Faith Hunter - Blood Trade

“You’re smiling,” Eli said.

“So?”

“You’ve been a bitch for a month,” the Kid said.

Eli slapped him up the back of the head, not hard and not as a sign of disagreement, but for the B word. Not allowed in my house. I stuffed a crisp piece of bacon in on top of my chuckle. It was maple bacon with lots of black pepper, just the way I liked it. “We may have a gig,” I said through the food. “In Natchez, bringing in some Naturaleza vamps left over from de Allyon’s brief visit.” There were two kinds of vamps: Fame Vexatum vamps, or Mithrans, the kind who made the news, looking sleek and refined and beautiful, and the Naturaleza, the kind who treated humans like food to be hunted and killed. Lucas Vazquez de Allyon, also known as Death’s Rival, was the latter kind. Naturaleza were faster and meaner and harder to kill, hence more money per head.

Eli’s expression didn’t change—the former military man’s expression didn’t change much at any time—but his scent smelled relieved. And the Kid blew out a satisfied breath. Their relief let me know how bad I’d been. I set down my fork, poured more tea, added sugar, and sipped. Eli leaned back in his chair, his T-shirt molded to the body of a soldier who believed in keeping fit—very, very fit—and exposed part of the newish scar that trailed down from jaw to chest. The scar was a lumpy mass over Eli’s collarbone and his almond-mocha skin still pulled on it in odd ways when he moved.

Eli looked relaxed, but he watched me with an intensity that Beast wouldn’t have liked, had she been awake. The Kid—my electronics specialist—with his shaggy, ungroomed hair and his body in the middle of a gangly growth spurt, looked back and forth between us with an eagerness I didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry,” I said into the silence. “I have been grouchy. I let . . . stuff”—I shrugged at the vague word, because they didn’t know about the binding and I wasn’t going to tell them—“get me down. I just realized that today. And while I still have to deal with that stuff , I’m better. A change of scenery will do me good.”

Getting away from Leo Pellissier’s binding would do me even better. Maybe when I got back from Natchez, my Beast and I could find a way to free Beast from the clutches of the MOC. Or maybe I’d just behead the fanghead and be done with it.

I chuckled softly at the thought and waved away the curiosity on the faces of the two guys. “Never mind. We should hear something this morning, but go ahead and pick up anything you need for your arsenal,” I said to Eli, my tone wry. Eli believed that one never had enough guns. To the Kid, I added, “Generate a list of electronic gear we might need. Start with throwaway phones and some com units that can’t be listened in on. Unlike most of the Deep South, Natchez has some underground areas, and since we’ll likely be tracking down vamp lairs and taking them down by daylight, we’ll need equipment that will either penetrate belowground or allow us a work-around.”

The two guys shared a look while I chewed on another piece of bacon. It was one of those guy looks that seems to suggest the little lady needs protecting or maybe is on the stupid side. “What?” I said, irritated.

“Natchez might be a problem,” Eli said. “It’s out of state.”

I stopped chewing. “Well, crap.” I hadn’t thought about that. The Kid was a convicted felon, on probation, and though we had gotten permission once to take him across state lines, the resulting shoot-outs had not gone unnoticed. Things would likely be harder now. Before the Younger brothers came to work for me, Alex had hacked into the Pentagon, looking for his brother’s war records, hunting for clues about the origin of the scar and the reason for Eli’s early military retirement. And had gotten caught. Now Big Brother wanted to keep an eye on him. “Even if it’s for legitimate work?” I asked.

“I know a judge,” Eli said, grudgingly. “I’ll see if I can get some help with the parole board in allowing him over the state line into Mississippi.”

“Yeah. Okay.” I sopped up the grease on my plate with a piece of bread and realized the guys were still looking at me. “What else?”

“Nothing,” the Kid said, applying himself to his eggs.

“It’s just good to have you back,” Eli said blandly.

And then I got it. I swallowed, drank some tea, poured some more, and said carefully, “You guys were planning on leaving.” I felt Beast wake up and listen in, ear tabs twitching.

The Kid blushed and concentrated on his plate. “We talked about it,” Eli said easily. “We need a job. We figured we could pick up something farther north, but still in state. I have a few contacts.”

I stuffed in another bite of egg and pushed in a triangle-shaped piece of toast after it, but watched them as I chewed. When I finished my plate of food I set my fork to the side and blotted my lips on the paper napkin. I was still wearing the shoulder holster, the Walther, and the vamp-killer. Unstrapping the blade, I lay it on the table, removed the Walther’s rig, set it beside the knife, and leaned back in my chair, mimicking Eli’s posture.

I took a slow breath and let a hint of Beast into my gaze. I said, “Were you thinking about leaving because I’ve been difficult and moody or were you thinking about taking my business away?” I’d made it an either-or half question, half accusation, but there were more things to consider. “Or maybe you have a thing against skinwalkers.”

The Kid’s eyes went wide because I hadn’t spoken aloud about my most recent revelation when I shifted in front of nearly every person I knew in New Orleans, giving away my secret in a very public way. I had, in fact, refused to speak about that incident at all, and Eli and the Kid were still curious about it. Insanely curious.

“Or maybe,” I went on, before either could respond, “Rick LaFleur offered you a gig that he would ordinarily have offered to me, but he’s ticked off with me—okay, for good reasons—and is looking for ways to shut me out of his life. So he offered it to you instead.”

Eli’s eyes shifted away just a hair and back. The Kid’s mouth dropped open and stayed there. Bingo. Dang it. “Rick,” I said. There was a complete lack of emotion in my voice, but I might as well have cursed from the way the Kid flinched. Rick worked for PsyLED now, Homeland Security’s Psychometry Law Enforcement Division, investigating supernatural crimes. He was my ex and I wasn’t happy about the way we’d ended things—with me accusing him of attempted murder. Of me. Relationships aren’t my strong suit.

I kept the pain off my face by some small miracle and pushed away from the table, standing, towering over them. I felt more than saw Eli tense and ready himself for movement, violent, physical movement. Alex watched us both, eyes darting back and forth. Neither brother moved overtly. Neither said anything. But Eli’s pheromones changed, smelling and tasting bitter and full of adrenaline, a taste like pine tar and burned bread.

My index finger started tapping on the edge of my plate with a steady tink . Eli’s lips came together in a slight purse and his stink lessened. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if he were holding in something. I wondered if he knew how much he was giving away. And I wondered how much I was giving away. I curled my fingers under, and the silence that settled between us was charged and prickly. I realized that I didn’t want them to leave—I actually liked having them here, in my house, in my life, which was a huge, unexpected shock—but no way was I going to say any of that. Not if they were going to leave.

I sighed and gathered my gear. “You want to work for him, fine.” I left the kitchen for my bedroom, my boots clomping on the hardwood floors.