Daughter Of The Blood Part 5

Annette acquiesced with a bob of her head. "Oui, Guardienne." She turned to the Femmes Blanches, and Izzy left it to her to disperse them.

From behind her Louise said, "I'll make sure they leave."

"Good," Izzy said. "Meanwhile, I'll get dressed."

"Oui, Guardienne. The door will lock behind me. You'll be able to get out, but no one but I will be able to get back in."

With a bow Louise left, shutting the door, which clicked with finality. And Izzy wondered, not for the first time, if she had just become a prisoner.

Opening the armoire opposite the bed, she found all kinds of new clothes in her size. She pulled on black cargo pants and snaked a black turtleneck over her head. Jean-Marc, who had arranged for her wardrobe, had probably a.s.sumed she'd be wearing these clothes for training, not an actual mission.

Or had he? He had repeatedly warned her about the chaotic state of the House of the Flames. He had told her that blood was running in the streets of the French quarter, compliments of Le Fils. What then, had he been training her for, if not to get in on the action?

She found black wool socks and slipped them on. As she stepped into a new pair of black leather hiking boots, she glanced again at the antique ebony clock on the fireplace mantel. It was almost 1:00 a.m.

Her busy brain ran through worst-case scenarios. If word got out that she had left the mansion, an a.s.sa.s.sin might take that as his-or her-cue to kill Jean-Marc and her mother both.

I may be the only thing standing between Jean-Marc, Marianne and their enemies. Maybe I should leave Alain de Devereaux to his fate, no matter how awful it might be.

But what could she do to keep them safe? Her presence was not a guaranteed deterrent against any kind of attack on her mother and the regent. She had to play to her strengths: she stood a better chance of protecting them if she had backup she could count on. Allies. Real ones, not just a.s.signed ones, like Michel and Louise. Jean-Marc trusted his cousin. That made saving Alain a priority. And if she could find Andre while she was at it, so much the better.

There was a sharp rap on the door. Louise entered. She was still wearing her suit, and an overstuffed olive-green duffel bag was slung across her shoulders. Sauvage and Ruthven followed her into the room. They had both washed their faces. Izzy had never seen Sauvage without her makeup, and their relative youth and obvious fear gave Izzy pause. Maybe this was not such a good idea....

Sauvage ran over to Izzy, giving her a rib-cracking hug. "One of those chicks with the head scarves said you'd been hurt," she said, gazing up at Izzy with tears in her eyes.

"I'm okay," Izzy said, touched.

Ruthven was bug-eyed and frightened as he slid his hands under his arms and bowed awkwardly.

"Hola, Your Majesty," he said.

"Did Agent Bouvard explain what I want you to do?" Izzy asked Sauvage, dispensing with the formalities.

Sauvage nodded wildly. "Yes, Guardienne, oui-oui." She reached out and grabbed Ruthven's wrist, yanking his hand loose and waggling it. "We're in, right, baby?"

Ruthven swallowed hard. "It won't hurt her, right?"

"Right," Louise replied, stepping forward, taking charge. She said to Sauvage, "You won't feel a thing."

There was another rap on the door. Louise paused, closed her eyes, then crossed and opened it. Another female agent in a black suit briskly stepped into the room. She also carried a duffel bag. She had flaming red hair, and her green eyes reminded Izzy of Pat's. Izzy felt a pang. Would she ever see him again?

"Madame la Guardienne." She greeted Izzy with a curtsy. "My name is Mathilde. It's such an honor."

Mathilde dumped her duffel bag onto the floor, unzipped it and began pulling out black clothing similar to Izzy's. There were two sets of everything.

"I thought we should wait to change in here. I didn't want to rouse suspicion," Louise explained, as she and the redhead took off their suit jackets and began to unb.u.t.ton their white s.h.i.+rts.

"Yow," Ruthven said, quickly turning his back.

The two agents quickly stripped down to sports bras and underwear. Their bodies were sinewy. At the base of her spine, Louise sported a tattoo identical to the scar on Izzy's palm-the flame icon of the House of the de Bouvards-and Izzy hoped it was a sign that Louise was genuinely on her side. It was going to be a real b.i.t.c.h if they got out into the field and these women turned on Izzy.

As Louise slipped on a pair of black cargo pants, Mathilde said to her, "I made successful contact with the others."

"Good." Louise slipped what looked to be a pair of bra.s.s knuckles into a cargo pocket. To Izzy she said, "We'll have two more inside, two outside. So we're six. Plus you, madame."

"That's it?" Izzy asked.

"We're all high-level magic users," Louise a.s.sured her. She was grabbing grenades, some piano wire and boxes of ammo to stuff into her pockets. "And there's safety in small numbers. We can travel fast, and hopefully stay under everybody's radar."

