Leo dropped his swords and grabbed up his ancient rival. Covered the torn throat with his own mouth, and began to drink. He slid his mind into the mind of El Mago, following the pathways of their earlier years, before their conflicts. He drank down the old jealousy, the hatred, and the betrayal they had given birth to. He absorbed the plans and the hopes and the future as El Mago wished it to be. He understood.
The European Mithrans were coming for the Americans, as soon as ten years. They wanted his land, his Mithrans, his cattle. They wanted to rule the world; what better place to do so than from the United States of America?His land.
He would not give it up.
Leo dropped El Mago and, with an economical swipe of his sword, removed his head.
Katie bent down, inspecting the body. “You killed him before we left for the Americas. Only someone powerful might have healed him from the mortal wound you administered.” She tilted her head to Leo. “You have enemies. Will you grieve again, for his death?”
“I will not.” Leo pulled out the cellular phone and followed the instructions. “Pellissier Clan Home,” a woman answered.
“This is Leo. Send a cleanup crew to the Hemingway suite of the Hotel Monteleone.”
“Leo. The Master of the City?”
“Of course. Who else would make such a call? And send a car to collect Katherine and me. We shall be walking down Royal toward St. Louis Street. We require a male blood-servant and the human Margaret Coin, champagne, and privacy in the limo. And...” He considered the odd phrase he had heard his people use. “Make it snappy.”
Leo Pellissier, Master of the City of New Orleans, dropped the cellular phone and held out his arm to his beloved. “Come. Let us take in the city before the sun rises.”
Together they left the Hemingway suite and the body on the floor of the bedroom. Perhaps this time El Mago—Miguel Pellissier—would stay down. Re-killing his brother was tiring.
It’s Just a Date
First published online, as a serial short, as part of a blog tour in 2016. In the timeline, Jane is the Enforcer to Leo.
“It’s just dinner.”
“It’s a date, Jane,” Jodi argued. “With a guy who works for Leo Pellissier, the vampire Master of the City of New Orleans. There is a clear conflict of interest between him and NOPD.”
“There’s no conflict of interest at all,” I said. “No. Take it off. The red looks too bright with your blond hair.”
“You know zilch about fashion and color,” she countered, but drew the shirt off over her head. “You are currently wearing purple socks with brown ankle boots, a black shoulder rig, red holster, a royal blue tee, and beat-up blue jeans. Except for the boots, you look like a shortsighted, color-blind person who shops for high fashion at Goodwill and Cabela’s.”
“Nothing wrong with any of those things,” I said, pulling up my jeans legs to see my socks. The purple was pretty. “Besides. I have time to change before our triple dinner date. Nor is there a conflict of interest,” I went on, hoping she didn’t notice the worddateburied in that sentence. “Wrassler doesn’t work for the mob, doesn’t have a record, and is charming. You’re just too chicken to start dating again.” Jodi pretended to be too busy yanking on a gorgeous pale yellow shirt that still had the tags on it to reply to me. I narrowed my eyes at her. “Chicken,” I said, distinctly. “Chicken. Chicken. Chicken.”
Jodi, head of the woo-woo department of the New Orleans Police Department, shoved her head through the neck and scowled at me. “What if he doesn’t like me? What if we have nothing in common? What if he’s bored. What if—”
“Stop,” I yelled, managing not to laugh. “He watches you like a hawkany time you’re near. You both like guns and politics and protecting people. I promise he will not be bored. We’re going to Stephan’s and they have a band starting at ten.”
“He does?”
I wasn’t sure what part she was referring to, but she sounded hopeful, so I just said, “He does. He’s smitten. And the yellow is perfect. Put on the necklace so I can see it all.” Jodi averted her head, carefully not looking at me as she hooked the wire-wrapped citrine around her neck, and I had a revelation. “You bought that shirt just for tonight, didn’t you?” Jodi didn’t look up but she blushed a bright pink. “It’s silk.” I grabbed the tag. “And it’s freaking expensive!” She didn’t look up, but her lips pressed together and her color went higher. “You like him too! Holy crap. Jodi’s in Looo-ooove. Jodi’s in Looo-ooove.”
“Jane Yellowrock, I swear by all I hold holy that I will shoot you if you say another word.”
I let the teasing fall away. Softer I said, “You’ve been carrying a torch for each other for a long time. You deserve some happy time. Some downtime. And if you bought that shirt with Wrassler in mind, then you made a perfect choice. You look gorgeous without looking like bait.”
Jodi blew out a breath that fluffed her bangs. “Okay. Fine. I’ll see you at eight. Now skedaddle. I worked a scene until four and I need some beauty sleep.”
—
I dressed with special care. It had been weeks since my honeybunch—not that I’d ever call Bruiser that to his face—and I had been on a real date. Something other than fast food or grabbing a few hours together had become a rarity, and dinner at a new multi-star restaurant was a treat, even if we did have four others sharing the limo. No fun and games on the limo floor tonight, but getting a blind date in place for Wrassler and Jodi was an invitation we couldn’t refuse. The two had been giving long looks when the other was too busy to notice, making excuses to be in the same room or on the same case together. I had even caught Jodi twirling her hair when she was talking to him. And Wrassler had bought a new suit and new shoes that fit his prosthetic leg better than his old ones, and he wore it whenever she was around. They were crazy about each otherbut neither would make the first move. And I would suck as a matchmaker. So Eli, one of my partners in Yellowrock Securities, and Sylvia, his sweetie-pie (ditto on not saying that aloud) set up the date. It was pretty romantic.
I heard my own sigh as I pulled on a pair of dress slacks with false pockets. The legs were wide enough that I could carry a blade and a small weapon strapped to my thigh. I had a .380 that was the size of my palm, and a six-inch silvered blade. I went nowhere these days without a weapon, even the nearly useless ones I carried tonight. I pulled on a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a necklace with a topaz stone focal, and loosely braided my hair. I stabbed two silver stakes and one wooden stake into it once I had it all twisted up into a messy bun.
In the mirror I looked casual but elegant. And Bruiser liked the way my legs and butt looked in these pants. Just to remind him what awaited him if we ever found the time.
I adjusted the weapons so they didn’t show on my legs and decided they weren’t enough. I texted Molly—my BFF and earth witch—that I was going into her trinket box, and dragged it from the top shelf of my closet. I unlatched the small olivewood box and studied the charms that Molly kept ready for my use: petrified wood discs hand-carved in bas-relief, a wooden cross with a dead crucified Jesus on it, a wooden ring made of three kinds of wood laminated together, a hair ornament with a wooden leaf dangling on a short chain.
