Skinwalker. Part 8

"And violent," I said. "Let's not forget violent."

He went on as if I hadn't spoken. "They need good, steady, strong human servants to provide emotional balance and a ready supply of safe, clean blood. Servants who aren't easily riled to help them navigate the human legal, financial, and social systems. Which is why the blood-slave and blood-servant relationships were put into the Vampira Carta. You know of it?"

I nodded. Troll had mentioned it.

"According to the oldest of us-Correen, who lives here with Clan Arceneau-without this stability, vampires go rogue faster. They need the long-term, lifelong bonding that takes place with the slave and servant relationship. They need it. They need us."

"Is that what Correen thinks happened with this rogue I'm after? He lost his blood-servant?"

"She thinks it's possible."

I tapped my fingernails on the gla.s.s, little tinks of sound as I thought. "What's the difference between slave and servant?"

"Time, money, and monogamy," Brian said. "A blood-servant is a paid employee who offers work and blood meals in return for a salary, security, improved health, expanded life span, and other benefits resulting from a few sips of vampire blood a month. If the relationship works, then a servant is adopted into the vampire's family, becomes part of the financial, emotional, and legal running of it, just like an adopted child would be, but with the benefits not dropped when he or she reaches majority. Servants are too important, too difficult to replace, to let grow old, unhealthy, or slow. Of course, getting out of the relationship is problematic from our end too."

"We're hooked on the blood," Brandon offered, "and on the relationship, which is . . . intense." The brothers shared a quick look that said the type of intense was s.e.xual, but was also something else. Something I hadn't penetrated yet.

"A blood-slave is a blood-junkie, but one who doesn't have a permanent master," Brian said. "Slaves are pa.s.sed around between masters, usually only inside a family, but not always, and without a contract or the security offered in the longer-term relationship. They're used for food, fed on several times a month, and might be offered a small salary and an occasional blood sip in return. But slaves do it for the high they get when they're fed on, not the relationship."

I rubbed my head, more as an excuse to think than to relieve tension. I had known there was a difference between blood-slaves and blood-servants but the particulars weren't easy to discover. And I was certain that I didn't have the full picture now. I hadn't gained much new info from this conversation, but I had discovered, over the years, that I would eventually use and expand on what I learned. "Thanks," I said. "I'll think about all this. Okay if I call you with questions?"

"Not guaranteeing we'll answer, but you can always ask," Brandon said.

I dropped my hand and stood, stretching. "Okay. So on that note, how about two favors. First, call the other security people and tell them I'm riding around, learning the lay of the land. Ask them not to shoot me if I bike up to their doors." I grinned to show I was only half jesting. "And . . . tell me. How old are you guys?"

Brian laughed. Brandon sighed, looked at his watch, and handed his brother a five-dollar bill, saying, "We have a standing bet. You asked within the first hour. So I lose."

"And?" I asked.

The twins exchanged a look, the kind that only those who have worked closely together for years, like old married couples, or twins, share, the kind that says so much more than words. Brandon said, "We were born in 1822."

I stared. "c.r.a.p. You're old farts." The brothers laughed, at which point I realized I had spoken aloud. I smiled weakly as they showed me down the hall toward the door, while offering a.s.surances that they would pave the way for me with the other security personnel.

I thought I was done, until I pa.s.sed the hallway mural. I stopped midstep, midword, midthought. The nighttime pastoral scene was of vamps having a candlelit picnic. Naked vamps. And the food was naked too-alive and human. I couldn't help my blush when I saw Brandon and Brian were part of the scene, and that they were depicted as being very well endowed. Very, very well endowed. My blush made the brothers laugh, one of those manly he-men laughs that said they were, indeed, well endowed, and that they thought blushing was cute.

Beast is not cute, she thought at me. I took a steadying breath and said, "I recognize you two, and Leo, and Katie." My blush deepened. "But who are the rest of the . . . um . . . vamps and . . . um . . ."

