Feather Storm said, "The city's covens are . . . really mad at us. We'll help any way we can."
Beast under control, I left the room, and brought back the painting that showed the ones I thought were the three Damours and their children. I shoved the painting in front of the women and they recoiled from it as if it were evil. "These are the witches who took the children?" I asked. When the witches with the silly names nodded, I looked at Rick. "If all three of the adult Damours are sane, that means the blood magic ceremonies worked at some point for adults, but didn't work on children. They're experimenting on strangers, turning them, changing the ceremony each time, trying to find what will succeed. That's what this is all about. This is the proof. It's a way to bring people over without the insanity of the devoveo, the young-rogue state, and to allow the long-chained to find sanity. It ties everything together. And it means they're close to a solution to the devoveo.
"They know if they're caught they'll be killed and there will be another purge, so they're attacking first, forging alliances with two strong clans, undermining Leo's power base, pumping up his enemy Rafael. I have a feeling they might be getting the Crips to fight other gangs too, keeping the police too busy to see what's about to happen, which is a war with Leo. Tell Jodi. See what you can put together."
My cell rang and I answered. Derek said, "No dice, Princess. My guy got a transponder onto the truck taking the long-chained, but the security found it. We lost 'em."
My heart fell. "Okay, Derek, thanks." I disconnected and looked at my guests. "I'm going out," I said. "I'll be back." They fussed and yelled and made a stink, but I reweaponed up, got back on Bitsa, and took off.
I should have slashed his tires. Now there was nothing I could do about Rick following me on his Kow-bike. Not a dang thing.
CHAPTER 21
Will not be caught in predator's stare
I had no idea how late it was and I didn't care. I called Bruiser and told him what I needed. Unlike my houseguests, he didn't argue. When I reached the vamp graveyard, I roared around the gate and up the shell drive to the chapel without setting off any alarms. I killed the bike and stalked to the steps. The Kawasaki came to a halt behind me. The night fell silent. I didn't glance back, but I could smell gun oil and knew Rick had drawn his weapon.
I raced up the steps. Banged my fist against the chapel door. It echoed within and against the crypts behind me. I heard the softer scrunch of shell as Rick left his bike and joined me, standing a little to my left.
There was no answer to my knock and Beast, fighting her own fierce frustration, bled strength into my blood in a raging of power. I gripped the door handle and turned. Threw my body against the painted wood. The door slammed open, banging into the inside wall. With Beast's night vision I took in the place at a glance.
The chapel was one long room, white-painted walls and backless wood benches in rows. Moonlight poured through red-paned stained glass windows, tingeing everything with the tint of watered blood. At the front was a tall table holding a candle and a low bowl of incense, smoking, filling the air with the scent of rosemary, sage, and something bitter, like camphor. A rocking chair sat beside the table, and on its other side, a low stone bier carved with a statue lying faceup, marble hands crossed on her chest. I strode to the bier and identified the carving as Sabina. It was her coffin. I had a feeling she slept in it.
I pushed the stone cover, bending and putting Beast's strength into it. The top moved with a heavy, grating sound, stone on stone. It weighed several hundred pounds. I heaved, breathed with a groan, shoving, the air painful in my lungs. I moved it a few inches. Behind me a lighter clicked and flame brightened the room as Rick lit candles. Holding one, he joined me and we looked through the narrow opening, into the crypt.
The stone bier held no coffin, but was padded and lined with tufted white silk. There were boxes inside and I pulled three of them out the narrow crack I had made. With a callous disregard for vampire history, I opened each, exposing in one a bit of parchment from a scroll. It was so old it was crumbling, bits of brown flaking away. I closed the box and lifted the next one. There was a name burned into the top, Ioudas Issachar. Which meant exactly nothing to me. Opening it, I found a velvet-lined interior, cradling the cross the priestess had used to dispel the liver-eater when it attacked her.