Skinwalker (20 page)

I sheathed the knife. “Thank you.” When he didn't answer, I tilted my head up and studied his face. It was hard, closed. “You knew her, too, didn't you?”

He nodded once, the action crisp as a weapon snapping shut. “Jerome's sister.” He bit off the words. “She was twelve. I saw her last Saturday.” I heard a car engine in the distance. “Seven days . . .” His voice trailed off. “Seven damn days. And she's a vamp.” He looked into the distance. “The other one we took down, he made her?” I nodded. “So who made him?”

“I don't know. I couldn't—”
Smell another vamp on him
. Right. I substituted for that, “Leo might be able to tell.”

“I'm goin' after whatever made him.” The words were low and hard: a
vow
. I had heard a few in my time, and knew the tone. His eyes were bleak. “No matter what Mr. Pellissier say.”

Well. That was interesting. I'd love to dissect the relationship between the Marine and the vamp leader, but I wanted out of here before Leo got close. I didn't want to be beholden to the city's head bloodsucker for healing my wound, and I didn't want him to know that I could heal from something this bad on my own. And I wanted to take the girl vamp's head; my blood was on her mouth, and I wasn't keen on Leo smelling my blood for reasons that had everything to do with his dark right of kings. I had no intention of making myself look
interesting
to him. I shifted my feet under me, prepared for the moment when Derek's head was turned. I needed only a second, but I hesitated. “Just a suggestion,” I said, gesturing at my clothes. “Vamp hunting's dangerous. Dress the part.”

Derek laughed shortly under his breath. “I'd take you with me if I could. But I can't wait till you're a hundred percent.”

I accepted the compliment with a small nod. “Leo has my number if you need anything. And hey. If there's a bounty on these two, it's yours.”

He accepted and turned. The car engine was growing closer. A powerful motor, finely tuned, sounding heavy on the night air, as if the vehicle it powered was massive. I pushed my feet under me and stood, let myself sway in the night. Derek caught my good hand to steady me. The pain from the other arm pounded through my veins. Beast had better resistance to pain; I drew on her reserves. But I knew my arm was bad. Real bad. “Thank you,” I said. “For coming out here tonight. I'd be dead, or close to it, if you had stayed inside where it's safe.”

“Ooh rah,” he said, and shrugged.

“Semper fi,” I said, wondering how many medals he had in his junk drawer.

He laughed, the sound derisive and harsh.

We sa . . . Bobcat

I still didn't know for sure what Leo was driving because I was three blocks away by the time he pulled down the street. The vehicle lights were high off the ground. I figured it was a Hummer. The older, heavier, military model, not the newer, lighter, better mileage version.

I slipped away, taking the girl's head with me, carrying it by its soft curls. I'd dunk it in a nearby pond or swamp to remove my blood, and leave it where Leo could return it to her family for proper burial. Vamp spit had kept my pain down, but was wearing off. Walking hurt.

Cradling my injured arm at my waist, I was out of the hood pretty quickly, but I stuck to the shadows, dangling the head. I figured even the most jaded and cynical inhabitant might report a bloody girl in a party dress carrying a severed head by its hair.

Two things about New Orleans: There is always water nearby, and the very rich live within walking distance of the very poor. In less than a mile, I found a fenced yard with the scent of koi pond. I scanned the area, didn't spot any cameras, didn't smell any dogs on the other side, and hopped the fence. Not trusting my quick scan, I knelt in the heavy shrubbery and surveyed the place. The pond was huge, complete with a miniature waterfall and green plants. The house beyond it was a monster, with arches and lots of screened porch space. It was dark, soundless. I figured it was near two in the morning, so any inhabitants were sleeping.

Concealed behind an elephant-ear plant, I set the head to the side and untied my bandage so I could scoop pond water over my arm, washing off the blood. It was dried and cracking, and had started to burn. I don't know what pH vamp blood is, but it has to be acidic. More chemistry. Maybe a class in Vamp Physiology 101 would be better.

