He opened the weapons storage. Bruiser passed me a vamp-killer and a nine mil. The scream of crotch rockets and the lower pitch of heavier bikes roared toward the stopped limo. More gunshots sounded. Rounds impacted the armored windows of the limo, leaving starburst shapes in the bullet resistant glass. The fractured glass caught headlights, the dark night pressing in.
I raised up a hair, catching a flash of Koun, wearing armor but no protective headgear, leaping into the air. Heard him land atop our vehicle, firing a shotgun. Quint raced by, firing single shots with a nine mil at selected targets. The glimpse I got of my personal psycho was focused, hard, cold, and steady. Eli, fully armored and helmeted, was behind the SUV at an angle from us. He tossed things into the shadows. There were no explosions and I figured he was using magic grenades that knocked enemies to sleep, or made them puke, or made them crap their pants. The Everharts had gotten creative with amulets delivering nonlethal offensive workings.Pukeworking,poopworking, andsleepy-timeworkings were effective even against fangheads.
Yeah. It was night. Bloodsuckers’ favorite time to kill.
More gunshots sounded against the windows and the body of the limo.
“Sounds like nine-millimeter round impacts,” Bruiser said casually. “If they wanted you dead, they’d have used a rocket.”
“Diversion?” I asked.
“Possible. Or they’re remnants of your vampire enemies, hoping to take your place, a small group without access to intel, like the fact that our vehicles are armored. Or remnants of the new local human gangs hoping for revenge and to make a statement.” His tone was uninflected, his words staccato, the businesslike timbre he would have used with the former master of NOLA, Leo Pellissier, during the years when Leo took and kept power and Bruiser was his right hand blood servant. He said, “Calling law enforcement.”
Bruiser synched his cell to the limo’s wifi and called the state police. A succinct convo followed as Bruiser explained our situation and suggested no one dispatch local cops or highway patrol to this twenty, but to inform any incoming 911 callers, who might be reporting gunfire on our highway, that the situation was being dealt with, and to stay away. He got no argument from the police. Humans had few defenses against vampires.
Koun landed on the street, briefly caught in the headlights, and popped into the dark. Quint, slower, human, rushed away on the other side. Eli faded into the shadows. I saw no strangers. Distant gunshots echoed through the night.
The intercom made a soft noise, and I tapped the button to speak to Wrassler, my new Administrator of Security, my shotgun carrying bodyguard. “All safe back here,” I said. “You two okay?”
The privacy window between us came down, revealing Wrassler and his wife, Jodi, behind the wheel. “The windowsand windshield will have to be replaced,” Wrassler said, “and some touchup body armor work, but no damage to occupants or engine. Outside, we have three injured, non-life-threatening. All have been loaded into an SUV. They’ll meet the helo and will be flown to blood feedings or to the nearest hospital as required.”
“Who?” I asked, feeling slightly queasy at the thought of more people injured because they were attached to me.
“Abelard Dupris, Jamie Hilton, and AliceAnn Jones.”
“Bonuses for everyone on detail,” I said. “Bigger bonuses for those three.”
“Consider it done, My Queen. Consort, three of our able bodied are gathering the enemy DBs into a pile. All are young vampires, properly beheaded, so there will be no inadvertent risings. None carry IDs. I suggest they be transported to the lab in travel coffins for ID and info.” The lab was in Texas, but it was a good idea and not one Bruiser or I had worked around to yet.
Bruiser said, “Thank you, Wrassler. Please arrange pickup and transport to the lab.”
Jodi said, “If you’re concerned about my legal input, I wasnotdriving. I slept through the whole thing and saw nothing.”
Jodi was a cop in the woowoo department of NOPD. As Wrassler’s wife and my friend, she trod a delicate line, politically speaking.
She gave a sham yawn and stretched behind the wheel as if just waking up. “What’d I miss? Lab? What lab?” she asked, sounding like a bad actress.
I grinned at her. “I’m happy you don’t have to stay here and liaise or fill out paperwork. You know, because you slept through the whole thing.”
“God, no.” she said. “I saw nothin’! Besides, it might be winter but the mosquitoes are the size of flying drones and they love my perfumed and sweet-tasting blood.”
Wrassler held up a hand to pause the conversation and took report over his comms. To us, he said, “We have to change three tires, leaving us down two vehicles, which significantly decreases the numbers of your protective detail. I don’t want to leave you on this stretch of open road, so my suggestion is to move on with the security vehicles that can still roll, the least damaged ones, and divide the bikes, half with each party. Consort? Your orders?”
Bruiser looked to me, though I didn’t know why. They’d do what they wanted, so being included was more politesse than actually caring about my approval or not. I shrugged a reply and Bruiser said, “Let’s move.”
“Yes, sir.” Wrassler tapped his comms. “Quint. You’re inside with the queen and consort.”
“Sir,” she said, and opened the door. She climbed into the limo and sat on the seat facing us, on top of the gun cabinet. Her eyes were psycho cold, her face emotionless. She had cut her hair super short and dyed it white-blond. It was a good look on her. Quint would have been a handsome woman had she ever learned how to mimic normal human expressions. Her eyes assessed us and moved on.
Crap in a bucket. We have a chaperone. A stone cold killer chaperone.
Bruiser didn’t argue with the presence of my lady-in-waiting and, within moments, the vehicles still able to roll pulled away from the attack site. I hated to leave my people injured and exposed to more attacks, but it’s likely they were safer in the dark of pine forest than with me. And we were safer with Quint. Which sucked.
???
The cavalcade changed position constantly. Sometimes the rear car moved into the middle, sometimes we were out front or taking up the rear. Three support cars did not a motorcade make. Twice we pulled into neighborhoods, the kind that make a circle back to the main road. No one was following us, unless a drone was overhead. We’d been attacked on a stretch of secondary highway that no one should have expected us to travel. Vamp enemies were after us again.
My wedding will be a disaster. Gaaaah!
