Fast cars and money lead back to dames
"George Dumas, first blood-servant to Pellissier." The soft words floated from down the hallway, bouncing off the old brick, a female vamped-out voice, the inflection asking Bruiser to join her. I glanced at him and without a word we swiveled, our bodies moving as if we had trained together for years.
A little vamp stood just inside an open cubicle with a door, the space lit with bright electric lights. She beckoned; we moved toward her. The room behind her was a big pantry, three shelf-lined walls organized with cans and boxes, with household appliances on a side wall, including a washer and dryer. We were at the back of the warehouse; I could smell the Mississippi River strong on the air. I hesitated in the dim hallway, scent-searching on a quick breath, taking her in.
She was short, model-slender, with streaked blond hair and the bluest eyes I'd seen on anyone, human or not. A diamond necklace big enough to qualify as a collar circled her neck, and diamond and blue topaz drops the size of walnuts dangled from her ears. "In here," she whispered. I didn't know her and wasn't inclined to follow. Bruiser, however, stepped closer, which brought us even. Vamp-fast, she snatched my right arm and Bruiser's left, her tiny hand like a steel cuff, cold and cutting. And strong.
Faster than thought, I reached for a stake. She yanked. Hurled me off my feet. Tossed me inside. I hit the back shelves. Stake in hand, I pushed off. Looked back. Without effort, she threw Bruiser at me. With him in midair, the pantry door slammed. I got a quick look at it--three inches of hardwood reinforced with iron straps. A trap.
I caught Bruiser one handed. We impacted with pained grunts, the shelves ramming into my unprotected back. The lock clicked home. Using his own momentum, I shoved Bruiser aside. He hit the floor in a controlled roll on hands and knees, and got up to his feet at nearly vamp speed.
A stake in each hand, I rushed her. She was fast. The vamp caught me again and whirled me into a corner in a dance-step-smooth martial art move. She scuttled away from us. Her back against the door, hands out, placating. "I'm not here to hurt you," she said as I found my footing.
Not caring what she claimed, I pulled my tiny blade and reversed it in my grip, street fighting position. Beast hissed but stayed down, watching, her claws in my mind like steel points, her energy pouring into me. My breath was hard and swift and I flashed the blade in the too-bright lights so she would see it was silver-plated--poisonous to her kind if I cut her. I wished the blade was bigger but I felt better with weapons drawn.
Bruiser was on his feet, his hands out in a mimic of vamp grace as we evaluated the female vamp. She didn't look at the blade, but watched us, eyes darting back and forth, her feet balanced and her body posture claiming she was familiar with fighting and willing to demonstrate. And she was blocking the door.
She was also hungry, her skin pallid, but her eyes weren't vamp-black and bloody; instead, they were controlled and collected. From the remembered strength of her grip, she was an old one, powerful, and despite her small frame, I might have a hard time beating her with just the two weapons and no protective gear.
Yet she'd said she wouldn't hurt us. And she wasn't dressed for wet work. Her dress had the dragon-lady-seamstress's signature lines, looking long, lean, and elegant, even on her tiny form, midnight blue shot with silver thread, which had to be a vamp joke. And she wore spike heels in blue-black ostrich leather, little feathers on the buckles. She looked totally out of place standing in the pantry. "I won't hurt you. At least not right now. Truce."
I lowered my hands a fraction to show I'd listen. Bruiser dropped his and said, "Innara of Clan Bouvier. How may I serve you?"
"I have a message from my master."
Bruiser blinked. With that careful blandness I was coming to appreciate, he said, "You could have called." I laughed through my nose.
"I could not. My master has determined that many of the Mithrans' cellular communications are being monitored." Innara's tiny hands opened in the universal gesture of peace, fingers splayed. "Servant of the Blood Master of New Orleans and the one they call the Rogue Hunter, hear me."
I could tell I was added on only because I happened to be near, but what the heck, I'd stay to listen. Especially as a thick door stood between me and freedom.