Magic Tides (Kate Daniels: Wilmington Years #1)(19)

Quiet, unassuming, always pretending to be less than he was, Jushur went by many different names. He’d moved through the People’s ranks, never drawing attention to himself, excelling at being overlooked and dismissed. He was my father’s secret eyes and ears. He’d served the most troublesome of Legati of the Golden Legion and had kept an eye on Hugh d’Ambray during his tenure as Warlord. When trouble brewed somewhere, Jushur would already be there, on the sidelines, anticipating the crisis and taking subtle steps to deal with it. He had six children, some born in the old age and others in ours, and all of them were just like him, fanatically loyal to my father and his bloodline.

I had discounted him even though he’d spoken to me directly three times. After my father had decided he did want to speak to me again—it took him almost three years—he finally told me about Jushur one night over beer and doughnuts, while he was rearranging the constellations in the sky of his realm to be more aesthetically pleasing.

The man walking next to me looked like a younger version of Jushur and sounded just like him. And he wanted me to know who he was.

Well, wasn’t that just peachy.

Ahead the gates of the arena stood wide open. As we came closer, a sheepish-looking navigator team with green stripes on their jumpsuits led a brown cow out of it. A big, white paw print marked the cow’s butt. Weird way to tag the People’s cows, but okay.

We walked through the gates. The floors of ancient arenas were made of wood and covered with a layer of sand to absorb the blood. This arena was stone, no padding. Every drop of blood was a precious resource.

Two men waited on the arena floor, near the gates. Behind them three vampires crouched in a row, still like statues.

The first man, on my right, was young, in his twenties, tall and thin. Everything about him seemed slightly too long: his dark hair, his nose, his chin. A single red stripe marked the shoulder of his jumpsuit. I’d cracked the code by this point. Red meant cadre, permanent staff of the Farm, and the more red you had, the higher your rank. This guy was pretty low in the chain of command.

A man like Barrett Shaw would have either known or suspected that one of his journeymen was up to no good. There was no reason for this guy to be in the arena if he was just some random navigator.

Hello, Onyx. We finally meet. I’ve come to chat about a child you sold like livestock.

The other man had two red shoulders on his jumpsuit. He was also tall, but unlike Onyx, who was thin to the point of looking fragile, this man was muscled like a decathlon athlete, lean and hard. An all-purpose build, equally fast, strong, and flexible, and the way he stood told me he had good balance. Onyx I could fold in half like paper. That man would dodge a fast punch and come back swinging.

He was probably close to forty, but it was hard to tell. His hair, a deep brown, umber shade, was cut just long enough to style, although he hadn’t bothered. No gray yet. He had probably started his day clean-shaven this morning, but now a five o’clock shadow darkened his square jaw. A tall forehead, prominent nose, full mouth, and dark green eyes under thick eyebrows. Not a conventionally handsome face, but a powerful one. The kind of face that would make you rethink your strategy.

The green eyes took my measure. He had an unsettling, direct gaze, as if he were looking at something specific inside you. Barrett Shaw. In the flesh.

I stared back, trying to look blank. Look all you want. There is nothing to see here.

Jushur’s son stood to the side at parade rest, his undead sitting by him.

Barrett smiled. It was a pleasant, affable smile. Perfectly cordial. “Welcome to the Farm.”

“Thank you.”

One of the vampires sprinted at full speed toward me, its eyes red.

Cute.

The undead slid to a stop a couple of inches from my feet. I held out the will-o’-wisp cage and nodded at Barrett.

“Your parcel. Claudia Ozburn says hello.”

“She always sends the nicest things.”

The undead took the cage from me and carried it off.

Barrett Shaw was still smiling.

I should’ve flinched when the undead ran at me. Most people would’ve flinched. I was positioning myself as either a merc or a knight of the Order. Vampire removal wasn’t something mercs did often, and a knight would’ve called him on his bullshit or taken a defensive stance. Either way, I should’ve reacted.

Even if I had tried to fake a reaction, it would’ve been obvious. My acting skills were severely lacking.

Barrett wasn’t speaking. Ryan Kelly, a Master of the Dead from Atlanta, once referred to him as Gator Mouth, and now I knew why. That warm smile was a tornado siren, announcing a whirlwind of destruction coming my way. This had become about me, and I needed to deflect his attention and get access to Onyx, because he was our only link to Darin. I had to explain why I hadn’t freaked out.

“How do you like it? The Farm? Did Rimush give you a tour on the way here?”

An idea popped into my brain. It was a terrible idea, but it was the only one I could think of. “It’s very organized. Even the cohorts are color-coded.”

Despite the name, the Golden Legion didn’t have cohorts, and neither did the People. There was only one military force accustomed to dealing with vampires that used the term cohorts.

Take the bait, take the bait, take the bait…

Barrett’s affable expression stayed pleasant. “You’re a long way from Kentucky.”