Black Arts: A Jane Yellowrock Novel (16 page)

I smelled the silver that finished the job of killing him true-dead. No one to question. I snarled at Beast,
I needed to question him.

She growled back,
Hunter of kits. Must die
.

Furious, I pulled my blade free of his flesh, wiped both it and the throwing knife on his clothes, free of blood, and left him lying in the street. With Beast’s vision and Evan’s spell, I could see two forms wrapped together in the lee of the house at two o’clock, both a vibrant orange, both human. Wrassler had the human in a sleeper hold, and eased him to the ground as I raced up. “It’s me,” I whispered. “Stay here. I’m checking the back.” I sprinted around the brick fencing, pulling Beast’s speed through me. I leaped high, grabbing the fence with one hand and swinging myself over, the brick grinding into my human-soft palms.

Stupid Jane. Needs paws.

Yeah. And living attackers.

Beast didn’t reply.

I landed inside the fence, silently, in a crouch. From the second story at the back of the house, I heard a single shot. Rifle fire. An
oof
of pain and expelled breath was followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground. I found the human, the bright orange of her body warmth half hidden by the pile of mostly crushed boulders in the garden. I crawled to her on all fours, keeping the stones between me and the last vamp. The human didn’t smell of blood, and when I touched her, my fingers found a vest beneath her clothes. It had to be one of the new combat vests just released on the market—Kevlar, silver mesh, and fibers spelled against magic. The woman was alive and unharmed, except for, maybe, a broken rib or two. Which was nothing short of a miracle, considering the range. But the breath had been knocked out of her.

To my side, I saw a pale amber form moving away in the dark. Vamp fast, she vaulted the fence and disappeared. I knew her. I’d been right.
Adrianna
. “When the cat’s away, the mice will play,” I muttered.

Beast snorted softly. Knowing that Eli would have me in his sights, I sheathed my blades and gave the “all clear” signal by tapping my head. I opened my cell and dialed Wrassler. “I got a human. Alive, but having trouble breathing.”

“I got one taking a nap.”

“Bring yours inside. Front door. Ring the bell. And just so you know, Adrianna got away.”

The woman at my knees sucked in a breath that sounded pained—her first since she was shot. “Bet that hurts,” I said softly. I confiscated a fully automatic weapon with a full thirty-round mag. There were other magazines on her person, enough rounds to chew through the back of the house and anyone inside. I lifted her up and tossed her over my shoulder, glad that my secret was out and I didn’t have to hide what I was anymore. Her newly found breath
oof
ed out once again, along with her scent. She stank of Adrianna and something else, something vaguely familiar, but the blood and Adrianna’s reek overpowered it and I couldn’t isolate the scent marker.

I carried the human along the side porch and in the side door. And dumped her to the floor at Big Evan’s feet. Without looking at them, I handed the weapons to Eli and he chuckled nastily as he looked the midsized subgun over. I yanked three zip strips out of his utility belt and secured the woman’s hands. It only took about seventy-five pounds of force to break a regular-sized zip strip. Let’s see her break three of the bigger ones at once.

“Let Wrassler in the front door, please,” I said to Eli as the bell rang. “He has another prisoner.” Eli headed to the door, his footsteps silent.

“You remember me telling you about the Damours?” I asked his retreating back. He made a waffling motion with one hand. “Adrianna was part of the Damours’ blood family, and was a mind-locked anamchara to one of the top people in the family. When I killed the Damours vamps, Adrianna was there. Leo saved her when I killed her lover, for reasons I’ll never know.” I glanced at Big Evan. He knew all about the history of the Damours. The witch-vamps had been trying to sacrifice his children when I killed the fangheads true-dead. Though memory was a dicey thing—especially when one was technically insane—Adrianna had to know that I was the one who killed her anamchara. Vamps liked vengeance, so she thought she would kill me and mine. I got that. But it wasn’t enough to make it all sit easily with me. There was still too much that didn’t fit. Unless . . .

I looked at it another way. Unless there was more than one thing going on. Maybe some of the weirdness had something to do with the European Council coming to visit. I put that possibility on the back burner of my brain.

I dialed the council house and asked to be put through to Edmund Hartley. “We’re safe,” I said. “Thanks to you. Talk to me. I need to know everything pertinent that you drank out of Tattoo Dude.”

