Mercy Blade (15 page)

The wolves had reminded me. Circling me. Naked and predatory. Like the men who killed my father and raped my mother. Shudders shook through me, rattling my bones. How had I ever forgotten?

Long minutes later, I reached up and flushed the toilet, pulled myself to my feet and into the shower again, taking my toothbrush and paste with me. I stayed there a long time.

 

Darkness fell while I was dressing. I could smell steak broiling and the tang of whisky beneath it. Evangelina was home, cooking dinner that included something for me, as she didn’t eat much meat. I wasn’t in the mood for food. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the image of the man moving on the log wall. The blue eyes of the watcher staring down into mine. Smelled gunpowder and semen and sweat and wet feathers. I shivered in the cool house as the air conditioner came on.

I had a hard night ahead of me and I needed calories, needed calm. So I shoved the dream into a dark place in my mind, knowing it would come again, knowing there was nothing I could do to avenge my mother or my father. It had been over a hundred years since my memory had been a reality. I was no longer a child denied vengeance and trapped inside the body of another, stronger creature. This time, I couldn’t hide away in Beast-form. I would have to live with it all. Sometimes, not knowing is a good thing.

I shoved stakes into my hair, belted on a robe that had come with the house, and went barefooted to the kitchen. Beneath the robe, I wore the black silk wisps given to me by Deon. I wouldn’t have thought the spandex would stay in place or be the slightest bit comfortable, but they were, moving when I moved. I was going to hate admitting that to him. He’d gloat.

Evangelina was in the kitchen, drinking her whisky straight tonight, no ice, and humming a tune, her long red hair unbound and swinging as she danced to soft music, something Celtic and wild, with drums and trilling flute. She had lit scented candles and they fluttered as she moved, uncomfortably like the images in my dream, but much better smelling.

In the candlelight, Evangelina’s hair looked darker red than Molly’s, with streaks of rich brown in it, and she seemed to emit a soft reddish glow as she danced through the room, like a warm aura. She usually wore staid business suits but tonight Mol’s eldest sister was wearing a loose floral dress that swayed with her dancing and when she looked up at me she grinned and lifted the glass in a silent toast. The grin and the toast were surprising enough, as Evangelina didn’t exactly approve of the motorcycle mama her sister liked so much, but when she hooked her arm through mine and pulled me into her dance, I was more than surprised.

In my shock, my feet took their time finding balance and rhythm but three awkward steps later I compensated and stepped into the beat; I didn’t have a choice, it was dance or fall down. As soon as I was moving, Evangelina let go and swayed around the rectangular table and chairs. I stopped dancing but a half smile pulled at my face and some of the horror that still clung to me from the dream eased away, pushed back by her joy and her half drunkenness. Maybe it was a spell, an enchantment fashioned out of her laughter and the warm scent of whisky, but whatever it was, it eased the melancholy that was riding deep in my soul, the misery of the dream that was really much more. I didn’t like magic not my own, but this I welcomed. It was ... healing. I said, “It was a good day at the negotiations, I take it?”

When she rocked back her head and raised her arms in what might have been a victory dance, I smiled, seeing this stern, conservative woman so carefree. Evangelina was the eldest of the Everheart sisters, a decade older than I was, never married, fierce as a warrior, like Boadicea, the Celt warrior woman. She was also a businesswoman, logical, determined, judgmental, yet able to see a situation from all sides. I was scared to death of her. But I’d agreed to let her stay here because Molly had asked. I do a lot because Molly asks.

Evangelina and the council of New Orleans witches were in negotiations with a delegation from the vamp council about three things: their rights, safety, and legal compensation for the loss of their young to a nutso vamp who had killed witch children for decades as part of dark magic ceremonies, the same ones that had left me keeping a black magic, pink diamond in my safe. It made me feel good to see her so happy when she had such a dark job.

I opened the fridge and twisted the top from a golden wheat beer. Evangelina took a long slow mouthful of her whisky and smacked her lips when she finally swallowed. “Things went exceptionally well today. Yes, they did. They went well because George Dumas likes you.” I nearly dropped the bottle, a fragile laugh skittering up from my belly. My brittle calm shattering. “And I think you like him too.” She laughed at whatever she saw on my face. “A lot. And Molly agrees with me.”

