Dark Queen (Jane Yellowrock #12)

“As the last member of the inner circle of Clan Yellowrock able to wield a weapon, I accept for my master,” Koun said. He was standing behind me and I had no idea when he had appeared there. “Weapons,” he said, “one sword, one battle-ax, no armor.”

“I will fight the Blood Master of Clan Yellowrock and no other,” Dominique said. Her tone and her stance were insolent and there was a trace of something in her light eyes that said she expected to win by cheating. “First blood.”

“Challenge accepted. One blade each, no longer than fourteen inches. Claws and talons,” I said. And then I smiled, letting my lips expose my teeth slowly in threat. Beast peered through my eyes. “Jewelry is acceptable.”

Dominique blinked, realizing that I knew about the ruby, knew she was going to cheat with magic against the most important rule in Sangre Duello and dominance fights. And that I didn’t care.

“Here and now,” Dominique said.

I gave her a jut of my head and drew on Beast energies. Everyone cleared the floor space and I moved to Eli. My partner and second was holding a Desert Eagle .50-caliber handgun at his thigh. He holstered it with a tiny click. “You sure about this?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” Because I had remembered the thing I had learned when Adan was in a cage, harnessing the timewalking magic of an arcenciel. Stealing her magic. If I could feel the pull of Dominique’s ruby, then I could use its power. And the motes of power in my middle said I could take all its magic for myself. I was becoming the Dark Queen in truth.

“What blade?” he asked.

“The Mughal blade.”

Eli paused in helping me prepare for this fight. “Why?”

“Because the myth that came with it said that the blade has magic in it. It will deflect or lessen the mortal blow of any enemy. Whoever owns the blade can’t die in battle.”

Eli shook his head, not happy with my answer. He preferred weapons that blew things up.

I glanced around, noting where everyone was. Ro Moore was standing in front of a window that had once been a fire escape. Her gaze went from the fighting rings to the roof below and back, watching for anyone who might want to interrupt the proceedings with a hand grenade. I hadn’t even considered that possibility. I was getting lax. Good thing I had trained smart people. I nodded to her. She nodded toward the windows at the back of the room with a faint smile.

I looked there and saw Brenda Rezk guarding that possible access. Yeah. Smart people. Go, me.

I was ready. Beast? I thought. I need some claws. Just claws.

Jane needs killing teeth and power of half-form.

Not this time. Just claws.

My fingers went knobby and hard and I gasped. The tips burned as if I’d stuck them into red-hot coals. Beast’s retractile claws re-formed at the tips, ten killing claws. My fingertips oozed blood and I licked it off. Ouch, I thought at her.

Deep inside, she said, Five and five killing claws. She sniffed at me, and turned away.

I stepped into the fighting ring and closed my eyes, breathing in Eli’s Zen and my skinwalker meditation. Letting my body relax and tense all at once, just as if I was going to shift into a difficult form. The bell sounded. My eyes opened and Dominique attacked, shouting, “Ralentissez!”

A thin line of power shot from her necklace. A slowdown spell, hidden in the ruby and released with a wyrd. Time slowed down. The five pointed energies in my middle reached out and wrapped around the line of magic. Altered it. Pulled it in.

Incorporated the wyrd and the energies into my own.

A silvered vamp-killer stabbed at me.

I bent around the blade in a dance move. Stepped into her reach. Clawed her face with one hand, slicing deeply into her waist with the Mughal blade. I yanked on the blade, cutting into her.

Dominique screamed, that piercing vamp ululation that said she was dying. Her eyes flashed scarlet. Her fangs schnicked down. She ripped away, tearing my blade from her flesh. She disappeared with a tiny pop of sound. Toward the window where Brenda Rezk stood guard. Dominique landed, ripped at Brenda. Tearing out her throat. Dived through the window. Landed on the roof below with a loud, hollow thump. Brenda fell, her blood a pulsing spray, her head at an awful angle. Titus’s second caught Brenda’s body. Eased her to the floor. It was too late. There was not enough left to save.

Koun leaped after the traitor. Paused in the window. His gaze tracked Dominique, his body and tattoos catching the lights in strange blue and black shadows on pale skin. He watched her run, his head following her progress around and toward the water at the front of the house. A moment later, he tilted his head to me and said, “In spite of the angel of death, all is well, my master.”

No one else had moved.

Sabina said, “Magic was used by Dominique Quessaire. Her penalty is true-death.”

I stilled. I had used magic too.

Sabina went on. “Magic was used by Jane Yellowrock, though only in self-defense, and after Dominique’s attack. The outclan priestess rules this an acceptable use. No penalty to Yellowrock.” Part of me wilted, but I didn’t let it show on the outside.

Softly, Grégoire said to someone, “Bring Dominique back to me. Her true-death is mine.”

I thought, If he hadn’t brought her back when her throat was ripped out we wouldn’t be in this mess now. Grégoire and Leo had been hunting for the clan who had allied with her. They had taken a gamble that Brenda had paid for with her life.

Bodies moved; vamps and humans departed. I watched as Brenda was carted down the stairs. Dead. Killed for spite, not as part of the Duello. Killed for not a damn thing. The cleanup crew started on the blood. People went in search of dinner and beer. I dropped to a bench and mourned the blood-servant.



* * *



? ? ?

We’d made a mistake. We needed more toilets. Even vamps had to pee, it seemed, and either eating corn dogs and drinking beer made them pee more, or they had trouble getting out of their fighting leathers, or they were just being pains in the backside. The lines to the bathrooms were ten people long, ninety percent of them female. Most males were outside finding a likely tree. I chose to do my business outside. At which point I discovered how freaking hard it was to get out of the new leathers. The uniform was comfortable in every way, except for a female needing to answer the call of nature. When I finally got my business done, my leathers in place, and my weapons holstered, sheathed, and hidden, I was frustrated and ready to hit something. I headed to the circle of hedge of thorns, my BFF, and the murderer, Dominique.

Molly was stretched out on a lounge chair, under a blanket or three to keep out the cold wind, her baby bump hidden by the swathing. Dominique was standing on the sand, in an inverted hedge of thorns, fists bunched, frothing at the mouth, screaming obscenities, I assumed, from her expression, though I couldn’t hear her.

“How’d you turn down the volume?” I asked.

Molly laughed, a sad but ladylike laugh I’d never master. “Lachish’s family uses it on the farm to keep the sound of tractors and farm equipment to a minimum. It’s a noise version of a confuto working, and I’m totally stealing it and setting it on myself, so I can sleep in on Saturdays and Big Evan has to get up with the children.”

I squatted beside her lounge chair. “That’s evil.”

“I’m a death witch. What did you expect?”

“Rainbow-colored baby bunnies and lollipops?”

Molly spluttered with laughter. “People who dye baby bunnies should be shot.”

“I’ll tweet that to my congressman for inclusion in next year’s bills. Has Grégoire been to see her?”

“Yes. He condemned her to death by facing the sun. He’ll have her chained in silver at sunrise.” She hesitated. “Are you sure? Burning to death . . . Witches were burned at the stake. I’ve read the accounts. Family accounts. Firsthand . . .” Her voice trailed away.

I touched her shoulder, not knowing how to comfort her. “She killed Brenda Rezk. She used magic in a dominance duel during the Sangre Duello. She was a traitor. But I’m not sure of anything. Not anymore.”