Broken Soul

He could have had me right there, on the small couch in the small room. But Edmund was a gentleman. Either that or Leo’s proscription against any vamp seducing me made him refrain. I was betting on the latter, and couldn’t decide whether I should thank Leo or stake him when, much later, Edmund rose from the floor beside the couch and pulled a knitted afghan from somewhere and covered me with it.

“You are well.”

I swallowed and said, “Thanks, Ed. And thanks for not, um, you know.”

“I like my head where it is,” he said, confirming my guess. “But the moment you no longer work for my master, I will come to you. If you are willing, then I will give you all the pleasure that I am able.” He leaned in, close to my face. “And I am very, very able.”

“Oh,” I said, keeping my eyes closed like the fraidy-cat that I was. I waved a hand in what might have been agreement or might have been waving him away from me. “I’ll keep that in mind. And, ummm . . . thanks.” I dropped the hand over my face. “And, yeah. Thanks.” The door opened and closed behind him. I smelled Eli and I said, “If you say anything, even one single word, I’ll cut you and feed your lifeless body to the dogs.”

“We don’t have dogs.” That didn’t stop him from laughing, however, and somehow, the wordless laughter, low and mocking, was even worse than anything he might have said. Without looking at him, I gathered my torn clothes and the afghan and went to the ladies’ locker room, where I rinsed off Edmund’s healing-induced desire beneath a stream of cool water. And cursed the fact that New Orleans never had really cold water.

•   •   •

The meeting was held in the downstairs conference room, necessitating only a short walk through the corridors. I had put on a pair of slim pants, my thigh rig, and a short-sleeved, dark copper sweater I found in my locker, which looked pretty good against my lighter copper skin tone. Black slippers. With my slicked-back hair and red lipstick, I looked striking. Not beautiful—I’d never be beautiful—but striking I could do. Striking was easy for tall, slender women.

When I entered the room, the chatter, heard through the door, stopped instantly. I moved to my place, Eli to my left, this time, and looked around the room, searching faces. Leo, Gee, and Grégoire were all missing. My heart stuttered painfully. The rest of the gathered were seated and wore remarkable expressions: a third of them looked expectant; the others looked either furious or gloomy, or a combo of the two.

I pushed my rolling chair away and stayed standing, leaning forward to balance some of my weight on my balled fists, a little like Leo had stood not so long ago. My gold double chain swung forward, the gold nugget and the wired lion tooth focals catching the light as they swung. I looked at Wrassler. “Update on Leo, Gee, and Grégoire.”

Wrassler leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his muscle-bound midsection. His face took an expression I didn’t know how to read, and his body was too far away from me to read his pheromones. “You broke Grégoire’s neck.”

I didn’t blink. I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe. To my side, Eli still stood as well, and I could hear his breath tighten, but he didn’t move either.

“He’s never had his neck broken before,” Wrassler said, “and he’s unhappy.”

I still didn’t react.

“He’s also impressed. He says, and I translate his quote, ‘Our Jane fights well. She will not be killed in an Enforcer blood duel.’” Wrassler smiled, and now I could smell his satisfaction. “Word went out on Mithran social media that you brought down our best fighter. Now almost all the European Mithrans who had queued to fight you have backed down.”

A little zing of surprise shot through me. “Vamps wanted to fight me?” I asked.

“Ernestine was keeping a list of interested parties—blood-servants, and Mithrans—to be allowed to challenge you when the Europeans arrived. Ten of our own swordsmen wanted to test themselves against you in nonlethal matches. Five of our expected guests in Blood Challenge. Only the European Enforcers’ names remain on the list.”

“Rais—” I stopped in time. Raisin was my nickname for her, but might be interpreted as lacking in respect. “Ernestine was keeping a list of people who wanted to fight me?”

“Ernestine keeps all the lists,” Wrassler said. “And the pools.”

I shook my head in confusion. Beside me Eli asked, “So how many of you lost money when Janie kicked Grégoire’s butt just now?”

“About ninety percent of the people gathered here and about ninety-five percent of the city’s blood-servants and Mithrans.” There was a lot of satisfaction in Wrassler’s tone.

Eli said, “I’m guessing you were one of the few who were betting on Jane.”

Betting on me? Holy crap. These crazy people were betting on who would get hurt? A hot flush that had nothing to do with vamp healing went through me like a brush fire in a high wind. Trying to sound mild and not angry, I said, “How long before Grégoire’s spine is a hundred percent?”

Wrassler shrugged, evaluated my expression, and apparently found something there he hadn’t expected. He sat up in his chair and laced his fingers together on the large table. The springs in his chair squeaked. “Couple of days. Between them, Leo and Bethany can heal most anything. And if they can’t, then Katie can.”

I never thought much about Katie and healing. She had special blood since she’d been buried in a coffin full of mixed vamp blood. “Huh.” The sound was full of challenge. “And Leo? How long before he’s fully back to himself after the bite by the light-dragon thing? Just asking because he looked a little pale tonight.”

Wrassler, his tone now all business, sat straight and dropped his arms to the chair arms. The pheromones in the room changed too, all jocularity vanishing under the weight of my expression—whatever that was. “The priestess Sabina spent the last day with him,” Wrassler said. “He was pretty close to ninety percent until he fed Grégoire.”

“And Gee? He seemed fine on the gym floor beating my partner’s butt. Is the Mercy Blade the only one in a position of authority who’s up and at his best?”

“Gee’s fine,” Wrassler said shortly. Beside him, Derek sat straighter too, his face thoughtful. Across the table Adelaide Mooney shifted position as well.