Ming of Glass owed me a boon. Boons were important things to vampires and that boon was worth much more now that Ming was an MOC. Did that give me protection and bargaining power? Was that what Rick meant? Then again, beingcalled Maggot or Maggoty might be endearing, and might therefore give me the power to manipulate them without them knowing I was doing so. Churchwomen were excellent manipulators, and while I wasn’t near as good or as sneaky as one of the mamas, I was still pretty good. To be Maggot or not to be Maggot. It was a conundrum.
The driveway was long and winding, made of pressed and painted concrete that looked like cobbles; visitor parking was a wide area to the right of the house. I parked beside LaFleur’s official vehicle and took in the armed human guards patrolling, working with dogs. I made a point to step out of my truck where one of the guards could see me and remove my weapons, leaving only my ID and badge in view as I moved with false confidence toward the front entrance.
The house was made of dull brown river rock and a similar color brick. The wood trim was painted in three tones of cool browns and the working shutters were painted steel. I knew a lot about Ming of Glass, but a lot of what I thought I knew was from my church upbringing. The vampire was often used as a threat against unruly children. “You’un be good or Ming of Glass will snatch you’un outta your’n bed and turn you into a demon.”
The door was open, ice-cold air billowing out, when we reached it. A man wearing a dove gray suit with a scarlet pocket hankie bowed us in and I realized the suit was a tuxedo and the man had to be a butler. He was about five feet, six inches tall, clean shaven, and he was wearing white gloves even in the heat.
“Master of the City Ming of Glass welcomes you to her clan home. Please accept refreshment. I’ll inform the master that you have arrived.” He bowed again and swept an arm toward a fancy room, what might be called a parlor. A maid, wearing the same color scheme, ushered us in and offered us iced black tea with lemon or mint.
Rick said, “Thank you. We’d love some. With lemon for me.”
The offer was not something I should ignore or refuse even though I was already shivering as the sweat chilled on my body. But I didn’t want cold tea. “Thank you,” I said. “But if it would be possible I’d like a cup of hot tea?” And a blanket, which I did not say aloud. Ming’s lair was cold.
The maid opened her mouth and closed it, glanced at the doorway and the butler who was standing in the opening. Something passed between them and was gone. “Of course, miss. It will be just a moment longer.”
Rick’s lemony tea appeared in about ten seconds, the dark liquid in a cut crystal glass, carried in on a silver tray. I knew very little about really good crystal or silver, but this was heavy, the glass faceted like diamonds. Rick sat on the small sofa and took his glass in hand. He was all elegant and upper class and... Why wasn’t Rick a vampire chick magnet? He fit right in. That was strange.
Two minutes later, the maid reappeared with a teapot and a pretty teacup and saucer on a wooden tray. Two strings hung outside the teapot lid. I stared at the strings. I’d read a library book back when I wasn’t working for PsyLED. It was a novel about a modern girl from China and her very old grandmother. The young girl had made tea from loose leaves for the older woman as a sign of respect. In the novel, giving guests tea from tea bags was an insult. Ming was Asian, an old,oldAsian. Tea in the China of her day would probably have been nearly sacred. While icing tea could be considered a way to blend into local culture, serving it steeped from a tea bag was probably like thumbing her nose at us. I didn’t know enough to do more than guess that Ming was offering a sly disrespect.
I debated trying the tea. Uncertain, I took my place on a leather chair with carved swan-neck arms, touching the wood surreptitiously, and looked over the large room. It had a high ceiling, attic fans, and stiff-looking furniture. I surveyed the room, looking for the most likely hiding places for the security cameras, just like the nosy cop I was becoming. I figured that a room this large would have at least four cameras, and decided that they were on the bookshelf, on the mantel, over the entrance door, and at the smaller door to the side where the maid had emerged.
I also decided to not drink the tea just yet. I kept the fingers of my left hand on the wood of the swan-necked chair arm. It was fine wood, tightly grained cherry, from a local forest. I liked it. And it offered me a connection to the land.
From the doorway I was facing, a black-suited man I identified as Ming’s primo human blood servant—Cai, no lastname on file anywhere—and Ming’s vampire security specialist, Heyda Cohen, entered. Cai was about my height, slender, and though there was no data on file about his fighting abilities, I got the distinct impression that he was deadly. He moved like a hunting cat, perfectly balanced, fluid. Rick watched him move and placed his glass to the side as if to free his hands. Heyda was tiny, of Middle Eastern or East Asian descent and very beautiful. She was also awake in the daylight, and though she looked as if she could fall asleep in a heartbeat, being awake by day meant she was quite powerful. A vampire war against God’s Cloud of Glory Church had been fought over her, and I had been partly responsible for her rescue from the churchmen. It was the occasion when I first met Jane Yellowrock, and...
