I had to call Leo anyway. My retainer had run out, and I needed to make sure the vamps had received my resignation papers and clarify that I was done working for and with the vamps of New Orleans. The last job in Asheville had done a number on me in lots of emotional ways, and I’d had enough. My retainer had run out two weeks past, and I had mailed back all the electronic devices that tied me to the MOC of New Orleans. In the packet, I had included a letter of resignation as well as an “intent to vacate” the premises to my landlady.
I had hit the road, sightseeing in the Deep, Deep South in preparation for heading back to Asheville. My belongings were packed in boxes back in my freebie house, ready to be shipped out. It was past time to make sure the chief fanghead understood that I was really going away. Getting him to man up and take over this vamp problem left by his power-crazy uncle back when he was the man in charge and Leo was only his heir would be a suitable and satisfying going-away present. I had been putting off this phone call for days.
“So?” Lucky said. “You gone call?”
“How old is your daughter?” I asked.
“Twenty-two. Firs’ college graduate in our family ever, she is.” His lips twisted into a lopsided smile, one with tears close to the surface. “Her my baby.”
“Name?”
“Shauna Landry.” The tears gathered. Crap. I hate it when people cry. “Black hair like mine, blue eyes from her mama. Beautiful from de day she born.”
I opened the cell and dialed Leo’s number at the Clan Home. The call was answered by an unknown voice, likely an upper-level blood-servant I hadn’t met, and I said, “Jane Yellowrock for Leo or Bru—George Dumas.”
“One moment, please. I’ll see if Mr. Dumas is available.”
I figured I’d sit on hold forever, but the line was picked up in less than five seconds. “Jane.”
I couldn’t help the way my heart lightened at the sound of my name in his voice. “Hiya, Bruiser.”
“Where are you?”
“Little place called Bayou Oiseau. It’s in—”
“I know where it is. Are you . . . well?”
“I’m just ducky. Except that I landed in the middle of a war between witches and vamps. One left in full swing by Amaury Pellissier back in the eighteen hundreds, and Leo needs to deal with it. Oh. And I may be a prisoner of the witches. I’m not sure.”
Lucky chuckled softly at that, his power once again flowing through the air and up my arms and legs like either a promise or a threat. Okay. Prisoner. Gotcha.
Bruiser was silent for a moment, probably processing all that I’d said, and still he surprised me with his reply. “How can you not be certain whether you are a prisoner?”
“I’m not in a jail, I’m not handcuffed or chained to a radiator, and so far I’ve been only lightly beaten.”
Lucky shrugged as if to say, Some things are out of my control.
“Lightly beaten.” Bruiser’s voice was low and cold, and I remembered that he grew up in a time when men didn’t hit women. Not for anything. Bruiser had strong protective instincts, and his tone promised retribution to whoever had hurt me. Bruiser was also the primo blood-servant to the MOC, and he had power of his own.
“Yeah, but I’m fine. Ducky, remember?” Before he could reply, I quickly recapped the history of Bayou Oiseau, told him about the daughter being held by the vamps.
Bruiser listened silently, but at some point I heard a click and figured I’d been put on speakerphone, which meant Leo was listening. When I reached the end of my soliloquy, I said, “Hey, Leo. I just can’t get away from you, can I?”
“No, my Enforcer. You cannot,” Leo said.
Ooookay. I didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“I remember this town and its people; they wanted only to fight. They refused our counsel and when more important political matters required our presence, we left.” Leo paused and I could almost hear him thinking. Patience isn’t my strong suit, and it was misery to wait, but I managed it. Go, me.
“As my Enforcer, you have my authority,” Leo said.
I nearly cussed. That Enforcer thing had been nothing but problems, and it was all my own fault. Dang it. Me and my big mouth. I wished I had never heard the term. “I don’t work for you, Leo.”
The silence over the phone was electric, and I heard Leo take a breath that hissed. He said, “Consider it a new contract, a short-term extension of the services you provided under the retainer you have resigned.”