Dark Heir

Leo leaned back in his desk chair. He was wearing what I had come to identify as probably sleeping clothes, stretchy yoga-type pants and shirt. His feet were encased in soft slippers, a match to the ones that were always in my locker downstairs. “You are aware that I need not provide you with information,” Leo said, his tone equally without inflection, “and that their satiation has no bearing on your current hunt, Jane Yellowrock who is no longer my Enforcer.” I nodded, a slow incline of my head. “They will be tutored in reading, writing, and arithmetic. Computer skills. Daily living skills, such as banking, how to drive an automobile, and how to order food at a restaurant. How to get on with the populace around them. Applications are ongoing for birth certificates and social security cards for those born and raised in slavery. We are searching out relatives for those kidnapped and brought to the Americas, as is the case with the young man who just left. Compassionate therapy and counseling are being provided for those abused. Assistance in finding a new life and a stipend for those who wish to leave our service. Lessons in how to assimilate into a proper Mithran clan are available for those who wish to stay in our service.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils fluttered as he scented my surprise. “Lest you think I am too lenient, far less compassionate therapy, and a great deal more physical rehabilitation, is being provided for those humans who assisted the Naturaleza of Atlanta in the abuse of their fellow humans. Those involved in the cruelty of the slave pens, and judged irredeemable, will not be allowed to leave our employ, though they will not be harmed. What would you have me do differently, Jane Yellowrock? I would not abandon the victims of my enemy.”

Dang. Every time I wanted to hate Leo, he did something that made me like him. My exhaustion seemed to compress my chest, robbing me of air, but I wasn’t about to sit on the gold velvet chaise. Reading me, Eli pushed over a low, rolling stool with his boot. I sat, and my hair swished forward, the tips settling on the floor. Leo’s eyes followed its movement, and I knew he wanted to touch my hair. His fingers curled under, a strangely human gesture of resistance to an internal desire.

I propped an elbow on the desk and my chin on my fist. “I need to update you. And I need to ask some questions that are gonna tick you off. So before I do that, I need your info.”

Leo smiled, the utterly beautiful, totally human smile that had been his as a human, before he had been turned. “You are going to prick my temper.”

“Yup,” I said, smiling back.

“No one else in all my long life has provided me such perpetual and unrelieved entertainment.”

“I try.”

Leo laughed, his black eyes sparkling, his black hair moving with the laughter and curling around his chin, down onto his shoulders. He hadn’t trimmed it in a while. I liked the extra length. “Proceed with your update.”

I told him about the debacle with the witches and the Son of Darkness, leaving out the part about Molly and the blood diamond. I told him about the scene and the altercation between Derek and Juwan and Eli and me at the Mearkanis Clan Home, and about the fight and the human deaths at Rousseau Clan Home. It was clear he had heard it all before, but not from my perspective, with my insights. I told him about Brute, the werewolf, at the pool. And lastly, I told him about the deaths of the city’s homeless. When I mentioned the young teenager, Leo’s face went stone-still. If it was possible for a vamp to grow even more lifeless without being true-dead, Leo did that. Then he took a short breath, just enough to speak. “This . . . is unacceptable. I will contact the mayor and order the leasing of a building for the homeless. They can be rounded up and sent there for the duration of this crisis.”

Leo punched a button and gave a series of precise orders to Del. They included transportation, food, portable showers and toilets, cots, furniture, and security for as many people as the city could find. It was things like this that made it hard to hate Leo for the evil, blood-drinking bastard he was, and I had to remind myself that he was the root cause of this problem, and the buck did indeed stop with him.

While he was talking, a servant entered and brought in a tea tray, with a porcelain pot and tea cozy, and three cups. Eli made a minuscule face but accepted a cup, no sugar, no cream. Leo’s preference was likewise. I added extra sugar and double cream and drained my first cup before the servant finished serving us, and started on my second.

When he was finished with his orders, Leo lifted his cup to me in a gesture that said I should continue. I said, “I have reason to believe that Dominique is working with the Son of Darkness.”

Leo’s eyes bored into mine, his pupils widening, the sclera going slowly scarlet. “This is not possible.”

I felt more than saw Eli put down his cup and place both hands on vamp-killers at his thighs. I said, “Dominique hasn’t been at Arceneau Clan Home since this started. I caught her scent at the old Mearkanis Clan Home, in the same bed as Adrianna. And in the old Rousseau Clan Home. In the same room as Santana.”

Leo put down his cup. The china tink of cup to plate was sharp and loud in the suddenly tense room. “This is . . . Grégoire will . . . Il sera dévasté.”

I caught the devastated part.

“But . . . this explains much that happened the morning the Son of Darkness escaped,” Leo said, staring at his hands curled around the cup. “At the request of your young business partner, Derek has been watching all of the security footage. Dominique was here, on premises, and we have not been able to discover a reason for her presence.”

My mouth started to form words and then stopped. I didn’t know what to say.

“One of my men found a cloak in the ballroom. It was spattered with the blood of the Son of Darkness and of humans. It smelled of Dominique. I had feared she had been taken prisoner, but”—his mouth pulled down, forming harsh lines from his nose to his chin, making him look far older than he usually did, and far more human—“but with your information, it seems not. I shall inform Grégoire that his heir is excommunicated. Expelled from clan and blood. She will be killed on sight as traitor to us.” He looked up from his hands, his eyes bleak. “I will place a bounty upon the heir of Grégoire’s clan.”

“I’m . . . sorry. I really am.”

At my words, Leo blinked and his vamped-out eyes returned to human. “Thank you,” he said, solemnly. “I have news as well.” Watching my face with care, Leo said, “The European vampires have cut off negotiations for their visit.” I couldn’t help my quick intake of breath, and Leo gave me one of his kingly nods. “I fear that Shimon Bar-Judas, the other Son of Darkness, is likely to come to help his brother, now that Joses—Joseph Santana—is free.”