Brandon took pity on my stumbling and stepped to the mural, pointing. "Arceneau, our blood-master, Gregoire"-he indicated a blond man who looked like he was fifteen when he was turned, like a child beside the lithe and muscular twins-"currently traveling in Europe. Ming of Mearkanis"-he pointed-"now believed to be true-dead, and her blood-servants Benjamin and Riccard. Rousseau and his favorites, Elena and Isabel. Desmarais with his Joseph, Alene, and Louis. Laurent with her Elisabeth and Freeman." The phraseology had taken an old-fashioned cant, and I wondered if the mural took them down memory lane, bringing out archaic wording.

Brian took up the instruction. "St. Martin, and his blood-servant at the time, Renee. And Bouvier with his favorite, Ka Nvsita." I reacted with shock. The girl in the painting had long, braided black hair, coppery skin, and lost, lonely eyes that seemed to have a familiar amber tint, much like my own. Her name was Cherokee for dogwood.

Anger rose in me, hot as burning heartwood. "Is she still alive?" I asked, swallowing my anger, to burn in my stomach with sour, acidic fire. I forced my hands to unclench.

"No," Brandon said. "She died in the twenties. She was a good kid. Her father sold her to Adan Bouvier when she was eleven, back in, what was it?" he asked his brother.

"Maybe 1803 or '04? She was mature when we came to servitude," Brian said.

Her father sold her. Like chattel. The vampires hadn't made my tribeswoman a slave; her own father had. I remembered then that selling their own, like cattle, was once the way of The People. I nodded and moved on down the hall and out of the house into the fresh air before I tried to kill a twin. "Thank you for the tea and the information," I said when I had myself under control, standing on the porch. "I may call with questions."

"And we may answer," Brian said.

"Or we may not," Brandon said.

I forced a smile on my face, slid into my jacket, strapped on the helmet, kick-started the bike, and got away.

I spent the rest of the afternoon meeting and greeting the blood-servants who worked security in other clan blood-family houses in the Garden District. After sunset, I motored back home, taking my time through the District and the Quarter. Sunday in the city that parties forever was laid-back. Tourists and citizens went to church, ma.s.s, or brunch and then visited museums, strolled along the river, shopped, or had dinner at a quiet restaurant. The Quarter's bookstores, cafes, and small shops did big business. Then came nap time, nearly officially sanctioned nap time in the European style.

At night, the public went back out and started it all over again, the wealthy sitting in elegant restaurants and the penny-pinching back in the cafes. Music played on every street corner. Magic acts and comedy acts spilled into the street along with jazz and blues and every other form of American, African, Island, and European music. Despite the rogue, despite the media vans patrolling the Quarter, and despite having to travel by taxi rather than risk the dangers of walking the balmy streets, people were having fun.

I would join them in a skinny minute, but I had a command appearance at a party full of vamps. I was not looking forward to it at all.

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CHAPTER 17.

Stick a dollar in your garter?

I motored the bike across the bridge, taking the toll road back to Katie's. Mud dried on my jeans to a crusty stiffness. My hair uncoiled from its knot and ponytail, and strands whipped in the hot wind. My stomach growled in hunger the whole way.

Outside Katie's Ladies, the EMTs and ambulances were gone, but law enforcement types were still out in full force, blocking the street with cruisers, talking in small groups of uniformed men and a few women. Yellow crime-scene tape was stretched everywhere. I stopped the bike halfway down the block. I was carrying a perfectly legal weapon, out in public, not concealed. But the Benelli wasn't just a gun. It was a kick-a.s.s gun. And a violent crime had just taken place. Cops would be itchy.

Bruiser was standing apart with a uniformed cop, Jim Herbert, and a woman in plain clothes-Jodi Richoux, Katie's contact at the New Orleans police department. Maybe Katie's friend, though I doubted it. She looked harried. Jimmy looked ticked off. No surprise.