But there was something dark in her eyes that said that mutual attraction—no matter that it hadn’t been acted upon—was a bad and dangerous thing.

“George is ...” I stopped, sipped my beer, thinking. “George is good. A great guy. I’d have snapped him up in a heartbeat, once upon a time. But he belongs to Leo, heart and blood, and—” I stopped and sipped again, hiding my grin. I’d almost said “and big-cats don’t share well.” I settled on, “I don’t share.” Beast huffed with laughter, rolled over in my mind, paws under her chin, and closed her eyes.

Evangelina pointed to a chair and I sat. She had found some good china, so delicate the light seemed to illuminate the plate from inside, old, if the patina didn’t lie. And real silver. The beer looked out of place on the table and I set it aside. She poured me ice water and opened the oven. An oh-my-God scent boiled out, beef and black pepper. Hot potatoes. Broccoli steamed on the stove. My three-star-chef guest put food on my plate worthy of a king. There was sour cream and cheese and bacon bits in the double-baked potatoes, hot bacon dressing on the spinach salad and poured over the broccoli, and I breathed in and sighed with total contentment. Evangelina laughed softly and sat across from me. Murmured a blessing. I didn’t think she worshipped the same god I did, but I didn’t object. I just added a silent one. And dug in.

About halfway through I looked at Evangelina’s plate. It was mostly salad, herbed eggs, and an egg custard. “What are you wearing tonight?” she asked. “I’ve seen your closet and you only have a few things.”

“You’ve seen my closet?”

“You would rather I hired a housekeeper? Or let Deon clean?”

“Oh, heck no.”

Evangelina chuckled and ate some spinach. Without bacon on it. Ick.

“I have orders to wear the one with the sparkly stuff on wide lapels.”

We indulged in girl talk over the rest of the meal, a totally weird experience to be so chatty with Molly’s dragon-lady sister. She poured a dessert tea, tiramisu flavored, and served little bowls of an iced confection with shaved mint on top. It was heaven. And it settled me some way I hadn’t expected, leaving me refreshed and calm for the night’s work.

Die Young Then, Sonny

I was dressed when the limo pulled down the street, its V-8 engine thrumming. Vamps aren’t into green in any way at all, and saving the planet by saving gasoline isn’t among their priorities. I turned, letting the long dress swirl around my ankles, checking to see how much the skirt would inhibit movement. The sleeveless dress was made of thin black silk crepe with a plunging neckline held to decorum with strips of black silk charmeuse. The neckline’s lapels were embroidered with tiny faceted citrines and yellow quartz and black jet beads, which caught the light and mirrored my amber irises. The new sequin-studded leather holster straps were belted on over the waist of the dress and under one lapel, while the holster and H&K were snugged at the small of my back under a short cape that draped from the neckline to my hips.

I didn’t want to attend a party. I wanted to stay home and watch movies with Evangelina and maybe eat a bucket of her homemade ice cream, but I had work to do and Leo Pellissier expected me to do it. I turned, watching myself in the mirror.

The dress was designed to hide weapons while making me look like I had a lot more class than I did. The mirror suggested the designer had been successful. Beneath the wide, flowing skirt that belled out as I moved, I had three thin blades and one vamp-killer strapped to my thighs. My hair was braided and twisted into a bun so tight it made my scalp ache, and eight silver-tipped wood stakes acted as hairpins. My only jewelry was the gold nugget necklace and the gemmed collar of the dress. Beast sent a satisfied purr through me at the vision of the weapons and the bare skin of my arms and throat.
Trap
, she thought at me.
Looks like prey but isn’t.

I wasn’t adept at putting on makeup, so all I wore was bloodred lipstick. Stark and striking was my best bet. New dancing shoes were strapped to my feet, not club shoes, but real dancing shoes, the kind ballroom dancers wear, with straps across the instep to hold the shoes in place and slightly clunky heels for stability. Wearing them, I was six foot three, and imposing.
Looks like prey but isn’t
. Yeah. Exactly. And I might be able to pull it off, after the magic of Evangelina’s dance and the dinner she had prepared—mostly meat and carbs, my kinda meal.

