Daughter Of The Blood Part 6

"Souls contain mystical energy," Mathilde put in, as if to smooth over the awkward moment. "Absorbing the soul of another can prolong life, enhance Gifts..." She trailed off. "We don't do that."

"We Bouvards," Izzy said. The implication being that other Gifted Houses did.

There was the merest hesitation before Louise replied, "Oui. We Bouvards."

Louise's hesitation hung in the air. Was it an unconscious admission that she didn't consider Izzy a Bouvard? If that were the case, was this "rescue mission" actually a coup? Was she being hustled offstage to be gotten rid of?

She remembered her NYPD dream, when Esposito had forced her to follow him by taking Sauvage hostage. Was this a mirror of that? Was she being lured out of the mansion supposedly to save Alain...when it was really to take her down?

I'm not liking this, Izzy thought.

As quietly as she could, she eased her Medusa out of its holster and wrapped her right hand around the grip. She felt along the barrel with the fingertips of her left.

They traveled on in silence. Izzy's pulse raced in her neck, her temple. She kept the Medusa close.

A light rose around them, and the mist thinned. The curved interior of the tunnel was covered with symbols. There were reflective triangles, ankhs, crosses and eyes set in the center of hands. Numerals gleamed in white stonework: seven, thirteen, thirty-three, five. In an alcove, a bra.s.s brazier burned before a life-size statue of Joan of Arc holding a banner and a sword. Pungent incense permeated the air.

Izzy glanced backward. The entire length of the tunnel was covered with magical charms. It reminded her of the interior of Andre's werewolf van, back in New York.

"All these things are for protection," Mathilde told her. "Most of these charms are centuries old."

Louise raised a hand and said, "We need to perform a ritual before we go any farther."

"It's also for protection," Mathilde said.

The three sank to the tunnel floor in the rapidly evaporating mist.

Mathilde and Louise breathed deeply in, deeply out. Then the two women swayed left, right, leading with their shoulders, exaggerating the movement until they twirled in slow circles, chanting in a lilting, singsong language.

Without any sort of advance warning, all three were outside the tunnel, on the mansion's grounds, shrouded in darkness at the base of a high brick wall. Cool night air tightened Izzy's face.

Louise snapped her fingers, and the wall disappeared. In its place, two black-masked men faced Izzy, Louise and Mathilde, with Uzis drawn and aimed. Solid oaks rose behind them like another wall; above, a bone-white moon stood sentry. Izzy raised her Medusa and pointed it at the taller of the two men.

"Lower your weapons," Louise said. As both men obeyed, she said, "Masks?"

"We're on recon," the taller man replied.

"Take them off," she snapped.

The men yanked the masks off over their heads. They were both dark-eyed and dark-haired, young and in fighting trim.

"Hugues, Bernard," Louise said, addressing each in turn. "Any surprises so far?"

"Got out without incident, patrolled, nothing," the taller one said. Apparently he was Bernard. He looked at Izzy. "Is, this, ah..."

Izzy's Medusa was still aimed at his chest. She said in French, "Je suis Isabelle de Bouvard, Maison des Flammes."

"So it's true," Bernard said, his features softening. "La fille de la guardienne."

Both men sank to one knee.

Izzy considered her next move. Louise had hand picked the security agents surrounding Izzy at this very moment, and Izzy had no idea where their loyalties lay. She concentrated on her gut, trying to feel her way.

Jehanne, guide-moi, je vous en prie.

Go, the wind whispered. Allez. Vite. Hurry.

"Allez vite," Izzy commanded them.

They skirted the perimeter of the Bouvard estate. The mansion, magically repaired from the attack, lay beneath a gauzy dome of white beneath the ivory moon. Figures holding Uzis patrolled each of the floors and the roof.

There were more security forces stationed along the wall, within and without, and Louise motioned for the party of five to keep well away as they melted into the bayou just beyond the grounds. It seemed so strange to be hiding from her own bodyguards, but in truth, Izzy had no idea how many of them were "hers."

The moon watched, an enormous eye in the sky, while Izzy and the others picked up the pace and laid tracks between themselves and the compound. As they penetrated the murky rot of the swamp, Izzy was on high alert. She was inside her nightmare; she recognized the landscape-the uneven paths, the skeletal trees-and she was terrified. Her fright-or-flight response was engaged full force.

For ten years I dreamed about this place. Ten long years. And now I'm here.