But Bruiser. Bruiser's hands were on his hips, low-rise jeans tight across his b.u.t.t, boot cut over brown hiking boots. T-shirt tucked in. No b.u.t.t-dragging, sloppy look for this guy. Buff, muscles bulging, short brown hair. Remembering the twins, I wondered how old Bruiser was. My interest stirred, and I shoved away curiosity; it killed the cat. Feeling an interest in Leo's favorite wasn't smart, especially if the blood bond between them included s.e.x.

I lifted a hand to catch his attention. He looked from me to the cops and raised his brow in question. I shook my head in a "No, I have no desire to talk to cops" gesture. I pointed to the back of Katie's, hopped my hand up and down, as if hopping a fence and dropping down at my house. He almost grinned and nodded fractionally. I wheeled the bike around and took the long way to avoid the cops. I figured Bruiser could find his own way. It wasn't like this was the first time he'd been there. Or the second, I thought sourly. I'd have to deal with the invasion of my home and privacy at some point. Maybe now. Beast half woke from sleepy purring. Fun . . .

I motored up to the house to find Bruiser at the front door, leaning against an iron support that held up the three-foot-deep balcony overhead. He held himself with the easy balance and readiness of the experienced martial artist, though as I pulled up, he crossed his arms and his muscles bulged. Very nice.

I pointed to the side gate, gave the bike a little gas, rolled over, and let myself in. Bruiser came after and I locked it. Should have asked him to lock it, I thought. I eased the bike into the garden and turned it off, removed the helmet, and shook out my hair. I hadn't taken the time to braid it before I left hunting, and I watched Bruiser's eyes follow as it fell. His scent changed, a minuscule shift. Bruiser liked long hair. A lot. "Want tea?" I asked.

"Coffee would be better," he said, returning his gaze to my face.

"I have tea."

He lifted one corner of his mouth and shrugged. "Tea it is then."

He followed me to the door and I paused. No time like the present. "Let yourself in. Like you did last time"-I stepped back, giving him access to the door and lock-"when you came to snoop at the cameras." He slanted a sharp look at me. I shrugged and added, to make sure he understood what I was saying, "And the time you came with your bloodsucking boss to wait for me in my dark house, hoping to pull some vamp c.r.a.p and scare me."

He thought about that for a moment, as the day grew even hotter and brighter and the flowers in the garden began to wilt and droop. "You angry about that?" he asked, sounding honestly curious. When I didn't reply, he explained, "It's part of the job as Leo's security. You should understand that."

"And if he told you to kill a little old lady, would you do that too?"

He thought about that, amus.e.m.e.nt lurking at the corners of his mouth. He shrugged by tilting his head to the side. "If she needed killing."

He was serious. Ice shot through my veins. Beast crept forward. "And if she didn't?"

"Then Leo wouldn't want her killed."

I snorted. It was a Beast sound, originating at the back of my throat, full of nostril movement and derision. When that was all I did, Bruiser turned and pulled a ring of keys from a pocket, chose one, and opened my door. I thought about ripping them out of his hand and feeding them to him, but why bother? His bloodsucking boss would just get more. I liked that term. Bloodsucking boss. Bet Leo would hate it when I used it on him.

Inside, I unstrapped and lay the Benelli and my helmet on the kitchen table. Followed them with gloves, neck collar, and various weapons. The crosses. As I removed steel and stakes, mud crusted off my jeans and pattered to the floor in little shushes. I could smell my sweat.

Bruiser set one hip on the table and watched as I divested myself of weapons. His eyes were hooded, but that small smile still played over his lips. He said, "Am I supposed to stick a dollar in your garter when you're done?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it. And Bruiser grinned. I set the kettle on to heat, then spooned Nilgiri Tiger Hill leaves into the strainer and set it inside the open mouth of the yellow ceramic pot. The tea was robust enough to maybe suit a coffee drinker. And it wasn't so expensive that I'd care if I had to throw his out. I placed the teapot in the kitchen sink.