She wasn’t altruistic by nature and I had to wonder if she intended me to benefit or if I just wandered into her own private spell of happiness. Whatever the reason, I was no longer seeing flashes of nightmares. I took a calming breath, as deep as one that prepared me for a shift. I could do this. I could deal with the dreams later. I spun the lock on the weapons cabinet in my closet, sealing inside everything not in use.

I was moving for the front door before the knock sounded but Evangelina beat me to it, holding the door open wide so that street light and foyer light met and blended and Bruiser’s eyes didn’t have to adjust. He stood in the doorway, a black tux molding to his frame, taller than I was, even in the dancing shoes, his shoulders boxer wide, and his butt cradled by the expensive cut of the suit. His hair was different tonight, combed straight back and moussed into place, a 1940s style that looked elegant and made his hair seem darker than his normal brown. He nodded to Evangelina without really seeing her as he entered, his eyes on me, moving from the tips of my toes to the tips of the stakes fanned out around the back of my head like a wood and silver halo. His eyes were heated and heavy as they slid over me, and I flushed as if he touched me. It was enough to help push the remnant memories of the dreams far away. Evangelina pushed his shoulder to move him inside; shut the door.

I don’t know what I expected him to say, but I wasn’t disappointed when he said, “Weapons?” Eyes holding his, I gave him the list and his mouth curled up as I spoke, his gaze searching out the probable location of the blades and gun. “Show me.”

I turned around and flipped up the small cape to display the holster, my right hand on the butt for drawing, and whirled back around, sliding my legs, one at a time, through the skirt slits in little dancer kicks. Bruiser was a leg man and his pupils widened at the flash of skin. I was sure the kicks and skin would have been flirting for most girls, but I had no idea how to build upon it. And no desire to, I assured myself.

I ducked my head, feeling self-conscious, and picked up my tiny bag, sliding the long strap over one shoulder. I nodded good-bye to Evangelina and caught her watching Bruiser. A quick glance at Bruiser showed him watching back, surprise and unwelcome speculation on his face, as if he’d just recognized her, standing in my foyer. “Miz Everheart,” he said.

“Have fun at the ball, Mr. Dumas.” She lifted the nearly empty glass in the half-drunken salute I’d seen several times this evening, though this time she seemed stone-cold sober. “Don’t let Cinderella here kill your golden goose.”

I flinched at the acerbic tone and the insult, feeling sucker punched. Bruiser said, “That would make you the ugly stepsister in your jumbled nursery rhyme.”

“More like the wicked witch of the west, sweetie, with a broom, a gingerbread house, and a big cauldron out back to cook up curses.”

“I was under the impression that you were a white witch, not a sorceress.”

“I walk a fine line during negotiations. And I’ve been known to bloody my athame when needed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Miz Everheart.”

“You do that, Mis-ta Du-mas,” she said, spacing out the syllables in what sounded like a taunt. Evangelina turned her back and moved into the kitchen where she turned the music up, Celtic notes tinkling on the air.

Bruiser’s eyes followed her through the doorway and stayed there for a moment before swerving back to me in question. I said, “You did know she was my houseguest, right? Molly’s idea, by the way, not mine.”

“It must have slipped my mind.” As usual, when he was thoughtful, his English lilt slipped out, though muted by decades in America. It gave him a mixed accent, part British, part old-guy American, part modern American. He gave me that half smile, the faint but intense one that had been known to curl my toes, and raked my body with his eyes again. “You look striking tonight, Jane, lethal and lovely.”

Striking. Good choice of words
, I thought. “Thanks. You look good yourself.” I cocked my head. “Weapons?” I quoted.

Bruiser lifted his coat to the side, exposing a semiautomatic handgun as if it was his only weapon, but Bruiser was security for Leo Pellissier, which meant for the greater Mithran Clan of New Orleans, which meant he was packing big-time tonight. I glanced at his ankle and his smile widened fractionally. “A .32 snub-nosed,” he said, his tone final. When I pointed to his waist he breathed out a laugh and said, “Two blades in spine sheaths and a .38.” I waggled a finger back and forth from one arm to the other. “One blade on each wrist,” he conceded, “no more. All we need are blades in the toes of our shoes to arm us as well as Bond. James Bond,” he said, sounding all Sean Connery on me. Connery had always been a hot-tie, far as I was concerned.