“I don’t remember seeing our subject,” I said, and then added wryly, “but then, I was busy putting out fires, trying to not have to behead anyone and bloody up the queen’s nice floors.”
At the reception, there had been a few minor contretemps, as there always were, but one had been more problematic than others. I reached for the desk and slapped my unicom, found the date and event I had videoed, and swiped it to the wall screen. My ex appeared mid-screen, so pretty he took my breath away. Even now. Even knowing he was a sleazeball lying son of a bitch.
When we married, Karson had been a small-time vampire blood clan leader, and he had expected our marriage to speed him on the way to becoming the Master of the City of Chattanooga. That hadn’t happened. Our extremely nasty divorce had made his chances even less likely, so when he scrounged an invitation to the reception, Karson had thought, in his pea-sized brain, to take advantage of the event. Karson was far more pretty and weaselly than he was smart.
On the wall screen, I watched the event that had been Karson’s undoing. I had missed the first bit but caught the good parts. A tight smile pulled on my face.
Karson, dressed in a black tux that fit his swimmer’s body to perfection, his blond hair flowing over his shoulders, was in the reception line, standing in front of the emperor. Loudly, he said, “I beseech you, Edmund the First of Europe, to award me the city of Chattanooga and its hunting territories as my own. I will serve you well and with honor.”
The room, noisy only a moment ago, was suddenly so silent my own breath had been picked up by the audio mic.
Karson dropped to one knee. Bent his head, so that the golden hair fell forward like a veil. He still held the emperor’s hand. “I was wed to your charge. I was treated poorly by the queen in the divorce. Recompense me, I beg you.”
Caught on the screen, Edmund had slowly, so very slowly, vamped out. His jaw opened and his fangs dropped down with a tiny click. His eyes bled scarlet.
“You dare. Youdareto overlook your own master? Youdareto appeal tome?”
Power had crackled across the room, powerful as any vampiregatherI had ever seen, as the emperor drew from the undeath of every vampire within miles.
Karson crumpled.
A human guard reached out and peeled Karson’s hand away as he fell. And then the guard broke Karson’s wrist, resounding cracks in the silent room.
Then and now, I grinned. It was petty, but that had been so satisfying.
Sitting beside me, EJ laughed. “Highlight of the event.”
“It was, wasn’t it,” I said. “It was the only thing I videoed that night. I don’t see our subject in the crowd.”
Humor draining from his tone, EJ said, “No. But I remember her. Sadly, I saw her only once. Her eyes brushed across mine for maybe a quarter second and she moved on.” He gusted a sigh. “Likely, she wasn’t into gingers.” He was talking about his red hair.
“Her loss,” I said, staring at my ex on the wall screen. If only he had been smarter. And kinder. And not such an asshat. “Okay, if you saw Ivyanna, that establishes her presence. We’ll need to see all the recordings of the reception to see who she left with. This forces our concerns and our attention back to the queen. And will force her attention onto us,” I grouched. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my Aunt Jane. I loved her completely. But dealing with the queen, politics, power plays, and nonstop protection details was different.
“Agreed,” EJ said. “How do you think Chancy discovered we were at the event where Ivyanna was last seen alive?”
“No idea. Except she didn’t get that off the Witch Web.”
“Someone is being set up,” EJ said, watching the replay on the screen. “Us, or one of the particulars. It isn’t coincidence on top of coincidence that she came to us. Someone helped her, gave her information. My guess is Ivyanna is an excuse to pull us into something. ‘Chancy’ may not even know the blood servant. For multiple reasons, including royalty and your ex-fanghead, we have no choice but to take a low-paying, sure-to-be-a-pain-in-the-ass case. Someone boxed us in nicely.”
It was good we were on the same page about this not being happenstance. About it being a danger to us and possibly to others.
On one hand, it was great to be the godchild of Jane Yellowrock—though she wasn’t a fairy-tale godmother with sparkles and glitter, but more like a sword-bearing, shotgun-carrying, Cherokee skinwalker with attitude and a not-so-small vampire and human army. On the other hand, involving her persona as the Dark Queen was something neither of us wanted. I had spent my whole adult life establishing independence from my role as part of the royal entourage and household. That life had been stifling. EJ and I wanted freedom. We’d had some. Until now.
“I’m screwed,” I muttered.
“So screwed,” EJ said solemnly, standing. He moved like a well-oiled steel trap, springs stretching and contracting with lethal capability.
From the time we were children, the queen’s staff, her brothers, and our own family had made sure we all were capable of deadly self-defense, both mundane and magical. Back then, in the simplicity and inexperience of childhood, outside protection had been provided and assumed. Now, with our bid for freedom, it wasn’t. We were on our own. Us and Walter.
“If thisisa targeted case,” EJ said soberly, “and you have to go into Protocol Bolt-Hole, don’t forget you can call your Dark Knight.”
The use of the title Dark Knight, instead of the Emperor of Europe, was deliberate. When I was eight years old, long before Edmund had ascended to the vampire throne of Europe, I had been in danger. To keep me safe, Edmund had sworn a blood vow to protect me forever. I had dubbed him my Dark Knight, and then, embarrassingly, had professed my desire to be his wife and announced myself as his fiancée. The childhood romance was long past, but the fealty had never been rescinded. It was still in place, a bolt-hole, a last-ditch protection if I ever needed it.
The only way I would need Protocol Bolt-Hole was if EJ and Walter were dead or disabled. I frowned at my brother and reached out with all my gifts. Nothing pinged on my awareness. “You better stay alive, or I’ll bring you back from the dead and turn you into a toad.”
EJ grinned at the childhood taunt.
“I guess we need to run a scan of the reception for her,” I said.
