But he didn’t turn my way. “Much better,” Leo said. “Make a fist. Open. Close. Again. Yes. Je suis satisfait. This is improving nicely.” Leo stood with the toned and lithe motions of a young, world-class athlete. “The tendon damage is much better. The surgeon did a fine job.”
“Speaking of jobs, sir?”
“Waiting for you when you are well, my loyal and dutiful servant.” Leo turned to include me. “If you can tolerate working avec celle qui marche dans les peaux d’animaux.”
Wrassler nodded to me. “Janie and I understand each other, sir. And Cherokee skinwalkers don’t scare me.”
“Bien.” Leo pulled Wrassler to his . . . feet. And supported him until the human had his balance. Leo handed the big man a cane and said, “Good day to you.”
“And good rest to you, sir. Janie,” Wrassler said to me as he limped past.
When the door shut behind him, Leo sat on the chaise, his knees wide, his elbows on them, hands clasped and dangling between, his eyes on me. His expression was patient, curious, concerned, purely human, his black hair loose around his face. His whole demeanor was harmless, easygoing, kind, and quietly worried, like a parent ready to hear bad tidings about his child’s school grades.
I wanted to gut him where he sat.
In the place of violence, I pulled out my cell and stabbed Alex’s number. “Video capture,” I said, when he answered.
“Got it. Coming up now to Leo’s screen,” the Kid said.
I jerked my head toward the big screen that now hung above Leo’s elaborate desk, where the big chifforobe full of papers, computer supplies, and the printer used to stand. It was gone now, in favor of the new device. The MOC lifted a remote and turned the TV on to the security channel. The video Alex had captured from the evidence tent at the kill bar started instantly. I stood where I was, not watching it again, but watching Leo. He was wearing thin, knit yoga pants and a fitted T-shirt, probably handmade to his measurements, sheathing him like a glove, all in a shade of blue so dark they might have been knitted from the midnight sky itself. Vampire pajamas.
There was so little movement to him—no breath, no heartbeat—that the vamp might have been a wax fake of himself. Not even his hair, hanging to his shoulders, moved. But as he watched the video of the vampire killing humans, something changed, some infinitesimal something that I had no name for. It wasn’t scent, or blood-flush, or anything remotely human. Whatever it was, it was something that Beast might have understood, might have felt, while watching another predator feed. Despite Leo being a mostly sane vamp, he was still a predator, and on some level, he liked what he was seeing.
CHAPTER 6
Can Anything Survive Without a Heart?
I stood where I was as Leo viewed the footage all the way through twice, stopping, reversing, and forwarding through it, to give particular attention to details. When he had seen enough, he set the remote to the side.
He stood. Staring into space, thinking, his eyes unfocused, moving with his thoughts. I got tired of waiting.
“‘I have miscalculated,’” I quoted him. “‘Badly. And my people are in grave danger.’ Not just your people, Leo. Humans are in grave danger from vampires. From that vampire. I haven’t had time to pull the files or go through the basements to see if we have photos or paintings from before he turned into a bag of bones hanging on your wall, so confirm it for me. That was Joses Bar-Judas. Yes?”
“Le Créateur des morts.”
“Creator of the dead? Cute. I have to kill him.”
Leo’s eyes moved to me, only his eyes, yet there was threat in the very immobility of his body. “If you kill the Son of Darkness, there will be war with the old ones. War as you have never imagined.”
“If I don’t kill him, I’m afraid that mobs of humans will break in here and drag every vampire into the sun. I promised to give the cops his heart.”
For some reason that made Leo blink, a tell that would have lost him a bundle at poker. When he didn’t seem inclined to enlighten me as to his reaction, however, I went on. “Sabina and Bethany have informed me that there will be unintended consequences to killing Joses. And maybe worse consequences to keeping him alive.”
“Yes,” Leo said softly. “My uncle’s miscalculation may prove to be costly. Mine perhaps more so.”
“The miscalculation in taking and keeping Joses Bar-Judas prisoner?” I accused.
