It was pretty spectacular. Brute’s ruff went up, he growled and snarled, his chest enlarged as he chuffed and snuffled, and his tail dropped to half-mast. He pressed his nose to the wood and moved back and forth across the floor, sniffing and snorting and quivering with turmoil.
“Brute?” Soul asked. He didn’t look up.
“Nose suck,” I said.
Soul’s forehead wrinkled slightly as if trying to remember the term or what it meant. “I beg your pardon?”
“Canine noses—even wolf noses—are tied directly into the brain in ways humans can’t understand. The scents link, merge, and find pathways and patterns that paint a picture. He’s smelling Peregrinus and the Devil, and probably Gee and Katie and you and us. Oh. And blood. There was a sword fight in the foyer and the entry to the main room.”
The PsyLED special agent looked at the busted furniture piled in the corner and the sword cut in the wall, and shook her head slightly as if trying to draw conclusions from the chaos that was my life. “This, I don’t remember at all.”
“It happened before you made your dramatic entrance,” I said.
“Oh.” She shook her head, wet hair flying, “I suppose that should make me feel better.” Soul knelt by Brute and ran her fingers deep into his ruff, scratching his skin. “Brute,” she said. “Attention.” The snuffling stopped and the wolf rolled his blue eyes up to her, but his nose didn’t leave the wood floor. “I want you to remember the scents. Tell him who they are, Jane.”
“The female human is the Devil. The Mithran is called Peregrinus, and he’s our enemy. He came to about here”—I pointed to the floor—“and left. The not-human that might have a slight wet-feather undertone is Gee DiMercy. Then over here we had Leo and his heir, Katie, and the vampire priestess Bethany. She smells old and crazy.” I looked at Soul, who stood up, leaving her hand in the wolf’s ruff. “The other scents you might make out are Derek, who you’ve sniffed, I think, and two les arcenciels. Their scents are fishy and plantlike.” Soul lifted her eyebrows in amusement at my description of her scent, or maybe at my attempt at speaking French.
Brute snuffled and snorted, this tone different from the earlier ones, now of affirmation. He raised his head and stood on his back feet to stick his nose into Soul’s neck near her ear. He blew, fluffing her wet hair. Claws clicking, he dropped, turned around, and headed up the stairs. I said, “Do not do anything bad to any room or any piece of . . . anything. Or the threat about the back porch will be true.” Brute sniffed at me and trotted on up, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Why is George Dumas asleep on your couch?” Soul asked, still in the foyer, looking over her shoulder.
“It’s a long story,” Eli said, making his weapons disappear. “We have steak. I can cook one under the broiler for you and feed one raw to the dog.”
We could hear the growl from up the stairs at the dog insult.
“If you don’t want him to pee in your boots, you’d better be careful,” I said.
“It seems I always show at dinnertime.” Soul gave us an embarrassed smile, eyeing the table. “If you have an extra potato baked, I’d rather have that, though I need to change first.”
“You can’t just make your clothes,” I make a poof gesture, “presto chango?”
“No,” Soul said primly. “I cannot.”
I grunted. “So why is a werewolf here without his executioner?” Werewolves, even one touched by an angel, as this one had been, were always accompanied by a grindylow, who would kill them if they tried to pass along the were-taint.
Her voice soft, Soul said, “Pea is in-country. And there was no one else to take Brute.”
I blinked. “Oh. Of course.” I turned away. In-country was the word Rick had used when I sent him into hiding. Pea was with my ex and his were-panther girlfriend. Ask a dumb question . . .
“Yes,” Soul said. “Also, Brute’s nose may be useful when we go after the hatchling. If you’ll excuse me . . .”
Alex stood at the bottom of the stairs blushing, his eyes carefully—very carefully—not staring at Soul’s cleavage or the way her body looked, with the wet clothes plastered to her as she made her way up to her room. All the time spent with Katie’s working girls was paying off in the Kid’s manners.
Eli and I went back to the kitchen where I nuked my untouched cold potato and lined up condiments in front of Soul’s plate. Eli used tongs to serve her salad, and set a raw steak on a plate on the floor. Faster than I could change—and I changed quick—Soul was back, wearing jeans and a lightweight sweater, her hair braided in a silver plait down her back to dry.
“When we go after the hatchling?” I asked, picking up the conversation where we had dropped it.
“She is a powerful weapon when being ridden. As a PsyLED special agent, I cannot leave her in Peregrinus’ hands. And she is one of my kind, a rare and precious hatchling. I will not leave her in his hands.”
As if we’d worked and lived together for years, we went back to eating, filling Soul in on the most recent events. It took some time, and Soul asked more questions about the missing hatchling and the vamps who took her. Some of the questions we could answer, and some were so off the wall I had no idea. Like, “How old is she? How did she first find you? Has she ever talked to you?” And my personal favorite, “What do the Mithrans who took her want?”
So far as I could tell, they wanted everything, but I said, “They came prepared with a crystal and some kind of lasso to capture an arcenciel. Why would someone want a hatchling?”
“They are easier to ride,” Soul said, again employing a prim tone.
Alex laughed, which morphed into a cough when Eli kicked him under the table. Soul looked amused at the byplay, and added, “Hatchlings are easier to control than the adults of my species. And we have magic that can be used by properly trained humans.”
I told them my suspicions about Reach possibly having a file about an arceniel in the vicinity of New Orleans.
There was no reason now to keep secrets. We knew too much about one another to play games, so the Youngers and I shared freely. Brute finished his tour of the house while we chatted, and settled at his plate, his ears flicking as he listened to us talk. The storm began to ease as we did the debrief, a gentle drumming as the thunder faded into the distance.
We were eating dessert, which was plain vanilla ice cream with dark chocolate melted over it, when my cell rang. The rain had slowed to a mellifluous patter, and the ringer was an annoying song by Madonna. While I answered I shot the Kid a warning look for messing with my ringtone. He tried for innocent. It didn’t work.
“Hey, Troll.”
“Where’s Katie?”
I went still. All the others turned to me and I put the call on speaker. “What do you mean, ‘Where’s Katie?’ She jumped the fence carrying Leo over an hour ago.”
“She never got here.”
“On it,” I said, ending the call. Moving with Beast-speed, I pulled on a headset and grabbed a flashlight out of my gobag, holding it in the hand with the vamp-killer, my right holding the nine-mil, one in the chamber. After a fractured moment of indecision, I raced to my room, and reached up into the top of my closet, for the box of charms Molly had prepared for me so long ago. I hadn’t used any of them recently.
I opened the box and took out one small charm, a fishhook carved of ash, painted with a streak of sterling silver. It was packed with witch power, a charm to freeze a vamp. It was crafted to work for fifteen minutes, give or take. Plenty of time to behead a vamp, even one as strong and as old as Peregrinus. I just hoped it had been created to hold power for a long time. I hadn’t asked Molly to recharge the spells on the charms. I hooked it into my T-shirt neck, securing it close at hand and easy to pull. I also took all of my silver stakes and tied the fuzzy purple T-shirt around my waist, the shirt crafted with healing in the knitted threads of the tee. Lastly, I slapped on the thigh rig.