Bruiser released a faint sigh. “We found the little room in the bowels of the church. We fought and I killed the werewolves watching my sister. We brought her to safety, but it was too late. At some point in the parley between vampire factions, my mother must have given up hope of survival. She imbibed a large amount of medical colloidal silver—with brandy, to hide the flavor of the vampire toxin. Before they realized what she had done, she had poisoned most of the blood-masters in the city.” Bruiser smiled, a cold, hard flex of lips with no humor in it.

“When they realized what she had done, they strapped her down to the table where they had come to speak peace, and set her afire. Alive. And when she screamed out the name of Iveries as her cohort, though he was not, they strapped him down with her. The fire spread, and the resultant conflagration burned more than a city block of Storyville’s best houses. It was the beginning of the end of the district set aside for legalized prostitution,” he said wryly, “and the end of the vampire war of the nineteen hundreds.”

I had sat through his recital, awful as it was, but I had no idea why he was telling me all this. So I said, “Um. I’m sorry. That’s awful—”

Bruiser held up a hand, stopping me, and said, “My mother’s sacrifice put an end to the violence. The heirs took over, reinstituting the Vampire Council, which the previous clan masters had disbanded. Now that Leo was clan master, he sent Gee DiMercy away for having earlier attempted to give the mercy stroke to his daughter. And the werewolves who were complicit in the war and guilty of the rape of my sister were punished in accordance with were-law. The remaining wolves were exiled.” He smiled sadly. “They swore vengeance on me and mine for the death of Henri Molyneux.”

Henri was Roul’s grandfather. Okay. Now it was starting to make sense. That was the problem with vamps. They lived centuries, and everything that happened today had roots in things that happened decades, centuries, or even millennia before. “Your sister. Was she bitten?”

“By the werewolf who raped her? Yes, but she survived, unturned. I never learned how.”

I thought about Gee’s comment that he had kept me from getting the werewolf “taint.” Had Gee helped Bruiser’s sister avoid the taint? “And the woman who helped you free her?”

“Magnolia Sweets.”

Leo’s prime blood-servant of the time. “And Leo and you killed Henri?”

“A small cadre of wolves had bitten a number of women, hoping to turn them so they might have mates. The penalty for attempting to turn a human is death, as stated by were-law, but there was no one to perform that justice in the United States. We carried out the penalty prescribed by were-law on the offenders, four wolves,” he said. “Henri, as alpha, was guilty by default.”

Which meant that on the surface the new MOC had punished the weres guilty of biting humans. But the reality of that justice was wrapped up in vengeance for the attack on Jacqueline. Gotcha. Vamp politics were often bloody.

“There were some deaths from wolf attacks in and around the city before Leo exiled the weres, and all the women they attempted to turn died. My sister lived into her mid-eighties, and died with her sons and daughters, grandchildren and great-grandchildren at her side.” Bruiser made a little tossing motion again, indicating an inconsequential addition. “A very few wolves remained, causing trouble, and refused to abandon their hunting territories until the next full moon, but they were handled.”

“So that’s why Leo is willing to open diplomatic discussions with the African weres and not the werewolves.”

“The most current reason. There are older ones.”

There always are. “And Gee?”

“Gee left. And Magnolia Sweets went with him. Her abandonment and betrayal was more than Leo could bear. He was truly inconsolable with her loss. He appointed me his first blood-servant, though I was only twelve at the time, untrained, and not suitable for Leo’s other needs.”

I interpreted “other needs” to be sexual in nature. “And now Gee and wolves both come home at a time when the vamps are in disarray following another war and coup attempt, and the appearance of were-kind on the world stage. The timing is significant.”

“Not a war,” he said. “Not a coup. A war goes on a long time, between recognized opponents. A coup d’état means a change of leadership, usually by violence, which didn’t happen. It was a ... corporate reorganization.” He seemed happy with the phrase, but most corporate reorganizations don’t leave a lot of heads lying around or blood splattered walls. “And with predators, timing is always significant.”

“And the hit Leo asked me to make?”

“You may rest assured that he will not ask such a thing of you again.” Bruiser met my gaze and gave a small smile. “There are others who will assist him in such endeavors.”

Others. He meant assassins. Was Bruiser talking about himself? Once, not long ago, he had suggested that he took care of that kind of problem for Leo.

“Let’s turn our attention to security concerns for the party,” Bruiser said.

There were always vamp parties. They lived for them. Well, parties, sex, and blood. And conspiracy. And power plays. “Fine. It’s what I get paid for.”

“The two were-cat envoys have been in the city for two weeks now, living in the Soniat Hotel, engaged in clandestine discussions with Leo and the Vampire Council.”

