I pointed to the wreath on my head. “It’s what we goddesses do. We fix stuff.”
“True,” Eli said, his face amused. “Do you want or need to go back and accept kudos from the citizens council of BO?”
“No freaking way.” I scowled at him. “But I need to go back for my stuff and get the guys.”
“Already taken care of.”
“Swwweeeet.” I boxed up a mixed six-pack of cold beer and stuck it under my left arm. Picked up the M4, which had somehow ended up on the floor with the wreath, which had somehow found a way from my head to the floor. I nearly fell when I stood.
“Am I going to have to carry you to the SUV?” Eli asked.
“I don’t know. Things are kinda whirly right now. How far do we have to walk?”
“I texted Alex and your vampire babysitter earlier. There’s an SUV idling out front. It’s most likely them.”
“And if it isn’t them?”
“We’ll shoot our way out.”
I grinned at him, showing my blunt human incisors and elongated big-cat canines.
Eli said, “Edmund. He’s pretty good with a sword.”
“Yeah. I saw. Maybe better than Grégoire.” I placed the crown back on my head and adjusted my grip on the shotgun. Steadied myself on the table’s edge.
Eli was watching, not helping, which was good. He said, “Ed’s too good to have lost a Blood Challenge for clan blood-master. Too good to be wanting to be an Enforcer’s primo. Something’s up his sleeve. You got any idea what?”
“Plans and schemes and tactics and strategies all layered up with some hubris into a nice, neat plot to take over the world? Or at least the vampire world.”
“Think we can shoot our way out of that one?”
I tried to take a step and the world whirled slowly. “Pretty sure we can do anything, partner.” I put a hand on his shoulder to catch my balance. “Let’s go home before the delegation from Rome gets here and stirs the pot.”
“And where are you gonna hide the wreath until we figure who it belongs to?”
I already knew who it probably belonged to—the Birdman of New Orleans, or one of his kind. But I wasn’t ready to hand it over. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “Looks like I’ll be renting another safe-deposit box. A big one this time. And we’ll need to wrap the interior with lead.”
“You’re getting quite a collection of magical trinkets.”
I grunted. I knew that. And I didn’t like it one bit.
“We’ll need to come back and gather up the principals for a parley with the NOLA fangheads and witches,” Eli said.
“You think you can get the helo? I could go for a kidnapping and forced negotiations at knifepoint if we could do it fast.”
Eli nodded. “I can make that happen. Are you going to shift back into human anytime soon? Or are you too drunk?”
“I am not drunk,” I said. “Not exactly. But I don’t think I can shift back anytime soon. And I probably shouldn’t let the witches see me like this.” I pointed to my face and body in a little twirling motion.
Eli’s mouth resisted a smile. “You think they’ll try to take you prisoner?”
“Witches can try,” Beast said through my mouth.
Eli led the way to the door. “We’ll get out of here before anyone knows what’s what. The lead foil came in last week. We can line your bank boxes anytime you want.”
I nodded. “Let’s go home.”
Bound No More
Author’s note: This short story takes place (in the JY timeline) after Dark Heir.
“Your goddaughter is driving me out of my blessed mind,” Molly said, sounding frustrated and more Southern that she usually did.
Funny how the seven-year-old became my goddaughter when she was being difficult. I grinned into the cell, knowing Molly wouldn’t know I was laughing at her. With her. Whatever. My voice solemn, I asked, “What am I supposed to do about it? If I’m reading the time right, you’re still laying over in Atlanta, which makes me still about six hundred miles away. “
“Talk to her. She fell asleep on the first leg of the flight and— Stop it, Angelina Everhart Trueblood, or I’ll turn around and take you back home.” Into the phone, she said, “What I want is for you to tell her it was a bad dream and nothing is wrong.”
Something in my chest squeezed tight for a moment. “Dream?”
“Son of a witch on a switch,” Molly cursed in witch vernacular.
“Aunt Jane, you there?” It was Angie Baby, aka Angelina, my oldest godchild and the love of my heart. The stress in my chest eased away and the smile was real this time. Angie didn’t sound distressed or afraid, she sounded angry.