I caught a familiar scent. I stopped, one hand raised to do . . . something. I turned, following the scent with my nose. An odor that I had last smelled when I was dying on the floor of the sparring room/gym. Here. At vamp central. I pivoted slowly and followed the scent. It led back into vamp HQ, from inside. I held up a finger, telling Bruiser to close up the limos and wait. I pulled a nine-mil and a vamp-killer and strode through the phalanx of confused security personnel, into the chambers. I got a glimpse of a female in the gray uniform of housekeeping. She tucked her head and ran for the elevator.

Beast shoved her speed into me. I raced across the small space and inserted a hand into the crack as the door tried to close. The woman backed into the corner of the small trap and curled into herself. Her arms crossed her body and she slowly sank to the floor. Beast and I analyzed her together. She was pretty, in a blond, blue-eyed, victim-prey kind of way. I had seen her in the gym footage, mopping my blood off the floor of the gym when Gee stabbed me. I had my traitor, the person who had given enemies my blood or hair or tissues to use in spells against me. And it wasn’t the outclan priestess who had bitten me when I first arrived here. It was a human.

“Why?” I asked, seeing my eyes glowing bright yellow in the metal of the trap.

She risked a look up at me and then back down. She shook her head. “I was stupid.”

And I couldn’t disagree. She was dumb enough to bring her scent where she knew I’d be. She should have run. “Stupid how?” I asked.

“In every way a girl can be.”

Which sounded as though it was going to be a long story, one best told to a vamp, with blood and compulsion and all that stuff. “Never mind.” I put away my weapons and fisted my hands. I walked into the elevator, letting my boots clomp in the small space. Behind me men and women gathered, watching. Behind me, someone held open the doors.

“What do they have planned?” I asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding miserable. “They didn’t tell me.” She risked a glance up at me, her pretty eyes full of tears. “Just that he would die. And I wouldn’t have to pass him in the hallways like he’s some kind of king and not even see me. After what we did together.” She caved in on herself and added, “I gave up everything for him. Everything.” And the weeping became a waterfall.

What did I do to be surrounded by so many weepy humans? I backed out of the elevator and caught sight of Scrappy, Leo’s new secretary, and Del, Leo’s new primo. I hadn’t seen much of Del recently and we exchanged nods. “She was Leo’s pet for a while?”

Del’s mouth hardened in a line as she looked over the girl. Except for the height, they were dead ringers for each other. “Before my time.”

I thought about Grégoire. And Katie. Blondes. “Leo has a type?”

“It’s fluid. Currently he is chasing blondes.”

“Get someone to bleed and read her and send anything pertinent to Alex and Eli.”

“I’ll see to it, Enforcer,” Del said.

Yeah. My order, sanctioned by the authority given me by the man who had hurt this poor pitiful girl. Who would likely slide into more blood and sex slavery. “See if you can find someone with a lot of finesse. And then see if they can break her addiction.” When Del looked at me in amusement, I added, “Try,” making that an order too.

* * *

I entered Leo’s limo and a security person closed the door. “Problems?” Bruiser asked.

I frowned at Leo. “One of his castoffs was working with the Nicaud witches. You really need to keep it in your pants.”

Up front, Wrassler made a choked sound. No one spoke. Leo’s eyebrow rose, just the one. There were multiple emotions in the elegant gesture—amusement at me, a trace of anger at the woman’s betrayal, a steely-eyed promise of retaliation at my lack of proper etiquette. “Keep it in my pants . . .”

“Yeah. Your need to tap everything that moves causes nothing but problems.”

Leo said stiffly, “I have taken your recommendations under advisement.”

Which said and meant absolutely nothing. I just frowned back at him before looking around the limo. “Everyone got your anti-DNA charms?”

“We all have them,” Leo said, sounding almost snappish.

The motorcycles pulled out in a roar and Leo’s limo followed them, turning right. Ming’s turned left, and Grégoire’s turned right and then pulled away from us, each limo taking a different route.

As my worries increased, we drove through the streets of the French Quarter and down St. Charles Avenue, toward the Elms Mansion and Gardens. All three limos arrived without incident. All the motorbikes arrived safely. Even the traffic cooperated and not a single motorcycle came near any of us, except the ones ridden by Leo’s security as they zigged and zagged through traffic, keeping watch. Everything was perfect.

Heck. It didn’t even rain. When the other shoe drops, it’s gonna be a kicker. Ha-ha, I thought as we reached the Elms. Wrassler, driving the limo that Leo and I were in, pulled into a parking space on a side street, one guarded by a police officer in charge of traffic cones. There was no press. In a city like New Orleans, a gathering of two hundred unknowns was nothing, and Leo’s appearance hadn’t been publicized.

I gave Bruiser a communications headset before I slid out of the limo. I rearranged the stakes in my bun from travel-position to higher, into a tall silver, garnet, and ash-wood halo, adjusted my weapons, and wished there had been time to oil and wear my slightly squeaky leathers for a month. But a girl can’t have everything. With Beast-sight, I took in the house and the surrounding area. Everything glowed with witch magics, reflected in windows across the street, in the paint jobs of the limos. Here, where we needed it just as much as, or more than, under the porte cochere, there was no phalanx of armored shields. No. Such precautions would have made Leo look weak. My unease grew.