I lined all the bank boxes in a row and opened the first one. It contained my personal stuff—passport, the paperwork that stood in lieu of a birth certificate, made out in the name of Jane Doe, the papers with my legal name change to Jane Yellowrock. My security business licenses and PI license. I closed that box and pulled the others to me.
In the one on the left I found two lead-lined acrylic boxes, called RadBoxes by the manufacturer, the kind used in hospitals for blood contaminated by radioactive meds. Inside was a clump of reddish iron about the size of the end of my thumb. The iron blob looked unchanged, and I closed the RadBox without touching it. In the other lead-lined box were pocket watches. Everything looked okay, but the black arts artifacts always made me feel slimy and the stink of old dead meat and spoiled blood clung to my fingers for hours after I touched them. This time, I didn’t touch. Who says a cat can’t learn new tricks? I closed up the box and pushed it to the side.
In the second safe-deposit box, there were two RadBoxes, but here things were a bit different. Resting on top of one yellow acrylic box top was the thing that should have been inside. It was a coyote earring, carved of bone, howling at the sky. It had come to me in a funky dream one night. Like, literally it had come to me. As in appeared on the pillow by my head. And it moved around sometimes, like now, crawling out of its box. I tucked it back inside. “Stay there,” I said to it, knowing it wouldn’t listen. I opened the final RadBox, aware that I had been putting it off till last.
Inside, in a black velvet jewelry bag, was the blood diamond. I opened the drawstring, eased the gem to the lip of the bag, and trapped the blood diamond in the cloth with the tips of my fingers, careful not to let it touch my skin. It looked like a pink diamond or a washed-out, pale ruby, about the size of my thumb from the last knuckle to the thumb tip, and it was faceted all over in large chunky facets. It was on a heavy gold chain, a thick casing holding the gem, the casing shaped of horns and claws. The gem was sparkling and dancing with lights, internal lights, not just reflected lights. I had a feeling that it would glow with its own light in a dark room, though I’d never tested that theory. The gem was beautiful and ugly and quite possibly the most powerful thing I had ever seen in my life—and that counted all the witches I knew put together. The blood diamond had been fed the deaths of hundreds of witch children for centuries, in fatal blood-magic ceremonies that featured human sacrifice. The diamond was an artifact worth killing over. It had belonged to the Damours. Now I had it, hidden away. It was safe, for now, but it occurred to me, staring at the awful thing, that I needed a will. If I died, someone responsible needed to have charge of it.
Yeah. Happy thoughts inspired by the gem of death and destruction.
I closed up the bag, stuck it back in the RadBox, and called the teller to help me put everything away properly. Satisfied that the Icons of the Dark were safe, but not emotionally content with that fact, I rode back home, weaving through rush-hour traffic, which in New Orleans was a whole ’nother kinda awful.
? ? ?
I left the house again at seven forty, Eli driving. He had insisted on coming with me when I told my assembled pals and houseguests about my evening’s plans. His exact words were “Leo’ll bust your butt. This I hafta see. I’m driving.” My roomies. So supportive.
In the SUV, I adjusted the stakes in my bun to keep from stabbing my scalp when they hit the vehicle roof and didn’t speak until HQ was in sight. “You did a good job on the door and windows.”
“I did a little construction for Uncle Sam.”
“Anything you can talk about?”
“Nope.”
“You keep secrets like a madam,” I said conversationally. “All tease and no share.”
Eli made a sound like choking and I let myself smile, knowing he saw it when he glanced at me from the corner of his eye. He recovered quickly. “Holy sh—crap, woman. But you got that all wrong. I am never a bottom. Totally a dommes.”
“Promises, promises,” I said. He made the spluttering sound again, but I went on. “Okay. You know the vamps will try to take our weapons away when we get to the door. Yours especially,” I added. “Security protocols that I put in place.”
Eli grunted, lowered the SUV window at the gate to vamp HQ, and said to the little camera, “Eli Younger and Jane Yellowrock to see Leo Pellissier.” The gate opened and the window rose. “Despite you not wearing a leather bikini, cuffs, and a dog collar, this is gonna be fun,” Eli murmured.
I just grinned. “Someday I’ll tell you about the mud wrestling.” This time he swallowed down the choking sound.
We parked in the front of HQ, the only vehicle parked there tonight, and walked together up the stairs. Just as we reached the top, Eli asked, “So, what does sparring mean to a vamp?”
“No idea,” I said sourly. “But I don’t think I’ll enjoy it.”
Eli huffed a laugh as the air lock doors opened. “Sure you will. Just let your eyes do that weird gold glow. You fight better when that happens.”
Deep inside, Beast chuffed and flicked her ears. Fun, she thought at me.