Dark Queen (Jane Yellowrock #12)

“I noticed,” she said, pronouncing all the syllables like cutting blades and hissing snakes. “I’ll be behind the scenes, not up front. Not out in the middle of any witch-magic battle that might take place. My job is to monitor for interfering magical activity and warn the others. Lachish and Shiloh and Ailis are here to fight. And Soul is here, somewhere, to help in case they have another timewalker, to spot any interference of that nature and stop it. I’ll be under a hedge of thorns, the newest one B—” She stopped. She had almost said Big Evan, who wasn’t out of the closet yet. “That I could make. Hedge of thorns 3.0. With other modified, portable hedges and inverted hedges available to me, all defensive, as stipulated in the Sangre Duello rules, what precious few that there are. I’ll be the safest person on this island. But you need us all to make sure the EVs don’t cheat and use witch magic to attack.”

Cheating wasn’t allowed outside of the fighting rings. Cheating with magic was not allowed anywhere near a Sangre Duello except La Danza. Cheating with weapons and tactics inside a ring and within a bout was a different matter entirely. I was betting all I had, and all I was, on an inside weapon cheat. But Moll was right. The Sangre Duello did need magical monitoring. And in case of magical attack, we’d need someone who could deflect a spell of offense until we could deal with it.

But . . . Molly. There were things I hadn’t told her. Crap.

My best friend in the world leaned into me and I felt magics on my skin as she initiated a spell of silence to cover up her words. She whispered so softly a fanghead couldn’t have heard it. “And my special magics will save the day if all else is lost.”

Her special magics. Her death magics. Magics that would drain every bit of death and undeath for miles around. I stepped around her and walked out, past people in the hallway.

Behind me, Molly claimed the bunk bed beneath mine. “She’ll be okay,” Molly said to someone in the hallway.

But I wouldn’t. Not if something happened to Moll. What in blue blazes was Big Evan thinking by letting his pregnant wife out of his sight?

I passed through people and vamps coming up the stairs. Dozens of people. I wanted to head outside, but I had a job to do. This one last job. Keep Leo safe, to keep Molly safe. So instead of running away, I walked around the second level, checking out the arrangements, thinking about cheats for inside the fighting rings.

Leo and his scions were sharing one of the tiny central rooms. Koun, Gee, Tex, and Edmund—my vamps—were in a second room. The third room had bunks for Dacy Mooney, Ming Zoya of Mearkanis, and Ming Zhane of Glass. In the fourth room was Sabina Delgado y Aguilera and Shiloh Everhart Stone. I had tried to keep Shiloh off island. She was my responsibility, not that Shiloh seemed to think so. The placement of the vamps had been carefully thought out, the weakest vamp under the protection of the outclan priestess.

In the outer ring of rooms were the humans and Leo’s and my human staff, divided by gender. In one of the larger rooms were Lee, Leo’s assistant Scrappy, and four blood donors: Tia, Ipsita, Christie, and Maryanne, who was Edmund’s human lover and blood-servant. Maryanne hadn’t been around much since Edmund became my primo, but I’d always found her to be a levelheaded and serene woman.

In the second room set aside for nonvamp females were Lachish Dutillet, the head of the witch coven of NOLA, and Bliss—aka Ailis Rogan, a witch in training. Lachish glared at me when she saw me in the doorway. She didn’t like me much. Didn’t hate me, but didn’t like me, despite the fact that I had killed the vamps that had killed her own daughter. She thought I was a troublemaker and a meddler. Not that I blamed her. I’d been called both since I walked out of the woods at an apparent age twelve, naked, carrying the scars of bullet wounds and a gold nugget. Mostly I deserved the rep. Bunking with the two witches was Soul. The arcenciel was present not in her official PsyLED capacity but as the unofficial leader of the rainbow dragons that Titus’s goons had tried to capture and enslave. Lachish turned her back to me and said to Soul, “It’s a wyrd spell, one that breaks crystals from the inside. But to test it you’d have to be inside a crystal spell.”

