“Nonononono.” Her head shook back and forth as fast as her denials.
“Did you know anyone was going to be attacked?”
“Nonononono.” Imogene put her hands behind her body. As if hiding them. Or as if proving that her hands were not involved in any plot.
Prey, Beast thought at me.
“Hmmm.” I thought of how to phrase my questions to allow no opportunity for lying by omission or phrasing. “Were you made aware of any plans to attack anyone, anywhere?”
“Nonononono.”
“Have you had any contact with Adrianna since you came to the HQ?”
“No. It’s not permitted.”
I sat up straight and gave her a little “tell me more” gesture.
“We’re here as part of security measures, part of proving loyalty to our master’s master. We don’t call home. We don’t talk with anyone during our stay and service here.”
I turned that over in my mind and checked to see how long the Arceneau servants had been in the council home. It was two weeks. So if an order or a hidden compulsion had gone out to kill me, it was a long-standing order, one put in place weeks ago. The timelines were not quite right. Compulsions didn’t usually last weeks without reinforcing.
I asked Imogene, “Did you have any sense or hint of anything wrong, or of anyone doing something against the Master of the City or his sworn servants?”
Her mouth turned down. “You mean like ESP or mind reading? Or body language or something? Or like they had been given a compulsion to kill you or something?”
“Yes. Anything.”
“No. But . . . Louise said she had a bad feeling about the new security guys.”
I looked at my list. Louise was two rooms down. And the two new security guys had to be the tattooed duo. I clicked on their personnel files. Hawk Head and Tattoo Dude had joined Clan Arceneau only two months ago, and according to their dossiers, they both had previous prison records, with assault, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to kill, B&E, home invasion, and attempted murder between them. So the one who said he had prison security experience had meant from the inside, a totally different interpretation from what I had wanted. The lie by itself wasn’t definite indication of current evil deeds, but it wasn’t a rousing endorsement of high-minded actions either. And not the type of blood-servants vamps usually wanted. Trained mercenaries, yeah. Street thugs, no.
“Okay. Imogene, I’ll have a meal sent in. I want you to relax. Thank you for sharing your worries with me.” Her mouth formed a small O of surprise as I stood and left the room, my muscle behind me. In the hallway, Edmund and Del both stared at me in surprise. “What? You thought I was going to hurt her?” I shook my head and led the way to Louise’s room, where I knocked and entered.
That went pretty much like the last interview, except when I asked the question “Louise, did you have any sense or hint of anything wrong, or of anyone doing something against the Master of the City or his sworn servants?”
Her head shook no, and then bobbed yes. “The new men had weapons.”
“They brought weapons into this building that they didn’t register?”
She nodded uncertainly. “I found them in the dirty laundry. I didn’t tell anyone.” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “I should have told someone?”“Yes. You should have. Will you show us where the weapons are now?”
She nodded and stood, and her sweat smelled of fear and chili spices, heavy on the garlic. She led the way out of the room where she had been held and up the stairs with a fast-tapping toe rhythm, and down a short hallway. She let us into a room with a passkey. The small room had six bunks in a place that usually held two and it was a disaster: clothes everywhere, boots, candy wrappers, drink cans, fast-food packages littering the table and scattered on the floor, chairs overturned, wet towels dropped everywhere, the bunks piled with clothes and electronics and porn magazines. “I cleaned it this morning,” Louise whispered.
“Yeah. I believe you.” And I did. The Arceneau security roommates were apes. They’d done everything but throw feces at the walls. Not Grégoire’s type at all. I had a feeling that all of them had been contracted since he left for Atlanta, and were sworn to Adrianna.
Louise went to the bathroom and scooted the laundry basket into the short entrance with her feet. She pulled back the few dirty clothes the guys had not tossed to the floor, to reveal three silvered blades and two small handguns—.22 semiautomatics. I knelt and tossed the dirty clothes out of the basket, sniffed the weapons. The blades were all coated with the same faint stench. I took the basket and handed it to Adelaide. “This hardware needs testing. Overnight it to Leo’s private lab in Houston. I want independent confirmation if something is on the blades. And check the rounds. See if something is on them too. Just in case.”
She nodded and took the basket, and I said, “Let’s go visit the bad guys. Ed, here’s where you get to be scary.”
“With pleasure,” he said, and his fangs slowly, so slowly, snicked down. They were a little over two inches long and bone white. His eyes bled scarlet and his pupils widened until they were black discs in bloody orbs. His mouth and jaw seemed to unhinge, growing longer and wider. Only the really old ones could show such control while vamping out.