When I had washed off most of the blood, I stripped and rinsed my dance clothes, wrung them out, and put them back on wet. It didn't help the pain, but being clean—well, more clean—helped me in some way I couldn't have explained. The clothes were cool on my skin and smelled sorta fishy. Beast was hungry and informed me she wasn't averse to fish for dinner. “Later,” I murmured, keeping an eye on the house as I dunked the head into the pool. Dried blood, fresh blood, and bits of vamp floated free. Attracted by the smell or maybe by all my movement, koi swam close and watched, golden, pink, black-and-white, in tabby cat- blotched patterns. One nibbled on a bit of vamp flesh and spat it out in a puff of water. “Smart fishy,” I murmured. I hoped vamp blood wasn't toxic to oversized goldfish.

When the head was as clean as I could get it without bleach and a stiff brush, I turned it in the water and studied it. She was a light-skinned black girl, delicate of bone structure, with loose curls. Her gray eyes stared at me from the water, still wearing the confusion of death. I reached between her lips and eased her vamp teeth down from the roof of her mouth. They were hinged, like a snake's, the bony structure growing in behind her human teeth. I let them contract back. With her dead, the motion was slow, as if the small joints were frozen. Rigor mortis, vamp style, maybe. As I studied the head in the pool of water, the surface stilled, reflecting back the security lights. Reflecting back my face beside hers. Cheekbones prominent, hair a riot of braids falling over my shoulders. Yellow eyes next to the gray ones.

I didn't know her name, only that she was Jerome's sister. And that she had been twelve. I had just killed a twelve-year-old killer. Did that make it okay? Worse than an adult killer?

If I had waited, would Leo have been able to trap her, chain her in his basement, or the New Orleans equivalent, until she developed self- and appetite control? If I hadn't gone behind the abandoned house, would she have waited, hiding while her maker was killed? Would she have not attacked me? Crap. I hated morning-after regrets of any kind, especially the ones that arrived before morning. I didn't know what to feel. Sorrow. Shame. Something.

Beast was silent. She felt no shame, didn't understand the emotion, considering it a waste of time. Reaching into the still water, scattering my reflection, I closed the vamp's eyes.

I stood, still hidden by the huge leaves, and spotted a towel draped over a chair, on a short deck. I stole the towel, wrapping the head, awkward because of my arm. Which was now hurting like a misery—a pounding, pulsing pain that, even with Beast's help, was making me nauseous. I rewrapped the turban around my wounds and loped to the fence, tossed the head over, grabbed the fence top with my good hand, and pulled myself after it. Feeling exhaustion in every muscle, breathing too hard for the exertion, I headed home.

If the U.S. Congress ever passed laws giving vamps complete civil rights, making them something more than monsters, I would have to find another way to make a living. I could go to jail for staking them. Beast showed me a vision of the children's home I lived in for six years. Beast's idea of jail. I'd have to show her a real prison someday. Or a zoo. Beast hissed at me.

I made it back to the freebie house by four, and hit REDIAL while standing on the porch, calling Leo's number again as I unlocked the door. I heard a soft tone from inside just as the smell of vamp hit me. And Bruiser. Beast came alert. Leo Pellissier, head of the NOVC, and his muscle, were in my living room. In the dark. Crap. Crap, crap,
crap
.

The tone came again. I swung open the door. Located their positions by scent. Leo was immobile to my right, Bruiser to my left. I said, “How you doin', Leo, Bruiser? You planning on jumping me when I walk in, or is this a social call?”

I heard a click and the phone didn't ring again. There was a sigh in the dark, from Leo, breathing for effect. “Come in, Jane Yellowrock.”

It wasn't exactly a command, but Beast and I weren't in the mood to let a vamp take a dominant position in any kinda way. “You asking or telling?”

After a moment, Leo said, “Please.”

I figured that was the best I was gonna get, so I took a breath, pushed the pain down somewhere deep inside, and gripped the head in the towel. It would make a squishy but effective weapon if needed. I stepped inside and turned on the light. Leo was sitting in a yellow floral chair in the living room to the right, elegant legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, fingers steepled over his chest. No weapon. A suit and tie. Silk shirt. Bruiser was standing in my bedroom doorway, equally weaponless, unless I counted his body as a weapon, which I did.

“You been going through my undies?” I asked. Bruiser's mouth twitched. “ 'Cause all I got with me are the travel undies. The leather, silk, and lace stuff is all in the mountains.”

“You got leather undies?” Bruiser asked, intrigued. The guy wasn't here to kill me just yet. He was too relaxed. He crossed his arms over his chest. Nice arms, well-defined pecs and biceps, and the forearms of a man on a very lean diet. Slender, muscular.

