“Safe word? That’s a modern term for”—I smiled—“a different kind of bondage.”
Edmund laughed and the sound was a silken warmth that slid under my skin and eased the last of my pain away. He wasn’t exactly using his gift of compulsion on me, but he was doing something. I should probably make him stop, but the sense of discomfort was easing and so I let him continue. “Back then,” he said, “there was no water safe to drink. Everyone drank beer instead or, if they had an extra coin, wine. Stronger spirits were available as well, in every corner of the city. And the beer in Jacob’s House was some of the best in Charleston,” he said.
This time there was a hint of pride in his tone and I wondered if he’d contributed to making the beer. But what beer had to do with brothels and safe words I had no idea.
Edmund said, “The plentitude of alcohol meant that a vast majority of the customers were always drunk, and drunkards are not always careful with their tender paramours. And the management was not in a position to intrude when a paying guest became too heavy-handed. But I was not management. I was neither seen nor heard except when I needed to be.
“When a patron became dangerously inebriated and angry—the two go hand in hand oftentimes—the girl or boy could shout out a word and I would come running. I was adept at calming ruffled feathers and escorting patrons out of the premises.”
“Mesmerizing them?”
He murmured a noncommittal tone.
“Like you’re doing to me now?”
Edmund tied off the small braid and started on the larger one, making it too all feathery and soft. When he was halfway done, he asked, “Was I so obvious? You are difficult to charm.”
Charm? Huh. “Yes, you were obvious. But it helped. I feel better.”
He finished the braid and clipped a gold pin on to the tip. He placed the four empty bottles in the trash and opened a fifth bottle of electrolyte water, placing it in my hand and pointing. “La salle de bain, pour vous toilette, my master.”
Meaning that he knew I had to pee, but much more nicely stated. I drained the water and placed the empty in his hand and, without a word, went back through the door, closing it behind me. I flipped on the light and relieved myself. Put on lipstick without looking in the mirror. When I was done, I finally looked at myself in the mirror over the sink. Only it wasn’t a mirror. It was a screen with a tiny camera eye at the bottom. Its angle didn’t focus on the commode or shower, fortunately. To the eye, I said, “If you’re watching me through this thing, I’ll break it and then every bone in your body.”
“I would never eavesdrop, nor spy on my master’s privacy, nor abuse her trust in me,” Edmund said through the door, amused. Only I wasn’t his master. And obviously he could hear me talk. He was funning me.Right.
I repacked the satchel, double-checked the weapon, replaced the stakes in my braids—which looked fantastic, like something like out of a fantasy movie, if I was an elf princess and not a warrior. If I didn’t have to worry about someone using my hair as a handle to force me to submit. Gorgeous, stupid lustrous black hair, the two braids eachwith tiny tufts of hair hanging out of every segment, like feathers, wispy and elegant. I really liked it.
I opened the door and said, “I like my hair. A lot. There is no way I can wear it this way on a regular basis, but I’d really like for Bruiser to see me this way.”
Edmund chuckled, a human sound, and said, “I promise to getmy masterall gussied up for the Rock N Bowl.”
The Rock N Bowl was my date with Bruiser.
Themy masterform of address really had to go. Unless I agreed to allow Edmund to become my primo, the first vampire primo to a non-Mithran in... maybe forever. I shook my head at the faint thread of sarcasm in his tone and his insistence on thatmastercrap, and slung my satchel over my shoulder. As we left the room, I called Eli on my cell. He answered, “Jane. You up?”
“Kinda sorta. Where are you?”
“In the conference room. We have an update from George.”
George was my Bruiser, George Dumas. “On the way.” I closed the cell and walked to the elevator, my would-be primo on my heels. The hallways were empty, smelling predominantly of humans: sweat, blood, sex pheromones, alcohol breath, and vitality. Most vamps were having breakfast.
CHAPTER 5
How Many Suckheads Got Shot
The conference room was more than a big table centered with Krispy Kreme boxes, surrounded by swiveling leather desk chairs, and a new Krups coffee machine in the corner, it was also part of the security arrangements. A vamp had killed one of the team while he was monitoring the original console, and we had updated the arrangements. Now there were two consoles in HQ itself, one off the front entrance in an armored cubby, and one down here. There was also off-site supervision at Yellowrock Securities, where the Kid could monitor and call in the Marines (or YS) if things went sour at HQ.
Soon we would also have access to the security systems at all the clan homes. Leo, the sneaky suckhead, had once maintained unauthorized, backdoor access to the other clan home systems, but when Pellissier Clan Home burned to the ground, he lost it. With the EVs coming, and the possibility of a real vamp war, we needed to access to everything at multiple sites so if one was hit, we stood a chance of maintaining an overview. Eli had made it clear that in a battle, knowing what was going on and maintaining comswas paramount. The Youngers and I were making that a possibility.
I stepped inside the conference room and looked it over. It was night, though early, so the room held only humans: Derek Lee and his security team were crowded into the large space, most of them staring up at the main, monster-sized video screen over the table. On the screen overhead, was me.
Gee and me. Fighting. In slow motion, which was the only way to see every sword stroke, with Gee moving as fast as any vamp, and me having pulled on at least a tiny bit of Beast-speed.
Gee looked like a dancer, surefooted and lithe, a small, slender man wearing black Lycra beneath black knickers and croissard, both padded with blade-resistant Dyneema. His eyes were glowing a bright blue. Mine were not glowing at all and looked totally human, if a strange shade of amber. Beast had been right when she said she could hide her presence inside me.
As we moved in slo-mo, I looked like a skinny chicken trying to dance and failing. And then dropping to my knees. Gee raising his weapon for a death cut. Eli adjusting the aim of his weapon. The glimpse of humans beyond Gee, in danger of Eli’s friendly fire. If he missed. Eli firing. Gee falling in front of me. I saw me pick up the blue feather and place it in Gee’s croissard. Then I fell across him and into a pool of my blood. Leo vamping out, shouting something.
The sequence replayed again, even slower, and when I dropped to my knees, the person working the console touched the screen over Gee’s face and expanded that small area, to focus on his expression, just after he was shot. It was blurry at this magnification, but his eyes were no longer glowing. He looked horrified. Stunned, perplexed, and, an instant later, grief-stricken. And then he fell.
