I laughed once, a harsh bark of sound. "Leo came to burn me out, to burn me alive." Bruiser flinched slightly. "And now he wants me to help solidify Clan Pellissier's power base? You gotta be kidding."
"Leo is not the most dangerous creature in this city." His voice was low and certain, the tone of a man who has seen and survived too much. "It is his power that has kept the peace for so long, between beings that have few morals, and often no compunction about killing humans. He is simply not himself, lost in his grief." Bruiser's face went intense, his eyes holding mine. "I know that solving the internal conflicts between Mithran clans isn't within the parameters of your contract, but keeping humans alive is. And if there is war, it won't be contained to the vampires."
I pursed my lips, not looking at him. "I lived through the last war in 1915. It was bloody horrific," he said softly. "The violence was as undercover as they could keep it, but believe me, if you'd known where to look . . ."
I blinked. Blood-servants lived a long time, but it was still a shocker whenever I heard confirmation of that. Nineteen fifteen. Criminy. But still . . . I drew down my brows and crossed my arms, knowing it made me look defensive. I so did not want to help Leo Pellissier. Not in any way. "I did not kill Leo's son," I said, hearing the mulish tone in my voice. "I killed his son's killer. His son had been dead for decades."
"I accept that. Leo will eventually accept it as truth. Until then I'll . . . do what I can to keep him away from you. Will you help? For the city's safety?"
I shook my head, but it wasn't a no, it was frustration. "What do you want me to do?"
"Simply listen at the party, and if you hear anything unusual, tell me." That wry smile twisted his features again, this time seeming contrite. "Because of Leo's scent, you'll be free and safe to go anywhere you wish." I glared at him and he had the grace to grin in apology, which transformed his face, making him look younger. "And because you aren't me, and because you smell like dessert underneath Leo's scent, they may speak freely. You might hear something that could avert this war." When I didn't reply, he insisted, "If there is war, humans, many humans, will die."
Crap. He played the human card. I sighed. "Yeah, sure. If I hear anything, I'll share. Why not?" I glared at Bruiser. "But you keep that blood-sucking vamp away from my house."
"Katie's house," Bruiser said softly.
I blew out a breath. "Well, that put me in my place, didn't it?"
The Warehouse District was just what it sounded like, the place where, once upon a time, boat captains off-loaded merchandise and took on fresh wares for the next port, and where masters of industry and commerce stored it, sold it, and made their fortunes. But the formerly utilitarian buildings had been redone into artsy and expensive apartments, lofts, restaurants, and galleries.
The street in front of the Old Nunnery was packed on both sides with parked cars, each with a driver waiting inside, in the dark, or standing beside it, watching the night. Each man had the look of ex-military, wore an earpiece, and had well-toned and deadly brawn. I was betting they wore enough weapons to start Bruiser's war too. We pulled through the narrow roadway between the vehicles and up to the old building.
I leaned toward the blackened limo window and stared. The Nunnery was a three-story, old-brick warehouse with Spanish-style windows, a wraparound porch on the bottom floor with wide-arched openings big enough to drive a wagon and draft horses through. Wrought iron protected the porch above it on the second floor, and sculpted grounds were planted with magnolias, palms, blooming flowers and shrubs, and heavy-limbed live oaks old enough to have seen Jean Lafitte himself saunter through. The entire property was ablaze with light that flickered like real flame through the warehouse windows; the images within seemed to waver, blown glass giving a surreal aspect to it.
The grounds and building were packed full of formally attired and coiffed blood-servants, blood-slaves, and the rich and fangy. It swarmed like a fire-ant mound, deadly to anything that stayed nearby for too long, lethal to an enemy. And just by walking in, I was getting ready to stir it with a metaphorical stick. My palms started to sweat. "This doesn't look like a convent."
"The Nunnery is named after Samuel Nunnery, a businessman and ship owner from the seventeen hundreds. This was one of his warehouses."