“Yeah. Come on. “She hooked her arm through mine and led me into the hallway and through the line of assembled humans and vamps, all of whom looked unhappy, sad, or angry, and all staring at me. “And by the way,” she said when we had passed the last one, “why were your people so bitchy when I got here?”
“Oh. That. Ummm. The blood in the shower? I got shot and sorta nearly died. I’m not supposed to die. I’m supposed to shift before I die.”
Something hit me, hard and fast. My father had died. Midshift, he had died. Maybe all skinwalkers can die if they don’t shift in time. Maybe, when I was healed in the rift, I lost my special ability to shift back faster than death could take me. That would suck. And since my DNA had been affected, it would make total sense. If vamps hadn’t been close by, I’d be dead right now. Silent, I followed Jodi through HQ to the ballroom. She walked slowly, which was good, because dying can take a lot out of a girl. I was quickly winded.
The ballroom looked worse than I expected. The stained glass had been shoved to the side in a wet, multicolored pile. There were scorch marks on all the columns and a big scorched area on the floor. The row of tables were burned, leaving only metal frames, the tops blackened crisps. The ballroom stank like chemicals and smoke and, oddly, burned hair.
Jodi said nothing. She put her hands on her hips, shoving back the exercise jacket, thrusting her boobs forward. Jodi was one of the most hourglass-shaped women I knew, but when she assumed what I thought of as her cop stance, she didn’t look petite or rounded or bosomy. She just looked mean. But at least she was dry-eyed and not teary anymore.
There were four uniformed staff with shop vacs and rug cleaners drawing up the black water. More staff were stripping off the unburned linens from most of the chairs to send them out for cleaning. Others were removing the ruined tables and carrying them outside into the night.
I looked up, expecting to see the worst, yet the ceiling wasn’t as bad as I had assumed. Only one of the arches had been broken in, only one of the stained glass “windows” had been busted. Still. There was no way to repair the roof by the time of the wedding.
Wrassler entered behind us and wrapped Jodi in his arms. Size-wise, they looked like a silverback gorilla hugging a baby chimp. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmured into her hair.
“We’re moving the ceremony and party to the Yellowrock Clan Home,” she said, steely voiced and way too calm. “We need someone to contact all the guests and let them know.”
“My people can do that,” I said.
“Yeah. They can. And they better.” She transferred those sweet blue eyes to me, and I nearly took a step back. “And the clan home better look like a million dollars. And the fangheads are reimbursing the caterer and the bridal supply shop for everything the fire destroyed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Or,” Wrassler said, “we can get the hole covered with a piece of plywood and get the NOLA coven to glamour the missing stained glass.”
“Oh,” Jodi said. She looked up at the ceiling and frowned. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
She should have thought of it right away, because Jodi came from a witch family.
“That’s perfect,” she said. “And Jane can pay for it.”
“I can do that,” I said. To Wrassler, I added, “Spare no expense, and get every caterer and flower shop in town working to get the place up to speed. It needs to be perfect.” I turned to Jodi and said, “Whatever the coven charges. Ernestine will write a blank check.”
“Done,” Jodi said. She made a snorting sound and turned in Wrassler’s arms. They stood there for what felt like hours but was likely only half a minute. Then Jodi patted his big arm to let him know he could let go, and she walked from the room. Over her shoulder she said, “I’ll tell the officials this is now a diplomatic situation. Get the Robere’s on it.” With that, she was gone.
Fortunately, Brandon and Brian were now in town for the wedding, and though I hated to ruin what was supposed to be a festive vacation, Jodi was right. They were the best men for the job. I blew out a breath that sorta whistled.
Wrassler chuckled, but it was a sad sound, as he looked around the room. He shook his head. “You have subjects you need to meet.”
Subjects.I hated that word, now equating it with blood-servants, people who owed me something and who I had to protect. I wanted to say no, but I figured this fiasco was totally my fault, so I just nodded and let him lead the way back to a main-floor tea room, my big paw-feet silent on the flooring. “Any news from the vamp graveyard? Any sightings of Sabina or revenants or whatever?”
“No, My Queen,” Wrassler said softly. “No reports of drained humans. No reports of Mithrans being attacked.”
“Okay. Keep me informed, please.”
“I will.”
The room we stopped at was a tiny reception room, the table in the center set for tea for four. Wrassler sent me in alone. The room was empty, so was the teapot, and I was starving. Bummer. I wondered if the tea service had been set there for show, and if so, why? I had no idea how formal this meeting was, so I took the chair I would have takenhad I been greeting dangerous enemies, my spine to the corner, facing the door. When I sat, my hands were shaking with fatigue. The room was small, I didn’t have a weapon, I was backed into a corner, and I was hungry enough to make me grumpy.
Beast thought at me,Is like cage. Do not like cages.
Yeah,I thought back, trying to relax in the fluffy floral chair. Unfortunately the fabric of the clothes, the chair, and my pelt started to work against each other and ride up. And itch. Sometimes I hated my pelt.
There was a discreet knock, and the door opened, admitting two men and two women, Wrassler behind them. He closed the door and stood there, clearly my security. The other four seemed at a loss until Wrassler cleared his throat and said, “Dark Queen of the Mithrans. May I introduce Dr.Pierre Paquet, who has taken over the vampire funeral home. He and his wife, also Dr.Paquet, became doctors in France in 1939. I will arrange an introduction with Dr.Solange Paquet at a later time.”
I didn’t offer my hand to the doctor, but I did give a slight, regal head bow. He returned a fast up-and-down nod, but his eyes stayed glued to my cat ears, pointed atop my head.Yeah. I’m a cat. And your queen.I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Your majesty,” he managed, sounding as if he might faint. He dropped to his knees, which made me want to laugh, but no way was I giving in to this hilarity.