“It was my pleasure,” Ed said. And the way he said it meant way more than a simple “You’re welcome.” But he went on, his words succinct. “In order of your earlier queries, the man I questioned was under heavy compulsion. The two were supposed to alert Adrianna when you would be within their influence, and kill you while Adrianna attacked your home to steal something of value. They don’t know what it was.

“Adrianna gave the men the weapons. They knew the blades were poisoned, but not what the poison was or if a witch was involved in making it. Neither Grégoire nor Dominique knew about the attack—a suggestion that was insulting but necessary,” he added. “No one else at Clan Arceneau knew about the attack so far as he knew. No one else here at the council house knew of it. He did not know if there were more attacks planned. He was compelled, and quite well.”

The men had been at HQ for weeks. So that put the planning of the attacks on me and my home back much earlier than that. It took time to set up a compulsion, even longer to get the men so deeply under that they would attack me in front of witnesses, though a violent compulsion might work faster in a violent human, last longer without reinforcing. I didn’t know.

If Adrianna wanted vengeance for the death of her lover, then attacking my house and my friends and my person . . .Yeah. Adrianna had been busy. Vamps strategized with the long view and might wait decades—centuries even—to carry out a plan. Yet Adrianna had seemed too unstable to make any of this work. So, either I had read her wrong or her kind of crazy was the kind that got things done. Or I was missing something.

I needed to talk to Adrianna. And by talk I meant communication of a kind that made my blood run cold just thinking of it. But no one around me was safe as long as Adrianna ran around free. I wondered if Leo would give me leave to go after her. I need to talk to the MOC. I needed to decide how far I’d go to keep my people safe. I said, “Thanks, Ed. We’ll talk later.”

I closed the phone in its bulletproof case as Wrassler entered, his treads heavy on the wood floors. The door closed behind him and he dropped his burden on the floor beside the woman. The man made a satisfying
whomp
when he hit. Evan whistled a note and I knew the wards were back up. The big man stood in the foyer, watching us across the rooms; I figured he was trying to control his temper and not accidentally zap the prisoners. “Evan, you got any magical truth-serum-spell-whammies up your sleeve? ’Cause we need some answers from these two, and now.” I rolled the human woman over, faceup. She was muscular, a bodybuilder who also worked on endurance training. Her arms were buff, and her thigh and calf muscles beneath the black skintight running suit were long and lean. She wore her hair short and slicked back with gel, and her eyes were darkly lined in black. She stared up at me with disdain.

Evan stepped closer and looked the woman over as I frisked her again, finding a knife I’d missed before, a thin, narrow-bladed weapon sheathed in a thigh pocket. “Cute,” I said. “I guess it would be corny to say”—I pulled my vamp-killer with its fourteen-inch blade—“this is a knife.” She narrowed her eyes and didn’t laugh. Some people have no sense of humor.

“I got whammies,” Evan said, “but they won’t work on these two.” When I looked my question at him, he bent down and yanked a metal charm off the woman’s neck. The chain broke with a snap and she grunted again. Fear spread over her face, and she looked around, as if startled. Evan said, “Somebody’s been mixing vamp compulsion with magic on them.”

As soon as the chain broke, the smell of old blood hit me, and I realized that the compulsion charm had been activated with blood. I backed away, wrinkling my nose.

“Where am I?” the woman demanded, struggling to rise, her bound hands pushing at the floor. Her body took on the scent of confusion and, beneath it, the smell of fear.

Prey,
Beast whispered to me.

“You don’t remember coming to my house with a submachine gun and enough ammo to finish a small war?” I asked.

Her eyes went wide. “Are you nuts?”

“You came to my house! My
home
!” I shouted. I wanted to hit her with my fist, or with my claws, slashing open her face. But I controlled myself, gulped a breath, and shoved down on my fury, because the woman on the floor in front of me was truly, completely confused. Adrianna had been part of the Damours’ black magic rituals. Seemed she had learned something from them. Maybe picked up a few magical things, like amulets that made humans willing conspirators in crimes. And I didn’t beat someone to a pulp for being brainwashed by magic, no matter how satisfying it might feel while I did it.

