and quiet. I prowled through deserted rooms, kicking open closets, checking under beds, in bathrooms, and in pantries. From the lingering smells, the place had been vacated during the night. And it hadn't been voluntary. Blood stained the walls and floors in several places. The air was still tainted with the heated smell of burned magic and the stench of the rogue maker and his two cronies. I was familiar enough with them now to parse the three different scent signatures, so similar that they had to be all of the same bloodline. The three siblings had attacked a vamp clan home. And won.
I returned to Bitsa and headed back out of the city. At the first gas station I came to, I pulled in and up to a pump. Ignoring the stares of the other patrons, I strapped my shotgun to the bike. Removed my leather jacket against the rising heat and stowed it in one of the sidesaddles. The mesh collar went beside it, the stakes and vamp-killers as well, leaving me still well-armed enough to fight a small war. Feeling more comfortable, though smelling of night-terror sweat, I filled Bitsa's small tank up with gas. While it gurgled into the nearly empty tank I pulled my cell and hit REDIAL, calling Bruiser. It rang through to voice mail. Fortunately, I knew where he lived.
Remounting, I roared against the current of the rush-hour traffic out of the city. The farther I rode, the denser the traffic got, the madder I got. Leo and Bruiser were keeping things from me, things I needed to know to get the kids back. And Bliss. Couldn't forget her. By the time I reached the drive to the Pellissier clan home just before seven thirty a.m., I was royally ticked off.
The house was at the end of a well-paved but little-used road, no other houses within sight, plowed fields all around, horses walking from barns into the day, heads bobbing, mares with foals gamboling along. Curling-limbed live oaks arched over the long, slightly uphill drive, the house built on high ground, some twenty feet above sea level, higher than anything around it. The Pellissier clan home stood on a bend of the Mississippi River, which I could smell through the trees, the river air wet and sour and powerful even at a distance. The oaks to either side passed at speed as I roared up the drive.
It might not be smart to come here, even though this wasn't Leo's daytime lair, and likely none of the Pellissier scions used it as a lair except in emergency. But in the daylight, I didn't have to worry about vamps; I needed answers and this was the best place to get them.
I slowed as I neared the white-painted, two-story brick house. Bruiser and three others were sitting at a large, round, cloth-covered table on the front porch, eyes on me, Bruiser quickly hiding the relief he felt at seeing me. He had wondered if Sabina had killed me. Not enough to help me, of course.
I was clearly interrupting an important conversation, business talk over china and a meal. As if I cared. I came to a stop at the front steps and cut the engine, my booted feet on either side of Bitsa. I set the kickstand and dismounted, throwing a leather-clad leg high for impact.
I blinked against the bright sun, and suddenly realized that I hadn't slept - really slept, like more than a nap - in days. Something else I could deal with after I got the kits back, like my being a killer and nothing else. The smile that lit my face with the thoughts must have been pretty ugly, because one guy's hands disappeared beneath the table, going for a weapon.
I climbed the steps, my boots the only sound, loud in the morning air, my eyes holding Bruiser's. An answering smile curved his lips up on one side and his eyes slit in consideration, though he lounged back in his chair in casual unconcern. The anxiety of the three with Bruiser had a smell and it gave me a perverse pleasure to worry the little group. "I see you survived Leo's temper tantrum last night."
Bruiser nodded. "As did you."
"Barely. Can't say the same for the Rousseau clan home."
His expression hooded over. "Tyler, Louisa, Dale, we're finished for now. Give me an hour with Miss Yellowrock." Like well-trained dogs, they got up and left us alone. As if to break the tension, Bruiser