He took a chair, resting his forearms on the table. I noted that he instinctively took the seat to the side, so that window and front and side doors were within line of sight and the sun didn't blind him. I got out mugs, a plate, spoons, and sugar, and sat at the foot of the table to his right. Second-best seating from a security standpoint.

"You want to tell me what happened this morning?" he asked.

I started to say that I heard screaming, it woke me up, and I rushed over. But I doubted that a human could have heard the screaming. I said, "I keep weird hours. I was awake, in the back garden, when I heard screaming. I grabbed a few weapons and raced over."

"Naked."

"What?"

"The girls said you were naked when you came through the door. Shotgun in hand. Crosses. Stakes." A slow grin started. "Which had to be something to see." His brow went up a notch. "Half an hour before sunrise, you were in the backyard." Disbelief tainted the words, but so did something else. He added, softer, his smile widening, "Naked."

"Meditating," I said, fighting the blush that wanted to rise at the way he said "naked." Like it was something wonderful, and he was sorry he had missed it. "On the rocks Katie got for me."

"I heard about the rocks."

"Did you inspect them too, while you were roaming around my house?"

"Not your house."

My den, Beast growled, but I kept it inside. "For the moment it is. What were you looking for? Or do you just have an unnatural affection for broken cameras?" The kettle started that low hiss it does before it whistles.

He looked mildly surprised at the camera comments. Or maybe he was just surprised at me in general. "Boss wanted to know the hunter hired by the council."

I scented the lie. It stank from his pores. And since we both knew that Leo, as head of the vamp council, had known exactly who I was before I was hired, the lie hid a secondary purpose. If I could figure it out. Silent, I considered his words. Remembering little things that had been said. Others that had not been said, but left hanging, unspoken.

I understood. Son of a gun. Leo was getting the feed from Katie's security system. Probably everything, not just the cameras in this house. So why hadn't he seen the rogue attack Katie this morning?

The whistle started low and rose in volume. While I thought, I stood and lifted the kettle off the flame, splashed boiling water over the teapot and into the strainer in its top, equalizing the temperature inside and out before filling the pot. I set it on the table, wrapping it in a tea cozy to keep it warm while it steeped. Bruiser's eyebrows went up at the domestic motions. "Do you cook too?" he asked, the tone teasing. " 'Cause any woman who does a weapon striptease, handles a Benelli like she knows how to use it, and can cook, pushes all my b.u.t.tons."

"I don't cook," I said, smiling when Beast showed me a stack of raw steaks. Bruiser smiled back, thinking I was flirting. Casually, while he was relaxed, I said, "Does Katie know Leo has access to her entire security system?" Bruiser went still. Gotcha. I smiled and twisted the knife a bit deeper. "Leo put a camera in Katie's backyard. Makes sense for him to have access to all her security cameras, too." Making a mental leap, I added, "I bet he has video from the security of all the vamps in the city. Maybe audio, too." Bruiser's face went hard. I unfolded the tea cozy and slipped the strainer full of leaves from the pot, setting it on the plate. Carefully, I poured tea into both mugs. "Sugar? Milk?" I asked sweetly.

After a moment he said, "Sugar," the word clipped.

I put a heaping spoonful into each of our mugs and stirred both, the spoon making dull tinking sounds. Pushing his mug to him, I sat back with mine, letting the steam warm my face, the mug heat my fingers. "I'm not interested in vamp politics," I murmured, watching him through slit lids, "except where it impacts my life and pocketbook. But I have a job to do, so I want answers. With cameras in place, why didn't Leo know about the rogue vamp attack this morning until I called? And the attack on the Mearkanis master in her lair. Ming. Why didn't he know and stop it? Unless he hopes to gain something from the deaths." I took a chance and added, "Like worsening the schism developing in vamp politics. Like Leo's little pals in the hood, armed to the teeth to hunt vamps." Bruiser didn't twitch or anything, but I could have sworn the skin tightened around his eyes. "Is Leo mounting his own rogue hunt? And if so, why?"

