“My Queen, this gentleman”—Wrassler continued to the next man—“is a blood-servant in security, second in line to Ming’s Cai. They call him Long-Knife. He has been sent to us on loan from the Master of the City of Knoxville as assistance to track the Firestarter.” There was something in his tone that said the man was more or less than just a gift. Either a prize or a troublemaker. Knowing Ming, I figured she had sent me a troublemaker. He had long dark hair, a wiry build, and eyes that might have come from the Steppes of Russia. He was also trying to hide a bad case of belligerence, which I decided to poke a bit.
I asked, “Who did you piss off in Knoxville?”
The Asian man stiffened. “Cai and I do not see eye to eye on security issues.”
“Yeah? You gonna get along with Wrassler and Derek and Eli, the people in charge of security? Despite the fact that I’d likely insult Ming if I sent you back to her with broken bones, I’ll do just that if you can’t play nice. Are you capable of following orders, or are you just a hothead with no self-control?” It was an insult. I intended it to be.
Long-Knife frowned. It took up his whole face, and it was clear he wanted to be in charge of anything and everything. He wasn’t a vamp, but had the look of a very old and very well-fed blood-servant. “I honor the Dark Queen,” he said, after a too-long silence. His accent wasn’t from an Asian country. Maybe Swedish, which was interesting. And he didn’t answer my question. Also interesting.
“Yeah? We’ll see. You can honor me by honoring them. Wrassler what else you got?”
“Your majesty. Florence is a nurse and Infermieri.” Infermieri. A healer vamp. I wondered where she had been only a couple of hours past when I was dead. I studied the female vampire Wrassler indicated. She was about five five, slim, and was wearing white nunnish gowns, like some outclan priestesses wore. Her power felt soft, warm, and flexible, not shell-like and formidable. I inclined my head to her.
“Florence is outclan,” Wrassler continued, confirming my thoughts, “one who is as independent and self-sufficient as any Mithran can be. I wish to appoint her as your personal nurse.”
“Nurse,” I said, deadpan. She had rich chestnut-toned hair up in a bun, brown eyes, and the kind of complexion that came from another time, another place. “Florence as in Florence Nightingale?”
“An unfortunate coincidence,” she said, her voice lightly accented. Maybe Italian. Maybe something similar.
Wrassler started to speak, and she raised a hand, stopping him.
“I will speak for myself,” she said. “I was turned by Lincoln Shaddock, before World War II, and left the scion lair after four years.”
Most fangheads had to cure for ten years, rule of thumb, before they could control their bloodlust enough to be among humans. “That was... fast.” That was Amy Lynn Brown fast. And Shaddock had never told Leo or me thathe had turned another vamp who went through the devoveo so quickly.
“Yes, ma’am. I returned to Europe to visit my children and was trapped there by the start of the Second World War, unable to return to my maker. Following my son, a doctor, I went to work as a nurse in a mobile military hospital near the front lines. When my son was killed in a bombardment, I took over the medical care of 1,027 soldiers. My Mithran blood saved many. After the war, I sent papers to Lincoln Shaddock that I would be outclan, and I served under the outclan priestess Susanna. I was then, and I remain today, unaligned. I will save any that I can.”
The fact that another wonder-blood vamp came from Linc’s line was more than interesting. Of all the people in this room, this woman was clearly the most self-contained, the most headstrong, and the most useful. She was neither disdainful, nor in awe of my magnificent ears.
“So if an enemy Mithran and I were both injured,” I said, “you would triage the one most likely to live and save that one.”
“If My Queen accepts my service, and should I swear to her for the duration of this Mithran war, then the Dark Queen would receive my assistance first, unless she was well enough to survive on her own while I cared for another.”
“Uh-huh. Triage I understand.” In the years before I came to NOLA, I had taken a course as an emergency medical technician. I understood saving the savable, but I could tell from Wrassler’s expression that what she had suggested was not acceptable. “But if you saved my enemy and my enemy then killed me before you could save me, what good would that do? Wouldn’t that make you foresworn?”
Her head tilted and her brown eyes narrowed as she considered my question. I hadn’t studied under Leo for nothing. I added, “You would be serving the Dark Queen of all Mithrans, not some”—I searched for and found a word a woman of her time might understand—“not some ragamuffin.”
Her lips pursed, and I could see she was about to bargain with me for terms of her service. “I will stabilize the DarkQueen first, followed by any humans. Then I will stabilize your Mithran enemies and will stake them to keep them paralyzed. Then I would fully heal you. In that order.”
“That would take a lot of blood,” I said.
“In one night, I stabilized eighty-seven humans and only fed three times. I did not drain my victims.”
I looked at Wrassler and he nodded. This woman was way more than she appeared, had powerful blood, and amazing self-control. “Why are you here?” I asked her. “In New Orleans. Offering to be my nurse.”
“I worked with Edmund, the Emperor of Europe, and Grégoire, the Blood Master of all of France, who is also your warlord. I saw what they were trying to accomplish, this new world of Mithrans who are bound to a new law. I read the Vampira Carta of the Americas, and I listened to them speak of this Dark Queen who would usher in a new and better time. Their war in Europe is now ended, and they will come here to be formally recognized. By the Dark Queen. I have come to serve this queen. You.”
I needed a nurse because I was breakable and mortal. Right. I looked at Wrassler. “You set this up?”
“We inquired for an Infermieri. She hopped on the next flight. Edmund and Grégoire vouchsafe for her.”
“Fine.” I met her eyes, deep brown and calm. “I accept the service of the outclan healer, Florence. However, your maker, the Master of the City of Asheville, Lincoln Shaddock, the vamp who turned you, has been looking for an Infermieri. When the war’s over, keep that in mind,” I advised her. “He’s a nice guy.”
Her eyebrows went up, and I realized that suckheads didn’t always think “nice guys” were worth working for or with. Only powerful guys.
I added, “You probably know this, but he’s way more powerful than he acts, and you would be close to Amy Lynn.”
Florence blinked once, as if processing that. For a vamp, she had a very expressive face.
