“Why did you attack? How were you and the cats planning to disrupt the Sangre Duello? Nod that you’ll answer these questions and I’ll pull out the blade so you can heal.” He lifted his lips, showing his teeth; deliberately he shook his head no. I stood, closed and secured the cage door, and said, “No food, no water, no medical help, and no one removes the silvered blade until he’s willing to tell us about the grindy and about what’s going on with the weres.” I turned my back to the cat, a cat insult, and left the room, Eli on my tail. So to speak.
In the hallway, the playroom door closed and I could smell Eli’s anger.
“You’re leaving him in agony.”
I steeled myself to answer. “This isn’t war. He isn’t human and isn’t covered by or protected under human laws. He’s a werecat. He won’t die. He’ll suffer a bit, that’s all.”
“Jane—”
“No. Too many seemingly unconnected things are happening right now. Too many possibilities all leading back to the EVs and ahead to disaster. In the last few minutes, we’ve been attacked by werecats who acted crazed or spelled or both, one of which should not have been able to attack at all, too tamed for anything except getting his belly rubbed. We’ve smelled lemons. Dominique, who allied with Des Citrons—but might, possibly, be acting outside their wishes—has gotten in and out with ease and she tossed Callan a sword. Callan attempted to kill the outclan priestess. A witch is floating around HQ and no one can seem to find her.
“I’ll make sure Alex is researching them, but though they’re an old clan, Des Citrons has managed to keep out of the historical eye for centuries. The clan may or may not be aligned with the EVs. They may be hoping to sit back and watch and then pick up the pieces later. Rick will be here in four hours. Rick, as alpha, can make Kem talk. Four hours to think about his sins.” And then it hit me. I ducked my head to see directly into Eli’s eyes. His were haunted. “You saw injured enemy combatants tortured, didn’t you?”
“Aggressive interrogation.” His lips twisted down. Confusion filled his face. “It’s—” His words stopped abruptly.
“Inhuman and inhumane?” I leaned in to Eli, my shoulder touching his. “His grindy is missing. He may have killed it. Her. That’s assuming grindys can be killed. But his grindy is a baby grindy.A baby.” They looked like kittens, neon green kittens with steel claws, but kittens. They were cute little killers. “He wanted to kill humans. Tried to kill Larry and may have turned him into a furball. And Kem is my pack. It’s my right to demand answers.”
Eli shook his head, but answered in the affirmative. “Yeah. Okay. For a werecat who didn’t think twice about harming Larry.” He made a fist and placed it on the door between Kem and us. “Okay. Four hours.”
Eli walked away, leaving me thinking about how much I had changed, about how easy it had been to slip away from humanity, away from thinking about mercy and kindness. Mercy and kindness were hard. Hurting others was easy. The door opened and I met Ed’s eyes as it closed. It was a thick door. Heavy. It sealed with a little whoosh of sound I hadn’t noticed when I entered and left. It was a door created to keep the screams of those inside from disturbing others in the hallway. It was a room built for imprisonment and torture. “I’m a horrible person,” I said, speaking to myself rather than to Edmund.
“Yes, my master. You are.”
“But if I set him free, again, he’ll hurt the ones I love. Again.”
“Yes, my master. He will.”
“I have to take care of the people I love. That means...” This was the hard part. The part I had realized several times over the last months. “That means I have to become a monster.”
Gently, Edmund said, “Have you not always been a monster, my master?”
I took in a breath that hurt as if I had been stabbed. I turned from the room where I was actively torturing an enemy and started to walk away. Faint screams came from the room behind the heavy door. My heart leaped into my throat. Ed slammed the door open. We both raced inside. Kemnebi lay inside his cage, his throat sliced away, his blood emptying out, toward the drain in the middle of the floor. His cage was still secured. The grindy was standing atop the cage, her neon fuzz bloodied, her ankles and neck showing ligature marks where rope of some sort had dug into her flesh and abraded off the hair. She had been tied up. She had gotten away. And killed a wereleopard inside his cage. Right. Not exactly a kitten.
Eli appeared at my side. “Well, hell,” he said.
Vamps and weres and their blasted layers of conspiracies within plots within intrigues within treacheries. “I need to see the parley papers. We need to talk to Leo.”
CHAPTER 11
QaStaHvIS yIn ‘Ej Chep
We were walking into the foyer when a man’s voice stopped us, saying, “Legs?” The nickname meant it was one of the longtime security guys. Team Tequila or Team Vodka. “Hey, Antifreeze,” I said, slowing. “It’s good to see you up and moving. How are you?”
“Not bad, Legs. Suckheads pay better for injuries than Uncle Sam and don’t dump you for wounds.” He held out his good hand and there was a folded note between two fingers. Folded but unsealed meant it had been seen by everyone, that it wasn’t private. “From the MOC.”
I unfolded the paper, seeing my long-fingered hands move. I hadn’t even noticed I was still in half-form. In Leo’s distinctive calligraphy were the words,The Master of the City requests that the Master of Clan Yellowrock join us in my office before you depart.
Master of Clan Yellowrock, not Jane, or my Jane, or Enforcer. Names and titles meant something to vamps. This was city or clan business, and fortuitous since we needed to chat with him. I passed the note to Eli, who gave his service smile, a twitch of lips. I chuckled and thesound was half-Beast. Antifreeze flinched just the tiniest bit. Right. I was a monster and living with monsters never got easier.
“Let’s go visit Leo in his office,” Eli said, his voice hard and emotionless. It was the voice he used when he planned to beat up someone. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy. “Thank you,” I said politely to Antifreeze. On my bare paw pads, I climbed the foyer stairs to Leo’s office, Eli on my heels. Knocked. Entered when he called out“Entrez.”I walked through the entry with its fireplace and expensive rugs and wall hangings to find Leo at his desk, me still in half-form, Eli wearing his battle face.
Leo was sitting, leaning back in his leather chair, his legs outstretched, shoes off, and ankles crossed. Papers rested on his chest. A gold-plated pitcher dribbled condensation onto a gold platter. A cut-crystal bottle, the label readingMACALLAN1824SERIES NO.6SINGLE MALT, was at his elbow, a glass beside it, the scotch legs still draining down the side of the empty glass.
His hair was loose on his shoulders, his clothing blood splattered. There were even a few drops on his face. The stench of old blood had to be horrible to an apex predator, but he hadn’t cleaned up. And he was drinking scotch. His hands were uncovered except for the bandage on his fingers. He’d lost some in a fight recently and they were still reattaching. It was a vamp thing.
He didn’t look up as we entered. I stood there for a moment, watching, evaluating. Then I leaned over and took the papers off his chest. It was the werecat parley agreement that someone had retrieved from the Royal Sonesta. The pages rustled softly as I flipped through them, scanning, Eli reading at my side. The opening paragraph was like a thesis statement, saying that three parties were aligning in a triumvirate of power: the European emperor, the were-creatures (African werecats and a small pack of rogue werewolves), and two vamps. Dominique Quessaire and—Bancym M’lareil.
“Ahhhh,” I breathed, putting things together. Cym had caused the anomaly. That was why the magic in thegym had felt so familiar. That was why the weres had attacked. I knew Bancym M’lareil. She had mind magic. She had an obfuscation spell unlike any other I had ever seen.
