Bruiser said, “The Dark Queen has retired for the season. She will consider your . . . invitation”—his tone making it clear he didn’t consider it such—“and return your call.” Bruiser ended the call.
My heart hammered against my ribs, an uneven cadence. All my energy drained away in a gushing flood of defeat. Closing my eyes, I drooped back into the chair. Hugging my middle. Rocking slightly. Pain thrummed through me with my pulse.
Alex said, “The call originated in Jacksonville, Florida. Running search-and-location programs, checking cameras near his GPS coordinates.” His fingers were flying across the keys, staccato, relentless.
Someone, I assumed Bruiser, covered me with the blanket. The room was silent except for Alex’s ubiquitous tapping. When I got the guts to open my eyes, it was to see Bruiser and Eli standing at my chair, watching me. “The Flayer of Mithrans has Ed,” I said, redundant. Useless. But I needed to say the words.
“Yes,” Bruiser said.
“Do you want to go back to NOLA to deal with this, Janie?” Eli asked.
“No.” I sat up and looked around, unfocused, thinking. “In New Orleans, there’s thousands of people to be collateral damage. A city full of them.” I looked at Eli. “What about here, at the inn?”
“Strategically and tactically, against an old-world fanghead with fifty followers, traveling in stealth, unlikely to have the means to transport modern warfare on this continent, or to know how to obtain it on foreign soil, this location is as good as any.” His tone was cool, his words clipped, analyzing, offering no opinion or personal input. Battle face. Battle persona. “Unlikely doesn’t mean impossible, however. Here, we have high ground, easy exit through the tunnel, off-the-grid options for power and water, sufficient supplies, good positions for shooters and cameras, and no collateral liability. You can warn Molly away.”
“Shimon Bar-Judas is a powerful sorcerer,” Bruiser said. “We could use magical assistance and Molly could use the protection. She hasn’t hidden her light and power under a basket, and her name was quite public at the Sangre Duello. Finding her would be within the ability of almost anyone. She should have the option of staying here and fighting with us, versus her family being alone in their hilltop home.”
“Here then,” I said. “Issue the invitation to the fangheads. Then let’s get ready to whoop some undead ass.”
No one laughed at the idea of me—all hundred and twenty pounds of cancer-ridden me—kicking ass. Eli grinned at me, all teeth. Alex whispered, “Yessss.” Bruiser hit RECALL and the rings sounded in the quiet room.
“This is the telephone speaker for the Flayer of Mithrans, the Darkness of Souls,” a heavily accented voice answered Ed’s cell.
“This is Onorio, George Dumas, formerly primo to Leo Pellissier of New Orleans. I speak for the Dark Queen. She is in Asheville, in the state called North Carolina. The Dark Queen is willing to receive Shimon Bar-Judas. Here, in this town.”
“One moment.” The phone went muted. We waited. Then Ed came on. “Tell the tribal woman that I shall progress to her. We will be in the Ashe Ville in two days. Secure rooms for our coterie and servants.” The connection ended. Bruiser put the blanket back in place and settled the cell on my blanketed lap. Brute growled again and licked his muzzle as if remembering the taste of vampire flesh. He backed two steps and sat, his eyes on me. The grindy peeked over his head between his ears.
I said softly, “Two days to get a place for Shimon to lay his evil head, bring in enough people to deal with the SOD Two, and for me to get well. Easy peasy.” I dropped back my head onto the recliner. I had been putting off the more risky methods of attempting to get well. It seemed as if the slow and methodical way was out now, however. I’d be jumping off the cliff of improbable remedies, mystical mumbo jumbo, and prayer. My get-well-or-die vacay was over.
“I need more painkillers and another shake,” I said. “I need to know where we stand.” The guys went to work, leaving me to worry. I dialed Molly and she answered, road noise and the sound of wipers in the background. I told her about the presence of undesirable vamps in the U.S. and headed this way. Her response was, “Vamps hate witches and we aren’t exactly flying under the radar these days. We can be found. We’re coming. Safety in numbers and all that jazz. Besides, weather reports say the storm is heading north and away. Once the snow stops, home isn’t that far away, Big-Cat. See you soon.” She ended the call, and a tiny flame of happiness danced in my chest.
Kitsss, Beast thought.
A shake was placed into my palm and a handful of pills rattled into the other.
Painkillers didn’t help me much, not even the stuff Eli had gotten for me, but they were better than nothing and took the sharpest edge off the pain. I didn’t ask what the meds were or how he’d gotten them. Probably a vamp doctor, somewhere, had owed me allegiance and written me a script. My name was on the bottle. Eli had added the hemp and CBD oil I was using, and, taken together with high doses of OTC drugs, the strong stuff had better effect. Sadly, there was no way to maintain the meds or the oils in my bloodstream between shape-shifts, and it took time to get the medicine and natural pain relief levels up high enough to do a good job. After the shake, I took another dose of oils, this one followed by hot chocolate so sweet it made my teeth ache. Eli was trying to keep my weight up. It wasn’t working.
At some point, the elder Younger put homemade pizza in the oven, and the smell was garlic-cheese heaven, not that I could stomach more than a bite or two, even after the meds kicked in. We all gathered around the bar in the baker’s kitchen, me close by the radiant heat of the pizza oven in my comfy bar chair, and talked the nuts and bolts of the security business as they applied to the new house: infrared and low-light security cameras run through enhancement computer programs, perimeter alarms, laser trip wires, and how well or poorly they worked in heavy snowfall. We also discussed lines of sight and ammo and weapons placement and snipers’ hides and potential retreat into the woods and the hills. All the fun stuff of the vamp-fighting life. I hoped it would take Eli’s attention off how little I was eating. My lack of appetite was making him crazy.
The pizza had taken a serious hurting and my chocolate was halfway gone when the alarms went off. It might be weird, but my only thought was, Finally! No more sitting around.
Beast thought, Fun!
Alex dove for his system and lit up everything on the main TV screen. “Molly?” I asked, jerking to follow Alex. Stopping. Forcing down the pain that movement brought on.
“No,” the Kid said. All the screens showed that it was snowing hard outside, near enough to a whiteout. One screen showed something else as well. “Vehicle just turned in from the street. A brand-new Range Rover in what I think is lipstick red. Wait. Make that two of them. They pulled in to the drive and stopped.”