“Okay. You want to know about Leo?”
“Yes. If you feel up to it.”
“I’m hungry as a starving cat, but yeah. You need to know.” Beast had let me access her memories, so I described the way Leo avoided all the security at our house, tapping on our bedroom window. I described how he looked, how he smelled. Carefully I repeated Leo’s words.
Bruiser watched my face as I talked. “He was sane?”
“Yeah. He had been drinking from a lot of homeless people, but so far as Beast could smell, all were still alive. He said someone was coming, someone he couldn’t defeat. He said that because I killed Immanuel, and then the Sons of Darkness, this ‘my master’ had come to power. And he was more powerful than Leo was now.”
Bruiser shook his head. “Monique mentioned Leo’s master. I’ve looked into Leo’s bloodlines, Amaury’s scion lines, and the list of still undead ancient Mithrans and Naturaleza. I could find no one worthy of the title of master who is still known to be undead. He was not speaking of Ka or Monique or the Firestarter?”
“No.”
“He wasn’t speaking of Shaun MacLaughlinn?”
“No. I got the impression that Shaun is here to soften us up.”
“Mmmm. I wonder if Shaun knows that. Ofttimes the older Mithrans use tools who are not aware of their low status and utter lack of value.” His face thoughtful, Bruiser dressed in the clothing he had tossed into the corner. They were wrinkled, but they fit so tightly the wrinkles werestretched out and invisible. He looked so good in clothes. And out of clothes. And all the time.
In the bedroom, I pulled out another of Madame Melisende’s outfits and dressed. This one was a sort of old-blood brown. I hated it instantly, but it was warm and soft, and it fit perfectly. There was a pink one next to it. I yanked that one off the rack and balled it up.
“Problem, my love?” Bruiser asked, all innocent, his worry momentarily gone.
I held up the ball of fabric and shook it at him a little. He knew I hated this color.
“I think that is a lovely shade of pink,” he said blandly.
Laughing, I threw it at him. “I’m sure you’ll look gorgeous in it.”
“I shall see that this is offered to others in the wardrobe room and a more suitable color is made for you, my love.”
He tucked it under his arm, and we were still smiling when we left the room. In the hallway outside, stood Raisin. She was glaring at us. Beast was still close to the surface, and I could smell Raisin and her feelings—a mixture of animosity and fear and blood. Raisin was one of the oldest blood-servants at HQ, wrinkled like a Shar-Pei puppy but still sharp as a tack and as prickly as a blackberry vine.
“I will have a word with you Primo,” she said in her British (maybe Welsh?) accent, sounding prissy and ticked off, her mouth making dozens of vertical lines on her upper and lower lips.
“I am Consort, no longer primo, ma’am, but I am your servant.” Bruiser’s tone was clipped and reprimanding. He turned to me and said, pointedly, “My Queen.”
I knew that the “I am your servant” part was an old-fashioned way of being polite, but I didn’t like it. I could tell that Bruiser didn’t like the fact that Raisin hadn’t called me queen. And that she said she “will have a word” versus “may I please have a word?” In the vamp world, she had been unforgivably and deliberately rude.
“My Queen,” she said grudgingly.
I had wanted to talk to Raisin about old things she might remember, but I had the feeling trying to draw info out of her would be a waste of time. I also know when I’vebeen insulted, so I ignored her. In true vamp style, and true Beast style, I turned my back on her. “I’m hungry,” I said to Bruiser. “I’m heading home to see the loc... trinket and eat some food.”
“I shall be along shortly, my most beloved queen. And I shall notify your brothers that you will be arriving shortly.” He too turned his back and made Raisin wait as he used his phone.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the old blood-servant look down and lace her hands. Pretty sure she got the message.
***
I had no idea what time it was, but it was still daylight when I got home. I was beyond hungry, and luckily Eli knew I was on the way and starving. He had a sandwich plate prepared for me, stacked tall with thin-sliced smoked ham and cheese, with lettuce and tomato, goopy with mayo, with a side of greasy scalding fries right out of the oil. He had made plates for Alex and him as well, and we all sat down to eat together. It was a marvelous meal with dark beer, lots of salt on the fries, and neither one of the guys watched me eat, so I could stuff huge mouthfuls of food in.
When we were finished, I said, “How about the dishwashing waits, and we look at the locket now?”
Eli and Alex shared a glance that meant they had been talking about me. I gave both of them the stink-eye, but they pretended not to see me. Eli rose from the table, put his headset on, and began a reconnoiter, checking all the windows and doors. He was armed, and not just with a double-thigh rig, but with a double-shoulder holster. Four nine-mils. Extra mags were tucked here and there. And he was wearing body armor between his T-shirts. Eli was expecting trouble. Lots of trouble. I had been so hungry that I hadn’t noticed.
Alex silently cleared the dishes off the table and put them in the sink. Eli and Alex were tense. Worried. I didn’t know what had happened, but it wasn’t good. I looked out the kitchen window to see a sentry patrol in front of the house.
Satisfied with his recce, Eli ended a sotto vocediscussion with the security team, turned off his mic, and returned to the table holding a tiny box.