“Two weeks,” I said softly. The vamps knew Rick by sight; the were-cats would not. Rick was a handsome guy and would fit in anywhere undercover. Certainty settled in the pit of my stomach. It all fit.

“The worldwide announcement was well handled by the were-cats. It was a wise move, getting the Mithrans on their side, from the beginning. There will be parties on the same night at every major Mithran holding in the U.S., the most prestigious in New York City, to be attended by the New York Council of Mithrans and Raymond Micheika himself. Louisiana’s party will be the second largest in the nation,” Bruiser said, “the official meet and greet between the were-cat envoys and the Louisiana Mithrans, and will take place here, in our ballroom.”

“And the wolves?”

“Are not invited.” He hesitated. I swiveled my head to him, brows raised. “The wolves and the cats do not treat together. They are mutual enemies, just as in the wild.”

“Okeydokey. And what else. You never have just one bad thing to tell me.”

“The press will be present,” Bruiser said, letting a resigned breath out.

My pulse shot up. “The press?” I said. If nothing else proved to me that Leo was still crazy, this did.

Bruiser ignored my tone. “All of the networks will be outside and can be handled by NOPD, but we will have local cable inside. They have agreed to three cameras and camera-men, two reporters—one for color and one for interviews—one producer, and a makeup specialist. We have limited them to three grips, for a total of ten.”

“You are out of your mind,” I said. Bruiser raised his brows in that supercilious, infuriating manner he had to have learned from Leo. Or maybe from his Lady Mother. “If you let the press in here, and all hell breaks loose, Leo will be crucified. And you can’t tell me that weres and vamps are best buddies and so there’s no chance for problems.”

“Crucified?” Laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes.

“This is monumental stupidity. The press?” I hissed the word.

“The press. I suggest that you acclimate to the concept. Mithrans the world over are now using the press for information dissemination and propaganda. So are the weres. What is it you youngsters say?” he asked, his tone mildly mocking. “Oh, yes.” He snapped his fingers in a got it, manner. “Deal with it. Leo has decided to bring the press into his inner sanctum. And you are in charge of overseeing my efforts to keep him safe.”

I caught it. I understood. Bruiser had been in charge of Leo’s safety for over ninety years. Now Leo was asking me, the outsider, to look over his shoulder. A big bash, with the weres and the press and the potential for disaster, it would have been Bruiser’s chance to shine, and here I was, the new supernat du jour, looking over his shoulder. And then it hit me. If the were-poop did hit the fan, it would be my fault, not Bruiser’s. I was so freaking stupid. I should have figured all this out before now. I bet Bruiser himself had suggested I help out.

He swiveled his chair and indicated the papers on the table before us. “Security for the visiting envoy, his female assistant, and for the out-clan visitors who will be staying here at the council house during the negotiations.”

I had a lot of thinking to do but now was not the time. I took a slow breath to calm down, order my thoughts, and then took us to safer conversational ground. “Tell me about the envoys. What exactly is an assistant and what does she do?” An assistant would be the easier mark for an undercover operative. Ergo, the assistant was Rick’s target.

Bruiser shook his head. “I don’t know if she’s secretary, lover, spy, or slave. The African weres have seldom been to this continent and, according to Leo, the U.S. wolves operate differently from the were-cats. The big-cats have civilization. A well-refined society. Wolves have only pack.”

“Big-cat.” The word buzzed at the edges of my consciousness like a bee at a window. I caught myself, holding my reactions under firm control. “Are all weres predators?”

“So far as I know.”

“Hmmm. No were-bovines, were-gazelles, were-gerbils, or were-swans?”

Bruiser shook his head. I didn’t know what it might mean, but it had to mean something. After all, they were called the Cursed of Artemis, and that goddess had been a huntress herself.

CHAPTER 6

You Get to Dress Me

Two hours later, I yawned and looked at the time. It was two a.m. Thursday, and I hadn’t slept since Wednesday morning about this time. “Sorry. I’m not used to vamp hours yet.”

“I’d have thought the new boyfriend would be keeping you up late.”I leaned back in my chair. From anyone else those words might have sounded jealous. Bruiser’s voice, however, was mild, vaguely curious, faintly amused, as if he knew Rick and I hadn’t seen each other much lately. As if he knew Rick was undercover ... I squashed the desire to ask. “As per our discussion,” I stood, stretched, and headed for the door, “I’ll talk to my guys about providing security for the soiree. During the negotiations themselves, the safety measures in this conference room are sufficient. I want to see the sleeping quarters for the envoy and the assistant, the ballroom, the entrances and exits for the press, the greenroom, the kitchen, and anything else that grabs my fancy while we walk. Then I’m for home and sleep.”