“My miscalculation about how far lost Joses’ mind still was,” he corrected quietly, “and what quantity of blood it might take to bring him to sanity. And my miscalculation about Adrianna’s intent.”
Leo looked down at the rug between his feet while I thought about Adrianna, the red-haired vamp he had carried away from sub-five dripping brains all over the carpet. Leo had miscalculated about her from day one. He had been playing her, and it seemed she had been playing him right back, one step ahead of Leo, two steps behind Joses Bar-Judas. Only now their little game had mushroomed into something much worse than Leo or she had expected: freed prisoner, brain-damaged vamp, and dead humans in a city ready to riot. “What can you tell me about the night Joses ‘disappeared’?”
Leo looked up at me, a wrinkle appearing between his brows as he thought back. “There is little to tell. I spent the evening with Adrianna. She wanted something—I no longer remember what—and I refused. We argued and parted. Later, I was contacted by my uncle, who had received word about a disturbance at Acton House. He came by horse and buggy into the Quarter. It was near dawn and he was rushing; the horse was lathered. We arrived at Acton House at nearly the same time. We found the room as you will find it still, except that that night, Joses—the Son of Darkness—was on the floor, raving, insane. Bethany appeared with us as we were deciding what to do. Sabina was there as well.” He shook his head, as if trying to recall events from so long ago and the timeline wasn’t making sense. “There were few witnesses to the injury suffered by the Son of Darkness, no one to tell us what had happened.
“There was not time before dawn to take him to Pellissier Clan Home. Amaury decided to take Joses to the new Council House, fearing that if he was found in his current condition there would be war. If discovered at the Council Chambers, Amaury could claim he had no idea that a prisoner had been taken.”
Few witnesses and no one to tell us didn’t add up, but I didn’t point out the discrepancy. Not yet. I wanted to see what else he’d volunteer.
Leo said, “Bethany lifted him and carried him to our carriage.”
“So you just took him prisoner and locked him away.”
“It was not my decision,” he said stiffly.
“It’s been your decision since the early nineteen hundreds, when Amaury died of silver poisoning and you took over.”
Leo’s eyes flashed scarlet and I thought for a moment he might jump me. Instead, he said, “Yes. My decision. Do you contend against it?”
“And it was your decision to drink the blood of your prisoner, thereby increasing your power and cementing your control of your territories.”
“I have always done what seemed best for Clan Pellissier and the Mithrans of the Louisiana Territories.” Leo bit out the words in hard syllables.
And now it comes back and bites you in the butt. But I didn’t say that, settling on, “Ah.” Thoughtfully, I said, “I quit my job not so long ago.”
“A resignation I refused. And a renegotiation that was quite profitable to you.”
A half mil profitable. “Yeah. Well, if you refuse to let me protect you and fulfill my word to the police, I will quit. Right now. For good.” I paused and gathered myself to negotiate with the MOC. Hard to do when all I wanted was to smash that pretty face. “And I know you need me.”
Leo smiled, his demeanor changing along with his peppery scent, growing more heated, like aged paper held close to a candle flame. “I do need you. All the Mithrans need you to prepare for the Europeans’ visit. Your witches need you. Especially now, my Enforcer.
“Joses Bar-Judas is free. H
e gives evidence of being much more sane than anticipated, to have succeeded at such a feeding. That demonstration”—Leo flicked his fingers at the screen—“required intense control.”
“Demonstration?” I repeated. “That was no demonstration. That was mass murder.”
“Out of fifty-two humans, he drained only five, leaving behind deliberate and ample confirmation that he controlled the rest of them with his mind alone. He was leaving evidence. Proof of his power.” Leo tilted his head, watching me, taking a breath of my anger and the smell of death clinging to me. “When Joses was hung on the wall, electricity had only just come to the city. There were no such things as cameras to record his prowess or his ability to control his cattle. I doubt he has had time, or will take time, to educate himself on all the technological marvels of this present era.”
