Alex spun a tablet to me. “Here.” He pointed. “Building was bought and paid for by the Marchands when they were consolidating their power base. It comes with a lightning rod, like a nice pretty bow.”
I studied the maps, seeing the rod and the surrounding area. It was within two miles of the place where the car transporting Grégoire had been ditched. For the first time, a small flame of excitement blazed up in me. All the pieces had come together. “What do we know about the inside of the building?” I asked as I took my mug and drank.
Alex said, “Nothing on file anywhere since original construction. Building was designed and erected with the ability to move walls around and add drop ceilings, and it’s been owned by seven companies since it was built, so the inside floor plans could look like anything.” He pointed to the sat map of the block. The warehouse and its property took up most of the space, with a high metal gate around the parking area. One corner of the grounds was planted with dying banana trees and lemon trees. The lot was mostly broken pavement with weeds growing through. School buses and bread-truck-sized trucks were parked there.
“The building itself is U-shaped,” he continued, “with the wider, longer body on the side street. The arm of the U on St. Louis Street seems to be the front, with a public entrance, connected with a metal-roofed, unwalled passageway to this other building at the side”—Alex tapped the screen—“which turns out to be a taqueria called Pepe’s that sends food trucks into the city.” He tapped still shots of the bread trucks and showed us photos of the restaurant’s employees taken from security cameras along the nearby streets. They were all dressed in black jeans and black long-sleeved tees, with black hats with Pepe’s logo: a bunch of red and green peppers. “The addresses are owned by the same privately held property company but are under different rental and lease agreements, with a shared parking area. Also, there’s nothing to stop them from sharing internal space or entrances, though we only see the shared parking.”
“So collateral damage concerns may have gone up,” Elisaid. On the other tablet was a floor plan schematic with electrical and HVAC diagrams, showing the original plans for the warehouse site when it was built in the sixties. “Roof supports are here, here, here, and here.” Eli tapped the screen. “Walls could be up anywhere between, in any configuration.”
Derek pointed, indicating the arms and body of the U. “Front arm on St. Louis is alpha, side is beta, back is gamma. St. Louis entrance is six. This door”—he pointed to a narrow door off the parking area, one on the entrance arm of the U that faced the front of the building—“is five. Probably was originally an employee entrance and check-in office.” He was assigning Greek alphabet names to the parts of the building and clock-face numbers to entrances. Even I could follow that. “Side entrance near the taco joint and parking lot is three.” He pointed to a garage door inside the parking area on the small, back side of the U-arm. “Let’s call it two o’clock. Odd location. Can’t see a reason for it to be here. No way for trucks to back up to it easily for offloading. Along the back side of the property.” He pointed. “Gated entrance for the trucks. Twelve.”
Rick said, “These are old plans, but they seem to line up with the sat maps, except the garage door entrance at two. Entrances may be compromised or relocated. Brute and I could jog around the block and see how many scents we pick up.”
“Yeah, that’s real stealthy,” Eli said. “Like no one’s going to get suspicious of a man and a white wolf out jogging at night. In a winter storm.” His voice added,You idiot, but he didn’t say it.
I finished off my tea with a final slurp. “If a couple goes in together in the middle of a fight, they can make a scene, a big one, in the corner away from the door. Rick can get in and scoot around back.”
Rick blinked once, almost methodically. Eli’s eyes lit up with laughter. He said, “I get to insult you.”
“When insulted, some women hit first and ask questions later,” Bruiser said, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“So, typecasting,” Alex said, tapping on a tablet.
“Ha-ha,” I said. “Not.”
“Once before I used simple radio communication signals,” Gee said. “I can fly above the site and provide overhead camera angles. I can also receive orders and suggestions. I’ll need a waterproof and magicproof system.”
Eli said, “I’m guessing your magic would short out anything ultra-high-tech.”
“It is always possible. Now would not be the time to test it.”