Izzy wondered who "everybody" was.

As Mathilde packed her own cargo pants with equipment, Louise reached into her duffel bag with one hand and gestured to Izzy's Medusa on the bed with the other. "I've got that ammo I mentioned."

Hearing that, Ruthven turned back around, as if eager to watch. He and Sauvage put their arms around each other, observing in silence as Louise pushed the f.l.a.n.g.e on the left side of the cylinder, then eased the cylinder out of the frame.

"All you need right now is one more .9 mm," Louise said, pressing a lipstick-shaped cartridge into the cylinder. That accomplished, she held it out to Izzy. "Remember, madame, there's no safety."

Mathilde, who was strapping on knee pads, stared at the Medusa and murmured, "Sweet," as Izzy picked it up. Fully loaded, it was much heavier than before. "May I hold it, madame?"

Izzy hesitated, then handed it to her.

Mathilde hefted the Medusa, whistling soundlessly. Her interest bordered on l.u.s.t, and she exhaled deeply, like a spent lover, when she pa.s.sed it over to Louise. Izzy kept a lid on her growing anxiety; these women were crack shots, and they were the only two in the room who were armed. She wanted the Medusa back. Now.

"Did Jean-Marc have this made for you?" Louise asked, tracing Izzy's portrait etched in the grip. Izzy was surprised that Louise didn't know that the gun was Marianne's. The picture of Izzy-or Marianne-had magically appeared during their training session in the Cloisters, back in New York.

Izzy picked up her gun belt and wrapped it around her waist, saying, "It's my gun."

She waited a beat. Louise stared back down at the Medusa and said, "If you don't know how to use it, maybe I should keep it. It's extremely powerful."

"I know how to use it," Izzy said steadily, even though that was pretty much a lie. But she wasn't giving up her weapon to anyone.

Louise sighed and handed it over. Then she gathered up her hair and pulled on a black knit cap like Izzy's. Mathilde did the same. They slipped on tight-fitting jackets. Louise handed one to Izzy. When she put it on, static electricity shocks went off like a trail of gunpowder.

Louise and Mathilde reached into their duffels and pulled out heavy-looking, webbed vests. Body armor. As Louise held one out, Mathilde stretched her arms through the armholes. Then she turned around and Louise fanned her fingers. There was a snick and Louise said, "You're bolted."

Mathilde did the same for her, down to the "bolting." Then Louise retrieved a third vest for Izzy.

"If you need to get the vest off in a hurry, say this word. I'll spell it for you," Louise said. "T-e-r-m-i-n-u-s. Do you speak Latin?"

"Not really," Izzy allowed. "I've heard a little. I'm Catholic," she added.

The two women stopped moving and stared at her. Mathilde paled, while Louise blinked rapidly, her lips parting in shock.

Now what? Izzy wondered. They must have their own religion. Maybe I'm supposed to be their pope or something.

The moment pa.s.sed-or rather, the agents chose to ignore it. Izzy put on knee pads. They checked each other out, running through a verbal checklist as each of them touched their pockets and verified possession of things they described in jargon: les sploders, wire, poprocks, choses, malfacteus.

When they were finished, Louise crossed over to Sauvage and said, "It's showtime."

"Oh, my G.o.d, I'm so freaked out," Sauvage murmured to Ruthven. Then she kissed her young boyfriend hard on the lips and minced over to the bed in her heeled boots. She sat on the edge of the mattress. "Do I need to take off my clothes?"

"It doesn't matter either way," Louise said.

"Okay," Sauvage whispered as she lay down on the bed. Ruthven backed away. Mathilde and Louise made motions over Sauvage's body. White light poured from their hands and spread over Sauvage like a sheet, throbbing and pulsing all over her body. One moment Sauvage was Sauvage...and the next...

She didn't look exactly like Izzy. She had Izzy's black cloud of hair, her dark eyes and freckles, but she looked more like a close relative than Izzy herself. Still, if the lights were lowered, and she pretended to be asleep, she could probably pa.s.s.

Louise ticked her glance to Izzy. "It's not as sophisticated as a Devereaux glamour."

"No one does glamours as well as the Devs," Mathilde said, an envious half smile quirking her face as she bent down beside her duffle and gathered up a fistful of crucifixes.

"Let me see," Sauvage demanded, hopping out of the bed and trotting to the full-length mirror at the foot of the bed. She posed, frowned. "Hey. I don't look that much like you at all."

"Maybe we should go with a fabricant," Louise mused as she crossed her arms and followed Sauvage's gaze into the mirror. "We could probably get a closer match."

Fabricants were magically created beings. Le Fils had sent a fabricant a.s.sa.s.sin after Izzy in New York. It had seemed terribly real.