Bernard was on point, then Louise, then her. Directly behind Izzy was Mathilde, and in the rear, Hugues.

She listened for the Cajun werewolf pack-surely one of them had let loose with the howl she had heard in her mind. She wondered if they were trying to contact her; she hoped so. She realized then that of everyone around her, Andre was the local she trusted most-even more than she trusted Jean-Marc. Andre's agenda was far simpler: he was loyal to Jean-Marc because the regent looked out for the wolf pack, and Jean-Marc had asked Andre to protect Izzy. So he had.

Andre, are you out here? Are you hurt? Tell me where you are, she sent out. If your people have found you, tell them to let me know.

The tall marsh gra.s.s rustled. Bernard swiveled his weapon. She wondered why they didn't have some kind of night-vision goggles to see better in the dappled, thready moonlight. Maybe they naturally possessed better night vision than ordinary human beings, and didn't realize she was having trouble.

I'm not an ordinary human being. I'm a Gifted, too.

But maybe she wasn't a full-blooded Gifted. No one knew who her father was-or at least, that was the party line. Maybe he was just an ordinary person. Or a werewolf. Maybe Andre was her father.

Not old enough. At least, he doesn't look old enough. Jean-Marc said he was older than he looked.

Something fluttered overhead-she hoped it was a bird-and she ducked beneath a ropy vine looped around an overhanging branch. She slipped on slimy mud and shot a hand toward the branch to steady herself.

The vine hissed and sprang at her. She saw nothing but fangs. Snake! Without thinking, she hurled a ball of white light from her palm. It ignited the snake. Encased in fire, it writhed and sizzled, coiling and springing in its death throes, then was still. Smoke and steam rose from the carca.s.s.

Mathilde leaned over her and said, "By the patronesse, madame! That was a cottonmouth. Are you all right?" She examined Izzy's hands. She paused, gazing at the flame-shaped brand in the center of Izzy's palm, then added, "Did it bite you?"

"No. I'm fine," Izzy grunted. She planted her boot in the mud and heaved herself up.

"You need to keep alert to your surroundings, madame," Bernard said. "Not meaning any offense. But the bayou is a very dangerous place."

"That's what we're supposed to do," Louise snapped. "Let's keep moving." She looked at Izzy. "Which way, madame?"

No clue, Izzy wanted to reply, but that was probably not very wise. She took a moment, waiting for more mystical guidance. A vision had sent her here. Maybe she would have another one and obtain more details.

Just as she was about to give up, something whispered against her left ear, and she turned her head. The others must have read her body language; they stood statue still, as if to let her get a bead on it.

"To the left," she said, pointing toward a thick copse of trees.

"It figures," Bernard drawled, with a lopsided grin. "Swamp's deep there. Lots of gators."

He walked through the dense foliage, pushing aside cattails and rushes. Hugues followed him. Once they stood side by side, they raised arms and murmured an incantation. There was a wild thrashing, like a fierce struggle in the water. After a few moments stillness descended.

"That's gonna cost," Louise muttered. She looked at Izzy and said, "The gators that didn't make it out will probably drown."

Izzy was appalled. "You mean they'll die?" She headed over to the two men. "Stop," she said. "Take it back."

Bernard shook his head. "Please don't ask me to do that. I've already paid. In fact..." He reached over and hoisted her up into his arms, settling her against his chest. "With your permission, madame."

"What?" she cried.

"I'll carry you," he said, shifting her weight in his arms. "There are other things in the water. The gators are just the worst."

"No. Put me down," she said, mortified.

"Carry her," Louise told him.

Izzy fumed as the party resumed their trek through the waist-high cattails, then started down a slope. Black water sparkled in the moonlight beneath heavy vines and strange, k.n.o.bby pieces of wood jutting around the cypress trees.

Louise bent down, picked up a stone and tossed it into the water. The brackish water was shallow there, and Louise said, "Let's go in."

Following behind Louise, Bernard sloshed in. Mathilde was behind her, then Hugues. The water stank. Izzy tried to hold her boots above the surface.

They crossed to a jutting finger of land. Bernard set Izzy down. The ground was soggy, sucking at her feet.

They found a rhythm as they crossed the slippery terrain, Izzy slowing until they hit a patch of drier ground with more traction. The swamp, scene of so many terrible dreams, was a place of unearthly beauty.

