"The Rousseau insanity? They were nuts because a lot of them had the witch gene?"
Bruiser's mouth turned down, forming deep channels on either side of his mouth. He topped off his coffee, warming it as he thought through what he wanted to tell me. "The clan has always been known for a weakness in the first sire's blood. All of his first scions took more than a decade to find sanity after they were turned. It was worse in the second generation, with nearly half still chained after two decades. On Saint Domingue, that first sire experimented on his slaves in the search for a cure, instituting a breeding program to create offspring with the witch gene, using them in ceremonies that were intended to cure his chained scions. When he was killed, his children took up his studies--"
"Studies?" I didn't try to keep the irony out of my tone.
"It was barbaric." His words were a hatchet of sound, short and cutting. "The island was liberated in the revolt and the clan came here, bringing his records and taking up the experiments. They found a partial treatment, though I couldn't say what it was, and some scions who had been chained for decades became sane."
"The long-chained ones," I said, intrigued despite myself.
"Yes. But there was war among the New Orleans clans, followed by the purge, which decimated two of the Domingue clans and put an end to the experimentation. The first Rousseau master and his records were destroyed in a fire with most of his long-chained scions. His heir built a special lair on their family grounds and even today keeps their devoveo chained for up to fifty years before destroying them. One account suggests that about forty percent find sanity, though what memories may be lost is still questioned."
"All of them are destroyed after fifty years?"
Bruiser hesitated. He looked intensely self-contained, as if he picked and chose what he wanted to tell me out of a basket of history, gossip, and myth. I'd have felt better if he had rocked back on the chair's back legs, tapped his fingers on the table. Anything. But he was as motionless as Leo, except that he still breathed and his heart still beat. "There are rumors that some scions, specially loved ones, might be kept longer. But no evidence of it has ever been uncovered."
"So if one of the long-chained ones, say, one kept around a lot longer than the usual fifty years, found sanity, he might have memories of the first sire's old methods. And he might have started the experiments again. That might be why Sabina didn't smell anyone she knew, except that it was an old Rousseau." At Bruiser's confused look, I explained about the burial sites and the crosses, about LeShawn and the kidnapped witch children. And the priestess's claim that a witch child had died at the burial site.
When I was done, Bruiser said, "Rumor claims that Renee Damours of Rousseau Clan found sanity before the purge, and her brother Tristan not long after. Their children weren't so lucky." Bruiser must have seen my reaction. "Yeah, Tristan was her brother and her husband. The breeding program wasn't just practiced on their master's slaves. Rumor persists that two of their children and another brother are still among the long-chained, alive, somewhere."
"These children. They'd be how old?"
Bruiser showed his teeth at me and saluted with his coffee cup. "Three hundred years, give or take a few decades."
Back in the city, I stopped at the house and called Jodi Richoux. "What, Yellowrock?" she said as she picked up. "I'm up to my ass in blood at the moment."
Which sounded like one of my worst days, but I didn't sympathize. I filled her in on the situation. She didn't deny when I suggested that she'd been investigating the witch children's disappearance herself after her aunt had died. "I need back into the woo-woo room, and I have pertinent info to trade for it," I said. "The Rousseau clan home is empty, open, and looks as if there's been a fight inside. George Dumas says the security was breached at two a.m. It has something to do with a vamp war brewing."
Jodi cursed. "I could have gone all year without hearing any of that. I'm working a gang murder in the Warehouse District. Crips took down a handful of MS 13 leaders and two vamps, a massacre that might be tied into your vamp war. Woo-woo room is open for you anytime, but be there at five to decompress and reorganize." She hung up.
I blew out a breath. Southerners were supposed to be polite. So far, I wasn't seeing it here. Rick returned my call and I asked to see the vamp files again. I needed to go back and find everything they had on the Rousseau clan. When he asked why, I gave him the same spiel I'd given Jodi and he said to come on in. I had free access. Lucky me. Without taking time for a shower or a nap, I grabbed a few things I might need, hopped back on Bitsa, and gunned the motor for NOPD. Sleep pulled at me as I rode. I needed rest, but I couldn't stop. Not until the kits were safe.