“No,” Soul said. “That will not happen.”

I didn’t know if Titus’s people and any witches on board could scent or identify what Soul was. I didn’t know how safe she might be. But then, if Leo lost the last bout, none of us were safe.

Lachish extended a folded paper. “You are a stubborn woman. Here is the spell, the wyrd and the directions to break a crystal. If you get caught, try it. If it needed to be refined and you didn’t let us experiment, then it’s on you.” Lachish was an irritating but succinct woman.

I slipped away before Soul replied. I’d known I wouldn’t have a room to myself. I’d known I’d be bunking with others, at least with Del, Brenda Rezk, and Ro Moore, Katie’s Enforcer. Brenda was a security specialist assigned to Atlanta and Ro was a cage fighter and mixed martial arts specialist. Ro had nearly died in a recent fight at HQ. No way was she up to full fighting form yet and I resented Leo for bringing them both. Molly would be the fifth roommate. I hoped being pregnant didn’t make her snore or have to pee all day long. I could kick the others into silence; not so much Molly. We were wall-to-wall bunks with one empty. I figured someone would fill the empty bunk bed eventually.

I checked in on the third, smallest bedroom. Neatly stacked against the narrow wall space, floor to ceiling, were suitcases belonging to Bruiser, Brian, and Brandon. The Onorios were bunking together in a space almost big enough for one small bed. It was . . . cozy. Right. Cozy. Claustrophobic. Cramped. I looked over the luggage and didn’t see weapons cases. That answered one question. The Onorios would not be fighting. They were to be judges and referees, not fighters. I wasn’t happy about some of our best fighters relegated to the sidelines, but the negotiations had been intense. Leo wouldn’t have given up them as fighters without good reason. Leo had arranged to remove three of Titus’s foremost fighters in return, and gained the home court advantage referees. But if I was injured I knew that Bruiser would kick the referee title to the four winds and protect me. Bruiser would hate himself if he reneged on a vow to act as observer and judge. Another reason to stay alive and healthy. I eased away and shut the door behind me.

The big back room had been set aside for the rest of the blood-servants’ bunk beds and this room was a madhouse, the location for most of the cursing, shouting, and thumps. They’d be sleeping in shifts and some of them would have to switch out bunks, but no one would have to sleep on the floor. Eli, Alex, Troll, and Wrassler were on the far end of the room. Derek and his security men were positioned near the door: Angel Tit, Chi-Chi, Tequila Sunrise, T. Sweaty Bollock, T. Jolly Green Giant, P. Shooter. Three of the Vodka boys. Deon, acting as chief cook and bottle washer for us all, had a curtained lower bunk for himself. Twelve male blood-servants, who were also the housekeeping crew and the medical team, would be sharing three sets of bunk beds, switching out cots to sleep in shifts. Pretty much, the long narrow room was wall-to-wall bunks. By day and night the air here would carry the roar of snores and the massed stink of sweat, bad breath, BO, and dirty clothes.

As satisfied as I could be with the current accommodations, I wove between people and down the stairs. The main room was perfect, but too full of people, most lounging on the sofas, cells or tablets in hand, checking the new Wi-Fi connection. It was too slow. Lots of complaints. I left through the back door, crossed the screened porch, where more people lounged on new outdoor furniture or in hammocks, and outside. The smell of were-creature hit me.

The werewolves were sleeping outside, under the house, on the sand or in hammocks, unless a major tide brought in high water, in which case they’d be sleeping on the third floor when it wasn’t in use for duels. The weres included Brute, the entire wolf pack camera team, and two grindylows.

Werewolves are ugly.

I stepped down the narrow stairs. They were older than the wider front stairs, and squeaked with each step. Yes. I can see how you might think so. Wolves and dogs.

Werewolves are not pack turned. Werewolves are loyal to Leo.

I slowed. And how do you know that?

Beast can smell stink of betrayal on weres. Beast does not smell stink of betrayal on wolves.

Would have been nice to know that, I thought, with a lot more snark than I planned.