"Attack!" Bernard shouted.

Someone tackled Izzy and flung her to the ground. Her nose made a terrible crunching noise as pain shot from the front of her face to the back of her head. She gagged on dirt, fighting for breath as something slammed hard across the back of her head.

She started to pa.s.s out until she felt sticklike fingers groping around her waist.

My Medusa!

She drew deep inside herself for reserves, then tossed her head back hard, connecting with the face of her attacker. Something long and sharp dug into her skull. It felt like a knife, or an ice pick, and the pain took the last of her breath away. She began to go fuzzy. She fumbled for the gun, trying to work her spasming muscles to put her hand around it, draw it out and aim it backward.

A tremendous shower of sparks blinded her; a blaze of heat mushroomed against her back. Then a weight fell against her, pushing her onto a mound of mud and rot.

Pinned, she couldn't move her head, but she could open her eyes. The bayou night was as bright as day, as the four Bouvard security agents took out the white-faced, hollow-eyed creatures that were dropping from the trees. They were vampire minions, flying creatures that were all blood-red eyes, fangs and wings, like the ones that had attacked Jean-Marc and her back in New York. Fireb.a.l.l.s slammed into them, then submachine gunfire strafed a row of five or six as they bulleted toward Izzy.

"Move, move, move!" Hugues shouted at her as the deadweight flopped to one side. Izzy crawled forward, but it was all she could do. She couldn't breathe. The world was spinning.

She laid her cheek in the mud and gazed into the evil, red eyes of the thing that had attacked her. It was a minion; its features were ratlike, the color of gristle. As it pulled back its grayish white lips, she saw that one of its fangs had broken off at the gumline. Then she realized that it was imbedded in the back of her head.

Oh, my G.o.d, she thought, as its eyes bored into hers. Its mouth clacked.

It lisped, in a low, seductive voice meant only for her ears, "Isabella DeMarco. This is the voice of Le Fils, speaking through my servant. I send you this message-they're playing you. This is not your battle. These are not your people. Go home. I will protect you in New York. I swear it."

Then someone covered her eyes and threw his body across hers as the minion exploded into purple-black light, just like Julius Esposito.

It was Bernard, his face grim as he eased Izzy onto her back. Explosions went off all around them, bathing Bernard in white light. Velcro ripped as he opened various pockets in her cargo pants. He had what looked like a canteen and several gla.s.s vials. He broke open the vials and poured the contents into the canteen. He shook it hard, murmuring an incantation, and scooted Izzy up onto her knees, sliding a supporting hand beneath the back of her head and lifting the canteen to her lips.

Izzy couldn't drink. Her throat was filled with dirt. She was suffocating. And her nose...oh, G.o.d, her nose...the pain...

Bernard set the canteen down and dug a finger into Izzy's mouth. He pulled out a hunk of dirt. Then he hoisted Izzy up and got behind her, executing a Heimlich with practiced skill.

She hacked up another clot of mud. As she coughed, Bernard bent her forward and pounded on her back, murmuring a spell, easing the raw burning in her throat.

Then he pressed the canteen to her lips and said, "Drink this. It's a healing potion."

A liqueur spread warmth through her veins. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she began to lose consciousness. The brandy's warmth kept spreading.

The pain lessened. She tried to raise her hand to her face but Bernard said, "No. Stay still."

He pushed Izzy's ma.s.s of hair out of the way of the back of her head and jerked on something, which came free. He showed it to Izzy as Izzy finished off the canteen. It was the vampire's fang.

Oh, my G.o.d, I had a vampire tooth imbedded in my head.

There was noise all around them, explosions and gunfire. The shrieking minions.

"Bernard!" Louise barked.

Bernard held out his hand to Izzy. Izzy rose up out of the muck. Suddenly, she felt good. She felt strong. She raced into the melee-a kaleidoscope of fireb.a.l.l.s, minions and Bouvards-and dove for the nearest attacker. She leaped onto its back, gripped its jaw with both hands and yanked hard to the side.

Its neck was broken and its head flopped forward. It staggered, flailing at her.

Clenching her jaw against her terror, she put the Medusa to the minion's head and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

She pulled it again as the minion reached its arms back, preparing to grab her.

Still nothing.

Great.

Chapter 6.

As the minion reached behind itself and sank its talons into Izzy's sides, Hugues shouted, "I've got it! Get away!"