Skinwalker

Violence and dominance pheromones swirled in the room and Leo looked up, his genial smile still in place. But when he spoke, there was a steel edge to his voice that hadn’t been there an instant gone, though he didn’t look Torrez’ way. “And as my guests, partaking in the hospitality of my house, I trust you will abide by all conventions and protocols in welcoming new Mithrans and my clan heir.”

 

 

It took a moment, but Torrez visibly controlled himself and plastered a false smile on his face. He pushed to the front of the crowd, where he took Amitee’s hand and kissed it, murmuring something I missed. With the kiss, the entire room seemed to relax, and I figured that whatever was afoot in vamp politics, like whatever Leo had going on in the human population of the hood, was going to take a backseat to the celebration.

 

I got a look at the new vamps. They weren’t uncontrolled, ready to vamp out and drain the humans; they looked elegant, sophisticated, and rich. So I avoided them like the plague. But I did get a good look at Leo’s son, who appeared genial, urbane, and approachable. However, when I got close, he turned fast, eyes going vampy, sniffing and searching the crowd, so I ducked my head and slipped away. No point in spoiling the engagement if he came on to the little nonhuman in the room for a quick snack. I haunted the back hallways instead.

 

Near four, after avoiding Leo and Bruiser in a cat and mouse game of “hunt the girl,” I slipped outside and called Bluebird Cab. Rinaldo, off from his third-shift job on Sunday night, picked me up half an hour later, full of startled questions now that his regular passenger had come up in the world. I said something about an invitation I hadn’t realized would be so vampy, and how happy I was to get out of there—all true—then sat silent in the backseat, holding myself separate from Beast and her demands. And for once, I didn’t beg for a trip through a fast-food joint.

 

There were violent undercurrents in the vamp social fabric, riptides of political unrest, problems I hadn’t known existed. It was the kind of thing that cop Jodi Richoux would want me to tell her, and that I was prohibited from sharing on pain of that slow and grisly death, as spelled out in my contract. And . . . I had created friction between Bruiser and his boss. I was still beating myself up about both problems when I went to sleep near dawn, without shifting, yet again.

 

Monday in New Orleans is laid-back. Not as relaxed as Fridays, but close, though without the dedicated party expectation of the day before the weekend. I elected to stroll, but with purpose, revisiting all the places I had been and places Beast had shown an interest in.

 

Wearing my light cargo pants, a tank top, and flip-flops, I tied two crosses around my waist and stuffed a stake in my undies and two in my hair, just in case, though I didn’t really think I’d be out long enough to lose the protection of daylight. I added sunglasses. Dressed like a local, I strolled, sniffed, and window-shopped.

 

I don’t wear much jewelry, as a hurried shift will leave it broken in the dust, along with torn and mangled clothes, but when I spotted a silver and stone ring and a nugget-style necklace in the window of a narrow storefront, I couldn’t help myself. I went inside and when I came out, I was wearing the set, along with the gold chain and nugget I seldom took off. The new necklace was made of Baltic amber, warm, yellow, fifty-million-year-old tree resin that brought out the amber of my eyes. The nuggets were as big as pecans and looked really good with the gold nugget. The silver setting of the ring was styled like cat’s claws holding the stone. It was destiny. The set looked really classy against my burnt orange T-shirt, and though I remembered girls from my youth saying I shouldn’t mix gold and silver, they weren’t here to tease me.

 

Back on the streets, I strolled, but I wasn’t rambling for the ambiance, I was hunting the rogue, tracing the path Beast had taken on her first tracking expedition. My nose is better than most humans for reasons I’m not entirely certain about, but I put it down to the number of years I spent in cat form. I had thought the memories of that time and my early life were gone, never to be recovered, but since Aggie and Leo had brought some back, in startling, three-dimensional, five-sense clarity, perhaps there were others, deeply buried. Really deeply buried.

 

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