Cold Reign (Jane Yellowrock #11)(10)
“Orléans?” I sat up. “Wait. The French kings were mostly vamps. And they ended with the House of Orléans? So . . . some of the EuroVamps we’re expecting think they own New Orleans.”
Leo nodded and sipped, unperturbed. “Events seem to suggest that we have a visiting Capet or Valois who is raising these revenants. He or she has put out a call and they are responding to that call. But our people have not been able to determine who they are or how they reached our shores. There have been no unaccounted chartered jets from Europe, no known Mithrans presenting papers for entry, nor are there sailing ships at the Port of New Orleans.”
“Sailing ships?” I asked.
“My eyes among the European Mithrans had suggested that they would prefer sailing.”
My eyes meant his spy, the woman referred to as Madam Spy, as if that were a title of importance. “When they can have a cruise ship?” I asked.
Leo pursed his lips at that, as if rethinking.
“Five-star chefs, power when there’s no wind, lots of hunky humans, twenty-four-hour entertainment, swimming pools, gambling. And a speedy crossing. Maybe the vamps own their own line. How much faith do you have in your Madam Spy?”
“Perhaps too much,” he murmured, and sipped his bubbly stuff. He pulled the cord from his hair, releasing it from the queue; the long black strands had curled in the damp air. “She has been unreliable at times.”
“Cruise ships come and go all the time from the port,” I said. “No one would notice a cruise ship. But a sailing ship full of vamps? That would have hit social media immediately.”
“Hmmm.” He sipped, thinking more. “Cruise ships. And with the updated intermodal terminal, they could also come upriver aboard a cargo ship and debark at night with no one the wiser.”
“There would be security. Electronic monitoring of the docks?” Eli said, his tone making his explanation a question, the way a minor soldier might suggest something obvious to a superior officer. Eli continued to impress and surprise me with his social skills. “There are easier ways to get in.”
“If they are in my city, they are few,” Leo said. “I would know if the entire grouping of European Mithrans had all come ashore ahead of the parley, as some sort of”—his hand made a little rolling motion—“preemptive attack.”
Eli looked interested. “How would you know?”
“I am master of this city.” At our blank looks, Leo said, “I am master of the land, of the Mithrans, and of the humans in it. A few Mithrans or Naturaleza might enter without my knowledge—Peregrinus’ groups, for instance—slowly over time, but not in the number that the Europeans wish to bring.”
“And how many is that currently?” I asked. Because the negotiations were stalled again, this time on that all-important final number.
“Their current demand is for lodging, food, and entertainment for some fifty Mithrans and their one hundred fifty to two hundred humans.” He smiled and said wryly, “I would know.”
I accepted a second Coke from Eli, exchanging it for my glass of champagne, which he appreciated far more than I did. “And they expect you to pay for their lodging?”
“They do,” he said, his tone taking a decidedly subdued turn. “Their demands are based on progress.”
“Don’t sound like progress to me,” I said. “It sounds like extortion or protection money or something.”
“Progress is the term for a king or emperor touring his country,” Leo said. “Land was always held in the name of the monarch, and when he or she wished to visit, it was the responsibility of the noble landowner to host the entire court. Such a progress could be considered a blessing or a punishment. A blessing if the monarch arrived and departed swiftly. A punishment should the monarch remain, draining finances and resources unto penury.”
“And your city belongs to them?” Eli said, emphasizing the pronouns.
“It isn’t my city, according to the United States government. When they bought the Louisiana territories, they bought the land here, but few of the Mithrans agreed with Napoleon’s right to make the sale, as Napoleon was human and not of the regal line of Mithran rulers. They have long disputed the transaction.” Leo relaxed in his seat, still sipping, his mood seeming to mellow. “Their most recent disputation was in the World Court. Acting as a displaced royal family, they accused the United States of theft of their territory and potential homeland. The International Court of Justice declined to hear the argument in 1962. They went silent then, until now, but I never assumed that they were satisfied.”
“So let me see if I got this right,” I said. “The EuroVamps are mad because Napoleon sold the Louisiana territory to the U.S. They sued and lost. They sent Peregrinus and his ménage a trois—or allowed them to come—to cause trouble and to see how easy it might be to take over. Maybe to test the waters and see how powerful you are. They also encouraged the Naturaleza vamps from Atlanta to try to take over. And now they’ve taken a new direction and plan to claim the land in person.”
Leo set his crystal glass down and actually clapped. “Excellent, mon chat.”
“Again. Not yours. Why didn’t you ever tell me all this?”
“As you say, you are not mine. When the binding did not take as planned, everything became—I believe you call it—‘need to know.’”