. Even soaking wet she was gorgeous. Curvy, womanly, rounded. With cleavage that drew the eyes, even the eyes of straight women like me. Just elegant cleavage. “You do lead an interesting life, Jane Yellowrock,” she said.
“Me? You!”
Soul laughed softly; Brute snorted, and shook again. Eli grumbled and picked up the towels, wiping the dog water and scent off the floor and furniture, keeping an eye on Brute. The wolf trotted around the couch and stopped, sniffing Bruiser from the top of his head to the tips of his socked feet. Then he made the rounds of the living room and kitchen, sniffing and studying everything. I waited, wondering what he’d pick up from the scents in the foyer.