“Negative,” Alex said, “but I do have news about the null prison. Interior and exterior cams are now back online. And, just so you know, Leo Pellissier is standing in the shadows of the banana plants where you and Eli were positioned before the death magic bomb exploded.”
“Really,” I said, deadpan. Louder, I called out to the paramedics, “Hang on!”
I loped across the tiny yard to the plants, trying not to grunt, gasp, or moan with every step as gravity banged my arm around. I dove into the dead plants and, with my uninjured arm, grabbed Leo’s shoulder and shook him. “Get over there and heal Eli.”
“Yes, my... queen,” Leo said. It was a version of the line he used to say:“Yes, my Jane.”That had been a subjugating and possessive line and I’d hated it. This was better. Or at least I thought it was. With Leo—even thrice-born Leo—I never really knew.
The former master of the city walked slowly across the lawn, in front of the headlights of the ambulances, his legs throwing sharp but graceful shadows. He bent over Eli’s gurney, the night obscuring what happened next. Two minutes later, Leo backed away and Eli was loaded into the ambulance. In minutes, it and the other emergency vehicles pulled away, leaving several NOPD cars, the DQ’s SUVs, and the avidly watching neighbors.
Leo rejoined me in the dark of the dried-out plants, the big leaves crunching with his movement and with the breeze blowing in off the river. “He will live,” Leo said.
I said nothing. I had learned from Leo himself how effective silence was.
Eventually he said, “You are angry that I did not fight beside your people.”
Again, I said nothing.
“Angry that I stood by and did not assist.” He turned in the dead foliage and said, “Mainet Pellissier is the maker of my bloodline. He named my family. And he is the Heir of the Sons of Darkness.” He said it like it was a title. As if he found it terrifying.
“Heard about him. Heir to Sons of Darkness. But I don’t know for sure where he came from or how he became the heir to the creators of the suckheads.”
Leo smiled faintly at my use of the insulting term. “Mainet Pellissier was originally named Aram Bar Ioudas.” He stopped, his black eyes on me, letting me put it together.
I had heard some of those words before. “Bar means son. So, Aram, son of Ioudas,” I said. “Ioudas means Judas in Hebrew. Or maybe Aramaic?” The understanding sweptthrough me. “Judas Iscariot. Iodus Issachar. Aram... There was another brother?”
The channel noise softened, going crisp as Alex opened a private channel. “What did you say?” he asked. “Repeat that, Janie.”
“Aram Bar Ioudas, son of Judas Iscariot,” I said, staring into Leo’s eyes. “Son of Ioudas Issachar. We knew they had a sister they sacrificed in the black magic that made their kind. But they had other siblings, didn’t they?”
“One brother,” Leo said. “The youngest child of their father, the betrayer. Aram was still a child when the Sons of Darkness attempted to bring Judas Iscariot back from the dead.”
“No,” Alex said over my earbuds. “There’s no mention of a baby brother in any of the bloodlines of the Sons of Darkness. No Heir was ever named. And Mainet Pellissier appeared in the twelve hundreds.”
“ ‘There is always an heir,’ ” I whispered, repeating something I’d heard once. “An Heir, a secondo Heir, and probably a tertiary Heir. Why didn’t I think about that?”
“Only one heir to their power,” Leo said. “The Heir,” he repeated, speaking it like a title, because it was.
Alex swore softly. The sound of keyboard keys being hit came over the channel. “There was a baby brother? Maybe the SODs kept him under wraps, in a cave, chained to the wall or something until they felt he could be used? And that baby brother chose the name Pellissier?” Alex demanded. “That baby brother justhappenedto make Leo’s bloodline? There’s no such thing as a coincidence, except—” He stopped, keys clacking harder.
“Wait,” Alex said. “The surname Pellissier, and a dozen other spellings, actually meant fur cloak or armor, and was worn into battle. And one of the SODs was called the Flayer of Mithrans, like a military title. Maybe there’s a connection.”
I knew Leo could hear Alex. Vamp ears, but I didn’t expect him to answer. Until he did.
“My master chose the name when he escaped from Rome, where he had indeed been kept in chains, to France. He chose the name Pellissier to imply to the Mithran world that he wore the same skin, the same power, the same”—hetwirled his right fingers in the air as if searching for a word—“potential... yes, as his brothers. He passed the name to his children of the body, as the way of designating his descendants. Few lived through the blood challenges presented to them. But there were a very few.”
Leo cocked his head and held my eyes, his expression imploring and yet demanding. “Think, my Jane. Why do you think all the Europeans flocked to New Orleans?” The look on Leo’s face said his words were deadly serious. “Why not Buenos Aires, or New York? Or Mexico City? No. They came after me.”
Crap. “You’re the secondo Heir now. And you didn’t tell me. You did not tell me thatvery important bit of info.” But it makes all the dang freaking sense in the world. Why NOLA? Why here? Because of Leo and his bloodline. Which meant it was one of the deepest, most closely held secrets in the vamp world.
“These things did not matter until now, my Jane. And also, your Alex had Reach’s data bank. I presumed Reach had uncovered this secret long ago.”
But... in the back of my mind I had known there had to be a reason why Leo Pellissier and the city of New Orleans were so important to the rest of the vamp world. It hadn’t been the presence of the SOD in the subbasement of HQ because the vamps kept coming even after there was nothing left of him there.
I had never looked for a reason.
This Heir made Leo’s bloodline one of the most important vamp bloodlines in the world. But Leo, keeper of secrets, creator of layers of plans and multiple possible outcomes, was still talking.
“When Joses hung in the basement, and the Flayer of Mithrans was alive, there was a balance of power. Now? There is the Heir, the Heart of Darkness”—he tapped the box under my injured arm, a single soft rap, much as I had done—“and a Dark Queen.” He gave a tiny shrug. “I am a young outclan priest, with extremely limited Mithran power and even more limited resources. I cannot fight the Heir and Blood Master of my line unless it is your intent that I die yet again.”
