Without looking at me, Bruiser said, “If Cooper was coming here, he hasn’t made it. Who else?”
Guilt on his face, Alex muttered, “I’ve been scanning all traffic and security cams for seventy hours on either side of Ronald’s disappearance. Searching for Tex and Ronald.” He raised his eyes to me, his curly hair tangling in his lashes. “I don’t have a starting GPS so it’s not gonna be fast.”
“When did you first hear about all this?” I asked him.
He ducked his head away.
“One other Mithran hasn’t checked in.” Wrassler hesitated before going on, a strange break in words and tone. “Shiloh Stone, missing for a little over seventy-two hours.”
My heart fell and shattered into a thousand pieces.
Shiloh. Molly Everhart’s niece, my scion, also part of Clan Yellowrock, according to my claiming and according to vamp law. This. This is why they hadn’t told me. They knew what this news would do to me. I closed my eyes to shut out the world. Shiloh was a witch as well as a vamp. If any vamp had her and figured out what she was, she’d be killed in a heartbeat. She was young and not well trained as a witch, not a powerful vamp. She was mine to protect. I had let her down. I had let all of them down.
The old familiar guilt wormed through me, telling me I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t enough in any way. Especially now.
The more rational part of me suggested that if they were being held together, maybe Tex and Ronald could protect Shiloh. That part of me also suggested that if Shiloh was dead, Molly would kill me.
Alex murmured, “Janie knows about the missing vamps. Yeah. All of them. Tex Cooper, Ronald, the heir of Clan Bouvier, and Shiloh Stone.” I realized he was updating Eli in the field, on comms.
“I’ve instituted new protocols since Derek Lee’s car went off into a bayou and he went missing. And since Janie isn’t here,” Wrassler said.
“Derek’s missing too?” I asked, louder. “When? How?” Heat flared through me, anger I hadn’t experienced in months. “And why wasn’t I told?” I demanded of Alex. Derek was the number one security guy at HQ now that I had other titles and responsibilities. “I should have been told.”
“With all due respect, Legs,” Wrassler said, his words clipped, his voice laced with anger, “you left New Orleans.”
My mouth opened in protest but I said nothing. What could I say? I was sick. Dying. I had abdicated. I stared at Alex. He was tapping away on one of the multiple keyboards and he had an old-fashioned mouse at each hand, a gaming stick, and two finger pads lined up within reach. Beneath his naturally dark skin, he was flushed with mortification. I looked at Bruiser who met my eyes with . . . was that pity?
Wrassler went on. “Ed was Leo’s heir. And Ed was your heir, but everything came through the grapevine, not official notification, no ceremony, no pomp and circumstance, and you elected not to send a prefect or cede dominion of the city to another. With you out of the picture and Ed in Europe, we’ve done the best we could to protect New Orleans and keep the peace. Under the circumstances, the city is doing outstanding.”
Unspoken was the sentiment No thanks to you.
My running away had resulted in a long and heated tirade by both Youngers that had included accusations like selfish, spoiled, dispassionate, nonaligned, and detached. And cruel. Their charge that I had been cruel in running away had been the one that hit home. I had thought I was saving them the torment of watching me die. Instead I had hurt them. They hadn’t yet let me live it down, and this thing with Wrassler wouldn’t help.
“Before Edmund Hartley took off,” Wrassler said, his voice rising in pitch and tone, “he instructed us not to initiate contact with you unless you were in danger. You are not in danger. We know you’re sick, but skinwalkers live forever, so what the hell do you want me to do, Janie?” he shouted.
“Holy crap on a cracker,” I said. “I’ve got cancer; I’m not dead.” And I felt, now that anger was coursing through me, more like myself.
“Cancer,” Wrassler said, startled.
“Got it,” Alex said, without taking his gaze from the screens. “I’ve pulled up the police report on Derek.” His fingers had been tapping as Wrassler and I argued. “Derek Lee’s vehicle was found