After a moment, Bruiser raised the mug and sipped, a delaying tactic while he thought. He was annoyed at my questions, but his expression mutated into a that-wasn't-so-bad look at the taste of the tea. Finally, "I'll tell you that, if you tell me how you found the cameras so fast. You didn't even sweep for them," he said, meaning an electronic sweep. "You just went right to them. I know. I checked the digital footage when the system told us they had gone out."

I actually considered it, half wanting to see what he'd say when I told him I sniffed them out. But I had figured something out when he mentioned digital surveillance and a system sophisticated enough to send out notification when there were problems. I said, "No deal."

This was Leo's city, Leo's people. He treated them like a feudal lord would serfs, so I wasn't surprised he spied on them. And cameras in all the houses and lairs meant a huge system, one he checked only when there was a problem, trend, or power play. Probably not many vamps discovered the surveillance, unless they hired outside people-young outside people, independent security experts, not hundred-year-old human blood-servants-to look into safety measures. I had expected vamps to be mostly like Katie, lost in changing technology, but Leo seemed okay with modern devices, relying on them, which I figured was odd for an elder.

Then something hit me and left me feeling really stupid. "If Leo has video footage of Ming and Katie being attacked, then he knows who the rogue is. I want to see the footage."

Bruiser shook his head. "Not in Ming's lair. He didn't know where she slept. That's why it wasn't discovered until evening, when her human servant went to check on her." He sipped his tea, his eyes considering me over the rim. He set the mug on the table, turned it slightly in the fingers of both hands, as if making sure the handle was pointed just so. "Of the five vampires attacked, all were taken in their lairs. No footage. Katie was the only one taken in her place of business, and the rogue disabled her system before we got any footage."

Five vamps attacked? c.r.a.p. They didn't tell me that. "No video or pictures of him at all?" Bruiser shook his head, his eyes on me. "I saw him . . . when he attacked Katie."

Bruiser went still, much like a vamp did. Must be the long a.s.sociation.

"He's five-eleven in shoes. Long, straight black hair. Dark skin for a vamp." I could see Bruiser cataloguing the vamps he knew, his eyes moving from one of my eyes to the other, back and forth, as I spoke. "Hawkish nose. No facial hair. Coppery skin makes him South Asian or American Indian. I'm betting AmIn. When he's feeding, he has upper and lower fangs." Bruiser's eyes widened at the dual fang comment. "How many local vamps fit the description?" I asked. "And how many local vamps have disappeared in the last year or so? Beginning, say, a month before the first human victims turned up dead or disappeared?"

"Four vampires fit the description. Five if you count Ma-rio Esposito. He's Italian, and shorter, but he's dark skinned. None of them went missing that I know of, no vampires except the five, and of the five known dead, two were fair-haired, one was Negro, and the others were of European background, with brown hair. But I'll ask around."

"I'd like the security dossiers on them all."

Bruiser smiled into his mug, a that'll-never-happen expression. He sipped once more, put the mug down, and stood, moving with grace suited to the dance floor or a du eling ring. I edged his age up from the fifty or sixty I had given him. "Thanks for the tea. It wasn't bad."

"You're welcome. The security dossiers?"

"I'll see what I can do." His tone said he wouldn't put much energy into it.

"Where'd you get the key? More of Leo's security precautions?"

"Yeah." He stuck his hands in his pockets, pursed his lips, and looked around, as if about to say something. Instead he moved to the front door. "Lock me out." And he was gone.

"That accomplished jack," I said to the empty house.

I swept up the dried mud, showered, and hit the sack. I was exhausted.

A ringing phone woke me. I fumbled until I found Beast's travel pack and unzipped it. The cell's battery was low, emitting a warning beep even as I answered. "Yeah?"