I smiled, showing teeth. “Nope.” I held up the bloody towel and indicated it with a minuscule movement of my injured hand. Which hurt like a mother. Bruiser's arms came free fast. “No weapon,” I assured him. To Leo I said, “I think this is what you want.”

I knew he could smell what I carried. Leo nodded, the gesture imperious; Bruiser relaxed. I lobbed the wrapped head at Leo. The towel fell free in midair. Leo caught the head, watery blood showering over him. The towel landed in a bloody heap on the hardwood. Leo was holding the vamp's head upside down. Showing great restraint, he raised an eyebrow. I grinned.

“You took the head with you. Why?” he asked, conversational, civilized, a bit . . . droll. Yeah. Droll. The guy was having fun. You coulda blown me away with a feather.

Seeing as how he was sitting in my house, and surely could smell my blood from where he sat, the decision to make off with the head and wash it up to remove traces of my blood on it turned out to be wasted. And not one I wanted to defend. Part of the reason I applied for the New Orleans' job was a vague hope that an old vamp might know what I was, but being sucked on wasn't part of my plan. I shrugged, the defense of a recalcitrant teen.

Leo held the head to the side. It was dripping. “George. Would you be so kind.”

George paused. Maybe it was the first time his boss asked him to take a severed head. “There's dishes in the kitchen, Bruiser,” I said. “I'm sure Katie wouldn't mind, long as you bring it back all squeaky clean.” Bruiser and his boss shared a look that probably had all sorts of meanings, and the henchman went to do his master's bidding. Maybe I should call Bruiser “Igor”. I didn't say it, but I couldn't help the grin. My sense of humor is going to be my death.

“You are bleeding,” Leo said. His pupils went vamp black. My grin disappeared. Leo Pellissier was probably as good at sniffing out stuff as Beast. He pulled the air into his lungs through his predator nose, little sniffs, like he was at a wine tasting. Which he was, to a vamp. I had an image of glasses of fresh blood and a bunch of vamps sitting around sampling. Or maybe just passing around humans, comparing vintages.
Warped. I'm warped.
The whites of his eyes bled crimson.
And I am so in trouble
.

“You went after a young vampire all alone,” he said, his voice silky. “You cost me the use of a good man as he heals and the temporary use of another as he goes after the maker of the male, bent upon revenge. I am not pleased.”

“You let a young, uncontrolled vamp into your place of business,” I said. Leo's brows went up a half notch, as if surprised I knew he owned the place. I hadn't till now. But it had been his scent there, and I figured if he had been there enough times to leave his vampy fragrance on the furniture, then he probably owned the joint. Some of the red in his eyes bled away, but I wasn't about to relax. Bruiser was taking a bit too long in the kitchen and he wasn't making enough noise to still be searching for a container.

“The Royal Mojo Blues Company used to have a reputation as a safe place in the city that made vamps famous and sexy,” I said. “Tonight, a young rogue had a fast, forced meal there. I followed him to his lair. I hadn't intended to take him down, but I injured him in the women's room with a stake. With a wood wound, I knew he'd need blood fast to heal.” I was explaining myself. Which I hated. I stopped.

Bruiser entered before the silence could stretch on too long, and set a plastic bowl on the floor and the head in the bowl. It was a perfect fit. I wanted to laugh, and I knew it was because of pain and blood loss. I had to shift soon or I'd be too bad off to meditate; I had to be calm for the ritual. I soooo didn't want to shift without it.

“You are bleeding,” Leo said again.

“Yeah. So would you and Bruiser here take a hike? I need some Band-Aids and aspirin.”

“You are a pert and prickly child. George.”

I hadn't realized it, but Bruiser had eased to his feet and beside me. At the sound of his name, his arms encircled me. Heart rocketing into my throat, I lunged the other way. His fingers clamped down on my wounded arm. I hit my knees. Gagging.

Pain surged through me, waters of agony tiding up my arm, into my belly, pooling and writhing like snakes in a swamp. Black closed in around my vision. For a long moment I couldn't find a breath. Gorge rose in my throat, and I swallowed it back. I was
not
gonna hurl in front of the head of the vamp council. Beast clawed her way up, a hairs-breadth from a shift.