Shoffru stopped in the entrance, taking in the room as if measuring it for carpet. Or as if imagining himself as owner. Proprietary. That was Jack. Oh yeah. Trouble in a Tux, with lizard. Should be a drink name.
Fanning out around the couple were vamps and humans. Lots of vamps and humans, including a woman who looked like a pirate herself, her face and ears studded and beringed, a sword hanging low on her hips. Why was she carrying a sword? No one but Pellissier security had been allowed weapons. But the thought evaporated. The woman was Jack’s heir, I deduced, from her position beside him. I blinked and the vision of the woman drifted to the side. Something seemed important about her, but I couldn’t figure what. She slid from my mind as insignificant, irrelevant. Shoffru had brought in maybe thirty of his people, all of them wearing black, encircling Adrianna like a rose delivered in a black velvet box.
I remembered the buses, chartered in Galveston, and had a mental image of pale faces peering out the windows at New Orleans, like fanghead tourists. The reek of unknown vamp filled the room, sharp and biting, and I bit my cheek to keep from sneezing at the commingled, acrid stench. When I could talk, I said, “So the invitation got them all through security, and the invite means we can’t shoot or stake them here.” Gee made a little “Mmmm” of agreement, and I tapped my mic, giving me a private line to Angel Tit. “You seeing this?”
“Yeah. You want it broadcast?”
“Yes.” I tapped again and said, “Everyone check your cells. The woman with the pirate-looking dude is Adrianna, the vamp Leo is hunting. For now, she has what amounts to diplomatic immunity and is to be treated with absolute deference, unless she starts trouble.” I thought for a moment, working it through. “With all the backup Shoffru brought, things could get dicey if she vamps out, especially with so many humans around, so everyone keep cool. In the event of trouble, hold fire, I repeat, hold fire, unless I give the word, and even then make sure you have only vamps in your sights.
“Wrassler, make sure Leo is informed of all this. Derek, send three more of your people into the hallway. Switch to infrared or low-light opticals as needed, should the lights go out,” I said. The instructions on tactics were totally unnecessary—Derek’s guys knew their business—but the human blood-servants who were working security might not be as well trained. Plus, I wanted it on tape, recorded, just in case the poop hit the prop. “Those with no low-light gear, hit the deck if the lights go out so the line of fire is free.” That got me some insulted looks from the regular HQ security staff, but I ignored them.
“Copy,” Wrassler said into my earpiece. “Copy,” Derek echoed.
I tapped off my mic, not wanting what I had to say next to be heard. “Gee. Nothing says we can’t follow them when they leave and take them then.”
“True. If opportunity presents itself, I will follow them. They bear watching.”
“I have a feeling they bear killing, but staking Shoffru isn’t my call.”
From across the room, Jodi strode toward me, her gait strong, her skirt trapped between her legs, the outfit not made for a determined stride. “Jane, why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Jodi asked, reaching my side.
“Because you’re a cop and this has problem written all over it?” I asked.
She slid a hand into a slit in her skirt and I knew she was readying her service weapon. “Yeah, well, when the dust settles, remind me that we need to chat. You can buy me that beer.”
I nodded, and Gee said, “Our PsyLED guest may be less wise than you, Detective.”
Rick was walking directly toward the couple who still stood framed in the decorative doorway, and moving with his cat’s grace, he swept three champagne flutes off a waiter’s tray. Jodi cursed. Without appearing to hurry, Rick quickly reached the arched opening and presented the couple with two of the glasses. They chatted, Rick’s body language seeming jovial and introductory, and he lifted his glass, almost appearing to toast them. They responded in kind, all sipping, all smiles. And I had to wonder what game Ricky Bo was playing. But the tension the two newcomers were radiating did seem to decrease.
“Pellissier on the move,” came through my ear wire. Leo was on his way down. Through Beast’s binding, I felt the MOC’s fury and his speed.