Louise backed slowly away, her fear almost palpable in the room. Ed turned to her and hissed. I thought she would pass out, and Wrassler took her shoulder in his meaty hand. “It’s okay,” he said. But his voice didn’t sound quite as confident about that as I might have wished.
“Yeah. That outta do it,” I said to Ed.
Del handed off the basket of weapons to Wrassler. “See that these get to my desk, and relock my office door,” she said. “And take Louise back to Imogene’s interrogation room and lock them in for their own safety. Get them some food and drinks.”
“I’ll see it gets done, ma’am,” he said, which I thought was awfully subservient of the big guy. And awfully polite. Del did cast an “I’m in charge. Don’t mess with me” vibe, and she did it without weapons and without looking threatening.
A moment later we stood in front of Tattooed Dude’s room. The two most likely suspects had been placed in real interrogation rooms—minimal uncomfortable furniture, no way to turn off the lights. I opened the door slowly and stepped silently into the room. With the grace of a hunting predator, Ed moved in as well, staying to my left. I drew my vamp-killer and let Beast shine into my eyes.
Tattooed Dude was standing with his back against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest, and a great poker face in place. Or maybe with him it was a Russian roulette face. He had arranged the two chairs to either side and the heavy metal and wood table at a slight angle, perfect for bringing into a fight or using as defensive props. Without a single suggestion on my part, Edmund raced in front of me and tossed the furniture behind us. He moved so fast the three pieces landed with a single crash. Tattooed Dude flinched, dropping his arms to his sides and fisting his hands. And I grinned, showing blunt human teeth, feeling Beast in the front of my mind.
With this guy, I didn’t waste words, just pulled a throwing knife and let the overhead lights glint off it. When I spoke it came out in a lower-register Beast-growl. “Who ordered you and your pal to attack me?”
Tattooed Dude snarled at me. I flicked the knife. I’d been aiming at TD’s hand, but caught him higher up, the blade entering between the two bones of his lower arm and sticking into the wall at his back. He squealed like a stuck pig and Edmund was on him.
The squeal stopped, choked off. Edmund plucked the knife away and rode TD to the floor, perching atop the big guy’s chest like a small raptor on the chest of a larger, fallen prey. Edmund drank once long and deeply, from the cut arm, his hand making a rotating “get on with it” motion to me.
“Who ordered you and your pal to attack?”
Edmund gave me the sign again, which I figured meant he had the answer. Dang, the guy was fast. Below him, Tattooed Dude relaxed as he gave in to the feeding and the compulsion of a master vamp. Edmund might no longer be a clan master, but he’d lost none of his skills.
“Were you supposed to kill or just injure?” At the hand signal again, I sped up my questions. “What was on the blade? Poison? What herbs? Where did the concoction come from? Was a witch involved? Did Grégoire know about the attack?” Ed shot me a glance of ire but didn’t break contact with the prisoner. “Did Dominique know? Did Adrianna know? Did anyone in Clan Arceneau know about the attack? Did anyone at this compound know? Are there any more attacks planned against the Master of the City? Are there other attacks planned against me or those I claim as mine?”
Edmund’s eyes shot to me and he withdrew his fangs. He lifted the hand still holding the knife and checked his watch. “Get to your home, Enforcer. They are there now.”
I said something crude, grabbed the knife that was covered with my attacker’s blood, and raced out the door. Wrassler, back from running errands for Del, was on my heels, and for a big guy, he managed to nearly keep up with me, talking through his headset mic as we ran. “Secure the premises,” he said into the mic. “Lock down!” But when I reached the front door I slammed the bloody knife tip into the table that held the trays for weapons and cursed again. “I don’t have a car or my bike.”
“I’ll drive,” Wrassler said, pushing ahead of me and out the door. We dove into an armored SUV, the powerful engine turning over. The roadway in front of HQ was wreathed in mist, the fog rising from the Mississippi and enfolding the entire French Quarter. Streetlights were halos of yellow, the mist capturing the light and keeping it close. Spell or natural, it made no difference. It would make fighting harder.
Wrassler drove like a maniac and we were at my place before my heart rate could settle. He braked about a hundred feet out. The street was silent, no radios played, no music or TV came through windows, no people wandered the pavement, drunk or homeless or bored. “This don’t look right,” he said.