Lincoln met EJ’s eyes and said, “Grandson.”
“Grampa,” EJ said without inflection.
“Walter,” Lincoln said.
“Shaddock,” Walter said, nodding perfunctorily.
As always, Walter’s greetings were without the proper language and deference due to a master by a lesser vamp, but Gramps seemed okay with it.
Peg gave the date and said, “Record on. Angelina Everhart-Trueblood discovered an anomaly on the energy signature vid from the night of the queen’s reception for the emperor.” A video of dots appeared on the screen, each dot with a number. To the side appeared the names and abilities of the reception attendees.
“Watch this corner.” Grizz touched the screen to indicate the location.
The vid played fast and EJ watched the spot on the screen. It took a few moments for his eyes to focus on the anomaly, which was a pale bluish-greenish shadow in the corner of a wall support that held up a beam overhead. It was a narrow niche, out of the way of commonly used walkways and close to one table, at which their target, Ivyanna Holmes, had been sitting.
The movement of the video stopped. Grizz moved close to the wall screen again and pointed. “This is a greenish flash. At first, we thought it was a reflection or tech anomaly. Turns out—”
EJ interrupted. “We were under surveillance.At the queen’s house. How was this missed?”
“No one was looking at that corner, no one was looking for a greenish-blue shadow-glimmer where it made sense to find a shadow anyway, and no one was running the vid fast enough for the gleam to be noticeable,” Peg said. “Also, according to Angie, it’s a really updated version of an old working. You and your sister, along with the rest of the Everhart-Trueblood clan and coven, are being sent the full energy signature.” Peg looked up and stopped abruptly.
The IT expert was focused on the mirrored wall, at the corner of the room where Walter had been standing. The bodyguard was gliding across the room to stand close to the wall screen.
“Walter?” Grampa asked. His tone was strange, half warning, half cautionary.
“I know who was in the corner,” Walter said. “The flash of green is from an emerald ring once owned by the Duke of Sussex. It was given to a vampire in 1840 as payment for trying to heal him with vampire blood. She was not successful, but he allowed her to keep the ring. The working that hides her can be found in some old grimoires once collected by freed slaves in Jamaica. It’s called ashadowworking. Our watcher was Nyoka,my former companion. The former companion of Terenzio, now allied with the Rus, Konstantin. Had I attended the reception, I would have known she was there.”
EJ had followed Walter, standing behind the vampire, ready for any move the man might make. He trusted Walter. Mostly. But Walter didn’t share secrets from his past. He was the most closed-mouthed being EJ had ever met. Yet, Walter was touching his brand, talking about past events, and there were EEBs on the loose. What if one had gotten close to the vampire?
Walter pulled several things from his pocket. “When I thought Nyoka immobilized and near true-dead at Karson Marrazzo’s Clan Home, I took the ring the working was stored in and her earrings, which contain other workings.”
EJ tensed, but Grizz addressed his worry.
“They’re bloody,” Grizz said. “Any danger from the blood?”
“No. The blood may help the boy, may help us, to track her.” He turned around and looked at EJ, mild amusement on his face. “I am not possessed, boy.” He placed the bloody ring and earrings into EJ’s hand.
Instantly EJ heard the sound of magic, dark and potent, like an oboe and a bass fiddle, playing minor tones. “Why didn’t you give this to us earlier?” EJ couldn’t keep the suspicion from his tone.
Walter shrugged. “We have been overwhelmed for the last thirty-six-some hours.”
Softly Grampa asked, “Are you still bound to her in any way? Do you still care for her?”
“No. There is no going back,” Walter said, his face expressionless as a statue. “There is too much blood under the bridge of war for anything of her to still reside within me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Angie
I let Leandro into my apartment and accepted a paper bag of food. After I placed it on the table, I held out a hand to take his coat. The shoulders were wet, and his toboggan was sodden. “My toque is soaked,” he said, a faint lift to his lips.
“Toboggan,” I said, entering into banter we last used when we were in school. “It’s called a toboggan.”
“A toboggan is a sled,” he said. “My toque does not slide.”
Shaking my head, I took the wet clothes. “I’ll hang them over a vent.”
He toed off his boots. “Mind if I change?” he asked. “I brought sweats and warm slippers.”
