In the outer ring of rooms were the humans and Leo’s and my human staff, divided by gender. In one of the larger rooms were Lee, Leo’s assistant Scrappy, and four blood donors: Tia, Ipsita, Christie, and Maryanne, who was Edmund’s human lover and blood-servant. Maryanne hadn’t been around much since Edmund became my primo, but I’d always found her to be a levelheaded and serene woman.
In the second room set aside for nonvamp females were Lachish Dutillet, the head of the witch coven of NOLA, and Bliss—aka Ailis Rogan, a witch in training. Lachish glared at me when she saw me in the doorway.She didn’t like me much. Didn’t hate me, but didn’t like me, despite the fact that I had killed the vamps that had killed her own daughter. She thought I was a troublemaker and a meddler. Not that I blamed her. I’d been called both since I walked out of the woods at an apparent age twelve, naked, carrying the scars of bullet wounds and a gold nugget. Mostly I deserved the rep. Bunking with the two witches was Soul. The arcenciel was present not in her official PsyLED capacity but as the unofficial leader of the rainbow dragons that Titus’s goons had tried to capture and enslave. Lachish turned her back to me and said to Soul, “It’s awyrdspell, one that breaks crystals from the inside. But to test it you’d have to be inside a crystal spell.”
“No,” Soul said. “That will not happen.”
I didn’t know if Titus’s people and any witches on board could scent or identify what Soul was. I didn’t know how safe she might be. But then, if Leo lost the last bout, none of us were safe.
Lachish extended a folded paper. “You are a stubborn woman. Here is the spell, thewyrdand the directions to break a crystal. If you get caught, try it. If it needed to be refined and you didn’t let us experiment, then it’s on you.” Lachish was an irritating but succinct woman.
I slipped away before Soul replied. I’d known I wouldn’t have a room to myself. I’d known I’d be bunking with others, at least with Del, Brenda Rezk, and Ro Moore, Katie’s Enforcer. Brenda was a security specialist assigned to Atlanta and Ro was a cage fighter and mixed martial arts specialist. Ro had nearly died in a recent fight at HQ. No way was she up to full fighting form yet and I resented Leo for bringing them both. Molly would be the fifth roommate. I hoped being pregnant didn’t make her snore or have to pee all day long. I could kick the others into silence; not so much Molly. We were wall-to-wall bunks with one empty. I figured someone would fill the empty bunk bed eventually.
I checked in on the third, smallest bedroom. Neatly stacked against the narrow wall space, floor to ceiling, were suitcases belonging to Bruiser, Brian, and Brandon.The Onorios were bunking together in a space almost big enough for one small bed. It was... cozy. Right. Cozy. Claustrophobic. Cramped. I looked over the luggage and didn’t see weapons cases. That answered one question. The Onorios would not be fighting. They were to be judges and referees, not fighters. I wasn’t happy about some of our best fighters relegated to the sidelines, but the negotiations had been intense. Leo wouldn’t have given up them as fighters without good reason. Leo had arranged to remove three of Titus’s foremost fighters in return, and gained the home court advantage referees. But if I was injured I knew that Bruiser would kick the referee title to the four winds and protect me. Bruiser would hate himself if he reneged on a vow to act as observer and judge. Another reason to stay alive and healthy. I eased away and shut the door behind me.
The big back room had been set aside for the rest of the blood-servants’ bunk beds and this room was a madhouse, the location for most of the cursing, shouting, and thumps. They’d be sleeping in shifts and some of them would have to switch out bunks, but no one would have to sleep on the floor. Eli, Alex, Troll, and Wrassler were on the far end of the room. Derek and his security men were positioned near the door: Angel Tit, Chi-Chi, Tequila Sunrise, T. Sweaty Bollock, T. Jolly Green Giant, P. Shooter. Three of the Vodka boys. Deon, acting as chief cook and bottle washer for us all, had a curtained lower bunk for himself. Twelve male blood-servants, who were also the housekeeping crew and the medical team, would be sharing three sets of bunk beds, switching out cots to sleep in shifts. Pretty much, the long narrow room was wall-to-wall bunks. By day and night the air here would carry the roar of snores and the massed stink of sweat, bad breath, BO, and dirty clothes.