"I'd suggest we stick with the glamour," Mathilde said. "We'd have better control." She added, "A fabricant might degrade too fast. We don't know how long we'll be gone."

Then Louise closed her eyes, paused, glanced expectantly at the door and said, "Good. They're here. Mathilde, let them in."

Mathilde crossed to the door, opened it, and let two more women inside. They were also dressed in black suits and white blouses, wearing lapel pins and headsets. Both of them curtseyed to Izzy, one reaching forward to kiss her bare ring finger.

"Catherine and Laure," Louise said, as the two rose and stood at parade rest. "Top agents. Crack shots, magically and otherwise. We're posting them here to stand guard over Sauvage and Ruthven. They'd rather die than let harm come to the woman lying in that bed."

Both women stared straight ahead, but color rose in their cheeks.

Louise looked at Izzy. "We should mobilize. We're pus.h.i.+ng our luck."

Izzy wanted to ask her if she really believed in luck. Where did that fit in, exactly, with people who could use magic? Instead, she arranged her gris-gris over the shoulders of her body armor and patted the Medusa in her holster. The weight of the gun, once an unthinkable burden, was now her anchor.

Izzy turned back to Sauvage. "You're being very brave," she told her. "Jean-Marc will be proud of you when he hears how well you handled this." The temptation rose again to go downstairs and see him before they left. She quelled it.

Sauvage's eyes were huge as she raised herself up on her elbows. "Unless he dies," she said mournfully.

"G.o.d, Jesse," Ruthven chided her. "Don't say s.h.i.+t like that."

Louise motioned for the others to follow her as she crossed to the stone wall opposite the door. She snapped her fingers. A hand's breadth in front of her, a larger-than-life-size oil portrait of Marianne in her white gown s.h.i.+mmered into view. Her stance was regal, power radiating from every pore. A tiara of white flames glowed from the crown of her dark hair, and she held a clutch of lilies in one veined, muscular hand and an athame in the other. From beneath her gown, a white slipper was planted on top of a skull with glowing red eyes.

Louise looked from the portrait to Izzy and back again, as if measuring the resemblance. Then she pointed her finger and the entire portrait rose into the air, revealing the entrance to a tunnel hewn from the thick marble wall.

"I'll take point," Louise announced.

Mathilde said, "I'll bring up the rear. Stay in the middle, Guardienne."

Izzy looked one last time over her shoulder at Ruthven and Sauvage, huddled together on the bed, gaping at them.

"Be careful," she said. They nodded in silent unison.

Izzy wondered if she would ever see them again.

Chapter 5.

Izzy and the two Bouvard agents stepped into the tunnel. A white mist swirled around her ankles and more cascaded from above, tumbling featherlight on her head and shoulders.

Izzy stiffened. Louise said, "It's for protection, Guardienne. It won't hurt you."

"I'm okay," Izzy gritted.

As they rose off the ground a lavender scent wafted through the thickening vapor. The fog became so thick she couldn't see her hand before her face. But she did see a white glow below her chin: it was the ring.

They glided forward, or so it seemed. Izzy had no sense of direction.

After a time she said, "What will happen to Esposito's soul?"

"I'm not privy to that," Louise said flatly.

"His body was destroyed," Izzy pressed.

"His remains aren't necessary for the return of his soul. That's only the case when the person whose soul is stolen is still alive," Louise said. It was clear she didn't want to discuss it.

"Alive..." Izzy couldn't even begin to follow that.

"D'Artagnon debriefed Bob and me on the reading," Louise elaborated. "Esposito's soul was taken at the time of death. He probably had a prior arrangement with the Forces of Darkness."

"He...sold his soul to the Devil?" Izzy blurted.

"That's one way of putting it, madame. Although so far as we can tell, there is no Devil, per se. The Dark Side is far more loosely structured than the Grand Covenate. They don't even have a governing body, and they don't work together toward any common purpose. They jostle for power among themselves far more than we do."

"But there is a Dark Side," Izzy managed to say. It hadn't even dawned on her to wonder about it; she'd been having enough trouble wrapping her head around the world of the Gifted. "So do they have Houses or..."

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Louise said. "Although a number of us believe the Malchances are in bed with them."

The Malchances again. Who were these people?

"They're the House of the Blood," Izzy said.

"Right. One of the original three, with us and the Devereaux," Louise put in. "We are the House of the Flames. The Devereaux are the House of the Shadows. We were all founded in the 1400s."

"When Joan of Arc tried to unify France," Izzy finished. "And pa.s.sed her power on to us before she was martyred."

"'Martyred,'" Louise repeated, sounding a bit derisive. "We prefer to say that she was murdered. There is no Catholic connection for us."