“Vivian,” I said, not caring that I’d insulted Mrs. Sarong in the delicate but telling niceties of polite circles. Maybe you shouldn’t be lobbying to kill me, my dear. “It wasn’t my fault,” I said as I gave the smartly dressed woman a hug, eyes closing as I breathed in the scent of redwood, agreeing with Jenks’s assessment. She could throw lethal, white spells better than anyone I knew, having been trained as a toddler. That she’d stood up for me when the coven had deported me to the ever-after for being a demon meant a lot. “I wasn’t there trying to get anyone out. Though I should,” I muttered as I saw her confusion and drew back. “They’re still feeding them that magic inhibitor.”
Her welcoming smile faltered. “Alcatraz? Oh, you’re fine there,” Vivian said, her Seattle accent pleasant even as she turned to Mrs. Sarong with a frown. “That’s not why I’m here. We have an issue with how you’re handling Constance. Or rather, how you aren’t.”
“Yeah . . . I had to get Zack first,” I said, as Mrs. Sarong click-clacked across the room in her tiny white heels, attitude trailing behind her. At least she’d left her boy toys outside.
“Mrs. Sarong.” I extended my hand, and she smiled as if I’d crawled out from under a rock. “Good to see you again.”
“And you as well,” the older, extre-e-e-emely sophisticated woman said as she took my hand, barely touching it before drawing back and wiping it on her white business suit. When it came to Weres, the higher up in the pack you were, the more polished you were, and Mrs. Sarong had a very large, very successful pack.
“I, ah, am sorry you’re all here before the reno is finished,” I said, gesturing to include everyone. Trent was still on the phone. David looked tired, and Edden uncomfortable, and Vivian . . . Vivian was decidedly worried. A sharp wing snap pulled my attention up to Hodin, who was studiously trying to ignore the three young pixy bucks facing him, wooden swords brandished. “Ah, would you like to sit down?”
Grimacing, the older woman sat dead center of the couch, her white leather bag beside her. Eyes on the floor, she brushed at the hint of sawdust. Vivian rolled her eyes and sat on the couch across from her where her coffee waited. I felt a tweak on my awareness as the witch warmed it up with a thought, then she sighed as she sipped it.
I looked longingly at the makeshift kitchen. “Edden, David. Do you want any coffee?” I turned to Mrs. Sarong. “Mrs. Sarong?” I asked, smiling. I’d give her the rainbow mug. But she shook her head as well, so I went to fill it with straight black for myself. Kaspar was thumping about upstairs as the dark brew chattered into the mug, and I hoped Jenks got back down here before the pixy bucks decided to attack Hodin. They knew who he was.
“So . . . what’s up?” I said as I turned, warm cup in hand. “I’ve come home to demons, assassins, blood-hungry vamps, and fire trucks at my curb before, but never this.”
Wincing, Edden shifted from foot to foot. “It’s an inquiry of intentions.”
Mrs. Sarong moved her purse to her lap and rubbed her fingers together in distaste. “It’s a threat, Rachel,” she said flatly.
And now we can begin. I leaned back against the makeshift kitchen table, ankles crossed as I glanced at Trent and sipped at my coffee. Warm and nutty, it slipped down to bring me back to life. Thank you, Stef, I thought, not sure if she’d made it or not. “Really.” I strengthened my hold on the nearest line and, feeling it, Vivian frowned at the elegant Were across from her.
“It’s not a threat,” Vivian said darkly. “Trent has informed us that you intend to remove Constance as Cincy’s master vampire, and we are all understandably concerned about the power vacuum that will create.” She hesitated. “Not to mention the collateral damage you will engender in the attempt.”
I helped myself to a chili cracker, biting through it with a loud, obnoxious crunch.
“Seems not everyone is sure you will be able to handle Cincinnati,” David said from the snack-covered pool table, a bag of cheese curls in his hand.
Yeah, I had that same concern, but I brushed the crumbs from me and tried to look confident. “I’ve got this,” I said as a faint whoop of success came from the belfry. Zack is back. . . . “I won’t know about the collateral damage until it’s done, but I’ll be as careful as I can.”
Vivian winced, and Mrs. Sarong’s condescending gaze traveled up the dirt smear on my thigh. “As you were in San Francisco?” the alpha female said. “Stay clear of my arena.”
“I’m glad you brought that up,” I said. “I had the situation in San Francisco in hand until the coven butted in. The damage I did removing Ku’Sox was minuscule compared to the destruction he wrought while I was banished. The takeaway here is, back off and let me work.”
“I agree,” Vivian said firmly. “Let the woman work, Ellen,” she added, hesitating when Etude sort of monkey-swung his way in through the front door, slamming it open with his feet to land with a window-shaking thump inside the sanctuary.
“The dewar leader will be down shortly,” he said into the stunned silence, grinning to show his black teeth.
“Well, thank Cerberus for that,” Mrs. Sarong muttered, clearly unnerved.
Trent pulled the phone from his ear, apparently on hold. “Mrs. Sarong, could I ask you to wait on any more discussion? We have one more coming in,” he said, and Mrs. Sarong turned, irritation creasing her brow.
“You heard the gargoyle. Zack will be down shortly.”
“His name is Etude,” I said, and the large gargoyle flicked an ear in appreciation.
“Zack speaks only for the dewar, not the enclave,” Trent said. “But we can’t hold a city-powers meeting without a vampire delegate. He’s on his way.”
My eyebrows rose. “He? He who?”
Vivian crossed her knees, foot bobbing. “It’s the vampires who are the problem.”
Trent made a thin smile, the phone still to his ear. “They’re a major third of Inderland. They should be represented, especially if they’re the problem.”
“He who?” I said again, but Trent’s attention had returned to his phone, his head down as he listened.
Etude’s tail flicked, and at that same instant, the bell high overhead gave a single bong.
My eyes went to Hodin and he made a bird-shrug. I hadn’t felt any magic, either, and a shout of complaint came from the belfry. Clearly it hadn’t been Kaspar or Zack. Someone had actually rung the doorbell. Trent’s vampire representation, perhaps?
“Don’t everyone get up,” I said as I set my coffee aside. Mrs. Sarong would have to wait to throw down her ultimatum, but she’d probably appreciate the bigger audience.