“With all due respect, Legs,” Wrassler said, his words clipped, his voice laced with anger, “you left New Orleans.”
My mouth opened in protest but I said nothing. What could I say? I was sick. Dying. I had abdicated. I stared at Alex. He was tapping away on one of the multiple keyboards and he had an old-fashioned mouse at each hand, a gaming stick, and two finger pads lined up within reach. Beneath his naturally dark skin, he was flushed with mortification. I looked at Bruiser who met my eyes with . . . was that pity?
Wrassler went on. “Ed was Leo’s heir. And Ed was your heir, but everything came through the grapevine, not official notification, no ceremony, no pomp and circumstance, and you elected not to send a prefect or cede dominion of the city to another. With you out of the picture and Ed in Europe, we’ve done the best we could to protect New Orleans and keep the peace. Under the circumstances, the city is doing outstanding.”
Unspoken was the sentiment No thanks to you.
My running away had resulted in a long and heated tirade by both Youngers that had included accusations like selfish, spoiled, dispassionate, nonaligned, and detached. And cruel. Their charge that I had been cruel in running away had been the one that hit home. I had thought I was saving them the torment of watching me die. Instead I had hurt them. They hadn’t yet let me live it down, and this thing with Wrassler wouldn’t help.
“Before Edmund Hartley took off,” Wrassler said, his voice rising in pitch and tone, “he instructed us not to initiate contact with you unless you were in danger. You are not in danger. We know you’re sick, but skinwalkers live forever, so what the hell do you want me to do, Janie?” he shouted.
“Holy crap on a cracker,” I said. “I’ve got cancer; I’m not dead.” And I felt, now that anger was coursing through me, more like myself.
“Cancer,” Wrassler said, startled.
“Got it,” Alex said, without taking his gaze from the screens. “I’ve pulled up the police report on Derek.” His fingers had been tapping as Wrassler and I argued. “Derek Lee’s vehicle was found in a bayou about twenty-five miles out of New Orleans after a hard rain. Official reading is that he tried to cross a bridge that was running deep with runoff and was swept off the road. But no body’s been found. According to the written report, there was damage to the back panel that could suggest he was rammed. Here are the investigating officer’s photos. They show a gray smear of contact paint. Sending all this to you at HQ.”
Alex had obviously accessed official law enforcement records. Illegally. I should have stopped that, but . . . we needed the info.
“Cancer? What the hell do you mean you have cancer?” Wrassler said. Then, as he caught up on everything, “Rammed? I never got any photos. Let me look. I was assured by the sheriff—” He stopped. We waited. After several seconds, Wrassler cursed. “This was in Plaquemines Parish. I screwed up. I’m sorry, Empress.”
Empress. Me. Wrassler was great at security and tactics but wasn’t quite as competent on politics and law enforcement. He should have called me personally, no matter what, even against Ed’s orders. But he was mad at me for disappearing, so he didn’t. And the Youngers and Bruiser knew how sick I was so they didn’t tell me. And the Plaquemines sheriff had reason to hate vamps. And me. I had, after all, helped Leo to muck up her current job, and had thrown her future political aspirations into the toilet.
I pushed my thoughts back to Derek Lee. Despite having each other’s backs in some pretty hairy situations, he and I never really got along. Derek was afraid of vampires and the sexual stimulation that resulted from being a blood-meal to one of them. But Derek was under the protection of Edmund Hartley, so in a convoluted way, Derek was mine to protect, even if he himself didn’t want to be. I had failed him too. My eyes burned, dry and aching.
Alex talked over my silent thoughts. “I’m sending a request from NOLA fanghead HQ up the law enforcement ladder to the governor. I’m requesting that the official investigation into the accident not be closed until someone has considered the possibility of a hit-and-run and kidnapping.”
“Whose signature goes on that?” Eli asked his brother.
“Jane’s, as Dark Queen.”
“Who’s Edmund’s heir?” I asked, as a thought occurred to me. Last I’d heard, Ed had appointed Katie to manage things, but if he had an heir, that person could be my—what term had Wrassler used? My prefect. Yeah. Ducky!
“He didn’t have one. All you have are the local Mithrans. Vamps need a leader, Legs, someone to rule the office of Master of the City. Edmund’s office. Your office.”
My office. Crap.
“You said something about protocols changing after Derek left. What protocols?” I asked.
Wrassler said, “No one leaves anywhere, anytime, without sending a text to HQ first, and then another when they return. Anyone missing is reported to HQ. We follow up every twenty-four hours. Most of the Blood Masters are complying.” Which meant that some were not.
“Derek was the Pellissier Enforcer. Now he’s missing. I need an Enforcer in NOLA,” I said. “Someone everyone would obey. A vamp Enforcer.”
“That . . .” Wrassler made a soft hmmming noise. “That would actually work. Someone to take names and break a few jaws.”
Alex tapped a keyboard and the camera feeds at the entrance of the inn’s driveway took center place on the TV screen. To its side was a series of smaller screens, most lit with pale green light. I walked closer and took in the feed from one infrared and a dozen low-light cameras mounted in the trees. One showed a very pale form moving through the snow, from camera to camera. Alex punched some buttons and the cameras changed to infrared, but Eli showed up no better. On other screens I followed Brute and his passenger. The werewolf was a hot, bright impression on infrared, the grindy even hotter.
“Hang on,” I said to Wrassler and pointed at the screen. “Why is Eli showing cold?” I asked. I didn’t add, as a vamp.
“Cold coat,” Alex said, distracted. “So well insulated he won’t show up if he drops into a crouch in the snow. Precautions against tech-savvy enemies.”
Alex enlarged the video of the Range Rovers, creating a grainy mess as he initiated programs to clean up the feed. Blocks of black and white and color flashed all over and resolved into the video of a vamp emerging from the first vehicle. He moved with that sliding, easy grace of the vampire, something I had forgotten or gotten so accustomed to while living among them that I no longer noted it until now, when I had been away from them so long. He had a long, lean face and long pale hair, reminding me of Legolas in The Lord of the Rings movie, except cruel, hard. He wore slacks and a dress shirt and city shoes, with a long winter coat that made him appear even more broad-shouldered and slim than he already was. The color sharpened, to show the lipstick red of the Range Rovers and the gray of the gorgeous coat.