Alex talked. Wrassler talked. It didn’t take long to get everyone properly debriefed, except Eli and Bruiser, who weren’t here to advise me. Wrassler said, “We got a warning from a loyalist in Spain who says Shimon is in the U.S. for several things: he wantsle breloque, new territory, and Amy Lynn.”
“Everyone wants Amy. Okay. Go talk to the cops,” I said. “If they don’t have warrants, don’t let them in. If they do have warrants, stall. Remind them that the HQ is actually a sort of ambassadorial location and get the State Department involved to slow them down. If they are there to ask for vamp backup at NOPD, call the local clans and get some experienced fighters there to help law enforcement. Call...” I stopped, a stutter of surprise at what was coming out of my mouth. “Koun. Did he accept the position as Acting Enforcer of Clan Yellowrock until Derek is found and can resume his duties?” I asked.
“Yes,” Wrassler said. “He said he’s yours to command.”
I’d be testing those bonds of loyalty. “Tell him I said to organize the Mithran resistance.”
“Yes, my queen,” Wrassler said.
“Call the Robere twins in Europe and get them to talk to the cops if needed.” I paused, thinking through the list of things I needed to do, like acquire new legal counsel. I needed a high-profile, high-powered legal team. “We need a legal office on retainer in NOLA, someone with experience in international law and finances. Is that something you can handle?”
“I can make some calls. I’m thinking ABC—Aurieux, Boutté and Cuvert De Boisblanc. They’ve got thirty-five lawyers on retainer and can help with everything from family law to customs problems. If they don’t deal with it, they’ll find someone who will.”
“Call them. In fact, call them before you go to the door. Send them an electronic retainer. And keep me in the loop.”
“Will do, Queenie.” Wrassler disconnected.
“Queenie,” Alex mocked.
I let him. Being teased was a spot of normalcy in my life.
Lincoln said, “You gonna tell me why you’re still in half-cat form? And why you’re hiding out here instead of being in charge of all this mess in New Orleans?”
“Sure. My human body is dying of magic cancer. This one is healthy. And stronger, faster, and more agile than my human shape. Plus, between you and me, I quit. I sent a letter to Edmund resigning the job of Dark Queen and empress and leaving it all to him. Either he never got the letter or he decided he didn’t want the job and is winging it until something else happens.”
Shaddock sat on the ottoman in front of the sofa and laced his big hands between his knees. “Shimon didn’t seem to know that. Therefore, I agree. If Ed got the letter, then he kept that information from the Flayer of Mithrans even under duress, with the younger Son of Darkness in his mind.”
Which would make Ed way more powerful than he appeared. I grinned again. “Correct.” To Alex, I said, “Make sure our people can get back here at first light. Whatever it takes. Eli and I need to go scouting to the west. Oh. And see if you can find Legolas.” Alex looked confused. “The blond vamp who tore out Shiloh’s throat. He wasn’t at the Regal. He’s mine. Personal combat.”
“On the contrary, Queenie,” Lincoln said, making it a permanent nickname. “He insulted my empress by harming her primo on my territory. Technically, according to the Vampira Carta one and two, he’s mine. Personal combat, to the death,” he said to Alex. “You find him, you let me know.”
Alex tilted his head to me, his long curls bobbing, eyes flashing amusement. “Protecting our Queenie is not gonna be easy. She likes to fight her own battles.”
“Which she can do. But if we end up fighting through layers of pissant, lower-echelon-level bullyboys, that’s not her fight. It’s mine.” Shaddock glanced at me. “We clear on that?”
“Crystal. I’m heading for bed. Alex needs shut-eyetoo, if one of your people can man the screens and the security system. Later.”
I went up to Bruiser’s and my room and crashed, my nose on his pillow so I could surround myself with his scent.
***
I slept until ten, when the mattress moved and I smelled Angie and EJ. Both kids climbed up on the bed, Angie on one side, EJ on the other. I grunted, my face buried in a pillow and covered by a veil of my long hair. “I’m still wearing my costume,” I said.
“Dat not a costume,” EJ said. “Dat’s Ant Jane Big-Cat. Mama said so.”
“Even though I’m ugly?” I asked. “Scary? And have big teeth?”
“The be’er to eat you with,” EJ said, and giggled.
“Ant Jane isn’t a wolf. She’s a big-cat,” Angie said.
“Like the one we saw outside the window? Except her not spawtted.”
I reached back and pulled my hair out of the way, rolling over slowly. I sat up on the bed, glad to see that I’d fallen into the sheets fully clothed. “Spotted? What spotted cat?” I asked softly, remembering the scat on the edge of my hunting territory. “And how big was it?”
“It was big,” EJ said. “Big as a lion!” His eyes went wide and his arms spread out.
Angie was watching me too carefully, her strawberry blond curls tied back in a tail. “Mama said it was prob’y a house cat, but it was too big. It was a big-cat, Ant Jane. Bigger than your big-cat.”
