The female news anchor was speaking. “So far no one has released an official explanation for why so many Elder Races dignitaries have gathered in Louisville, other than Councillor Archer Harrow’s secretary, Tara Huston, who spoke to the press this afternoon. Reading from a prepared statement, Huston said the gathering involved a private matter and had nothing to do with the sometimes tense interactions between the demesnes. However, what could that private matter be, Todd? Why would it necessitate Dragos Cuelebre’s sudden presence, along with his mysterious escort who, inside sources inform us, is his new mate?” The woman’s blonde hair was lacquered with so much hairspray that when she turned to face her coanchor, her entire head of hair, like a helmet, turned with her.
Todd gave the camera a practiced smile. “Good question, Joanne. Cuelebre has been under a great deal of pressure recently. Like the rest of the world stock market, Cuelebre Enterprises has taken some serious financial hits lately, although no doubt the corporation will remain in Fortune’s top fifty for the year. There has also been increased tension between the Wyr and the Elven demesnes. In one of the most surprising announcements of the year, Cuelebre has also lost one of his seven sentinels, Tiago Black Eagle, who resigned from his position to work for the new Dark Fae Queen, Niniane Lorelle. Cuelebre’s seven sentinels are the lynchpins in Wyr governance, so not only is Cuelebre facing financial challenges and border strife, he is also critically short-staffed. Whatever the ‘private matter’ is here in Louisville, it must be something urgent for him to be called away from New York on short notice.…”
As she listened, Grace realized that the news channel didn’t know anything of what had really happened earlier. They didn’t mention the gathering at her property, and they stated that Cuelebre had lost only one sentinel, not two. Apparently Rune’s resignation as Cuelebre’s First sentinel had not yet been made public. The segment was really a gossip piece that focused on Cuelebre because he was one of the media’s favorite subjects.
She lost interest in the talking heads and switched off the TV. Sweat trickled between her breasts. She limped to the floor fan to position it in front of the screen door so it would pull in the cooler air from outside.
As she did, she glanced out at the deepening dusk.
Two tall figures wearing cloaks were walking up the gravel driveway to her house. The taller, broader figure glanced at the setting sun and pushed back his hood to reveal strong, aquiline features and dark hair sprinkled with flecks of white at the temples. It was Julian Regillus, the Vampyre Nightkind King. The second figure pushed back his hood as well. That man had shoulder-length, nut brown hair and a pleasant, nondescript face, and he was one of the most feared hunters in all the Elder Races. Julian’s right-hand man, the Vampyre Xavier del Torro.
Vampyres were walking up her driveway.
She had met Vampyres before. Not often, but she had. Those she had met seemed like perfectly pleasant people.
The two Vampyres approaching her house were not perfectly pleasant people. They were two of the most Powerful Vampyres in the world. And their companion had been the one to pull a sword in a place that inter-demesne law had decreed a sanctuary for all races and people.
Laws were a lot like locks; they were only as effective as the people who chose to allow them to work.
Adrenaline roared along her veins as if shot from a rocket launcher. She shifted the floor fan out of the way, closed the front door and, ridiculously, locked it. An invisible vise squeezed her ribs, and she couldn’t breathe. Stupidly, she thought of Niko’s old shotgun, which was unloaded and stored at the top of the kitchen pantry. She knew how to use the shotgun, but even if she had time to retrieve and load it, the only thing she would accomplish by waving it around would be to piss the Vampyres off. It couldn’t cause them any real damage.
Her gaze fell. She hadn’t had time to vacuum before putting the children to bed, and the floor was still sprinkled with crushed pretzels. The crumbs outlined a shoeprint the size of Chloe’s foot.
Vampyres are coming to my house, she thought. And there’s no one here but me, two little children and assorted ghosts.
Along with one arrogant, child-loving Djinn.
Khalil is one of the oldest and strongest of the Demonkind, Carling had said to her earlier that morning. If he promises to keep your children safe, he will keep them safe.
“Um, hello?” she said to the silent, empty-seeming house. Her voice was shaking as much as her hands. “Can we talk for a minute?”
The silence acquired a listening attitude. Khalil, however, did not appear.
“There isn’t much time, and I know you can hear me,” she whispered. “Please.”
Black smoke drifted across the living room floor. A tendril of it lifted in front of her and formed in the semblance of Khalil’s face. The face regarded her with about as much friendliness as the black cat had earlier.
She clenched her hands into fists. The article might not have told her much about Djinn, but it had said they loved to bargain. Material things meant little to them. What they traded in were favors. She said in a low voice, “We may not like each other much, but we both care about my niece and nephew, don’t we?”
Khalil raised a dusky, elegant eyebrow.