“Okay.” Eli opened the weapons room, studying his gear. The guys all followed him, the lure of toys too much to pass up. I stayed at my place, sipping tea, watching. Eli gave out communications gear consisting of earbuds and tiny mics, all attached to small boxes via curly wires that went down the back of the neck. The box went on a belt at the back. It wasn’t military or Secret Service quality, but it was okay. While they checked the devices, I took the new armor back to my room and gathered my weapons into a gear bag big enough to hold them and towels and a change of street clothes. I repacked my gobag and added three oversized plastic bags with zippered closures for wet gear.
I tried on the new armor. The two-piece armored uniform was unpleasant on my skin even with silk-knit long underwear. The magic was crackly-feeling, but it would breathe, it would shed water, it had built-in armor, it was spelled to resist attack spells, it was warm, and it was dry. Mostly that. I peeled it and the long underwear off, rolled them up together, and tossed them into the gobag. Once I stomped into the expandable boots made of similar water-wicking material, I reassessed my wardrobe looking for something eye-catching. I pulled on a dancing skirt and rolled the waistband down, making it into a short hoochie-coochie skirt; pulled on a thin top; then added a belt and a beat-up leather moto jacket. I looked at myself in a mirror. Only the boots were a practical fashion choice in the winter storm. The rest of me looked trashy, which was sorta the goal.Score!I smeared on scarlet lipstick, braided my hair, and went into the foyer, where I could hear the boys chatting about weapons and gear. No one gave a wolf whistle or made a comment about the outfit, though I had to admit their reticence might be due to the nine-mil I was carrying, and my glare.
The rain had eased and we headed out. I was almost in the SUV when I remembered one more important thing. I tossed the oversized gobag to Eli and raced back inside, where I grabbed the cooler from the laundry room. It was starting to stink, even with the excellent rubber seals. Two rotting vamp heads and a rotten rev head might come in handy. Who knew what the night would bring.
I stopped at the living room entrance, watching the Kid. “Your guards will be here in a bit. Keep the shotgun handy until they check in and prove to be ours.”
“Yes, Mooooom,” he said, without looking up. But there was a gun on the floor at his feet.
“While we’re gone see if you can find a link between Adrianna, Titus, Louis, Bethany, Katie, and Bâtard, or any combination of the above. Something that would tie them all together for hundreds of years.” I thought about the painting in Leo’s office. Yeah. There could be something in historical records.
Alex looked up at that one, his young face pulled tight in thought. “Adrianna is British. Maybe Celtic? The Romans conquered the British Isles before the first Mithran was created. If a Roman took servants and slaves back to Rome, Adrianna could have been one. Then when Titus came back from the holy lands a vamp, he might have bought her. Ended up with her somehow. Turned her himself?” He shrugged. “Too many variables.”
“She didn’t have Celtic or tribal tattoos that I noticed. But if you’re right, then that would make her as old as the priestesses. A first- or second-generation vamp.” I remembered the first time I saw her, as she attacked me at a party. Cold power had flowed from her like icy air from a glacier; her red hair, curly and wild, fanned out around her; and her blue eyes were not quite sane. Adrianna was powerful enough to be a master of a blood family, but in New Orleans she had only risen to the position of first scion of St. Martin. If she was a sleeper agent, planted in Clan Pellissier decades, even centuries before...
“And you killed her.” Alex’s eyes held mine. “And Immanuel.”
Both of us were thinking about how that might affect everything relating to all that was going on. None of it felt good. I’d been trying to kill Adrianna from the first moment I saw her. Now I had succeeded. And I had to wonder if I had messed up monumentally.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said into the silence. “You should take some of your magical stuff. Just in case. Lock it into the weapons cache in the back of the SUV.”
“Are you worried they’ll attack here and take it?”
“I’m worried that you need more weapons than we think. Take a few of them. Keep my brother alive.”
I stepped into my room and picked uple breloque. It vibrated against my fingertips as I slipped my arm through the circle to carry it. A shock of power rammed up my arm and I nearly dropped it. “Stop that!” I said to it.
