Dark Queen (Jane Yellowrock #12)

I looked at the tea room screen. I was late. Pulling on Beast-speed, I took the stairs. At a dead run, pulling on Beast’s power and the application of Newton’s Laws of Motion—inertia and all that stuff—I raced down the halls and spun into the tea room off the gym, using the doorjamb to fling myself inside. The others were there—Leo; his primo, Del; Scrappy; Bruiser; Grégoire; Katie; Eli; and Ayatas. An eclectic bunch and too many people and scents for the small room. The table, laden with food and carafes, had been placed in the center of the small couches, and extra chairs had been shoved in.

To the guard at the door, I said, “No interruptions,” and I locked the door. Breathing hard, I tapped off my earbud and started the intros, keeping them short and truncated, leaving off all historical titles and lineage, which was usually so boring to humans.

“Master of the City and the territories of Louisiana, the southeastern states except Florida, and holder of goodwill treaties of loyalty from six other Masters of the City from across America, Leonard Pellissier,” I said.

“Katherine Fonteneau, formerly the heir to the Master of the City. Current status in flux. Grégoire, Blood Master of Clan Arceneau, and secundo heir to Leonard Pellissier. Also Blood Master of European territory and clans.” Blondie had killed his EV master, but until the threat here was satisfied, he wouldn’t be spending any time overseas.

“Adelaide Mooney, Leo’s primo and legal counsel, formally a blood-servant of Lincoln Shaddock of Asheville.” I caught up on a few breaths and sat in an empty chair, before continuing. “George Dumas, Onorio, former primo to Leo Pellissier. Lee Williams Watts, personal assistant to Mr. Pellissier. Eli Younger, of Yellowrock Securities, second to the Enforcer of Leo Pellissier. And the Enforcer, Jane Yellowrock.” I pointed to myself.

“Mr. Pellissier and others, please meet PsyLED Senior Special Agent Ayatas FireWind, direct subordinate to Assistant Director Soul, in charge of the eastern states, recently promoted and moved from a western law enforcement territory. He is an unclassified, noncontagious, non-moon-called shape-shifter.”

Leo said, “It was my understanding that Rick LaFleur was the PsyLED agent over my territories. Has he been deposed? Deceased?”

“I’m technically Agent LaFleur’s superior in PsyLED chain of command. I expected him to be here for this meeting. He must have been held up.” Ayatas gave a charming smile and added, “I’ve already discovered that New Orleans’s traffic is difficult to navigate.”

I managed to control my shock. Rick was coming here? When had Ayatas called him? A tap sounded on the door and a faint scent wafted beneath. Rick. Standing, I unlocked and reopened the door. “Special Agent Rick LaFleur,” I said as my ex entered.

Rick nodded but didn’t meet my eyes. The black wereleopard took the only other seat, beside mine.

Beast growled inside. Bad mate. Did not scent-mark Jane. Did not look at Jane. I ignored her. She thought at me, Rick is not mate now?

No. Rick is not mate. Not now. Not ever again.

I retook my seat and looked over the room, taking in the mingled scents. Six men, four women. Multiple paras and humans, in a room built for half that number of creatures. Rick looked different. His hair had been stark black. Now there were long, thick strands of silver-white all through it. His face was furrowed and lined and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. I frowned, not knowing what it might mean but having no way to ask.

Leo inclined his head and added, “My Enforcer neglected to mention many of our titles and lands, including her own. Jane Yellowrock, Enforcer to the Master of the City of New Orleans and . . . the Dark Queen.”

Rick slanted me a look, a sad smile on his face. Bruiser watched Rick watching me. Ayatas frowned slightly, obviously searching for some correlation for Dark Queen in his studies. “Means a formality in place for the upcoming duels,” I lied. “Scrappy?”

Lee leaned toward the table, her red hair swinging at her shoulders, and prepared cups of coffee or tea to our usual specifications, and then cups for the guests, as was appropriate for low-level humans and low-level, nonvamp paras.

Ayatas said, “I am honored to have sparred with the Master of the City of New Orleans and even more honored to take refreshment with him and with his people.” He accepted the coffee, black, and sipped. “The coffee is very good.”

Huh. Not bad. I leaned back, cup in my left hand, my right in a faux pocket, fingers on the small weapon strapped there. I sipped, keeping my eyes on Ayatas in case I had read him all wrong and he was here to kill Leo or maybe all of us.

The scents in the room were overlapping and heavy. Vamp, blood, skinwalker, werecat, Onorio human.

I sipped and breathed through my mouth, tasting the scents. There was nothing of anger or hostility present, despite the testosterone and general irascibility, so I concentrated on the tea instead of the diplomatic chitchat. Boring, dull, tedious, and mind-numbing conversation. And thankfully, not dialogue the Enforcer had to pay attention to beyond listening for cues that could lead to violence, anything that meant I needed to shoot someone. If anything else came up, Scrappy would send me a memo and then beat me over the head with it until I read it.

Ayatas was droning on and on about the duel and the technicalities of the law regarding hosting and broadcasting and gambling. And the tax status of said gambling monies. He used phrases like the Interstate Wire Act, the Department of Justice, the Professional and Amateur Sports Protection Act, and the Bradley Act, some of which might have been the same things. Or not.

Ayatas wanted to be present, no matter where the Sangre Duello took place. Right. Like Leo was going to allow a cop on-site—unless he had claws in the cop’s life and total control over him. Again, I got to ignore it all, which was a good thing, because booooring. And then the meeting was over and Leo and his cadre, including Bruiser, Rick, and Ayatas, stood for small talk.

I didn’t look at my ex, slipping out the door as he greeted the other special agent and Bruiser. I might have stayed or pressed my ear to the door, listening in, but I caught a scent that made my hackles rise. Beast snarled and growled softly deep inside. Werecat. Were-big-cat. Have smelled big-cat before. Am alpha.

She was right. We were alpha to the werecat I smelled in the hallway. It was the scent of the black wereleopard Kemnebi, part of the International Association of Weres and the Party of African Weres.

Black wereleopards were from Gabon in the African Congo. Kem’s mate had turned Rick. The female had then been summarily executed for the deed, leaving a lot of bad feelings between the survivors. To keep Rick safe from Kem, I had sorta become alpha over him and claimed my ex. It was complicated. And Kem was in HQ.

My life was a soap opera with fangs and fur.

I tapped on my comms unit. “Update on weres,” I said. A voice I didn’t recognize verified all I had deduced by scent. Dang. I trotted up the hallway and took the elevator, tracking Kem’s personal aroma.

According to the scent patterns, Rick and Kem had met in the foyer, among a group of weres, several of whom were unfamiliar and not catty, and Kem had embraced Rick. That must have been awkward.

I sniffed, pulling in the air over my tongue as Beast would do, parsing the scents. Two African werelions, whom I had met. And . . . oddly, I smelled werewolves. Leo and the wolves still didn’t get along, and most hated me, since I’d killed off an entire pack. The dogs and cats didn’t get along. The mismatched group had a grindylow with them, one I hadn’t sniffed before and who, presumably, had traveled with the Africans. Grindys were supposed to keep the peace, but they were good only for were-on-human violence. Were-on-were or were-on-vamp wasn’t covered in the grindy’s job description. According to the scents, the various para groups had separated and some had moved off to different areas of HQ.

“Legs? Everything all right?”

I looked up in surprise to see Wrassler standing over me. I put my shoulders back and dropped my arms. “How long have I been standing here?”