Dark Queen (Jane Yellowrock #12)

My entire body had gone cold as she spoke. I was pretty sure my heart had stopped beating. “Okay,” I managed. “So what did you do to make the butterfly grow big?”

“I didn’t make one grow big. I jus’ made a big one come to me. From one of the other places.”

I breathed through my mouth in the beginnings of panic. “What other places?”

“There’s bunches of other places. One has big butterflies with pink wings and purple eyes and blue bodies and feet. I just pulled it over. Mama’s mad at me,” she said again, with pride.

“Give me that phone, young lady,” Molly said in the background. “Go back to your room. And take that dog with you.”

In the background I heard Angie calling her dog and trying to whistle. Into the phone, Molly said, “She told you?”

“About what sounded like she pulled a butterfly from an alternate universe into ours? Yeah.”

“She’s going to be the death of me.” Molly sighed. “That butterfly was a foot wide and had a stinger the size of my little finger. I had to blast it with death magic to stop it.”

“You okay?” My BFF Molly Meagan Everhart Trueblood had a problem with the evolution of her magic and had lost herself to death magic once or twice. That was way scarier than pulling butterflies from alternate universes.

“I’m good. I play a lot of Evan’s music these days and I keep that dang cat close.” The dang cat was Molly’s familiar, though witches didn’t have familiars. Ever. It was too cliché for real life. “What’s up?”

“Two things. First, we had a witch under an obfuscation spell enter through the sensors. The lasers picked up the anomaly, but we only spotted it after the fact. It was too small a change to see it in real time. I’m wondering if there’s a way to rig a ward or a magical something to alert us when someone comes in the door.”

Molly was quiet and I could almost see her pursing her lips and squinting her eyes as she thought. “The entrances have the metal detectors and the X-ray scanners, like at airports, right?”

“Yes.”

“And all the security setup is close by, with cameras?”

My heart thudded down. Right. Magic and electronics. Too much of either in the same place, and something was likely to go bang. Molly’s next words confirmed that thought.

“Anything I might send would fritz out in short order. Someone could set up a hedge outside, but it needs to be hands-on with that many people coming and going. I could call Lachish Dutillet to set one up, but she’d have to stay there.” Her voice sounded amused. Lachish was the head of the NOLA coven and she didn’t like me much. Lachish didn’t like vamps much either. So, no way would she provide security for us against another witch.

“Yeah. No thanks,” I said. “Second, I’m pretty sure we’re looking at the formation of Clan Yellowrock in the fanghead manner in the next few days. You still up for that? Being part of a vamp clan will give you and Big Evan power and protection from other vamps. It’ll help to keep you all safe. Keep the kids safe.” Keep Eli and Alex and all my people safe. But I didn’t need to add that part.

“Janie, I’d suck vamp blood myself if it kept my children safe from the Europeans. Remember, I’m ready to come if and when you need me.”

“This can be handled over an electronic connection. You stay where you are and take care of my next godchild. Understand?”

“I do. I love you, big-cat.”

“I love you too, Moll.”

We ended the call. I stared at the cell face for a while, remembering why I was doing everything in my life—to protect my godchildren. To keep them safe from bloodsuckers who killed or turned every witch they could find and who would take Angie Baby and Little Evan and Molly’s unborn daughter and . . . I stopped the visions that wanted to swarm through me. I didn’t have time for them or for the fear that rode me every time I thought about the danger the children were in. Brick by mental brick, I blocked away the images and the panic.

Pulling out a notepad, I wrote a note to Alex to check on the injured guards and Tequila Antifreeze. I left it on his desk in the living room.

Barefooted, I traipsed up the stairs to the second floor and stopped at the landing. The hardwood-floored landing ran the length of the house from front to back, a wide hallway separating the four bedrooms into two on the left and two on the right, with old-fashioned bathrooms on each side. From the bathroom Eli used, I caught the faintest hint of lemon, before it vanished on the air currents rushing through the house.

Paper had been taped over the hardwood and there was a load of lumber on top of it. A table saw sat in the middle of the room, three ladders of various styles were propped here and there, a skill saw lay on its side, and hammers, measuring tapes, pencils, cola cans, and fast-food wrappers were everywhere. A boom box played from somewhere out of sight.

Three men stood on the second floor with me and two on rafters above, where a hole had been cut in the ceiling to the attic, what would soon be the third floor, though in NOLA-speak it would be the atelier. But the hole was a lot bigger than I expected, covering the entire area from wall to wall. Way more demo than I had anticipated. I thought about weeping at the lack of sleep, but . . . I could survive being sleepy. I took in the smells: fresh pine wood with an underlay of garlic, beer, a little weed, hot peppers, and chili, from the men I didn’t know. Even less obvious was the scent of vamp from the one man I did know.

Two beams sawn with right-angled cutouts for risers and treads were lying on the floor and the far wall was covered with penciled lines and scuff marks to create a narrow stairwell next to the stairs from the first floor.

I waved at the hole overhead. “Can I see up there?”

Edmund looked at me, and at the hole, and knelt near me, his fingers laced together and his hands cupped for my foot.

“I expected to climb a ladder,” I said, my tone wry.

“It is an old house. The ceilings are twelve feet high and the ladders were not quite tall enough,” Ed said. “We had to stand them on the stack of drywall and plywood to cut the hole overhead, and those stacks are now upstairs. Longer ladders are on the way. Until then, the men are pulling each other up. Please allow me to boost you.”

I was tired. Vamps were strong. Beast was really good at catching us. I shrugged and stepped back, took a running start, and raced to Edmund.

My primo accepted and collected my weight without a bobble, tossing me high. I caught the rafters overhead and let momentum and Beast pull me into the attic. I heard the muttered comments of the crew as I landed, probably looking as if I’d flown up here.

“Bruja?” The men backed away, slowly, not turning their backs.

“Bebedor de sangre?” All the men crossed themselves. Several said, “Madre de Dios,” in tones of fear.

“Vampira.” Pointing to me, not Ed, who was coming up behind me. Which was funny.

“Noooo,” I said.

“Sí.” More crossing.

“Noooo,” I said back. “No vampira. No bruja. Just strong.” I made a muscle.

“Black Widow? From Marvel?” a guy with a droopy paunch asked. It came out Black Weedow?

The other guy said, “Natasha Romanova,” and shaped an hourglass figure in the air with his hands.

“Sorta kinda.”

Being a superhero was way better than scaring the humans with the truth. They elbowed each other in approval, saying, “Sí. La Ara?a Viuda. Sí. Sí. Sí.”

The space up here was amazing. There were dormers along one side of the roof system and the windows had been removed, leaving openings to the night. A new window rested below each opening, ready for insertion. Two-by-fours were up to indicate where the soundproofed walls would go, three smaller rooms on the back side of the house, with a minuscule bathroom and a large workout area on the front part.