Chapter Six #2
“Angie…” He blinked, tears he hadn’t experienced in ages stinging his eyes.
“I know. I’m in trouble. But we have more stuff to worry about. Your girlfriend sent a demon bomb to us. And you and Walter are going after her.”
“We’ll talk about this when I get back,” he said. “If the queen doesn’t come after you herself first.”
Angie breathed in slowly and touched the tiara.
Adjusted the rosemary twigs. She tucked her frostbitten hand against a healing amulet.
He didn’t like the signs of dead skin on the hand that had activated the amulet on the null staff.
There was something odd about it, but that too would have to wait.
He told her the plans he and Walter had made. Her eyes lit, her interest obvious.
“And you are not going,” he said. “You would be an impediment and a liability to us.” He said it in a provocative manner.
She opened her mouth to argue and then closed it, her lips tight.
When she didn’t disagree, she gave away the fact that, despite her seeming coherence and the tiara, she was still feeling the effects of the concussion.
Instead, she said, “I’ll spend the time doing research. Asshat has to be involved.”
“It would be the simplest answer,” he said, not actually agreeing.
“But?”
“Karson was my first thought, but too many things point to your ex. It’s too easy. And while he isn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier, he’s also too smart to leave a trail this wide.”
Angie’s expression said she wasn’t so sure, but again she didn’t argue. She just watched when he checked the doors leading to her private outdoor space.
Her apartment had an eight-foot-wide balcony that looked down on the entrance below, giving her a protected sitting and yoga area, one that was outside and open to the forces of nature from which she could draw power.
Angie used her balcony all year round, no matter the heat, ice, or storms, and he counted ten potted plants that stayed out there as well, all of them rootings from his mother’s ever-living rosemary plant.
His own balcony was above hers, though he seldom used his, except to pull energy from a good windstorm and to practice swinging from one floor to another via the building’s balconies.
Tonight looked and smelled like an ice storm to his air-witch senses. If he wasn’t working, he’d have sat on his own covered balcony and soaked up the storm’s wind energies, converting them to magic.
Thunderstorms were also Angie’s favorite weather pattern, which should have made her an air witch like him. She wasn’t. Angie was…Well, no one really knew what kind of witch Angie was. She could do a little of everything. That made her both scary and coveted.
Assured she was secure, EJ chucked her under the chin and let himself out, wondering what mischief she would get up to as soon as she felt well enough.
Walter had been busy while EJ talked to Angie.
According to the calls EJ had overheard, and to Ojos’s log, their bodyguard had spoken privately with multiple people.
EJ had been privy to the first two. The first was with the Everhart-Trueblood parents to inform and to soothe the maternal hysteria.
In the panic of the moment, Mama had received a glimpse of EJ’s naked butt on-screen. EJ had not been amused.
Then, alerted by Ojos, the queen herself had called and Walter had begged forgiveness for bringing an unknown device into the apartment and danger to the royal assets. EJ had deliberately listened in on that call but had wrapped a towel around his middle just in case.
Because of his failure, Walter offered himself up to be placed in a scion cage for as long as the queen desired or ruled.
Aunt Jane had made a sound like “Pfft,” and then added, “Handle this any way you see fit, Walter. You’re all alive. Send me updates.” She hadn’t used the royal “we.” That made all this personal to this point, so that was good.
Uncle Eli had conference called with the parental unit and Walter, and Ojos had provided EJ a summary of this call. After watching the footage several times, the witches had decided the amulet had been spelled to make someone—anyone—pick it up. No one blamed Walter except Walter himself.
For some strange reason, Walter had also talked with Koun, the queen’s personal guard, executioner, chief strategist, and a dozen other titles.
And he had talked with the queen’s Consort.
Then the queen again. And others with power and resources.
There were no transcripts or summaries on these calls, which frustrated EJ though he wasn’t surprised.
Though EJ hated all the calls Walter had made, he wouldn’t complain. Walter had a job to do. Communication with others in this multilayered situation was a necessity, not a family reunion, singing “Kumbaya.” EJ was realistic about family and royal resources.
When EJ was buzzed into Walter’s apartment, their bodyguard was talking to Grampa Shaddock, the Master of the City of Asheville.