I had already figured that out. He’d had no idea he was being filmed. And that lack of knowledge on Joses’ part might help us to find him. I pulled my cell and texted orders to Alex for the upcoming search. To look through traffic and security cameras around the kill bar until he found which way JBJ was headed. I expected the Kid was already doing that, but I needed to cover all my bases.
As I keyed in the text, Leo said, “You may give the police the heart of Joses Bar-Judas. The rest of him you will give to me, including his head, to bargain against the Europeans. Agreed?”
There was something wrong in there, though I couldn’t tell what exactly. I hit SEND and met Leo’s gaze, hesitating. The MOC lifted a single eyebrow, managing to appear both patient and amused. “Can he survive without his heart?” I asked.
“Can anything survive without a heart?”
It wasn’t an answer, but telling me including his head didn’t mean that Joses’ head had to still be attached. Leo wouldn’t have said the words unless he meant them exactly the way he phrased them. Wiggle room. He was giving me wiggle room. Or there was something else afoot. This negotiation might give me a way to dance through all the possible dangers suggested by Sabina. I’d have to think about it.
I said, “The New Orleans Police Department will see you today. Tonight or this morning. At your convenience or not, they really don’t care. And frankly, neither do I. I have about ten minutes before I have to gear up and get back to that scene”—I tilted my head at the TV screen, where Joses Bar-Judas was still killing humans, over and over—“that scene that stinks of the death of Joses’ demonstration. I have to address the media—in your name or without it, it’s up to you. And I have to promise the populace of this city that I’ll find the monster who killed their people and bring their sense of safety back.” I’d cut off the head of Bar-Judas and offer it up to the citizens of New Orleans on a silver platter if I could figure out how to do it without starting a war, but I didn’t say it.
Leo looked away, his eyes moving up and to the left, the way some humans’ eyes do when they’re recalling something. “His heart to the keepers of the peace. Ironic.” His eyebrows pulled down into a slight scowl that might have been remembered dread. “That is how it began the last time—rioting in the streets.”
I wanted to ask him what last time he was talking about, but I didn’t have time for a history lesson.
He said, “I have lost much of the power of my house this night. To kill the maker of us all would be to lose it all, everything and everyone. Yet I understand that I have no choice but to put a price upon the heart of the Son of Darkness.” Leo looked a little lost, a little uncertain; then the smile widened and the calculation snapped back in his gaze. “I accept your temporary resignation as Enforcer. I will hire Jane Yellowrock, vampire hunter, to track the . . . Did you call him a monster? Yes, the monster, who killed the humans. To track him and to take his heart.
“Tell the witch-child policewoman she is welcome here during the night or the day. I am at her command. Should she decide to await the night for her interview, I will make myself available at New Orleans Police Department, at their central headquarters’ location, for the duration of the dark, to provide what answers I may to the questions by any and all law enforcement officials. My attorney will attend me.
“No matter how the police may wish to handle the law enforcement portion of this hunt, I will hold a press conference at dusk, in the front drive, provided there is no rain, and in the ballroom should inclement weather dictate.”
Leo stared at me. “As to the hunt for the monster, as I told you, his modern name was not Joses son of Judas Iscariot.” He pronounced it Yo-sace, son of Ioudas Issachar. “The name he used to enter this country was Joseph Santana. That is the name you will tender to the police and use in discourse with me and my people, and among your team, henceforward. Any other name will mean nothing to the officials and may place us in more imminent danger.”
One good thing. It was a lot easier for my American mouth to pronounce.
He punched a button on his desk and Adelaide Mooney said, “Yes, sir.”
“Come to my office, Primo. We have plans to make. And send for my Enforcer, Derek Lee, to join us.”
“On my way, sir,” she said.
The MOC placed both hands flat on his desk, leaning forward slightly, staring at me. “The lair apartment which Joseph Santana used on his royal visit here, from which he disappeared, over a century past, is still intact. I will see that Adelaide sends you the address. Perhaps you will detect something there that I missed, so long ago.”
