“Well, we know there are probably more of those guards down here, as well as hellhounds.” I looked around, grimly assessing the situation. “We better have our act together. All of the guards are wielding cold iron, which means they are probably guarding whatever Fae that Lowestar and his groupies have nabbed. They also all seem to have these handy-dandy bullwhips and they know how to use them. And the hellhounds are trouble in their own right. We can’t just wing it, because trust me, while I was able to handle a slash from the whip, I don’t think most of you could.”
In fact, the welt from the whip had healed over and was a thin red line now. That was one of the wonderful things about being a vamp—healing at a highly accelerated state. But if Camille or Delilah got hit by one of those whips? They could be healing up for a long, long time, and their scars would be for real.
“Where the hell are we?” Delilah looked around.
“Oh, yeah.” I realized that we’d been engaged in the battle immediately upon opening the door, before we knew where we were headed. As I glanced around, I realized it was some sort of guard post or headquarters room. There were weapons cases on the walls, with extra blades and whips in them. Harness hangers, with hellhound harnesses ready to go. A table to one side held logbooks, but they were in a language I couldn’t read.
Tanne took a look at the words. “Daemonic. I don’t know the dialect, but I recognize the basic pattern. Look—there are five columns. Single numbers in the first. In the second—can’t read, but they’re all capitalized and I’m thinking… names? The next two columns contain numbers—what appear to be dates or maybe times. Some of the lines have a time or date recorded in one column, but not the next. And the fifth column… again, I have no clue.”
Roz studied the logbook for a long moment. “I think… I think I may have an inkling of an idea. Prisoners. My guess is the column with the longer words—I think those are names. The date they’re brought in, the date they’re brought out?”
Delilah peeked over his shoulder to examine the papers. “That might be it. If so… then there should be five prisoners locked in the cells. There are five that appear to be logged in, and haven’t been logged out yet.”
“Five.” I stared at the desk. “We can’t leave the other four and just rescue Violet.” A sick feeling swelled up at the thought. We couldn’t leave the others to face the slaver’s block.
Smoky’s voice was gentle as he placed a hand on my shoulder. “We won’t. I promise you, if there are five prisoners, we will rescue all of them.”
I flashed him a smile, grateful again that he was my brother-in-law. “The door over there must lead to… well… Tanne, did you see this place in your vision?”
He shook his head. “No, but bear in mind, magical visions are often highly influenced by what we are seeking to discover, and some of them are more metaphorical in nature. I think perhaps I was searching for Violet so I skipped some intervening steps. But because we found the sign and the sconces… I want to believe that we’re on the right track.” He looked a little crestfallen and I realized he thought I was insinuating this was all a waste of time.
“I think you’re right. We just need to be cautious moving forward. Those guards are nothing to dick around with, and the hellhounds are deadly.”
With a nod, he brightened. “There we agree. We move forward carefully. I wish I could send out a seeing-eye spell to scout ahead but that only works in the forest.”
Camille jerked around. “You know the seeing-eye spell?”
He grinned at her then. “Oh yes, I learned it when I was young. You understand what it is, correct?”
“Only too well. It’s one I tried and tried to learn but it kept backfiring on me. We need to sit down and have a long talk when this is over, about what you can do, and what spells you know. We might be useful to each other.” She pointed to the door. “I think that’s our only option. I don’t see any other exits.”
“We could send Rodney down for us. Send him to check it out. If nobody is on the other side—and we have to hope for that—then maybe a twelve-inch-high skeleton won’t be noticed.” Morio rolled his eyes. He was back in his human form now.
“Oh gods, do we have to?” Camille grimaced.
“Remember, Grandmother Coyote told you that Rodney may save your life someday.” Delilah snorted as she said it, and I had the feeling it was more to get a rise out of Camille than anything else. Although Grandmother Coyote had definitely done exactly that.
“Oh fine. If he can keep his mouth shut and not draw attention to himself.” She crossed her arms and moved away. “Little freakshow pervert.”
Morio grinned and opened his bag. Within the messenger bag, he kept a skull—which he needed to have near him in order to shift forms. But he found what he was looking for, and pulled out a miniature coffin. Delilah frowned and moved over by Camille. Rodney hadn’t made such a good impression on the women of the family. Or the men. Or anybody really. In fact, Rodney was in line for our least favorite jackass ally award.
As Morio opened it, there was a slight stir, and then, the twelve-inch-high bone golem slowly sat up and looked around.
“Hey, bitch-boy, what you up to?” And he was off and swinging.
Rodney could easily have been the love child if Howard Stern and Rodney Dangerfield decided to procreate. He fancied himself a comedian and a hot date—as much as a genital-free bag of bones can be a playboy, but he’d managed to come up with some creative—if gross—suggestions.
Rodney reveled in the crude, lewd, and rude. In other words, he was an unwelcome, unlikable companion who happened to be under a geas to obey Morio. And he’d been a present from Grandmother Coyote, which meant no arguing and use him for what we could use him for.
“Shut up and listen.” Morio picked him up by one bony arm and set him on the floor. “I want you to go through that door when we open it, and providing nothing blows you to smithereens, you sneak down the hall. Then come back and tell us what you see. And you keep your mouth shut while doing it. No drawing attention to us. Got it?”
Rodney glared at him. The light in his eye sockets was disturbingly intelligent. “And what if there happen to be traps on the other side of that door?”
“Then you might find yourself in a dozen pieces. Any other questions?”
“Fox-butt, you’ve got a hard heart.” Rodney turned to see Camille, Delilah, and me standing there. “Maybe I can plead a little sugar from the boobs brigade? A kiss for the road? A ride up the river of your pussy before I go?”
Camille looked ready to beat the shit out of him. Delilah sputtered. I just moved forward and smoothly snatched him up to face me at eye level.
“Maybe we should hand you over to the Maiden of Karask for a play toy? How’s that sound, bone-brain?”
Rodney sniggered. “I’d take her on. Skin is skin and cunt is cunt. Give me a willing broad and—”
It was no use. No matter what we said or did, Rodney would be Rodney. I brought him close to my face, but not close enough for him to reach me with his now-flailing arms.
“If you don’t behave, we stick you in a dollhouse, dress you in a frilly apron, and make you listen to Martha Stewart reruns all day.”
Delilah meandered over. “Or better yet, we’ll have a craft marathon and see just how sparkly we can make you. We’ll get a Bedazzler and glitter and—”
“Whoa—now, Pussycat, hold on there.” Hands on his hipbones, he let out a long, put-upon sigh. “Bitches, you really know how to wound a man’s ego, don’t you?”