“You must not lose focus,” Soul said. “When fighting, you must remain rooted to the Earth, your center of gravity aligned with the Earth’s. You must fight with the concentration of meditation.”
“Zen,” Eli said. “The Zen of warfare. The knowledge that battle is taking place around you. That you are in the middle of it. But without leaving the inviolability of your own concentration.” Eli read books on war and fighting. Strategy and tactics. The mind-set of the warrior.
“You think that’ll work?”
“I’ve known a few guys in my life who could do that. They’re all dead.”
“Did they live a long life and die happy, surrounded by friends and family?” I asked.
“Sure.”
A lie. Lots of lies floating in the air. “Thank you for coming,” I said to Soul and Gee. “I appreciate the effort, the time, and the wisdom you shared with me.” And that was pure Tsalagi. Way better than the housemothers’ prattle.
They said their good-byes and left, Edmund letting them into the night and shutting the door.
“Let’s spar,” Eli said. “You can practice meditating and I’ll practice hurting you.”
“That sounds like a good idea, except that I’m so full of tea I’d slosh.” But I was thinking that I didn’t have time to learn a whole new way to fight in time for the bloody battles.
“Go pee and meet me in the workout room. And this time you’ll know I don’t mean to hurt you. You’ll keep that uppermost in your mind. You have to be able to control this before the firefight.” He meant the Sangre Duello. Eli got up and left, his feet silent on the stairs.
Edmund came to the table. He stood beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder.
“The Sangre Duello will soon be over. For good or ill, all our lives will change. And you can rest. Take a . . . What is the American word? Retreat? A strategic withdrawal? You can ride Bitsa into your mountains and heal.”
“That’s a good idea.” I had taken a break once, when Bitsa was being built. I’d nearly been beheaded and was so close to death that it took a long time to get well. I’d hunted and slept and eaten a lot of game. Shifted as often as I needed to continue healing.
“You haven’t ridden Bitsa since you came back with her,” Edmund said. “Why?”
“Bitsa is for freedom,” I said before I thought. “I’m tied here, until the Sangre Duello is done. It’s the only way I can protect the people I love.”
“Your little witches. Your godchildren. Children who would be killed or taken and turned by Titus Flavius Vespasianus, Emperor of the Mithrans and renowned hater of homosexuals, Jews, people of color, and witches.”
“Well. That’s great to know. Yeah. So, thank you for that insight. A retreat is a great idea. After I spill some blood and kill some people. But for now, I’ll go spar with Eli and find my center. My Zen moment.” If I sounded a little sarcastic, really, who could blame me?
* * *
• • •
At midnight I was standing under an icy shower, trying to let the cold water beat the bruises out of my muscles. Fighting while in Zen meditation was painful. Not letting time slip wasn’t as hard as I expected, but it did require total concentration, concentration that left instinctive fighting moves all to muscle memory and Beast. In some ways that was better than my usual sparring methods; in other ways it was not up to my usual speed and skill level. I had jammed knuckles and purple bruises along my rib cage. My knee was wobbly. I needed to shift to Beast and heal, but there wasn’t time. Time. Ha-ha. If I got the chance to shift I’d take it, but it didn’t look likely. Meantime it was Gatorade, hot tea, ice packs, and the cold water of a bruise-fighting shower.
I heard banging on my door, and knew the boys wouldn’t bother me unless it was an emergency. I threw on a robe and opened it to see the Kid standing there. He said, “We got a problem. The Stephens family at the B&B? The one Des Citrons drank down? They were the blood-servants of Laurie Caruso.”
I frowned at him, trying to put that together with logic and sense.
“The clan didn’t end up there by accident or just because they owned some lemon trees,” he said. “I’m betting they were looking for the bottle of blood the Carusos left behind.”
“The bottle Leo’s had for long enough to get it reverse engineered,” I breathed. “How many other blood-servants did the Carusos leave?”
“One family in Marigny, the Chiswells, husband and wife and two kids. House is near the corner of Frenchmen Street and Dauphine. I’ve sent the GPS to our cells.”
I pushed the door closed and dressed fast in my red leathers, with enough weapons to fight off a platoon of vamps. I opened my door to see Eli racing down the stairs. Followed him into the street and into the SUV. He handed me a comms set and I put it on, fastening my silver-plated titanium gorget around my neck. “Intel on the place? Backup?”
“Nothing.” He roared the vehicle the wrong way down the street. “The Tequila boys are off doing Leo’s initial security work. No answer on Ayatas’s or Rick’s cell. We could twiddle our thumbs and wait.”
“No.”
“Then we’re on our own.”
I sent a text and got an immediate reply. “No, we aren’t. We have Jodi from NOPD, and SWAT.”
“Hooahh.”
It had been a while since Eli had used the old Army term, meaning, “Good,” and “Let’s do this,” and a dozen other things. I figured it was a good omen.
* * *
• • •
Eli slowed and I took video of the place. The Chiswells’ home was a brick Creole town house with arched windows at ground level, rectangular windows on the second floor, and arched windows on the third. Nonfunctional shutters were painted a deep emerald green and the front door was painted a paler shade of the same color. Iron balconies were on both upper floors and an iron gate enclosed the front porch. The roof was steeply pitched, with side gables and multiple dormers. Lots of plants were out front and on every balcony. A wall surrounded a tropical garden in back, though I didn’t smell lemons. I did smell blood, not much, but fresh.
My cell rang. I accepted the call. “Jodi.”
“You sure about this?”
“I smell blood. We don’t have time to negotiate. We need to do this now.”
“What do you mean you smell—Oh. Right,” she grumbled. “ETA is four. Smell’s not enough to be considered exigent circumstances or threat to public safety. Pull down Dauphine, park, and stay put. We’re waiting on a paper.” She meant a warrant to enter the house. And that might take a long time.
“Right.” I ended the call.
Eli pulled over into a parking spot and we got out. “Four minutes is enough time for a recon. Your nose and my infrared and low-light and we’ll know where everyone is,” he said.
I pulled on Beast’s night vision and the world turned silver-gray tinted with greens and charcoal. “Windows are closed, drapes closed. Let’s do a walk-by. Let me see if I can pinpoint the blood.” Immediately I wrapped one arm around Eli’s waist, as if we were out for a stroll.
Eli tapped his mic as we came abreast of the front door. “Cameras on front porch.”
“I’m in the system,” Alex said. “They came in the front. Fast and violent. Four vamps and three humans. System went offline, but again they didn’t wipe the history.”
“The blood I smell is at the front of the house,” I said as we rounded the corner and slipped down the narrow ease-way between the Chiswells’ and the house next door. From above us, I heard a scream, full of terror. A child’s voice. I remembered the bodies at the bed-and-breakfast. I stopped. Eli stopped, his eyes scanning everywhere. The scream came again, terrified. In pain. “Third floor,” I said, following the sound up. “Back of the house.”
“Over the fence in back.”
“Copy that,” I said, and tapped my mic. “Call Jodi. Tell her we have vamps in the house and children in distress on the third floor. We’re considering that exigent circumstances. Going over the wall and in at the back. Tell her to hit the house at the front, ASAP.”