I took a slow, steadying breath. In many ways, Heyda was responsible for all the changes in my life. Heyda’s eyes were sharp when they landed on me and she nodded solemnly, as if in recognition of me as something or someone important. In her eyes I might be. I had been involved in other ways with the protection of the vamps in Knoxville, including the return of Mira Clayton’s adopted, nonhuman child. That rescue was the source of the boon between her boss and me. And yet, Ming offered questionable tea. I could be reading the situation wrong.
The maid reentered behind Heyda, carrying another tray with tiny scalloped toast points topped with what looked like raw meat, and cucumber sandwiches on white bread.Raw meat?Another subtle insult, this one directed to the cat-man? I inhaled, trying to catch the scent, and thought it might be smoked salmon. That was expensive and so... no insult? I wished I knew more about manners outside of the church. The servant set the tray on a tea table, poured tea into my cup, and departed, the butler following her out, leaving Heyda and Cai behind. The two stood at what looked like parade rest, facing the main entrance to the parlor.
When Rick put down his glass and stood, I followed suit, though I heard and smelled nothing. The Master of the City, Ming Zhane of Glass, entered slowly, her power zipping over my skin like a swarm of ladybugs had landed on me. Ming was dressed in a black silk robe over a scarlet gown, the exactshade as her lips and the same shade as fresh blood. A gold chain hung around her neck, with a ruby pendant the size of a robin’s egg. She was Asian, petite, with almond-shaped eyes of an odd dark honey shade. Her black hair was long, up in a bun just like every other time I’d seen her. Her skin was smooth and pale as ivory, and her lips were painted scarlet.
The last time I met her, Ming had been only a clan Blood Master. Now she was a great deal more. She exuded all the power, elegance, and lethal intent of an apex predator. She looked totally at ease. And she was up, in control, and alert in the middle of the morning, which told us how powerful she was.
She would squash us like rats if we let her. I knew. I’d dealt with Ming before and she liked messing with humans and paras she considered beneath her. Like us.
Cai said softly, “The Master of the City of Knoxville and Tennessee hunting grounds, and Blood Master of Clan Glass, Ming Zhane, welcomes the special agents of Knoxville PsyLED Unit Eighteen to her clan home.”
Ming had said this visit was urgent, but clearlyurgentdid not negate protocol or the vampire social niceties when dealing with human law enforcement. Realizing that every word spoken today would have much more meaning than appeared on the surface, I ran the primo’s words through my mind.
Technically, Ming was her family name and Zhane her given name. She should have changed her family name to Glass when she defeated the clan founder a hundred-plus years ago, but she hadn’t. Keeping her own name, in the Asian manner, stated to the vampire world that she wasn’t one to abide by Mithran or human rules unless she wanted to, and that she was powerful enough to get away with anything she wanted. And the wordsTennessee hunting groundsmeant something more than being MOC. Ming was claiming the entire state of Tennessee as hunting territory. With Leo Pellissier true-dead and in the grave—or so they said—and Jane Yellowrock, the Dark Queen, in hiding, Ming was stretching her power and influence. Ming might be playing with us like a cat with mice.
Ming knew us, but Rick introduced us anyway, title to title. “Rick LaFleur, special agent in charge of Unit Eighteen of PsyLED, and Special Agent Nell Ingram. What can we do for you, Ming of Glass, Master of the City of Knoxville?”
I noticed he didn’t say anything about his werecat titles. And he didn’t mention the Tennessee hunting grounds. That was interesting.
Instead of answering, Ming sat and gestured us to sit as well. We did, on the edges of our seats. I pressed my left fingers against the wood again and watched as Ming smoothed her silk robe. She said, “I hope the refreshment is to your satisfaction.”
Rick looked nonplussed at the deflection, but I was ready for it. I lifted my cup and sipped, saying, “The refreshment offered by Ming of Glass is welcome, especially as the Mithran Master of the City is in such penury.”
Ming lifted a brow in what might be amusement. “Penury?”
I set down the cup and nudged the tea-bag string with a knuckle. “I know about whole leaves being preferred over the tea dust in tea bags.” I gave a smile as faint as her own and added a bit of church to my accent. “I ain’t a connoisseur of anything except vegetables, but I know my manners. And serving iced tea and store-bought tea-bag tea to a guest is an insult. Right? And Ming of Glass would never insult a guest. So Ming of Glass must be broke.”
“Broke?” Ming blinked. “Vegetables?”
“I’ve been told that I grow the finest vegetables in the state,” I said.
Rick looked at the sweating glass in his hand. He might know all about vamps, but he didn’t know about a woman’s insults. “We’re here for—” Rick started.
