When I had it all set up, I pulled a chair over and sat, crossed one ankle over the other knee like a guy, and leaned forward, cupping my chin in my palm and that elbow on the bent knee. I stared at Monique Giovanni for a while, taking her in and not hiding it. She had dark honey-colored hair with professionally dyed blond and brownstreaks. Bluish eyes. Good bone structure. Small weak chin. Right now it was covered with dog spit, and her clothes were wet and well crusted with dog hair. Other than the spit and dried blood on her clothes from when I shot her, she was attractive in the way humans got when they drink a lot of vamp blood over the years—excellent skin, all glowy. Onorios don’t have to drink much blood to keep the effects up, and unlike regular humans, they didn’t become blood-bound.
I checked to be sure there was no werewolf spit on her abrasions, and mentally congratulated Brute for saliva placement. She wouldn’t get were-taint and he wouldn’t get sliced and diced to death by a grindylow for turning her.Good werewolf,I thought. And then I wondered if Onorios could actually get were-taint. Vamps couldn’t. An interesting thought for another time.
I rummaged around in my brain for what little I knew about them. They couldn’t be bound. They could drain a vamp’s power unto true death. They could take over control of a vamp from a stronger master, creating a scion who was little better than a slave. They could drain vamps of magical power, leaving them defenseless. They had improved healing and much longer lifespans than humans, though less long than vamps. On the negative side, in a battle with another Onorio, they could be drained of their own magical power, which could lead to death. There was probably more, but that was all I really needed.
“You know who I am?” I asked.
“You’re Jane Yellowrock. The bounty hunter.”
She meant it as an insult to the Dark Queen, and I wanted to laugh. You have to know someone well for an insult to take, and bounty-hunting rogue vamps was a way better job than this queen crap. I kept my reaction off my face and went for crude. “You need to pee?” I asked.
Monique’s eyes went wide. Clearly, my unladylike question was vulgar.
“You been here a while, all tied up, so I wondered.”
She studied me back now, blue eyes not giving much away. “I do need to use the facilities.”
“Hope you don’t have a shy bladder. I can’t let you have privacy.” I removed the duct tape from the chair and herankles but left it attached to her wrists, holding the null cuffs in place, her hands together in front of her to give her some use of them. Hauling her to her feet, I gave her a little push toward the bathroom, looking her over. There were no zippers in her clothing. It would be difficult for her to get it all back in place, but she’d manage.
I followed her in and watched her do her business, clumsy but workable, her wrist clearly in a lot of pain again. Her clothes were half tucked, rucked up on one side when she was done, but she was covered. She washed her fingers and face at the sink, patted herself dry with a guest towel, and tried to smooth down her hair, which clearly the wolf had licked. A lot. She shuddered as she worked, and I had a feeling she didn’t like doggie kisses. Good to know.
I followed her as she retook her place in the captain’s chair and knelt in front of her with the roll of tape. “You try to hit me, roll me, or make a run for it, and I’ll make sure you don’t live to regret it. Capisce?”
She gave a stiff nod, and I strapped her feet to the chair legs. I left her arms free, though still attached together at the wrists.
“Coffee or tea?” I asked, taking my seat.
“I’d rather have a ginger ale.”
“Going dry then.” I moved the coffee tray away and strapped her bound arms to a chair arm.
“On second thought, I’d like tea.”
“Too late. You had your chance. I don’t negotiate. I just bust skulls, break arms, and collect vamp heads.” That was Jane Yellowrock’s rep, so I’d use it. I poured myself a cuppa with a splash of creamer and one sugar. Stirred my tea, making little tinks. Sipped it. Settled back in my chair with the mug in one hand. “Just out of curiosity, can you feel magic? Yours, mine, Bruiser’s, a vamp’s?”
She seemed uncertain where this was going, but she finally said, “Yes.”
“With the cuffs on?”
“It’s more distant, like listening with earmuffs on, but yes.”
I lifted the crown of my reign. “Can you feel anything from this? Don’t grab. It might kill you. Just extend a finger.”
She uncurled an index finger, and I let the crown touch her fingertip. She shook her head. “No. Why?” She was staring at my nice mug of tea.
I setlebreloqueaside and raised the mug to my lips; her eyes followed it. I made uncouth slurping sounds, watching her face. She wasn’t disturbed by my lack of manners, unlike the ancient vamps, but she was thirsty. “How about now?” I slapped the crown onto my head, and it adjusted to fit, snugging down tight. I felt tingles all down my body, like green ice that warmed and was gone. It was a new effect, and I wanted to see if she—
Monique’s face did this weird thing. It seemed to shout,Rattlesnake!OrQuicksand!OrAcid!Her eyes landed on mine, and she clamped her mouth shut. She saw me as dangerous. She saw the crown as dangerous.Coolio.I could use her fear.
“Ah. Good. Then you’ll understand why I’m doing this.” Not that I understood why I was doing it. Since there was no one to teach me how to use the crown, flying by the seat of my pants was my only option. But vamps and blood went together like hands and gloves, andle breloquewas at least partially vamp crown, so...
I set down my mug, leaned over her, and tore the duct tape off her neck where Bruiser had taped the cuff in place over her scratch. It had scabbed over beneath the tape, but it opened up fresh with the adhesive pull. I swiped my fingers through her blood, shoved the tape back in place, and sat back. I didn’t pull out the Glob. No point in giving away all my secrets, and it wasn’t working exactly the way it used to anyway, so it had to be kept in reserve.
Meticulously, I wiped some of the blood on a paper towel for possible later use, stuffed it into the pocket holding the Glob, and while in the pocket, wiped the blood onto the magical thingamabob. The Glob went red hot, fast, and then cooled to an icy temp that probably had frost on it. I also probably had a blister the size of my fist on my hip and several on my fingers. Note to self: find a padded bag to hold the Glob and wear oven mitts when I test stuff. Testing things taught me a lot, but some of the things I learned were painful.
Being more obvious about it, I withdrew my hand,touched my bloody fingers tole breloque, leaned back in my chair, and half closed my eyes, bloody fingers pressing on the gold. The power of the Dark Queen had to be worth something, and if I lived long enough, I might learn what. The crown warmed slowly beneath my fingers, and unexpected sensations and reactions swam through me.
To the crown, the blood felt nasty, slimy, dark, a close cousin to treacherous and evil combined. But inside me, something was happening, something different from my skinwalker magics, Beast’s own power, or the crown magics. This power was also mine, but it was prism-bright, the colors of the rainbow and the sound of brass gongs, like light through stained glass and cathedral bells ringing. This new magic was warm as sun on a summer beach; it smelled of night-blooming jasmine; it had texture, like thrusting my hand into a basket filled with skeins of brightly colored silk yarn. This was something I had brought back from the rift and from contact with the Angel Hayyel. It wrapped around my skinwalker magic, and if power had emotions, I’d have said that it blazed with delight at the melding. I focused all that magic, all my own power, and all that power of the Dark Queen onto the blood drying between my fingers and the crown. Through her blood, I focused that power on Monique’s magic. I looked at it with Beast’s eyes.
