* * *
Once we were in the SUV, I asked, “So. Who taught you to be all classy-fied?”
“Classified?” Eli chortled at my play on words, the sound deep in his throat, a sly look on his face as he started the engine. “Uncle Sam’s Army Rangers, ma’am.”
“That’s what I figured. That’s a good education, as long as no one’s shooting at you or blowing you up with bombs.” I glanced at his collar where the scars that had gotten him discharged from the army were hidden beneath the leathers.
“True,” he said mildly. “And no.”
“No, what?”
“No, I won’t be sharing about the scars.”
“Is that classified too?”
“Matter of fact, yes.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Indeed I am.”
* * *
We passed a touristy shop and a few things caught my eye; I made Eli stop and did a little fast shopping. Treats for my peeps. I came back out with them rolled up in a paper bag and pretended to ignore Eli as I stuffed the bag beneath my seat. A girl needs some secrets.
Day was wearing away fast when we reached vamp HQ, the Mithran Council Chambers in the French Quarter. The place was lit up like a high-security prison, and discreetly armed humans walked the grounds with guard dogs at their sides. After dark, the humans would be switched with vamps, who tended to live longer in battle than the mortals who fed them and many of whom had mad fighting skills acquired over centuries.
We went through security measures just like normal, but this time without the trackers being dropped on us, and ended up back in the windowless conference room. Leo stood in the center of the room, booted feet spread, arms crossed, head back, his hair a black gloss in a queue. He was powerful and cold and in control, every bit the Master of the City of New Orleans. I could feel the sting of his power in the air and across my skin beneath my clothing. It hurt, like the prickle of sparklers and the rough scrape of acanthus thorns. The sensation told me that although he hadn’t slept, he had fed well.
“Ming Zoya of Mearkanis is in a pit,” he said, without turning. His voice was icy, laced with fury. “The Onorios will remove her at dark and bring her here. We have prepared a safe lair for her.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, stepping up beside him. On the camera, I could see Bruiser and his fellow Onorios, the creatures who were no longer human, but who hadn’t been turned either. Changed into something else, something so rare there was nothing—nothing at all—in the histories, vamp or human, about them except the name.
On the screen, Bruiser was knee deep in swamp mud, his body braced and his back torqued as he guided a large rectangular box to the ground from above. I could hear the roar of the helo and the calls of the humans around him. The box was oddly shaped, tapered on one end, like a coffin. Wisely I kept that image to myself, and asked instead, “Is she struggling in the hole? Aggressive?” Meaning is she sane, but not saying it.
“No,” Leo said. “Ming is compliant, so long as George stays close to her. We think it is due to the magics on the brooch he carries.” Leo made an abrupt motion and the volume was muted, leaving the room silent but for the air-conditioning. He tilted his head, his braid gleaming under the lights. “The brooch you were attacked with. Are you well, my Jane?”
“I’m just ducky.”
“You have not slept.”
“You neither.”
He have a modified shrug that tilted one shoulder forward, unconcerned.
“We went to the Elms to see to your safety,” I said, my eyes on the screen overhead, “so I haven’t had time to sleep.” I changed the subject. “The pit’s in the middle of nowhere and whoever put Ming of Mearkanis there had to know the location in the first place. Is it on any map?”
Leo’s scent altered from the peppery tang of anger to the softer scent of papyrus. He breathed, the sound alien and out of place, and his tone mutated to amusement. “I had hoped it was possibly an old pirate treasure pit,” he said, “though I fear that the pit is not nearly so ancient and that what is at the bottom is not gold bullion.” A faint smile twisted his lips up. “However, if I am wrong, I shall have George bring you a doubloon to wire and wear on your necklace along with your gold nugget.” He glanced at my chest where the nugget rested on my shirt. If he thought it odd I was wearing it again, he didn’t say so.
On the screen, Brandon and Brian, the other two Onorios, identical twins, were stripped to the waist and covered in mud. The three men looked as though they should have been on TV, in an action series, saving the world, muscles ripped and sweaty. From his scent I knew Leo was enjoying the show. The boys were pretty, and it occurred to me that I might be able to do something to help the last of Leo’s ire dissipate. It wasn’t something I had ever tried, but if it helped, it might be a new weapon in my vamp-fighting arsenal. Wondering if my scent would work to mute Leo’s anger all the way to calm, I let my own appreciation of Bruiser’s sweaty, mud-crusted body free, knowing that vamps can detect scent change.
Leo’s shoulders relaxed and his lips lifted with amusement. He slanted a glance my way. “A girl can look,” I said coolly. Eli slanted an enigmatic glance at us.
On the screen, the Onorios and humans were now working with a small pile driver, one with four wide tires and a tall central tower, the cage a safe place for the human operator to sit, a sudden hard rain sluicing off him. Beneath the dark brown swamp mud, the machine was orange, the driver mechanism working up and down, the sound a basso thumping over the speakers, shoring up the ground around the pit with new pilings. It was messy, filthy work. And when night came, things would get a lot more treacherous.