"I'll fix it," I said, meaning the oatmeal. Pans banging, I turned on the gas and began making oatmeal the way my housemother had taught me so long ago. As the water heated for oatmeal and tea, I flipped on a light switch and realized that we had power. I plugged in the refrigerator and adjusted the AC down to a bone-chilling seventy-four, making a circuit around the house to close all the windows. It was already a sweaty eighty-five degrees inside. Thank God for air-conditioning.
While my guests ate, I asked Molly, "Why would the big bad ugly eat Little Evan?"
Molly touched her ear and gave a warning glance at her kids that said she couldn't say much in front of big ears. "Some things think witchy X and Y chromosomes are tasty."
Witchy X and Y chromosomes meant the things that made Little Evan a male witch, or what some called a sorcerer. I nodded. Demons like to eat male witch babies. Ouch.
"Comosos are tasty," Angie repeated, trying on the words. "Like Aunt Jane thinks deer is tasty. Would Little Evan go crunch?" Angie wasn't going to be deterred.
I grinned and poured hot water over tea leaves, a strong gunpowder green that had a good caffeine kick. "Probably. But we love Little Evan." When she tried to interrupt, I said, "Even Beast loves Little Evan. But we don't talk about Beast or big bad uglies, right?"
"I can't even tell Uncle Ricky-Bo? Biscause he's wanting to know stuff."
"Especially not Ricky-Bo," I said dryly. "He's nosy. Speaking of Mr. Nosy, I need to go to NOPD and do some more research. You okay today here, Mol?"
"We have power, and I can wash clothes over at Katie's, including the stinky diapers piling up on the back porch. I'm fine." Molly was a firm believer that diapers were the most dangerous disposable item ever invented, to be used only in emergencies. She used cloth with old-fashioned pins. Before I could ask who would watch the kids, she smiled into her teacup without looking at me and said, "Bliss will watch them." Angie wasn't the only Trueblood who could read minds upon occasion.
After a long shower to wash off the bayou stink, I multibraided my hair with lots of beads that clicked pleasantly when I walked, dressed, and made several phone calls that required me to leave messages this hour of the morning. I kissed the kids, strapped on Beast's pack in lieu of a pocketbook, made sure my cell and camera had battery power, tied my braids back, powered up Bitsa, and roared into town.
My first stop was Audubon Park, at the Audubon Trail Golf Course, one of the sites in the city where there had been young-rogue attacks on humans in the past, and the only one I had never visited. The last attack on record had been in 2001, and I quickly discovered why. The golf course had been redesigned in that year, and there was no place suitable for a grave site. That left me only two locations to worry about, which made my life easier. Able to cross it off my list, I gunned Bitsa and headed for NOPD.
I had a lot of questions and not much info. I needed to see if there was anything in the history files about the last vamp war. And I wanted to see if I could find out what Innara had been talking about last night, the devoveo. It sounded as though it had to do with the madness of young rogues. Mad young rogues was what the city of New Orleans had on its hands. And maybe I would try to get a handle on what the Sons of Darkness were. They had come up twice now; if they had something to do with young rogues, I needed to know it. And then there were the witches I'd seen across the street, likely standing in a pentagram. What could their connection be? What had seemed like a simple contract to track down a vamp breaking vamp law was turning into a bewildering investigation into vamp history and politics.
The wind in my face was damp and heated, like a warm, wet blanket, and Bitsa purred beneath me like Beast when she slept. With the world flashing by, I was feeling peaceful, rested, and strangely calm, even without any sleep. I was pretty sure the emotion I was experiencing was serenity, though I'd never felt that before. I didn't expect it to last. Cynical, but true.
I parked at NOPD, signed in once again, and waited for the armed guard to look over my credentials and make his phone call. This time, Rick came to meet me.
Like the last time I was here, he was in street clothes, but not the jeans, T-shirt, and boots from his undercover days. Today, Rick wore black slacks, a black jacket, and a white button-down shirt. With a tie. I started to grin. The tie had little orange kittens scampering over an aqua background.
"Yeah, I know. I've fallen so far." He propped a hand on his hip, pushing back the jacket to reveal a shoulder-holstered 9 mm, and flicked the offending tie with his fingers. "My niece gave it to me."
"It's . . . cute."