As satisfied as I could be with the current accommodations, I wove between people and down the stairs. The main room was perfect, but too full of people, most lounging on the sofas, cells or tablets in hand, checking the new Wi-Fi connection. It was too slow. Lots of complaints. I left through the back door, crossed the screenedporch, where more people lounged on new outdoor furniture or in hammocks, and outside. The smell of were-creature hit me.
The werewolves were sleeping outside, under the house, on the sand or in hammocks, unless a major tide brought in high water, in which case they’d be sleeping on the third floor when it wasn’t in use for duels. The weres included Brute, the entire wolf pack camera team, and two grindylows.
Werewolves are ugly.
I stepped down the narrow stairs. They were older than the wider front stairs, and squeaked with each step.Yes. I can see how you might think so. Wolves and dogs.
Werewolves are not pack turned. Werewolves are loyal to Leo.
I slowed.And how do you know that?
Beast can smell stink of betrayal on weres. Beast does not smell stink of betrayal on wolves.
Would have been nice to know that,I thought, with a lot more snark than I planned.
Beast chuffed.Beast is still learning to use good nose from ugly dog. New stinks are hard to learn.Beast padded away from me, into the depths of my mind. No cops were here in any official capacity.
I moved away from the house and into the relative quiet of the dark. I found a wind- and storm-beaten tree to rest against and sat on the low limb, looking out over the ocean. I didn’t see U.S. Navy ships. Maybe Leo had found a way to keep them off the shore, though they had to know that warm bodies were here because the defensivehedgeswere not yet in place. The military had satellites and the ability to track heat signatures. In a few hours, here on this one island, would be the greatest accumulation of powerful Mithrans in the world. If the military had the ability to scan through ahedge of thornsthrown up by Lachish and the other witches, the possibility of a missile mishap existed, one that accidentally decimated an island and a house that had never appeared on maps... The opportunity was there. The military could track all the boats and the helos arriving and departing.Military satellites would see what civilians couldn’t. Would they take the chance that Leo would win and the peaceful status quo would be maintained? Or would Uncle Sam wipe us all out? I was becoming a paranoid conspiracy theorist.
The cynical part of me said the government would dither and yammer and yada yada for days, at which point the Sangre Duello would be over, for better or worse. Thereallycynical part said they would blow us to kingdom come. It started to rain, an icy deluge that chilled me to my bones. “Great.”
• • •
I was back at my little limb, dancing shoes ground into the storm-wet sand, silk-clad butt resting on the wind-scoured bark, as the helo landed, its rotors chopping the night. These would be the last deliveries. The NOLA vamps were now all on Spitfire Island. Staff raced to unload luggage from the helicopter. A few raindrops splatted down for a moment, big splashy things that left star patterns in the sand.
I watched from the shadows as Leo stepped from the helicopter, a black shadow in the night, his hair flying in the rotor wash. He was dressed for travel in black jeans and a black sport coat with a white shirt, more casual than I ever remembered seeing him. He was walking to the house and the line of waiting blood-servants when he stopped. Swiveled his head in that unhuman way they have, his nostrils fluttering. And his eyes settled on me in the dark.
Abruptly, he changed course and came to me, stepping gracefully on the sand. He stood staring down at me, the scent of ink and papyrus and black pepper whirling on the prop wash, Leo’s scent. His power spun after it, spiky and intense, like flaming velvet. The wind shifted, carrying away the helo noise, enough to talk. “My Jane. You sit in the dark. Do you grieve when no death has yet occurred?”
“People I love will die in the next night or two. People you love.”
“War is always hard. Death is inevitable, even for Mithrans.”
“I love how you comfort me.”
Leo laughed, that wonderful laugh the powerful ones use, that sends shivers down your spine and makes magic dance on the air. “There is no comfort in war, my Jane. Nor in death. I would not attempt to comfort one who faces battle. There are only platitudes in words.”
Maybe I was still human enough to want platitudes? But I didn’t say it.
“The corset style suits you well,” he said.
I reached up and touched the décolletage of the scarlet corset-styled top, designed by Madame Melisende, Modiste du les Mithrans. The golden lace was made from silk thread, as soft as heaven. My breasts were hefted high, making it look like I had a lot more in the boob department than I did and my doubled gorgets were propped on mounded flesh. My black skirt was a fighting formal, designed for dancing and weapons and battle, but on first glance looked soft and feminine.