“I’m not sure how that will help me catch him now,” I said. Leo lifted a brow, ever the elegant and refined killing machine. I decided on a new tack. “‘So long ago.’ You mean when you took him prisoner and told the rest of the vamps that he was simply missing?”
Leo smiled, and he suddenly looked far less human and far more like the lethal predator he was. When he spoke, he sounded the soft, deadly killer that he hid from the world. “Oui, mon petit chat. That is one version of the old tale. There are others. Once in his apartment, you may scent out the ones now helping him from the tangled scents of the day he was taken prisoner. You may find papers that might show where he has gone to ground. And somewhere here, I may have other such papers, if they were salvaged when my clan home burned, and if they were brought here.”
That was a lot of ifs, so I wasn’t holding my breath. When the clan home burned, Leo’s scions and blood-servants were busy saving the valuable art and jewels. Obscure hundred-year-old paperwork might have been ignored.
Del entered and stood at the entrance. Leo didn’t look away from me to her, but kept me in the harsh light of his dark gaze. Carefully, formally, as if the words had special meaning, he said, “Adelaide, you act now as official witness. Jane Yellowrock may speak and act in my name prior to dusk. At dusk, she will be dismissed as my Enforcer. If she missteps, and does harm to the one for whom she searches, it is upon her to accept retribution, not this clan, this city, or the Mithrans sworn to me.”
Great. So that was why he’d wanted me released. But . . . that meant I could do what needed to be done to stay alive and keep others alive. It was a nice little dance step around the truth. I let a small smile escape.
Leo’s pupils widened, his sclera bleeding slowly scarlet as he spoke. “From that moment onward, until such time as the mass murderer known as Joseph Santana is contained and his heart given to the human authorities, the services of Jane Yellowrock, in the capacity of Enforcer, will be no longer required. Her duties will be taken over in entirety by Derek Lee.”
“I have so noted,” Del said, her voice soft.
“As part of her search, she is to be allowed access to any part of the Council premises, including private apartments, is to be given any and all information, papers, and access to any human or Mithran she may wish to question. All will give her complete and full truth.”
“I have so noted,” Del said again, and I realized that this was a form of ceremony, hopefully one that didn’t require a bloodletting to seal the deal.
Leo transferred his gaze to Del and said, “You may wish to brin
g in my former primo to assist with any papers search. He was here when my clan home burned and oversaw storing my art and other salvage from the house.”
That former primo was my significant other. Boyfriend. Whatever. Bruiser. I fought the urge to grin like a fool at the thought of working with him.
To me, Leo said, “At dusk, you will be dismissed to fulfill your chores for the New Orleans Police Department, and to fulfill a new contract with the Master of the City of New Orleans. Any choices you make contrary to that contract will be upon your head.”
I let my smile widen and knew it to be an ugly, menacing smile. “I can live with that.” I let my expression add, But I don’t know if you can.
“Before dusk, you will acquire your papers and writ of . . . tracking. Yes. Tracking the monster, the murderer of humans.”
“With permission to take his heart,” I added.
“With that exact authorization and that exact wording.” His smile had widened to the full-toothed grin of a hungry predator. His fangs clicked down. And I remembered two things. Only hours ago, Leo had lost it—again—and savaged Gee DiMercy’s throat, and silver stakes were poor weapons against the MOC. I’d tried them once and he’d been healed. Holding me with his eyes, as if he could read my thoughts through my skin, Leo said, “Prepare the contract, my primo. Contact the mayor, and then the governor, that I may speak with them. Find the papers that came here from my clan home when it burned and give them to the vampire hunter. Go, Jane Yellowrock,” he said to me, “or I will drink you down.”
I went, backing slowly until the door hit me between the shoulder blades. I closed it silently behind me and let go the breath I’d been holding. “Holy crap on a cracker with toe jam,” I whispered. I shuddered hard and moved away from the office at speed. I was halfway to the front door when I was able to slow my breathing and my heart rate. “Ducky. Just freaking dang ducky.”