“No,” he said gently “The penalty for this particular charge is to be turned by the accuser, and to serve under him for all eternity.”
I thought about that for a moment. About being de Allyon’s plaything forever. About the risk of Leo using a parley to rescue his heir. About the fact that Sabina would not be informed of the subterfuge. It was audacious. It was sneaky and devious. I liked it. Well, I liked everything except the part about me having to go to a trial. Crap.
I looked out the tinted windows at my house. I’d called it my freebie house for ages, refusing to claim it. But lately I’d been calling it what it was. My house. My place. I was part of the world of vamps whether I liked it or not, and that meant being part of vamp politics. I hate politics.
Jane wants to be first with all her mates, Beast thought at me, smug. And Jane needs good den.
“And . . .” Bruiser took a slow breath and I tensed. “If you’ll bond with Leo properly, and not do whatever you did to loosen the bond when he tried last time, he will be able to use you in the parley,” he finished.
And theeeeere it was. I knew my face changed, because Eli said to him, “Man, you are dumber than dirt. To have lived as long as you have, you really have no clue about women.”
I could smell Bruiser’s sense of insult, tart and bristly on the air. I didn’t look away from the house. “You need to get Leo and the other vampires to a safe haven for daybreak,” I said, barely moving my lips, “someplace not on any record, and with lots of protection around. Protection armed with high-caliber weapons. Bazookas if you have them. I think Grégoire has a lair in the Garden District. I also think there may be a lair beneath the Nunnery in the Warehouse District.”
“I know my duty,” Bruiser answered, confusion in his tone. “Leo and all his remaining personal possessions have been moved to a safe location.”
“Well, goody for you,” I said, and my tone was adult and understanding and gracious. Not. I opened the door and left the limo, stomped to my house, and let myself in. I slammed the door. “He really has no clue. He is dumber than dirt,” I said to the empty house. I went to my room and closed the door. Turned the small lock, though I knew it was no impediment to Eli.
Once I shifted, my flesh wasn’t dirty or bloody anymore, but my clothes were still grotty. I stripped in the dark, tossed my ruined clothes into one pile and the ones that were just bloody into another, showered, and dressed quickly in the dark, pulling on jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved knit T-shirt under my armored, vamp-fighting leather coat. I didn’t expect to be fighting anyone, but the last few days had been hard on my wardrobe. I didn’t have a lot of fashion choices left.
I could hear the guys moving around in the house, one upstairs showering, one in the kitchen. I left without seeing either, kicked Bitsa on, and took off. I had no desire to check out the security at Grégoire’s place—the Arceneau Clan Home—but it was part of the job whether I liked it or not. I’d left the Pellissier Clan Home in the hands of Leo’s true Enforcer and primo blood-servant, and that just got the place burned down. It wasn’t going to happen again.
I got to the clan home in the Garden District near two a.m. and pulled through the six-foot-tall, black-painted, wrought-iron gate, the twisted bars in a fleur-de-lis and pike-head pattern at the top. As I braked at the back bumper of the black limo, one of Grégoire’s identical twin blood-servants stepped to the porch holding what looked in the night like a small Uzi. I killed the engine, unhelmeted, and unwound my legs from the bike.
“Little Janie. I assumed you would be by here sometime tonight.”
“Security check. Will Leo and Grégoire be close by day? Close enough to be protected by you guys?” I asked as I walked up to the porch.
“Close enough,” the B-twin agreed. “And the lair is hard-wired in to the security here at the clan home.” The three-story house was larger and deeper than it looked from the street, forty-six feet across the front and nearly twice that deep, taking up most of the small lot. It entered into a foyer with dining room and parlor on opposite sides and a wide staircase to the right leading up to the second floor, the stairs carpeted with a blue, gray, and black Oriental rug.
Nothing décorwise had changed since my last visit except the clutter in the dining room. Stacked on the floor and on the hand-carved cherrywood dining table and chairs was a bunch of junk. By the sour stench of smoke, it was Leo’s junk, which meant expensive art and collectibles. Over the scent, I smelled tea and coffee and something sweet, like freshly baked pie or cake. My mouth watered.
The twin, who had no mole at his hairline, thus identifying him as Brian, closed the door and murmured into his mic, “Janie inside. Resume patrols.”
“How many do you have patrolling?” I asked.
“Two shooters in the attic at front and back, five on the grounds. Brandon is at the back entrance, and I have the front.”
I let a small smile form on my lips. “You know what I like about you and your ugly brother?” He cocked his head in question. “You don’t get your panties in a wad when I ask questions.”
“Boxers, not panties,” he said, showing his teeth in what could only be called a rakish grin.
“Whatever,” I said, laughing. I pointed to the dining room. “I didn’t think anything had survived the fire.”
“The servants got everything out of the library, all the paintings off the walls, and most of Leo’s more valuable collectibles out before the fire spread. Grégoire had them transported here until we can arrange for storage elsewhere. Until Leo can rebuild. Sabina wanted you to have this. The Master of the City agreed.”