They made a ruckus and there would be hell to pay later, but the short-term benefits seemed worth it to Leo and Bruiser. I’d been confined in the greenroom before and it was comfortable, as much as a temporary lockup can be, with couches, a TV, and food humans can consume. They were also given a nurse, as promised, two vamps to chat with, Innara and Jena, and an armed guard for their own protection. Uh-huh, right. It wasn’t my decision, but it was easier to get things done without the constant interference.
I told Roul and his were-bitch—whose face was still covered—to gather their wolves, and picked out a room for them to wait in. I had a police videographer take digital footage of them as they entered for verification of cuts, injuries, and bloodied muzzles—which they all had. I told Roul to keep them all in wolf form until the cops got to them for collection of physical evidence, but watched them change back to their human forms almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I was glad I’d chosen a room with a security camera to document which wolf was whom. I found them some clothes, and made a call to the kitchen for a dozen meat trays. Much like me, weres needed calories to make the change and they were ravenously hungry. I left them when they started looking at me like I was dinner.
It was clear that there were things going on under the surface of the political tug-of-war, beneath the bloodletting and the personal combat, things that I had no clue about, things that would pose bigger problems later if I didn’t handle them properly now. And I was surely messing up from lack of knowledge, an unclear vision of vamp and were history, and my own shortcomings. But I kept at it. The job was my responsibility.
One of the Vodka boys took a camera to get pics of the ballroom, and moments after he got the first shots, the cops ran him off and stationed a guard there, labeling it a crime scene.
The little green guy turned out to be missing. I made a run to the security room to have the techs pull footage of the hallway near Leo’s office and the carnage in the ballroom and the hallway near the green guy’s room. I hoped that by slowing down the digital feed, we might see him come and go. Within seconds of isolating that footage and slowing the speed down, we saw the green ... whatever it was ... exiting his room. Angel had missed it. I caught an expression of self-loathing cross his face. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Yoda with fangs can move. Like, faster than human eyes can follow.” Angel just shook his head and cursed under his breath. “Keep scanning footage. Make sure we have copies of everything. I’ll be back,” I said.
I answered so many questions and dealt with so many problems in the half hour after the cops arrived that I starting feeling befuddled; I retired to the nearest ladies’ room for a break, where I saw to my personal comfort, and then leaned against the wall at the sink, closed my eyes, and rested for just a moment. When I opened my eyes a few minutes later, I felt a little better. It wasn’t exactly a minivacation, but it was an oasis of calm in a frenzied night.
I checked my phone, feeling a stab of disappointment when there were no calls from Rick. Stupid, to miss a guy who had only been in my life a few weeks and might be cheating. The thought pierced. Rick might be cheating on me with the were-cat female while undercover. I shoved the pain down hard. Later. Thoughts for much later.
To brighten my night, I had a voice mail from Molly, telling me a joke she’d heard about “puddy tats” that had sent her into hysterics. She was giggling so hard I couldn’t understand a word she said, but her laughter lightened my heart. I saved the message for a future smile.
Putting the cell away, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror. I looked tired, pale, and hungry, like some cheap blood-junkie. I needed color and food. I’d managed to hang on to the tiny purse during the clash and freshened my mouth with red lipstick.
Much like the way I’d decorated my face with my father’s blood. The thought stabbed up from the deeps of my mind and twisted, tearing like the killing strike of a barbed blade. I hadn’t mourned Edoda, my father. I hadn’t avenged his death.
I swore softly, the sound sibilant in the bright room. I would mourn and worry later. The job was what counted at this moment. I smoothed my hair back again and scratched my scalp, which was starting to ache, and adjusted the bun and the stakes thrust through it. “The job. Right,” I whispered to myself.
Since the sandwiches were locked in with the press, I slipped out of the restroom and made a quick trip through the kitchen, where I picked up a serving tray of cold shrimp and another one of cheese, which I ate on the way back through the foyer, gulping fast. I dumped the empty platters on a small table and followed the newest arrival to Leo’s office, where all the action was. The guy I followed was the coroner.
It looked to me like Safia had been mauled to death, but the coroner had to make an official pronouncement before the legal investigation could proceed. Louisiana, like a lot of states, has a coroner system in place instead of a medical examiner system. A coroner is an elected official—a person winning the job in a popularity contest, who may, or may not, be as well trained as the job requires. A medical examiner is fully certified, usually a pathologist with training in the related fields of law enforcement, anthropology, and forensics, and is appointed by a politician. We got lucky. The New Orleans assistant coroner who showed up was both—a pathologist with a degree and a vote-winning smile who was being groomed for the office of head coroner. He was also part witch. And Jodie’s cousin, Peter Richoux.