I said, “Wrassler, would you be kind enough to drive these two to vamp HQ and see if Edmund Hartley will drink them and their memories. I need proof who ordered this.” Because I was going to hurt that person. Badly. Yeah. And every dime I had said it was Adrianna.

“You do know that among Mithrans, such acts are said to be close to Naturaleza methods?” Wrassler asked, his voice neutral and without inflection.

I thought about Edmund’s tone when he said it was his pleasure, and the spike in the center of my soul grew colder. “Noted,” I said shortly.

Wrassler looked into my face and shrugged. “Sure. I’ll ask.” He held out a hand to Eli for more strips, and the two men zip-stripped the humans to within an inch of not breathing before carrying them to the SUV still parked in the middle of the street. I stood at the door and watched as they also loaded the dead vamp. If Leo’s usual rates for killing vamps who acted out and put humans at risk applied to this guy, I’d just made a few thousand bucks. Somehow that fact, and the fact that I had just told a vamp it was okay to abuse a human, didn’t make me very happy. Anger roiled under my skin, building up like steam with no place to go. I wasn’t liking myself much. Not at all. But I also didn’t know what to do different. I didn’t know how to protect the ones I cared about without crossing lines. Lines I might not be able to cross back.

Once Wrassler was gone, Evan leaned against the doorway, one arm up to support and balance him, his head resting back against his palm as he stared up. Almost as if speaking to the painted wood, he said, “You asked if witches were working with the vamps. When we broke the chain on her charm, I heard a voice, whispering, like a spell being worked long-distance.”

“Well, that’s just ducky,” I said.

The big guy nodded as if he agreed with my sarcasm, dropped his arms, squared his shoulders, and walked to the safe room. He opened it with a touch of his hand, and the bookcase swung open to reveal the room beneath the stairs, narrow and tight, the stone-lined walls and wood shelves hung with weapons of all kinds, a bed and emergency supplies along one wall, and a trapdoor in the floor for escape.

He brought his children out of the safe room, the Kid following along. I expected Alex to look upset at having been placed with the children, and then he raised a long-barreled weapon from beside his leg and handed it to his brother. “You need to teach me how to use it,” Alex said simply, his face tight with responsibility and the dawning reality of the world as a dangerous place, a place he wasn’t prepared to survive on the training he had so far. “Something more than ‘Point and shoot.’”

“Noted,” Eli said.

The smaller children were sleeping deeply, a spelled sleep that had kept them silent, out of harm’s way, and safe from playing with the weapons in the room. Evan carried them both up the stairs while Eli and I took care of securing the house, which meant putting weapons and noisemaker alarms at the windows and doors. You don’t always need a fancy electronic security system. Fog can make some systems useless, and if witches are involved, they might have ways to eliminate or decrease even a magical system’s effectiveness. I’d seen it happen—once—to an Everhart-Trueblood ward, a hole blown into it, leaving the edges tangled and frayed.

A pyramid of empty cans was a nifty, low-tech way to be alerted to a B&E.

When Evan came back down, I picked the conversation back up. “You can hear long-distance spells?”

“Sometimes. If the spell is directed at me, if the speaker isn’t in a vault with no outside air flow, and if the working isn’t warded against it, which most practitioners don’t bother to do.” He went to the kitchen and brought back three cans of Coke. We each popped a top and took a swig. “Warding against long-distance listening requires more energy, and not many witches have the ability. Since I’m not officially registered with PsyLED—yet—not everyone knows I’m an air witch.” The weariness in his tone pulled at me. His wife was missing. His children were in danger. Because they were my friends and my extended family, they were my responsibility. And I hadn’t helped much so far.

I looked down at my drink can for a moment. It was my fault that Big Evan was out of the closet in any way. Maybe my fault that Molly was in New Orleans, and therefore her family in harm’s way. Again. “I’m sorry,” I said again, feeling the weight of guilt. I stared at my hand and clenched my fist, remembering the feel of hot blood spurting over my hand as I killed the violently psychotic witch Evangelina, Molly’s sister, the demon-caller. Remembering. Knowing I had no choice. Yet knowing that I’d hurt Molly beyond imagining.

“No help for it,” Evan said, reading my body language. “Once Evie brought her power play public, in front of cameras, it was only a matter of time before someone looked closer at the Everharts and, by extension, me.”