Black Arts: A Jane Yellowrock Novel

I leaned in when a pale-skinned, black-haired female appeared on the screen, showing only the top of her head and her hands holding the wrap she wore. Bliss. The woman beside her had scarlet hair and was wearing rings on every finger. She tilted her head and I recognized Rachael by the shape of her nose and the multiple rings through her earlobes. And the tattoo on her left wrist. It was a dragon, the body and tail wrapped around the wrist, the fire-breathing head on the top of her hand. It was new, and I’d seen it only a week past, when she complained about the pain and itching. Once upon a time, Katie had not allowed her working girls to get tattoos, but now things were different. Katie was different. She didn’t seem to care about body adornment or other things that she used to. She was, on the other hand, way more territorial than she used to be. With them was a man who stood to one side, only the top of his head and shoulders visible in the camera—slender and muscular with spiked hair and dark clothes.

 

“That’s them,” I said.

 

Eli covered for me. “And the people with her?” he asked.

 

I hesitated only a moment, feeling my way, before saying, “The boss will be ticked off about the whole thing.”

 

“So we shouldn’t tell the governor everything. In fact, we shouldn’t tell him anything,” Eli suggested.

 

“And we’ve agreed to differ,” I said, as if we had a long-standing argument about how to protect the interests of our employer—who was the freaking governor. Eli was insane.

 

On the screen, the man, possibly a waiter, handed the girls into a black cab limo and it drove off as he stepped back again.

 

Some humans left, one female wearing a hat and trailing a long scarf. The arm of a man was around her as if to support her, her gait that of someone ill or unsteady after too much liquor, their faces never in view. Three other men left just behind them, the small group moving like vamps, breaking up at the door. One wore a tuxedo and seemed to move off fast, maybe in pursuit of the woman with the scarf and the other man, though all we could see from the angle of his head was dark hair and jacket and a satin stripe on the outside of his pants leg as he strode off. The other two, both in dark slacks and suit coats, stood for a moment, body movements suggestive of discussion, and then they too left, heading in different directions.

 

A scant two minutes later, a similar black car pulled up and waited, the driver a fuzzy form making a cell call. It was Troll. He waited. And waited. He made three more cell calls before eventually giving the valet the keys and entering the restaurant. And leaving moments later, tension showing in the set of his shoulders. He was on the cell, talking as he drove away.

 

To Scott, Eli said, “That’s all we need, those twenty minutes of footage. And you have the governor’s thanks.”

 

“Yeah, well, tell him he has my sympathy. He has his hands full if his daughter’s fallen in with that redheaded chick. She works for a vamp who runs a whorehouse. Seriously, he needs to consider chaining her up in the attic or something. If I’d known she was underage, I’d never have let her in, but everyone had an invitation.” He opened a desk drawer and handed Eli a heavy, engraved invitation, the kind old vamps used, the paper made of mostly cloth, the words printed in gilt.

 

Eli handed the invite to me and I nodded my thanks, studying the card. The message was innocuous and uninformative. “The pleasure of your presence is requested at ten o’clock tonight at Guilbeau’s for a coming-out soiree. Black tie.” The party started late, like any vamp party. No names, and no RSVP. Not much help here.

 

The manager hit a button and his PC whirred. Behind him, a printer chattered. He handed Eli the printed paper first and again Eli passed it to me. It was a list of the waitstaff. Six names, with addresses and phone numbers. While I was studying it, he handed Eli a CD and stood, offering his hand.

 

“Thank you for your time,” Eli said, standing and taking the proffered hand. I followed a moment later, out of sync with the bonhomie of the good old boys.

 

“I thank you for keeping the restaurant’s name out of the press. Letting the governor’s underage daughter into a vampire party would not be good for our reputation or good standing,” Scott said.

 

I just shook my head and headed down the stairs. Back outside, the wet night had become a downpour, which totally matched my mood. The valet brought our SUV around and we drove away. I lasted a whole block before I busted out with “The governor’s daughter? Are you nuts?”

 

Eli gave that twitchy smile and said, “We got what we needed, didn’t we?”

 

“Yes, we did. And if he takes it any further, our faces are on the security footage now. You are insane. Totally insane.”

 

“We just have to make sure we don’t do anything that makes him take it any further.”

 

I gusted a breath and looked out into the night. The windshield wipers squeaked slightly as they swept the rain away. I shook my head. “Okay.”

 

“Just okay? No atta boy? No ‘Heeey, duuude, that took balls’?”

 

I laughed softly and shook my head again. Eli Younger was entirely too pleased with himself. But he did do good. We had footage and names, neither of which we would have been given had we gone in with an honest request. But still. “I think you were thinking with your little brains, dude.”

 

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