“How does he stand himself?” Edmund whispered.
“Beats me.” I jerked my head to the interior of the house and pushed the door wide. “Come on in. You know what the note said?”
“I do. I am supposed to escort you to Bayou Oiseau as your personal protection and as Leo’s personal delegate.”
“Personal protection? I’m my own personal protection.” I stared at Edmund as he entered, his hands clasped behind his back. He was shorter than my six feet, nondescript, with brown eyes and brown hair, and looked scholarly and bookish, like a schoolteacher, a librarian, or a slightly cynical professor. “Or my partners are,” I added. “I don’t need more personal protection.”
“I hope you might think of me as your primo.”
I closed the front door behind us and led the way through the dimly lit house and into the kitchen, thinking about what he was saying and what he might really be meaning. With vamps there is no simple truth, just layered, multipurposed, dual-or triple-intentioned half lies. “Only vampires have primos. And primos are human.”
“Exactly. Having a primo would be a way to provide cachet, to raise your value, to suggest that you are something more than simply an Enforcer, a bully boy. And Leo having two Enforcers adds to that effect. All these changes will make the Mithran world, even the European Mithran world, sit up and take notice. It will give you power in our world. You would be one of the very few human Enforcers ever to have a Mithran primo. And I do believe that I would serve you best in that capacity.” Edmund looked too pleased with this idea, as if maybe he had come up with it himself. Actually, knowing Edmund, he probably had.
“Hmmm.” I topped off my mug and added the secret ingredient. “I’m having tea. Want a cup?”
Edmund looked at my mug and stuck his nose in the air. “Not if it has . . . Is that Cool Whip on top?”
I hid a grin. “That sounded like a tea snob’s outrage.”
“Good God, woman. It’s a sacrilege.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. And then I said, “One of my favorite housemothers when I was growing up was a woman named Brenda. She always put Cool Whip on her tea.”
While Edmund prepared a proper cuppa, expounding on the virtues of real cream and real sugar, I added more tea to my cup and another dollop of Cool Whip. Yanking vamps’ chains always made my day brighter.
? ? ?
I got the essentials from Edmund, which were pretty simple but not terribly informative, not the kind of thing to require a Mithran mailman. “The witches and non-Mithrans in Bayou Oiseau are once again at war and the Blood-Master of New Orleans directs you to broker a peace agreement.”
“Again.”
“Yes.” I could have sworn that Edmund was hiding laughter.
“In an area where vamps ran unchecked and unrestrained by the Vampira Carta”—which was the written law for all Mithran vampires—“for centuries. To a place where the witches who survived learned a lot of tricks to keep the bloodsuckers at bay. A place where blood ran in the streets and witches and vamps were burned at dawn. Back there.”
“Yes. That is his request.”
“Uh-huh. I got the broad picture,” I said to my erstwhile primo. “Now I want the deets, the stuff you know, but that Leo told you not to tell me unless I asked. Consider this asking.”
“Gladly, my mistress. According to Clermont Doucette, a valuable item was stolen by a witch from the Clan Home. It has made its way to the witch coven. It has not been returned.”
So far as I knew, there was only one witch living at the Clan Home, and she was the witch daughter of Lucky Landry, a witch leader in the town. Shauna Landry Doucette had married the vamp heir, Gabriel, and this marriage was the sole reason for the peace agreement I had brokered in Bayou O. A kind of successful Romeo and Juliet story. At the time.
I grunted, which must have sounded like encouragement, because he went on.
“Clermont’s daughter-in-law stole the item.” Seems Juliet hadn’t remained loyal for long.
“The Master of the City also desires me to bring back any magical item that you might discover.”
That was an ongoing order, an order I never followed through on. “Ducky,” I said.
“And I am to go with you.”
“No.” I refused Edmund’s assistance and that of the Mercy Blade, and sent my messenger skipping into the night scenting of amusement and irritation in equal measure. Well, strolling languidly, though the mental image of the ultracool, elegant vamp skipping down the street left me with a smile. He had been gone exactly forty-seven seconds when my cell rang, displaying a studio pic of Captain America on the screen, which was my current image for Eli Younger. I accepted the call and stared at the Kid, who pretended to ignore me. “Eli. Yes, yes, yes.” I paused and thought and added, “Yes, and what do you think?”