According to the weird and overlapping vamp hierarchy, the queen was Walter’s political senior, and Gramps was Walter’s vamp senior.
So now everyone knew about the demon bomb. Blast it.
“You take care of my grandchildren. And, thank you, my friend,” Gramps said.
“I will, sir. You’re welcome, sir.” Walter ended the call.
Walter always called Shaddock sir, not master.
The former slave would never call anyone master.
Never again. Walter was sworn to Shaddock out of friendship and personal loyalty, but wasn’t a scion, and wouldn’t use slave language.
He’d walk into the sun first. That was dossier info EJ wasn’t supposed to have.
EJ perched on the edge of a chair in Walter’s kitchen, watching as their vamp protector knelt in front of the wall screen’s secure bench seat, opening it with a combination EJ wasn’t privy to.
The built-in steel safe inside was beneath a pile of vintage fashion magazines and had its own dedicated security system.
Every time Walter opened the bench and the safe, others were notified, because everything in the safe was tied to politics—Shaddock’s and Aunt Jane’s in both her personal capacity and as the queen.
The items in it were to be used only with authorization—and Walter had made all those calls…
Walter removed two official standards from the safe and closed it up, exactly the way it had looked before.
Two standards. Why? And which two? The queen’s? Clan Yellowrock’s? Grampa’s?
Tucking the standards into his jacket pockets without comment, Walter adjusted the fit of the weapon rig at his waist and the weapon at his spine and pulled on an ultra-lightweight jacket with layers of protective fabrics and null workings.
There was no warm wool layer in his jacket.
Unlike EJ, vampires didn’t feel the cold, but the layers would protect him from things other than weather and also protect the standards of royalty and politics.
Layers would also help him blend in, making him look human to the casual observer.
Walter frowned. Idly adjusting his clothes in the vamp-friendly mirror, he said, “I do wish someone would devise a null fabric that didn’t itch.
The first time I wore a null suit, the itching was novel and interesting.
That appreciation wore off quickly.” Some vamps could wear null clothing with no ill effects, but for Walter, it was different.
It damped his vampiric gifts some: his hearing, sense of smell, and though they had tested his night vision and proved it remained acute, Walter was convinced his vision decreased.
And the itch from null clothing was a unique and unpleasant sensation.
From a pocket in his jacket, Walter pulled two foldable headsets and a handful of ear-patches, placing all on the kitchen table. He shoved a headset and two patches to EJ.
Gingerly, EJ unfolded the AE headset and said, “Walter, my pal. Does Uncle Sam know you have these?” The high-tech Audio Equalization Pass Filter System headsets and ear-patches were far better than anything on the civilian market.
These had AI upgrades that let in specific hertz wavelengths, like voices, but automatically dampened explosive frequencies and concussive waves; could link to any nearby comms and listen in with auto translation capability; could override electronic shielding; had protective and nearly invisible eyepieces; could pull up an AI-assisted 3-D map; and were totally illegal for civilians to have.
EJ knew. He’d used older versions in the war.
If a cop inspected it and knew military electronics, it would be confiscated.
Walter slitted his eyes at EJ and gave a half smile. “Secrets, dear boy.”
They all had their secrets.
EJ said, “Ojos, sync file ‘Londyn: personal residence’ with our unicoms.”
Their system synchronized the floor plan and 3-D images he had taken of Londyn’s house on an overnight visit.
Images of the interior of her house appeared on the headset lenses.
If necessary, the view could expand to the yard and surrounding streets, making certain each of them would know where the other was, should they become separated.
Two dots appeared on the screen, blinking in waiting mode.
“I’m the red dot. You’re blue,” EJ said.
Changing the subject, Walter said, “This week’s code word is ‘aardvark,’ a word seldom used except on nature channels.”
“Fine.”
“Why did Angelina go to privacy mode?” Walter asked.
EJ sighed. “No reason that needs to be reported.”
Walter lifted his brows. It was that supercilious look older vamps were so good at, and it always set EJ’s teeth on edge. It reminded him of a certain general in the war, a human who thought witches were a waste of time, tech, ground support, and backup. He was dead now, demon-ridden and shot.
EJ glanced at the wall screen. There was a small yellow light on Walter’s electronics system, a numeral beside it.